Aneh sat along the top of the bench, watching the foot traffic as it passed by. A slight frown settled across her face as her eyes stared blankly in one direction. Something wasn't right in the world. She didn't like it. But what was there to do about it? She had no proof anything was going on, really... A chill ran up her spine as she remembered the feeling of being watched the other day at the bakery.
Aneh focused on a small child that had been staring at her, shaking off her problems for the moment. The wide eyed child seemed rooted in place and Aneh felt a tug from somewhere deep inside of her. Something about the child was special but she couldn't quite place what. The child felt familiar, but Aneh knew she had never met the girl before. Aneh rose from the bench and approached the child who stared openly.
"What's your name child," Aneh asked softly, kneeling a foot away from the child. The child swallowed hard and reached a hand out, running her fingers over the odd studs that framed Aneh's features. Aneh closed her eyes at the touch, her world inwardly rocked with feelings innocently transfered from the child to her. She missed the child's name in the mass confusion inside her mind, and barely noticed as a worried parent came to take the hand of the child. "What do you think you are doing??" Aneh heard from the angry parent, as if she was under water. She shook her head to clear it, unable to fully regain her own senses. She sat back on the road, unable to move for a moment as the child was hauled away by the worried mother.
Aneh slowly stood after a few moments, her mind and vision finally clearing. The mother and child were gone, and Aneh was left alone in the dusty roadway, thoroughly confused about the encounter.
Swelling... the Members...
"No, no. Of course you're not being held to anything right now. We just want you to keep it in mind, that's all."
"I still don't see why you're coming to me with this... " "I've never been interested in half the things you and yours deal in. It's not really my thing."
"It's the half you are interested in that we care about. Like I said, don't make a decision right now, think on it."
He nodded at the dark-skinned elf, who looked more a warrior than a merchant; his half naked body riddled scars, and the rest looking as if he were ready to go to war, outfitted with some basic lightweight armor and more different types of weapons than he cared to count. "Will that be all then?"
"Yes, yes of course. I apologize for the inconvenience." The Drow nodded at a large cloaked man who had been standing uncomfortably close to him for the duration of their conversation. Obeying the nod, the man moved forward and, with a knife, severed the ropes binding him to his chair: the decidedly more uncomfortable part about his situation.
Rubbing his wrists where the tight ropes had chaffed his skin, he made a slight bow to the Elf who was still seated in his own wooden chair and skirted around the man towards the door. As he put his had on the knob however the Drow spoke up behind him. "Oh. By the way... Don't tell your friends."
Not a problem, he thought as he turned the knob and left the room behind
***
Relic stood, arms crossed, in a long hallway in the Keep with one of his brothers, a man he had known for generations; a human, several inches taller than Relic, though a bit more wiry. Although he was a fierce strider, by trade, he was the longest standing Vox of the Hoard, and though once a pupil of Relic's, they now sought council with each other.
"And what did he say?" the tall Human asked of Relic, speaking of one of his recent meetings with what they called "The Potential".
"Before or after he shit himself?", Relic replied with a grin.
The strider before him sighed. "Are you ever serious?"
Still grinning Relic said, "He said the same as all the rest, brother: that he would consider it. Which is all we ask in the first place." His grin fading he added, "Besides, we cannot expect to find true brothers by looking... you know this is how it's always been, they must come to us."
"Yes, I know, I know... but we still must get the word out. What about those closest to us? Have they said much?"
"No, they cannot, and will not, betray theirs until it is safe to do so, we can't expect more than that. The whisper, however, has been placed in their ears. All we can do is be patient."
"I hope patience will put coin in our pockets..."
"Stand on the right corner with enough patience and it will." Relic cackled at his own wit.
Rolling his eyes the taller man said, "We've got a lot of work to do, best that we get to it."
"I still don't see why you're coming to me with this... " "I've never been interested in half the things you and yours deal in. It's not really my thing."
"It's the half you are interested in that we care about. Like I said, don't make a decision right now, think on it."
He nodded at the dark-skinned elf, who looked more a warrior than a merchant; his half naked body riddled scars, and the rest looking as if he were ready to go to war, outfitted with some basic lightweight armor and more different types of weapons than he cared to count. "Will that be all then?"
"Yes, yes of course. I apologize for the inconvenience." The Drow nodded at a large cloaked man who had been standing uncomfortably close to him for the duration of their conversation. Obeying the nod, the man moved forward and, with a knife, severed the ropes binding him to his chair: the decidedly more uncomfortable part about his situation.
Rubbing his wrists where the tight ropes had chaffed his skin, he made a slight bow to the Elf who was still seated in his own wooden chair and skirted around the man towards the door. As he put his had on the knob however the Drow spoke up behind him. "Oh. By the way... Don't tell your friends."
Not a problem, he thought as he turned the knob and left the room behind
***
Relic stood, arms crossed, in a long hallway in the Keep with one of his brothers, a man he had known for generations; a human, several inches taller than Relic, though a bit more wiry. Although he was a fierce strider, by trade, he was the longest standing Vox of the Hoard, and though once a pupil of Relic's, they now sought council with each other.
"And what did he say?" the tall Human asked of Relic, speaking of one of his recent meetings with what they called "The Potential".
"Before or after he shit himself?", Relic replied with a grin.
The strider before him sighed. "Are you ever serious?"
Still grinning Relic said, "He said the same as all the rest, brother: that he would consider it. Which is all we ask in the first place." His grin fading he added, "Besides, we cannot expect to find true brothers by looking... you know this is how it's always been, they must come to us."
"Yes, I know, I know... but we still must get the word out. What about those closest to us? Have they said much?"
"No, they cannot, and will not, betray theirs until it is safe to do so, we can't expect more than that. The whisper, however, has been placed in their ears. All we can do is be patient."
"I hope patience will put coin in our pockets..."
"Stand on the right corner with enough patience and it will." Relic cackled at his own wit.
Rolling his eyes the taller man said, "We've got a lot of work to do, best that we get to it."
Lifting the Veil (1-2)
Colin crouched beside a large tree, peering out from around the trunk at Velentham as the insane celestial tried to bait Gilean out of the warded protection of the cottage. Gilean had reached out mentally to he and Orn then Velentham had shown up, hoping that this would be a chance to force the return of Sanria. Orn had then arrived beside Colin before quickly transporting the two of them to the druid grove. The quickly begged for assistance form the few druids there, and while most where reluctant to get involved, two of the younger ones had agreed to assist.
Now Colin found himself waiting for an opening while Gilean, Orn, and the two druids bent nature and magic to their will, sending animated trees and rays of light at the taunting madman. As two of the trees converged on Velentham, Colin took his chance, rushing from cover and charging toward Velentham from the side.
Colin was met with the battered body of Kaliadra being tossed at him like a discarded ragdoll with minimal effort form Velentham. Colin instinctively dropped his blades and did his best to catch the broken elf, falling to the ground but managing to spare Kaliadra most of the impact. However, he was vulnerable.
Before he could even react, the celestial was inside his mind. Colin could feel the rough tendrils battering their way through his psyche and heard words spoken as if from a distance, 'Oh... this... he doesn't remember? Cousin! You say I'm a monster? What do you say - a man who uses the disadvantage of another to marry his wife?'
Colin grasped the sides of his head futilely. For all of his strength he could do nothing against this mental intrusion. He was completely at Velentham's mercy, and again, the celestial's voice filtered into his ears, 'What do you say? Let's let him remember, shall we?!'
'No!' But it wasn't Colin who said it. Suddenly, with a rough but precise shove, all the gaps were filled. As simply as a switch being flipped, Colin remembered everything. The memories came in a flood: he and Sanria on the beach, carrying Sanria in his arms to be married, years spent with her wandering dark landscapes, the birth of Orn, the birth of Leandra, struggling to be a father and husband while afflicted by instability. It was all back, and for a moment it was glorious.
Then the new memories merged with the current memories, and it was almost too much. Here he had been. He was back. He had even been with Sanria, unknowingly forming a new love for her even without the memories... but Gilean. How could his friend have taken advantage of his condition like this? How could he have taken Sanria, Colin's wife, as his own? No, this was all wrong. How could he?
The crack of stiff wood against body and a howl of pain brought Colin back to the present. He looked up to see Velentham staggering aside from Orn. Orn. His son, who he loved dearly.
The memories would have to wait. The questions would have to wait. The feelings would have to wait. Right now, they needed to take care of this monster. The rest... must come later.
Now Colin found himself waiting for an opening while Gilean, Orn, and the two druids bent nature and magic to their will, sending animated trees and rays of light at the taunting madman. As two of the trees converged on Velentham, Colin took his chance, rushing from cover and charging toward Velentham from the side.
Colin was met with the battered body of Kaliadra being tossed at him like a discarded ragdoll with minimal effort form Velentham. Colin instinctively dropped his blades and did his best to catch the broken elf, falling to the ground but managing to spare Kaliadra most of the impact. However, he was vulnerable.
Before he could even react, the celestial was inside his mind. Colin could feel the rough tendrils battering their way through his psyche and heard words spoken as if from a distance, 'Oh... this... he doesn't remember? Cousin! You say I'm a monster? What do you say - a man who uses the disadvantage of another to marry his wife?'
Colin grasped the sides of his head futilely. For all of his strength he could do nothing against this mental intrusion. He was completely at Velentham's mercy, and again, the celestial's voice filtered into his ears, 'What do you say? Let's let him remember, shall we?!'
'No!' But it wasn't Colin who said it. Suddenly, with a rough but precise shove, all the gaps were filled. As simply as a switch being flipped, Colin remembered everything. The memories came in a flood: he and Sanria on the beach, carrying Sanria in his arms to be married, years spent with her wandering dark landscapes, the birth of Orn, the birth of Leandra, struggling to be a father and husband while afflicted by instability. It was all back, and for a moment it was glorious.
Then the new memories merged with the current memories, and it was almost too much. Here he had been. He was back. He had even been with Sanria, unknowingly forming a new love for her even without the memories... but Gilean. How could his friend have taken advantage of his condition like this? How could he have taken Sanria, Colin's wife, as his own? No, this was all wrong. How could he?
The crack of stiff wood against body and a howl of pain brought Colin back to the present. He looked up to see Velentham staggering aside from Orn. Orn. His son, who he loved dearly.
The memories would have to wait. The questions would have to wait. The feelings would have to wait. Right now, they needed to take care of this monster. The rest... must come later.
Dreamless Dreaming
What is there to explain dreamless dreaming? What darkness can compare to the darkness unseen? Blackness that by its very emptiness doesn't exist while it exists. Void so permanent that all who enter into its caress are lost to even the sensation of being touched. The idea of even knowing one drifts in the inky blackness is lost in the deep folds of nothing. Does one truly exist here? Where, if not here, does one go that gives one inner life while the outer shell breathes?
After a long year in the confines of nowhere, deep in the vast darkness of the dreamless dreaming, Brin's eyes finally reopened and her consciousness came back online.
After a long year in the confines of nowhere, deep in the vast darkness of the dreamless dreaming, Brin's eyes finally reopened and her consciousness came back online.
Absolute Bottom
Sanria leaned heavily against Velentham's chest, her body numb. She wanted to cry, but whatever he was doing in her mind prevented her from shedding tears. Still, the deep sorrow pervaded her muscles, sitting there heavily, spreading apart the very fibers of her being until she felt nothing. There was nothing she could do. She'd seen the look of horror on his face and hoped it would be enough to spare her from bearing his child, but it wasn't. When he looked at her, she'd tried to keep the horror from her own face, but simply wasn't fast enough. Just as suddenly as he was disgusted, he was now in family mode. The idea that it would bond them sickened her.
There were no memories for Sanria to call upon. Her mind was blank as he held her tightly, squeezing her as though desiring to suffocate the life right out of her. At least he didn't smell like cigarettes anymore. Now he gave off a scent of sweat - sharp and acrid. In this moment, she could remember nothing and felt as though all there was in the world was this room and this man. The sensation caused her revolt, she could barely recall just the few moments past when she wanted to use the window to get out.
Sanria found herself pulled onto the bed, still cradled in the crushing embrace of Velentham's arms. He began to chuckle, quietly at first in a way that only shook his chest, then louder, blooming into a maniacal laugh. "What will they say when they find out, love? What will my cousin say when he discovers we've replaced his child with mine?"
The cousin... Sanria closed her eyes and breathed deeply, willing a memory to the fore of her mind. Gilean's face came in a shimmer and was abruptly wiped away. "Don't," Velentham's voice said, warning and rancor in his tone. "I don't want you thinking about that man, he's no longer in your life. Do you understand?"
"Yes," she whispered.
"Good. We need to get home soon. I don't want the product of our love to be born in this hovel."
'Product of our love?' Sanria questioned. She didn't love -
As though she'd spoken aloud, Velentham pushed her back enough to look into her eyes, his own glowing slightly. "You do. And you have more reason than ever to listen to me." He placed a hand on her stomach, his eyes never leaving her own. "We are now bonded completely."
"We're not married," she said. 'Not bonded,' she added mentally. "I will fix that. If it means so much, I will locate one of the mages in this town to do honors. Then we'll be remarried in the eyes of our people." "No -" But he cut her short with a glare. After a moment, he forced a smile. "You need to learn the right way to think, love. You are mine. You belong to and with me. You are bearing my child. We are now a family. Everything I do is for you, for us. I'll protect you, take care of you, and ensure you have everything you desire."
"Then let me go."
"That," he said, holding her tighter, "is absolutely out of the question."
There were no memories for Sanria to call upon. Her mind was blank as he held her tightly, squeezing her as though desiring to suffocate the life right out of her. At least he didn't smell like cigarettes anymore. Now he gave off a scent of sweat - sharp and acrid. In this moment, she could remember nothing and felt as though all there was in the world was this room and this man. The sensation caused her revolt, she could barely recall just the few moments past when she wanted to use the window to get out.
Sanria found herself pulled onto the bed, still cradled in the crushing embrace of Velentham's arms. He began to chuckle, quietly at first in a way that only shook his chest, then louder, blooming into a maniacal laugh. "What will they say when they find out, love? What will my cousin say when he discovers we've replaced his child with mine?"
The cousin... Sanria closed her eyes and breathed deeply, willing a memory to the fore of her mind. Gilean's face came in a shimmer and was abruptly wiped away. "Don't," Velentham's voice said, warning and rancor in his tone. "I don't want you thinking about that man, he's no longer in your life. Do you understand?"
"Yes," she whispered.
"Good. We need to get home soon. I don't want the product of our love to be born in this hovel."
'Product of our love?' Sanria questioned. She didn't love -
As though she'd spoken aloud, Velentham pushed her back enough to look into her eyes, his own glowing slightly. "You do. And you have more reason than ever to listen to me." He placed a hand on her stomach, his eyes never leaving her own. "We are now bonded completely."
"We're not married," she said. 'Not bonded,' she added mentally. "I will fix that. If it means so much, I will locate one of the mages in this town to do honors. Then we'll be remarried in the eyes of our people." "No -" But he cut her short with a glare. After a moment, he forced a smile. "You need to learn the right way to think, love. You are mine. You belong to and with me. You are bearing my child. We are now a family. Everything I do is for you, for us. I'll protect you, take care of you, and ensure you have everything you desire."
"Then let me go."
"That," he said, holding her tighter, "is absolutely out of the question."
Circumstances Convergent
No. This was wrong. He had been so careful before, but in his gloating, in his pride, he had forgotten to be careful. There it was, he felt its brand new spark within her- the promise of life come to fruition. A mongrel. A half-breed, worse than his cousin. The thought of accidentally siring a half-Celestial was abhorrent, yet here, in his woman, was his progeny.
He felt his ire rise and a bitter taste in the back of his mouth as he cursed himself. He let her feel the life in her - weeks before her human senses would have known - and only when he saw the mortified look on her face did his tune change. How dare she note want his child? She should have been elated, ready finally to devote herself to him - instead she tried to hide the look of bewildered disgust.
"You are happy, aren't you?" and he watched her struggle for words. She had none, so he put them there...
"Yes, I'm so happy."
"My people will accept it... they must."
"Of course."
"I was careless, but there are ways. My people will accept us."
His mind was stretching in many directions at once. He opened the window for Sanria, keeping the protections in place, satisfying her begging for fresh air. He watched as she sat beside it to read. Her face was silhouetted against the bright sky beyond, and the perfection of her face brought a sudden pang of longing and protectiveness to Velentham. He wanted her undying devotion with a fierce longing, and he would protect his mongrel child and woman with renewed effort. She may not be perfect completely, she wasn't yet Celestial, but that would change. He would take her life and the child in her and they would be reborn properly.
He used magic to slam the window closed and held out his hand in a summons. "Come, that's enough reading. You will spend your time with me now." She looked on the verge of tears as he grasped her to his chest, holding her with a ferocity. "It was early, too soon, but regardless, our family is on the way. This will bond us together," he said, stroking her hair and her mind. "We will petition the child, too, and fix the mistakes of your birth and his - but for now, be happy my love. This is only further proof that this is right."
Velentham kissed away the saltwater that rolled down her face, tasting her tears as she leaned against him. He reached into her with magic, peering at the spark with wonder. This would be fixed, straightened out, and everything would be fine. He kissed Sanria, and she didn't pull away.
He felt his ire rise and a bitter taste in the back of his mouth as he cursed himself. He let her feel the life in her - weeks before her human senses would have known - and only when he saw the mortified look on her face did his tune change. How dare she note want his child? She should have been elated, ready finally to devote herself to him - instead she tried to hide the look of bewildered disgust.
"You are happy, aren't you?" and he watched her struggle for words. She had none, so he put them there...
"Yes, I'm so happy."
"My people will accept it... they must."
"Of course."
"I was careless, but there are ways. My people will accept us."
His mind was stretching in many directions at once. He opened the window for Sanria, keeping the protections in place, satisfying her begging for fresh air. He watched as she sat beside it to read. Her face was silhouetted against the bright sky beyond, and the perfection of her face brought a sudden pang of longing and protectiveness to Velentham. He wanted her undying devotion with a fierce longing, and he would protect his mongrel child and woman with renewed effort. She may not be perfect completely, she wasn't yet Celestial, but that would change. He would take her life and the child in her and they would be reborn properly.
He used magic to slam the window closed and held out his hand in a summons. "Come, that's enough reading. You will spend your time with me now." She looked on the verge of tears as he grasped her to his chest, holding her with a ferocity. "It was early, too soon, but regardless, our family is on the way. This will bond us together," he said, stroking her hair and her mind. "We will petition the child, too, and fix the mistakes of your birth and his - but for now, be happy my love. This is only further proof that this is right."
Velentham kissed away the saltwater that rolled down her face, tasting her tears as she leaned against him. He reached into her with magic, peering at the spark with wonder. This would be fixed, straightened out, and everything would be fine. He kissed Sanria, and she didn't pull away.
Legend of Platinum
Faction name: Legend of Platinum
Faction type: Cult
Status: Defunct
Short-lived anti-Radiant Heart group that was created after members were evicted from Radiant Heart. They later joined the Vectorian Empire, dissolving the group naturally.
Faction type: Cult
Status: Defunct
Short-lived anti-Radiant Heart group that was created after members were evicted from Radiant Heart. They later joined the Vectorian Empire, dissolving the group naturally.
Old Character Description - Aneh Rhedginsa
Deep sea green eyes are framed by a line of diamond studs that have been embedded into the skin where the eyebrows normally would be. The line of diamond studs meets up with a line of shiny onyx studs that runs along her high cheekbones. The two lines of studs merge and alternate their pattern as they arch high up, growing smaller and coming to a stop at the line of her hair. Two deep dimples near the corners of womans mouth are marked with diamond studs as well. Another line of onyx studs flows from behind her ears and goes down the neck, trailing across her collar bone.
White streaks run through black waves of hair which fall down just to a set of thin shoulders, ending in a natural chopped kind of cut.
Aneh wears a beautiful emerald green dress. It flows over her form, accenting her curves in an attractive manner without exploiting them. A simple cord ties at the back of the neck, its tails allowed to trail down her back. The skirt of the dress allows free movement of her legs, enough to walk or run if desired.
White streaks run through black waves of hair which fall down just to a set of thin shoulders, ending in a natural chopped kind of cut.
Aneh wears a beautiful emerald green dress. It flows over her form, accenting her curves in an attractive manner without exploiting them. A simple cord ties at the back of the neck, its tails allowed to trail down her back. The skirt of the dress allows free movement of her legs, enough to walk or run if desired.
Old Character Description - Aneh Rhedginsa
Deep sea green eyes are framed by a line of diamond studs that have been embedded into the skin where the eyebrows normally would be. The line of diamond studs meets up with a line of shiny onyx studs that runs along her high cheekbones. The two lines or studs merge and alternate their pattern as they arch high up, growing smaller and coming to a stop at the waves of black curls that fall down around a pair of slender shoulders. Streaks of stark white are a shocking contrast throughout the silken tresses that stop midway down her back.
Two deep dimples near the corners of womans mouth are marked with diamond studs as well. Black painted lips are pierced several times both on top and bottom, with small silver hoops hugging the lips. Another line of onyx studs flows from behind her ears and goes down the neck, trailing across her collar bone.
Finger nails are rounded slightly and painted black with shimmering crystal like tips. Rings of all sorts from twisted black wire to beautifully crafted bands of silver cover every finger to the second knuckle. An array of thin bracelets of the same variation cover both wrists for several inches.
Her armor is made of leather, dyed a rich black with silver accent threads, and consists of a short bustier that hugs the curves of her bosom and a short yet loose skirt made from many straps of leather, allowing free movement that rides low on this woman's hips.
Her belly button is pierced in an odd way, with a mechanical looking black spider attached at the center, its long legs digging slightly into the flesh of her flat stomach. The eyes of the spider are flawless diamonds, it's fangs made of shiny onyx.
Flat heeled traveling boots encase her slender feet, made from black leather with straps securing them snug to her athletic calves. A ragged scar mars the inside of her right thigh, starting at the knee and disappearing underneath the short skirt.
Two deep dimples near the corners of womans mouth are marked with diamond studs as well. Black painted lips are pierced several times both on top and bottom, with small silver hoops hugging the lips. Another line of onyx studs flows from behind her ears and goes down the neck, trailing across her collar bone.
Finger nails are rounded slightly and painted black with shimmering crystal like tips. Rings of all sorts from twisted black wire to beautifully crafted bands of silver cover every finger to the second knuckle. An array of thin bracelets of the same variation cover both wrists for several inches.
Her armor is made of leather, dyed a rich black with silver accent threads, and consists of a short bustier that hugs the curves of her bosom and a short yet loose skirt made from many straps of leather, allowing free movement that rides low on this woman's hips.
Her belly button is pierced in an odd way, with a mechanical looking black spider attached at the center, its long legs digging slightly into the flesh of her flat stomach. The eyes of the spider are flawless diamonds, it's fangs made of shiny onyx.
Flat heeled traveling boots encase her slender feet, made from black leather with straps securing them snug to her athletic calves. A ragged scar mars the inside of her right thigh, starting at the knee and disappearing underneath the short skirt.
Origins: Phonzy (Conclusion)
Three women stood watching as Phonzy made his way from the village, shield on his back, the long-handled sword at his hip.
"Will he find his way, Mother?" the Maid asked of Aine.
Aine nodded, not taking her eyes off the young man cast out for honor's sake.
"His is a long road," she said and she looked at the Maid. "But, you are here, so he must have found his way."
The old woman, leaning on her staff, spoke.
"He has a good eye, that one. If he learns to see what is true, he will find his way."
"Will he find his way, Mother?" the Maid asked of Aine.
Aine nodded, not taking her eyes off the young man cast out for honor's sake.
"His is a long road," she said and she looked at the Maid. "But, you are here, so he must have found his way."
The old woman, leaning on her staff, spoke.
"He has a good eye, that one. If he learns to see what is true, he will find his way."
Origins: Phonzy (Part III)
Into this silence Phonzy's quiet "No" fell like a thunderclap.
The silence held for another instant and then Magdar roared in anger, his long-handled blade flashing in the firelight as he drew it. Phonzy drew his own and their blades met with the ringing of steel on steel.
The warriors around the circle stood fast and the night was filled with the clash of metal, the grunting of straining men, the hiss of breath as blades drew blood.
Magdar's sword flashed and danced in the light. Thon's bladework was that of a craftsman, efficient, measured, accurate.
He stepped inside Magdar's guard and crashed the hilt of his sword into his brother's face. Magdar fell, tripping over Phonzy's outstretched leg. His sword fell from his hand.
Phonzy, his blade held close to Magdar's throat, bent and picked up the fallen sword in his left hand. He looked to the Elder.
"My 'No' remains," he said.
There was a pause as Magdar got to his feet and looked to his father.
The Elder looked at Phonzy and slowly nodded his head. Phonzy nodded in answer and turned to leave the circle.
"No," shouted Magdar and drew his short knife to strike at Phonzy's back.
Phonzy whirled around. His blade slashed a deep cut across Magdar's chest, blood flowing freely from the wound.
The long-handled sword sliced through skin, through sinew and muscle and lodged in the bone just below the shoulder of Magdar's right arm.
Magdar's knife fell from lifeless fingers and he dropped to his knees.
Phonzy stood, looking at the Elder.
"You have proven your case, Phonzy of the River," the Elder said. "You have the right of this."
After a pause he continued, "but you can no longer share the fire of this people. Go now. Go with your honor known and remembered."
Phonzy nodded, sadness clear in his young face. He freed the blade from Magdar's arm and cast his own to the ground.
The warriors opened the circle and he moved through them to gather his belongings. Of the Maid, when they thought to look, there was no sign.
The Storyteller brought his tale to an end and the people sat in silence for a time before, one by one, they left the fire for the dark and the warmth of their tents.
The silence held for another instant and then Magdar roared in anger, his long-handled blade flashing in the firelight as he drew it. Phonzy drew his own and their blades met with the ringing of steel on steel.
The warriors around the circle stood fast and the night was filled with the clash of metal, the grunting of straining men, the hiss of breath as blades drew blood.
Magdar's sword flashed and danced in the light. Thon's bladework was that of a craftsman, efficient, measured, accurate.
He stepped inside Magdar's guard and crashed the hilt of his sword into his brother's face. Magdar fell, tripping over Phonzy's outstretched leg. His sword fell from his hand.
Phonzy, his blade held close to Magdar's throat, bent and picked up the fallen sword in his left hand. He looked to the Elder.
"My 'No' remains," he said.
There was a pause as Magdar got to his feet and looked to his father.
The Elder looked at Phonzy and slowly nodded his head. Phonzy nodded in answer and turned to leave the circle.
"No," shouted Magdar and drew his short knife to strike at Phonzy's back.
Phonzy whirled around. His blade slashed a deep cut across Magdar's chest, blood flowing freely from the wound.
The long-handled sword sliced through skin, through sinew and muscle and lodged in the bone just below the shoulder of Magdar's right arm.
Magdar's knife fell from lifeless fingers and he dropped to his knees.
Phonzy stood, looking at the Elder.
"You have proven your case, Phonzy of the River," the Elder said. "You have the right of this."
After a pause he continued, "but you can no longer share the fire of this people. Go now. Go with your honor known and remembered."
Phonzy nodded, sadness clear in his young face. He freed the blade from Magdar's arm and cast his own to the ground.
The warriors opened the circle and he moved through them to gather his belongings. Of the Maid, when they thought to look, there was no sign.
The Storyteller brought his tale to an end and the people sat in silence for a time before, one by one, they left the fire for the dark and the warmth of their tents.
Origins: Phonzy (Part II)
Phonzy gazed at those around him. His eyes rested briefly on the Maid and came to a halt on Magdar.
"We were sent 'to scout', your words Elder, to scout and bring word of assistance after the storms of the past months. We were to bring offers of help, of bonds between peoples."
He looked at the Maid again, and back to Magdar.
"We brought death, and bondage."
The Elder stood silent for a time. Then, "Magdar, what have you to say in answer?"
Magdar half-turned from Phonzy, half-turning to his father.
"What was done is now done. Our influence is spread. There are now men who will stand with us when the need comes."
The Elder pursed his lips.
"With an offer of help we might have had the same," he said.
Magdar turned fully to his father.
"Echtar, their leader, spurned your offer. He bid us leave. He cast our help back in our teeth."
"And swords were drawn," said the Elder.
"And swords were drawn," said Magdar, "and reddened with their blood." He nodded to his father. "They learned of our strength."
"And tribute taken?" asked his father.
Magdar gestured to platinum, gold and iron piled at the feet of his warriors. "And tribute taken," he said. As he said this he gestured, less confidently, to where the Maid stood.
The Elder spoke to Phonzy. "When blood was shed, what did you do, fostered son of this tribe?"
Phonzy's voice was clear. "I fought. I am sworn to protect he who is my brother."
Phonzy's voice was clear. "I fought. I am sworn to protect he who is my brother."
The Elder nodded. "That was well done," he said. "Yet you disagree with your brother."
"People died, people were taken," said Phonzy, "who did not need to die." He turned to the Maid. "Who should not have been taken."
There was silence for a time. Magdar's hand gripped the hilt of his blade. The warriors ringing the three in the circle shuffled, tense.
The Elder, who had been staring off into the distance, turned his gaze once more to Magdar and thence to Phonzy.
"What was done," he said, "is done."
Silence fell again. The warriors relaxed. Magdar loosened his grip on his sword. commanded.
"We were sent 'to scout', your words Elder, to scout and bring word of assistance after the storms of the past months. We were to bring offers of help, of bonds between peoples."
He looked at the Maid again, and back to Magdar.
"We brought death, and bondage."
The Elder stood silent for a time. Then, "Magdar, what have you to say in answer?"
Magdar half-turned from Phonzy, half-turning to his father.
"What was done is now done. Our influence is spread. There are now men who will stand with us when the need comes."
The Elder pursed his lips.
"With an offer of help we might have had the same," he said.
Magdar turned fully to his father.
"Echtar, their leader, spurned your offer. He bid us leave. He cast our help back in our teeth."
"And swords were drawn," said the Elder.
"And swords were drawn," said Magdar, "and reddened with their blood." He nodded to his father. "They learned of our strength."
"And tribute taken?" asked his father.
Magdar gestured to platinum, gold and iron piled at the feet of his warriors. "And tribute taken," he said. As he said this he gestured, less confidently, to where the Maid stood.
The Elder spoke to Phonzy. "When blood was shed, what did you do, fostered son of this tribe?"
Phonzy's voice was clear. "I fought. I am sworn to protect he who is my brother."
Phonzy's voice was clear. "I fought. I am sworn to protect he who is my brother."
The Elder nodded. "That was well done," he said. "Yet you disagree with your brother."
"People died, people were taken," said Phonzy, "who did not need to die." He turned to the Maid. "Who should not have been taken."
There was silence for a time. Magdar's hand gripped the hilt of his blade. The warriors ringing the three in the circle shuffled, tense.
The Elder, who had been staring off into the distance, turned his gaze once more to Magdar and thence to Phonzy.
"What was done," he said, "is done."
Silence fell again. The warriors relaxed. Magdar loosened his grip on his sword. commanded.
Origins: Phonzy (Part I)
"She was a Maid," the Storyteller said, "a Maid such as a man would not see again his whole life."
The people sat close, despite the heat of the fire, to hear.
"Where did she come from, this Maid?" asked one of the young men, a boy too young to have heard all the story, but old enough to wish to know of maids.
The Storyteller nodded at the boy. "They say she was of the Behroozi, a people of the River."
He gestured at the encampment around him. "It was late in the evening, an evening such as this, with the nights lengthening."
And so the Storyteller began his tale.
Magdar, the son of the Tribe's Elder, their name now lost to time, had returned home. His closest warriors were with him. Twenty of the strongest, the bravest, sworn to him.
One of them was Phonzy. Phonzy of the River, as he became known.
Phonzy, son of Feddar, son of Dar. Thon son of Erith, daughter of Raven. Thus was Phonzy noble from both his father's and his mother's line.
This Phonzy, and Magdar in front of him, stood in the center of the throng, his dark hair swept back from his fierce eyes, the grime of battle clinging to his strong arms.
"This was ill-done, Magdar," he said, and silence fell over all who heard.
Magdar reached for the long-handled sword at his hip, but his father stayed his hand.
"Harsh words," the Elder said, "harsh words from he who is as my son these long years of fostering." He gestured to Magdar. "Who is as a brother to my own son, Magdar."
Thon nodded at him who had fostered him.
"Harsh words, yes," Phonzy said. "Harsh words, but true."
The young men, Magdar's warriors, stirred. Magdar's hand fell to the hilt of his blade. The Maid stood off to the side between two warriors, watching all from wide-spaced green eyes.
She did not stir.
"Speak," the Elder commanded.
The people sat close, despite the heat of the fire, to hear.
"Where did she come from, this Maid?" asked one of the young men, a boy too young to have heard all the story, but old enough to wish to know of maids.
The Storyteller nodded at the boy. "They say she was of the Behroozi, a people of the River."
He gestured at the encampment around him. "It was late in the evening, an evening such as this, with the nights lengthening."
And so the Storyteller began his tale.
Magdar, the son of the Tribe's Elder, their name now lost to time, had returned home. His closest warriors were with him. Twenty of the strongest, the bravest, sworn to him.
One of them was Phonzy. Phonzy of the River, as he became known.
Phonzy, son of Feddar, son of Dar. Thon son of Erith, daughter of Raven. Thus was Phonzy noble from both his father's and his mother's line.
This Phonzy, and Magdar in front of him, stood in the center of the throng, his dark hair swept back from his fierce eyes, the grime of battle clinging to his strong arms.
"This was ill-done, Magdar," he said, and silence fell over all who heard.
Magdar reached for the long-handled sword at his hip, but his father stayed his hand.
"Harsh words," the Elder said, "harsh words from he who is as my son these long years of fostering." He gestured to Magdar. "Who is as a brother to my own son, Magdar."
Thon nodded at him who had fostered him.
"Harsh words, yes," Phonzy said. "Harsh words, but true."
The young men, Magdar's warriors, stirred. Magdar's hand fell to the hilt of his blade. The Maid stood off to the side between two warriors, watching all from wide-spaced green eyes.
She did not stir.
"Speak," the Elder commanded.
Gazing into Madness
The flash of golden light filled the room and Sanria looked up to see Velentham staring back at her. His eyes were solidly glowing silver, his face was scratched and his shoulder openly bleeding. His shirt was singed and blackened, but on his face was a grin of triumph. He was breathing heavily and he strode across the room and pulled her to her feet. Without a word he pulled her into an agg ressive kiss, his mouth pressed tightly against hers. He grinned again as he pulled back. "Did you miss me love?"
"I..."
"Of course you did. Of course you did," he repeated. "Just say yes, damn you."
"Y.. yes. I missed you."
"Good," he said, and set her on the bed. Sanria watched him as he paced the room, murmuring to himself as he wrung his hands. She finally got the courage to speak, "What happened to you?"
Velentham's eyes scared her more than anything else and when he dove to the side of the bed, gripping her hands in his, kissing them feverishly, she cringed.
"I fought for your honor, my love. I fought to get us home."
"Fought... who?"
"It doesn't matter."
"It does... you're hurt... what happened to the other person?"
"People. Other people. And it doesn't matter. I'll go back to battle with them soon, but it's all for you. Everything I do is for you." Sanria stared at him and his face, once smiling, suddenly grew cruel and pinched. "Don't you believe me? Don't you hear what I'm saying to you?"
"Yes, yes, I believe you and hear you."
"Then why are you looking at me like that?"
Sanria suddenly found herself jerked forward, her nose inches from Velentham's.
"WHY?"
"I, Gods, I didn't mean to look at you like that, I am just..." her mind went into high gear searching for a word. "I'm just worried about you and your wounds - that's all."
"Oh... oh, I'm sorry my love." The smile returned. "I'm just caught up in this feeling."
"What feeling?"
"That we'll soon be on our way home. Very soon."
Velentham lifted her hand and kissed it gently, though the passion on his face never left and his eyes never dimmed. Sanria wanted to tell him that she had no desire to go, she didn't want to leave, but now was not the time to say any- thing. "I love you," he said and looked at her, waiting.
"I love you, too," Sanria said with as much conviction as she could muster.
"I know you do. You see? That asshole is wrong. He's dead wrong about us."
"Who?"
"It doesn't matter. All that matters is he's wrong, I'm right, and you're here with me. Are you hungry?"
"No," she answered, but was still presented with magically created food. "Eat." The command was clear, and Sanria did not want to discover what would happen if she didn't obey. Under the glowing gaze, she bit into the fruit and tried not to think about how sick it made her.
"I..."
"Of course you did. Of course you did," he repeated. "Just say yes, damn you."
"Y.. yes. I missed you."
"Good," he said, and set her on the bed. Sanria watched him as he paced the room, murmuring to himself as he wrung his hands. She finally got the courage to speak, "What happened to you?"
Velentham's eyes scared her more than anything else and when he dove to the side of the bed, gripping her hands in his, kissing them feverishly, she cringed.
"I fought for your honor, my love. I fought to get us home."
"Fought... who?"
"It doesn't matter."
"It does... you're hurt... what happened to the other person?"
"People. Other people. And it doesn't matter. I'll go back to battle with them soon, but it's all for you. Everything I do is for you." Sanria stared at him and his face, once smiling, suddenly grew cruel and pinched. "Don't you believe me? Don't you hear what I'm saying to you?"
"Yes, yes, I believe you and hear you."
"Then why are you looking at me like that?"
Sanria suddenly found herself jerked forward, her nose inches from Velentham's.
"WHY?"
"I, Gods, I didn't mean to look at you like that, I am just..." her mind went into high gear searching for a word. "I'm just worried about you and your wounds - that's all."
"Oh... oh, I'm sorry my love." The smile returned. "I'm just caught up in this feeling."
"What feeling?"
"That we'll soon be on our way home. Very soon."
Velentham lifted her hand and kissed it gently, though the passion on his face never left and his eyes never dimmed. Sanria wanted to tell him that she had no desire to go, she didn't want to leave, but now was not the time to say any- thing. "I love you," he said and looked at her, waiting.
"I love you, too," Sanria said with as much conviction as she could muster.
"I know you do. You see? That asshole is wrong. He's dead wrong about us."
"Who?"
"It doesn't matter. All that matters is he's wrong, I'm right, and you're here with me. Are you hungry?"
"No," she answered, but was still presented with magically created food. "Eat." The command was clear, and Sanria did not want to discover what would happen if she didn't obey. Under the glowing gaze, she bit into the fruit and tried not to think about how sick it made her.
Temporary Defeat
The eagles, summoned by Sanria and the beast's grow spawn, dived as Velentham gloated. The talons tore into his arms and his cheek, making him bleed heavily. He sent a powerful spell into one, bursting the bird into feathers while the other soared back up into the sky, singed but otherwise unwounded. As the remaining two trees closed in on him, Velentham teleported to Orn's side, antagonizing the boy. "You've got your good old dad back," he whispered, and was rewarded with a swift hit from Orn's staff.
Velentham staggered to the side, growling. It was too much, the weather was revealing his position, the birds diving, the trees charging, the roots seeking - and then the druids of the grove sending swarms of hungry insects in his direction.
He had Kaliadra once more, planning to torture her further, but the congolmerate of circumstances was too much for him. He dropped her on the ground, breaking her neck. He sent forth a volley of curses before stepping back from the insects in a hurry. "I will be back for you... I'll be back Gilean! I'll find the necklace, do you hear? And when I do, I'll be gone as will my bride!"
In a rage, Velentham disappeared, inwardly cursing the fact that after all of that, he still hadn't gotten his cousin to leave the confines of the ward. He appeared in the center of the inn room, bleeding, and wounded, his eyes glowing ferociously and looked at the shock on Sanria's face with a sense of jealously guarded pride.
Velentham staggered to the side, growling. It was too much, the weather was revealing his position, the birds diving, the trees charging, the roots seeking - and then the druids of the grove sending swarms of hungry insects in his direction.
He had Kaliadra once more, planning to torture her further, but the congolmerate of circumstances was too much for him. He dropped her on the ground, breaking her neck. He sent forth a volley of curses before stepping back from the insects in a hurry. "I will be back for you... I'll be back Gilean! I'll find the necklace, do you hear? And when I do, I'll be gone as will my bride!"
In a rage, Velentham disappeared, inwardly cursing the fact that after all of that, he still hadn't gotten his cousin to leave the confines of the ward. He appeared in the center of the inn room, bleeding, and wounded, his eyes glowing ferociously and looked at the shock on Sanria's face with a sense of jealously guarded pride.
Enforcing Memories
The sudden sensation of Sanria's blood caused a tingle at the back of Velentham's neck, and he stood straighter, dread rippling through him at the idea that she had escaped. The dread was soon replaced by the deep grin on his face. "I sense a tiny bit of Sanria here, cousin."
"Sanria is wherever you have taken her. Somewhere she doesn't want to be. Now return her!"
"I sense her blood, and since she is not with us, do you know what that means? You must have called out for help, my dear cousin... Come out, boy. I can almost smell you. Come out and let's talk, shall we?"
Velentham drew the elf to his leg, gripping her neck, holding onto her like a limp doll. She was his key to fleshing out the hidden bodies in the wood, and he could sense them all, lying in wait, hoping to best him. Unlikely.
Three trees ripped their roots from the ground and charged him, and Velentham dropped his toy and shot out a ray of energy, exploding one of the trees into nothing more than splinters and leaves that showered the glade. As that happened, he barely evaded yet another ray of light by his cousin, the energy searing the back of his shirt. This was not the way this was supposed to be.
He shielded himself, avoiding a crushing blow from one of the remaining trees, and vanished amidst Gilean's cry, "Velentham, give up. you can't win. Where is she?" Colin came charging, and Velentham took the opportunity to throw the girl at him. He had dealt with this lumbering animal before, and he reached into Colin's mind, paralyzing him. He had planned on destroying the man, but what he found, Velentham couldn't have plotted it better.
"Oh... this... he doesn't remember?"
The rains began to pour from the spell cast by Sanria's son, Orn, drenching Velentham and revealing his invisible form through the dripping of water. Nothing could stop the forward momentum. "Cousin! You say I'm a monster? What do you say - a man who uses the disadvantage of another to marry his wife?"
"Leave him, Velentham!" And Gilean sent forth another blast of light. Velentham sidestepped the ray and grinned. "What do you say? Let's let him remember, shall we?!"
"No!" Gilean yelled.
Velentham went into the brute's mind, finding that in certain places, the meddling Rilmani had kept him from remembering his past. Blocks were everywhere in Colin's mental pathways, blocks that for an experienced mindwalker were mere motes of dust. Velentham ripped away the veil that had blocked Colin's thoughts for so long and let forth a booming laugh of triumph.
"Sanria is wherever you have taken her. Somewhere she doesn't want to be. Now return her!"
"I sense her blood, and since she is not with us, do you know what that means? You must have called out for help, my dear cousin... Come out, boy. I can almost smell you. Come out and let's talk, shall we?"
Velentham drew the elf to his leg, gripping her neck, holding onto her like a limp doll. She was his key to fleshing out the hidden bodies in the wood, and he could sense them all, lying in wait, hoping to best him. Unlikely.
Three trees ripped their roots from the ground and charged him, and Velentham dropped his toy and shot out a ray of energy, exploding one of the trees into nothing more than splinters and leaves that showered the glade. As that happened, he barely evaded yet another ray of light by his cousin, the energy searing the back of his shirt. This was not the way this was supposed to be.
He shielded himself, avoiding a crushing blow from one of the remaining trees, and vanished amidst Gilean's cry, "Velentham, give up. you can't win. Where is she?" Colin came charging, and Velentham took the opportunity to throw the girl at him. He had dealt with this lumbering animal before, and he reached into Colin's mind, paralyzing him. He had planned on destroying the man, but what he found, Velentham couldn't have plotted it better.
"Oh... this... he doesn't remember?"
The rains began to pour from the spell cast by Sanria's son, Orn, drenching Velentham and revealing his invisible form through the dripping of water. Nothing could stop the forward momentum. "Cousin! You say I'm a monster? What do you say - a man who uses the disadvantage of another to marry his wife?"
"Leave him, Velentham!" And Gilean sent forth another blast of light. Velentham sidestepped the ray and grinned. "What do you say? Let's let him remember, shall we?!"
"No!" Gilean yelled.
Velentham went into the brute's mind, finding that in certain places, the meddling Rilmani had kept him from remembering his past. Blocks were everywhere in Colin's mental pathways, blocks that for an experienced mindwalker were mere motes of dust. Velentham ripped away the veil that had blocked Colin's thoughts for so long and let forth a booming laugh of triumph.
Baiting Gilean
It didn't take long for Gilean to come to the door of the cottage. With as loud as Velentham bellowed, the dead might have woken. It didn't matter. Within him was a rage so pure it was distilled into single pointed focus. A burning desire to crush his cousin once and for all. "Where is she?" the cuckold asked from the doorway, and Velentham sizzled.
"You don't question me. I'm here for answers. Where is the necklace?"
"No. You took her," Gilean said. "She doesn't want to be with you. Now where is she Velentham?"
Velentham could taste the bitterness of bile in the back of his throat. He wanted at Gilean, but he couldn't pass through the ward on the cottage. He couldn't reach the man before him, and it sent him pacing, flexing his hands. Just one shot. "Come out here, come here, Gilean."
"I'm not stupid," Gilean said. "But perhaps you are. No, deluded. You can't even seen how plainly she doesn't want to be with you. Give this up."
"I killed your baby, Gilean." Velentham's face turned up into a demented grin as he watched his cousin's expression change. "I snuffed its life right out of its mother's womb. I crushed it with my magic as though my bare hands."
"No..." Gilean said, and Velentham saw just how hard the lesser Celestial was fighting to stay in that doorway. He had to draw him out. "Then I took the memory from her, she doesn't even know it's missing. I ripped it from her while I had myself inside of her, can you believe it? While I made love to her, I took what was yours twice over."
Gilean shot a ray of light in his direction, and with a laugh, Velentham side-stepped the blaze. He laughed and felt the joy of causing his cousin agony. He grinned as Gilean went to his knee, his face full of anguish. Still - the half-breed remained behind the ward. Velentham would have to try a different tack. "I always get what I want," he said. "Listen to yourself, bragging of your depravity. What would your father say to hear this?"
Velentham then reached through the fabric of time and space, pulling the elf through and dropping her on the ground. "He would say to give me what I want."
"You bloodthirsty idiot! If she dies, Sanria dies!" Velentham smiled. "Then you'd better start talking, Gilean."
Velentham felt the joy once more wash over him. He was delighted that his weakling cousin didn't know the spell he had placed on Kaliadra. He would do his worst to the elf to draw out his quarry and she would remain alive. "Come, Gilean. Come out here so I can have a look into that head of yours."
"Look into your own Velentham. Face the truth that is there. She doesn't want to be with you. She has rejected you time and again. She fears you, despises you. Let her go. End this."
Rejection. Fear. Velentham scowled deeply, all pretenses of his teasing nature gone. He woke Kaliadra and lifted her arm. In one swift movement, he brought her arm down over his knee, snapping the bone in two and sending the elf into howls of pain. "Come. Here. Gilean," he said, his face filled with nothing more than the desire to rip his cousin into pieces.
"You don't question me. I'm here for answers. Where is the necklace?"
"No. You took her," Gilean said. "She doesn't want to be with you. Now where is she Velentham?"
Velentham could taste the bitterness of bile in the back of his throat. He wanted at Gilean, but he couldn't pass through the ward on the cottage. He couldn't reach the man before him, and it sent him pacing, flexing his hands. Just one shot. "Come out here, come here, Gilean."
"I'm not stupid," Gilean said. "But perhaps you are. No, deluded. You can't even seen how plainly she doesn't want to be with you. Give this up."
"I killed your baby, Gilean." Velentham's face turned up into a demented grin as he watched his cousin's expression change. "I snuffed its life right out of its mother's womb. I crushed it with my magic as though my bare hands."
"No..." Gilean said, and Velentham saw just how hard the lesser Celestial was fighting to stay in that doorway. He had to draw him out. "Then I took the memory from her, she doesn't even know it's missing. I ripped it from her while I had myself inside of her, can you believe it? While I made love to her, I took what was yours twice over."
Gilean shot a ray of light in his direction, and with a laugh, Velentham side-stepped the blaze. He laughed and felt the joy of causing his cousin agony. He grinned as Gilean went to his knee, his face full of anguish. Still - the half-breed remained behind the ward. Velentham would have to try a different tack. "I always get what I want," he said. "Listen to yourself, bragging of your depravity. What would your father say to hear this?"
Velentham then reached through the fabric of time and space, pulling the elf through and dropping her on the ground. "He would say to give me what I want."
"You bloodthirsty idiot! If she dies, Sanria dies!" Velentham smiled. "Then you'd better start talking, Gilean."
Velentham felt the joy once more wash over him. He was delighted that his weakling cousin didn't know the spell he had placed on Kaliadra. He would do his worst to the elf to draw out his quarry and she would remain alive. "Come, Gilean. Come out here so I can have a look into that head of yours."
"Look into your own Velentham. Face the truth that is there. She doesn't want to be with you. She has rejected you time and again. She fears you, despises you. Let her go. End this."
Rejection. Fear. Velentham scowled deeply, all pretenses of his teasing nature gone. He woke Kaliadra and lifted her arm. In one swift movement, he brought her arm down over his knee, snapping the bone in two and sending the elf into howls of pain. "Come. Here. Gilean," he said, his face filled with nothing more than the desire to rip his cousin into pieces.
Beating the Brush
It was unbelievable, how simple it was to track down the elven woman in wolf form. He put out the signature of Sanria's mind, using it as a hunter would a duck call, all while seeking the sensation of Kaliadra's mind. In no time, he honed in on the tremor and zeroed in. The wolf looked shocked to see him, then he saw the recognition in her eyes, then he grew violently angry as she ran. He used magic to snatch her four feet from the ground, then went into her mind easily and found the key to force her into her elven form. He refused to talk to a mangy dog.
He questioned her relentlessly, and as she refused to tell the truth, he started the torture. A tiny part of him, so small it was nearly unheard, said what he was doing was not right - his nature was higher than this - but he couldn't hear the voice any longer. He had been away from home for far too long. He bent the elf, literally, to his will. Still, she kept from answering outright. He refused to believe she knew nothing. Finally, he threatened her life. "I. Will. Kill. You." And when she replied that it would end Sanria's life, Velentham lost all sanity.
He plunged into her mind, recklessly prying her memories apart with desperation. He cared little for the memories of her people, her prayers to Sune, her lack of lust, her giving up on love, her hunts by the moonlight - he went to the time of isolation, the time when her mental frequencies matched his own, and absorbed into himself every line ever written in the diary, every word chanted, every bit of knowledge the elf held in her mind. "What about her..." the elf asked after he had raped her mind. "What does she want?"
"She doesn't know what she wants, I do. I know what is right. I guide her now. For that, she'll live eternally."
"In misery."
The comment sent Velentham into a rage. Coupled with the frothing madness that was now driving him, he flung the elf as hard as he could from him, and was rewarded by the sound of her back snapping against the thick trunk of a pine. He uttered a spell, one that would keep her alive, thereby keeping Sanria alive... but he did nothing to ease the pain, he didn't care.
His insanity was beyond control, his eyes glowed silver with crazed determination. He was so close to getting off this rock, so close to getting back home, and it splintered through his mind like needles. "GILEAN!" he roared. "GET OUT HERE, YOU HAVE SOMETHING I NEED!" He flexed his hands, he paced the ground. Velentham didn't care who heard him now, he didn't care who might come at him. He had all the information he needed to operate the necklace - he only needed to break the skull of his cousin to find the resting place of the item that would deliver him home.
He questioned her relentlessly, and as she refused to tell the truth, he started the torture. A tiny part of him, so small it was nearly unheard, said what he was doing was not right - his nature was higher than this - but he couldn't hear the voice any longer. He had been away from home for far too long. He bent the elf, literally, to his will. Still, she kept from answering outright. He refused to believe she knew nothing. Finally, he threatened her life. "I. Will. Kill. You." And when she replied that it would end Sanria's life, Velentham lost all sanity.
He plunged into her mind, recklessly prying her memories apart with desperation. He cared little for the memories of her people, her prayers to Sune, her lack of lust, her giving up on love, her hunts by the moonlight - he went to the time of isolation, the time when her mental frequencies matched his own, and absorbed into himself every line ever written in the diary, every word chanted, every bit of knowledge the elf held in her mind. "What about her..." the elf asked after he had raped her mind. "What does she want?"
"She doesn't know what she wants, I do. I know what is right. I guide her now. For that, she'll live eternally."
"In misery."
The comment sent Velentham into a rage. Coupled with the frothing madness that was now driving him, he flung the elf as hard as he could from him, and was rewarded by the sound of her back snapping against the thick trunk of a pine. He uttered a spell, one that would keep her alive, thereby keeping Sanria alive... but he did nothing to ease the pain, he didn't care.
His insanity was beyond control, his eyes glowed silver with crazed determination. He was so close to getting off this rock, so close to getting back home, and it splintered through his mind like needles. "GILEAN!" he roared. "GET OUT HERE, YOU HAVE SOMETHING I NEED!" He flexed his hands, he paced the ground. Velentham didn't care who heard him now, he didn't care who might come at him. He had all the information he needed to operate the necklace - he only needed to break the skull of his cousin to find the resting place of the item that would deliver him home.
Loba Loca
"That's all I can tell you, I swear it." She was held in midair, her back arched as the magic coursed through her, forcing her to stretch, forcing her spine to rub against itself, bones grinding. "I gave it to them willingly." "I don't believe you," he said, forcing her to arch more.
"An arcanist never gives up their work. Never."
"Please..."
Kaliadra felt herself dropped to the ground where she hit and knocked the air from her lungs. She rolled over, her arms trembling, and coughed until the iron taste of blood filled her mouth. "So you gave one to my cousin and there was another... where is it?"
"I don't know."
The electric fire went into Kaliadra's chest and slammed her body against a tree. The explosion of stars in her eyesight filled her vision before they faded. "You know something and you're going to tell me, elf. What you are doing is wrong, keeping me from going home, keeping me from taking my bride."
"I've told you all I know... I left once we brought her back... I willingly walked away... to do that kind of research was dangerous and caused me to take... a life."
"You traversed the planes with a trinket of tremendous power, you LEARNED how to do it. Tell me how."
"No..."
The breath felt as though it was squeezed out of her as Kaliadra flew through the air to be face to face with Velentham. "I. Will. Kill. You." he snarled. "Then you will kill her."
His eyes flared silver, he scowled, then Kaliadra could feel the tendrils snaking through her mind. She was utterly helpless, her magic no match for the skill of the one reading her mind freely. The tendrils were heavy, as though uncaring for what memories they might ransack in the search of information. Part of her hoped Velentham might take her life. The other part could feel the desperation that filled Velentham's body. She saw his mouth twitch as he looked at her once more. "I'll find this necklace and when I do... I'm going to use it."
"What about her... what does she want?"
"She doesn't know what she wants, I do. I know what is right. I guide her now. For that, she'll live eternally."
"In misery," Kaliadra said, and for her insolence, she found herself flung through the forest. This time, the tree she hit audibly cracked her back. The sensation in her legs was gone as suddenly as a lightning strike. Then, darkness overcame her.
"An arcanist never gives up their work. Never."
"Please..."
Kaliadra felt herself dropped to the ground where she hit and knocked the air from her lungs. She rolled over, her arms trembling, and coughed until the iron taste of blood filled her mouth. "So you gave one to my cousin and there was another... where is it?"
"I don't know."
The electric fire went into Kaliadra's chest and slammed her body against a tree. The explosion of stars in her eyesight filled her vision before they faded. "You know something and you're going to tell me, elf. What you are doing is wrong, keeping me from going home, keeping me from taking my bride."
"I've told you all I know... I left once we brought her back... I willingly walked away... to do that kind of research was dangerous and caused me to take... a life."
"You traversed the planes with a trinket of tremendous power, you LEARNED how to do it. Tell me how."
"No..."
The breath felt as though it was squeezed out of her as Kaliadra flew through the air to be face to face with Velentham. "I. Will. Kill. You." he snarled. "Then you will kill her."
His eyes flared silver, he scowled, then Kaliadra could feel the tendrils snaking through her mind. She was utterly helpless, her magic no match for the skill of the one reading her mind freely. The tendrils were heavy, as though uncaring for what memories they might ransack in the search of information. Part of her hoped Velentham might take her life. The other part could feel the desperation that filled Velentham's body. She saw his mouth twitch as he looked at her once more. "I'll find this necklace and when I do... I'm going to use it."
"What about her... what does she want?"
"She doesn't know what she wants, I do. I know what is right. I guide her now. For that, she'll live eternally."
"In misery," Kaliadra said, and for her insolence, she found herself flung through the forest. This time, the tree she hit audibly cracked her back. The sensation in her legs was gone as suddenly as a lightning strike. Then, darkness overcame her.
Wayfinding
Orn sat at the desk in his newly allocated office within the Keepers clan hall. He thumbed through a large leather-bound tome, one of several he had stacked upon his desk, all relating to Ragnarok in one way or another. He wasn't finding much useful and most of the information he did uncover seemed speculative and contradictory. He was beginning to wonder if anyone really knew much about the Rok at all.
The going had been slow. Book research was never particularly one of his strengths. His mother could have probably poured through all of these tomes in one day but Orn had always preferred being active and outdoors as opposed to spending time in a library. At this point, the best he had been able to glean from most opinions were that travel to the Rok was difficult and hazardous, if not impossible, and that survivability upon the surface was slim to none. Orn didn't quite understand the varying theories as to why, words ranging from weave distortion to gravity compression to makou density interference, but those two facts seemed rather consistent.
It was all so frustrating. Enmach had essentially confirmed that Velentham was holding his mother there and it was starting to seem that perhaps that was a feat which could only be accomplished by something as powerful as a full Celestial wizard. Orn would love to ask more questions of Enmach but he hadn't seen her about and he was pretty sure she was avoiding him. He couldn't blame her though. He knew she hadjeopardized her position among her people by guiding him originally and he couldn't guarantee if he were able to pin her down that he wouldn't push her for even more information.
Orn was going to need help from elsewhere if he were to find his mother. He hadn't told Gilean the news about the Ragnarok. The last he had spoken to Gilean the priest looked especially troubled and Orn worried that news of such a remote captivity without a proposed solution might push him even deeper into despair. No, Orn would need someone else.
There was only one person he could think of that might be able to draw enough power to somehow make a trip to the Rok. A man who had once brought Orn back from certain death and ostensibly could tap into the very life of the planet if needed. Orn would seek out Thasmudyan, share his findings, and hope that there was some way to reach his mom.
The going had been slow. Book research was never particularly one of his strengths. His mother could have probably poured through all of these tomes in one day but Orn had always preferred being active and outdoors as opposed to spending time in a library. At this point, the best he had been able to glean from most opinions were that travel to the Rok was difficult and hazardous, if not impossible, and that survivability upon the surface was slim to none. Orn didn't quite understand the varying theories as to why, words ranging from weave distortion to gravity compression to makou density interference, but those two facts seemed rather consistent.
It was all so frustrating. Enmach had essentially confirmed that Velentham was holding his mother there and it was starting to seem that perhaps that was a feat which could only be accomplished by something as powerful as a full Celestial wizard. Orn would love to ask more questions of Enmach but he hadn't seen her about and he was pretty sure she was avoiding him. He couldn't blame her though. He knew she hadjeopardized her position among her people by guiding him originally and he couldn't guarantee if he were able to pin her down that he wouldn't push her for even more information.
Orn was going to need help from elsewhere if he were to find his mother. He hadn't told Gilean the news about the Ragnarok. The last he had spoken to Gilean the priest looked especially troubled and Orn worried that news of such a remote captivity without a proposed solution might push him even deeper into despair. No, Orn would need someone else.
There was only one person he could think of that might be able to draw enough power to somehow make a trip to the Rok. A man who had once brought Orn back from certain death and ostensibly could tap into the very life of the planet if needed. Orn would seek out Thasmudyan, share his findings, and hope that there was some way to reach his mom.
Drowning
Gilean stirred in his bed only enough to roll over. Sunlight streamed into the room from the windows but he simply shut his eyes against the unwanted glare. How many days had it been since Velentham had taken Sanria? A week? Two? He didn't even know anymore. The days blurred into nights into more days and all the while it felt more and more hopeless.
Initially he had been adamant. He was going to find her and get her back. He had recruited others to help him once she was found - Orn and Colin. He had intended to even visit Ror and ask for his assistance but somewhere along the way Gilean began to lose hope. How many days had Velentham had to work on Sanria's mind? His cousin held a talent for manipulating the thoughts and memories of others and Gilean found it harder and harder to hold out hope that Sanria would even still know him if he were to find her. His mind tormented him more and more of a scenario where he somehow found her, somehow was able to overcome his cousin, and afterward Sanria just looked at him blankly, or worse, pleaded for him to leave her and her true love Velentham alone.
Gilean shut his eyes a bit tighter as a lone tear rolled down onto his pillow. It was all just too much. The truth was he didn't even have a way to find her. Once again he found himself alone and helpless to do anything about it. Maybe this was his lot. Some kind of punishment for previous wrongdoings. Maybe this was what he deserved.
Gilean pulled the covers tighter around himself and sunk deeper into despair.
Initially he had been adamant. He was going to find her and get her back. He had recruited others to help him once she was found - Orn and Colin. He had intended to even visit Ror and ask for his assistance but somewhere along the way Gilean began to lose hope. How many days had Velentham had to work on Sanria's mind? His cousin held a talent for manipulating the thoughts and memories of others and Gilean found it harder and harder to hold out hope that Sanria would even still know him if he were to find her. His mind tormented him more and more of a scenario where he somehow found her, somehow was able to overcome his cousin, and afterward Sanria just looked at him blankly, or worse, pleaded for him to leave her and her true love Velentham alone.
Gilean shut his eyes a bit tighter as a lone tear rolled down onto his pillow. It was all just too much. The truth was he didn't even have a way to find her. Once again he found himself alone and helpless to do anything about it. Maybe this was his lot. Some kind of punishment for previous wrongdoings. Maybe this was what he deserved.
Gilean pulled the covers tighter around himself and sunk deeper into despair.
Begging for Light
Sanria stared at the place where Velentham had vanished for a long time. There was something amiss. She thought back but there were vacancies in her mind, things she knew should be there but weren't. Blurry memories, as though seen through the bottom of a thick glass. Things she should be capable of making out. She glared at the books beside her, books Velentham had created for her, tea Velentham had made for her, the tea pot Velentham had given her... she shoved them to the floor. She didn't want this. She didn't want *him*.
Sanria got up and started pacing, it was the only thing she could do while he was gone. She was a prisoner in an inn room and only when he wasn't there did she feel what was the truth. Whenever he was around, she was confused - upset one moment, happy the next. Whenever his hand came near her face when she was in disagreement, she suddenly couldn't remember why she was disagreeable. She wanted to leave him, to be on her own, but he wouldn't allow it. He controlled every move she made and there was no reason Sanria could figure out. It was hidden behind the thick fog of her mind - completely out of reach.
Sanria went to the window and tried to open it, but the magical barrier flared a bright cyan color. The entire room was warded, and she had no magic. How... how was it that she had no magic? It was Velentham. She knew it. She brought it up, and he told her it was because she had no need for it. He would take care of everything. He would ensure she had everything she needed. Sanria knew without a doubt that he wanted nothing more than to be her sun, her moon, her stars, her nature, her - her God. Yes... as if he wanted nothing more than her adoration and worship. As if he wanted her very soul.
Sanria let out a scream of frustration, knowing no one would hear her beyond the barrier. She cried and sobbed, then went to the water basin and feverishly tried to rid her face of any trace of tears. If Velentham came back and saw that she was upset, the next time he left, he'd put her to sleep. He'd keep her from even being angry, upset, or being able to have her own thoughts. They were the only things she had, and she only had them when he wasn't around. This wasn't right, but Sanria could only sit on the bed, lifting a book from the floor to read, until her captor returned to narrow the scope of her mind.
Sanria got up and started pacing, it was the only thing she could do while he was gone. She was a prisoner in an inn room and only when he wasn't there did she feel what was the truth. Whenever he was around, she was confused - upset one moment, happy the next. Whenever his hand came near her face when she was in disagreement, she suddenly couldn't remember why she was disagreeable. She wanted to leave him, to be on her own, but he wouldn't allow it. He controlled every move she made and there was no reason Sanria could figure out. It was hidden behind the thick fog of her mind - completely out of reach.
Sanria went to the window and tried to open it, but the magical barrier flared a bright cyan color. The entire room was warded, and she had no magic. How... how was it that she had no magic? It was Velentham. She knew it. She brought it up, and he told her it was because she had no need for it. He would take care of everything. He would ensure she had everything she needed. Sanria knew without a doubt that he wanted nothing more than to be her sun, her moon, her stars, her nature, her - her God. Yes... as if he wanted nothing more than her adoration and worship. As if he wanted her very soul.
Sanria let out a scream of frustration, knowing no one would hear her beyond the barrier. She cried and sobbed, then went to the water basin and feverishly tried to rid her face of any trace of tears. If Velentham came back and saw that she was upset, the next time he left, he'd put her to sleep. He'd keep her from even being angry, upset, or being able to have her own thoughts. They were the only things she had, and she only had them when he wasn't around. This wasn't right, but Sanria could only sit on the bed, lifting a book from the floor to read, until her captor returned to narrow the scope of her mind.
The Family Feast
The storm was loud outside, but the ruckus happening in the kitchen is even louder, soup bubbles can be heard popping and boiling, the oven is hissing out weird noises as steam bellows from its creaks. The frying wok can be heard loud as fuck as flames rose to the air. In the middle of this chaos, stands Shandelzare, her hands filled with utensils as she tries to finish this feast in time for her guests. Her pet Earth Elemental, holding on to gizards, innards, liver and hearts of a slayed creature in its hands, almost oblivious to what is happening around him, is obviously of no use to assisting Shandelzare.
Outside, Phonzy lies behind his chair with legs on the table, grumbling to himself, "When the fuck is Stephy arriving? The food smells sooo good!"
"Yeah, I'm starving!" says Xeptimus, stretching his arms into
"Be patient guys!" says Serth, the ever elegent strider, who was the only one actually helping Shandelzare arrange the utensils, forks and knives on the dinner table.
*Knock Knock*
"That must be Stephy." says Serth.
It was indeed! Their favourite friend, Stephy the Lich. "Boy oh boy, I can smell the delicious-ness of the food in the air already!" says an excited Stephy. "One cannot deny, it is a lich's favourite this recipe of Shandelzare's!"
"IT'S READY!" screamed Shandelzare from the kitchen and all of them lit up with a smile when they heard those words which brought joys to their ears.
Shandelzare came out of the kitchen with a big bowl almost half her size in her hands, a blackish brown sauce, boiling and bubbling, with meat and bones floating on it's surface was in it. Shandelzare sets it on the table, and before she can even scoop a bowl for herself, everyone dug in!
"YUM YUM!" says Phonzy, tasting this dish for the first time. "What the fuck is in it? It's so...delicious."
"Ahh, nothing much...just the brains and hearts of the 231 slayed Radiant Heart soldiers from hunting this morning..." says Shandelzare.
And with that, they all laughed into the night feeling happy and contented of their labours of the day.
What a happy family indeed.
Outside, Phonzy lies behind his chair with legs on the table, grumbling to himself, "When the fuck is Stephy arriving? The food smells sooo good!"
"Yeah, I'm starving!" says Xeptimus, stretching his arms into
"Be patient guys!" says Serth, the ever elegent strider, who was the only one actually helping Shandelzare arrange the utensils, forks and knives on the dinner table.
*Knock Knock*
"That must be Stephy." says Serth.
It was indeed! Their favourite friend, Stephy the Lich. "Boy oh boy, I can smell the delicious-ness of the food in the air already!" says an excited Stephy. "One cannot deny, it is a lich's favourite this recipe of Shandelzare's!"
"IT'S READY!" screamed Shandelzare from the kitchen and all of them lit up with a smile when they heard those words which brought joys to their ears.
Shandelzare came out of the kitchen with a big bowl almost half her size in her hands, a blackish brown sauce, boiling and bubbling, with meat and bones floating on it's surface was in it. Shandelzare sets it on the table, and before she can even scoop a bowl for herself, everyone dug in!
"YUM YUM!" says Phonzy, tasting this dish for the first time. "What the fuck is in it? It's so...delicious."
"Ahh, nothing much...just the brains and hearts of the 231 slayed Radiant Heart soldiers from hunting this morning..." says Shandelzare.
And with that, they all laughed into the night feeling happy and contented of their labours of the day.
What a happy family indeed.
Mistaken Identity
I am one with this wood. I smell like the trees, I rub on their trunks, they smell like me. The hares know nothing, and I take no delight in watching their eyes widen in fear and then dim as death swiftly carries them away. I feel their hearts beating furiously as they hang in my jaws, I bless their sacrifice, I consume their warm flesh.
I do not remember how many moons have passed through the boughs of the forest since my last encounter, but I sense the painmaker hastening through the wood once more. I want to run, to outpace her, to stay hidden - but time the last she had urgency and my heart was torn. Perhaps I will listen once more to her tale of woe, give what aid I deem necessary, and keep to the wood. I have not done well in keeping myself hidden amongst the...
The scent is not the painmaker, but the sense is... something is not right. I know not what this creature is, but-
'Hold, Kaliadra...'
-It is the one from long ago. The winged one. His armor is missing. He is thin. He smells horrible... stale and burned.
'...I need your help. It's Sanria. I need to take her home.'
-I cannot fight the urge to run... I sense my mistake, I can feel the painmaker through a rush of magic... she is far away. Why is this one here...
'No. You will not run from me. You will help me, whether you wish it or not.'
-I am unable to move... magic... powerful... he's driving my own transformation... how is this possible... how...
"Now, Lady Kaliadra... you may use your tongue. Tell me, how did you get to my home. Leave no truths untold, for if I have to seek your mind, you will be punished."
"What... has happened... to you? So cruel..."
"Life. Gilean. Love. Now that you know, let's start at the beginning."
I do not remember how many moons have passed through the boughs of the forest since my last encounter, but I sense the painmaker hastening through the wood once more. I want to run, to outpace her, to stay hidden - but time the last she had urgency and my heart was torn. Perhaps I will listen once more to her tale of woe, give what aid I deem necessary, and keep to the wood. I have not done well in keeping myself hidden amongst the...
The scent is not the painmaker, but the sense is... something is not right. I know not what this creature is, but-
'Hold, Kaliadra...'
-It is the one from long ago. The winged one. His armor is missing. He is thin. He smells horrible... stale and burned.
'...I need your help. It's Sanria. I need to take her home.'
-I cannot fight the urge to run... I sense my mistake, I can feel the painmaker through a rush of magic... she is far away. Why is this one here...
'No. You will not run from me. You will help me, whether you wish it or not.'
-I am unable to move... magic... powerful... he's driving my own transformation... how is this possible... how...
"Now, Lady Kaliadra... you may use your tongue. Tell me, how did you get to my home. Leave no truths untold, for if I have to seek your mind, you will be punished."
"What... has happened... to you? So cruel..."
"Life. Gilean. Love. Now that you know, let's start at the beginning."
Hunting Solutions
He woke Sanria and looked at her. Velentham wanted nothing more than to guide her mind. She fought him so much, constantly, as though somewhere, in the back of her head, was an alarm. He knew he could remove the offense with ease, but to do so would mean he had tampered with her mind, forced her to be with him and that wasn't what he wanted. He wanted her to choose. He wanted her to love him on her own... mostly on her own. He didn't care if she forgot Gilean or the brute, Colin, or her children, or anything about where she lived. He cared that she loved him on her own... but it wasn't working the way he wanted or as fast as he wished. He was growing impatient. Soon. It had to happen soon.
He quelled his frustration and gave Sanria a smile. "My love, you remember Kaliadra."
"Of course."
"Do you know where she is?"
"She committed wolficide."
"She... what?"
"She is lyrathi... she felt so terrible for killing my baby..."
Velentham watched her eyes change and quickly he put a hand to her temple, causing her to drift back from a memory. He had done the same only days before... but he looked at it in a different way... he had killed "Gilean's" baby. He had to guide her frequently,anything to keep her from remembering him in a bad light. "So she felt badly and she turned herself into a wolf?"
"Yes," Sanria answered, placated.
"Permanently?"
"Yes. I only saw her when I went to help Colin with his fears."
"How did you find her?" he asked, ignoring the reference to the brute. "We're connected by blood. If she dies, I die, and vice versa. There is a link... she can feel things I feel, I can sense her when I get near." He smiled and touched her cheek. "How do you sense her?"
"I... don't really know. I just can."
He reached up, running his hand through her hair, all the while prying her mind, seeking a key. He honed in on the sensation Sanria used - a vibration unique to Kaliadra that Sanria could sense. He marveled at the connection created, how exquisite and small the tremor, and absorbed the memory into his own mind. Now he would be able to hunt the wolf, force her hand, and find his way home.
He quelled his frustration and gave Sanria a smile. "My love, you remember Kaliadra."
"Of course."
"Do you know where she is?"
"She committed wolficide."
"She... what?"
"She is lyrathi... she felt so terrible for killing my baby..."
Velentham watched her eyes change and quickly he put a hand to her temple, causing her to drift back from a memory. He had done the same only days before... but he looked at it in a different way... he had killed "Gilean's" baby. He had to guide her frequently,anything to keep her from remembering him in a bad light. "So she felt badly and she turned herself into a wolf?"
"Yes," Sanria answered, placated.
"Permanently?"
"Yes. I only saw her when I went to help Colin with his fears."
"How did you find her?" he asked, ignoring the reference to the brute. "We're connected by blood. If she dies, I die, and vice versa. There is a link... she can feel things I feel, I can sense her when I get near." He smiled and touched her cheek. "How do you sense her?"
"I... don't really know. I just can."
He reached up, running his hand through her hair, all the while prying her mind, seeking a key. He honed in on the sensation Sanria used - a vibration unique to Kaliadra that Sanria could sense. He marveled at the connection created, how exquisite and small the tremor, and absorbed the memory into his own mind. Now he would be able to hunt the wolf, force her hand, and find his way home.
A Hunting Night with LoP
"Ahh, duck hunting season has finally arrived!" yelled Xeptimus, excited as usual during the season of hunting.
"But guys, duck hunting has a lot of complications." says Shandelzare, packing his rucksack for this exciting journey.
Phonzy, who was arranging the weaponry and all the supplies into his Backpack of Holding nodded his head in agreement, "Ducks are hard to find, and it is time consuming, is Serth the strider coming with us to track the ducks? If not it's going to be hard day's work..." sighs Phonzy.
"Well, you know what then, lets hunt beastly fidos, instead!" says Xeptimus, obviously frustrated with their complains.
"No, no...there's something easier, where we don't have to pack all this shit and gear, something for fun and sport, guys, something like...dummy practice." mumbles Shandelzare.
Then they all looked at each other and at the same time in unison, said, "Radiant Hearts."
With that, they dropped everything they are doing, and walked out the house with just their bare hands...because Radiant Heart members are easier than duck and beastly fidos...
"But guys, duck hunting has a lot of complications." says Shandelzare, packing his rucksack for this exciting journey.
Phonzy, who was arranging the weaponry and all the supplies into his Backpack of Holding nodded his head in agreement, "Ducks are hard to find, and it is time consuming, is Serth the strider coming with us to track the ducks? If not it's going to be hard day's work..." sighs Phonzy.
"Well, you know what then, lets hunt beastly fidos, instead!" says Xeptimus, obviously frustrated with their complains.
"No, no...there's something easier, where we don't have to pack all this shit and gear, something for fun and sport, guys, something like...dummy practice." mumbles Shandelzare.
Then they all looked at each other and at the same time in unison, said, "Radiant Hearts."
With that, they dropped everything they are doing, and walked out the house with just their bare hands...because Radiant Heart members are easier than duck and beastly fidos...
Cecilie Norwilth
Velentham had repeated his questions with four other council mages, when he got to the fifth one. A woman of indeterminable age from outward appearances, Velentham could sense that Cecilie Norwilth hid her true age behind many layers of spells. At the sight of the Celestial in her midst, she clasped her hands and smiled. "My what a treat. One of those seeking to do the greater good."
"A task in which you may be able to aid me," Velentham said as he closed the oak door behind him.
He delved into Cecilie's mind, scanning through the myriads of years that she had lived through. To do such work took him little time at all. He was more than skilled with mind mapping and traversal. To reach into the mind and bend it to his will was one of Velentham's special talents. He was known as a Mindwalker, and all his magic focus, when not bent on the total annihilation of evil, was poured into the perfection of this craft. It was useful when demanding information of demons, finding out things they had hidden, rooting out their deceit. His skill was a light shone into the dark crevasses of their minds. Then he would slay them with ferocity. Now, however, being so far from Elysium for so long, he had no resetting of his internal barometer. The absolute disdain he held for evil, using his talent for their erradication, was warped, twisted, and sending him down into a darkness of his own creation. A darkness that even he couldn't sense.
Cecilie's mind unfurled before his own, until at long last, a vision of a keep. He halted, delving deeper into the recollection. A fellow mage was with her, and she was young. They were having a picnic near a pile of ruins in the middle of a wide expanse of grassy field. "Where is this?" he asked her mentally.
"Hordelands," her mind offered. "Beautiful Ice Sea. Beautiful day for a picnic."
"What are these ruins?" he probed.
"Long dead, long gone. Winterkeep is no more."
"What of the portal beneath? Is it there?"
"Lore," her mind offered like a breath of wind. "The three hold the gloves, the three were scattered, the three are no more."
Velentham released his grip on her mind and spat out a curse. The entire plan was for naught. The vision in her mind in recalling the story pulled up what appeared as illustrations in an ancient children's book. Three nobles that had to control the energies to activate the portal... Velentham's dream was wrong, and he didn't like to be wrong. He wiped his visit from Cecilie's mind and cast a spell, taking him from the council seat to the inn room where Sanria lay sleeping. He paced, he cursed, he scowled, he slammed a hand on the dresser. "Father! Give me a sign!" Nothing.
He sat on the bed, staring down at Sanria with a deep sigh. Everything he had hoped for was gone. They didn't have time to chase down gloves nor a sufficient group versed in how to use them. He sighed again and reached over, touching Sanria's hair. It had been so long since she'd stumbled into his realm...
Velentham sat up, his eyes wide. The elf. The elf with Sanria... she had gotten them there. A new plan revealed itself. Velentham didn't need to find children's stories. Velentham needed to find Kaliadra.
"A task in which you may be able to aid me," Velentham said as he closed the oak door behind him.
He delved into Cecilie's mind, scanning through the myriads of years that she had lived through. To do such work took him little time at all. He was more than skilled with mind mapping and traversal. To reach into the mind and bend it to his will was one of Velentham's special talents. He was known as a Mindwalker, and all his magic focus, when not bent on the total annihilation of evil, was poured into the perfection of this craft. It was useful when demanding information of demons, finding out things they had hidden, rooting out their deceit. His skill was a light shone into the dark crevasses of their minds. Then he would slay them with ferocity. Now, however, being so far from Elysium for so long, he had no resetting of his internal barometer. The absolute disdain he held for evil, using his talent for their erradication, was warped, twisted, and sending him down into a darkness of his own creation. A darkness that even he couldn't sense.
Cecilie's mind unfurled before his own, until at long last, a vision of a keep. He halted, delving deeper into the recollection. A fellow mage was with her, and she was young. They were having a picnic near a pile of ruins in the middle of a wide expanse of grassy field. "Where is this?" he asked her mentally.
"Hordelands," her mind offered. "Beautiful Ice Sea. Beautiful day for a picnic."
"What are these ruins?" he probed.
"Long dead, long gone. Winterkeep is no more."
"What of the portal beneath? Is it there?"
"Lore," her mind offered like a breath of wind. "The three hold the gloves, the three were scattered, the three are no more."
Velentham released his grip on her mind and spat out a curse. The entire plan was for naught. The vision in her mind in recalling the story pulled up what appeared as illustrations in an ancient children's book. Three nobles that had to control the energies to activate the portal... Velentham's dream was wrong, and he didn't like to be wrong. He wiped his visit from Cecilie's mind and cast a spell, taking him from the council seat to the inn room where Sanria lay sleeping. He paced, he cursed, he scowled, he slammed a hand on the dresser. "Father! Give me a sign!" Nothing.
He sat on the bed, staring down at Sanria with a deep sigh. Everything he had hoped for was gone. They didn't have time to chase down gloves nor a sufficient group versed in how to use them. He sighed again and reached over, touching Sanria's hair. It had been so long since she'd stumbled into his realm...
Velentham sat up, his eyes wide. The elf. The elf with Sanria... she had gotten them there. A new plan revealed itself. Velentham didn't need to find children's stories. Velentham needed to find Kaliadra.
Magocratic Red Tape
The building Velentham walked up to was short and squat, three floors of red brick with the only indication of its importance the flags that flew on the various poles that stuck out from the building itself. He walked inside on the heels of a well-dressed mage, still invisible, and checked the directory that hung on the wall. Council members, naturally, were on the third floor. He headed for the stairwell when a small, mousy voice called, "Visibility is a necessity to visit the council. Is there something I can help you with?"
"Wh..." Velentham curbed his rancor as he turned to see a short woman with a furiously red mop of hair staring up at him. "How is it you see-"
"Sir, you are in a public service building. Is there something I can help you with?"
"Right," Velentham growled. He put on a smile and extended a false sense of good will into the woman's mind. "I need to see the mages on a matter of importance. I'm seeking a portal."
"Council convenes in an hour."
"I need to ask them now," he said, pushing harder into her mind. "Might I go up and see them individually?" The woman nodded and uttered a small spell, briefly encasing Velentham in a cyan glow. She pointed to the stairs. "Third floor."
"My thanks."
Velentham bowed and soon found himself on the third floor. The hallway was lined with green carpet and smelled musty. There were thirteen doors, each with the name of an individual mage on it. He stopped at the first and opened the door on Deron Winds, an ancient relic from periods long past. "What is the meaning of this?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.
"I simply wish to ask you a question..."
Velentham walked in and closed the door behind himself. He smiled as he revealed himself to the mage, a clear indication of his power and birthright. The mage seemed impressed, and listened while Velentham asked his questions, all the while having his mind peeled apart. The man knew nothing.
"Thank you," Velentham said with a bow.
"I'm sorry I couldn't better aid you, it's almost unheard of to see one of your kind in this small corner of the realms."
"Indeed," Velentham smiled again. "And we will keep it that way." With a wave of his hand, Velentham wiped the memory of his visit from the mind of the mage and exited the door.
"Wh..." Velentham curbed his rancor as he turned to see a short woman with a furiously red mop of hair staring up at him. "How is it you see-"
"Sir, you are in a public service building. Is there something I can help you with?"
"Right," Velentham growled. He put on a smile and extended a false sense of good will into the woman's mind. "I need to see the mages on a matter of importance. I'm seeking a portal."
"Council convenes in an hour."
"I need to ask them now," he said, pushing harder into her mind. "Might I go up and see them individually?" The woman nodded and uttered a small spell, briefly encasing Velentham in a cyan glow. She pointed to the stairs. "Third floor."
"My thanks."
Velentham bowed and soon found himself on the third floor. The hallway was lined with green carpet and smelled musty. There were thirteen doors, each with the name of an individual mage on it. He stopped at the first and opened the door on Deron Winds, an ancient relic from periods long past. "What is the meaning of this?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.
"I simply wish to ask you a question..."
Velentham walked in and closed the door behind himself. He smiled as he revealed himself to the mage, a clear indication of his power and birthright. The mage seemed impressed, and listened while Velentham asked his questions, all the while having his mind peeled apart. The man knew nothing.
"Thank you," Velentham said with a bow.
"I'm sorry I couldn't better aid you, it's almost unheard of to see one of your kind in this small corner of the realms."
"Indeed," Velentham smiled again. "And we will keep it that way." With a wave of his hand, Velentham wiped the memory of his visit from the mind of the mage and exited the door.
Cache of Affection
Velentham returned to the inn under his familiar cloak of invisibility, after all, the less attention on him, the better, and a towering man with wings and gold skin was bound to command all eyes. He slipped back into the inn room, the blue of the spell reacting, giving him access to cross the barrier. He walked over to Sanria with a smile and woke her with a word. "Wake, my love, you need to eat." He fed her, he watched as she walked to the bath and cleaned herself, he passionately made love to her, he listened as she started in again with the damned questions.
"Do you think we could take a walk to the pier?" she asked, pointing out the window. "It looks really nice."
"No."
"Why?"
"Because it's not safe," he said, only mildly irritated.
"But -"
"No." This time he meant it. The damnable questions, always the damned questions. "We'll be leaving here soon enough and we're going home."
He touched her cheek and pressed lightly with force on her mind - he posited the picture of the white cabin his father had built in the plane so far from here. He could have outright forced her to his desires and ways of thinking, but to petition, she had to be following him willingly. And he wanted her to choose him willingly... or... at least something like it. Small coercion was a price he would pay. He smiled at the change in her face, knowing he had succeeded. "So," she began, "What will happen to the cottage?" Gilean's cottage. Damn.
"That... doesn't matter."
"Okay..." She looked around the room and Velentham kept his irritation as quiet as possible. "Where's the door?"
"Don't worry about it," he said flatly. Given the spell he'd cast, he was the only one who could see it anyway. "Love, I'm going to take care of a few things, I need you to rest."
"But, I just woke up - "
"I know, but I'll take care of these things and be back."
"I could come with you..."
"No. You stay here and be safe." He looked at her with meaning, pressing upon her mind, smiling into her eyes.
"Yes... I'll stay here."
"Good."
He kissed her, and it was sweet. He brushed his hand against her mind, uttering his spell, and she drifted back into slumber. Then Velentham got up, looked back at his woman, and headed out into the streets. He'd find the mages that ran the town and see if they had any information for him.
"Do you think we could take a walk to the pier?" she asked, pointing out the window. "It looks really nice."
"No."
"Why?"
"Because it's not safe," he said, only mildly irritated.
"But -"
"No." This time he meant it. The damnable questions, always the damned questions. "We'll be leaving here soon enough and we're going home."
He touched her cheek and pressed lightly with force on her mind - he posited the picture of the white cabin his father had built in the plane so far from here. He could have outright forced her to his desires and ways of thinking, but to petition, she had to be following him willingly. And he wanted her to choose him willingly... or... at least something like it. Small coercion was a price he would pay. He smiled at the change in her face, knowing he had succeeded. "So," she began, "What will happen to the cottage?" Gilean's cottage. Damn.
"That... doesn't matter."
"Okay..." She looked around the room and Velentham kept his irritation as quiet as possible. "Where's the door?"
"Don't worry about it," he said flatly. Given the spell he'd cast, he was the only one who could see it anyway. "Love, I'm going to take care of a few things, I need you to rest."
"But, I just woke up - "
"I know, but I'll take care of these things and be back."
"I could come with you..."
"No. You stay here and be safe." He looked at her with meaning, pressing upon her mind, smiling into her eyes.
"Yes... I'll stay here."
"Good."
He kissed her, and it was sweet. He brushed his hand against her mind, uttering his spell, and she drifted back into slumber. Then Velentham got up, looked back at his woman, and headed out into the streets. He'd find the mages that ran the town and see if they had any information for him.
Letter of Intent
To whom it may concern,
I am writing this letter to show my deep interest in officially joining the forces of The Tripower. My name is Aneh Rhedginsa and perhaps as of right now I am no one of real note. I have a troubled past, much of which I do not remember. I will not bore you with details that are unimportant, but I will say this: I am ready to serve the Tripower in any way that I can. I am loyal to the Tripower and will remain so, doing everything in my power to accomplish any assignment or mission that is given to me should I be accepted among your ranks.
I would very much like to be involved in the field of research for the Tripower and while I have little documented experience, I know that should I be given half a chance to prove myself, you will not be disappointed. Please allow me to prove myself to be the valuable asset that I know I can be.
I am writing this letter to show my deep interest in officially joining the forces of The Tripower. My name is Aneh Rhedginsa and perhaps as of right now I am no one of real note. I have a troubled past, much of which I do not remember. I will not bore you with details that are unimportant, but I will say this: I am ready to serve the Tripower in any way that I can. I am loyal to the Tripower and will remain so, doing everything in my power to accomplish any assignment or mission that is given to me should I be accepted among your ranks.
I would very much like to be involved in the field of research for the Tripower and while I have little documented experience, I know that should I be given half a chance to prove myself, you will not be disappointed. Please allow me to prove myself to be the valuable asset that I know I can be.
Thinking by the Waterfall
Aneh sat on the flat rocks near the waterfall, letting the sound of the crashing water flow over her as she thought. She was making some pretty big steps in her new life. Soon she would be married to a man who had not only freed her from her past but who she was sure would support her in becoming her own woman. The thought brought a smile to her face as she stared into the water.
Another, perhaps equally as important decision was the decision to join the Tripower. They were structure. They were a sense of pride. They were a cause she could easily be proud to fight and work for. They could offer her so many things that she never had in her life. So many things she so desperately wanted. But what could she do for them? She knew she could do amazing things, and she was determined to show them.
Aneh slid into the water and swam away from the waterfall, headed towards the beach. She had some writing to do, and her husband to be couldn't help her on this. This had to come from her, she knew. If she was to be her own person, it truly had to come from her and her alone.
Another, perhaps equally as important decision was the decision to join the Tripower. They were structure. They were a sense of pride. They were a cause she could easily be proud to fight and work for. They could offer her so many things that she never had in her life. So many things she so desperately wanted. But what could she do for them? She knew she could do amazing things, and she was determined to show them.
Aneh slid into the water and swam away from the waterfall, headed towards the beach. She had some writing to do, and her husband to be couldn't help her on this. This had to come from her, she knew. If she was to be her own person, it truly had to come from her and her alone.
Questioning
Velentham stepped from his cloaking, changing his appearance into that of a burly young sailor. It fit in this city that stunk with fish and unwashed fishermen. At the docks, ships were anchored in the harbor, cranes and winches unceasingly loading boxes and crates into the bellies of cargo holds with creaking and groaning protest. Velentham walked onto the docks, watching the sailors come and go, before his eyes settled on a portly captain with a thick beard.
The man stood, one eye squinted, puffing away at a pipe. "EY!" he shouted in a thick voice. "Careful there or I'll bust yer head."
"Pardon me, captain," Velentham said with a bow.
"Eh? Got me crew, ain't got room fer more, see."
"I merely wished to ask a question of one as learned of the world's geography as yourself."
"Ain't from ere, eh boy? Speak up, ain't go'tall damnable day."
"Have you heard any stories about a portal under a keep."
The captain stared at Velentham then let out a howling burst of laughter. "Spoke like a damnable child, stories," he said, then his mirth left and he pointed a finger toward his ship in admonishment. "EY!"
"The portal, Captain," Velentham interrupted again.
"Wha... ah, portal unner a keep... mage stuff, an don't let those mages what run this dump tell ya they don' charge high taxes. Damn near sky highest port tariffs, worse 'en Waterdeep, n' that's sayin' a hellufalot."
"Do you know of a portal under a keep?"
"Boy, there's stories abound bout places like that. If yer wise, you'll ask for bedtime stories from the mages, see? I ain't got time. Off with ya."
Velentham openly scowled and walked away. Mages running the city. Mages running economics. One class of people he could understand was mages. He'd passed a short, squat building in the center of the town, laden with official looking flags and a guard. He knew he would have to reveal himself as he truly was - full Celestial splendor - and then seep into the minds of the mages in charge to find what he wanted to know.
The man stood, one eye squinted, puffing away at a pipe. "EY!" he shouted in a thick voice. "Careful there or I'll bust yer head."
"Pardon me, captain," Velentham said with a bow.
"Eh? Got me crew, ain't got room fer more, see."
"I merely wished to ask a question of one as learned of the world's geography as yourself."
"Ain't from ere, eh boy? Speak up, ain't go'tall damnable day."
"Have you heard any stories about a portal under a keep."
The captain stared at Velentham then let out a howling burst of laughter. "Spoke like a damnable child, stories," he said, then his mirth left and he pointed a finger toward his ship in admonishment. "EY!"
"The portal, Captain," Velentham interrupted again.
"Wha... ah, portal unner a keep... mage stuff, an don't let those mages what run this dump tell ya they don' charge high taxes. Damn near sky highest port tariffs, worse 'en Waterdeep, n' that's sayin' a hellufalot."
"Do you know of a portal under a keep?"
"Boy, there's stories abound bout places like that. If yer wise, you'll ask for bedtime stories from the mages, see? I ain't got time. Off with ya."
Velentham openly scowled and walked away. Mages running the city. Mages running economics. One class of people he could understand was mages. He'd passed a short, squat building in the center of the town, laden with official looking flags and a guard. He knew he would have to reveal himself as he truly was - full Celestial splendor - and then seep into the minds of the mages in charge to find what he wanted to know.
a beginning to a new end
It was a dark and cold day the people were not alive at this hour when Pheniox had left the order he knew it was the right thing to do, to be with his love. But with a scar starting to form from the whip. He knew he couldn't talk again. Just write or show hand gestures. He couldn't say that he loved her. He could only could show it in grunts and movements.
The streets were empty being two am in the morning that January as he walked to the square no signs of life at all where they were just a few weeks ago.But no tracks of the priestess was to be found. Where could she be he wondered. He looked high he looked low.The shop fully healed from the battle that was here. suddenly he felt like he was being watched. who could this be? Was it her?! Who was peeking at me? but apon further inspection there was no one not a soul, Not a mouse or a corpse left to rot in this shop. But he felt there was someone or something in this room with him. without haste he begun to casting a spell to make someone show them selves in a cloud of purple smoke.in a flash a unknown mercenary came in to do someones unfinished buisness.
The streets were empty being two am in the morning that January as he walked to the square no signs of life at all where they were just a few weeks ago.But no tracks of the priestess was to be found. Where could she be he wondered. He looked high he looked low.The shop fully healed from the battle that was here. suddenly he felt like he was being watched. who could this be? Was it her?! Who was peeking at me? but apon further inspection there was no one not a soul, Not a mouse or a corpse left to rot in this shop. But he felt there was someone or something in this room with him. without haste he begun to casting a spell to make someone show them selves in a cloud of purple smoke.in a flash a unknown mercenary came in to do someones unfinished buisness.
Blessed Sleep
Velentham caught Sanria as she fell into his arm, deep in a magically induced sleep. 'Thank the Gods,' he thought as he shuffled over to the bed and dropped her onto it. Beside her, he flopped onto the bed, his feet hanging over the end. That would be the first thing he'd enjoy about being back in his own plane - a bed that fit his long body, and a woman who wasn't asking him questions.
Sleep wound tightly around him, and Velentham found himself in a vivid dream. Both he and Sanria walked along a path, sometimes flying, sometimes using their feet, through grasslands and forests. To the north was a high mountain range capped with snow, but they were moving toward a place long forgotten. Sanria kept her arm around him, his adoring follower, as they arrived at a keep blasted under by time. They stopped at a crumbled heap of stone which Velentham moved aside, revealing a long stairway that descended into darkness. They went down into the bowels of the keep, through corridors, until they came upon a gigantic circular room. There, a portal sat, and he looked over at his adoring charge. "Here I can talk to my father from the past, and here he can tell us how to get home." He walked over to the portal and Velentham could sense the energies that merely waited for the right combination of powers to call them to convergence. He put his hands on the two crystals and shot pure energies into their glistening forms. Then he spoke the words...
Velentham sat bolt upright, breathing heavily and sweating. He looked over to his side - Sanria was still there, sleeping peacefully. Then he got up and walked to the window. Time had certainly passed, how much time he didn't know, but he at least had some semblance of his old self. His fatigue wasn't crushing, but was still present, to a minor degree. He looked back at Sanria. She wouldn't wake until he lifted her from the spell. He thought back to the dream. He could sense it had been a message. If this place was real, if he could go back in time to talk to his father, he would know how to traverse the planes, and he could take himself and his wife home.
Still, like a dragon, he stared at his prize and felt sick at the thought of leaving her unattended. He let out a deep sigh and chanted a few words. The walls of the room shimmered blue, then faded, as did Velentham's body. None could get into this space, none would even see the door. He walked to the bed and gave a deep kiss to the sleep-soft lips of his lover, then, casting invisibility, walked out into the city. He would get answers from someone - even if he had to give down to his last platinum piece. He grinned as the voice of his father spoke his own thoughts, "You're getting closer."
Sleep wound tightly around him, and Velentham found himself in a vivid dream. Both he and Sanria walked along a path, sometimes flying, sometimes using their feet, through grasslands and forests. To the north was a high mountain range capped with snow, but they were moving toward a place long forgotten. Sanria kept her arm around him, his adoring follower, as they arrived at a keep blasted under by time. They stopped at a crumbled heap of stone which Velentham moved aside, revealing a long stairway that descended into darkness. They went down into the bowels of the keep, through corridors, until they came upon a gigantic circular room. There, a portal sat, and he looked over at his adoring charge. "Here I can talk to my father from the past, and here he can tell us how to get home." He walked over to the portal and Velentham could sense the energies that merely waited for the right combination of powers to call them to convergence. He put his hands on the two crystals and shot pure energies into their glistening forms. Then he spoke the words...
Velentham sat bolt upright, breathing heavily and sweating. He looked over to his side - Sanria was still there, sleeping peacefully. Then he got up and walked to the window. Time had certainly passed, how much time he didn't know, but he at least had some semblance of his old self. His fatigue wasn't crushing, but was still present, to a minor degree. He looked back at Sanria. She wouldn't wake until he lifted her from the spell. He thought back to the dream. He could sense it had been a message. If this place was real, if he could go back in time to talk to his father, he would know how to traverse the planes, and he could take himself and his wife home.
Still, like a dragon, he stared at his prize and felt sick at the thought of leaving her unattended. He let out a deep sigh and chanted a few words. The walls of the room shimmered blue, then faded, as did Velentham's body. None could get into this space, none would even see the door. He walked to the bed and gave a deep kiss to the sleep-soft lips of his lover, then, casting invisibility, walked out into the city. He would get answers from someone - even if he had to give down to his last platinum piece. He grinned as the voice of his father spoke his own thoughts, "You're getting closer."
Breaking Point
The strain had become too great and she kept asking questions. Every spare moment she was awake, she asked him the damned infuriating and infernal questions, as though cursing every step of the way the progress Velentham had managed to make on Sanria's mind. He forced her to sleep through much of the effort in keeping the tent cool, but without the proper amount of sleep, even the voice of his father had grown louder.
"My son, this is not the way..."
"I know what I want, father!"
"There is no need for - "
"Silence! You're dead! You're gone! You have no right to tell me what to do!" It had to end.
It had been at least a week since they'd arrived on the surface of the Rok. A week and Velentham was absolutely spent. He waved his hand over Sanria's sleeping form, and she woke suddenly. "Come," he said, his voice raspy with exhaustion. "We're going to leave here."
"Are we going home?"
"After a fashion, my love."
"I'll have to stop back at the castle, I'm sure they're wondering where I've been all this time."
"There's no..." Velentham suddenly growled. "You're not going back to the castle! It's just us now! No one else matters! Do you hear me?!"
There was the look he loathed. Her eyes widened slightly and looked down, a beaten animal, as if he'd truly hurt her. "I didn't mean to shout, but your questions are driving me mad."
"I just... I have obligations."
"Not anymore. Soon enough we'll be out of this realm and heading to our true home."
"The cottage?"
"NO!" Velentham grabbed her, seething, barely able to contain his rage. As his ire was raised, so too, did the temperature in the tent rise. He released his cowering lover and expended yet another dose of magic to cool the place. Then he turned back to her. "No more talking about obligations and old places, okay? Only the future. Where we are headed."
"Okay..."
Velentham rose, stooping beneath the tent. His energy was waning fast, and if he were to go anywhere, it had to be while he had the strength left to manage it.
At a wave of his hand, the tent vanished and Sanria audibly gasped. They were cocooned in a bubble as he held a hand out to Sanria. She took it and he pulled her close. They would land where they landed, though Velentham took pains to make it as far from the Great Realms as possible. "Rethink your priorities, my son..." Velentham ignored the sound of his father's voice in his mind and in a flash of light, deposited himself and Sanria back on Toril-firma.
"My son, this is not the way..."
"I know what I want, father!"
"There is no need for - "
"Silence! You're dead! You're gone! You have no right to tell me what to do!" It had to end.
It had been at least a week since they'd arrived on the surface of the Rok. A week and Velentham was absolutely spent. He waved his hand over Sanria's sleeping form, and she woke suddenly. "Come," he said, his voice raspy with exhaustion. "We're going to leave here."
"Are we going home?"
"After a fashion, my love."
"I'll have to stop back at the castle, I'm sure they're wondering where I've been all this time."
"There's no..." Velentham suddenly growled. "You're not going back to the castle! It's just us now! No one else matters! Do you hear me?!"
There was the look he loathed. Her eyes widened slightly and looked down, a beaten animal, as if he'd truly hurt her. "I didn't mean to shout, but your questions are driving me mad."
"I just... I have obligations."
"Not anymore. Soon enough we'll be out of this realm and heading to our true home."
"The cottage?"
"NO!" Velentham grabbed her, seething, barely able to contain his rage. As his ire was raised, so too, did the temperature in the tent rise. He released his cowering lover and expended yet another dose of magic to cool the place. Then he turned back to her. "No more talking about obligations and old places, okay? Only the future. Where we are headed."
"Okay..."
Velentham rose, stooping beneath the tent. His energy was waning fast, and if he were to go anywhere, it had to be while he had the strength left to manage it.
At a wave of his hand, the tent vanished and Sanria audibly gasped. They were cocooned in a bubble as he held a hand out to Sanria. She took it and he pulled her close. They would land where they landed, though Velentham took pains to make it as far from the Great Realms as possible. "Rethink your priorities, my son..." Velentham ignored the sound of his father's voice in his mind and in a flash of light, deposited himself and Sanria back on Toril-firma.
Legacy V
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.
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.'
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..
Legacy IV
The feather swiftly ran over the paper as Ror wrote his report. Dipping it into ink every now and then, he kept a steady pace with little to no staining. A blue-white crystal was lying on a pile of paper in front of him. He was using it as a paperweight... And drawing its shape onto the paper as part of the report. After half a hour of writing, he laid down the feather and let the last of the ink dry. His hand moved over to the crystal and touched it. 'How fares the test?' asked Ror by thought, and the voice of one of his assistants told him in his head that it went well. He nodded to himself and let go of the crystal. And turned the page, blowing a bit against the paper to dry the last of the ink. He then picked up the feather again and resumed his writing, outlining the test-phase. By the time he had reached the bottom of the paper, another half hour had passed. He placed the feather back in the ink well and waited a bit before filing the report. He tucked it under his arm and pocketed the crystal before walking out of his office. Down the hallway, he opened the door to Zeltor's office and placed the report on his desk, before walking back to the hangar.
In the hangar his assistants were testing the properties and spellstrength of the other crystal. As Ror approached, he took the crystal from his pocket and then placed it in the slot across the other. 'Still everything faring well?' A curt nod answered his question and Ror smiled. He opened his uniform and removed a folded paper sheet from a pocket, handing it over to the nearest assistant. 'Infuse this spell in the both of them,' he said, 'I will be at the archive. If anything is amiss, let me know.' He then turned and walked away. The assistant that had received the paper unfolded it and read the spell, his eyes enlarging, 'Damn!' This caught the attention of the other, who looked up from his work and turned his head to see, 'A protective spell? Oh, nasty!' The first sighed, 'Safety for everything I guess. Alright, let's get to work.'
With a click the magical lock of the door to the archive unlocked and a second later Ror swooped into the room otherwise occupied by dust and cabinets, closing the door behind him. He snapped his fingers and placed an instantly created ball of light on a cabinet top, before turning his attention to the cabinets themselves. He opened a cabinet drawer and scanned the labels. Closing the drawer again, he opened another drawer and scanned labels once again. He frowned, then picked a file from the cabinet. It said, "RESTRICTION LEVEL 1" on the cover. Ror opened it and leaned against one of the cabinets as his eyes scanned the contents.
'My, my, Throm, I guess rumours were right after all,' said Ror to himself and he smirked broadly,
'You DID experiment with black makou...'
In the hangar his assistants were testing the properties and spellstrength of the other crystal. As Ror approached, he took the crystal from his pocket and then placed it in the slot across the other. 'Still everything faring well?' A curt nod answered his question and Ror smiled. He opened his uniform and removed a folded paper sheet from a pocket, handing it over to the nearest assistant. 'Infuse this spell in the both of them,' he said, 'I will be at the archive. If anything is amiss, let me know.' He then turned and walked away. The assistant that had received the paper unfolded it and read the spell, his eyes enlarging, 'Damn!' This caught the attention of the other, who looked up from his work and turned his head to see, 'A protective spell? Oh, nasty!' The first sighed, 'Safety for everything I guess. Alright, let's get to work.'
With a click the magical lock of the door to the archive unlocked and a second later Ror swooped into the room otherwise occupied by dust and cabinets, closing the door behind him. He snapped his fingers and placed an instantly created ball of light on a cabinet top, before turning his attention to the cabinets themselves. He opened a cabinet drawer and scanned the labels. Closing the drawer again, he opened another drawer and scanned labels once again. He frowned, then picked a file from the cabinet. It said, "RESTRICTION LEVEL 1" on the cover. Ror opened it and leaned against one of the cabinets as his eyes scanned the contents.
'My, my, Throm, I guess rumours were right after all,' said Ror to himself and he smirked broadly,
'You DID experiment with black makou...'
Legacy III
Taking a bite from the sandwich in his hand, Ror tapped the scroll in front of him on the table. The assistant sitting on the left of him was munching on a sandwich as well and nodded at Ror. A large table had been placed next to the magic circle. Ror and his assistants were having lunch and discussing the next step at the same time. The original spells from the journal had been copied over so the assistants each had their own version to study during lunch. The discussion regularly switched to cover other topics, all relating to the work that waited for them. In that regard, the scrolls were a great help. All Ror had to do, was ensure the discussion didn't derail. After a hour or two, the food was gone and most of the discussion had dried up. Ror clapped his hands and stood up, 'Alright people, let's get back to work. You know what to do.' He collected the copies from his assistants and counted them to make sure he had them all. In the meantime the liches had returned and carried the table and chairs away from the circle, while the assistants took up their position and talked through the final details.
This was it then, thought Ror as he returned to his platform. He adjusted his goggles, shoving them back down before his eyes with one hand, the other holding the scrolls. A curt nod to the signalling lich downstairs set the second leg in motion.
They weaved the spells in unisome. As Ror watched, an empowering spell and a spell to complete the motion of telepathy took shape within the circle around the two blue-white crystals created earlier. They were on display in individual holders, side by side. As the Weave was pulled around the crystals, power was instilled in them and a soft blue glow sunk down into them. On the foreheads of the mages drops of sweat started to form as a new spell was weaved: detection of thoughts. Their hand gestures were like a dance that build up magic and pulled the Weave with it. Combining it with another empower spell, the crystals glowed softly once again. As the fine tuning started, his assistants were visibly starting to tire. Fortunately the liches paid attention and replenished their mana. With renewed strength they carried on. They tweaked the weave around the crystals: plucking here and pushing there, they severed and retied certain threads. Until eventually the desired result was reached and they were done.
Shoving the goggles back up with the back of his hand, Ror watched the softly glowing crystals at the center of the magical circle from above. He smirked, 'Alright, well done people! Time for a rest, and then a test...'
This was it then, thought Ror as he returned to his platform. He adjusted his goggles, shoving them back down before his eyes with one hand, the other holding the scrolls. A curt nod to the signalling lich downstairs set the second leg in motion.
They weaved the spells in unisome. As Ror watched, an empowering spell and a spell to complete the motion of telepathy took shape within the circle around the two blue-white crystals created earlier. They were on display in individual holders, side by side. As the Weave was pulled around the crystals, power was instilled in them and a soft blue glow sunk down into them. On the foreheads of the mages drops of sweat started to form as a new spell was weaved: detection of thoughts. Their hand gestures were like a dance that build up magic and pulled the Weave with it. Combining it with another empower spell, the crystals glowed softly once again. As the fine tuning started, his assistants were visibly starting to tire. Fortunately the liches paid attention and replenished their mana. With renewed strength they carried on. They tweaked the weave around the crystals: plucking here and pushing there, they severed and retied certain threads. Until eventually the desired result was reached and they were done.
Shoving the goggles back up with the back of his hand, Ror watched the softly glowing crystals at the center of the magical circle from above. He smirked, 'Alright, well done people! Time for a rest, and then a test...'
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