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Candles Over the White Bridge
The wind was cold this night, gusting in through the cracks and pushing against the
dried membrane of the window, making it snap back and forth, each time making a sound
like folding parchment. It never seemed to stop, the prying fingers of the cold,
working their way through the boards and mud-caulk and eaves, forever slipping
underneath the door and around the cracks of the gut-flap window cover. Even during
the hottest summers, the cold would find its way in, late at night, it would creep
inside, hand in hand with the dew. Nothing could stop the cold, no flame or wall or
cloth; the cold would wait forever, if it needed to. Orrick Cullens shivered and
pulled his cloak tighter about his shoulders, wishing for wood to burn in his empty
fireplace, to keep the night back for at least a few hours.
Through the translucent window cover, he could see the vague outline of the White
Bridge, silhouetted by the setting sun. It was, he knew, a glorious sight, gossamer
threads and arches glittering as they were set aflame by the crimson wash of the
sky above. The Bridge spanned a tremendous chasm, at the base of which the city of
White Bridge lay huddled like a stain. Little more than a collection of huts and
muddy pathways, the only reason for the cities existence was moving goods back and
forth from the river to the well-traveled road above. A meager existence, and a
meager and huddled people to live it out. The incredible, ancient beauty of the
Bridge somehow made it seem worthwhile sometimes, though.
Except at night. There was nothing Orrick hated more than the night, than all the
places just out of sight, all that undefined emptiness. Not that he was afraid of
what was beyond his vision. It was more the thought that anything could happen out
there and he would not be able to witness it, to attest to the events that happened
while under the cover of the inky blackness that fell in this steep crevice. More
the thought that he would be helpless to prevent whatever happened out of his sight,
to be helpless to help those who needed his aid. As constable of a city which seldem
saw the light of the sun, and even less common the light of the moon, he was indeed
placed in a miserable situation.
That was the reason he had taken it upon himself to place tallow lamps at every
corner of the city, no matter how backwater or unimportant that intersection may be.
As he sat during his shift in the watch tower, overlooking the few clusters of huts
and shacks that were White Bridge, he would at least not be reliant solely on his
hearing to warn him of brigands or any other assaults upon the law-abiding townsfolk.
He would, in fact, say (if anyone had ever thought to ask) that even more than a fine
glass of honey-ale, even more than the comfort of a soft woman or the laughter of
friends, even more than the melody of a particularly good Gleeman's tale, he liked
light. He had spent the last fifteen years of his life lighting the lamps and watching
over them as they twinkled and wavered throughout the night. It was very likely that
the next fifteen would be spent the very same way, and the fifteen after that, if
the Great Lords were so kind as to give him so many years.
He dug into the last of his mutton, knowing he had a few more minutes before he would
need to go outside. At any moment, Orrick could have said how many minutes of daylight
were left before the sun fell for good beneath the western horizon. The wind buffeted
his home again, and he was glad for the thick layer of mud he had spread over the walls
last month. It had been filthy work, but well worth the effort. Also worth the effort
was the elaborate covers he had built around his tallow lamps to protect them from the
wind. It would have been simpler to have made them of glass, but glass was not easy to
come by on the small salary of a city constable, especially as small a city as this.
But after an entire summer of tinkering with wooden flaps and lengths of polished shale,
he had managed to devise a way that the lights might burn bright even underneath the
attention of the strongest gale.
Outside, he knew the White Bridge has faded into a deep violet, barely visible against
the smooth velvety cover of the clouds above. The smooth curves of ivory could be seen
only if you were nearly atop the bridge itself. Best not to be traveling at night across
the bridge; the ancient builders had not seen fit to build guards along the edge, and it
was a long way down indeed. Ten minutes perhaps before the darkness was complete.
Sighing, Orrick took a last bite of his meal before throwing the bone to Samson, the
mutt that was his only companion in this small shack. Quickly, Orrick gathered up the
few tools of his trade, dropping them into a small leather sack at his belt. Again
pulling his cloak tight about his shoulders, he stepped out to meet the approaching
night.
It took only a few moments to light the city, gently coaxing the thick pools of tallow
to burn, then watching to make sure they did not flicker out before the guide-wick caught
flame as well. The city lit, he began the long trudge up the side of the cliff wall, to
light the candles atop the bridge. He had decided it was best to keep the bridge at least
somewhat lit, to protect against merchants who were so greedy as to travel at night from
falling to their certainly messy deaths below. As he forged up the gravel-strewn path, a
particularly fierce gust of wind forced him to halt and lean back against the stone face,
lest he be tossed like a feather over the canyon below. The wind gusted again, as if
angry to be thwarted, before breaking again and letting him continue.
This had been a particularly harsh Autumn, he thought to himself as he put foot over
foot, endlessly pushing up the path. After the unbelievable season before, the summer
that seemed to go on endlessly, burning every drop of water out of the land. And now,
the temperature cold enough to kill a man if he did not keep his wits about him. And
barely past the Harvest moon. It had been a crazy cycle of the seasons. Yet another
mad male caster, claiming to be the Dragon Reborn, in Saldea, gathering folk about him
like a general. And then him cast down by the Tower, praise the Light, and not weeks
after that, another. This one in Tear, his hand actually on the greatsword Callandor,
or so rumor had it. And an army of Aiel if you believed everything you heard. Orrick
was cynical to the rumors the tradeships brought. He, of course, believed what his
eyes saw, and had little use for anything else.
At last he broke the top, and walked around to the first lamp on the bridge. So many
times had he done this, he could do it in the dark if he needed. Fiften years of doing
something could have that sort of affect. Still, he liked to get the lamps lit before
the sun was gone completely from over the lands of Andor. The principle of the matter.
What purpose lighting them at all if they didn't burn all night long?
The first of the lamps sputtered and flickered for several minutes, the wick had not
dried from the dew of the morning, and was reluctant to catch. Still, he was patient,
and he watched in silence as the moisture sparked and spat and finally gave up. It was
nearly dark as he strode purposefully to the second lamp. This one lit quickly, as did
the next, and the next. It was dark before he had reached the end, however. Nodding to
himself, as he had a habit of doing when he was alone and pleased with his efforts, he
began the long trek across the bridge. He was nearly into the circle of light of the
next lamp when some strange urge made him turn and look at the night behind him.
He looked back into empty darkness, and deep in his head he could hear his grandmother,
her voice broken and tired, as she told him of the Forsaken around a dimly lit hearth.
How had that lamp gone out? It had been burning hot and bright just a moment ago.
"And Sammael, it was said he traveled in a cloak of darkness, like the night wrapped
about him." Muttering to himself, he marched back to the lamp, in no particular hurry;
he knew noone was coming down the road for at least the next few minutes. The setting
sun had shone lastly on the trail that wound down out of the hump of mountains to the
west, revealing only an empty path. He fumbled with his lantern in the darkness, then
gently guided pulled the wick from his own lantern and let it burn in the pool of
tallow. A moment of sputtering and the candle lit up as bright as before. Shaking
his head, he replaced the wick in his lantern and again began the long walk down the
length of the bridge.
There was a light tap on his shoulder, and then around him the amplified light of the
lamp was snuffed out. He spun about, raising his lamp high above his head to cast a
circle of light about him. He stood alone on the bridge, surrounded only by shadows.
He looked at his shoulder and brushed it off lightly with his shoulder. Finding
nothing there, he squeezed the cloth to see if it was damp from rain. No, it was dry.
Giving one more uncertain look about him, he walked back to the lamp, this time certain
the wick must be damaged. Her voice was like the sad creaking of a hinge on a door no
longer used.
"Myrddrals they are called, and they walk with the deadly grace of snakes. Their
cloaks are all torn and colored dark violet, and the wind never touches it, so a
soldier will say every time. They have no face, no eyes, and they can walk in darkness
as easy as not."
Muttering to himself, as much to banish the taunting memory of his old grandmother's
stories as to actually hear himself, he pulled the main-wick out of the pool of tallow
and tossed it over the side of the bridge. The darkness swallowed it so completely as
to have never existed. He drew another main-wick from his leather pouch and replaced
it gently in the pool. It lit quickly and he rapidly packed his tools away, ready to
be snug in the tower, watching over the dull, dirty length of the town. Checking the
fixture around the tallow pool, he frowned. It sat firmly in place, and should have
worked just fine. Perhaps something had gotten into the tallow-fat?
He again began the long walk back. Just at the edge of light, he stopped and turned.
The lamp burned merrily, the fresh wick soaking up the tallow easily. He waited for it
to be blown out somehow, but it remainded bright. There you go, must have just been the
wick. Continuing down the bridge, he whistled a nameless tune to himself. The shadows
moved fitfully around him, pushed back by his lantern. He was almost all the way across
when, almost right in front of him, the lamp snuffed out. He had been staring directly
at it, so he was sure noone had put it out. It just disappeared, as if someone had
closed their fingers on it. It must be an updraft out of the canyon, some rare product
of the cool weather this early in the season.
"Moghedien lived in a black palace, a giant spider's lair it was called, with not a
single candle burning in it. She would wait in the heart of her den for mortals to come
and die. And when they did not come, she would somehow call them..."
Somehow knowing, he turned around. Before his eyes, one by one, the light of the lamps
began to disappear. It was as if someone he could not see was walking away from him,
blowing out each candle one by one. That was pure foolishness, of course. Just the
little boy in him talking on a cold and lonely night...
He turned away from the desolate sight and marched briskly to the lamp at the end of
the bridge, intending to light it. And as if to mock him, he felt what he would swear
was a fingernail scratch up the back of his neck. He spun, raising his lantern high
again. Had something ducked back into the shadows just as he spun? Surely not, now
his mind was just playing with him. He scratched and grappled at the back of his neck,
driving out the fluttery feeling just beneath the skin, then quickly returned to the
tallow lamp. He drew the flaming wick from his own lantern and raised it to ignite
the main-wick.
He swore a woman's face, lined and pale and somehow mockingly solemn appeared out of
the darkness and puffed her lips. The wick blew out, and he was left standing in darkness.
He shivered, still not frightened, but terribly unsure if his eyes had played a strange
trick on him or not. Why would a women blow out his lamps, and how could she have ran
all the way back to his end of the bridge without him seeing her coming? What lunacy
was this?
He spun about, eyes searching the darkness for some clue. The moon had not yet risen,
however, and he was shrouded in darkness. Then, at the far end of the bridge, a solitary
lamp lit. He could hardly see it at this length. He paused, considering. If there were
foul play about, he needed the light of that lamp to see what was going on. However,
there could be bandits and he would never see them approaching in this darkness. He
could march down the side of the cliff in the dark; he knew the path well enough not
to fall. But what if some caravan were to pass through during the night? They very
well could tumble down into the depths below, and that would not do.
As he again began the walk across the bridge, something tugged at the edge of his
memory. Something about the woman's face...
"The Dark One himself is but a tower of shadows, a stormcloud of darkness, pure evil.
And when your body fails, he comes for you himself, draws you deep inside his cloudy
blackness, and makes you a part of it, forever doomed to wander through empty black
mists."
He shivered. Thinking back on it, his grandmother had always seemed a little bent
toward the more evil variety of childhood tale. Searching his memory, he couldn't
seem to recall one nice story she had ever told him. This was just foolish thoughts
to fill up a strange and windy evening, though. Almost halfway across the bridge,
he realized the lamp was not lit, but instead a lantern held in the hands of a
cloaked figure.
He stopped, unsure. Who would be standing on the bridge? Why would they have blown
out all his lamps? He pondered, perhaps it was a brigand, waiting to do him some
harm. Or perhaps it was a Trolloc, wandered south in search of who knows what. Should
he just go back to the town? Forget this whole crazy night, call out the other
constables and spend the night huddled together against the evils in the darkness?
In the end, it was the sheer preposterousness of any idea he could come up with that
motivated him. Would the Forsaken honestly come out to this little backwater trading
village, simply to torment him? Would myrddrals honestly storm this empty city? He
was merely forming ridiculous ideas to explain some off phenomenon of nature. The
robed figure was merely a traveller, waiting at the end of the bridge, unsure if
they should cross in the darkness or wait til morning. He would walk across, ask the
traveller to use his lantern flame for a moment to light his own, and then be about
his business and enough with this foolishness. No use trying to keep the lamps lit
when the wind was just going to blow them out again. He would take them down in the
morning, and devise some sort of guard against an updraft, which it surely must be,
an updraft blowing up over the side of the bridge.
Stepping into the circle of light from the traveller's lantern, he was suddenly
overwhelmed by a powerful stench, a reek of death and decay. He gagged, looking at
the figure through watering eyes. How could he stand the scent, it was so strong?
Something must have been rotting here for days to become this foul. Even as he thought
of that, he knew it couldn't be true. He walked the length of this bridge twice a day,
every day. If something had been rotting here, he would have smelled it and carted the
carcass off. No such thing had occured. What was going on here?
And then he knew. Even before the figure reached back and drew back the hood of its
cloak, he knew. He stared into the eyes of the figure, seeing now the familiar face,
destroyed but still recognizable thru the decay. The flesh was purple and stretched,
seeping yellow fluid. Stark holes along the cheeks showed where worms and insects of
other sorts had burrowed into the flesh. Wispy, tangled clots of hair dangled
obscenely from a ragged and stripped skull. And his grandmother's eyes stared at
him from the dark pits beneath the brows, the sockets full of writhing maggots.
"I always told you to stay out of the dark. I thought I raised you to be a good
boy, and now here I find you breaking the rules. I think, little Orrick, you shall
have to be punished."
Orrick, who really had faced the strange events of the night with terrible bravery,
finally snapped. Screaming in horror, he turned and fled from the dark-sent
apparition, fear clotting his every sense. In a moment he was gone, swallowed up
by the shadows.
Graendel let the weaves fall, returning to her natural form once more. She had
hoped for a little more spine from the lad; he had seem so set in his ways she was
sure he would have stared his own dead grandmother in the face and somehow explained
it to himself. Like everything else, the people these days seemed frail and sad
imitations of what had been in the days before the sleep. Even with Lews Therin
running about in that feeble farm boy's body, she was grateful to be able to prove
to herself she was superior to this sad cattle. Sending weaves out into the night,
she probed, feeling for another mind to break.
Orrick knew his mistake a moment before he made it. He tried to stop, tried to throw
himself to the ground or grab at something to stop his progress. He was only a moment
too late. Plunging over the edge, he stopped shrieking in horror. Realizing that
really couldn't have been his dead grandmother. Really, how would a dead person have
the strength to dig thru five feet of hard-packed soil? Especially with rotting
muscles and through a solid wood coffin? Total foolishness. Thoughts like this
really did him no good, he thought to himself, perhaps a little crazily.
Staring at the lamps burning in the village below, rushing up at him with terrible
speed, Orrick reflected perhaps the uncertainty of darkness was somehow preferrable
to seeing everything. And then he was past the lamps, and everything was dark again
for a very long, long time.
Yggdrasil
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Amyrlin, this may interest you- Sedai Meranith
Researchers note: Appears to be some sort of diary entry. . .strange that it
should have survived the destruction. Stranger still that it should be written
in blood and on the cured skin of a small child...
It began with the whisperings. Bodiless voices in the deep of night.
Animals missing, children snatched from their beds in the dark hours. No warning.
No one was spared. Barons and peasants alike suffered, equally.
Strange things occurred in the night in fair Aridhol. King Radien Mayel worried
endlessly about the affliction his fair country had contracted. The reports he
received were horrid. Trails of blood that led from cottages, only to disappear
abruptly. Nothing conclusive and no clues as to the villain.
When the children began missing from his capitol, King Mayel knew he must do
something. He must protect his kingdom, and more importantly his daughter, Raen.
Ahh, Raen, the last remembrance of his fair wife , Sylwen. The pride of Aridhol!
Gracious, beautiful, wise beyond her six tender years. She was adored by the
kingdom entire as was her mother before her. The whole of Aridhol mourned the
queen's death, and took solace in the last gift she gave them, Raen. Everyone
loved her.
And she had the most beautiful sapphire eyes.
Seeking to put an end to his peoples suffering, King Mayel sent an entire squadron
of Aridol's famous Ranger-Paladins to scour the countryside seeking out and bringing
to justice the cause of this plague.
The ranger-paladins traced rumors of a male channeler to a small village just on
the outskirts of the city proper. They struck at night and were appalled to discover
the newly arrived priest, covered in blood, crouched among piles of animal parts
and the corpses of children, offering souls to the dark gods.
They took him mercilessly. However, the priest was possessed of frightening strength
and his eyes glowed emerald in the near dark of the church. His foul use of the source
took many a brave warrior to the grave. In the end he was over powered by sheer
numbers. Stilled, and chained, he was taken to the King.
The price of the cure to his country was incredible. Of the five hundred
ranger-paladins sent, barely a dozen came home.
The King looked down from his throne at the beaten prisoner. There would be no mercy
for this one. The priest glared his baleful emerald eyes in contempt. With his daughter
by his side the king uttered few words, "At dawn, you die." With a disdainful motion of
his head, the king left. The priest was strangely silent.
In the hours before dawn, firewood was gathered, and set around a tall wooden stake.
Copious amounts of lamp oil were poured on the pile. The stage was set and all that
remained were the players in this seemingly final act.
At dawn the square was filled with people. King Mayel watched from his tower as the
priest was led to what was to be his pyre. Upon being tied to the post, the spell of
silence on the priest seemed to vanish. "Damn you Mayel!, I will not rest easy in
the grave!", he screamed, spittle flying with every word. With emerald eyes blazing
he cried, "I will take from you everything you hold dear, your life, your kingdom,
and finally, I will take Raen."
King Mayel fairly snarled as he protectively pulled Raen closer. "You will take
nothing, lest it be from the grave!!" With a sharp gesture of his head he signaled
his Ranger-Paladins. Raising their shining war bows to the sky, they drew taut their
justice, and awaited the final sign. The King stood many moments staring back at the
monster. An almost unseen flick of his wrist sent five thousand stabs of righteous
fury singing into the morning sun, where they hung
brightly,
then,
descended.
Ten years passed, and the curse of the dread priest was all but forgotten. King
Mayel remarried and had a son, whom he christened Balwen. He grew strong and was
as beloved of the people as his sister. These were the golden years of Aridhol, and
fast approaching their end.
Raen had grown into a beauty of unsurpassed poise and grace. But she had taken to
studies of the darker practices of her peoples. The King was unhappy to say the
least. As she became increasingly violent, the King was forced to send her away.
King Mayel descended into a deep melancholy. If only he had kept closer watch.
As before, it began with the whisperings. Disembodied voices barely heard and never
understood in the night.
This time however, when the search began, an anonymous letter to the General, sent
him pale and shaking to the palace itself.
He found King Mayel, covered in blood, crouched in piles of mutilated children, his
eyes blank and unseeing, his mind broken.
News spread quickly, and as Prince Balwen was still so young, Raen was called back
from her isolation, where the nuns pronounced her cured of her affliction.
In the dawn after the preparations for the kings execution, Raen stood silently in
her fathers tower. With a small gesture, 10,000 Ranger-Paladins loosed justice and
mercy into the dawn's light. Where they hung,
shining,
then,
descended.
The citizens of Aridhol gazed up at their Princess as she wept silently. Their
hearts crying for this brave young woman. She had become so beautiful, they said.
She looked radiant! The people gathered that morning could only marvel at her
strength of will. They cried for her and for the fall of a great monarch. They
would in the days ahead, use her as an example, and take comfort in her strength.
And they speak about how tall she had grown and how beautiful her emerald eyes were.
----Raen left Aridhol that night, never to return. She went north in to wilds.
It is rumored that she acquired a demon lover.
----Other rumors persist that of this union a child was born. They claim that as the
child was born and Raen lay dying she spoke only three words. Smiling strangely
she whispered, "His name is Mordeth."
----There is no further information of this child or Raen's final resting place.
Researchers note: The fragment ends here, Amyrlin, it was found, clutched in the
rotting arm of a Myrddraal. There was nothing else left of the creature. Simply an
arm, lying half out of a crumbling archway leading into the ruins of an ancient city.
As this seemed in keeping with your current project, we did not enter the city,
instead bringing this to you forth with. We do not know what killed the
Myrddraal . . . .
Caanan
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The Attack
Maedros awoke and his senses reeled. "Yes, Dark One," he said, and then
shook his head to clear it as he realized no one was about. A rare earthy
scent in his nose and a dampness on his skin told him that it had just
rained. Odd. He'd never slept through rainfall before. Maedros had
listened well to the Lorekeepers as a boy, and to him every rainfall
represented hope that the Aiel Nation would find redemption in the
three-fold land. He had savored every minute of each rainfall of his
twenty-two years, one or two each windy season. Maedros could imagine
that he passed into manhood in the short span of those cumulative hours,
racing toward adulthood in a double-handful of inspired lunges.
The other children took joy in the rare precipitation as well, dashing
about headlong, shouting and whooping to the sky, but for Maedros the
experience was transcendant, transforming. A tangible promise of
future glory. Maedros blinked but could not clear the impression
of a well-worn algode blouse and a piercing gaze. A thick claminess
melded into the feeling of dampness on his skin and snatched his
attention like a sand-lizard grabbing its prey. This was no rain.
He realized that the clinging sensation had been there for quite some
time, and his still-waking mind had chosen to interpret it as the more
agreeable water moisture. Jarred fully awake, Maedros saw movement among
the patrol he was with, which had bivouacced for the night in a cleft
of the bluffs facing westward toward the Spine.
If the claminess had awoken them, it could not have arrived long ago, for
the spears were shamefully disorganized. Maedros sprung to his feet, veiling
in the same motion, and shot an annoyed glance at the young spear he had left
in charge of the watch. A promising young man, but he had apparently failed
his duty this night. Maedros looked away lest he shame the spear further
by seeing his disgruntlement, and focused his eyes eastward over the
bluff. There was too much movement to be only the patrol sentries.
Maedros gripped his spears and decided that the Codarra Tain Shari that
had been following them for the past week had finally decided to press
the attack. Ever since Maedros had become de facto leader of the Cor
Darei Society in Clan Chareen, there had been turmoil in the Nation over
Maedros returning after six years in the Blight to take leadership
in the Warrior Society dedicated to eradicating shadowrunners.
No few Aiel saw both Maedros and his prey as the same enemy,
and the Codarra True Bloods had arrived to pass bloody judgement
on the male channeler who remained with the Nation.
As he watched the pattern of advancement, the strange dream he had tugged
at the back of his mind. He shook his head to clear it and flashed signals to the
waiting spears. Perhaps a few of the sentries could be brought in before
Tain Shari arrived. Every shift and twist of the dance woven before
him signaled the death of another of his sentries. Musing that he should
feel honored that such capable spears were sent against him, Maedros
gave rapid orders to the main body of his patrol - the natural defensiveness
of the campsite could be used to even the odds somewhat. He wondered if
the Talent would come to him this night, and snorted at the irony of it.
Whether he could tap his ability this night might well determine whether
he would pass into the next dream tomorrow night or much, much sooner.
He spat in frustration as the dance before him flowed ever closer.
A glint from a spear here, a snatch of a glance of ghostly whtie cadin'sor
there, and a muffled thump which accompanied each shift and transition.
Maedros took solace that no spears dishonored themselves by crying out
as they were cut down.
Abruptly the pattern shifted, and Maedros felt his stomach clench as he
realized he had glimpsed this stranged dance before. What looked like
steam rose from the ground, swirling and eddying around the major
streams in the flow of the dance, where the True Blood spears must
be concentrated. A loathsome precognition wracked Maedros to his
core and shattered the calm in which he grasped at Saidin. Those
spears before him would not see the coming dawn. The eerie mist wavered
and thickened, forming and reforming chaotically. Maedros's view of the
advancement was rapidly obscured, and as the screams started, he tried
not to imagine what would make the aiel shame themselves so. Flashing
signals to calm his nervous spears, Maedros gave the command to fire
arrows into the fog. A futile effort, but one which would occupy their
minds as this insanity coalesced about the camp. The soft twang of
bow strings and rushing whir of dozens of arrows were followed only by
human cries, at which Maedros felt a resigned disappointment. A deep-throated
wailing drew forth from the solidifying eddies, and Maedros cursed as he
fumbled for the Source vainly.
As an unnatural cloud breasted the encampment like Sightblinder's own
sandstorm, a shaft of blinding purple-white liquid fire from the north,
from the teeth of shadow, cut through it, instantly dissolving everything
it touched. One of the Codarra spears broke away from the ruptured eddy,
staggering towards the camp with ragged stumps where his arms should have
been and his clothing strangely half melted away. Maedros wondered how he
could be such a visage of death and still be walking. The man collapsed
soundlessly as Maedros's eyes were drawn to the afterimage of the pale
light-spear. More shafts of the fluid light darted into the fog in quick
succession, evaporating the cloud and revealing more clearly twisted half
shadows writhing within. Finally having targets, the patrol let fly into
the spawn of darkness, but the arrows seemed to fade away as they reached
into the now thinned fog. The unknown channeler was approaching at a run,
but Maedros could see that it would be too late to save his spears.
As tendrils of clammy dampness wafted around him, a strange calm
overtook him, and his mind descended into an unaccountably familiar
dark blankness. As Maedros seized Saidin, snatches of images from his
dream returned to him, with a woman's voice saying "he will return from
the teeth of Shayol Ghul with wrathful anger... ." Flame spewed forth
from his hands as he desparately tried to push back the writhing fog.
Sounds of spears dying reached his ears and he screamed in rage and
anguish, clawing for more of the Source than he had ever before dared.
Weaves of air slammed a shield between the remaining spears gathered
around him and torrents of fire he sent toward threatening black
abominations within the fog.
Only slowed, the creatures pulsed and coalesced, oozing through cracks
in the shield of air that couldn't exist. The stars faded away, and
Maedross hands whitened around the shaft of his spear as he gathered for
a final effort. A thick shaft of liquid fire shattered through the center
of the writhing forms, and swept about to clear a path to Maedros and the
handful of spears with him. Maedros squinted through the afterimage and
made out a haggard skeletal figure in clinging tatters of cadin'sor. Maedros
gasped as he recognized a Chosen One of Chareen who had gone to spit in
Sightblinder's eye when he was little more than a boy. Maedros opened a hole
in the shield of air for the gaunt figure, who stepped through the encroaching
tendrils of evil and began gathering flows of the Power to himself. "I thought
you were dead," Maedros said in dazed unbelief. Sunken eyes regarded Maedros
as the other man said, "She came to me in a dream. I.." and stopped short,
screaming, as a twisted claw tore through his abdomen and thigh, spraying
blood and bone. Adrenaline and the Source flooded through Maedros as he
rapidly wove the same flows together, and the great shaft of liquid fire
seemed to leap from his hands of its own accord, shattering the dense
cloud and the twisted things in it as Maedros let the beam play through a
half-circle. Only a few wisps remained of the dank mist, and Maedros was
so shocked by the great smooth rivulets carved out of the bluff face that
he didn't even flinch when the corpse of the gaunt man sat up.
Kelai looked down at his uninjured side, and shifted his gaze to Maedros,
the wildness in his eyes nearly vanishing for the first time in months.
His mouth tightened in a near-grin. "I thought I was dead too."
Kelai stood up, and brushed off the dust from his clothes, then he gazed into
Maedros eyes. You could notice the madness in his eyes, Maedros hadn't noticed
that before. Then it all went so fast...Kelai quickly seized Saidin and wove a
pattern of darkness into the soul of Maedros. Flesh and bones were scattered all
across the area, the blood was everywhere. Then it all went black...
When he woke up, he realized he had no eyes, he tried to feel them with his hands,
but he had no hands. He wanted to scream, but he had no mouth, nor a tounge. He
wanted to run away, but he had no legs. All he could do was listen, listen to
the wierd sounds comming from inside the room, a quiet laughter reached his ears,
he recognized the laughter as Kelai's.
He wanted to scream why?! Why would you do this to me, why!, but all he could do
was listen, listen to the laughter. Then Kelai spoke "Silly Aiel, do you know how
the fast the Blight can change a man, how easily it can change your life, your soul,
your values? No i thought so..." then he continued. "On my way to the heart of the
Blight i met the Great Lord, he showed me mercy, he reshaped me, strengthened me,
gave me the love i needed...do you know how the dark feels like Maedros, do you?"
Maedros shivered, ashamed, ashamed of what Kelai had turned into, the panic was all
over him, shouting in his face, flee flee, but he knew the outcome of this meeting,
this place was going to be his grave... then he felt a cold hand stroking whatever
remained of his chest.
Kelai laughed again, Maedros could feel the laughter shattering through his body,
giving him goosebumps. "Oh poor soul, blinded by the Light.... so dedicated to the
light that you cannot see what's good for you, well I'm about to change that.... I'm
going to make your worst nightmares come through... I'm going to let you embrace the
darkness, I'm going to make your soul so tainted that you will fear yourself.. I will
reshape you into beast, a wartoy, a sword of the Great Lord...you're going to thank me
when im done..."
And from that second, the pain Maedros felt when Kelai reshaped him inch by inch, hour
after hour, day after day, month after month cannot be explained. Whatever sanity he had
when he arrived was long gone by now, twisting his thoughts, mind and soul into his worst
nightmare. He became what he hated most, a slave of the darkness...
Maedros
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Fifteen minutes to midnight. Moonlight lay thick on the little quaddling villag
of the halflings. The sleepy hamlet tucked in the forests east on Manetheran held
a secret that not even the boldest adventurer had ever dared to dream of.
Grobule the fat human grocer of the Shire snored loudly as he rolled over on his
bed, which was stuffed with feathers stolen from the chickens of Farmer Gamgee.
Replete with cream cakes and good ale, Grobule slavered in his sleep as he dream
of the wanton ways of Kim, the seductive wench in the Stag and Crown Bar of
Manetheran. For a moment, his satisfied smirk faltered as sudden visions of his
domineering wife (sister of the village Thane) invaded his dreams, but just in
time he managed to remember that his wife knew nothing of his philandering ways
which had been restricted to lands beyond the Shire, and he returned to happy
slumbering. On the mantelpiece, the hands of the stumpy, fat-bellied clock, which
bore a surprising resemblance to Grobule himself, inched unerringly towards the
witching hour. Outside the windows of Grobule's hay thatched cottage, a storm
cloud suddenly scudded across the moon.
In the town of Manetheran, Cabe was running back to his quarters behind the
stable, late, after an illicit game of darts at the Inn of the Pig Lady.
"Just once," he prayed, "don't let that old tyrant Morgan catch me out without
permission again, or he'll make me muck out the mules for the rest of the year."
Cabe, the illegitimate child of Kim led a hard life. A perpetual embarassment to
his mother who still lived in hopes of attracting a second husband, he had been
given shelter, board, and the ignominous title of Assistant Manure Sweeper at the
Manetheran stables in return for earning his own keep. A few gold shekels did come
his way now and then from pitying travellers as they traded furs and trinkets to
Huerin for the use of a steed, but no sooner did he accumulate a small hoard, then
his mother would demand it all, either to buy cosmetics from the Amazing Vinzini
or consult the the local fortune teller, Madame Feranza, as to whether Grobule the
obnoxious grocer would divorce his skinny wife and marry her.
Just he was about to round the corner into the square, Cabe saw a dark shadow
insinuate itself out of the dark alleyway and hiss alarmingly at him.
"Come here boy!"
As the figure sidled out into the dim glow of the street lamp, he realised that it
was an old wrinkled woman, stooped and bent under the hood of her cloak. Cabe had
half a mind to ignore her cracked voice and get to the stables before Morgan
discovered his truancy, but the old woman held out a heavy purse in her gnarled
hand. Even from a distance he could see it was filled with bright gold coins.
Drawn in spite of himself, Cabe asked, "What do you want?"
"Simple my boy," replied the old hag. "Show me the way to the Shire. It has been
too long since I was there last, I do not remember the path."
"The Shire?" Cabe repeated suspiciously. "You mean the halfling village? What
business do you have there at this time of the night? All the halflings close
their shops at sunset, none of them will be out or awake, they are afraid of
the dark."
The old woman grinned toothlessly.
"There is a reason why they do not go out at night. But enough. If you lead me
there, all this money will be yours. A hundred gold coins. But you must hurry,
I must be there before midnight." she insisted.
Temptation overcame his fear. Cabe's hands closed eagerly around the purse.
"Very well," he said, fingering the hardness of the coins beneath the silk "I
know a short cut, shown to me by my friend Sting the ranger."
He turned and ran down the deserted street, not looking to see if the old woman
was following or not.
As the lone cloud eclipsed the moon, the Shire was plunged into silence. The
branches of the trees shading the twisting paths crossed and uncrossed until
dark shadows appeared to slide down their rugged boughs and glide off murmuring
into the downs. The old watermill sat deserted on the hill, but its lone window,
like a malevolent eye, kept restless watch over the darkened village.
The door of the cottage creaked cautiously opened as the Thane poked his head out
into the waiting night.
"It's time," he said over his shoulder.
His sister Mirka threw a shawl over her head, casting eerie shadows over her face.
Picking up a lantern, the two halflings crept past the shire post, the now quiet
shops and down the lane leading towards the Haon-Dor forest. As they hurried, their
figures appeared to grow taller than the average halfling and their eyes began to
glitter greedily.
Finally they reached the grassy field. Mirka was panting and out of breath but she
put the carefully wrapped bundle she had been carrying under one arm on the rickety
table. In the daytime, the table was spread with good food by the village beauty,
Goldilocks, to feed hungry halflings passing through. Tonight it was an altar of
sacrifice. Goldilocks herself was hiding behind the Elven Wizard, in the gloom, her
face was rat-like.
The Elven Wizard nodded as he saw them.
"Dahzila is not here yet," he said. "We will wait."
They waited, as the minutes ticked past. A cold breeze whipped through the field.
Goldilocks whimpered and drew closer to the Elven Wizard's silvery cloak. He looked
down briefly and her face filled with adoration, but he moved away and looked the
bundle Mirka had brought.
"Good," he said jovially as though appreciating apple-bobbing skills at a county fair,
but he whipped the cloth away to display the severed head of the Keeper of the Ring,
bloodied eyes wide open and staring up at the moonless sky. Goldilocks squealed and
began to titter in fright. Even the Thane winced. The Elven Wizard remained as though
carved in stone, one hand caressing the flowing locks now wet with halfling blood.
"The One Ring is destroyed," said the Thane nervously "and the dwarven prince and
elven warrior lie buried in the tunnel beneath the ruins of Delving Lane."
The Elven Wizard smiled.
Cabe was surprised to find how fast the old hag could move. She kept pace with him
as he ran down the shadowed road of Main Street and branched off into the forest
through the way his tracker friend Sting had shown him. At last he stopped at the
beginning of the narrow path into the halfling village.
"Here's where you go," he said carelessly, and he was so busy dropping the purse of
gold into his pocket that he did not see the crone's staff descending on his head.
Dahzila the witch tucked her staff back under one arm and dragged the lifeless boy
away into the Shire.
Mirka held her breath as a dark shape clumped into the field and dropped an unmoving
body at the feet of the Elven Wizard. As she looked up, she found herself staring into
the face of Dahzila the witch, the recluse, whom no one had ever seen since she buried
herself in a cave in the depths of the lonely mining village, Brin Shayer. Mirka found
herself fascinated by the pure evil in Dahzila's face, the way a mouse might be
fascinated by a snake. Suddenly Dahzila turned her glare on her, and Mirka dropped her
eyes and mumbled something incoherent at her feet.
The Elven Wizard drew in a breath.
"Very well," he said. "We shall begin."
They formed a circle around the table which, used to cakes and pies of Goldilocks'
uncertain cooking, groaned under the weight of Cabe's inert form and the Keeper's
head. The Thane and Mirka shuffled uncertainly, the Wizard and Dahzila noiselessly
slid into place.
"Now is the time for everything that has been sleeping to awake again," intoned the
Elven Wizard, his staff held high towards the black skies. "Long ago, before the Shire
was built, before the stupid halflings came here with their families, this land was
where the Manetheran woods and the Haon-Dor forests met. This land was a sacred
crossroads. And it was the land of the Dark Lord."
Mirka thought she felt something rustle up behind her and lay cold fingers on her
neck. She opened her mouth to scream but the Thane kicked her in the ankles, so she
continued listening to the story though she had heard the wizard tell it at least a
hundred times.
"But the humans and the halflings united," continued the Wizard implacably. "They
cleared the trees, destroying ancient families of the treants. They forced the sun to
shine into the Barrow downs and desecrated the land of the Dark Lord. They built their
homes and took from the earth. Now it is time for the Lord to reclaim what is his. One
human and one halfling we offer in sacrifice now. Bring your subjects and let them
reclaim what is rightfully theirs."
Muttering, Dahzila took from her pouch a green powder and scattered about the table. It
caught fire and an acrid smell rose, choking the Thane, who coughed into his red-spotted
neck-kerchief. He sniffed and looked sideways to see if Mirka too was having an allergic
reaction, but Mirka was too paralysed by fear to notice.
From the ground, a mist was creeping. It eddied around them like thick fog, until they
could hardly see, before coalescing slowly into ominous gray spectral figures that
hovered around the field silently, lingering, waiting.
The Elvan Wizard stepped forward.
"Welcome, Barrow-Wights," he said reverently, "Welcome back to your ancestral home."
A grey figure that seemed slighly more solid than the rest moved slowly in front of
the wizard. Mirka saw a circlet of gold resting upon its ghostly brow.
"We have returned," it said slowly, and its voice was like distant ice breaking in a
barren sea. "We have returned to claim our land, and to destroy its inhabitants. For
years we had to be content with terrorising the villagers after dusk, taunting them
from the shadows. But now this land will be returned to the shadows and to our Dark
Lord."
It turned slowly and flicked wraith-like fingers at the other Barrows. Go, it seemed
to say, go and take back our land. With a moan, the Barrows assented and began to slip
noiselessly away in the direction of the village.
From the rows of cottages, Mirka heard screams of halflings as they were woken in their
beds by Barrows sliding icy fingers along their faces, and long teeth buried in their
foreheads to suck their cranial juices. She was glad she had chosen to be on the
winning side. She hoped the Barrow-Wights would remember their promise to turn her
into a shade who could walk on the dark side forever.
The leader of the Barrows had remained, its empty eye holes fixed unwaveringly on their
faces.
"We have kept our promise," it said "to bring you the bounty of the Dark Lord. But where
is that, that you have forsworn to me?"
The Elven Wizard pointed to the table.
"Your sacrifice as agreed," he said. "A human and a halfling for you alone."
The Barrow bent over the table, and sniffed softly and lingeringly, but he did not
touch them.
"This is not a human," he stated flatly. "I desire to taste human flesh. That boy is a
dwarf!"
A dwarf! Mirka gasped. Was it possible that Kim had actually debased herself to that
extent? Could it be that Cabe's unknown father had been from the other side of the
mountains? Her mind raced as she imagined herself spreading the rumour throughout
Manetheran. But meanwhile, there remained a slight problem at hand.
For once, the Elven Wizard was losing his calm. His face twitched perceptibly and
he stuttered.
"A - a dwarf? Administrative mistake, I assure you. It was never our intent to - er-
cheat you out of human flesh…."
The Barrow lord put his spectral face close to the Wizard.
"But meanwhile," it said softly, "I require a human. Or, not only will I not make you
shades as promised, I will end your wretched little lives. And all your magic cannot
stop me, a Barrow who no longer can be penetrated by spells."
A potent pause fell over the field. The Barrow looked at all of them in turn and the
Thane shuddered as he felt that eyeless gaze sweep over him. As the screams from the
village amplified, a sudden horror fell over Mirka and she looked desperately at
first the Dahzila, then the Wizard, even Goldilocks who was in a dead faint on the
damp ground and would probably expire at any moment from heart failure. The Barrow
stretched out his arms to them with long, evil, claw-like fingers and licked his lips.
Mirka found herself saying "I know a human."
The Barrow-Wight smiled expectantly.
Grobule was awakened by an uncomfortable feeling that something was watching him. He
opened his eyes and stared disbelieving. If something had a pale gray face and empty
eye holes, it was definitely watching him. He tried to scream but the mist was already
covering his face and suffocating him. The thing smiled, as Grobule's eyes bulged in
horrer and his puffed cheeks, already turning blue, tried to take a last breath of
air, as the Barrow lovingly embraced him.
"For selling overpriced pipeweed bread," it whispered, as its fangs slid slowly and
painfully into his eye sockets.
Lael
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I am Thunal. Born of a bard, and raised as one, I once thought to sing for my bread
and gold. Never in my wildest dream did I imagine the sheer joy and unadulterated
terror that would pave my way into and through the Citadel of the Stars, aye and to
the edge of the abyss where Akrai himself stands yet this day. Rest a moment, and hear
of my triumph and my shame.
The first time the Citadel of the Stars brought itself to my attention was attempting
to charm Oro (the dwarven prince in Karak Kadon) into joining Thorgar and I to traipse
through the Palace of Misery (POM) once again. The stones themselves cried out
"[INFO] Strom has been killed by Elyona". During the ensuing converstaions, and general
shouting at the world, I gleaned the entrance to the Citadel was in that very place I
desired to go.
Oro, Thorgar and myself immediately raced to the top of POM to discover where this
entrance might be. We destroyed some undead knights, slaughtered some revenants and
even laid waste to a palace guard (or 10). Spying the dreaded Ashen, floating to the
north of us, I decided to try an alternate path down into the bowels of POM. Searching
about and knocking on various doors, I eventually discovered another Ashen, yet he did
not bar my way, and so ventured past him and headed down the stairs.
After searching the library (and slaying more undead) I came upon another door. A quick
overview of the situation showed more creatures to my south. After knocking (softly) upon
the door, I discovered this mound of pulsating Flesh. This Flesh appeared to be grouped
with some guards and Darksoul's of the blackest nature. Luckily, I was rightous and quick.
We ran through the corridor, and only stopped when we came to a great oak door I had not
noticed before.
Opening the door was no great chore (as it was not locked), and on the other side was
this giggling mad man. Perhaps I should not speak so of a king, yet this Gholmre was
literally gibbering. In an attempt to calm him, I started repeating his words back
at him. He cackled one last time, then fell silent to my relief.
This was unfortunately a very momentary relief. My friends and compatriots were suddenly
nowhere to be found. I still don't know why I decided to cut my losses, but I decided if
they could leave me like that, I was better off without them. *BAM!* It was like spiked
club between my eyes! I had already cast them aside, when I realized I was in a place I
had never seen before. When I looked to see 'where' this place was, a realization of
enourmous possibility came to me! The Citadel of the Stars! I had made it, or so I thought.
Searching the local area took a rather small amount of time. The last time a person had
been here, they had been chased by something called 'An elite guard' and it was apparently
trapped to the east, west and south of that location. I decided to head north and scour
for clues to this area. I met with an old shopkeeper, who described some sentinels and
other creatures called oracles. He was also nice enough (or perhaps senile enough) to
hand me an ancient calendar filled with some strange giberish which I hoped to decipher.
When he started on about words of power, I felt it was, perhaps time to depart, and moved
immediately to the east of that strange shopkeepers store.
Resting, and attempting to further identify the calendar, it was a rather painful
surprise to feel a dagger tickle my ribs. Twisting about, I fumbled the dagger from
an assasins hands, and tried to save my own life. Happily, it was my day. Searching
the corpse of his body, I discovered a not directing the assassin's attentions to the
Citadel and the shopkeeper. Guess I looked old for an elf, or some such thing.
I decided to heal while walking, hoping it would be safer, but holding a weapon at
ready in case of further attempts upon my life. Espying a guard in strange clothes, who
stood above me, I went up the stairs toward him. It was my intention to inquire further
concerning the citadel from it's (I supposed) premier guard. Yet, after seeing my weapon
held ready, he screamed and attacked me! In my defense, I was not stealthy, yet these
constant attacks were starting to wear thin my patience. Searching yet another cooling
corpse, I picked up the guard's key and opened the portal to the Citadel of the Stars.
Thinking perhaps that I was evoking these attacks, I removed the staff that Rahvin
himself once wielded, and moved into the room. Looking about the Shrine, as it
immediately appeared to be, I brought myself to the attention of a statue with an X
carved into it's forehead. It seemed alive, and yet was utterly still. Some mages
had put it together very well though, and it seemed to be guarding a glowing portal.
I thought it might be a Sentinel. Perhaps the old man had seen more than I thought.
Spouting a multiple of words, I must have said something right... This contraption
raised its left arm, and the glowing portal flashed a brilliant green. There is no
fool like a young one, so I entered.
A crystal pendulum swung towards me, and missed, yet I still felt cut to the bone. I
quickly clambered in the only direction available, and was once again in the shrine with
the portal and the Sentinel. Thinking back to those words of power, I tried a slightly
different combination, and Sentinel once again raised his arm, and the portal flashed yet
again. After resting a moment, to gather my strength, and courage, I ventured through
the portal a second time.
The scent of fresh grass floating about another Sentinel was the first thing I noticed.
Seeing some guards a short distance away from me, I decided to take another chance and
approach them. After snorting at my outlandish dress (they were seemed to be headed to
a costume ball themselves) they advised me to seek the Warlord of Spring for more
information. I approached him and begged for the use of his key (figuring I might
need it). He was most unwilling to relinquish the key... but after succumbing to a
small case of sleep, somehow dropped it into my purse.
Exploring this area was unlike anything I had encountered before. In order to explore
rooms, I had to spout babble to a Sentinel, who seemed to rip some invisible curtain away
from my eyes just long enough for me to step forward. I encountered four Oracles in the
Spring of the Citadel. Unfriendly chaps, with some rather novel appraoches towards
celebrating Spring. All of them seemingly designed to make a simple explorer like myself
into a rather large mince pie.
Making my way from these messes, and wishing I could somehow get the Warlord to help me
with my problem, I ran back to wake him up. After a short conversation, he gave in and
decided that perhaps he could follow me to check out these oracles. I convinced the
Warlord to say the same words I had used, but that damned Sentinel just ignored him!
How frustrating!! Luckily, a judicious use of some spooky techniques encouraged two of
the four oracles to go meet with their warlord, and shortly thereafter, their maker.
Their quickly decomposing bodies contained some strange rune-stones that I decided to
hold onto for possible future use.
The Warlord and I asked the Sentinel near the portal to do the flashy thing, and this
time, things worked out peachy! Unfortunately, I had left my staff in the ready
position, and had to argue with some guards on the other side of the portal. The
Warlord was arguing on my side though, so the conversation, such as was made, was
short. The heat was more than merely warm in this new season. The sun beat down upon
us, so it was a relief to remove my staff once again, and search out this portion of
the magical Citadel.
Another Warlord joined my cause here, and I was able to get one of the warlords to chase
me into a trap, all unsuspecting. Imagine my joy, when his sword turned out to be worth
about 50,000 coins to a thief on the other side of the world. Still dancing with joy, I
returned with my two new friends to the Sentinel of the Portals (as I was beginning to
think of him). We traveled onto the season of autumn, and immediately set out to find
another Warlord. 'Twas such a shame he decided not to join me. But he looked
untrustworthy anyway, and he eventually gave his all... to me.
Four oracles later, both of my new friends were done in. They quickly decided to see
which was stronger, and both perished due to this sudden combat. With a heavy heart, I
moved into the season of winter, to see what new and fascinating creatures might be in
existence. After persuading another warlord to join my cause, I had two more oracles
drop dead from the beatings they received. Wondering if there might be more to the area
then there seemed, I compared the calendar to what I had seen so far... 4 seasons, 4
oracles each season, all guarding something! Somehow, and I know not how to this day,
one of the glowing portals led me to the platform near that crystal pendulum. How I
shook seeing it, yet it did not take life from me for some reason. Another Sentinel
allowed me to enter the tower of the creator. Elite guards made good friends for me
there, yet the Warlord of the Creator was unwilling to make friends with me. Poor man.
His seal opened a door to a sight that had to be seen to be believed! A HUGE dragon
was in the room to the north. hoping to have my friends fight for me, I ran into his
room, ordered them to attack, and fled. Alas, the room was of such a peaceful nature,
they were unable to do so. Bar'a'din, as the dragon was named, advised me a globe
would open a portal to the oblivion maze, beyond which Akrai was plotting with a dark
dragon to destroy the world with a plague unlike any other. When a dragon asks for help,
what are you to do? I accepted. As I was about to move forward to undertake the
offered quest, Bar'a'din advised me that Iriki, who was resting to the north, was all
that stood between the citadel, and the Eater of Worlds.
Dropping the globe (and the rune-stones) into a basin to the north of Bar'a'din, a
Sentinel caused a gateway to appear. My two elite friends, and I set off to explore
the oblivion maze to it's end. Standing in our way were three twisted Sentinels.
Antagonistic and rabid monsters that they were, we put them down to sleep with more
than our share of cuts and bruises. After four hours of mapping, re-mapping, and once
again mapping and cursing up a large storm at something known (for reasons unknown
to me even) as a 'reboot' the map was finally complete. We came across a shadowy
gate resting on a platform of alabaster shot through with onyx. Entering the gates,
we discovered a door, upon which neither knocking (politely) nor even attempting the
ever-weird phase seemed to work. Further examination uncovered two Demons of Pain,
holding glass keys filled with some blood-like substance. After a long battle, and
some time for healing, we moved deeper into the shadowy realm... It almost seemed like
deja vu, as we once again encountered two Demons of Pain, requiring dispatch. Sinking
deeper into the miasma of living filthy air, we came to a point where the Dragon Kaxezid
was exchanging in a rather heated conversation with Akrai.
I was under the impression that Kaxezid was the stronger of the two, and so tried to
lure him away from Akrai, so as to do battle one-on-one. Kaxezid chased me up the
stairs, where I managed to close some doors around him.
I ran back down and had my two elite friends start pushing Akrai back into the gates
of Oblivion. They took a beating, but eventually managed to convince that demon child
the death was the ultimate result of his evil ways. We started back up towards Bar'a'din
with what we hoped would be a cure for Iriki and the mysterious plague. Memory plays
tricks on me here... I hope I decided to try and destroy Kaxezid, but the fact is
probably, that I just forgot about him.
I closed the doors behind me as I left Akrai's corpse behind. Seems like a good idea,
or did. What if his shade should decide to come after me? Of course, his shade never
did get the chance... After closing one door behind me (then locking it, of course)
I realized I was in an enclosed room, with two locked doors, and one very angry dragon.
To make a rather long story short... Kaxezid ate me in 10 short seconds, while I
attempted to recall to the safety of New Manetheren.
The moral being, don't lock yourself in with a pissed of dragon. There are easier
ways of becoming pastrami.
Rugalin
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Tower of Madness
It was a sunny day, and I was traveling through New Manetheren, looking for
adventure. I had just finnished my basic training at the Mage tower, and was eager
to test my spells and powers for wealth and knowledge. Yet, as it was very early,
then not many was sharing my lust for adventure. So instead of just wandering around
the Square, I felt to make myself a good meal. Not far from where I was lay the
Broken Scabbard. There I bought some food and a bottle of good wine. As I enjoyed
this gastronomical feast I felt watched, so I turned my head to see what was bothering
my senses. Nothing caught my eye, except the lazy Barkeep, who was busy cleaning the
other tables, but as I returned to my meal a stranger sat infront of me. I got a
shock, and before I could mutter forth any words the stranger spoke. "I hear thou
art looking for adventure?". "Yes, I have been", I said still abit shaken from
the approach. "I have a map that can take you yonder.", he said pointing westwards.
I had to admit he spoke to my curious half, and I got interrested. "Why would I
travel as you bid, and is there no peril at the end of the road?". At these word
a smile showed upon his face, and he spoke with a soft voice "Perils ? There are
perils where ever thou step, but I can't go back to the tower, as I am being hunted
by the Dreamwalkers.", "Pay me 2000 gold coins, and the map is yours to keep". I
paid the stranger, and he handed me a scroll. Quickly he left through the backdoor
of the Inn. After this I quickly finnished my meal, and went to a place of solitude
to study this scroll I had purchased.
The scroll looked old, the feel and the smell of it. I first thought he might had
cheated me, but as I progressed through my readings it quickly became clear to me
that this scroll was genuine enough. It contained a small story of a tower named the
Tower of Rand. From reading the scroll I discovered that there once was a mighty
wizard, Rand, who lived in this tower and here he apparently made alot of misshaped
creatures. Whatever the greater purpose of this the scroll didn't reveal, but these
creatures might have killed their twisted master. The idea of going to an old tower
full of misshaped creatures didn't appeal to me, but a small peek inside couldn't
hurt anyone. could it ? On the bottom of the map, a rough guide to the tower was
given, so without further delay I went to Huerin Silvereyes, and bought a horse for
my journey. In my bag I had a few ID scrolls, and a recall scroll just incase the
need to escape should arise.
A few hours had passed and it was around mid day, the sun now hung in its full
lory. I headed west-wards on the Trade road. After riding a few hours towards the
Mountains of Mist a muscular savage looking man saluted my approach. The man
introduced himself as Cuthric, a barbarian who had fought many a battle. He was
quite impressive to behold, standing a good foot taller than me, and arms as big
as tree trunks. "Greetings friend", he said. I made halt and introduced me back,
as my code abide me to do. "Greetings Cuthric, how may I be of service ?" I
replied. "I thank you, Grendel, but I am not in need of aid for the moment, but
I wish to give a warning, shall you decide to venture up the mountains". Cuthric
then told of a band of Cyclops, who recently had been either killing or robbing
people passing the mountain pass. Also he thought it to be a good idea sticking
to the main path, as some of the roads only lead to a long fall into death. Now,
I had no intentions of letting a rouge band of Cyclops spoil my quest for fame,
so I decided to ride on, and face whatever danger lay ahead of me. Apparently I
had some luck shine upon me, as neither step falls nor Cyclops bothered my travels
through the mountains. Nearing my destination ever nearer, night was approaching,
and with dusk settling in so followed the rain and thunder. Huge lightning bolts
alit the sky, and the thunder claps were louder than I had ever heard them before.
Suddently, during a big clap, my horse paniced and threw me off, leaving me stranded
on foot. Then the rain settled in, and I got soaked to the skin. Walking ever
forward I cursed the weather, when suddently I had landed at my destination point.
Imagine my surprise when I saw no tower, just a black wall of lava covering the
mountain side. I was about to turn my back, as this clearly was the wrong place,
when another blast of lightning alit the mountain, revealing a door in the black
rock. This tower seemed somehow to be submerged into the mountain, it must have
taken some potent magic to create.
Opening the trapdoor a little, I tried to gain an edge to any lurking suprises that
might be hidden, when a Demon saw my approach. Screaming and full of hate it leaped
towards me, it's face was misshaped, so it was clearly to see that it was a former
experiment. The demon tore the door open and charged me with extended claws moan words
as it approached. Only one thing sprang into mind, and I uttered the words "Tuborg
Loca", and a flaming sphere errupted from my hands, scorching the demon beyond
recognition. This encounter startled me somewhat, as I hadn't expected much inside
to be alive, but as the weather was getting worse I found it to be safer inside the
tower. Once inside I stood on a wide winding stair, looking down the blackness that
greeted my sight. I closed my eyes and tried to keen my senses, but I heard nothing
that would reveal any presence of misshaped terrors. Silence was the only response,
so believing the odds were with me I decended the stairs downwards. After passing a
door or two, some intruigingly looking door on the west wall seemed to be worth
opening. Inside the room there was alot of books and bookcases, this surely was the
wizards library. Eagerly I tried to find something that told of this place, and of
the horrors that apparently once took place withing these walls. Suddently I was
brutally knocked over and landed on the floor. Cathching my breath and scanning the
surroundings I saw that my advesary was a pile of books, crouching around the floor,
slamming me with heavy tomes. On any other day you would laugh at such a tale, and
call the person telling it a fool, or worse, but now I faced somekind of sick joke
that was bend on ending my life. How painful wouldn't it feel to be battered by a
heap of books ?
Stretching forth both my hands, I uttered the words for a Burning hands spell,
fire errupted around the book-heap, and the smell of burning paper filled my
nostrils. After this encounter I was quite sure that avoiding the kitchen would
be a very good idea. Back on the stairs, and moving downwards, I tried to stay
out of the rooms that passed by, only sometimes would I stop to have a peek inside,
and finding nothing of much interrest. After carefully walking down the stairs for
10 minuttes from the book encounter I finally reached the bottom level. There the
hallway turned westwards towards a couple of rooms. I went inside the first room,
and a guardian of some sort told me to leave, before I had the chance to leave it
attacked me. Waving my hand infront of the attacked, I muttered the Sleep spell,
and to my luck it worked, the Guardian fell to the floor sleeping. Killing it now
was very easy, no need to risk that it would fall me in the back later. It had been
guarding a door that lead me towards the work room of the wizard. Strange herbs and
jars filled the shelves, yet nowhere was any written information that told of the
past events here. At the end of the room a small ladder lead down to another chamber.
Stepping inside this room, I saw something very wicked, a huge altar of black
obsiddian stod on the floor, and on the ground was painted a pentagram. In the
middle of the altar somekind of doorway was to be seen, black masses swirling infront
of it. Now I must say this room gave me a very bad feeling, and yet I felt strangly
drawn to whatever lied beyond the door in the altar. Taking a very deep breath I
stepped through, and as far as I remember everything went extremely fast. A black
room, nothing could be seen, but I heard a laughter, evil it was, then the floor
dissapeard, and I was in mid-air. With a huge flash the room started to change,
my head felt dizzy and I heard voices. A face was forming infront of me and spoke:
"Now you are going to die, long have I waited for a sacrife and I shall feast upon
your soul mortal". I screamed in terror and tried to run, but whereever I ran the
face just appeared infront of me laughing and repeating the same words over and over
again. Seeing I had no chance of escaping this being, I started to hurl all spells
that came to mind at it, but little did it help, and just as the face started to
invoke a spell a thought came to me. My recall scroll, quickly I grabbed it and
chanted it with my ever fading powers, a flash came before my eyes, and I stood back
in New Manetheren. Still screaming the passing people looked at me, and probably
thought I was insane. The sweat dripped from my brow, yet I somehow I was still
alive and to this day I never returned to that Tower that almost claimed my life.
Grendel
Laquaya
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A Day in the Life of Xanathar
"Hey asshole shut the fuck up and listen to this story I'm about to tell you, or get
the hell out of here before I decide to shut you up myself" a man adorned in a dull gray
hooded cloak whispers. "Hey who the hell do you think you are talking to me like that?"
says a young man dressed in full plate. Pulling his hood back a dark skinned elf with
the long silver hair reveals himself. Staring directly at the warrior he speaks "My NAME
is Xanathar Tyr'fing, perhaps you have heard of me?" The young man was shocked, for he
knew exactly who this man is soon as he sees him. "I beg thee for your forgiveness
Emperor" spoke the man, as he realized his life could end in the blink of an eye. "Now
I shall start my story, any interruptions may result in death," Xanathar stated.
"Back in my youth as a young cocky inexperienced drow, I had heard of this place
where great fame and fortune could be made. However others spoke of great dangers that
lay ahead on the path for fortune. Fuck danger I thought to myself I live for danger, I
AM danger! So off I went on my journey to this place known as The Tier of Orthis. On the
way to the 'Kingdom of Astrin' I thought to myself what if them little pansies were
right? What if this place really was dangerous?
Side tracking for a day I traveled to a place known as the Dark Grove and sought out
my friend, the Undead Avatar. It wasn't long before I had convinced him that he should
come along and help me destroy this Orthis place. He suggested we should also bring along
the Executioner as well, as it had been some time since he had gotten to slay something.
I agreed, and we were on our way to the New Manetheren Waygate.
Nearly to the Waygate I started getting anxious for it had been a good day since my
hands had felt some warm blood on them. AHAH! I saw a goofy looking bastard up ahead of us
he had feathers and wings. What a fairy I thought to myself. I asked my two companions to
wait, watch, and learn. It was then that I blended into the shadows and snuck up on this
guy. As I got closer I recognized him as the somewhat famous firechicken known as Sting.
He must have been out hunting for food. Anyway I snuck up behind his sorry ass and stuck
my spear into his back right up to the hilt! Goddamn that felt good to do. He made a
weird gurgling noise and fell to one knee. Then he lashed out, fuck he was mad! He
surrounded himself with a fiery aura, which by the way hurt like hell when I tried to
stab him again. He tried his damnedest to beat me down but to make a long story short.
I beat his sorry ass down and watched him die a slow death after tainting his blood
with my poison.
I whistled back to my friends to get their attention then told em to catch the hell
up to me. The three of us ran to, and through the Waygate system, stopping only to beat
the piss out of a couple trollocs that tried to stand in our way. Arriving in the Kingdom
of Astrin, I said ok let the REAL adventure begin! I didn't know exactly where the hell
the entrance to this so-called Orthis Project was, but I had heard that the Mycnoid
King knew where it was.
I had a rough idea where the Mycnoid King resided; it was in a cave near the western
side of Astrin. We ran like hell through that damn aspen forest, we had a brief run in
with this ugly looking son of a bitch, I guess it was a beholder of some sorts. Anyway
one of the bastards many eyes lashed out at me and blinded me in the process. That was it!
I got pissed and went psycho on its ass. We left the damn thing in a mass of blood and
guts. With no other troubles we found the Mycnoid King. The prick had the nerve to tell
me he and his goons would not let me pass. Well haha fuck him I thought, and in the blink
off an eye his corpse laid twitching at my feet. I thanked his goons for the co-operation
and they ran like the wusses that they were.
We traveled down this stone corridor for quite some time there were spider webs
galore. I cut my way through them and soon we emerged onto the streets of Astrin Proper.
Not knowing where to go we wandered around aimlessly. It wasn't before long that we
stumbled up this big oaf that went by the name of Dyaclecius the Pardoner. We asked him
about this Orthis Place. He gave us a key but wouldn't say much else though, so I
threatened him saying that he should either tell us where the fuck to go or he was going
to receive the beating of a life time from me and my friends. Laughing was his mistake;
I called some plants up from the ground that quickly surrounded him, immobilizing him.
Walking behind him I put a sword to his throat and gave him the ultimatum. Inform us or
Die I told him! Needless to say the coward spit out everything we needed to know and
then some. Haha, Kill him anyway, I told my friends. Which they did rather quickly. It
was great; the room was covered in blood and guts!
We moved onward, through the underground temple, slaughtering every thing in our
path. We were relentless in our assault! You should have seen them fucking ugly illithid
bastards. They tried to run, they tried to hide, but in the end.... They all died!
After getting our bearings we finally found the damned Elder Brain that had the final
key we needed to get into the damned project itself. This guy was a true bastard! I
admired him, but he still had to die. His vengeance shroud hurt us pretty good, and the
jackass called a bunch of vampires and phantoms to help him. I don't know where the
hell they came from but we killed them all too.
After a brief rest to recoup, we were finally inside the Orthis Project itself. We
found this half man half-raven ghost inside. And a few other things that helped us figure
out what we needed to do. We needed to search and destroy these five beings so that this
Karasuman guy as he was called could be freed. Well little did we know this was some
gigantic goddamn puzzle to get inside. Good thing I'm one with high intelligence or it
could have taken us days to get inside of that place. Having finally opened the portal
to get inside, I said ok you two go first and I'll be right behind you. I thought to
myself at least if these idiots go first and there is something dangerous I can leave
them behind while I run like hell and save my own ass.
Well as it turned out it was a good thing that I got them to go first because I
heard them scream "TRAP!" followed shortly by two death cries. Well goddamn it now I was
on my own. Oh well no big deal more gold for me right? So I talked to this gay little
bard dressed in black, He spoke in some fuckin riddles, so I told him he better open the
fuckin door before I slammed his face into the stone wall a few times. The little
bastard laughed at me and spit out the same damn riddle again. I finally figured it
out after a few minutes of thinking, and then I disposed of him for the hell of it. This
short hallway lead to a rupture. I had no damned idea where it went but I ran in
headfirst. I quickly found out that there was some kind of barrier preventing my magic
from being used inside this rupture as I was jumped by some little sparking beast. I fled
and ran to the end of the rupture and jumped through the portal at the end. The crazy
bastard hunted me down and caught me off guard as I was preparing myself for what may
lie ahead. It turned out he wasn't half the damned monster I thought he was and he died
with little effort on my part.
Since Dyaclecius had told me everything that I needed to know about this place, as I
stated before, I was searching for soon so called silent assassin. It wasn't long before
I found him hiding in his room. Turned out he wasn't half the assassin that I was, I had
more trouble killing hobbits. Anyway I found a key on his corpse and unlocked his secret
stash where I found a full wine goblet. Looking around his room I saw a big bird cage in
his room which housed a large raven. I opened the cage and was immediately attacked by
this big bastard of a bird. This fucking raven put up a pretty good fight but not good
enough.
Carrying onward deeper into the project I came across the second of five beings I
needed to kill. He was inside one of these damn anti-magic ruptures. I decided to use
the shadows to my advantage since I could not use my healing powers here. I repeatedly
jumped in and out of the shadows stabbing him from all directions until he died. After
decapitating him for fun I continued onward in the project in search of the remaining
three raven beings. I eventually stumbled upon this fellow who called himself Duke Feran.
He was a some pretty boy who wore these cool looking jewel adorned leggings that I figured
would look better on me than himself. The fucker had the nerve to jump me, as I looked
him over. Some force of good protected him, so I fled and dispelled his sorry ass. It was
all over then, I overpowered him, grabbed him by his scruff and repeatedly kneed him in
the face. It wasn't long before I fastened his bloody leggings to my legs and ran ahead.
Running through rupture after rupture I wasn't having much luck finding anything else,
then I came across this knight of some sort or other. He had a key around his neck so I
told him to give the damn thing to me but he wouldn't do so. In one swift move I drove
my spear right into his eye socket killing him instantaneously. When I pulled my spear
out his eye was perfectly skewered on my spear. So anyway I left it there for good looks
and continued down the hallway.
A short while later I came across this fat ugly bitch that demanded that she had some
wine. Against my will I gave the fat whore the goblet I found near that pussy assassin.
What a fuckin alcoholic this bitch was she slammed the remaining wine that was in this
goblet. Just so happened that that wine was poisoned, for once it wasn't my doings
though although I wish it had been. She died shortly and soon as she died a rupture
popped out of thin air. Now I knew the other three raven beings lied somewhere up ahead
of me so I ran through the shadows. I came across some gay little squire boy so I
figured I would do him a favor and kill him before he ever became a knight, because I
mean who in the hell wants to be a do-gooder knight anyway right? When he died another
rupture popped up in his place.
Having two choices now I took the first one I saw and emerged into some small grove.
I saw a bear and some druidish looking person up ahead of me so I snuck up on them. Being
a greater druid I managed to get the bear to follow me. Now that I had this bear the
rest would be a cakewalk I thought to myself. I wandered through the forest with this
bear and we came across another rupture. Jumping into it we were met on the other side
by a third raven being. The bear turned out to be quite capable; we made short work of
the knight, feeding him his own entrails.
The bear told me he knew where another raven being hid inside of a rupture up ahead.
So we ran and ran until finally we came to this place inside of another rupture and the
bear stopped. I wondered what the fuck was going on then he entered this crevasse that
was barely visible. Before I even got a chance to enter the bear emerged with the head
of yet another raven being in his mouth. So we had one damned raven being left to kill
before we could free Karasuman and have him help us get to the Tier of Orthis.
We waded through the ruptures ahead without much trouble, leaving a wake of bodies
behind us. It wasn't before long that we found the last raven guy who we ripped apart with
a blinding fury of attacks from all angles. This bear was turning out to be quite the pet,
as he was constantly jumping in front of me when we fought to soak up the hits while I
dished out the beats. Anyway after this asshole was dead the bear told me the only way
out was either by magical means or to go through this big mean dragon. I had the
magical means to get myself out but not the bear and I didn't really feel like killing
no fucking dragons that day. So after releasing the bear, I recited a scroll of
teleportation and wound up close to my target of Karasuman.
Getting back to Karasuman he thanked me for freeing him and asked me to kill him.
I told the bastard he better tell me where the fuck the Tier of Orthis was. He explained
to me that killing him would create a portal of flesh that would lead me there. So
before he could say anything else I kicked him in the head hard as I could, and a gate
rose up from the ground. Checking myself over, I was good to go so I entered the gate.
Finally I was there, in the Tier of Orthis.
I came across another gate, which I entered, and then I realized that I was stuck
in some fucking maze of sorts because I kept on winding up where I had started. After a
good day or so I finally figured the fucker out and came upon some creepy looking old
bastard, he said he was the Servant of the Dark and asked who I wanted to go see. Well
fuck I didn't know so I said uh Xavier. I was teleported to a place with nowhere to go
but up, so I ran up with confidence. I knew I was getting near something after having
done all that work in the project to get here. I fought a couple of these huge fucking
wasps, they weren't much more than a pain in the ass, stopping me only briefly. Nearing
the top I saw this man up ahead wearing a cowl on his head and some sort of wicked
looking robe. I figured hot damn I'm gonna get me a new fucking bathrobe. So a ran up
and jumped out of the shadows, only to be desecrated. And in a blazing fury I had my
asshole ripped off and fed to me. I was DEAD! End of fucking story! AND BY THE WAY if
I so much as see one of you bastards even snicker I will cut your balls off!"
Xanathar
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Tough Love -or- It's Enough To Make A Gal Wanna Go Good
(A message posted on the board at Commons)
Okay everyone, we need all the clans to participate in our upcoming auction. Send out
your beautiful clan ladies decked in their feastday best. The proceeds of the auction
will go toward the development of a new zone for our poor little newbies, so bring your
wallets and tie your thieves up in the clanhouses!
--Solace
(In the Black Orchid Clanhouse)
"Come on, Duo!" Medea sighed in exasperation, "It'll just be an extended date. You
know, FUN?"
"Yeah," Duo grumped from the sofa under a file of pillows, "It'll be fun to be drooled
over for three whole days with a crazed pervert by my side. I'll just be sure to carry my
Rahvin's staff and a case recall scrolls."
"You never know Duo," Malice said teasingly, trying to get a rise out of her
clan-sister, "You may just have a good time. A REAL good time."
"--and a chastity belt." Duo dead panned.
"Whoever in the hell said anything about cybersex?" Voyka demanded, folding away
her black cultist robe and putting it in a sack. "This is a charity auction to raise
money for funds to build that new zone for the newbies. There are more important things
to think about than your hormones."
Everyone else grunted and went about what they were doing. Duo's head peeped up
from under a pillow and she hungrily eyed a new green dress Medea was holding up in front
of a mirror. "Where'd ya get that from?"
"It doesn't come in larger sizes." Medea answered sweetly and automatically.
From the sweet look on Duo's face, milk and honey should have poured from her
mouth, "Oh," she paused, "So where'd you get yours?"
"Time!" Malice called before it turned ugly. It was a set signal with all of
them. Everyone respected the referee call. They had to, working as closely as they did
in the clan. Otherwise there would be a write up in the Chaos Times newspaper about how
all of them were found on the floor in the dump with death grips on each other's throats.
Duo giggled at the image, Medea glared.
"Spirits lifting?" Voyka queried.
"On the elevator up," Duo chirped. Then she stood up and went into full stretch, "Okay,
well... I guess I'll just go shopping and get a few things done before tomorrow's 'date'.
A little body piercing-- maybe, a tattoo saying, "I've got mono!" stamped on my
forehead-- definitely.." she trailed out muttering to herself.
The others blinked at the closing door, shaking their heads.
(In the Auction House)
"I really hate you." Malice said with feeling. She was wearing a gorgeous blue gown
that set off her eyes so well that they sparkled like smouldering sapphires. "I mean it
Voyka. Why do you get to wear the tailored pant outfit while I wear this..." she shuddered,
"...dress! I want to switch!"
"Medea..." Duo cooed from her position near the curtain, "Look at that guy out there!
He looks like Mel Gibson."
"We can't," Voyka said wearily for the thousandth time, "We're up in a few minutes."
Medea flew over to Duo's side and tore aside the velvet curtain. Then she gagged,
"Mel Gibson in The Man Without a Face!"
Voyka turned slightly and spared the man a glance, "It looks like someone went bowling
in his mouth and couldn't pick up the split." she smiled wickedly, "I hope he bets on you,
Duo."
"Voyka, are you listening to me?" Malice demanded angrily. Other auctionees were
beginning to look at the small Black Orchid group, blinking curiously.
"At least you don't have big hips," Medea, ever helpful pointed out to Malice.
Duo glistened at Voyka from across the room, "Whaddaya mean by that, thunder thighs?"
"Well at least my dress doesn't have holes in it like some drunken sea monkey on
crack with a pair of scissors and a grudge had a go at it!" Malice snapped testily at Medea.
"Thunder thighs?!" Squawked Voyka, "You little cow!"
"Yeah, well you can wear outfits like these when you have an hour glass figure like
mine. You've got an hour and a half." Medea's voice was rising into a near shriek by the
last few words.
"You wanna make something of it, guacamole butt?!" Duo was on her toes, chin thrust
up in the air defiantly. There was a hasty call for their clanleader that none of them heard.
People in the audience were wondering who was killing who in the auction room.
"What's that supposed to mean, Medea?" Malice growled.
"You've got too much time on your ass!" Medea snapped. Malice gasped in shock. "And
too little at 2 and 10 o'clock!" Medea added.
Voyka grabbed Duo by the front of her dress, her voice flat as a planed board,
"We're gonna play a little game, you and I. It's called, 'Is there a God?'."
"At least I'm not a digital!" Malice screamed back. Medea looked puzzled. "You have
to stuff your bras, don't you? A guy gets to second base and he finds out the base is loaded!"
Their clanleader dashed around the corner, hands held up frantically, "TIME!!"
"CLEAR!" Duo, Voyka, Medea and Malice shouted back. The female members of the other
clans barely had time to clear the floor before they were rolling on it.
"Oh for cryin' out loud!" Zahrim muttered. "Knock it off!" Maugan yelled. The old
man from the audience, the one with two teeth, came up next to Malice and put his arm
around her waist, lifting her up off the floor, "I'm the proprietor of this here
establishment and let me tell you. I used to wear dresses when I was younger." he said.
The horrified look on EVERYONE'S face would have fit right into the Funny Faces Gallery.
"We could try a few on together for old time's sake."
Recovering first, Medea rescued a panicked Malice who was about to remove the man's
arm from the shoulder, "So nice. Now you wear diapers." she said in a lilting voice,
removing the pervert's hand from her clan-sister's waist firmly. Voyka turned him around
and shoved him along his way.
"Voyka, if you don't give me that outfit," Malice said calmly, "You're gonna go out nude."
"Huh?" Voyka said, for once completely confused.
"Cause I'm gonna rip it off of you and STAPLE it on if I have to!" Malice said in
a rising shriek.
Their clan-leader sighed. Then he called a trio of tailors from the back. When the
girls looked at them suspiciously, they all shrugged. "We knew it wouldn't work," was all
Maugan said.
(Out on the main stage)
"May I please present our next clan lovely up to bid. Light followers, eat your
hearts out! From Black Orchid, Voyka!" There was a thunderous round of applause.
Voyka stepped out onto the stage in Malice's blue gown. The tailors had rapidly
turned it into a sexy number that accentuated her slender waist and flared out in an
asymmetrical cut of layers down a little past her knee on the right side and almost
scandalously high on the left thigh, showing off her gorgeous legs. The neckline
dipped from the shoulder of one sleeve and swooped down across her chest, one entire
sleeve cut off. Of course, it looked good!
"Hello," Voyka said in her smoky voice.
Stunned silence.
Then the bids flew rapid fire. The announcer seemed almost bewildered by the
amounts that rolled in, but no more than the Balrog in the back. With all that brown
hair shimmering on her shoulders, she looked like a goddess. There was no way he could
afford her.
"SOLD!" The auctioneer hollered.
All three Black Orchid women stared at Voyka in wonder as their clan-sister was
lead off the stage and into the side room where the people met their dates. "Good luck!"
she mouthed at them, lead away by her drop dead gorgeous date. They got married later,
but that's not a part of the story.
(From the audience)
"I guess I'll try for Malice then," the balrog muttered from his own spot in the
thick of the crowd.
"Our next bid up is that stunning woman with the soul shatter you know and love
from the warzone. The half demon, half drow elf, Malice of Black Orchid!"
Malice stepped up on the stage in a tailored pure white suit with black trim. Her
hair was straight and spread over her shoulders like a glimmering velvet cape, capped
with a white hat banded in black. Smokey charcoal brought out the blue in her eyes. The
fire engine red lipstick with matching nails... paired up with that unmistakably feminine
silhouette, had the men howling. Winking slowly, she twirled her black cane and grounded
it before her, planting her feet apart boldly.
"Come on then!" she called loudly, challengingly.
Again, a flurry of bids and again a red faced Balrog was outbid. A sharply cutie
won out over everyone else with his bid. It was quite obvious that the bidding was getting
intense and that only the high rollers were in on this event. The proprietors were tickled
pink. They were getting a lot of money for the charity cause and, of course, some of the
proceeds would be going to them for allowing the organization to have it in their
establishment.
Malice winked at her clan-sisters and her polished shoes tapped out a jaunty
rhythm as she was led away. Still, she took the time to trip one of the Hunters of the
Horn as she was called up to the stage.
After the bedlam that caused, Medea gathered herself as the man announced her
name. Duo barely had time to gape before she was gone.
"Our sword swinging beauty from the Clan of Black Orchid, Medea!"
Immediately, everyone was shut out as a man in the front bid an insane sum
of money. Almost dislodging her artistically messy bun, Medea whipped her head around
to stare at the man. His hair was like a golden coin in the bright lights and he had
the face of an angel. A mischievous one. He smirked up at her and she breathed deeply
with an answering smile of her own. His face turned slightly red when he saw what
interesting things her breathing was doing to the daringly cut out sections of her dress.
Medea's smile broadened into a wide grin and she flashed a victory sign at Duo as
she was taken away. "Do your best!" she whispered encouragingly.
Now it was her turn. Duo felt all of a sudden sick. She didn't WANT to go out
there all alone, being bid on. Why did this have to be the one thing this week that her
clan-sisters had stood on? It was a given that every week they forced her to do something
she didn't want to. Last week it had been dueling. The week before that, holy warzoning.
Now this! And they wouldn't even be there to support her! Iron stiffened her backbone
and she calmly stepped out onto the stage. Who needed support?! She could deal just fine
on her own thank-you-very-much!
"Now, the tomboy of Black Orchid, Duo!"
Sparing a bit of her time to cast a magic missle at the auctioneer, she stepped
fully into the light. Lifting her chin, she allowed her finger combed silvery tresses
to wisp around her as she moved, sylph-like across the stage, "Konban wa," she whispered
in her melodic voice, but she knew everyone heard because there wasn't a sound in the room.
She had chosen this particular sheer floral print chiffon with rouched bodice and
slender straps for it's innocent, but not so innocent appeal. The light hit her head and
shimmers of light danced through her hair, picking out the glimmering highlights. It also
allowed people so see the sexy tigerprint coverup she wore underneath her tissue thin gown.
They'd better have liked it, it cost nearly a million gold coins without the
connections she had. As it was, it took about a fifty thousand gold coin chunk out her
wallet, gladly spent.
(In the audience)
An appreciative sigh all around and now the balrog was raging and tearing at his
hair. Sighing sadly, he auctioned off his pelt, promising to hand it over as soon as he
died. He HAD to win this one!
Duo was in her element twirling before the crowd. The lights made her giddy and
the air seemed to sparkle. She heard an offensive amount of gold being bid on her but
before she could react, she heard SOLD! A shoulder planted itself in her belly and she
was lifted off the stage like a sack of potatoes. Screaming obscenities, she clawed
and kicked at the doofus carrying her. That's when she heard the gasps and the
smothered laughter. Looking down, she stared at the double handful of fur she had
in her hands. Looking closer, she shrieked and struggled to get free.
"No! Mobs are NOT allowed to bid!" she howled as she was carried out.
"Heeeeeeeeelllllllp!"
As she was carried out, snarling at a few White Tower women for laughing at her,
she paused to think. Okay, so maybe he was going off to torture her in some kind of
sad horror story kind of way. So what? The Balrog calmly walked up Promenade and
made a right on Westershire. Oh Great. He was getting awfully close to Cemetery.
Not good!
"Do you know who I am?" she shrieked, "Do you know how powerful my clan is? Do
you know I have a really lovely clan-sister Saria who wasn't in the bidding?"
The Balrog paused, then shook it's head and kept moving. As the thing moved
against her, she realized the being had an inordinately big head. Odd for a Balrog.
She thought, maybe this wasn't a mob, but a god in disguise! Maybe she had managed to
land herself into some big and important story. Maybe this strange, twisted creature
was here to drag her off to some enchanted palace! Or someone to teach her how to use
some freaky new Ancient Knowledge! Or at the very least he would turn into a handsome
prince when they got to.... Damn.
They were at the cemetery. Filthy zombies touched her with their slimy, cold
fingers and huge, nasty monsters pressed close. Duo's heart pounded hard. What was she
going to do?
Instantly she calmed herself down and started acting sweet, murmuring that she
could walk, asking where they were going, that sort of thing. Just to take the creature
off edge and make it feel comfortable. Suddenly, she didn't care WHAT this thing was,
she wanted off the ride! A ghoul across from her nibbled on the remains of a newbie,
crunching on his armor.
She gave a shriek as she was suddenly overbalanced. There was a startled oath and
she landed on her rear so hard that she bounced twice. Flinging her dress off her head
and smoothing it back down, she scowled.
"That damnable dress!" the tall figure roared. It subsided into murmurs, rubbing a
shin and removing a bit of her dress from it's pant leg.
Duo's head titled to the side, eyes wide and mouth hanging. It was... a man? For
real?! Wearing half a Balrog suit? THIS was her ticket to the bigtime? She shot up from
the ground in a towering fury. She ripped at the top of the costume and yanked off that
ridiculous head, shaking the Balrog pelt in rage.
Two big green eyes blinked at her in startlement. A man, taller than her a head
stared at her in shock, then brushed long red hair out of his eyes and blushed.
"What is the meaning of this!" she demanded.
"Well, I..."
Duo bashed him over the head with the costume, "How DARE you drag me off like...
so much LUGGAGE and then bring me here!" She ground her teeth in rage. "I swear, If I had
my sword, I'd--"
"Calm down a moment," he said softly, standing up from where she'd clobbered him.
Taking her hands in his, he smiled at her. Duo felt his eyes on her almost at once and
hers sought him out instinctively. His hair was the color of the scarlet heart of a
flame. His eyes were confident, intelligent, sharp and the richest velvety green of
moss. So sexy.
Her eyes swept up, coral pink lips curving in a defiant smirk. His eyes locked
with hers in a silent duel and the side of his full, sensual lips quirked up in
amusement. "I wanted to do something different and original." he made a gesture and
the zombies parted stiffly to show a table set for two. Duo's eyes took on a dangerous
sparkle and her mouth opened slightly, an eyebrow arched mockingly.
"I'm still REALLY pissed off at you, but...At least the servers seem fresh." she
said softly.
He laughed, a rich, wonderful sound. "Oh yes. Newbies die so easily, you always
have a good supply." The sound of his voice made her knees feel weak and watery, a curl
of heat uncoiling in her belly. "Shall we?"
"Let's!" she laughed and placed her fingers on his wrist, feeling the rapid beat
of his heart that betrayed the emotion he hid behind that engaging smile.
Like a gentleman, he led her to the table and pulled out her chair. Duo paused for
a moment as he seated himself, then walked over to his side and sat in his lap. He moved
to speak and she reached up and placed her small hand firmly over his lips. "Quiet. I'm
studying you."
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