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| The Crevasse | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Mar 14 2008, 06:38 PM (450 Views) | |
| Ariakas | Mar 14 2008, 06:38 PM Post #1 |
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It could turn any ordinary man, elf or dwarf mad within a few days, Braeth thought as his eyes scanned the sides of the massive formation. He let his eyes fall down along it and watched the deep hole that was the Crevassive. "But not us," he whispered to himself, even though helt a little bit of dizzyness after looking at the emptiness. He had never managed to truly imagine what lay at the bottom, it could make you mad even to think about it. He picked up his silver-colored and red helmet and walked down the small road which ran from the Upper Marble Gate at the edge of the Crevasse down to the Lower Marble Gate around five hundred meters below. The road continued on beyond that, according to the myths and legends straight to the bottom. If it existed. But apart from that road there was no other way down. He had been at this station for eighteen years. There was great pride and honor in having it. Only the Weissland Royal Guard could compete with them in Weissland when it came to honorable position. Of course few in Weissland knew about the Crevasse Guard. Most were kept away by the soldiers of the provinces on either side. But none could pass the Crevasse Guard, unless they were Mordain or Lathaon Thaendil. Or someone wearing their sign. None except for Mordain and Lathaon had passed the gate, except for that woman following Mordain, Shaellana. Although she had only walked a few hundred meters beyond the gate, to gaze upon the wonder, and the terror, of the very emptiness. When she had returned however she had seemed unmoved. All members of the Crevasse Guard wondered what lay at the bottom or why the Thaendil cousins had made them guard it, and picked some of the best from all of Weissland to do it. But they did not discuss it and never asked any questions. They never quit their position either. When you were given a position in the Crevasse Guard, you stayed put until you died of old age. |
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| Ariakas | Mar 18 2008, 03:04 PM Post #2 |
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A few days later, the same day that Peloron and his knights together with the Order of the Light and Undead Hunters made a stand against Urden'Hel and his followers fog was filling the Crevasse. It made it even more mystical, Braeth thought as he looked at it. The fog was very thick. This is how it must be to fly above the clouds in the sky itself. A call from further up above the road brought him back from his daydreaming. "Someone is coming for the gate." Braeth quickl picked up his spear and helmet, and nodded to the other two elves that had been standing with him. They quickly made their way up along the road. They passed numerous guard units, either hiding behind statues along the road or stationed along small campfires. Soon they reached the edge of the Crevasse and the Upper Marble Gate. Braeth made his way to the top of the gate, beside Captain Goethy. The captain was squinting through the fog. Braeth could not see anything, but sensed someone. It was a man, human, coming alone through the fog towards the Upper Marble Gate. The man knew exactly where the gate was or else he would have moved with more caution. Walking through the fog like that could in the blink of an eye bring one off the edge of the Crevasse, plummeting to hell of whatever lay at the bottom. Soon the outline of a person was visible in the fog. The members of the Crevasse Guard had their bows pointed towards the man, magical arrows and keen eyesight. Deadly as few. "Who goes there?" Captain Goethy called out. "Lower your arrows," the man called out. "I mean no harm." Braeth could not make out the accent of the man. A mage, her name Gwynnethrad, came to the battlements lifted her hand and spoke magical words. The fog lying in front of the gate blew away like dust against a strong wind. The man was now clear for all too see. He had brown hair and beard, clad in a long brown cloak which had a hood covering his face. Despite of this, the sign of the Order of Mjolnir was visible on his leather armor. "Realmer," Braeth whispered through his teeth. "What in the name..." Captain Goethy said. The man continued to walk forward, all the way to the foundations of the gate. The Crevasse Guard did not lower their bows. "One of your kind would not get far through Weissland anywhere, and any Weisslander passing this point will in most cases get killed at the point," Goethy said. "I demand entrance to the Crevasse," the man said lifting his hands to remove his hood. Captain Goethy could do nothing but laugh at this, but his laughter lost its edge when the mans face was revealed and was silenced completely when the man removed his glove. "My name is Ariakas," the man spoke as he lifted his hand showing a black marking in the shape of a raven. "And in the name of Mordain Thaendil I demand entrance to the Crevasse." |
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| Lathaon | Mar 18 2008, 06:41 PM Post #3 |
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Fallen Archmage
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((Crossbows ))
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The White Counsil Medal of Loyalty The White Counsil Medal of Art | |
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| Ariakas | Mar 20 2008, 11:53 PM Post #4 |
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((I see, thanks)) Captain Goethy did not say anything, just looked at Ariakas in amazement. Then one of his men brought him back. "Captain?" he asked. "What are we to do? He's a Realmer, he can't be trusted." "Don't you see the mark?" Goethy snapped with fury. "Do you want to disobey the orders given by Mordain Thaendil? Don't be so foolish." The man nodded slowly then waved his hand. The crossbows were lowered along the gate and wall. Following that the portcullis was raised and Arikas was let inside. There he met face to face with Captain Goethy, mage Gwynnethrad and Braeth. "What..." Captain Goethy did not know what to say. "But, how is it that Mordain ordered you.. What are you supposed to do?" "No questions," Ariakas responded as he put his glove back on. "I am not allowed to say. I am sorry." He looked at the captain, then he turned around and slowly walked down the road. The order had already been given to let him through. Everywhere, out of every hiding spot and guard station, members of the Crevasse Guard came to look at the Realmer who was allowed to pass. It was a rare sight indeed. When Ariakas reached the Lower Marble Gate he did not say anything, simply nodded to the offiser who was in charge. The Crevasse Guard proceeded to open the gate and Ariakas was let through. Into the Crevasse. He walked down the first few steps down from the Lower Marble Gate. Then he stopped and sniffed the air. It smelled peculiar, like a mix of smoking sulfur and a wet, overgrown bog. And the tiny sense of rotting meat. The fog from the Crevasse was already forming around him. It seeme to stuck to his legs, and it was so thick that it felt like moving through water. He could not see the road clearly, and therefore not the edge. He moved closer to the side of the Crevasse, just to feel safe. As he was about to move on, a call from behind him made him turn. A member of the Crevasse Guard came towards him. "I am sorry," the elf said. "My name is Braeth. I was just wondering... you are not allowed to tell. But do you... do you know what you will face?" Ariakas smiled and shook his head, "No my friend. I don't think I do that." "But what do you think will find then?" "The gods themselves maybe," Ariakas answered with a smile. Then he turned and disappeared into the fog. Into the Crevasse. Braeth could not stand looking after him. He quickly turned and hurried back, the last few meters he sprinted. |
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| Ariakas | Mar 23 2008, 11:30 PM Post #5 |
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The fog was so thick that it actually made breathing difficult, Ariakas realized as he staggered further and further down along the path. He stopped to calm himself, because even if he was not really panicking only a slightly increased breath rate could make him suffocate. He shook his head, he felt dizzy. He wished he could have moved with greater speed, but considering the visibility that was not an option. He had to move with caution. It was a weird thing with this fog. Here he was clearly realizing that if he did not move with caution he could anytime plummet to his death. It was a simply allegory he thought. He always had been a man who wished to move forward with caution and carefulness. That much had his father taught him, it was a family trait he said. But all the others, the White Council, the Council of Weissland, Emperor Sebastian, Thaendil, Haidas and even sometimes the Lord of the White Realm himself ignored the fog that was obstructing their view. Instead the moved rashly forward, trusting their skills, knowledge, magic or people who followed them. Ariakas grunted. He had always been a sceptical character. Rash actions should be reserved only for dire circumstances. He thought back to the beginning of the war between the White Realm and Weissland, if only rash actions had not been the case there. His foot suddenly slipped, but he remained steady on his feet. The rocks were loose ahead of him. But he also had the tiny feeling that the fog was slowly lifting. Despite the fact that he had expected it was it quite peculiar, and unnatural. The fog should not be lifting now, and instead lie closer to the valley. Suddenly he walked out of the thick fog, and entered something like a small pocket of clean air. He could not see anything except for the fog, the weak light from the sun above and the rock wall and floor of the path. But there was something on the wall. Markings or even inscriptions. He stepped closer to the wall to see properly. The lightning was poor, but it seemed to his surprise to be Puritan writing and language. The words had been hewn into the rock. He began to read the words but soon realized to his horror what it was. It was a prayer, an offering, to a god, an evil god. People never sold their souls to good gods. Ariakas frowned as he looked at the words without reading them to the end, he was on the right track without doubt. “Admiring the work?” a voice called out from behind him. Ariakas turned on his heel and pulled his sword in a swift movement. The dark silhouette of a cloaked man was visible in the fog, on the path leading up the Crevasse. Had he moved past Ariakas without him noticing, or had he followed him. Despite the man wearing a cloak, his head was bare though the fog hid his face completely. “Who are you?” Ariakas asked. “I am here on orders by Mordain Thaendil. I am clarified.” “Really now? Mordain Thaendil? And who might that be?” the fellow asked, his voice was dark and husky. The sarcasm was as clear as the fog. Ariakas removed his glove to show the Raven mark that Mordain had given him but to his surprise he saw it had vanished. A whispering chuckle came from the other man. “Who are you?” Ariakas asked again, dropping his glove and wielding his sword with both hands. The man slowly stepped forward, out from the smoke and into the pocket of clean air. His cloak was brown and his boots weary and old, but it was his face which was peculiar. His face was young enough, with a slender jaw and a nobel’s set of teeth. He was maybe unusual pale, but it was his eyes. It gave Ariakas such a weird feeling, it was like those eyes were over a thousand years old. And somehow Ariakas knew they were. “My name is Grond Hellbron,” the man said, a mocking smile on his lips. “And you, my friend, have certainly picked the wrong valley to take a hike in. I advise you to turn while you still have your health, not mentioning your soul.” “You don’t know why I am here,” Ariakas said. “You can not stop me.” “Maybe not yet,” Grond responded. “But I’m telling you, the further you walk this path the more perils you will face. Do not go further.” “I’m saying you can’t stop me,” Ariakas said, trying to steady his voice. Slowly he sheathed his sword, bent down to pick up his glove and, as he shuddered for doing it, turned his back towards Grond and began walking further down the path. “Do you want to know who wrote this,” Grond asked. “It was me. You should then know more about what you face here.” Ariakas turned to look at the writing on the wall again, and then turned towards Grond. But without warning the man had disappeared. No trace existed. Ariakas shuddered once more, turned around and continued his journey deeper into the Crevasse. As he walked on he slowly lost the feeling of time. Sometimes he had the feeling it was only minutes since he had walked through the Marble Gates, other times like it had been days since he saw clear daylight. For all he knew that could be the truth. This place was filled with magic. Then he finally noticed something and looked around, the sunlight was not slipping through anymore. At least not enough for him to be able to have clear visibility. But somehow there was a strange kind of light, seemingly appearing from everywhere. Magic, he though grimly, old natural magic. The fog was gradually lifting, but the air appeared to become gradually wet despite of this. Water dripping from above into his hair and neck told him he was walking beneath a roof. He felt hungry, tired and thirsty but he moved on. He had a small bottle of water which he sometimes took a light seep from, but he promised himself that even if he went mad down here he would not drink from it water. That would be his doom for sure. So he carried on, a slow, steady journey through the most desolate place he had ever walked. |
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| Ariakas | Mar 24 2008, 03:12 PM Post #6 |
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The fog was completely gone now and Ariakas was walking between giant boulders on either side. The boulders felt like a fence against the terrifying edge into the Crevasse, but despite of this Ariakas did not feel very safe. The boulders felt unnatural, and when Ariakas did not look directly at them he felt they had faces and body forms, crafted into the boulders. But each time he turned his head they were normal boulders again. He felt like he was being observed. Soon he, to his relief passed the long valley of boulders and returned to the path was hanging over the rest of the Crevasse. But without the fog he realized he could possible look down into it. Slowly, he crept towards the edge of the path, laid down on all four and looked over the edge. It was an amazing and horrible sight. At first he thought the Crevasse was filled with lave and flowing magma with all the powerful, moving red and yellow colors. But soon he understood that whatever he looked at there was not fast form to it. It was something incorporeal. As far as he could see, to either side along the Crevasse, a mass of swirling colors flowed back and forth in a chaotic pattern. And not only red or yellow anymore, but white, pink, brown and purple as well. And the more he looked at it, the closer it felt. At first it felt like many miles, but then he had the feeling it was coming towards him. He squinted with his eyes and realized it was not the swamp of swirling colours coming towards him, it was something in it. Fell beings, with horns, cloven feet, bat wings, tentacles and all other gruesome things. Daemons. Above him the thick carpet of fog felt like a prison. Below him hell was unleashing its creatures to bring him in. Ariakas quickly got up and back away from the edge. He was about to draw his sword but then he realized it would help him little against the horde of horros he faced. “Regretting your little trip, my friend,” a voice said to him from behind. Ariakas turned around to find Grond once more standing behind him. The man known as Loremaster, Warmaster and Commander of Mjolnir stared frantically at Grond for a split second before uttering, “Help me.” Grond smiled, the most wicked smile Ariakas had ever seen. “What is your name my friend?” “Ariakas,” he responded. Grond laughed this away, “Do not lie to me.” Ariakas shook his head, unable to say anything. “Then why did you ask?” he cried as he could hear the howls of the fell beings approaching. Grond shook his head. “There’s nothing I can do. And there’s only one thing you can do.” He gestured to a small hole, barely an inch wide, in the rocky wall. As Ariakas stared at it slowly grew until it was two meters in all direction. Grond waved his hand towards the hole. “Flee Ariakas. Flee.” Ariakas fled like a coward through the tunnel. Through the hole behind him the magical light shined through and filled the whole dark tube with its unnatural lighting. Ariakas had hoped Grond would shut the whole beside him, but for some reason he did not believe it was really Grond who had opened it in the first place. He did not care, now he just needed to get away. To carry on running until he was safe, he had forgotten all about what he had come her for. The answers he did no longer wonder about, the shrine he no longer cared for. All he thought of was escape. He stumbled over something lying in the tunnel. It was some kind of animal, with fur. But it disappeared as soon as he turned his head over it. As his face was turned the way he had come he could feel the cool of fresh air blowing through the tunnel. Suddenly, the air movement turned and was replaced with hot air blowing from behind it. And he could smell something. Something he had smelled at the top of the valley. Sulfur. Nevertheless, he carried on. He was more cautious now; his mind and senses returning quickly. It was silent behind him; he hoped he was not followed anymore. He began to wonder why he had decided to flee where he had. Why not back up the path, or at least down the path he had intended to go? Now he had been led of course, he had completely lost his mind. Was it something Grond had done with him, with magic? The familiar voice of Grond resounded through the walls of the tunnel as soon Ariakas began to think of him. “Of course I did something. Just think of it, you completely lost your mind and your goal and I led you off-course. The question is of course where?” Ariakas turned his head to try and figure out where the voice was coming from, but soon thought the better of it and instead continued to move through the dark tunnel. “So where is it you have led me then?” he asked aloud. “I don’t know,” Grond asked. “You answer that.” “What do you mean?” Ariakas asked, confused. “You tell me where you are heading,” the voice seemed to come from everywhere, and at the same time partially from Ariakas’ mind. The thought was frightening. “What does it matter?” Ariakas parried. “Wherever I was heading, you led me of that path.” “But, the place where you was headed,” Grond suggested. “You did not know where it truly was? How did you expect to find it?” He chuckled the last word, “Fate?” “As a matter of fact I did.” “Then my friend you should begin to rethink the way fate works. Fate only tells you where you are going to end up, never how you are going to get there. So, please consider the possibility that fate made me meet you.” “I don’t think so,” Ariakas said but his voice was filled with doubt. Of course the man Grond was right. Ariakas tried to ignore his curiosity for who the man really was. There was something familiar in the name. “So where are you heading?” Grond asked. Ariakas stopped and looked around. He breathed heavily before answering, “The shrine.” The hall was filled with evilsounding laughter. The dark laughter of Grond reminded Ariakas heavily about the mad laughter of Cloudwulfe. He wished the crazed man was here, he should have brought him to Weissland himself. Or fused his own mind to the man, instead of choosing… he pushed the thought from his mind. “The shrine of…?” Grond asked. “You know which shrine,” Ariakas said. “The shrine lying closer to the border of Hell than any other piece of land in this world.” The laughter of Grond filled the tunnel again. “Are you afraid of him Ariakas? Are you afraid of saying his name?” “No,” Ariakas responded coldly, his voice more calm than ever before in his talks with this man “If I was afraid of him why would I go seek his shrine? I am not afraid of any the gods, and if you know where the shrine is you will take me there. By fate, you will take me to the Shrine of Kilnor.” “As you wish” Grond spoke. “But I hope you are ready to pay the price.” “It has already been paid,” Ariakas responded coldly, moving once more through the tunnel. Grond gave a evil chuckle as an answer, “If you say so.” Then the his laughter gradually drifted into silence. He was gone again, Ariakas thought as moved through the tunnel. After a while of trudging the rough, filthy turned into a dungeon hallway. The halls were smooth. The lightning through the hole suddenly stopped here but there was a torch hanging on the wall. He picked it up, and with a bit of magical powder from one of his bottles it lit up. He lifted it up so he could get a view of the dungeon hall. It stretched straight forward far into the distance. There were carvings on some of the walls, writing that even he could not read. Most likely evil, he thought. He looked back at the tunnel. For a brief moment he considered turning back, but no. He had come to far, there was no going back. And then of course it was the matter of fate and what it had told him in the Mountains of Kuren. Ariakas had always believed in fate. So he carried on, step by step through the hall. He did not waste his time looking at the wall, ignoring the possibility of there being some kind of warning there. The hall was filled with silence except for the sound of his boots against the tiled floor. Suddenly he heard another sound however and he froze on the spot. It had been a small clicking sound, and it took him only a few seconds to realize where he came from. He looked down and saw what he had expected. The tile under his right foot had sunk an inch further down into the floor. A trap, he had been stupid to just walk into such a simple trap. He did not remove his foot, not even shift the weight, as he looked around to study his surroundings. He noticed a small tube sticking out from the right wall, pointed directly at him. He figured something would come out from it as soon as he removed his foot. Poison, a dart or maybe some kind of daemonic being, he did not know. But he felt sure he had a chance of jumping away between the time he removed his foot and the trap went off. Then he suddenly heard a flushing sound coming from the tube. He turned his head towards it with surprise as a cloud of hot steaming gas hit him right the face. Ariakas screamed as his torch clattered on the ground. His skin was scorching and the gas stung in his eyes. He fell on the ground and felt at his face with his gloved hands. “Ariakas,” Grond’s voice once more sounded. “Do not waste your time. Hurry.” Ariakas slowly calmed down. He could not see a thing however, but with his fingers he could feel that his eyes were open. It was darkness everywhere. Was it because the torch had been extinguished, or could he have been blinded by the gas? The thought was terrifying. “Hurry,” Grond called from the darkness and Ariakas could feel a hand grabbing his arm and helping him up. “They are waiting for you Ariakas. You need to hurry.” “Who are waiting for me?” Ariakas asked as he staggered forward. He hit the wall and let his fingers run across it. Then he began walking down the hall again, despite not being able to see a thing. His eyes were not in pain anymore, except when he touched them with his hands. But nevertheless he carried on. |
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| Ariakas | Mar 27 2008, 03:30 PM Post #7 |
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With one step after another Ariakas slowly moved through the darkness. The hand on his shoulder had been removed, but the voice of Grond still haunted him. And now he had the feeling the man was walking just beside him, speaking directly into his ear. Ariakas wanted to stop, but somehow he knew it would no good. He had to keep going. This time, more than ever, he had to keep going. “What do you want from the gods Ariakas?” Grond whispered to him through the darkness. “It is clear on you that you are a man who do not trust the gods, and the gods do not trust you.” A sudden flash of white light… Ariakas entered the small room deep beneath the Castle Mjolnir where Cloudwulfe was being kept. Ariakas lifted his torch and spotted Cloudwulfe close to far wall, the fingers of the man running across the stone wall. It seemed like he was scratching a drawing in the stone, something abstract. Ariakas tried to grasp what it was, but then gave up. The face of Cloudwulfe was calm at first but then it suddenly turned into a face of a terrified man. He turned to Ariakas and spoke with an unnatural deep voice for him, “There is evil ithe White Realm now. Someone… was here while you were away.” “There has always been evil in the White Realm Cloudwulfe,” Ariakas argued with a tired smile. “Both you and me are proof of it.” “Not like this,” Cloudwulfe shook his head, his eyes glinting like a mad man in the darkness. “Not like this, this is familiar evil. Not for me, for you that is.. You will feel it, see it soon.” “So what is this evil then? Where did it come from?” He considered this could just be a product of the madness of Cloudwulfe, his different minds creating it but he needed to be sure. “Death is what it is. Walking among us, flying above us. Bringing terror and killing now, destruction and oblivion soon. You must stop it.” “But where did it come from?” “From Weissland. From your very own home.” A similar flash of light… Ariakas stumbled over a loose tile on the floor, but kept his balance. “Answers. That is all they can give me, answers.” He tried to force the memory out of his head, it had been so clear. Like he was back there, beneath Castle Mjolnir and experiencing it again himself. “Answers to what? Why not ask me, my friend,” Grond mocked him. The voice seemed to move from right to left, as if Grond circle him. “I have seen things through history which you can only dream off, I can give you the answers you seek.” “You might have seen a lot but not everything,” Ariakas responded, trying to keep both his voice and feet steady at the same time. “That is what the gods do. What do you see when you see me?” “I see a liar,” Grond chuckled. “What do you mean? Why do you say that?” “You lied about your name Ariakas.” Ariakas shook his head, trying to ignore the man. “Ariakas is my name. You do not know me.” “Liar,” Grond mocked. Liar, the word sprung through time and history. A flash of white light…. Ariakas stood in the grand hall in the Tower of Weissland, before him lay the body of he armored Lord of the White Realm, the Lord Stanislav. The lord was barely breathing, Ariakas bent down to him. The Lord was whispering something and Ariakas bent down his head. “"Assume command of the Realm...end this war...by any means necessary...you...will...not lead us...the Realm...to victory, Loremaster...but you will lead us to peace...go...now..."” Ariakas shook his head. No, not know, he thought. Do not succumb to the Snake my Lord, you must not give in. We need you now. The Lord spoke away, his voice dying out as he did. “My work is finished, the work of others...is about to begin!" Then his eyes closed. Ariakas searched the throat of the Lord and found his pulse. It was vanishing. But Ariakas knew the Lord was not dead. No, it was simply his own sacrifice. His sacrifice to help them all, the council and the land. The Snake still haunted him. But how could Ariakas use this to his own ends and still help his Lord. His fought an short internal war in his mind before finally deciding. Assume command, the Lord had said. He picked up his own sword and sheathed it, “This has truly gone too far.” Then he lifted up the body of the Lord Sunnycool and carried it through the hall in the Tower of Weissland. He carried the Lord through the great doors and into the daylight. He carried the dead Lord over the grass plains. Confused officers, soldiers and servants stopped in their tasks. Lord Richard ran towards the Loremaster. What happened?" he cried out. "Is he alright." Carefully Ariakas laid the Lord down on the grass. "He's dead. The Lord of the White Realm is dead." Liar, liar, the voice of Grond called out through time and history. Silence surrounded him. Not a single person spoke. They could not believe this. The Lord? They had never in the fantasies nor even nightmares ever imagined it. "What? how?" Richard seemed like he did not know wether to cry or pull his sword. Actually it seemed like he did not know that he did not know. "Assassins," Ariakas responded with a cold voice. Liar, liar, his own voice called out in unison with the voice of Grond. A flash of light once more…. Ariakas fell to his knees. Grond laughed at him from above, but darkness still surrounded him. Ariakas wondered if he ever would see anything again. He wanted to cry, but the tears would not run from his ruined eyes. “Why did you lie there, if he was not dead?” Grond said. It was obvious he thought the scene had been abstract in a humorous way. “To keep him and others out of the war with Weissland,” Ariakas said with a weak voice. “I did not want more to become involved. It is a terrible affair, when men wields weapons against men. It was not a risk since he would not be buried until long, and there was people in the White City with the abilities to tell he was still alive. By moving him to the White City and also made other people stay away from short time when they travelled so see him, like Andy. It also made me commander of certain people who would usually only follow orders from the Lord, like Akatosh and most of the White Council. “But what made him pass out like that, in that magical coma?” Grond asked with an interested voice. “What is this snake?” “That is not your concern, and it’s not mine either,” Ariakas said as he stood up and continued. |
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| Ariakas | Apr 7 2008, 05:19 PM Post #8 |
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His mouth was paper dry and he was worried that his body system would begin to fail due to lack of liquid. He thought he could hear water dripping somewhere in the distance, but that could as well be his mind playing with him. And constantly the voice of Grond was present, haunting him and question him. Ariakas stopped, breathing heavily. He was tired now, weak he realized. His hands rested against the wall which he had followed in his blindness. Then a realization sprung to his mind. “You could see my memory?” he asked. “With the Lord of the Realm?” “Of course I could,” Grond’s voice spoke beside him. “I told you, my powers would grow as you moved on.” “But then you could also see,” Ariakas said, “my memory with Cloudwulfe.” Grond chuckled. Ariakas was increasingly becoming worried about the stranger. The man seemed both mad and genius at the same time. “I did indeed,” he said. “Then you know,” Ariakas asked, his voice filled with partial desperation now. “You know of this… Death? The thing Cloudwulfe spoke about.” “No,” Grond responded quickly. “I do not know more than you do. I know there’s a link between this and yourself, and you found that link in the Mountains of Kuren. In your past, and that is why you are travelling here. To seek the Shrine and seek someone who could give you an answer to something no one really knows.” Ariakas nodded and stroke sweat of his face. His eyes hurt as he touched them still. “You know who Cloudwulfe is?” Ariakas asked. “Not yet,” Grond chuckled once more. “Maybe soon.” Ariakas could do nothing but nod, then he took another step. Another flash of bright light, came through reality. Through time…. Ariakas was walking across a battlefield. It was covered in the corpses. They were of the foes, the beasts of the north. To his right there was a large funeral pyre being erected. The last of the Realmers was carried there. Brave Glorians and valiant members of the Honour Guard. Further east there were more funeral pyres. They would burn the corpses of their foes later. Ariakas looked up to the hill behind him. He could see the Lord Sunnycool of the Realm standing by his banner. To his right stood High Captain Lachlan dressed in his battle armor and Pezza, who had recently arrived from the White City. Ariakas raised his hand as a greeting, which was returned by Pezza and Lachlan but not by the Lord himself. It was a day for victory indeed, but it was a day of tragedy and sadness as well. It was a sad day for the Lord. He himself had fought like a hero among heroes, but even than it had barely held. If it was not for the charge of the Honour Guard towards the beast general, Razhk his name had been, it would had all been forfeit. Ariakas looked to the lone pyre where a single body was laid, the body of Apollo. The man had been born a hero and died a hero. He would be long remembered. Ariakas continued across the landscape until he came across a large empty area except for a large, black spot and a man bent over his own sword stuck in the ground. As Ariakas came towards him, Almirith Damorath stood up, lifted his sword and greeted the Commander of Mjolnir. “Good to see you survived,” Ariakas said. He threw a look at the black spot, but did not speak about it. One did not need mentioning the daemon. Almirith nodded, “I was lucky.” He smiled and sheathed his sword. “Not in the Mountains of Glory,” Ariakas said. They stood far from anyone else and could speak openly he felt. He owed Almirith this. “Against the Death Stalker,” Almirith nodded. “But you knew. You knew everything. How the battle would be fought, and how it would end.” “You were not lucky there,” Ariakas said. “You were guarded and led by fate Almirith.” “But how did you know?” Ariakas smiled a sad smile as he looked to the hill with the Lord, then towards the sun to the south. “I think I will tell you one day Almirith,” Ariakas said. “But for now I can only say what I told you in the White City. I have been given certain gifts it seems, and those gifts are not my own assets. Those gifts are the people I surround myself with.” Almirith nodded, but Ariakas carried on. “However, now you know that you can trust me on this Almirith. So in the future, I ask you to listen to my advice at the Council and in wartimes. When I give them, you will listen. And then I will listen to you.” Almirith smiled and shook the hand of Ariakas. Then they parted from each other. Later that evening Ariakas returned to his own tent in the army camp further to the south. He threw both his cloaks on the table and filled a glass with wine when he realized he was not alone. Two figures rose from further inside the tent and came towards him. Quarr and Profyn. Quarr’s face was serious, but there was also a sly and slightly mocking smile on his lips. Profyn however, was dead serious. Ariakas looked at one, then at the other. He sighed. “What is it?” Ariakas asked. None of the two responded at first then Profyn simply shrugged. “Lord Quarr knows,” he said. “About Cloudwulfe.” Ariakas was about to drop his glass of wine, but only a surprised expression on his face slipped through. “Well, I’m hope you’re happy about that Quarr,” he said. “And don’t worry Profyn, I’m certain it had to happen sooner or later. Hopefully Cloudwulfe may soon be hidden in a more excluded place.” “I will not reveal your little secret,” Quarr said coldly. “Of course you won’t,” Ariakas said. “You have so many other secrets of mine to reveal.” “Not compared to this one,” Quarr said. He threw a glance towards Profyn, a poisonous stare. “Necromancy is not highly valued in the Realm. There comes a time when you can’t defend yourself against this.” “Spare me your sarcasm,” Ariakas said but Quarr did not stop. “I do not want to know more of this even” the grey-haired man said. “I sometimes wish I had made the same choice as Videous. To leave the Order of Mjolnir when it began to become stained.” “Do not dare to speak to me that way,” Ariakas’ voice was trembling with anger. “I will not listen to this hypocrisy anymore. You’re just as black-spotted as myself. And what I do, I always do for the best of the Realm. For the Realmers.” “Even for the Realmers you’ve killed,” Quarr snapped. The glass left Ariakas hand and broke against the table. It looked like Ariakas was about to draw his glass right there and then. “Get out,” he said. “Get out of here.” Quarr simply nodded, took a step towards the exit of the tent but turned at looked back, but not at Ariakas. He looked directly at Profyn instead, “Be careful where your sorcery treads in the future, necromancer.” Then he left the tent. Ariakas sighed and supported himself against the wine stained table. “What will we do about Angel?” Profyn asked. Ariakas shook his head, and dropped down on his chair. “Never, ever use that name again. Angel is dead, his name is now Cloudwulfe and nothing else. Never ever mention that name again. It will bring both your head, and mine, below the executioner’s axe.” A bright flash of light shone through the army camp, through the tent and through the body of Profyn. “Necromancy now?” Grond spat the words out. Ariakas ignored him, tried to block the memories out his head, but it was like they were forced on him. He carried on, constantly moving through the tunnel, hands searching across the wall. Ariakas understood the flashbacks of his past had to be some kind of magical effect which hit him because of where he was going. Time flowed differently here, so close to an other Plane. It was beginning to get hotter, and the very air was dry and heavy. He had no sweat left to wipe away however. He was desperate for water. It came sooner than he had expected now. A flash of bright light… Ariakas leaped down the stairs of Castle Mjolnir, dodging the small throwing star which sailed above his head. The furious dark elf, and his first human aid followed. The third of the assassins was brawling with Tristan on the floor behind Ariakas. Ariakas quickly kicked that on in the side, as he picked up his sword again. Just in time to parry the blade of the dark elf. Tristan was back on his feet and slashed at his own assailant which leaped backwards. Both Ariakas and Tristan fell backwards in the hall. They were both breathing heavily, they had managed to kill two of the five original assassins. Ariakas did not understand why there was no aid arriving. Where was his men? Could they be all dead? The dark elf licked his long, curved blade as he watched Ariakas and Tristan stagger backwards. He grinned, his corner teeth unnaturally long. “Where is he?” he asked. “Where is who?” Ariakas snapped back. “I was sent here by the Dark Council,” the dark elf spoke. “To seek out you, Loremaster. If anyone may give us the answer to this it is you. Where is Fizban Dantares? Where may we find him?” “That is why you have arrived here,” Ariakas laughed at the elfs words. “The name Dantares is a myth. A tavern legend and bard tale brought you here apparently. I know nothing more than any random storyteller at any inn in Thunderton may tell you.” The dark elf screamed with anger and pushed forward, his two cohorts following him. A flash of light, following by complete darkness. Ariakas stumbled but carried on. That flashback had been so short. He wondered if his own mind had managed to push it all away. He was thinking it was Grond’s doing, entering his past like that. He only pulled out the critical parts of course, so it had to be Grond. “A tavern legend?” Grond spoke. “Is that really so?” “That is all I have heard,” Ariakas said as he walked forward. “Then you know nothing,” Grond spat. “I know of this Dantares-name. Two times I met a man named so, first the elder Lordin Dantares and then his brother Marko Dantares.” Ariakas stopped in his step. How desperately he wanted to be able to see the man’s face now, and to tell whether he lied or not, but it did not help him wishing. He continued forward. “Curse those men, and curse their ancestors and descendants,” Grond spat again. “That is why I am here. Oblivious to time and outside events I am fixed to the wretched place, serving my master until the end of time itself.” Ariakas carried on. A flash of light…. |
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| Fizban Dantares | Jun 11 2008, 07:15 PM Post #9 |
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Slowly, Ariakas pushed himself up from the stone floor. He felt his face with his hand, a stroke of pain lashing through his nervers as his fingers touched the deep gashes that the beastial Death Stalker had dealt him. He had recognized the creature immediately as it leapt from the shadows and attacked Branalbinn and the other three. Of course, Ariakas had never gotten enough time to really reacted. He looked around. Branalbinn lay beside him, Ariakas felt his pulse. It was weak but it was there. Branalbinn had truly taken a beating. Ariakas looked towarsd the body of HuggyFrog in the middel of the room. He did not know whether the young member of Branalbinn's Guard was dead or not, but he did not think it matter. He stood up and walked towards the Lord of the White Realm lying in front of the entrance to the Tomb of Lord Rakton. As he stepped forward he through a glance towards Lord Videous. The man was conscious, but his limbs seemed twisted and he was breathing with pain. "Lay still Videous," Ariakas said, his voice colder than he had wished it could be. Videous threw him a sharp look, but stopped to try and get up. Ariakas bent down beside Lord Sunnycool. The strong, well-built Lord of the White Realm was slowly lifting his head from the ground, then lifted his body with his elbow. Ariakas helped him keep his balance, the Lord had a dazed look in his face. He looked Ariakas, witnessing the deep gash in the face of the Loremaster. "You look horrible," he said. Ariakas could no nothing but smile. "What was that?" Sunnycool asked him. "I believe it was a Death Stalker. It's like one of the most deadliest beasts, but attuned to magic and having similar to magical abilities. We were lucky, its leader halted it as it was about to kill us all." "Its leader?" the Lord asked. "I saw him, barely. He was dressed in black, and used a magical portal to transport himself and the beast away." Ariakas had heard his voice as well, he would never forget that voice. "Very well," the Lord nodded. "We will find out more later, I guess he took the Staff." Ariakas nodded, to which Sunnycool only shrugged as a response. "Let's see to the others." Ariakas fell forwards as pain reached through his face. He lifted his hands. He had sworn he could have felt that deep wound once more in his face, but there were no scars to touch. Ignoring the ill-fated laughter of Grond, he stood up and moved his foot forward. It felt like the heaviest step he had ever taken in his whole life. A flash of light........ Ariakas stood at one end of a table and Videous at the other. The Lord of the White Realm stood between them. The Lord was furious, and despite his criticism being towards the defence of Mjolnir County during the Corsair Crisis and what little had been done to prevent the conflict before it begun it was apperent that Videous was the one who received the harsh words. Ariakas stood there and listened to every word. Videous stood opposite him, though he did not meet Ariakas' cold gaze. He stared towards the table, meeting the stare of the Lord, answering each question accordingly. Videous was already on the way out of the Order of Mjolnir, but the Lord did not know that. Only Ariakas and Quarr, and Videous himself, knew. But still it was agreed that Videous was going to take most of the blaim for how the diplomatic events had unfolded up until the Corsair crisis. After the Lord had left them, Ariakas and Videous both took a seat at either end of the table. "This is the end for the two of us," Videous said. His voice was sad, though the mark of anger was also evident. "No," Ariakas shook his head, ignoring the emotions shown by Videous. "This is the end of you." "This is the end of us," Videous repeated himself. "The end of the Order of Mjolnir. You may be the Commander now but that does not change..." "I was always the Commander Videous," Ariakas protested proudly. "Do not give me that crap," Videous said. "You know that without me and Quarr..." "YOU know that that ain't true. You two supported me for a reason in this. Do you have any idea of how much I have been controlling? How much I have been resonsible for?" Videous did not respond at first, but eventually shrugged. "You would never have this power without me or Quarr." "But now I have it," Ariakas said coldly. "And my use for you in your current position has ended." Videous rose, his eyes could have shot lightning. "This is the end of a working relationship Ariakas. And you know how important this has been for the Realm." "No more," Ariakas said as Videous left for the door. "No more." A flash of light... "Backstabber," Grond whispered around him, his words coming from everywhere. Ariakas ignored him, lifted his foot and stepped down again. It was a neverending walk, he realized. A brighter flash of light... Ariakas walked down the ranks of men, the new recruits. It was a strong bunch, he realized. And now that he and Quarr had agreed on that Videous had to leave the organization, the task of the Order of Mjolnir was more clear than ever. He stepped back and looked at them all. Some were really impressive. Dagonet was a great horseman. Ranorist was one of the strongest men had ever witnessed, and definitly the largest one. Tristan was a mysterious individual, of a family bloodline far from the Realm. Menort was wise when it came to herbs and medicine. Nargon and Mîr was both quick and skilled with the blade. Ariakas nodded to himself, many of them were good. Many of them were indeed good. He looked to his right. Quarr was talking to one of the newly promoted officers. Andy. Such a simply name, Ariakas thought. Nothing more but Andy. He wondered what that name could actually hide. He had been sceptical to recruting Andy. The man had already had a strong military career both among the marshals and the army of the White Realm. That meant the ideals and meanings of the man was for the most part already formed, and this could be a negative factor in such a united organization such as the Ordre of Mjolnir. Or it could be a positive factor, it was most unclear. But Ariakas did not like gambling when it came to these things, which he could instead avoid. But Quarr had insisted on Andy getting recruited. Ariakas wondered when Quarr had had the opportunity to see Andy in action. At least Ariakas was happy Quarr had agreed to unofficially degrade himself. Men like Quarr should not have too much power, Ariakas thought. A bright flash.... "Such men?" Grond asked. "What kind of men are that? And I thought you were a person who like to know certain things like this. Why did you not know this, why Andy was of interest to Quarr. Did you not know of Andy's past before he arrived at that orphany." Ariakas wanted to stop his constant walk now, but somehow he could not. He felt like he was forced to take another step. Another step into the past, further back in the past. A flash of brightness..... Ariakas quickly hurried through the streets of the White City towards the Tomb of Honour where the heroes of the Realm rested. As he rested his back against the cold stone wall of the royal building he looked around. Not a single soldier would hinder the Commander of Mjolnir, the defeater of Mork, to get to the Tomb of Honour. But Ariakas did not want anyone to know. He did not want anyone to raise any questions. The game had reached a new level. He spotted movement in the dark alleys. A man in robes came towards him. "Profyn" Ariakas whispered in relief and waved the mage towards him. Profyn, with his elegant, goatbeard and grey hair, smiled towards Ariakas. Profyn was the first of the man whom Ariakas completely trusted, or at least trusted as much as he could. "Where is he?" Profyn asked. "In one of the side halls," Ariakas explained. "They did not put him to rest among other members. They wanted to honour him for his deeds before he turned mad and traitor, but his.. last actions kinda ruined his honour." Profyn simply nodded. He knew the stories about the Staff of Sanity and how it had turned some of the most trusted men of the Realm mad and godly powerful. Ariakas and Profyn went through the open portal leading through the Tomb of Honour. Passing several tombs of former heroes of the Realm, during the times when the Realm was first formed and when it got through its first conflicts, Ariakas guided Profyn into a sideway leading into a smaller hall. There it was, a small stone in the wall where a dusty inscription read: Angel Bonofti, Member of the Branalbinn's Guard and Captain of the North. May he rest in peace. "I am surprised," Profyn said as he stroke his fingers across the stone. "That he got such a treatment after what he did." "We honour what good we can remember of him," Ariakas said. "Now Profyn, remove the stone. We have delayed long enough." A bright flash of light shined through the dark shadows of the Tomb of Honour. "He did not rest in peace for long," Grond remarked sarcastically. Ariakas moved on, never stopping. It went faster. Ariakas stood over the dead body of Mork. Blood poured from the open spear wound in the chest of the beastlord and from the beheaded neck. Ariakas breathed out in relief, the enemy general was dead. The beastmen was just at this moment falling back, as the sworn oath had been. Even that wretched people, with their inhuman cultures, honoured a truce. Ariakas looked to the walls of the White City. There were people cheering, soldiers and citizens alike. The war was over. He could see members of the White Council standing atop the gate, lifting their hands and swords to greet him. Banners of the White Realm flowed from every cornerstone, from every window. Ariakas used his already muddy and bloody cloak to clean of the dark blood from the beastlord. It all happened so slowly, and it felt like the cheering were miles away or behind a soundproof wall. It seemed so unnatural. His father had, as his last words to Ariakas, told him that he always had to put his faith in the moment. Ariakas had done that now. He had trusted only his instinct, gone against every logic. And he had saved the Realm. The White City could have withstood the assault and siege of course, but there would have been dire casualties. Ariakas had taken the risk and ended the war. What this what he was supposed to do? he wondered. Being a servant and a guardian of this White Realm. Ariakas went towards his horse, standing a few meters away. He calmed it down before mounting up. This did not feel like him. A general, a conqueror or a champion. It was never one of those titles he had wished for when he was young. But that was hot it turned out. His whole life was nothing but a game. But he was still uncertain as to why he fought it. He had to find someone who could tell him why he fought this game, and what there was to win. "You had it all already," Grond said in amazement. "You were a hero." "I never wanted to be a hero," Ariakas said as he moved another step forward. "What would one want instead?" Grond asked in wonder, as well as mocking. A bright flash... The gigantic, black serpent lifted its head and looked down on the two men. To this incredible beast they were like unimportant insects, but they both knew that it seemed larger than it truly was. "Ssso, puny humansss," the serpent spoke. "You have come here... for what? To feed my appetite?" A gargling sounded from its throat which echoed laughter. Ariakas did not say anything. He just stood there, viewing the magnificent power which ranked up above him. It filled the entire cave. He was certain that if they had stood outside the snake would have been taller even than the roof of the cave. It was unbelievable that such beasts, such wonders, excisted in the world. Lord Stanislav did not hesitate however. He had come here for a purpose, and he was to fulfill it. "I know what powers you have, serpent," he spoke. His voice was hardened and there was force behind every word. He knew the creature would listen. "My Realm is young and weak, and without proper guidance it will fall before any foe. I need help. I need it to grow, to prosper." "That I can do," the snake whispered, though the whisper had the volume of a might roar. It's gigantic tounge snapped out through it's mouth, like it was mocking the two men. Then suddenly it began to shrink with incredible speed until it was the same height as Ariakas and Lord Stanislav. "But," the serpent continued "a sssacrificce is needed." It seemed like the serpent grinned and it began to come closer. Lord Stansialv turned to Ariakas and looked at him. Ariakas shook his head, "My lord. There must be another way. Do not fall for this.. creature's tricks." "No," Lord Stanislav said. "This I need to do Ariakas. Maybe I will regret it, and maybe you will regret it. But I know the Realm, the land I now rule, will never regret it. It needs this." With that the Lord gave his sword to Ariakas and began moving towards the serpent. Ariakas felt he needed to do something, but his feet were stuck. He could do nothing but look. A flash of bright light destroyed the darkness of the cave and splintered through the forms of Lord Stansilav and the serpent. Ariakas realized this was not a flashback to his past, it was a simple vision. He had never been in that cave, never truly seen the serpent. It had always been the words of Stansislav. Was it his own past he was witnessing, or just the events which formed his past, he wondered.. Ariakas could smell the air in the hallway had changed. It was not so dry anymore, and he though he could sense a small tingling sensation of blowing wind on his face. He took another step, accompanie by another bright flash... Ariakas sat on a large rock on top of a tall hill. To his left there was a row of apple trees. They were fair and fresh, with white flowers blooming all over it. It was a beautiful sight. Before him streched the plains for a long distance. To the far north the Gates of UROD lay. He was thinking that whatever he searched for, whatever that old hag had told him about, it was most likely behind those Gates. But he doubted he would pass it. His father had told him about those Gates. It had been built in the early days of the Realm of Purity and back then most people could pass as they wanted. But not anymore, Ariakas had found out. When he met some merchants heading to the new settlement founded to the south, west of the Mountains of Glory, he had been told that the Gates of UROD were now being controlled by a new force. Branalbinn's Guard it was called. Branalbinn was a name which Ariakas had never heard off, and it seemed like it was unlikely they would not let anyone pass the the Gates of UROD now. Ariakas wonder what place it could be, if they wanted to shield it from the world like that. Movement below caught his attention. A rider was heading up along the road on the hillside. Ariakas sharp eyes told him it was a tall rider, wearing leather armor and having long, fair hair. He looked valiant, Ariakas thought. Ariakas stood up on the rock and waved a hand at the man as they came closer. The man waved back and rode up to the rock. "I did not expect to meet anyone this far north," the man spoke with a strong voice. "This is dangerous land now, with all the bandits and tribes of wild men roaming around. Who are you, friend? And what brings you here?" "My name is Ariakas," Ariakas responded in a practiced manner, "I am a simple traveller, my friend, who seeks new people. All that is in my interest is a exciting chat and the possibility to count the leaves on the trees that I see." The man blinked, "Are'nt you an strange fellow," he answered. "Very well Ariakas," he said with a smile, "My name is Branalbinn. Chris Branalbinn." Ariakas did not show his surprise. Was it fate that had led him to meet this man, he thought. "And what brings you here, Branalbinn?" he asked with a playful smile. Branalbinn laughed, "It's good to see that not every man in this land knows my name yet. I am the messenger of Lord Sunnycool of the White City." "I have heard of the name Lord Sunnycool," Ariakas said. "But the White City?" As Branalbinn spoke, Ariakas felt something like fair chill flying through his veins, like it was something special to these names. It was like Ariakas felt a connection to them. "It is barely a city yet, my friend," Branalbinn said with a smile. He looked to the falling sun to the west and patted his saddle bags. "Say friend, I have a pair of rabbits here. I'll say share a meal with me and I tell you more about this Lord Sunnycool. If you're going to stay in this land for a while, it might be you will hear a lot more of that name in the times to come." Ariakas continued to walk. He had always felt he had taken the correct opportunity back then, that is reaction to the name Lord Sunnycool had been sign to him and that he had read the sign properly. But what would life had been today had he not met the man Branalbinn he wondered. Ariakas finally managed to drown his small series of coughing. The smoke was thick and smelled liked burnt fungus and weed. Looking to his right Ariakas could see that the eyes of Tarain was red and small tears were threatening to pour forth. Looking forward again, Ariakas could see that the old hag did not seem to be affected by the smoke at all. Of course, she plainly seemed normal anymore. She had to be the oldest person Ariakas had ever seen. Her skin was withered like rough, torn paper. Her nails were long and dirty. Her hair was an untidy mess, reminding Ariakas of a fishnet. The old hag spoke with a rusty voice, "I do not care for the lies you tell me about yourself. Your past interests me little, your future does." She lifted an old, weak arm and let brown and green leaves fall from her hand into the small bowl of boiling water. They lay on the surface for a short while before sinking deep beneath the bubbles. The water was black. The old hag was humming, apperently beginning on an ancient ritual which she had learned from her elders. Ariakas looked at Tarain again and shrugged. Tarain simply smiled and looked back at the hag. Ariakas sighed and scratched his cheek. He was beginning to get a beard he realized. About time, his father without doubt was thinking beyond the grave. "You should be careful thinking about your father, boy, in a place like this" the old hag suddenly spoke with a firm voice. "How did you know?" Ariakas asked with surprise, despite him knowing that such a question was silly. "Your father may have been the kind, wise and loving man you always knew him as. But he's a link, boy, to the rest of your family. If you are careful enough to switch your true name with another, you should also considering the danger of even thinking of your father's name when in such place." "Such a place?" Tarain asked. The old hag lifted her arms, gesturing around. "Look around you elf. Spirits floats, genies swirls. Ghosts surround you. They can hear your every words." Ariakas felt a small tingling at his neck. He knew of couse he needed to be careful. "Please move on." The woman gave him a sultry look. "Listen to me then Ariakas and listen to me now, because these words you must never forget. I see a game board for you, where you walk. Behind you walks people dressed in your clothing, wearing your beard and lifting your banner. I see a man of pure light covering beneath a black snake. I see armies of man, armies of beasts and armies of undead. I see a lone house floating in a pool of blood." Ariakas began to shook his head. He did not understand anything of this. "I see a man. He is half wolf, half man. He will save your life twice. I see a elf covering behind a shroud of darkness, shielding his people from his own pain and his lack of love. You must not save him, but what he no longer loves so dearly. I see a man. A single man who wields death like a toy. He is death." "Please stop," Ariakas said. "You must explain..." "I see a long cave, going beneath the world itself to the borders of hell. There you must walk and pass. There you must kill and perish. I see a group of dark men. Your blood flows around them, your blood flows through the stone which they stand on. I see elf and dwarf following you, but you must never trust them. I see you killing death, and death surviving it's own traps. I see death living once more." "Stop!" Ariakas cried out as he stood up. "I understand none of this." The old hag looked at him for a long time. "It is not for me to explain." "Do you see nothing that I can understand right here and now," Ariakas asked with desperation. The woman looked down into a bowl. "I see a young knight, dead on the base of a tower. I see you stealing his body from night itself and dragging his banished soul back into life. I see you holding a leash to his neck. His name is Cloudwulfe." So it began, Ariakas said. He was right at the beginning now. He did not want to go further back, before he had a real purpose with himself. Before he was Ariakas. A flash of light... Ariakas and the elf from the beach had managed to drag his father into the forest so he could rest on dry ground. The elf had a long scar across his cheek, bleeding but Ariakas did not care for it. "Father," he said. "Father." "Here," the elf said and gave Ariakas a bottle of liquid. "Give this to him." Ariakas eyed the bottle with suspicousness, "What is it? Some magic?" The elf shook his head and smiled sadly, "Just water." Ariakas grabbed the bottle quickly and helped his father up in a sitting position so he could drink. His father was mumbling and breathing quickly. His shirt was coated red with his own blood, and the elf began to open his shirt so he could see the blood. Ariakas' father spit out the water and hit the elf on the hands. "No," he spoke. "Don't..." "Please father," Ariakas spoke, his voice shivering. "You need to help." "It's too late son," his father said. "I feel it's too late for me. I don't want to fight death now." "But father," Ariakas felt tears running from his eyes. He lifted the water bottle, but the elf laid a hand on his shoulder and halted him. "Son," his father said. "Who is your friend?" Ariakas turned to see the elf, "I do not know," he said. The elf smiled and lifted his hand resting on Ariakas' shoulder to grab his father's shaking hand. "My name is Tarain Pathfinder, friend" he said. His father nodded slowly and closed his eyes. "Friend..." his voice was weak. "Wait father," Ariakas cried. "Son," his father said. "You must go now and live your own life. See the world as you dreamed off. We have travelled far enough now. It is time we head our own ways." Ariakas fell forward with a cry in the darkness, tears from his youth running from his eyes. His body hit cold water. It tasted sweet, but was incredible salty at the same time. Strong white light filled his vision. He coughed and gargled as he tried to orientate himself. He broke the surface and grabbed land with a hand. With a powerful pull he dragged himself ashore. He rolled on the cold stone floor on the other side of the river which consisted of white light. White light, he thought and realized he could see again. He felt overcome with relief by this, he had not dared to hope it could be cure. The white light Ariakas realized was healing magic, pure healing magic which flowed like a river would flow. It ran from one hole in the large hall to another. He lifted his head and looked around. The gigantic hall was probably the biggest room he had ever been in. Far into the distance it reached, and around it in were many ruins. It seemed like it had been a city here some time ago. Only one structure still stood in the immense room. A large black building which rose above the rest. It seemed to be carved from the very rock, and not normal rock, but some black surface. Like those he had seen on stones that had fallen from the skyes at very rare times. Large spikes sprouted from the walls and roof. It seemed a dark and foreboding place, a temple of evil. The place Ariakas sought. |
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| Fizban Dantares | Jun 11 2008, 07:19 PM Post #10 |
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The ruined city was the most empty place Ariakas had ever walked through. He was never worried that anything hideous or some monstrous creature should launch itself out from the shadows against him. He had such a strong feeling that this place was supposed to be empty. He could not hear anything except for his boots walking on the ancient paved road or crushing aged gravel beneath them. He could not feel even the faintest trace of wind blowing against skin. Not even his sight, having returned to him like life beyond the grave, could see anything but the emptiness. This place was not supposed to hold anything he realized. It was but a emtpy frame of something lost in time. Not even death ruled here, because nothing was left to die. The one thing that was left was in the building he now approached. The building carved from black rock, which rose above the other ruins. The one building which still stood and stood as a terror on itself. As he came closer to the building he felt he could finally sense an end to the emptiness. It felt like the very building in front of him breathed and lived. A trace of warmth rose from it and it felt comfortin. But at the same time it was a terrible feeling as well, just like the feeling he had had on the beginning of his journey. When he had crawled in the Crevasse, just peeking over the edge. Watching the living hell beneath him. It had that same warm feeling, but he had never realized the terror it truly was before he had gazed over the edge and felt fear like never before. Now he had that same feeling. A few feet in front of the gate to the building now. Both of the doors were eight feet tall with giants doorhandles. Ariakas lifted his hand, not really believing he would be able to pull one of the doors open, but before his skin touched the ancient work the door began to move on its own. Slowly, and without the slightest sound, both of the doors swung forth. Slowly the final part of the journey was within the grasp, and as the warm feeling, like just before he had peeked over the edge before, flushed over him, Ariakas went forth and the doors closed in behind him. The end of the the journey, Ariakas thought, as he stepped forward on the temple floor. But it was not a thought of satisfaction, far from it, more like horror. The interior of the Temple of Kilnor, he believed he had found it and it could be none of the other buildings around, was pretty much like the exterior. It was huge and gloomy. The walls and pillars were decorated with spikes and skulls. Dark and foreboding statues lined the walls like sentries. All the way to the other end of the building, seventeen feet or so, the floor and building was mostly empty. But on the other end there was movement and somehow Ariakas knew who it was. On top of a dais stood the familiar figure of Grond. He was still dressed in his ancient clothing. But somehow, despite having the weathered appearence, he seemed much more grand and powerful now. Like a lord in his home, certain that whoever opposed him would perish. "Welcome then Ariakas," Grond spoke, his voice resounding between the pillars and stone walls. "Welcome to the end." Ariakas slowly walked forth. His footsteps against the cold temple floor sounding like drumming in the building. Behind Grond he could see a large altar, and behind it the wall seemed to be shimmering. As he got closer he could see that there was something akin to a portal behind the altar, and the strong, powerful colours swirled around behind the portal. It was like looking at chaotic painting moving behind glass. He recognized the view as when he had stood in the Crevasse. He knew he was looking straight at an open portal into hell. He could see faces there. Hideous masks and deformed creatures throwing themselves against the portal, watching with hungry faces, but there was something blocking their access. But, blocking out the emptyness of the temple, the uncertainty of Grond and the terror of the portal, was a simple powerful presence. He knew of course what it was. The gods always knew when you stepped upon their grounds, even if they may have lost their true powers in this world. Grond had not said another word, and Ariakas had not responded. He was ten feet from the dais now, surprised at how quickly he had crossed the room. It was all so unnatural he thought. "You are his servant?" Ariakas asked. "I am his slave," Grond spoke harshly. "Not a simple servant. A slave both gifted and cursed." He laughed, his voice booming across the room. Ariakas could feel the divine presence filling the place growing in intensity. "So you can give me the answers?" "The answers to what?" Grond looked down at him, grinning. His skin seemed to almost loosen up in his face. "You should know that," Ariakas called out angry. "My dreams. My fathers words beyond the grave, the old hag's words, Cloudwulfe prophecies and my vision in the Mountains of Kuren." Grond gestured for Ariakas to follow him. "It depends on how much you are willing to sacrifice?" Ariakas followed Grond to the altar. It was soaked in blood, a sight he had kinda suspected. A stone carved into resembling a knife lay on the altar. Numerous names were inscribed unto the the altar. Some were painted with blood, others carved with a knife, still others hacked into with a stone. "The sacrifice has already been made," Ariakas spoke. Grond turned sharply towards him. For a moment Ariakas was certain he had felt the whole temple shook, but then it was gone again. Something moved in the surface of the portal, like if you had thrown a stone into it and the surface had parted so it would let the stone pass. But all this disappeared quickly from the mind of Ariakas. "Has it now?" Grond asked. "By whom? I have never seen a face like yours down here." "It was paid centuries ago." Sweat tickled down Ariakas 'brow. Grond laughed again, waving at the altar as he walked around it. “You should better find it then,” he said, his burning with mocking hate, “Or you will be the one who takes the sacrifice.” He turned to Ariakas and grinned. “No matter whether you want it or not now.” Suddenly a vision blinked into Ariakas’ mind. He saw himself covered by molten rock, fusing into his skin. He was trapped into a statue, his very body doomed to slowly rot as he stood among the sentries along the walls of the temple. As the vision disappeared he turned and look with terror back at the statues. There were people still alive in there, doomed to suffer the consequences of their failure for all burning eternity. Did that mean that whoever had taken the sacrifice, according to his father, now stood as one of those statues. "Find it my dear," Grond said as he stood by the portal. Leering faces threatened to breach through the surface. Ariakas felt his heartbeat quicken as he bent down to look at the altar. He could not do it for long, the writing made him dizzy and there was not much he could read of it. There were few names written in Common, but many in Elven, Dwarven, Sylvan, Orcish, High Ogre, Engron, Teboken, the magical runes used by mages and even a few in Puritan and Gnomish. But despite Ariakas knowin most of these languages (there were many more that he could not read) he never managed to discern the letters and putting them together in his head. It was like he had been cursed with illitracy. "I can't read them," Ariakas cried out in desperation. "You can only read the one who made the sacrifice for you," Grond spoke mockingly. "If you can't find it, it means you lied." "No," Ariakas protested. "I spoke the truth." He walked around the altar, squinting frantically at the stone surface. Behind him Grond cackled with laughter. He heard a sound of something flying into the air, and knew what it was, Grond had let some of the daemons pass. "You're time is running up my friend." Ariakas could not believe it. Wherever he looked there was familiar letters and writing, but he could not put them together, no matter how much he tried. Something stroke across the shoulder. He cried out, stood up and backed up against the altar. Grond stood before him, grinning. His teeth were green and dirty, his eyes sick with evil. Creatures moved in the shadows of the roof, too quick to watch properly. Grond took a step towards Ariakas. Ariakas began to pull out his blade, but it seemed to be stuck and he was unable to unsheath it. Suddenly a paint hit him in the hand, like he had been bitted by something. As he looked at his sword arm in surprise, blood ran from his hand as if he indeed had been bitten. By his own pommel? Grond looked down and seemed to be about to reach down and pick up the stone knife. Ariakas moved quickly and kicked the stone knife away from Grond. The other man looked at Ariakas with a little pleased look. "The knife is not meant for either os us, my dear," he said. "That is not the way I will deal with you. My pets do not have the need for such simple tools." He lifted a hand, and Ariakas was picked up by an invisible force, tossed over the altar, and crashed into the floor before the dais. Grond casually walked foward, chuckling at his foe. "No," Ariakas cried and held up his hand. "You can not do this. An sacrifice has been made for me." "More lies," Grond roared. A orb of magical light flew from his hand and hit into Ariakas chest. It burned through the leather armor of Ariakas, and left the Loremaster crying in agony. His very skin was scorched. "No," Ariakas began through his screams. "I will tell you..." "No," Grond repeated Ariakas and cut him off. "You will tell me now, before I line you up with the others. But only what I want to know. No more lies, Ariakas, no more pathetic lies to you. Your memories were filled of it. To your leaders, to your followers, your foes and your friends. No more lies." Ariakas tried to stand up, but he could not. He had to wait his time. "Where do you hail from? You speak like a Realmer." "I am not a Realmer. I hail from Weissland, from the town of Kuren." Grond nodded as he walked around him, "That is true enough. Though I never heard of it. Now, about your loved ones. Where are your parantes?" "Dead." "And do you have any children?" "One. A son, his name is Marko," Ariakas found himself speaking these words but he could not belive he actually did. It was like someone else spoke them. "And who is the mother?" "She is dead." "Murder or accident? How did she die?" "She was killed by a creature known as Kazmar'Ach." Grond nodded, "But you never spent much time with here. Not a man of the ladies now." He was grinning again. "I loved her," Ariakas spoke up in anger, but as soon as he did his chest soared with pain again. Grond turned his back upon him. It like the man was focused on something else, the divine presence had grown and the daemons were retreating through the portal. Despite the pain, Ariakas managed to get on his feet. Grond spoke, in a somehow fearful voice, "I will deal with this mortal fool master. He is nothing but a doomed insect." He turned towards Ariakas again, watching with a face filled with silent mocking as Ariakas got up on his feet. "You served this Lord Sunnycool in your past? I saw it," he said. "I did. His real name is Lord Stanislav." "Why did you serve him?" "Because he is important," Ariakas answered. "He created something out of the ashes of the Realm of Purity." "The Realm of Purity?!?" Grond cried out. "What do you mean with ashes?" "The Realm of Purity is long gone," Ariakas explained, his hand feeling at his chest. He winced in pain as his flesh made contact against his burnt meat. "It was destroyed almost over a century ago. What does it mean to you?" "I am a Puritan," Grond roared in anger, though both proudness and irony filled his voice. "But you will answer my questions now, before you meet your doom." "No," Ariakas said as he slowly took a step towards Grond. "Do not tempt your fate, mortal," Grond cried. "You are as mortal as I am here Grond, compared to the High Lords. I demand to speak with him. You will not stand in my way." "You foolish..." Grond said, but then the whole temple shook like from a giant earthquake. Debris, gravel and small rocks fell from the ceiling. "No one can demand this," Grond cried as he turned towards the portal. "Do not master. I will deal with him right now." "I can demand this," Ariakas cried as he walked up to Grond. Grond raised his hand as if to fire another spell towards Ariakas, but as he spoke the words nothing happened. He looked in surprise at his hand. "Master," he called out. "I said I will deal with him." Ariakas walked past Grond, threw his cloak aside and knelt in front of the alter. "You are nothing but a servant Grond. As I am." "No," Grond whispered in dispair. He could not believe what was happening. "There is only one who can do that." "Maybe I am that one, Grond," Ariakas said. "Maybe there is a little exception to who are supposed to write their name on the floor." "No," Grond said. "He is long dead. I know this. He is dead, as is his son. His line was ended." "You are too sure of yourself," Ariakas said as he turned his head towards the ground and bent his body in front of the altar. With calm words, nothing but a whisper, he began his prair. "Oh mighty one," he said. "I have come here now, as long predicted, across land and sea. Through air and earth. It is as my father's ancestor would have it." "No!" Grond cried, took hold of Ariakas' shoulder and tossed him away. "You infidel. You are not worthy." The divine presence in the temple rose, Ariakas could feel the hair in his neck rising. The air was filled with magical energy. "Do not interupt my.." Ariakas began. "Silence scum," Grond roared, as larger rocks began to fall from the ceiling and the pillars themselves shook. The status remained unmoving. Grond turned to the portal, "My lord," he said and bowed his head. "My lord. Do not waste you're strength. I have..." The portal exploded in a storm of fire and smoke and both Grond and Ariakas were tossed away, landing on the temple floor. As Ariakas lifted his face, his sight was filled with a shimmering light. It was not bright white however, but more like the colours of Hell with immense powerful contrasts. A deep and powerful voice, ancient and evil far beyond anything else of this world, boomed through the temple. "Waste my strength? Grond, my puppy, are you questioning my powers? My divinity?" "No my lord," Grond whimpred. "A slight misuse of words. If you will deal with this infidel I will not disobey your rights." The man lay flat on the temple floor, not lifting his face. Ariakas did not understand why, the light which flowed from the portal was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. So entrancing. "What do you want, mortal," the voice asked. It was like a roar of a terrible storm and Ariakas truly felt unimportant and weak when the voice turned its attention to him. "Answers," Ariakas spoke. "From me? You come seeking answers from a god. One of the High Lords." "His name is not on the altar," Grond said. "He should be put in the stone figures like the rest." Slowly the magical, colorful light began to take form. It shimmered and moved in quick, fluid movements. Slowly it formed into the body of a man, or more like the siluette of one. He shined with an immense light so you could not look directly at him and the colors of Hell continued to swirl all over. The man walked down from the dais, away from the altar towards Ariakas and Grond. Grond whimpered and crept backwards. Ariakas wanted to do it himself, but there was little point. Fool he thought, If you are doomed there's nothing you can do to save yourself. Here the gods walk and you are nothing to them. The man stopped ten feet ahead of Ariakas. "You have doomed yourself mortal. Coming here, to my last domain on earth, and expecting me to let be follow your whip." "There is one exception to the rule," Ariakas said. "It matters little," Lord Kilnor spoke. "You are not that exception." "No," Ariakas said. "I may be. Tell me Grond, tell me who this exception may be." "There is but one exception," Grond whispered, the light of Kilnor burning the mortals' skin. "If you are a descendent of one of the four people who offered me, the one true servant of Kilnor, as a sacrifice to my own god." "Who were those four people?" "Alaron Tilelsi, Ciraldhin, Rafel Methren and Camaron Felixis." "Do you claim such an ancestorship?" Kilnor asked, his voice both powerful like the mountains and beautiful like a sirene. "If so, behold one of your forefathers." The god gestured towards the wall, towards the four closest statues." They were truly the oldest among the statues, but were still in detailed condition. They were clearly definable as a man dressed in chain mail wearing sword and shield, a cloaked elf with a bow, a tall man dressed in wolf pelt and carrying a axe and a bard with a string instrument and a short sword. Ariakas blinked. He was now looking at his forefather. The person was still alived and doomed to eternal torture within the stautes. There was nothing Ariakas could do about it, except make sure he did not fall victim to the same horrible end. "I am," he said. "What?" Grond said bluntly in surprise and confusion. "I am a descendant of Camaron Felixis," Ariakas said. Slowly the face of Grond, that old face that belonged to a man who should have died centuries ago, revealed he understood what Ariakas was saying. "No," he shook his head. "That can't be." "I am not lying," Ariakas said. "I stand on holy ground." "The mortal speaks the truth, servant," the great, powerful voice spoke. Drool ran from Grond's mouth as he spoke, his eyes blistering with anger and fury, "It can't be. I trapped him. He is there. And I killed his son." "You did not kill the woman carrying his grandchild." "No," Grond roared. ""You little... You will perish. I can't believe you dared to come here." "You never really knew him as Camaron Felixis though," Ariakas spoke. Grond rose from the floor, ignorant of the heat from his master which melted his skin as he rose beside him. Grond was shaking with centuries-long fury. "So this is true." "You knew him as Lordin Dantares," Ariakas said with empty voice, as he himself rose and Grond threw himself against him, howling with rage. |
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| Lathaon | Jun 11 2008, 10:05 PM Post #11 |
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Fallen Archmage
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((HOLY CAMEL SHIT FROM AHM-SHERE!
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The White Counsil Medal of Loyalty The White Counsil Medal of Art | |
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| Fizban Dantares | Jun 21 2008, 04:18 PM Post #12 |
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Unregistered
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Grond clashed into Ariakas full-force, flinging the Loremaster backwards and into the stone floor. Ariakas barely managed to get up before Grond was once more at him. Grond clawed at him with his ancient hands which seemed so frail, but was incredible strong. With some unnatural power Grond managed to delvier huge gashes in Ariakas' skin only with his fingers. Ariakas winced in pain and staggered backwards. "What do you think you have achieved of coming here, young Dantares?" Grond spat. "You will not save your ancestor and you will only die a fool." "Neither of those were my goals," Ariakas gasped. He moved backwards, but hit the raised dais with his heel and fell on his back. Grond came towards him, magic once more crackled in his fist. "What are your name then Dantares?" Grond said. "Tell me your name so I may write it with your blood on this very floor." "Have you not guessed yet?" Ariakas mocked. "I am the one the assassins, the Dark Council, was looking for all along. I am Fizban Dantares." The whole temple shook with incredible power. The powerful figure that was the manifestation of the god Kinlor exploded in a powerful blast akin to the destructive power of hell. Ariakas screamed as the burning heat hit him, and as the strong wind picked him up. Grond did not scream, but he too was picked up by the strong wind. Ariakas crashed into the altar. It felt like his very back broke as he hit it. He slid down from it and landed in a sorry heap on the floor. The dark, divine voice of Kilnor filled the room. "You have waited long for this Grond. Now the end for you have finally come. Destroy the blood which cursed you with your eternal service and be free once more." Grond looked at Ariakas as he rose from the floor, madness and fury glinting in his eyes. They shone with a yellow light. "Yes," he whispered. "After all this time. Now I will have my revenge on you." Grond leaped across the floor, crashed into Ariakas and forced him into the altar, bending the back of the Loremaster against the stonetable. Spit drooled from the mouth of Grond, the skin writhing in his face by rage. He roared as he pressed his very hand into the open wound in Ariakas' chest, digging into the flesh and meat with animal ferocity. Ariakas screamed and gripped Grond's arms, pushing him away. Then, as the blood poured from his abdomen, he pulled out his sword and slashed across the stomach of Grond. Blood came pouring, unnaturally black but Grond did not wince and came forward again. Ariakas slashed again, cutting off the left hand of Grond at the wrist. This time Grond did scream, but still launched himself against Ariakas. Grond spoke magical words and his hand began to burn with red, magical fire as he gripped the throat of Ariakas. Ariakas screamed again as the heat hit him, scorched him and burned away his skin. Grond lifted Ariakas up, and looked into the panicking eyes of the Loremaster. "Now you die Dantares," he said as he threw Ariakas through the portal which led to Hell itself. The world around Ariakas exploded in a chaotic storm of colors, light, darkness, matter and emptiness which had never witness before. For a short second he could see the swirling daemons, devils and ghosts approach him from every direction. Direction was a misleading word for in his current place there seemed no such thing as direction. There was no up or down, in or out. There was only chaos. The fiends came closer. Some of their facs seemed almost familiar, like ancient enemies or friends. Others looked like his worst nightmares. The creatures, if such a word could be used, hit him full force. Some passed through him, as he could feel coldness at his earth. Coldness like the most terrible, icy winter. Others ravaged into him, biting into his skin and slashing in his clothes. It all happened so quickly but it still felt like a lifetime. The tore the clothes from his body so he was naked before them. They cut at him with weapons, claws and things he could not put name on. He screamed out but as heat bathed his head and the maniacal laughter of the fiends filled him, he could not hear his own voice. It was all madness. It was all fear, terror, pain and horror. It did not stop until it reached the end. Before him materialzed the incredible form of Kilnor in his own Realm. As the eyes of Ariakas was filled by the holy, divine light of a god who truly was almigty at this plane his very soul was torn apart. In an instant the skin, followed by the muscles, organs, meat and very bones of Ariakas was destroyed as his last thought was that he had truly witnessed the most astonishing thing a person could ever witness. |
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| chadden | Jun 22 2008, 02:26 PM Post #13 |
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High Advisor to the Archmage
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((Your character seems royally fucked. Anyhoo, you should probably be heading to Asulien soon if you want to be there for the final battle.)) |
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"Stand against me if you must, for of course you will. Conflict is just another part of this flawed reality. You need to cling to your concepts and purposes, your feeble honour and glory. None of it serves any purpose in the end. And the end draws close." - Krodalis Thaendil. "It really is amazing; she killed Kelan Wealer, not that I am complaining, but then the order welcomed her as their new leader. It makes one wonder if I were to ram a blade down her throat, would the monks then follow my commands?" - Mordain Thaendil. One of the Last Guardians. Suck it. | |
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1:22 AM Jul 11