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[Vortigern]

He lies still on the burning rock, skin flayed and scored by a thousand talons, wrists branded by the chains that hold him there, torment in eternity. He watches in agonised silence as the vultures circle, wheeling above and around, endless brutal shadows drifting by him. Every few seconds one will dive to the ground, a scream will echo out across the ineffable distance of the infinite cavern that holds him and his companions, so vast that a sky exists within the molten stone walls, a harsh orange sky, rent by veins of black dust and bloodlust, almost volcanic in hue. Every moment he spends staring at the sky without choice, his freedom curtailed, his eyelids torn from his face by the filthy, gore-encrusted claws of the flocks of carrion-eaters overhead.

Carrion, he thinks. We are dead, abandoned and forgotten, left to rot down in this inferno for the mistakes we made in life. Some would call it justice, some would call it torment, but it is neither. When torment becomes routine, the word loses all meaning and significance. What makes this place so hellish is the hope of release, knowing that each time could be the last, hoping and pleading for death. We are pathetic.

Sometimes he will see the chains unfurl and release a man or a woman. He suspects they have fulfilled their sentence, but a part of him wonders if another punishment has been ordained for them, castigation immortal for sins anything but. He wonders if he will ever find out for himself, or if he will simply remain here until time ends, until the fabric of the universe itself begins to unravel and disperse, leaving pure, untainted nothing in its stead. He longs for this moment, because ceasing to exist will mean ceasing to suffer.

Time is meaningless in this place. There is no night and day, no sunrise and no sunset, no hours, no minutes, no age, no years passing, no seasons by which to mark them. How long it has been since these thoughts crossed what ethereal remains his mind has left he does not know. The chains fall from his wrists and the river of souls around him begins to boil and stir, as it does when releasing a prisoner from their plight. Hope surges up within him, forcing the ectoplasmic blood around his incorporeal being, electric impulses firing back and forth faster than ever before, forcing unto him the knowledge that now may be a chance to escape from Hell.

WINTER VAYU, says a voice. THE ACCORD IS SATISFIED.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Theria stood at the prow of the little boat as they sailed on down the river. Zhar had worked his magic and done something or other to clear up her seasickness, and she was enjoying the breeze and the smell of the countryside in the north of Anvar. Thus is was that she was the first to spot the grey stone towers of Anharad, the colossal citadel being built to rival the Maughold and push Anvar into the same status that had kept Envael surviving as a major power for so long.

They had abandoned Zhar's old ghost ship somewhere along the north coast, the mage having found himself a new cove and worked some various magics to keep his old vessel hidden from the naked eye. They had travelled by foot south-west, heading vaguely towards Envael and the hope of civilisation once more, and the Maughold in particular so Shava could report back to her companions of the Arap Datrebil. Apparently moving water threw off her mental links. They had arrived in Valix again and encountered the astonished captain who had taken them to the isle of the Vyre weeks before, thinking never to see them again. Theria had guilted him into giving them the craft that now carried them south, sailing upriver towards the mighty fortress that now broke the horizon.

"There's a harbour been carved out o' the ground in the middle o' the fortress," Bazric had explained, being the only one of the group to have paid attention to the constructions when they had passed through before. "It connects up the rivers as flow north, south, east, west and wherever else. Apparently they had mages diggin' out canals for some of it." Theria remembered smiling at the thought of Zhar, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, hands covered in sludge, pulling away at the muck and mud that lined riverbeds everywhere. The mage had not been to pleased with the thought.

When they arrived at the docks in the outer walls, most of the group was all set to jump ship and hang around with the builders and guards that plied the walls and taverns around and about, but Bazric, Theria, Zhar, Shava and Tom all agreed that heading south was more important than stopping off and having a few drinks, even if Bazric only agreed because he so desperately wanted to examine the harbour and the centre of the fortress.

"Dwarves," muttered Illyriel. He had been looking forward to kicking back his heels and finding some buxom young lass to keep him company. "Can we at least hang around in the centre for a day or so? It'll do us good to get off this damn boat, for one thing. I don't know how much longer I can bear the smell of unwashed Minotaur," he added, giving Rom a companionable slap on the back as he spoke.

"Alright," agreed Theria. "Have a couple of days off and around Anharad. You never know what good might come of it."

At the harbour, locks surrounded the docks themselves from all sides. Zhar gave the boat a little magical push to keep it in line and the gates closed behind them. Water began to leak in from the harbour above and the level within the gates rose sharply, eventually drawing them up to the same level as the flat, serene water of the harbour. A burly man with a burnished bronze breastplate and matching sword at his belt shouted directions to them, sending them to the south-west wall where they found an open jetty and tied up the little craft. Theria stared around, overcome with wonder at the might of this construction. Caravelles, galleys and some kinds of ships that Theria couldn't even begin to guess at the origins of stood at anchor in the centre of the harbour, little rowing boats nipping back and forth to the dockside. Jetties sprung out from all directions, providing thousands of temporary homes for a trader's boat. The open sky was visible above them, but the mighty walls of the fortress encircled the view, shooting up hundreds of feet, towering overhead like mountains, giving the place the feel of a crater within a volcano.

The instant she stepped off the ship, Theria was stopped by an orderly with a quill and a scroll, insisting on knowing her name and the purpose of her visit to Anharad.

"Pleasure," she decided. "We'll only be here for a couple of days at most."

"And how many within your party?" Theria looked over her head and counted them up, pausing at Zhar. How many people was he these days?

"Ten," she settled on. "One of them's a Minotaur." The orderly didn't seem to care, and handed Theria ten bracelets from a bag affixed to his belt.

"You must wear these until you leave Anharad. Hand them in to the dockmaster when you untie your boat." Theria raised an eyebrow, then shook her head resignedly. No race could ever match humanity for bureaucracy. She handed them out as the group descended from the boat, provoking varied reactions. None of the bracelets were large enough to fit around Rom's wrist, so he settled for fitting it around his ankle, where it still pressed into his fur but would at least connect end to end.

"So," announced Illyriel, looking up from his wrist where the little stamped bronze bracelet lay. "See you back here at what, noon the day after tomorrow?" Theria shrugged, and the others gave their assent. "Who's up for a drink then?" Bazric, Tom, Illyriel and Morion wandered off in search of whatever pleasures took their fancy, and Theria made her solitary way out of the docks, up through the markets surrounding the waterfront to where the roads led out to the surface and natural light, not the mirrored reflections that provided visibility for the underground world of the poorer traders. It was true, she considered, she could use a little time to herself, and now seemed as good a moment as any.

She wandered around for a while, passing a few inns until she found one that looked more upmarket than the competition. She pushed open the door and wandered into the bar area, walled with rich, deep mahogany, beautifully hand-carved. Well-dressed merchants and what she guessed were minor nobility or some such sat around polished oak tables, laughing and smiling. It had been a long while since she had kept company like this. The bartender offered her a friendly smile and she took a seat, pleased by how comfortable even the stools were in this place.

"You look like you've travelled a fair way, my lady," said the barman, rubbing a cloth around embossed silver tankards. Theria half-sighed, half-chuckled.

"You have no idea," she replied, and pulled out a handful of gold coins. "Something good to eat and drink, please, and somewhere more comfortable than a boat shared with nine others to rest my head." The barman let out a low whistle.

"A lady of your wealth and stature, sharing a little boat? What is the world coming to?" he wondered, opening the tap on a heavy oak barrel behind the counter. A rich, dark red wine flowed out, and Theria could not help but lick her lips at the sight of it. "Of course, times are changing a great deal these days," he continued. "The Vyre can talk now, the melds have all run east, the Furya are all over the place and apparently someone's pulling the Paladins back together. How do you feel about a good steak?" he added. "Served with potatoes, onions and an assortment of other vegetables. Gravy's optional."

"It'll complement the wine quite nicely, I should think," nodded Theria. The barman swung open a little shutter to his right and called through to the kitchen. "What was that about the Vyre?"

"Seems they're more than just predators these days, ma'am. Just like people now, I've heard, though of course they still won't eat any vegetables. Unhealthy lifestyle, that."

"Not for a Vyre. Their whole body is designed to be carnivorous," Theria murmured. Interesting, she thought. So whatever it was Zhar and Shava did seems to have stuck. "Any details on the situation with the Paladins?"

"No, not much. A few of the wizards working on the walls have been talking about it, and news filters through, you know? All I can tell you is that someone's reorganising them, now that they've been kicked out of the Maughold by the gnomes." He shook his head, obviously amazed by the facts. "Who'd have thought a powerful military order like the Paladins could be beaten by a bunch of two-foot-high ugly folk?" Theria laughed and smiled at him.

"Clearly you've never met a gnome." The barman shrugged in acquiescence and Theria took her wine to a table under a window, overlooking a small but very well-kept garden. Her food was brought over soon after and she polished it off in no time, all the while wondering about the Paladins. She could not help but wonder if this was the start of something major, not just for the few the fates involved but for the whole of Arsencia this time.

The barman showed her to a room, comfortably furnished and containing a marble bathtub and a full-length mirror. "Just turn these little taps," he explained. "It's something new the dwarves and the wizards figured out between them. Hot water straight from the ground. If you like I can send up the tailor in a couple of hours, get you some new clean clothes." Theria nodded, and began experimenting with pulling a bath of fresh hot water, which came spurting out of the tap, filling the tub with clean, hot water in ten minutes flat. Impressed, Theria sank into the water, still wondering about the Paladins. She'd have to let the others know when they got back to the boat. But for now, she had some far more pressing issues to attend to. Breathing deeply, Theria began to wash the accumulated grime of the past months from her body.



((Let a new chapter begin! Feel free to invent whatever it is you want to do around Anharad. It's a whole city, so there's got to be plenty of options. You can even start a few fights if you want. And there are all races here, even Minotaurs and Furya, so who knows what you might find. Have fun, chaps and chapesses. Any new characters, this is a perfect opportunity to step in.))

[some_weirdGuy]

((nice post vort ))

The memories stirred in Zhar from the old ship gave him a nostalgic feeling that buzzed within even now. As they had sailed Zhar had recounted the tales and myths of the Bloody Mary and its vile captain. This stirring however seemed to have unsettled his mind somewhat, and personalities that had before been remaining nearly completely dormant were up to their old tricks.

You are fool, you left the ship, for you i have a little tip. Go back now, and leave these fools, and go retrieve your pirating tools. We'll raid the seas, sink many a boat, like in the glory days the Mary will float, across the waters and oceans vast, raise the sails upon the mast....
...Wouldst thou cease thy prattling? Thine incessant rhyming is grating upon my nerves
"Both of you shut up. I'll have you know it was rather pleasant without a constant dialogue, just go back where to where you came"
Sealed we were, I don't know how, but now we're free, and on the prowl!
and this new one burst into control, shunting the previous Zhar away.
"You have grown soft, I kill we need. Cut their throat and watch it bleed" He said, slinking away from the crowds and quickly making his way into a grungy section of the city. He lined up a target. a sleeping begger sitting in the mud. However the begger had other plans. As Zhar approched he sprang upwards, a nasty little gleam in his eyes
"hand over all your possessions" he said, a knife in his hand. Three other ruffians came to surround Zhar
"hehe, fifth one today. Oh and look at those fancy cloths. You picked the wrong alley to walk down you rich snob" Said one of the burlier men
"can i kill him? come on, lemme do this one, you did the others, lemme kill this one" said a very rat-like little man in a fast voice, twitching and scratching at his lice infested clothing.

Zhar reached for his kriss
"don't even think of it!" said the first mugger, thrusting his knife at Zhars throat, poised to strike
"yeah, thats the way, now hand over all your stuff, and we might even spare you"
Zhars hand which had paused momentarily as he eyed the knife wielder, continued towards the kriss
"oi, i said forget it!" but Zhar just reached down and pulled out the Dagger. The muggers knife sliced across Zhars throat, sliting it wide open. But Zhar merely stabbed out with his own knife and sunk it into the mans heart.

It glowed and an aura sifted from the attackers body, into the knife, then into Zhar, who stiffened and shuddered, the slice in his neck healing in moments
"what the hell are you!" screamed one of the men. The others had similarly horrified looks on their faces, and all turned tail and ran. Zhar merely pointed at them one by one. The same fate for all those others. As Zhars finger pointed they would decrepify very suddenly, falling mid-stride to become dried, wrinked corpses, as if the life had been sucked right out of them.

Small glowing orbs illuminated the dark back ally as they released from the bodies, traveling over to Zhar who gathered them into a single ball and snuffed it out with a quick gesture, as if swatting a fly. The wicked grin was glued to his face as he disappeared from the scene, not leaving a trace.

((evil Zhar is evil, again. It seems to be a common practice to kill people whenever he gets to a city :X anyway, this is all very cool, first impressions would indicate this will be an interesting chapter))

Edited by Fire Ze Missiles!, 19 October 2009 - 07:48 PM.
Changed it to be more old-timey. Sorry SWG, but the Shakespeare in me couldn't help itself.

[Copaman]

Tom headed off to find a house of worship so that he could come into contact with the Council again. He said a quick goodbye to Theria before leaving, told her what he was doing, and that he would try to find her when he got back, and then took off.

He knew the proper structures would be below ground - there was no way the humans would allow the deathknelve a proper quarter above ground, let alone the buildings for worshiping heathen gods. After spending a good hour in the cavernous systems, Tom noticed the deathknelven population increase dramatically around one area; the usual symbols associated with Feruilen were found not much later.

Entering one temple, Tom greeted the priestess-in-training, and then asked her for the private Council Chamber - every temple was required to have one should a member of the Council visit.

"Sir, I'm afraid commoners are not allowed in the Council Chamber," she said.
Tom took her hand, looked deep into her eyes, and then nodded towards his free hand. With a bit of concentration, he had manipulated his soul fire to produce a small burning crown in his left hand; the mark of a Soulfyre king. She needed no other clue - Rethalar Daggerweave, the Forgotten King, had returned and was using her temple.

==

Inside the chamber, Tom found what he was looking for. A crystal the size of his arm pointed straight upwards; the thing carved intricately with runes telling of the creation mythos. He found the carved grips on opposite sides, pressed his head to the shard, and projected his essence towards it. The room, unaccessible by anyone who did not know where it was, glowed the most beautiful shade of power-light blue while Tom carried on his conversation with the Council.

"I am back"
"Who else would have an aura like that in one of the Council chambers of a major city?"
"True."
"Tell us of your adventure, if you will."
"I discovered how powerful Winter Vayu really was. I also found that my abilities have progressed immensely"
"Show us how much 'immense' is."
Rethalar projected his memory of the blue aura he produced, the disintegration of an unfortunate drake approaching him, of the crown burning above his head, and the sheer efficiency with which he killed those who threatened his life and his friends'.
"Quite impressive, no?"
"You were speaking the truth. We are very pleased."
"Where do we go from here? That is why I came."
"We will be there shortly. For now, continue on with your group... and... your love interest. When the time comes we will contact the entire group at once."
"Very good. We will be talking, then?"
"Yes. You must go now - the party will miss you."

He withdrew his essence from the shard, exited the chamber and nodded to the priestess (who gave him a handful of acceptable currency - another stipulation of the Council regarding the royalty of the deathknelve), and then headed back out to the streets above ground. He was off to find new clothes; his patched, torn, and frayed ones were no longer performing their duties. His armor was in need of repair as well, and for that, he sought out the finest dwarven smith in the city.

[Taralom]

The wind soared through the empty chambers of the mesa, through the sleeping quarters, the training hall and the great hall. The bodies reeked, the blood had become hard and the treasures of the fallen mages had been taken away. On the walls was written in blood: “Those who fell here, will never rise again. May the pits of the underworld feast upon the flesh of the conquered”. Shadows swiftly moved through the piles of corpses, white cloaks were all there was to be seen of them.
A voice, deep and low, whispered from inside a crack in the walls, to another person. Their conversation could not be heard by those for whom it was not meant to be, but sometimes they raised their voices to that level where everybody in an area of ten metres was able to clearly hear it.
“But what about the magician of Umbar?”
“The illusion caster? I do not know.” His voice dropped. “I know the men want to kill him too, but I feel he did enough for us today. Why should we kill him?”
“Why not, sir?” the other voice replied. “He belonged to this scum. As long as he is not dead, we have not succeeded in our mission, sent by the gods themselves.”
A silence fell in which the other person thought. “We’ll let him live for now. We’ll kill him later. He did enough for us and we must show gratitude for what he did. How can we kill someone who helped us? If we’d kill this betrayer, we cannot hold hope that others will do the same. It would be best if we’d let him live for now and kill him whenever we meet him again.”
“But George!”
“Silence! We will kill him if he follows us, though I doubt he will.”
“You’re making a mistake!”
“Perhaps, but that would leave you to take up my position, won’t it? Get out of my sight.”
Someone sniffed and a shadow, covered in a white cloak, shot out of the crack with a speed that could barely be tracked by the naked eye. He stopped in front of the great hall, where he took of his cloak and let it drop on the ground. He had blond, nearly white, hair that fell onto his shoulders. His blue eyes took up the world with a cunning gaze. His eyes were drawn by the man who stood still like a statue in the great hall, among the rubble and ruins of the once imposing pillars. Cloaked in black, with a long, silver line on his back, that went from the collar at his neck all the way down to his feet, where the line broadened and seemed to form flames that sprouted away from the line. His dark-brown hair had grown all the way to his neck, and fell to the sides of his head. He wasn’t that handsome nor imposing, but the Paladin had seen him in action. He was a fearsome foe, though nothing too special. His eyes had a stern look to them, keeping the foe in his sight and reacting whenever he felt the oncoming attack as a threat.
For a moment the Paladin wavered. He wanted to kill, but could he stand up against his superior? His hand started shaking as it was lit up by a white light, but he cancelled the magic and turned away. Within a moment the Paladin had disappeared, the sound of his flapping cloak the only way of telling that he ever were there.

Azuvas, imposing as always, stepped out of the shadows near the doorway. His grip on his sword loosened as he sheathed it. “That guy’s gone for now. What do you think made him wait?”
Varin turned around. “He wanted to kill me.”
“Don’t we all,” Azuvas muttered, a bit too loud. Varin glanced at him, filled with the intent to hurt, and Azuvas shut his mouth, knowing that if he said one more thing that infuriated Varin, he’d better start saying his prayers. “I do like your new cloak, though.”
Varin thanked the man and pulled his cloak way from his scabbard. While he unsheathed his katana, the high-pitched ring echoed throughout the great hall. “Azuvas, we’ve got to go,” he spoke while inspecting his weapon. “The Paladins are leaving, and so do we. Gaurr has headed east and we will follow him.” The magician turned around and looked at his companion. “Get ready. We will leave by nightfall.”
Azuvas grinned with a thirst for blood. His eyes flickered while he nodded and turned away, leaving the magician alone.
Varin watched as the man walked away. He sighed and sheathed his sword again. He stepped forward, carefully avoiding the rubble. The throne, made of granite and blackened by the corrupted power of the ones who sat upon it, resonated with the power that Varin had. The throne held secrets that he was not meant to understand. He doubted for a moment. Could he do this? He shook his doubts away from him. Yes, he could. He sat down and closed his eyes.
Immediately, the throne took him away from the great hall. He saw Gaurr, sitting alone by a fire, cooking some meat. The image faded, and he saw the group of Theria, boarding a ship on a faraway island. He saw Zhar’s snarl, dead drakes and the image faded again. He saw the sun darkened by a cloud, darker than others and his gaze turned down, headed into the crust and saw chains and a man. The man was chained, but in his eyes was an anger, greater than he had ever seen.
He was thrown off by the power of the throne and smacked against the floor, where he immediately lost his consciousness. A black twilight befell him and the world turned dark, but the eyes of the chained man, filled with fire and anger, remained carved in his memory.

[Vortigern]

Freshly clad in clean clothes for the first time since before departing mainland Arsencia so long ago, Theria felt like a new woman. She left the inn humming brightly to herself, soft linen feeling beautifully comfortable against her skin. Her bow she had left on the boat, but at her brand new handworked green leather belt she had retained her knife, eight inches of reason for any figure of disrepute to avoid her. She had done some thinking while soaking in the bath, and had elected to elicit what information she could from the city regarding the Paladins. Memories of her clash with their former leader still stung in her mind; she could only hope that this new leader understood the original intentions with which the Palatinate was founded: honour, nobility and the Light.

* * * * * * * * * * *

"Honour, nobility and the Light," announced the Paladin. Silver-white armour seemed to glow around his body as he delivered these words to the serried ranks of the Palatinate before him. He drew his sword as he spoke, and two hundred believers did the same. "The Paladins have fallen from grace and from repute, my friends. We have no choice but to regain our honour at the point of a sword, to destroy the pernicious darkness that has been the thorn in our side since its inception!" Mutters rumbled around the assembly, both of agreement and of uncertainty. "The Umbar are our sworn foes, my brothers! They peddle their vile sorceries while we seek to advance belief in the Light, fortitude of the soul and knowledge of the one true path! Those black-hearted villains in their paltry citadel-to-be mock us by their very existence, and they are all that stands in the way of the Palatinate and true supremacy!" At that a cheer rose up, rolling around the small crowd. On the dais Winter Vayu smiled. Upon hearing the murmurs he had laced his words with a simple magic designed to sway the hearts of those around him, with nobody any the wiser.

"Even now our brothers in the north have fought and slain the demons that veil themselves with the cloak of Umbar. We must rush to their aid forthwith and with all might at our command so that no more should fall in the pursuit of the righteous!" Another cheer. "Go, my friends, gather your soldiers, your regiments, your brothers, and we shall march upon those who would oppose the Light!" The cheer was now a roar, blotting out the sound of Winter Vayu's lone voice in the hurricane of sound that now encircled those in the hall. The vaulted chamber began to empty as the Paladins set out to regroup their forces, and Winter Vayu turned and strode from the platform.

"Too easy," he whispered to himself. Through the hidden door at the back of the room he passed, into one of the long stone corridors of the Maughold. The thing he found hard to believe, only a little over a year since his death, was how quickly his order had fallen apart, and at whose instigation. The gnomes, of all the races of Arsencia, he found hard to credit with the fortitude to bring down a military order. Besides which, he found himself unable to understand how they moved around his fortress with such impunity, springing up wherever they pleased, as and when it suited them. It was almost as though they were using magic, but Vayu knew the truth was something else. He had watched intently for any signs of powerful magic being wrought within the Maughold over the week since his inglorious return and found nothing of any import. He ran a weary hand through his thick hair, again marvelling at the youth the Eternal had restored to him. At last he reached the door he needed, and he swung it wide open.

"Winter," drawled a black-clad man lounging on a heap of cushions. "Progress?" Vayu could not help but curl his lip in a sneer at the loathsome figure before him. The man was a servant of the Eternal, or some such. Whatever his true position, he had been present when Vayu opened his eyes and had known of the deal struck between man and god, which was enough to satisfy the Paladin of his position, if not of his honesty.

"The order will do as I bid," he declared, barely even bothering to look up at the man as he crossed the room to pour himself a drink from the fine glass decanter atop his desk. The black-clad man raised an eyebrow.

"You are supposed to keep me fully informed, Winter."

"I tell you what you need to know." The glass in Vayu's hand shattered, fragments embedding them in his flesh. Vayu turned to face the man. "Party tricks? Should I be impressed?" The cuts on his hand were already healing, blood rolling back inside his hand and skin sealing itself shut.

"You and I both know I am capable of a great deal more than that."

"As am I," Vayu ground out through gritted teeth. "Your master need not keep me under such close watch night and day."

"My master disagrees," replied the man lightly. "Perhaps you are unaware of those currently residing within Anharad?"

"If you mean that ragtag bunch of warriors travelling with Cadavok, then I am not."

"He is stronger than you, you know."

"Perhaps. But not smarter. And no longer as ready to make the sacrifices he must. That she-elf of his has changed him. I have watched his actions this past week, and he has not once partaken of the blood that keeps him whole."

"Clearly you have not been watching too closely," commented the man, raising one hand in an idle gesture. An image began to coalesce in the air between them, of Zhar and three dirty, sweaty humans with short knives and no money. In but a few seconds, Zhar had slit their throats and drained their life force. "Cadavok will always be a threat to you, Winter. I suggest you do not take his presence too lightly. There are greater plans afoot than you know." Vayu snorted.

"Say that again when his head lies at my feet, and the heads of his friends too. They will pay for his sins just as he will."

* * * * * * * * * * *

"All I can tell you is the name he's going by," said the man, shrugging. "Cold Wind. He's young, and smart, and the Paladins are all fans of his. He showed up out of the blue a week ago and by this time next week they'll probably declare him the next Lord High Paladin." Theria grimaced - she had been hoping for more - but paid the man regardless and left him with his money.

She strolled back to the docks, hoping to find Illyriel. He always knew how to put a new spin on the information she gathered, and might be able to tell something she had missed from what little she had gathered. She raised her arm with the bracelet to the guard at the gate and he raised his polearm to let her through. None of the group had stayed by the boat, it seemed, but they had been joined on the other side of their little piece of jetty by a trader craft full of dark-skinned men unloading crates of merchandise; spices among them, her nose informed them. She listened to them chatter for a while, wondering what they were talking about.

"... nyaar aath vayu," she caught from one of them, and her ears perked up. She leapt down from the boat and hailed them.

"What was that you just said?" she demanded.

"We will need a strong easterly wind?" replied the brown-skinned man through his thick accent.

"Vayu means wind?" The man nodded. A shiver ran down Theria's spine as the information slotted together in her mind. Winter Vayu: the Cold Wind leading the Paladins, back from the dead. She had to find the others.

[Copaman]

A dwarf wobbled out of the shop after a few hours, carrying Tom's armor. Tom had been sitting outside, drinking from his skin and watching the crowds go past. Without warning, the dwarf addressed the deathknelf.

"Yer tunic is ready, sir. Mighty fine craftsmanship on this piece - never seen anything like it from the deathknelve. Where'd ye get hold of a beaut like this?"

"It was a gift, from a few very powerful friends of mine. Apparently it came from a master smithy's shop in the north - it's not deathknelven hardware, I'll tell you that; most certainly dwarven made."

"Aye. The markings are all over the place. I haven't seen a piece like this in decades; thank you for bringing such a piece to my shop."

"I heard you were the best in town."

"Bet yer life I am."

"I'll hold you to that."

He took the tunic from the dwarf, walked into a back room, and made sure it still fit, and that all damaged had been repaired. After finding himself sufficiently pleased with the repairman's craftsmanship, Tom put it on and then put his clothing on over it, as he always had. He nodded to the dwarf as he left the shop and headed out to find Theria.

She left me in a northeasterly direction, towards uptown. I'm just east of that. If I know her, she'll be getting in on the action somewhere, and that means a place where the travelers are. Most people get in here through the docks... that's where she'll probably be.

As his mind formulated how to get back to the boat, Tom broke into a full out run. With the help of a few well-timed jumps, he was soon above the traffic, bounding from low rooftop to low rooftop.

[mike_]

Rom and Morion trudged through the underground bazaar that made up a large part of the city. The strange, reflective ceiling rose far above, well out of reach of Rom's lofty stature. Morion didn't bother to gaze at it; he'd seen it before, in another time.

The unlikely pair soon found themselves in a dark corner of the subterranean community, where the light failed to reach due to some reason or another. Low buildings carved from the living stone were around them, but no lights shown from their covered windows. Tall, pale shapes danced in the gloom around them; Morion placed a hand on his sword. Rom lowered himself slightly, coming down into a wary crouch.

Morion shouted out, "Aye, who goes there?" There was no answer. Rom snorted a reached for one of his knives; he'd left his axe on the boat.

Suddenly, off to the right, a malevolent bought of laughter bubbled up. Leaping to stand leather-clad back to huge and hairy back, the two friends stared into the darkness around them. Rom exhaled deeply, a cloud of steam jetting from his face in the cold under-dark. It echoed.

Morion began to gather a small ball of fire in his hand when, turning to his left, he found a pair of violet eyes set in a feline face boring into his own. He yelped and made to draw his sword, but stopped when he found he recognized the being opposite him. Rom had started to turn and roar in response, but stopped when several other, similar beings appeared in a ring around them. They all wore heavy robes of white, and their faces were framed with snow-white hair. Their skin and eyes, however, were a shade of deepest violets and blues. Despite their pompous appearance, the strangers moved silently.

The female Drow who had first approached them smiled, displaying a surprising assortment of oral cutlery. She addressed the man in black. "Good morning, Morion."

He replied stoically, "It's well past noon." His hand never left the sword-hilt. Morion nodded in acknowledgment of her presence, muttering, "Lehr."

The Drow laughed again and said, "Irrelevent. And my name is Lehrerin." She smiled again, hiding her teeth this time. "You've known that."

"I've never quite cared for it."

"Again, irrelevant. Is the Minotaur your friend?" Her eyes danced with a malicious glee.

Trying hard to control himself, Morion replied, "My brother. Can't you see the resemblance?" He nodded back to Rom, jerking his head back in his general direction. Given Rom's size, all directions were general to him.

"Only in the scruffiness." Was the lascivious reply.

Morion turned his dark eyes to one of the other Drow around them, and lazily said, "He has killed many Drow. They sacked his village and killed his brother." He looked at Rom for help, eyes wide. "Didn't they, Rom?"

Rom stared at him quizzically, then answered, "Some. Rip arms from sockets. Beat Drow to death. And further." He added, "With them."

The Drow around them visibly bristled, throwing back hoods and producing knives, daggers, and short spears and swords from the many folds of their clothing. Rom laughed gutturally and drew one of his own, the weapon easily longer than the forearm of a Drow. The rasp of steel scraping on sheath echoed throughout the area. Strangely, the drawing of the Drow weapons had made no sound.

Lehr said, "Please. No bloodshed is necessary." Morion relaxed slightly. "Or it would not have been, had you honoured our agreement."

Morion tensed, but cocked an eyebrow. "The agreement that I wouldn't come back here, or that you would feed me to a leviathan?"

"Yes, that one."

"That isn't much of an agreement so much as it is a death-threat. What did I even do, anyway?"

Lehr shot him an unreadable little smile. "You knew too much."

Morion sighed aloud. "Look here, Lehr. I-"

"Lehrerin." She interrupted him and continued to smile.

He began to visibly rage. "Lehrerin. I do not have time for your games. If you will excuse me, I have somewhere else to be." She failed to react to this, and a thought struck his mind. Morion continued, "This wasn't your territory, anyway? You controlled the Deeps south of here."

She grinned wolfishly. "The former occupants vacated. Regardless, as much as I have enjoyed this reminiscing, I am afraid that I have wasted enough time of my own. I apologize for all of this, Morionquetil." She walked away. She called out over her shoulder, "You were a good man." She turned to her second-in-command, a massive brute of a Drow, all lean muscle and with the tattoo of a champion of the gladiator games over his right eye.

"Kill them both."

[{IRS}Athos]

Rindar wandered listlessly through the city streets, wondering if he would catch a glimpse of a Deathknelf in an alley. He grinned mirthlessly to himself: it was just like the old days, when he would stalk cities looking in every hiding place for members of that hated race. And now I'm traveling with one of them, and I've all but given up on disposing of him. Oh, how I have fallen...

"...no need for that." A calm female voice drifted to his ears out of a nearby alley, followed by a silkily angry one.

"I disagree. You see, we're in desperate need of finances, and if we have to slit a few throats for it, who will be the wiser? You'll end up in the harbor either way." At the threatening tone in the second voice, Rindar's hand automatically went to his sword.

"I wouldn't doubt her," said a third voice; that of a young man. "She's conquered harder foes than yourself, and you may find yourself bobbing in the harbor."

"There's no need for threats, Byron," chided the woman's voice. "I've already told you that--"

Her voice was cut off suddenly with a sound of steel whistling through the air and an astonished cry. "Lady Astariel!" Rindar threw caution to the winds and leapt for the entrance to the alley, drawing his sword.

Four hooded figures with drawn swords had backed up a young man and his companion in a cul-de-sac. The young man, Byron was bending over his kneeling companion, who was clutching at her bleeding arm. As her fingers wrapped around the wound, they glowed slightly, and the wound vanished.

"Attacking travelers? Why don't you try me on for size, then?" said Rindar scathingly, his sword moving in small circles as he sized up the opponents. Three of them had turned to face him, but the fourth, with the bloody sword, seemed to be ignoring him.

"Stay out of this," said Byron. A pair of lethal-looking knives appeared in his hands. "It's not your quarrel."

Rindar caught a glimpse of the face under the hood of the fourth mugger's cloak, and smiled ferally. "It is now."

"Try not to harm them, Byron," said Astariel wearily. "I would rather you had not fought at all, but it seems that an altercation is inevitable." Byron nodded without speaking, and reversed his knives, readying their steel pommels. The attention of the humans was still on Rindar, giving Byron the opening he needed. He darted forward, rapping one sharply between the eyes with the hilt. The man struck fell like a stone as the others reached for their weapons. As they did, Rindar lunged.

The Deathknelf parried the strike, and Rindar felt his confidence growing. This scum had none of the skill that the dead mercenary had posessed. Rindar struck at the enemy, scoring a long cut across the Deathknelf's shoulder. Byron, moving swiftly, had knocked another one of the thieves unconscious and was sparring furiously with the third, who was apparently much better with his knives. Rindar felt a stinging pain and spreading wetness across his left forearm and mentally berated himself for letting his concentration waver. The wound was long but shallow, and would not hinder him in combat.

There was a thud as the last of the three humans fell. Byron's hand was a blur as it struck the Deathknelf behind the shoulder, causing him to drop his blade. Without hesitation, and before Astariel could protest, Rindar seized the fallen blade and ran him through.

Byron's eyes flashed. "Fool! The Lady Astariel said--"

"Peace, Byron," said Astariel looking tired. "He has his reasons, and compelling ones."

"How did you...?" Rindar left the question open-ended, eyes wide in surprise.

"A power of mine," said Astariel simply. "And now, I believe, I will go with you. There is very little to do: my homecoming to the Palatinate was somewhat less than what I hoped for. The newcomer is a fine speaker, yes... but in his heart, he cares nothing for the Eternal." She shook her head. "From what I can see of your memories, your group has fought corrupted Paladins before. I would like to help."

Rindar hesitated. He wasn't sure if the group he was in would approve of him bringing more people along on their quest. It was clear from the look at Byron's face that he, too would prefer not to join up with the group.

"Ermmm... I'll see what the others think," he said, wiping his sword off with a corner of the Deathknelf's cloak. "Follow me," he said over his shoulder, beginning to walk toward the harbor.

[Luchiaros]

Cassius walked through the streets, his quarry had escaped him for now but the hunt was on. Cassius would either find him or die trying. As he weaved through the crowds he thought about why he was here; five days ago he had slain the last surviving member of his village and thought he too would die, but the fates were kind to him that day and he was found lying in a pool of blood by a man who said he could help him. Cassius would always be in that man's debt, he had saved him from certain death and pointed him in the right direction to find the men responsible. He had followed one here and now the man had escaped him. As Cassius turned down a dark alley he looked at the scar from the fight with Garrus, his leg had healed well but still burned when touched, it wasn't a normal wound he had received and it would weaken him until it was gone. He left the alley and saw his quarry, the man turned towards the docks and started walking. Cassius began to follow him, trying not to draw attention, but it was too late, the man had seen him and was running now. Cassius broke into a run to keep up with him, they turned down another street, the man avoided everyone his path but Cassius could not, he crashed into three unsuspecting bystanders. Cassius stood up and looked at the people he had ran into, an elf, a human male and a human female

'Deepest apologies, Cassius shouldn't have been so foolish, if you need anything Cassius is here to help.' Cassius said with regret

He had given up trying to track his prey after the accident and now things began to change in his mind, maybe he wasn't supposed to follow his enemies yet, maybe now was a time to rethink his life, it mattered not to him, he had one thing left in life and that was vengeance, how his foes would rue the day he came after them.

OOC: Hopefully this is readable


((OOC MIKE EDIT: Please check out some of my posts as Rom to get an idea of how the sentence structure of Minotaur work in Arsencia. I understand that English isn't your first language, I'd just really appreciate it if you'd give this some thought ))

Edited by Dark _Warden, 24 October 2009 - 12:38 PM.
the first paragraph should not be one sentence.. and grammer

[some_weirdGuy]

(( Seen as we have confirmation Vayu is back i guess Zhars master should tell him, and maybe even punish him for not knowing this already. Anyway, Vort, that was awesome, you are awesome, this is going to be awesome. Great work ))


After his scuffle Zhar had stalked the streets, walking fugitively past small groups of shady looking men and women, and shoving a small urchin out of his way when the child refused to move (although to be more accurate it was not so much refused as it was unable, as the child looked fairly sickly and reacted sluggishly even when shoved sidways). Zhar had been half tempted to slid his dagger between the boys exposed shoulders but decided he really wasn't worth the effort, besides he was already revitalised from the three muggers whom he had cast into oblivion, and despite everything it always felt atleast slightly more satisfying when he killed those who deserved it, murdering innocents had an subtle difference that Zhar could not quite put his finger on, and while satisfying none the less, was still not quite as good as killing people like the three he had just done in.

Speaking of killing evil men, he thought, his calculating mind ticking over I must seek out any news of Vayu...
As if sparked by that key word the earth around him began to shake, as his legs turned to jelly beneath him, in his mind a voice resounated

YOU DISAPPOINT ME. HE IS WITHIN YOUR GRASP ONCE MORE, YOUR LACK OF PERCEPTION DOES YOU A DISCREDIT...

Zhar screamed as his demonic master saw fit to punish him. The world around him changed, melting away to expose some hellish environment. It was almost as if he was being sucked dry. Veins stood out on his skin as his flesh decrpified. He aged terribly, the scream dieing in his throat as his vocal cords turned to dust, and fire licked at him from all sides. While all this occured great spikes drove into his flash, agonszingly slow. Just when he could take no more it was suddenly gone and he opened his eyes to find himself curled up in some back alley. The hellish visions gone, like some bad dream he had just woken from. He was breathing heavily. He scrambled up and felt himself over, making sure he was all alright. He looked at his hands, they seemed fine, back to normal.

He pulled up his shirt to look at his chest, and was shocked to catch a glimpse of the flesh where the spikes had gone though just sealing shut, right on the split second before being fully healed. If Zhar didn't know better he could say it was all a dream, that he'd just imagined it, but he knew it had not been. He shook all over, but was snapped out of it as he heard voices approaching. With a flash he was gone.
A small group came around to where he had just been "i swear the scream came from here"
one of the others gave out a shiver "well maybe its better we didn't find anything, i don't know about you but my blood ran cold when i heard it, it sounded so.... unnatural"

----------------

Zhar appeared in an entirely different street, he glaced behind him, stepping out to run straight into Theria
"ah, Zhar!" she said
"good, listen we have to find the others, its about.... are you ok?" even she could see the mage was noticeably shaken and even now he wasn't really paying attention
Cursing himself for letting it show he snapped back with a number of unpleasant comments about Therias sexual habits and relatives.
she let out a half huff half sigh, rolling her eyes a bit before butting in,
"listen, I've found out something important, But i don't want to have to repeat myself five hundred times so the sooner we find the others the sooner i can tell you all"
"pfft, I don't care about 'important', i NEED to find Vayu and i need to kill him...." he said angrily, then in a smaller, what even seemed frightened voice "i need to...", his eyes darted around and his breath quickened
"But thats just it!" exclaimed Theria "He's back! now help me..."
"what!? where, tell me! TELL ME NOW!" cut in Zhar, but Theria just cut back over the top of him
"...find the others and i can explain"

Edited by some_weirdGuy, 23 October 2009 - 04:45 AM.

[Taralom]

Power, you seek power don't you? The words echoed through his mind. Whose words were these? Where did they come from? Why were they in his mind, repeated constantly every hour? Who is this person?
The stars shone brightly upon him and Azuvas, while they travelled to the east. Azuvas had chosen a light package, so they could move faster. They held their horses, stolen from the stables in the mesa, on leashes, while they moved on foot. The landscape consisted of wide plains, lit by the silver moonlight. While they moved on, Azuvas kept his master in his sight, ready to react whenever Varin would collapse once more.
Varin on the other hand, felt better than ever before. The cold night breeze kept him awake and alert and his vision was superb in the night, with him being capable of spotting rabbits hidden in the bushes on the sides of the road.
"We should be seeing some little villages soon, if I remember correctly," said Azuvas with a tired voice.
"No, we won't. We passed them a little while ago. We are moving faster than you think we are," Varin told him from over his shoulder. "We will reach a little town by dawn. A good breakfast will do you good."
Azuvas smiled and he looked up to the stars. "Yeah, I think so."
Azuvas had found Varin on the floor of the great hall, during sunset. The mage had fainted and with some effort, Azuvas was able to revive Varin.
A little town, lit by fires and other artificial lights appeared at the far horizon and as soon as Varin saw the town, he stopped. Azuvas caught up with him and followed his gaze.
"What's wrong?"
Varin did not reply. He felt something, or with better words, he felt nothing. Not even the vaguest hint of magic, nor anything near it. Though that wasn’t that uncommon in Arsencia, this town was way too big for not having anyone who didn’t have a magical affinity to dark or light. Unless someone had put up a barrier to protect itself from senses, in which case Varin could easily pass through with an illusion to scout the area, this was not possible. He had to be careful.
He closed his eyes and channeled his magical powers to his mind. An illusion sprouted from his thoughts, a little raven, darker than night. It's red eyes looked up to him, waiting for its orders.
"Scout the village. I want to know how many people are alive and what's going on. Go now."
The raven nodded its dark head, spread his black wings and flew away.
"What's going on?" Azuvas asked.
Varin turned towards the man, who closely watched him. "Have I ever told you of magical power?" Azuvas shook his head. "Really? Well then. Not all magicians can use the power that can be felt from within. At least, not right away. I myself am one of those. I cannot use any magic or have reserves that I can put to use in battle or any other given situation. One needs to learn that, through battle, unfortunately. Anyways, when magical powers are combined in one person, that emits a certain impression on the world, that erases by time, depending on the strength of the magician. We can sense this impression and ‘feed’ on it. If you would become angry right now, you would emit that same power that I can use to summon illusions. Right now, I cannot feel anyone in that town, which is highly unlikely, for everyone leaves a certain magical impression. Only if one does not feel emotions and possesses the same amount of dark magic and light magic in his body, he is insensible, so to say. The other possibility is that someone has put up a barrier to protect himself from other senses. I can sense energy from further away than this town, so one of these situations is applicable to this matter. I want to know which one, for a barrier points out to an ambush."
Azuvas looked a little confused. "So can we fight?" was his only response.
Varin closed his eyes and made mental contact with the illusion of a raven. He could see whatever the raven could see, while the illusion flew over the town. His red eyes reflected the chaos that was down below. Varin opened his eyes again and cancelled the illusion. "Yes," he replied.

The silver light of the moon was blocked by the time the two of them arrived at the town, ruined and burning at the centre. By the orange light of fire, they could see the dead all around them; women gazing with hollow eyes to the end of the horizon, children with expressions of pain, forever carved into their faces, men clad in armour, dead before they could defend their wives and children. Not impressed by this setting, Varin and Azuvas stepped forward, with the latter unsheathing his broad sword already.
"This town has met its final demise," Azuvas muttered.
Varin nodded. He would find the one who was responsible for this mess at the centre of the town. Yet, he couldn't shake the feeling that something odd was going on here. Where was Gaurr? He was sent here in the first place, to stop this person from destroying this town. Gaurr wasn’t the man to ignored the need of his fellow countrymen, he was seen as a hero of the people, a man that powerful that he could destroy an army by himself.
Before he could answer these questions, the two of them arrived at the town centre, a wide plaza with a grand statue of a man riding a horse in the middle. The buildings around the centre were simple houses, and nothing more. Their attention was drawn to the man in front of the statue, however, the man performing his butchering before their eyes. Azuvas turned away when the man slid the throat of a screaming woman before their eyes.
"You," Varin spoke with an imposing voice, made possible by magic. "State your name and purpose here."
The man looked up, with madness in his grey eyes. His brown, greasy hair fell down in muddy strands around his head and he made a messy appearance with his torn up clothing. He straightened his back, while he inspected the new arrivals. "My name is Carrgh, and I have no purpose," he answered. His voice kept no single tone. This man was as mad as crazy as the ass of a seagull, Varin concluded.
Before he could ask any more questions, however, Carrgh attacked, yelling and screaming while he held his dagger high above his head.
"Azuvas, take his left!" Varin yelled. Azuvas immediately shot away, flanking Carrgh. Varin made a run for it himself, keeping the attention of the crazy man on him and allowing Azuvas to stab the man in the back. Carrgh did not seem to be aware of the danger and ran to Varin, shouting in a strange language. Suddenly, he took up an enormous speed and almost the same moment stood before Varin, trying to stab the mage. Varin’s heart jumped as his hand flew to the sword at his side. He dodged the stab and unsheathed his katana with a sharp ring to immediately attack with a wide slash. Carrgh dodged by stepping back, but for some reason sensed the man behind him as Azuvas stabbed with his broad sword. Suddenly he held a sword, drawn with the same speed as he had shown before. The two blades clashed together, Carrgh at one side, Azuvas at the other. Who was this man?
A dark ball of energy formed in Varin’s hand, while he renewed his attack. He aimed for the middle of the crazy man, yet Carrgh was able to block with his dagger. Sparkles of iron shot away of the clash.
Then, suddenly, Carrgh disappeared, to reappear behind Varin, grabbing the dark ball with the hand with which he had held his dagger and stabbed with his sword. The blade ran cleanly through Varins body, bursting out at the other side in a waterfall of blood and tissue. Yet, before the blood could fall to the ground, it turned black and vaporized into nothing, just as the stabbed Varin and Azuvas did.
"An illusion?" Carrgh wondered angrily.
"Indeed," Varin said, trying to resist the urge of making a grin.
Carrgh turned around and saw both Azuvas and Varin standing on top of the local fish market.
Azuvas cracked his fingers and unsheathed his sword, while Varin laughed at Carrgh’s confused expression. "You know, I was trying to figure out what kind of person you were. Yet, now I know. You are a mage of Umbar, since you could grab my magical sphere. Nice move, by the way, to block my attack with that."
Carrgh laughed maniacally. "Really? I stabbed you once and I shall do so again! I will feast upon your flesh!"
Azuvas coughed and turned to Varin. "What in the name of... err, someone is this guy?"
"Just another pathetic mage who couldn’t resist the rage of the magic in his blood. No worries, though he can be quite a pain in the ass if we do not watch our backs."
Carrgh could no longer stand the insults and started roaring like a wild animal. Only now Varin could really see what the man was doing. Right before he disappeared, he gathered all the magic he had in his legs, allowing him to achieve a great speed at a high cost; the muscle tissue in his legs would corrupt and die, rendering him paralyzed after some time. As the man disappeared, Varin gathered all of his energy to cast a protective dome around him and Azuvas. Carrgh crashed into the sphere, blocked by the magic. Jolts of lightning were emitted as he was bounced back away.
Azuvas immediately responded and dashed forward, leaving almost no time for Varin to cancel his dome. The broad sword of the former clashed with the blade of Carrgh, who needed time to recover from the corruption in his legs. Varin unsheathed his sword, the real one this time, and attacked. Carrgh was forced to defend himself and crawled away from his assailants, but right before he was struck down by Azuvas’ two-handed sword his legs recovered to such an extent that he could flash away again.
Varin did not react in time to defend himself and Azuvas this time, but Carrgh did not want to end the fight just yet, it seemed. The crazed man dashed in his back and with a sound of cracking bones, Varin fell to the ground. Carrgh attacked again, ready to stab him with a sword, but Varin managed to block the attack with his sword. Carrgh’s full weight landed on his arm and pushed him down. The strength of the man was overwhelming and Varin’s defence started to crumble. However, right before he was forced to give up, Azuvas violently pushed Carrgh off the roof. Azuvas checked Varin with a quick glance and nodded. Varin nodded back and stood up, with his gaze searching for Carrgh.
The man lay on the ground in an impossible position, chuckling. His eyes met those of Varin and he tried to stand up. He growled in pain. The way of how the man stood up and tried to relief his back made Varin come to the conclusion that he had nearly broken his spine on several places. They had the advantage.
Carrgh’s chuckle became louder as his looked up with rage, fed by his madness. "You DO think you have won already, haven’t you? Well, I’m not done yet! I will kill you and drag your corpses way to sacrifice them to my god! My god! Just as I wanted to do with that other mage!"
He told no lies. An enormous surge of magical powers coursed through him, overwhelming Varin’s senses. This man had surpassed the level of gathering power from your surroundings; he had achieved the level where he had become a vessel of magical powers himself!
Varin stepped back and Azuvas followed his example.
"We have to get out of here, don't we?" was the latter's simple summary of what was about to happen.
Varin agreed with a nod. "But we can't. This man holds knowledge of where Gaurr is. He said that he wanted to sacrifice another mage, but he wasn’t able to. Gaurr was sent in this direction, he must mean Gaurr."
"Ah, come on... So we have to kill this guy?"
Varin shook his head. “Not kill, wound and paralyze. His legs will soon be corrupted beyond recovering. We’re nearly there. Now, get off this roof. We need to turn this battle to the other direction, these tiny streets will serve as a bottleneck for him.”
They jumped off the roof at the other side, sprinting back to the plaza, while an explosion of fire and rubble destroyed the fish market on which roof they just stood.
"Was that him?" Azuvas asked.
"That's what he is capable of," Varin explained. "I need to counter that power somehow."
Azuvas nodded. "So we're..." He did not end his sentence, but he was clear.
"Yup," was Varin’s short reply and he sheathed his sword.

The buildings around the plaza were already burning, with Carrgh shooting fireballs at random. He had totally lost all control.
"One might just think that you're overdoing it, Carrgh," Varin yelled from where he stood, at the other side of the plaza.
Carrgh turned around. His skin had turned grey from overuse of magic and his eyes did no longer show any emotions. "There you are. You have come to play me at my favourite game! Death!"”
"Explain the rules, moron," Varin yelled. A dark ball of energy formed in his hands.
Carrgh did the same, but made two balls in each hand. "You already know...," he said, yet his voice had lost something of his madness.
Varin turned to Azuvas, who stood behind him. "Go. Now is our only chance." Azuvas nodded and sprinted away. Varin turned to Carrgh, who released the power of his first ball. Right before Varin released his own, he sensed that the power of each of the mad man's balls where the same of his own ball. He stood no chance, unless he could figure a way out. This was a mighty foe.
The balls crushed into each other and fragmented in a thousand pieces, to vaporize immediately. Carrgh released the second one and the ball exploded in a black fire the moment it had left his own control.
Varin’s mind raced. In reflex he gathered energy and summoned a shield. A pain coursed through his arms. He was going too far, his muscles were about to be torn apart by the corrupting force of his own magic! Yet, the shield held the ball and defended him, but immediately dissolved. He was defenceless.
Right at the moment that Carrgh was about to release a new ball, Azuvas was behind him and broke the man’s arms in a single motion. Carrgh screamed of pain as he fell to the ground, unable to control the ball of energy, that dissolved before his eyes.
Azuvas grinned. "Never underestimate a Berzerker."
Carrgh turned around. "You are a berserker? You'd make great breakfast for my god!"
Varin stood up, panting. "You're done with, Carrgh. Now tell me, where is Gaurr?"
Carrgh’s head dropped. "You mean the mage who was here a while ago, trying to defend these people? Don't worry, they have been sacrificed already. They made a great meal for my god. Then again, there wasn't that much power in them, so they didn't make such a great meal after all."”
Azuvas grabbed him by his greasy hair and pulled him up. "Answer Varin."
"The mage went home. He said something about an attack and fled from me. I don't know. I'm just serving my god."
Varin cursed Gaurr in silence. So he went home, to the mesa. Why didn't they pass him on their way here? "When did he leave?"
"This afternoon, I think," Carrgh answered. "But you have forgotten something."
"What?" Azuvas asked.
"My god has granted my some special powers. Look!" He gasped for air, fillings his lungs in one second and exhaled. A huge flame sprouted from his mouth, engulfing Varin.
Azuvas reacted in an instant and slid Carrgh's throat. The eyes of the mad man widened, before he dropped down. His spastic movements held on for a while, but Azuvas’ attention was drawn by Varin, who fell onto his knees, screaming in pain. His hands had turned grey as the dark shield he had summoned dissolved.
You seek power don’t you? I can free you of this foul corruption...
The voice echoed through his head. Yet, the person was awfully sure of himself. Perhaps he held the secret Varin searched for. The pain was overwhelming and coursed through his arms all the way to his soul. Perhaps it was a foul corruption, perhaps he had to be freed.


((Allright! This is more like me! I love writing long pieces! ))
((Edit: for some reason the "s and 's haven't been copied for some reason, I've tried to find them and correct them. Sorry if I missed some.))

Edited by Taralom, 23 October 2009 - 11:19 PM.

[Fire Ze Missiles!]

Illyriel was resignedly unsurprised when Theria and Zhar burst into the tavern in which he had been in the process of seducing a buxom local. He sighed theatrically and bid her some parting pleasantries, striding over the floor to the unlikely duo.
"This best be good you two; I had a good night lined up," he declared as he arrived. A quick glance at Theria's worried features and the strange tick which Zhar seemed to have contracted - his eye twitched and he was muttering something under his breath - confirmed that in fact, it was.
"Let me guess - you found him in an alley doing that?" asked Illyriel, pointing at the deranged magician.
"If only," Theria replied quietly. "Outside."

Gradually, through Zhar's sudden bursts of angry shouting and long periods of dark murmurs, Illyriel established the situation. Somehow, despite having already been killed twice by them personally, Vayu was alive and well albeit in someone else's body.
"So I take it this means an immediate suspension of relaxation and resuming of adventuring?" the elf queried, already fairly certain that it did.

[Copaman]

Tom arrived back to the docks, to find Theria wandering the streets with Zhar and Illyriel. Just before he jumped down, he turned back to look at the city he had just traversed.

What is that?

A burst of light had flared into existence in one of the tunnels leading downwards into the inner city; light which Tom recognized as Morion's.

Oh shit. If he's using one of those down there then they need some help. Theria will have to wait.

Edited by Copaman, 28 October 2009 - 01:33 PM.

[mike_]

Morion shouted out, "Territorial bastards!" And lunged forward, ducking under the overhanded swing of the scimitar-bearing Drow champion. The use of the word scimitar here was plural; the tall, battle-scarred Drow bore a pair of identical dueling swords. His comrades-in-arms had all either thrown off their heavy, cumbersome robes or had drawn weapons from within the folds of them. Those that had stripped for combat wore intricate armour of leather and black metal that resembled nothing so much as a shimmering carapace that was somehow suited to their lithe forms.

Rom roared his battle-rage and threw one of his knives at a female Drow leaping down from a low rooftop; the feline-like Dark Elf seemed to slow in the air, spinning her body acrobatically in a corkscrew and dodging the flying sword. It missed her entirely and embedded itself up to the hilts in the aforementioned building. The Drow herself came down into a rolling crouch; there was a flash of dark metal, and then Rom roared again, this time in pain. She vanished into the shadows.

Placing his hands on the ground in front of him, Morion shifted his weight around, swinging his legs counterclockwise and landing a hard kick into the sides of the Drow leader's knees. Or he would have, had it not had already leapt several feet straight up into the air and out of his range, only to come down on top of Morion in a storm of flashing blades. Cursing his ill fortunes, Morion rolled out of the way at the last second. Rather than uselessly impale the twin scimitar into the stone floor, the Drow leveled them with itself and came down into a calm crouch, staring the prone Morionquetil down with scarlet, calculating eyes slit like a cat's.

So the Man in black calmly lifted the crossbow he'd been assembling and fired a bolt at that small bridge of nose between the Drow's eyes. Taken by surprise, the Drow flinched - and it was just enough to save it. The bolt drew a line of crimson along its cheek and forehead, tearing loose some of its locks of pale hair and a few chips of bone. Angered, it made to descend on Morion.

Then the bolt exploded into a brilliant flash of light, sending off a flare like a star into the higher reaches of the underground city. The message it sent was clear - aid was needed, and fast. Exposure to the bright light had a second, more adverse affect to the Drow attacking Morion and Rom; their skin began to smoke and a scent startlingly similar to cooking pork filled the dead air. Gripping their bleeding eyes with singed hands, the Drow fell back, screaming and yowling like cats.

Coming to his feet, Morion drew his sword and gestured to the way they'd come in. Rom nodded his consent and the pair took off at a dead sprint. The hunters would not forgive this intrusion to their territory, and forced exposure to sunlight. The pair did not have much time.


((OOC: Yeah, the Drow are hella-fast. Like, faster-than-the-average-Deathknelf, fast, IMO. Tom can probably take them, as well as Illyriel, but at right about the same level of proficiency as Morion did - alone. Fighting dirty and or together will be required to take them down. If anyone wants to join in, go ahead. But it won't be easy, seeing as they're masters of the arcane themselves, SWG good luck guys.))

[Copaman]

Tom took off at a full sprint, heading back towards the tunnel which had glowed brilliant light for a moment. The people below him melted into a single blurry streak, his eyes focused entirely on the entrance to the inner city.

As he headed downwards, Tom heard screams and could see the sea of people splitting - the ground shook as Rom (and Morion, but he wasn't as impressive) approached the exit. With a hand, Tom reached out and grabbed Morion by the collar. "What are you running from and why do you need my help in this hell hole?"

The human simply turned and pointed, drawing his weapon as he did so. Tom brought both of his blades out with a twin swi-shing, and began to control his breathing as he whispered the ebrion into the air at inaudible volumes. Rom turned and brought his greataxe to bear; the three stood in a triangle as they waited for the gang to catch up, slowly backing into brighter light.

"Ever fought a gang of Drow before, Tom?" asked Morion.
"Not a gang, no. But Drow are nothing special. This should be fun."
"I hope you know what you're doing. This isn't just any gang."
"I'm not just any blade dancer."

((We're about 5 meters? from the surface, so there's some light filtering in. The trio can continue backing up until they're in the light, if you want, Mike.))

[some_weirdGuy]

"Forget about them! We must get Vayu..." Zhar let out a little snarl, followed by dark muttering of "if he isn't hiding out in some other dimension then he's alluding my detection through a new body, damn him... DAMN HIM!" this last part was yelled to the sky, floating of into the distance, and even little echos in more enclosed areas.
But Illyriel and Theria were running ahead, and with a growl Zhar twisted around and followed.

[mike_]

The three warriors stood together; Deathknelf, Minotaur, and Man. They were spaced out a good distance from one another, but close enough to close back-to-back if forced. All had drawn blades; Rom had managed to draw his great-axe, and bore it two-handed. Morion stood with his long, black-bladed sword in a defensive stance, grey eyes scanning the darkness they'd fled from. Tom had both of his shortswords in hand and gazed into the depths, thoughtful.

Nothing happened for a few moments - and then the shadows erupted forward. The sable cloud rushed forward, tendrils of shadow racing spiderlike into the half-light of the tunnel's mouth. A few remaining citizens of the city ran screaming away, calling for guards. Any of that sort of mediation was far away. Soon the pitch-black darkness obscured the almost-luminescent light, except for a few places near the entrance where the Drow-conjured magics were disrupted by sunlight. Morion muttered, "Lehr.."

And then several forms - Morion thought that he counted seven, but they moved so quickly he couldn't be sure - themselves burst from the original darkness and into the little circle of light caused by Tom's shining blades. None wore the thick, voluminous robes from earlier; they were all clad in their foreign-looking armour made of dark metals and leather.

One, bearing a short spear with a broad leaf-shaped blade, took its running start and leapt forward, the long-handled weapon held in both hands, crossing a fifteen-foot gap in the space of several seconds. Its form was perfect; the spear-point was placed directly in the path of Morion's heart, and the Drow's legs were spaced far apart and unbent, forming a line. Its pale mane of leonine hair bristled with excitement.

Rom roared and threw his axe out and around, grabbing the handle by the end and swinging it in a powerful arc. The Drow saw it coming and attempted to dodge the huge weapon, adjusting its flight so that (Morion was here able to see that it was a male) his legs were parallel with the ground ten feet below it. It was not enough. Rom's axe managed to catch it in the pelvis and continued on, through it, with a horrible shriek of rending metal and viscera. One leg was cut off entirely, and a bundle of pale entrails unwound from the massive wound. Blood of an unidentifiable colour spattered to the ground, and the Drow fell in the middle of screaming its death-cry. Rom pulled the thrashing, soon-to-be corpse towards him and finished the job by crushing its upper body with one immense hoof.

The Minotaur paused to enjoy the kill, but he was interrupted by the Drow champion attempting to hamstring him. Rom flinched on reflex, and it was enough so that the twin scimitar of the Drow did not fully slice through his legs. They were still bloodied, and not lethally. Rom grunted and brought his axe around, to destroy the comparatively small Drow, but it hit the ground at a run and bounded away on all fours.

Meanwhile, both Morion and Tom had been engaged by the other Drow. Three had ganged up on Tom, and were giving the Deathknelf a fight that he had not been up against in years. Two others danced around Morion, each striking when the other had not, keeping the Man in black on his toes. One, a female, wielded a set of weirdly-curved daggers with crossguards made to resemble snarling faces. The other, a male, had a long sabre that was wickedly-made; the blade, by some secret craft of the Drow, spiraled out counterclockwise from the hilt, the body of the blade remaining straight and true, yet bent and curved like a deadly whirlpool. A wildly-swept handguard protected the grips, which were marked with a simple crescent - the maker's mark.

Morion swung his longsword in a short arc, which he modified into a feint. The male Drow took the bait, and realized it too late, its red pupils lighting up in surprise as Morion's sword impaled it in the belly. The sable sword sprang forth from its back, bursting brutally in an explosion of blood and gore. For its credit, the Drow did not so much as flinch at the wound - a pale length of scar tissue that stretched up its entire arm, was hidden by its armour, and reappeared at the base of its neck attested to that. The Drow spat in Morion's face, then leapt back, wrenching itself off of the sword and leaving a bloody trail behind it. It turned around and fled into the darkness, the female following suite.

Evil laughter rang out from the shadows, and the trio knew their fight was not over yet.

[Copaman]

Tom stepped away from Rom and Morion - a poor tactical move but better for his technique.

The drow circled around him as the group of four traded blows at an impossible rate, the flash of the blades forming a sort of cloud between Tom and his attackers. They hissed and spat at him as he slowed his sense of time and let the ebrion take him over. He could see each individual motion, each twitch of every muscle, of the drow in front of him. In an instant, he was above the dark elf and on his way outside of the drow cirlce. He tracked the face of his target; he saw the sword coming to meet him as he reached the ground. With his off hand, Tom parried away the attack the Drow thought would be the fight ender. Tom's strong hand swept along the ground and cleanly severed the drow's feet at the ankle; his off hand now free, he stabbed deep into a firm thigh and dragged the dark elf towards him. Tom walked up his opponent's body, parrying the futile attacks from the bottom as he went. Even as the elf writhed beneath him, Tom maintained his balace, and finally placed his feet over each of the drow's upper arms. Fending off the two others with one hand, Rethalar brought a single runed blade down firmly into the cranial cavity of the drow beneath him.

He brought his head up to face the two remaining drow. With a second's concentration, both blades flashed blue flame at the same time; the visual effect was stunning, one blade a wall of blue flame, the other a pillar of it. His eyes flashed the same bright shade of blue as he gazed into the drow.

They stepped back as Tom stepped off the burning corpse and approached them, runes glowing blue. They both gave him one more step before looking at each other and lunging forward. Tom smiled as he brought the runed blades up to bear; the sinister laugh from the darkness bringing him only twisted pleasure.

This is fun. Scary, but fun.

[Vortigern]

Theria, Zhar and Illyriel had seen the flare Morion sent up, and could by now hear the sounds of fighting, the clashing of swords, the shouts of pain and confusion. It was also a safe bet that the number of people running away from one area meant their friends were nearby. Theria shook her head despairingly. 'Fitting in' was not something her friends were good at. Killing, slashing, hunting, shooting, burning, tracking... No problem. But ask them to spend a day in a city without getting a fight and you were wasting your breath.

Illyriel unslung his swords one at a time, running a finger along the edges to make sure they were still sharp. His satisfied smile told Theria all she needed to know about his fighting capabilities. She wished for a moment she had brought her bow, but the moment passed. With her quarterstaff Theria could easily take on two faster opponents with swords. Years of training, acclimating to the precise weight, strength and length of her elven staff had given her greater proficiency with it than she had ever imagined possible. Zhar cracked his knuckles happily, grinning at the prospect of a fight.

Zhar rounded the corner first, and let out a little noise of surprise as a thrown knife hammered into his chest. He grasped the handle and yanked it out before levitating it above his hand for a moment. The little knife then sped away into the murky depths of the street, finding Drow flesh with an agonised yelp.

"Handy trick, if you can do it," commented Zhar idly. "Return to sender, sort of thing." He raised his hands and a great wall of light blossomed outwards. Shrieks echoed out from the blinded Drow, and, when Theria's sight readjusted, she saw Zhar striding forward unmolested, and everyone else, Drow, Deathknelf, human, Minotaur and elf, struggling to get to their feet. She pulled Illyriel to his feet and they stumbled forward, trying their best to remain upright.

"Nobody move!" A shout echoed out down the street. Zhar's head shot up like a hare smelling a fox, and with a whirl of dust he vanished. Seconds later maybe fifty armed and armoured men began pouring out of the alleyways and both ends of the street until they had everybody surrounded. Rough hands pushed Theria and Illyriel to the ground and they found themselves manacled and hauled upright, before being bundled carelessly onto the back of a cart. Rom got a whole cart and cage to himself.

"What's going on?" Theria murmured to Illyriel as they both scrambled rapidly backwards, away from a tumbling Drow landing where they had been a moment prior.

"Watchmen," spat Illyriel. "They're not going to care about the truth, they're just going to arrest the lot of us."

"But we only just got here!" she protested, wondering fearfully to what horrors the inside of a prison cell might play host. Illyriel simply grimaced.

"Nice of Zhar to abandon us like that," he said eventually. "I don't know why you trust him, Theria."

"He's not so bad, deep down," she replied. "He has a good sense of humour."

"He finds wholesale slaughter to be a laughing matter. He's pure evil," Illyriel insisted. "Not to mention that he's undead and sold his soul for a chance at immortality."

"When you put it like that..." She trailed off, unable to think of a response. Zhar wasn't really the nicest of people, or anywhere even close. "He makes me laugh."

"I used to make you laugh," countered Illyriel, a wistful look coming over his handsome features.

"We're not going back to that, 'Riel," she told him.

"You haven't called me that in two hundred years," he said, grinning despite their situation. Looking at his smile, Theria could not help but share in the happiness of the memories of what they had enjoyed together. "I'm not asking you to go back to what we had, love," he went on. "But it would be nice to see you smile more. You used to be much happier."

"I wasn't chained up in the back of a watchman's cart back then," she reminded him. Illyriel laughed and leaned in close to her, the nearest thing to a caring embrace he could manage with his hands locked behind his back. Their reverie was interrupted by the airborne arrival of Morion, launched into the cart by the malevolent guardsmen.

"Afternoon, folks," he said nonchalantly. "Don't worry," he added, winking at Theria. "This isn't the first time I've crossed paths with the Watch. Oh, I see they put Lehrerin in here too." Morion smashed his knee into the prone Drow's face, eliciting a moan of pain. "You deserved that, you festering whoreson," he admonished, sitting heavily on his enemy's back as the cart started moving.

* * * * * * * * * * *

The prison was every bit as bad as Theria had imagined, the floor covered with dirty straw and excrement, the grey stone walls pitted with the scratchings of a thousand inmates counting off the days until freedom, disease or a knife to the back claimed them. She had been put in a cell with Illyriel, Tom, Morion and two of the Drow, with five other darkskins in one of the cells across the hallway. None of them had seen where Rom had been taken. The two Drow had not said a word to any of them, and glowered at Morion whenever they could be sure none of the others were planning to jump them.

The sound of the door opening and footsteps coming down the stairs brought Theria to her feet, desperately awaiting either something to eat or someone to set them free. Either would suffice at this point. A big, burly man with a carefully tended beard and a long black leather coat came down the stairs behind two watchmen, and his big, heavily scarred face creased into a smile when he set eyes on the prisoners.

"Open the door," he ordered. The two guards glanced at one another for a moment before obeying. "Step forward, elflady," he ordered, and for a moment Theria thought she recognised something in his voice. She stepped carefully out of the cell, avoiding the areas where the filth had grown thick. Illyriel caught her eye and she gave him a little shrug by way of answer. The guards closed the iron door behind her, and the big man gently placed a gargantuan hand on her shoulder. She looked into his eyes, and suddenly realised that she knew him.

"Essika?"

"You haven't aged a day, my lady," he replied. "Alas, time is not so friendly to we mere mortals. What on earth were you doing getting caught up with one of these street gangs? Lehrerin, of all the filth in Anharad." Essika cast a venomous look at the chief Drow, who was now leaning casually on the grille wall of his cell. He scowled, then winced at the broken cheek Morion had given him.

"They attacked my friends," she explained, indicating the cell she had just left.

"Is the Minotaur yours as well? You always had a gift for making them follow you, as I recall."

"Romulus is sworn to me, yes." Essika nodded and gestured to the two guards.

"Release the Lady Theria's companions," he instructed. The watchmen again did as they were bidden, though not without at least one raised eyebrow. Theria leaned in and up towards Essika's ear, nearly a foot above her head.

"What authority do you have here?" she wondered. "Last I heard you were working as a freelancer in the Meres."

"I was," he acknowledged. "But you know me, I go where the money leads. I'm here as a guest of the King, no less. Your weapons are upstairs," he added, noticing Tom's twitch towards where his swords should be. He paused, and looked closer at Tom. The Deathknelf stalked past, eyeing Essika distrustfully. Theria looked at him quizzically. "Do you know who that deathknelf is?" he asked.

"Tom?" Essika snorted.

"So that's his name these days, is it? There are a lot of people looking for him, you know. I would advise you to stay well away from him."

"I know who he really is, Essi," Theria reassured him. "Can we get out of here, please? This prison really smells awful."

Outside the watch-house, Essika bade them farewell. "I have my own mission, my dear, but I do hope we cross paths again." He leant down and kissed her cheek before turning and striding away, long black coat billowing the breeze.

"So...," began Illyriel, sidling up to Theria. "Mind filling us in?"

"Later," she assured him. "Right now, I think we ought to leave this city. Oh, good news, Tom, Morion, Rom," she added, remembering they still had no idea of what she had discovered. "An old friend of ours seems to have returned from the dead. It looks like Winter Vayu is reassembling the Paladins." Tom froze.

"Who?" asked Morion.





((Huh. That post got a little out of hand, sorry. Anyway, let's get back to the docks and be on our way. IRS, Dark Warden, you may wish to come meet us there with your new characters. Sorry, I got bored of waiting, and I wanted to bring Essika in. I'll explain him later. He'll be back.))

[Copaman]

Once inside the weapons store, Tom quickly took back his blades and affixed them in the proper position.

How is Vayu possibly back? How? He is dead. I know this and I wasn't even awake, let alone sane. It's not physically possible.

He took the opportunity to whisper his two cents in Theria's ear. Given that elven hearing was so far above and beyond anything else's, it wasn't so much in Theria's ears as it was at his feet; but the fact that she turned to look at him as he was speaking was enough of an assurance that she heard him.

"Theria, I don't know how you know him, but he knows me. Asides from the ghost of my pseudonym, nobody outside my species knows me. That seriously bothers me. Furthermore... I can't physically wrap my head around how Vayu is back. It's eating away at me. You'll need to tell me more when we get to the boat."

Edited by Copaman, 31 October 2009 - 02:24 AM.