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"Walking dead again," the unshaven, uniformed man muttered gruffly, and drank
deeply from his wooden cup of mulled wine. The man with him nodded grimly. The
listener could hear them easily from his shadowed table a few paces away. Even the
fat innkeeper seemed to have forgotten he existed.
"Belimar's banner again?" the other asked quietly. He, like his companion, wore
the uniform of the Fal'daran Borderguard. They both had the shaved heads of
Borderland warriors, excepting of course the topknots that fell untended down both
their necks.
The unshaven man shook his head. "Lord Malgane's. Flaming hundreds of them this
time I hear, and take me for a goat-kissing Trolloc if I don't flaming believe it.
Peace!"
The other man nodded again. The listener understood. War seemed to be sweeping
across the whole of the world recently. No sooner did one grudge die down than did
another two erupt somewhere else. Nations who had been peaceful neighbors with
each other for as long as anyone's grandfather could remember raised the cry for
war for some imagined slight or another. And at some battles, warriors claimed to
have confronted "walking dead": slain warriors, sometimes without entire limbs,
attacking them on the field, and in increasing numbers. The listener twitched with
agitation; war was a messy, unpredictable thing. At least people would die, people
who should not have to bear the suffering of living such sadly orderly lives. The
listener's hands began to twitch convulsively. They should not have to live, they
are in pain, they should not have to...the listener stilled himself with effort.
He was after something this night, a greater cause. Easing the pain of the local
populace could wait a little while longer.
The unshaven man went on. "He was there again, too. Healed Lord Malgane himself,
I hear, and him with a bloody spear through between his flaming ribs." If the
listener had been an Ogier, his ears would have perked up at this point. As it
was, he could not help but lean towards them in anticipation; there was no need to
wonder who "he" was.
At about the same time the wars had seemed to erupt, so did rumors of a young
cleric, hardly a man. A "Pure Child", he was called, and where war and suffering
went and was at its greatest, he followed, healing the injured, bringing back some
from the brink of death itself.
No one could be allowed to continue this cruel mission, keeping people from ending
their miserable lives. And so he had tracked him here.
The listener left. He forced himself to ignore the whispering in his ear, the
feminine voice urging him to ease the warriors' pain, their miserable lives.
So the "Pure Child" was indeed in the borderlands. And as before, he was
performing "miraculous" deeds, calling upon the favor of his patron to heal the
wounded. Using his power to needlessly prolong the lives of men. The listener
wanted to scream in frustration, and he quickened his pace. He needed to stop
this fool tonight, and he would have to make good speed if we was going to reach
the battlefield before dawn.
It was well past midnight when the small man, the Listener, settled into a hiding
place and observed the thousands of tents arrayed before him. Not that anyone
would have paid him much mind, in any event; As with the innkeeper, people seemed
to look through him or past him as if not seeing him at all, unless he brought
attention to himself purposefully. Even when they did, they dismissed him from
thought straight away. He did not understand the whole of it, and did not care.
He felt comfortable in the dark, and so kept to dark places.
After detecting what he sought, he crept softly towards the encampment. A pair of
guards, talking softly between themselves and almost out of sight from the next
pair a hundred paces away in the dark. He slipped behind them. The azure,
Power-wrought knife that appeared in his hands was a part of him, and the guards
did not make a sound as their throats opened and spilled life onto the dirt.
It never occurred to him to question them alive.
The dagger disappeared in a flash of violet light. Laying hands upon one, he
touched a Source within him, and wove a strand of Spirit delicately into the
corpse. "Pasha," he whispered, "let this one's soul remain within him..."
The corpse twitched suddenly, violently. Slowly, as though just learning how to,
the zombie stood. Head turning from side to side slowly, eyes glazed, face
already blue, it somehow managed to look hungry. Ravenous even. The listener
knew exactly what it yearned for. "Tell me where the Pure Child is, and I will
let you feast on your former companions," the listener whispered. The zombie
seemed to eye him suspiciously, before its gaze went blank again. It pointed
north, towards the tents nearest where the fighting was. A foul tongue emerged
from its mouth and licked cracking lips. It awaited its reward.
The Listener destroyed it immediately. Spirit woven again, differently,
annihilated the soul animating the corpse. A soundless scream seemed to
reverberate in his mind, and he took a moment to relish the feeling...another
innocent soul saved from the world. Only complete destruction of the soul was a
truly beautiful thing.
Silent, he then glided in between the tents. Past cookfires he drifted, and not a
single guard paid him any mind. Even with this strange "gift", he normally would
have been more careful, but his object called to him. Destroy the Pure Child.
Destroy the man who stood in the way of his mission to rid the world of all living
sufferers.
He knew the correct tent as soon as he saw it, although he might have spent hours
seeking if he had had no idea where to search at all. He hid himself in shadows,
and studied the situation.
The giant pavilion was surrounded by white flags. Men seemed to be bustling in
and out of the large entrance in an ongoing tide. One by one, wounded were being
brought in on stretchers, or supported by others. He imagined a hundred people
could rest inside, easily.
Abruptly the flow inward stopped. For a while, people kept exiting the pavilion
until finally a large man, his entire head shaved, exited with two borderguards,
with warrior topknots. The lord and the guards paused outside the entrance.
"Let the cleric rest, Mashim," the lord said. "I want a dozen guards at this spot
at all times. None may bother him, not your own dying grandmother if she asks,
do you understand?"
"It will be done, my Lord," the borderguard, Mashim, barked. He and the other
guard shouted names, and men rose from nearby fires to join them. A dozen were
soon standing guard before the pavilion entrance. The lord nodded and strode off
towards another pavilion in sight, just as large if without the white flags.
The listener sneered contemptuously at the guards as he slipped by them. One almost
looked straight into his eyes, but shook his head and continued to scan the nearby
grounds before the pavilion. Candlelight and flickering shadows enveloped him as
he entered to confront this Pure Child.
He almost gaped with shock at the figure sitting cross-legged on a rug near a
candle, scribbling into a small book fervently. It was a stocky little boy--no,
a dwarf! Taking no chances, he immediately seized the Source and flung cables of
Air about the figure, leaving only his head free to move. To talk. He wanted
answers, the verbal kind a zombie could not manage.
The listener could not help but smile. "Sakti has found you, funny cleric person,"
he whispered. His gift did not stop guards from hearing him. "Sakti has sought
you too long. Too long, the certainly, but of importance this seeking was. The
certainly. You will answering questions for small Sakti, yes? Too much the pity
if the funny cleric does not answering Sakti, the certainly. And answering
quietly. Too loud and the fools outside your door will rescuing your corpse,
quite surely. Do not doubting."
The stocky dwarf trembled visibly. He seemed to test the bonds holding him.
"Who are you?" the dwarf muttered...just as quietly as Sakti.
"Sakti is Sakti. The minion of Pasha, the savior of the world. Do you yearn for
deliverance, funny cleric? Sakti is not so angry that he does not pity you, does
not feel your pain. Sakti will end it soon, none the worrying. Sakti has chosen
you, above many."
Suddenly the dwarf stopped his trembling. And stood, effortlessly, passing
through the bonds of air. "Chosen? I was Chosen before ever you heard my name,
my child." A scarlet nimbus surrounded the short cleric, and Sakti felt despair
flood through his being. Air, thick and strong as steel, wove itself around him
from head to toe. Despair? No cleric following a patron of Order could possibly
know how to... "Fool, trying to Bind a Dwarf. Do you feel the anguish and despair
filling your veins, my Sakti? Have you found me out? I should not have made that
slip, or perhaps I could have let you live. I can see the shock on your face.
Even I have trouble making you out, but I can see that much. Fool. Where do you
think the undead come from? Why do you think they appear wherever I go? You wish
to end my pain? Is that what drives you? Battle drives me, little Sakti."
Struggling against the bonds was futile but Sakti could not help himself. Why
was the cleric talking? Maybe if he kept on long enough, the bonds would fade...
then the fool would feel desecration like he had never known. No, not cleric.
Chaos-Cleric...
A vague look of adoration and bliss crossed the Pure Child's face. "Thorok himself
came to me in a vision. He is...there are no words to describe his greatness.
He towered above me like a mountain; his words boomed like the thunder. 'Go
forth,' he said to me, and my mind screamed with the pain, the ecstasy, of the
words hammering into me. 'Go forth and bring war to the world.' I have devoted
every moment to that end. The zombies are fallen warriors...now risen soldiers.
Those who do not die, I heal, and send back into the war. There is glory in dying
in battle, my child Sakti, but it is not a glory I think you will know. You are
not deserving of my Lord Thorok's blessing, I think"
The despair in Sakti's being clouded his mind completely. Zombies? He made them
on occasion, but never let them exist more than a moment. It was not right,
trapping the soul too long. Not right, letting the soul exist...he could not
think. He despaired. There is nothing left. Despair...
The dwarf put the small book in a pouch at his waist. He smiled cruelly, and Sakti
shivered violently. "This gift of invisibility you have, my child. Does it protect
you from the gods, the Lords themselves? Have you offended the Lord of Justice,
perhaps, with your great mission?" The scarlet aura surrounded the dwarf again,
and Sakti felt a complex weaving of all the flows surround him. Cutting at
something around him. Taking something away. Suddenly, Sakti felt...naked. He
was able to move his arm again, for a moment, before the bonds of Air crushed it
against his body once more. "Ah, my poor Sakti. I have dispelled you, and bound
you once more. I think I'll leave you like this. Yes, that I will do. Good
evening to you, my child." The scarlet glow surrounded the Pure Child once more.
A rift of crimson mist appeared in the air. He stepped into it and was gone.
Panic was overtaking him. He struggled to move. "Pasha? Pasha, help Sakti?" he
whispered fervently. The guards, if they came in, would see him as easily as any
other now. "Pasha??"
He felt a Presence materialize. A voice, feminine, seemed to whisper into his
ear, 'Another comes. I dare not.' Then the presence was gone.
He thrashed against the bonds, screaming, weeping uncontrollably. He did not
care if the guards came anymore. The Lord of Justice... "Pasha! Come back,
Pasha! Nevron can see Sakti! Please, Pasha, Nevron can see...!"
A giant Gateway split the air in two, and another Presence filled the room.
"Paaashaaaa!..."
"JUSTICE WILL PREVAIL," a voice boomed.
He barely had time to scream as cleansing Light obliterated the world.
* * * * *
The Pure Child stepped out of the rift that had recalled him back to the near town,
and it closed behind him. He glanced about. No one had seen.
Even from here, he shivered as he felt a cleansing power explode from the
direction of the borderlander's encampment. He almost expected to see a searing
pillar of fire from the heavens. He almost expected to see the horizon aglow with
fire. No one in the camp would feel a thing, of course. No one but that fool
Sakti would know what the purging fire was before it consumed him.
Fire. He smiled to himself. He would scour the land with pure soulfire before he
was done, and make way for the coming of his Lord Thorok.
"World," he whispered softly, "Embrace the Purification."
(Author's note: Sakti was indeed destroyed by Nevron, for multiple offenses.
Moral: be very tactful when discussing the Justice system :p)
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A Woman walks down the street and sits down on a patch of grass. Soon after a
little boy comes and sits down too. The little boy says 'Could you please tell
me a story?'
The Woman replies 'Sure, This is the story of a monk named Risha'
The Woman starts to tell the story...
'After being thrown out of her home, Risha went to the mountains of mist for
shelter from the social life. She had gone to the dwarves for acceptance but
they only laughed at her. While she was walking in the shadow of the mountain,
she saw two Grey eyes pierce the darkness of the shadows. This is where she met
her master, Daizazikhan Rei. He showed her the way of the monk. Since Risha had
so much rage in her heart she made an excellent pupil of Master Rei. The Master
tamed that rage and released it into vigorous training. While training under
Master Rei, Risha made many trips down the mountain. One day she met a monk
like her self that was also a Very powerful warrior, her name was Dareana Faole.
From that day Risha had her heart set on becoming a Monk-Warrior like Dareana
Faole. The Master said she was ready and before she knew she was in New Manetheren
Square. This is where she met other monks like her. One monk she treated like a
brother, his name was Caanan. After her transformation, she went back to the
mountains and went to practice under her master. The Master told her to go back
to town and to wait until she was ready to become a master monk. When she went
back to town she found out that her sister, Therava, had joined a clan called
Shaido. Risha decided to join this clan to find out what the life of her popular
sibling was like. In Shaido she met a person by the name of Tralin. He showed her
the ropes of being in a clan and he also showed her the war zone. He was amazed
at her power. The two of them usually worked quite efficiently as a team in the
war zone. Risha went to the wise one and talked to her. While talking she found
out she had a brother. Risha was shocked at first then decided to seek out her
brother. She didn't have to look long because she had found out her brother was in
the Shaido clan and arriving the next day. Risha was so thrilled that she would
meet her brother. Berraxis was a tall, muscular giant with great strength. He had
been trained as an anti-paladin. In talking with her brother she found out that
he also wanted to be a warrior. After her training, Risha went to the mountains
again and followed Master Rei for 7 years. When she had returned she learned that
her friends Caanan and her brother had gone to the Darkfriends clan. Risha decided
to follow them there.'
The Woman Says 'The Rest of this Story has yet to be written'
The little boy replies 'Thank you Therava'
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Five hundred years ago, there lived a man called Moonglum. His wisdom was
unsurpassed, and many gods respected him like one of their own. He came out
of the woods, a druid, and traveled the world, singing as a gleeman.
Knowing that the world lacked a reminder of nature's beauty, he envisioned a
great forest, where animals would live in peace and harmony, and where
druids could come to meditate and be one with the nature. Throughout his
vision, the dream was realized, and there stood a great forest, known as
Elliloren. Moonglum had asked three of his friends to guard the forest from
evil, and they agreed. 'Till this day, Castran the Fearless roams the forest
in search of evil, Tiveraana the Foxwoman has found a home near the two
great wolves, Imak and Anakou, and Shandreil Sharaseil has found a home
inside the great oak in the middle of Elliloren, next to great Totem
Animals. Since then, Elliloren became known by another name, the Tree Chimes.
Many years have passed, many things had happened, a reminder of times long
gone. The Ages changed, and the Wheel of Time had turned. The events in one
Age had become a myth in another, yet to be changed by other myths, and fade
by the time the Age had come again...
---
Many years after the creation of Elliloren, a balance between gods of Order
and gods of Chaos had been broken by ascension of Lord Bhalos. His coming
into the realm had allowed Chaos to overpower Order, and the great heroes of
the world began being overpowered by the hordes of Evil. Lady Shaeryn, the
lady of Neutrality, has watched the ongoing events with increasing
nervousness, as her role as the mediator between Order and Chaos was being
shattered.
A hundred years later, a great war broke out between the gods, a war for the
supreme god, a war for power. A war for survival. Each Lord has called upon
their heroes to fight the enemies, and blood has covered the earth like a
river. Bhalos, glad about all the upheaval and mischief caused, was sitting
relaxed, when Lords Vechelle and Rakhir have joined the forces of Order and
Chaos and assaulted Bhalos' bastion. His spirit was desecrated, but Lady
Shaeryn gave up her position of Neutrality, and had become a lady of
Deception. Lords of Order were outnumbered three to four, an the great Throne
War was lost to Chaos. During these events, a great strain had been laid
upon the celestial plane, as events of heavenly proportions were ripping the
Lace of Ages apart. When Lord Solace had come down from heaven to help his
brother Talen fight for Order, the strain became too great. Seams had
appeared in the Lace, and the world had collapsed.
---
In the wake of the destruction, in the forest of Elliloren, a young boy was
born in Tiveraana's arms. He was raised by his mother until the age of five,
when he started showing interest in hand to hand combat, and in meditation.
He was a reclusive boy, always sitting on his own, playing with animals or
meditating. Mother's heart had shown Tiveraana what to do, and one day she
decided to send him out into a rugged, reclusive part of Three Chimes, to a
spiritual priest.
This hermit had in fact been an aged monk, a man of great battle abilities,
but of greater wisdom still, retired in his old age. The master had
traveled far and wide, seen things beyond the Blight, beyond the Aryth
Ocean, beyond the Three-fold Land. When the hermit decided to train the boy,
he told him:
"first, I teach you to use this," he pointed to the boy's head. "Then, I'll
teach you to use these." The hermit flexed his fists and the knuckles
snapped.
The priest found an apt pupil, and his knowledge found its place inside the
boy's heart.
The years had passed, and the times changed. The boy grew into a teenager,
and later into a man. Oncem monk had told him, "I cannot stay here,
reclusive from the world, because my knowledge is needed. I have knowledge
of all seasons, while you are only one. Yet I am a very old man, while you
are young and strong...it's time for you to seek your fate, make a man out
of yourself, and act upon your head and your heart.
"Here, near the rock of peace, is where I will tattoo a picture on your
body. It will be on your chest, the tattoo of the Unicorn standing near the
waterfall, remembering our life near the waterfall in this great forest of
Elliloren." The man nodded, and his teacher started casting incantations, as
a bright red tattoo of the Unicorn appeared on Ruidon's chest. Go, my
student. My son."
The man gasped, but the power of the Unicorn on his chest was kicking in,
and he lost consciousness. When he came to his senses, he was lying on the
ground, naked, surrounded by curious people. The man got up, and started
walking.
... "And so is the legend of Ruidon, the master of fist and harmony...he
devoted his life to the two High Lords, Talen and Nevron, and went on to
live a dangerous life. He served Talen with his spirit as the Incarnation of
His Fury, and served Nevron with his sword, as the Eagle of Justice. Ruidon
had been known to love a woman, but lose her forever, and the sadness in his
eyes was like an endless pool of water. It had been said that Ruidon
vanished from the face of the land, mayhap slain by hordes of Myrddraal
during one of his raids on the Blight. Perhaps he was brought into the
Underworld by the netherdemons, never to see the Light of day... Have you
heard, or do you know anything at all about what happened to this
mysterious man?" asked the innkeeper.
"No, I know nothing of this man," said a cloaked figure. "Thanks for
telling me an interesting story about ... him. Here's some gold for letting
me stay for this night."
The man's sad eyes had enflamed for a second, but he forcefully composed
himself and looked onto the sunset. The innkeeper watched the cloaked man
shoot a smile at him but saw great sadness in the stranger's heart. The
wanderer's glance followed a bird, flying in a direction of blackened
mountains in the North, then he thanked the innkeeper and started walking in
that direction.
Bewildered, the innkeeper thought he saw something green on the man's wrist
when a strong wind raised the sleeve of his cloak, and noticed a strange
trail of budding grass sprouts wherever the man stepped. "Strange, strange
man," thought the innkeeper. "What's he doing, going north? Nothing but
Trollocs, Myrddraal and cursed Dragkar in the north! Picking trouble with
the Dark One himself, he is." ... He shook his head and began to vigorously
shine the new nameplate for his inn.
---
In the Celestial Plane, two heavenly figures stood and watched. "We don't
have many men like him left, and I need him to guard the Law and the
mortals," said one figure. "Take care of him."
"No," thundered another, "He claims he's the mortal incarnation of my Fury.
He shall prove himself, yet."
They both nodded, as Ruidon entered Tarwin's Gap, the passage between our
peaceful world, and the realm of hell spawn. The horizon was filled with
eyeless faces, rage-contorted figures, and a forest of swords, scythes,
spears.
"For her, for me, for all of us," he thought, as he charged into battle.
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Born to the nobility of Manetherin, Sakti Soliveir was a well-off child in a world
of dreams. The city was in a state of prosperity, and King Welmar ruled with a firm
but just hand. The concept of evil in this place was almost ludicrous, and
Trolloc's and Myrdraal were concepts of father's tales, told to children who did
not do their chores or mind their manners.
Yet it was in these peaceful times that a horrible plague suddenly struck the
lands. Without partiality or pattern, the sickness managed to find its way into
any home, noble or poor. It could deliver itself into a single house and ignore
its neighbors, or leave entire areas devastated and reeking of death for miles.
For weeks and then months, the unexplainable destruction of lives continued, and
many left the city, naming it cursed. Matters became worse as merchants and holy
priests refused to approach the city, and soon the death toll became unmanageable,
as citizens died to starvation and other, otherwise curable, sicknesses.
The streets grew black with unburied dead, as more and more people sought their
deaths in the open. As though driven from their infected homes, and hoping to
find a cure under Lord Talen's sun…
Some people, like young Sakit, seemed miraculously immune to the sickness.
Others fell immediately to the wasting disease. Others, like Sakit's parents.
Every day was an unbearable torture for Sakit, now seventeen seasons of age.
He, like everyone, could recognize the worsening symptoms in his parents - the
wet, hacking cough, the reddening and swelling of the eyes and nose, the loss of
energy. The cough, he knew, would soon acquire a gurgling, choking sound, as
the lungs began to fill slowly, painfully, with blood. Finally, unable to bear
the asphyxiating "confines" of the house, his parents would toss themselves
outside. There, on the dusty street, they would eventually choke to death on
their own blood.
For now, he could only watch. His parents, when they saw him, still smiled
lovingly. Lines of worry crossed their heads as they looked at him though…
examining, really, looking for signs of the plague. They would smile at him, but
at night as he dreamed he could see those smiles, and it seemed that the longer he
watched and did nothing, the more gaunt and sickened their flesh looked, until
finally all he could see were gaping skulls staring at him.
He always awoke crying.
It was on such a night that he began seeing the raven. Not a normal, black raven,
the variety that picked and clawed at the stinking corpses outside his home,
without respect or care for what they did. A strange whisper would appear in his
ear, like that of an alluring woman, calling his name longingly. Almost calling
his name…always, the voice pronounced it wrong, and left the last sound fading
strangely…
'Saktiiiiiiii…'
Once he opened his eyes, the raven would materialize. A teardrop the size of his
fist, of lurid, purple flame would shimmer into existence before his eyes, in the
darkness of his room. Quivering enticingly in the blackness, glowing eerily, it
would suddenly unfold wings and a head would protrude. Tiny splashes of violet
light would spatter from its wings to touch his blankets and fade away as it
lighted itself upon his chest. Then, it would turn its head to one side to stare
at him with one azure, unblinking eye.
Its beak could form words, in a woman's whispering voice. 'Saktiii,' it would
always say, 'don't you love your parents, Saktiii?'
The raven's name was Pasha. 'Of course I love them Pasha…why do you always ask me
that?'
'They're in pain, Sakti….do help them, they need you to help them Sakti…'
Every night thereafter, Pasha the raven would appear to him thus, whispering to
him desperately to end his parents' pain.
She would teach him things as well, though. Sometimes she would not croon to him
at all about his parents, but instead would whisper to him the secrets of weaving
what she called a Talent within him. Woven correctly, she said, this power could
be used to call lightening from an empty sky to dance for him, or to light the
fire in his bedroom fireplace.
He listened ardently. He had little interest in striking objects with flames, or
making animals halt immobile in their tracks. He did hope that Pasha would teach
him something he could use to heal his parents before they succumbed to the final
effects of the sickness.
So one night, tired of being patient and desperate to save his parents, he asked
Pasha if there was nothing she could teach him that would save them. 'Saktiii…you
do love your parents then? You do wish to end their suffering, my Sakti?'
'Of course I do Pasha!' he pleaded. 'It's all I want, please let me help them!'
Pasha only stared at him for a moment, then spoke quietly.
'Weave the flows of Air as I showed you, my little Sakti…let the light bend around
you that no one could ever see you even if they look directly where you stand.
Become invisible, my Saktiiii…' And he did as he was told. Without knowing
exactly what it was he drew upon, he found a source where the flows of Air
existed, and wove them as Pasha had taught him. He became invisible.
Pasha suddenly exploded upward in a flurry of violet splashes. Towards and out
the door she flew. Invisible, Sakit quietly followed. She led him to the
chambers where his parents slept. There they lay, swaddled apart from each
other on their bed, unable even in love to maintain too much nearness, with all
the horrid coughing and hacking. Pasha flew to a bedpost and lighted there, her
glow lending everything in the room a slightly purple color.
'Tell me what to do, Pasha. Please.' Sakit spoke quietly so as not to wake his
poor parents.
'Weave Spirit, little Sakti…send the flows into your parents and tell Pasha what
you find. That's its, my small Sakti…. do you feel it? Do you see it? Tell
Pasha what you see'
'I…I see torment, Pasha! It's horrible, please tell me how to take it away!'
'You are touching their souls now, my pretty Sakti. Their souls are tainted,
causing them the suffering you now see. Destroy the soul, Sakti, and their pain
will end forever…'
'Their souls? But I can't do that Pasha! Can't I just heal them?'
'The disease that destroys them consumes from within…can you not feel it tearing
at their souls as we speak, gnawing away at their very existence? No cleric's
praying, or apothecary's medicine, has the power to touch this disease. Their
suffering will continue. As their souls deteriorate, so then will their bodies
continue to deteriorate, until finally, soulless, they will have nothing left at
all. They will be dead, my poor, darling Sakti, and they will die in horrible
suffering unless you stop it here, now.'
'But Pasha, is there no other way---?'
'Look at them! Look Sakti! They might not live until tomorrow. Tomorrow, the
next day for sure, they will join the poor bloated fools outside.'
'I can't Pasha! I don't want to kill them!'
'They are dying, child! Help them now, before it is too late! Does Sakti love
his parents? Does Sakti wish to help them?'
'I can't!'
'Sakti!'
'I…Sakti loves! Sakti helps!'
Sobbing uncontrollably, he did as he was told. He did as he wanted to, to end his
parents' suffering. Reaching inside each of them with flows of Spirit, he touched
that part of them which is the soul…
As young Sakit shattered their souls into a million fragments, they both sat up,
eyes wide and gaping, mouths open in a soundless scream that seemed to pierce his
mind. It was their souls screaming in agony, he somehow knew. As their
soundless voices faded from his mind, he felt something within him stir
uncomfortably. A presence within him seemed to cry out in despair, broke free,
and left. Young Sakit's soul, despairing at his treatment of his parents'
souls, fled from him that night.
Sakti was a shade.
Stumbling outside into the night, Sakti wandered through the streets confused,
scared. Aimlessly he walked, tripping over corpses as he went, hardly noticing
the overpowering stench of death and decay in the air. Out of the gloom a woman
holding a baby suddenly appeared. A peasant. He had drifted from his part of
town.
'My lord!' she cried. 'Please my lord, my baby is starving. Do you have bread
my lord? For my baby, she is starving!'
His eyes seemed oddly well attuned to the darkness. The baby was dead already,
from disease or starvation. A feeling of contentment welled within him. The baby
would suffer no more. The mother, however, was still wailing at him, thrusting
the corpse of her child in his face. 'Please help me, my Lord!'
She was suffering. He reached for her.
'Sakti loves you. Sakti will end your pain…'
x x x x x
On another plane of existence, a shimmering raven of lurid, purple flame looked
down upon the world of men, and grinned evilly. Another wonderful night of
suffering, and a new, hopelessly obedient servant. A presence, no less evil than
his own, formed near him. A voice said, "What have you done now, Kolfax?"
He couldn't help but laugh.
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Sogath was born in the stedding like any other Ogier. He was raised among his
people. As he grew older it became obvious to the elders that he was not like
them.
When he was old enough, the stedding elders forced Sogath to leave the stedding
and bade him never to return with his evil thoughts and rebellious ideas.
Sogath took what knowledge he had gathered from his youth and set forth in the
world. The Ogier being a magical race had ingrained some basic magic use into
him. He sought out a teacher and further honed his magical skills until they had
surpassed his teachers in just a few years time.
The longing struck home hard. He became ill, knowing to be well he must return
to the stedding, also knowing that he could not.
That evening, Thorok appeared to him. Thorok offered him a solution that would
allow him to live. He offered Sogath a place at his side…as a shade. Thus it
was, Sogath entered the shadow once and for all time. Now one of Thorok's
followers, he found a place to live in the enchanted forest. It was in the
forest that he became re-attuned to nature and began honing his woodland skills
and training in earnest as a ranger.
It is rumored that this giant shade is still seen on chilly, quiet nights in
New Manetheren. Slipping this way and that...still seeking fame, fortune and
the glory of lord Thorok.
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Page 5
Stories
Page 7
A MUD based on Robert Jordan's Wheel of Time series. With roleplaying encouraged through
guilds, clans, clanwars, holywars and throne wars. Experience the Wheel of Time world in a
whole new way: in an Age ravaged by the Last Battle. The time lace has been broken, the barrier
between dream and reality shattered. Weaves. Clans. Crafting. Huge World. Free Online Role Playing Game or commonly called RPG. The most unique Free Online RPG set in the Wheel of Time world.
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