Through tunnels black as raven's backs
And Castles tall as Skies
The time and place
A stalwart pace
On trails of watchful eyes
Through night and day and night again
On foot and steed and stone
The sun and air
No flames compare
To freedom's novel tome
Ahead beyond the hills of green
To ruins though they ride
With blade and spell
And arrows fell
They cut their brave swath wide
Some friends had fallen on the road
And others turned aside
Yet smell of gold
An tales not told
Gave worth to trials vied
Another day, another Quest
Another legend wrought
No foe had seen
A fate so keen
The way the heroes fought
The human tied in hues of brown
The forest's brave marquis
Who's flights fell faultless from the sky
Like apples from a tree
The swordsman from another world
Who dances on the wind
A blade of steel
A heart of zeal
And mercy wearing thin
An Elven Lord from foreign lands
Who wears a drape of night
He summons fire
He speaks with Ire
His heart is full of blight
The halfling with the killing blade
A shadow in the light
Be quite aware
He's never there
In reason, or in sight
Their names are known
Their deeds are told
Their infamy abounds
So fear new world
And do not sleep
They wander on your grounds.
**********
Alkadian looked ahead to his riding companions to be sure no one saw him writing. Wiping the quill off on his saddle wrap, he quickly tucked away his scribes tools. He neatly rolled the parchment into a tight tube and dropped it into the wind. It drifted away care free as it crumbled into ashes on the air. Poetry was such a silly waste of his brilliant mind, but a sight more entertaining than this dreadful landscape.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Alkadian Entaris Beldier III- Change of Plans
He had made an oath that he would show no mercy in his quest to seize his share of land and power in the endless green wilds of this norther world. He had tightened his robes belt and flung charges from his wands without thinking twice. He had sworn to take his power to the next level and bring fear to all in this world. Then he had died.
Killed by a monster made of the very wind. His spells had blasted through it, but even his strongest enchanted defenses were no match for its relentless pummeling at the speed of gale wind. His body was crushed. Ruined. Ended.
He awoke angry, to say the least.
For over a century Alkadian had pondered the mysteries of the afterlife, but what he saw upon opening his eyes was far from anything he could have expected. There was no distance. There was no up or down. There was simply forever. He saw further than the boundaries of the mortal realm, through the mirror pools floating in the air around him. Each reflection a tapestry to the birth and death of a world. Every breath of air was like a cold smoke that seized his insides in a vice. Suddenly aware of the infinite dimensions of death, Alkadian fainted.
He woke again, in a new place. Still the mirrors. Still the endless darkness and confusion. But this time the mirrors were reflections of his very person. Every deed he had ever executed was playing before him. Every torture, every act of arcane destruction, and every moment of fear and sadness. He would have fainted again but a cold hand gripped his shoulder.
This is not death child of the Beldier.
He turned to face the speaker. Before him stood a towering mass of shadows and flesh. The very borders of his silhouette seemed to blur and vanish from his mind instantly. All he could make out was two dark green glowing eyes, and the cold skeletal hand that held him in consciousness.
"I know you... By the Gods I couldn't say how...But I know you." Alkadian stammered, not sure what he was seeing, or even saying.
I have been with you for a great time now Beldier. You do not know it, but long have you tread in my footsteps. Much of your life you have sought secrets. Dark and terrible writings frowned on by the churches of man. The very utterance of such words has brought death to many and the hands of the righteous. I am the keeper of these secrets young child. I am the Shepperd who can lead you to the realm of undeath. I know of the power you seek, and through me you would have it, and great and terrible would it be.
"I.. I don't understand. Loviatar...The Goddess of Pain... I gave her my prayers. I was promised a life at her side, in the pits of eternal torment. I was to have power in death as her aid."
Your false Goddess had turned on you fool. She was simply a dream. A hope. My power is real!
To emphasize this point the figure channeled a wave of burning magic through Alkadians body. Mirrors cracked, and he cried out in confusion and agony.
I am the Power you seek. You are not to wait till your death to reach your potential child. I will grant it to you in life. In unlife. Neither shall you live or die, but power you WILL have. Follow me, and do my bidding young one. Take my hand and let me show you the secrets you deserve.
Alkadian was now on his knees as the pain stopped surging through him. His mind flashed back to his days at the academy. The reading he had stumbled upon. The runes he had inscribed into his very flesh. The promise he made to himself. His reaction surprised even the great spirit of death at his side.
He lifted his head in a twisted smile. As he rose to his feet he began to laugh. Not a weak and terrified laugh, but a laugh at the realization of what laid before him. His laughter echoed through the eternity around them and the mirrors began to fade away. The robes he wore began to swim with shadows, and the midnight blue of House Beldier melted away to a shade of impossible black.
"My Master. Yes my Master. Teach me Father. Show me to the power... I will become unstoppable, and in your name I will rule with fear."
The great hands of skeletal darkness embraced him and their laughter became one. His body was pulled into the blurring form of the Lord of Undeath, and everything was dark and beautiful.
Alkadian awoke with the taste of blood in his mouth, and overpowered by a smell he would never forget. The stink of Dragons.
Killed by a monster made of the very wind. His spells had blasted through it, but even his strongest enchanted defenses were no match for its relentless pummeling at the speed of gale wind. His body was crushed. Ruined. Ended.
He awoke angry, to say the least.
For over a century Alkadian had pondered the mysteries of the afterlife, but what he saw upon opening his eyes was far from anything he could have expected. There was no distance. There was no up or down. There was simply forever. He saw further than the boundaries of the mortal realm, through the mirror pools floating in the air around him. Each reflection a tapestry to the birth and death of a world. Every breath of air was like a cold smoke that seized his insides in a vice. Suddenly aware of the infinite dimensions of death, Alkadian fainted.
He woke again, in a new place. Still the mirrors. Still the endless darkness and confusion. But this time the mirrors were reflections of his very person. Every deed he had ever executed was playing before him. Every torture, every act of arcane destruction, and every moment of fear and sadness. He would have fainted again but a cold hand gripped his shoulder.
This is not death child of the Beldier.
He turned to face the speaker. Before him stood a towering mass of shadows and flesh. The very borders of his silhouette seemed to blur and vanish from his mind instantly. All he could make out was two dark green glowing eyes, and the cold skeletal hand that held him in consciousness.
"I know you... By the Gods I couldn't say how...But I know you." Alkadian stammered, not sure what he was seeing, or even saying.
I have been with you for a great time now Beldier. You do not know it, but long have you tread in my footsteps. Much of your life you have sought secrets. Dark and terrible writings frowned on by the churches of man. The very utterance of such words has brought death to many and the hands of the righteous. I am the keeper of these secrets young child. I am the Shepperd who can lead you to the realm of undeath. I know of the power you seek, and through me you would have it, and great and terrible would it be.
"I.. I don't understand. Loviatar...The Goddess of Pain... I gave her my prayers. I was promised a life at her side, in the pits of eternal torment. I was to have power in death as her aid."
Your false Goddess had turned on you fool. She was simply a dream. A hope. My power is real!
To emphasize this point the figure channeled a wave of burning magic through Alkadians body. Mirrors cracked, and he cried out in confusion and agony.
I am the Power you seek. You are not to wait till your death to reach your potential child. I will grant it to you in life. In unlife. Neither shall you live or die, but power you WILL have. Follow me, and do my bidding young one. Take my hand and let me show you the secrets you deserve.
Alkadian was now on his knees as the pain stopped surging through him. His mind flashed back to his days at the academy. The reading he had stumbled upon. The runes he had inscribed into his very flesh. The promise he made to himself. His reaction surprised even the great spirit of death at his side.
He lifted his head in a twisted smile. As he rose to his feet he began to laugh. Not a weak and terrified laugh, but a laugh at the realization of what laid before him. His laughter echoed through the eternity around them and the mirrors began to fade away. The robes he wore began to swim with shadows, and the midnight blue of House Beldier melted away to a shade of impossible black.
"My Master. Yes my Master. Teach me Father. Show me to the power... I will become unstoppable, and in your name I will rule with fear."
The great hands of skeletal darkness embraced him and their laughter became one. His body was pulled into the blurring form of the Lord of Undeath, and everything was dark and beautiful.
Alkadian awoke with the taste of blood in his mouth, and overpowered by a smell he would never forget. The stink of Dragons.
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Death and failure.
Dead. When Alkadian had fallen, Drevlin thought for sure it was something he could fix, not a mortal wound that had carried his charge so far down through the river. But as Drevlin searched for his spirit, the whispers came screaming out of the void, telling of a passing beyond the final gate. He knew then for sure that the evil mage was gone, his spirit taken like a piece of floatsam, swept away by the current of a swollen, raging river.
The screams subsided back to the almost inaudible hiss that always danced just outside of comprehension. But they were speaking. Speaking about his failure. About his weakness. Drevlin wondered for a moment, there on the edge of the cliffs surrounding the castle that had been Alkadian's doom. He wondered what to do next. For the first time in an age, he felt lost. Without a direction or purpose. But all he could think about was how he had failed his master. And then, in a fearful realisation, he wondered what his master would do to him as punishment for his shortcomings. Velsharoon was not know to him to have a shred of mercy in his being. Quite the opposite. He would not have to wonder long.
"JUMP!!!" The whispers were screaming again. "JUMP! Fall to your doom. You have failed. Velsharoon commands and you shall obey." For just a moment, Drevlin thought of ignoring the whispers demands. He, of course, knew that it would be futile. It would be but a small thing for Velsharoon to claim his soul. He knew he had no choice. Without so much as a look back to his companions, as they were of no import without Alkadian, Drevlin threw himself off the path and into the void. He could see the rocks below rushing up at him and then he hit with a wet smack.
At least Drevlin thought he did. He definitely hit something. Hard.
Drevlin lay in the dark of the abyss. Not breathing. Not feeling. Not moving. Then he jumped out of his skin in fear. "Drevlin! Rise and come hither." Drevlin knew that voice all to well from his nightly rituals. It belonged to his master. Velsharoon was calling his name. Drevlin tried to open his eyes, but he saw only darkness. True darkness, for even his dwarven eyes could not pierce it. He turned his head, looking for anything that he might see. Something was coming to him, a snaking tendril of green light was slithering across what must have been the floor. It stopped on the ground near him and Drevlin realised it was nothing more than a guiding light for him to follow. He stood in abject terror. Drevlin knew where he was. He knew where the light went as well. He was in the astral crypt of his god, and he was doomed. Drevlin began to float along the lighted path through the darkness, seeing neither wall or floor, as if the small glowing tendril was the only thing that existed besides himself. He knew all to well that this was not so.
Drevlin followed the light for what seemed to be forever. He realised that the whispers had returned, quietly murmuring about things in a language he did not understand, words that made his head swim with dizziness. They were getting louder as he went along the path, and he thought he could see light up ahead. The flickering light of a fire or torches. Eventually he came to the edge of the darkness, and Drevlin peered into a cavernous room lit in the center by a huge fire, although the fire itself looked strange. There were pillars with torches ensconced along them all through the huge antichamber, row after row of them. Drevlin couldn't even begin to imagine the size of this place, until he realised that the wall that ran along his left was actually a huge mirror, and was reflecting the pillars and torches. He imagined that somewhere to his right, if were to look close enough, there would be another mirror wall, reflecting the the other mirror's image to infinity.
"Come in, my faithful servant. Your journey has been long and fraught with hardships. Something or someone very powerful has been working against me, against us. You have done well. Now put away your fear and come to my side." Drevlin thought the voice was coming from by the fire, which was sunken down in a small amphitheater. This was strange to him for two reasons. The first was that Drevlin could see no one by the fire. The second was that for the first time in his life, the voice of his lich-god and the whispers as well, were coming from somewhere other than inside of his head.
Drevlin approached the fire cautiously and circled the small amphitheater. Seeing nothing, Drevlin turned his attention to the huge blaze. Strangely, he felt colder the closer he got to it. And then something else made him feel even colder. He was looking at the flames and realised that it was not fire at all, but writhing souls trapped inside a circle of... blood and salt it looked to be. A powerful binding, to be sure as even a master necromancer would have to work very hard to trap even one soul like this. And the price to be paid for such was unthinkable. But here within the circle, Drevlin thought there must be hundreds or even thousands of souls, all writhing and twisting within the circle. And they were whispering incoherantly. Drevlin swore he could see faces in that writhing mass, coming to the surface, only to be drug back down into oblivion. All of them looked to be frozen in a scream.
Drevlin felt a hand upon his shoulder, and he snapped around, startled once again. He screamed aloud then, for what he saw was horrifying. Red glowing eyes, full of evil and hate, floating in a skeletal visage. Drevlin was staring into the eyes of death itself. And death was staring back. Drevlin had finally met his master, Velsharoon.
The screams subsided back to the almost inaudible hiss that always danced just outside of comprehension. But they were speaking. Speaking about his failure. About his weakness. Drevlin wondered for a moment, there on the edge of the cliffs surrounding the castle that had been Alkadian's doom. He wondered what to do next. For the first time in an age, he felt lost. Without a direction or purpose. But all he could think about was how he had failed his master. And then, in a fearful realisation, he wondered what his master would do to him as punishment for his shortcomings. Velsharoon was not know to him to have a shred of mercy in his being. Quite the opposite. He would not have to wonder long.
"JUMP!!!" The whispers were screaming again. "JUMP! Fall to your doom. You have failed. Velsharoon commands and you shall obey." For just a moment, Drevlin thought of ignoring the whispers demands. He, of course, knew that it would be futile. It would be but a small thing for Velsharoon to claim his soul. He knew he had no choice. Without so much as a look back to his companions, as they were of no import without Alkadian, Drevlin threw himself off the path and into the void. He could see the rocks below rushing up at him and then he hit with a wet smack.
At least Drevlin thought he did. He definitely hit something. Hard.
Drevlin lay in the dark of the abyss. Not breathing. Not feeling. Not moving. Then he jumped out of his skin in fear. "Drevlin! Rise and come hither." Drevlin knew that voice all to well from his nightly rituals. It belonged to his master. Velsharoon was calling his name. Drevlin tried to open his eyes, but he saw only darkness. True darkness, for even his dwarven eyes could not pierce it. He turned his head, looking for anything that he might see. Something was coming to him, a snaking tendril of green light was slithering across what must have been the floor. It stopped on the ground near him and Drevlin realised it was nothing more than a guiding light for him to follow. He stood in abject terror. Drevlin knew where he was. He knew where the light went as well. He was in the astral crypt of his god, and he was doomed. Drevlin began to float along the lighted path through the darkness, seeing neither wall or floor, as if the small glowing tendril was the only thing that existed besides himself. He knew all to well that this was not so.
Drevlin followed the light for what seemed to be forever. He realised that the whispers had returned, quietly murmuring about things in a language he did not understand, words that made his head swim with dizziness. They were getting louder as he went along the path, and he thought he could see light up ahead. The flickering light of a fire or torches. Eventually he came to the edge of the darkness, and Drevlin peered into a cavernous room lit in the center by a huge fire, although the fire itself looked strange. There were pillars with torches ensconced along them all through the huge antichamber, row after row of them. Drevlin couldn't even begin to imagine the size of this place, until he realised that the wall that ran along his left was actually a huge mirror, and was reflecting the pillars and torches. He imagined that somewhere to his right, if were to look close enough, there would be another mirror wall, reflecting the the other mirror's image to infinity.
"Come in, my faithful servant. Your journey has been long and fraught with hardships. Something or someone very powerful has been working against me, against us. You have done well. Now put away your fear and come to my side." Drevlin thought the voice was coming from by the fire, which was sunken down in a small amphitheater. This was strange to him for two reasons. The first was that Drevlin could see no one by the fire. The second was that for the first time in his life, the voice of his lich-god and the whispers as well, were coming from somewhere other than inside of his head.
Drevlin approached the fire cautiously and circled the small amphitheater. Seeing nothing, Drevlin turned his attention to the huge blaze. Strangely, he felt colder the closer he got to it. And then something else made him feel even colder. He was looking at the flames and realised that it was not fire at all, but writhing souls trapped inside a circle of... blood and salt it looked to be. A powerful binding, to be sure as even a master necromancer would have to work very hard to trap even one soul like this. And the price to be paid for such was unthinkable. But here within the circle, Drevlin thought there must be hundreds or even thousands of souls, all writhing and twisting within the circle. And they were whispering incoherantly. Drevlin swore he could see faces in that writhing mass, coming to the surface, only to be drug back down into oblivion. All of them looked to be frozen in a scream.
Drevlin felt a hand upon his shoulder, and he snapped around, startled once again. He screamed aloud then, for what he saw was horrifying. Red glowing eyes, full of evil and hate, floating in a skeletal visage. Drevlin was staring into the eyes of death itself. And death was staring back. Drevlin had finally met his master, Velsharoon.
Saturday, August 1, 2009
Alkadian Entaris Beldier III: Quelling the Fires
Her feet pounded the stone like a charging elephant, knocking over tables and slamming through doorways in the retreat. She knew the twists and turns of her beloved castle like the back of her hand, yet she could not loose him. She threw chairs and toppled book cases to block his path, yet her aggressor did not cease his pursuit. The giantess ran for her life from the robed man, clutching her wounds tightly. Yet she could not escape.
She spun around one last corner and fell to her knees from exhaustion and blood loss. She knew he was close on her tail, and she could already smell the smoke from the fires he had created. Another explosion of magical force heated the air and laid waste to a nearby room. She began to cry. Her husband was killed, her home now on the brink of utter destruction, and even fighting as valiantly as she could against the terrible little creatures, she was now taking her last breaths. There were near eight in the cave where her husbands corpse now rotted, yet only one had given her chase back here to the castle they called home. Why wont he just leave...I have surrendered!
Wiping tears and blood from her face her vision cleared, and then she saw him. He stood leering at her, face streaked with burning rage. His robes billowed at the force of dark magic pouring off his body. His skin glistened like polished stone. The wand in his hand was still smoking from its last discharge, and his eyes...hollow pools of relentless anger. Slowly he raised his wand.
She cautiously rose to her feet. She hadn't remembered dropping her morningstar, but she had never been this scared before either. The little elf man barely came up to her knee, yet she was backing away, trembling. Why was he after her? Why had he chased her into her own home? He suddenly spoke, perfectly inflecting the tongue of giants.
"You monsterous bloody stupid cow! Do you have even one inkling what kind of a grievous blasphemy your careless hands have wrought??"
His words seemed to shake the very foundation of the stronghold.
"You've killed him! You have brought an end to my MASTERPIECE!" He emphasised his anger by hurling a volley of white energy bolts into her chest. It didn't kill her, but he seemed to know it wouldn't.
"You won't even have the blessing of torture at my hand you fat sobbing bitch. My Goddess will not receive your song of pain. No, you will die in agonizing terror, knowing you and your bumbling tree-brained husband meddled in the affairs of Lord Belider, and paid the price!"
She saw him clutch his empty hand to a fist, and immediately she felt as though her brain was in a vice. The world seemed to be crushing in around her. There was no way of knowing this kind of pain and fear was possible. As she looked upon him in pleading agony his form began to shift. Thousands of black shadowy spider legs seemed to blossom from his aura, filling the hallway like a living web. He body and head began to melt into shadow, forming a huge eyeless gaping maw of fangs and acid. She felt as though it was pulling her in by the soul, and her body was being dragged along with it. It was like a nightmare. This couldn't be real. Those were her last intact thoughts as her body was fed into the spinning ripping mouth of terror, rended into a thousand screaming shreds.
Alkadian looked down on her corpse. Her lifeless face was twisted into a horrific silent scream, and her body was contorted as a trophy to the pain of her final moments. She had taken very willingly to the illusion. Her mind had been weak, and the fear had literally killed her in an unquestionably dreadful manner. She deserved it, and so much more.
He felt a pit of emptiness in the back of his mind. A piece of him had died. This cowering thick headed Cloud Giant had utterly crushed his beloved creation. She had broken him beyond any chance of repair. Her cursed over sided excuse for a weapon ripped apart his tedious stitching and smashed his brilliantly grafted limbs. All the energy and time Alkadian had put into the creature were all torn away in an instant. Rage had instantly stolen his mercy and rational. Every ounce of his energy had gone into swift retribution. He couldn't say that he felt any better, but whats done is done. The others coudln't understand.
It was then and there, pacing back through the giant sized structure, that Alkadian came to a new understanding. This untamed land wasn't going to be simple to overtake. It wasn't going to acknowledge his greatness and kneel to him. It was going to throw everything it had at him and his allies, and leave them broken and bruised every time. He was done holding back. He was done standing behind as his allies lashed out with arrows and swords. True, he no longer had Rog'Beal to protect him, but he also had no further reason to simply help with small displays of force. No. He was done with subtlety. If this unforgiving terrain was going to get in his way, he would tear it to nothingness with pure arcane fury.
He sat down on a fallen piece of furniture to gather his thoughts and try to quell his rising anger. Another thought to Rog'Bael's fallen frame made the rage come flooding back, and like a reflex his arm extended and the wand spewed out another consuming ball of fire which destroyed half the contents of the room. Breathing slowly he calmed himself. The smell of smoke and magic was thick around him, but he needed to ignore it to focus. Just then a thought came too him. Cloud Giants are no simple poppers when it comes to acquisitions. Perhaps.... With that he sent out a wave of energy seeking any items of enchantment and value within the structure. The wave returned to him bringing the promises of magic hidden nearby. He lifted one eyebrow in interest as he rose to his feet.
A pounding at the door came.
"Alkadian! Are you in there? We heard explosions!"
"......Of course." He grumbled.
She spun around one last corner and fell to her knees from exhaustion and blood loss. She knew he was close on her tail, and she could already smell the smoke from the fires he had created. Another explosion of magical force heated the air and laid waste to a nearby room. She began to cry. Her husband was killed, her home now on the brink of utter destruction, and even fighting as valiantly as she could against the terrible little creatures, she was now taking her last breaths. There were near eight in the cave where her husbands corpse now rotted, yet only one had given her chase back here to the castle they called home. Why wont he just leave...I have surrendered!
Wiping tears and blood from her face her vision cleared, and then she saw him. He stood leering at her, face streaked with burning rage. His robes billowed at the force of dark magic pouring off his body. His skin glistened like polished stone. The wand in his hand was still smoking from its last discharge, and his eyes...hollow pools of relentless anger. Slowly he raised his wand.
She cautiously rose to her feet. She hadn't remembered dropping her morningstar, but she had never been this scared before either. The little elf man barely came up to her knee, yet she was backing away, trembling. Why was he after her? Why had he chased her into her own home? He suddenly spoke, perfectly inflecting the tongue of giants.
"You monsterous bloody stupid cow! Do you have even one inkling what kind of a grievous blasphemy your careless hands have wrought??"
His words seemed to shake the very foundation of the stronghold.
"You've killed him! You have brought an end to my MASTERPIECE!" He emphasised his anger by hurling a volley of white energy bolts into her chest. It didn't kill her, but he seemed to know it wouldn't.
"You won't even have the blessing of torture at my hand you fat sobbing bitch. My Goddess will not receive your song of pain. No, you will die in agonizing terror, knowing you and your bumbling tree-brained husband meddled in the affairs of Lord Belider, and paid the price!"
She saw him clutch his empty hand to a fist, and immediately she felt as though her brain was in a vice. The world seemed to be crushing in around her. There was no way of knowing this kind of pain and fear was possible. As she looked upon him in pleading agony his form began to shift. Thousands of black shadowy spider legs seemed to blossom from his aura, filling the hallway like a living web. He body and head began to melt into shadow, forming a huge eyeless gaping maw of fangs and acid. She felt as though it was pulling her in by the soul, and her body was being dragged along with it. It was like a nightmare. This couldn't be real. Those were her last intact thoughts as her body was fed into the spinning ripping mouth of terror, rended into a thousand screaming shreds.
Alkadian looked down on her corpse. Her lifeless face was twisted into a horrific silent scream, and her body was contorted as a trophy to the pain of her final moments. She had taken very willingly to the illusion. Her mind had been weak, and the fear had literally killed her in an unquestionably dreadful manner. She deserved it, and so much more.
He felt a pit of emptiness in the back of his mind. A piece of him had died. This cowering thick headed Cloud Giant had utterly crushed his beloved creation. She had broken him beyond any chance of repair. Her cursed over sided excuse for a weapon ripped apart his tedious stitching and smashed his brilliantly grafted limbs. All the energy and time Alkadian had put into the creature were all torn away in an instant. Rage had instantly stolen his mercy and rational. Every ounce of his energy had gone into swift retribution. He couldn't say that he felt any better, but whats done is done. The others coudln't understand.
It was then and there, pacing back through the giant sized structure, that Alkadian came to a new understanding. This untamed land wasn't going to be simple to overtake. It wasn't going to acknowledge his greatness and kneel to him. It was going to throw everything it had at him and his allies, and leave them broken and bruised every time. He was done holding back. He was done standing behind as his allies lashed out with arrows and swords. True, he no longer had Rog'Beal to protect him, but he also had no further reason to simply help with small displays of force. No. He was done with subtlety. If this unforgiving terrain was going to get in his way, he would tear it to nothingness with pure arcane fury.
He sat down on a fallen piece of furniture to gather his thoughts and try to quell his rising anger. Another thought to Rog'Bael's fallen frame made the rage come flooding back, and like a reflex his arm extended and the wand spewed out another consuming ball of fire which destroyed half the contents of the room. Breathing slowly he calmed himself. The smell of smoke and magic was thick around him, but he needed to ignore it to focus. Just then a thought came too him. Cloud Giants are no simple poppers when it comes to acquisitions. Perhaps.... With that he sent out a wave of energy seeking any items of enchantment and value within the structure. The wave returned to him bringing the promises of magic hidden nearby. He lifted one eyebrow in interest as he rose to his feet.
A pounding at the door came.
"Alkadian! Are you in there? We heard explosions!"
"......Of course." He grumbled.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Rakjat the Exile - Entry 1
Rakjat stood in the center of the "tribunal," the gang of semi-elders who had cornered him in the godforge. They stood around him, backing him up against a brasier, filled with coals and blades.
"A trial?" he said. "As if we believed in such things?"
"She wanted this to be 'official,'" said the eldest of them, a grizzled old gish named Senkajar. "After all, we wouldn't want you waltzing back in claiming that none of this ever happened."
Another of them spoke. "Rakjat, you stand accused of speaking against the beliefs and ideals we hold sacred, as well as not paying proper respect to the Lich Queen."
Rakjat snorted. "The Lich Queen can cunniling herself, for all I care, and I've never said anything that wasn't true."
Senkajar raised his eyebrows. "So, you deny that you stated that we should avoid punishing the slaves?"
Rakjat laughed. "I did say that slaves work better if they're not unconcious. I also said that they learn to obey better of you only beat them when they're doing something wrong, rather than all the time." He looked from face to face. "And yes, I did say that the best slaves are the ones you never beat at all, the ones who believe that they're doing what they want instead of what you want, the slaves who think they're not slaves. The ones like all of you."
All of the assembled githyanki gasped, and then Senkajar raised his hand into the air. "The accused has been found guilty." His hand lowered, and he stared at Rakjat, malice in his eyes. "From this day forward, you shall be known as Rakjat the Exile. You are hereby banished to the material plane, and if you ever return to the Astral, you will be subject to immediate execution." Senkajar waved his hand, and a portal opened behind Rakjat.
Several of the members of the tribunal stepped forward, raising their hands as if to push him back, but Rakjat swept his hand across them. It was a gesture, nothing more, but they stopped for a moment. Rakjat sneered. "The Exile? Fine. I'll relish the name." He reached out to his side and grasped the handle of one of the silver swords lying in the brazier. It was unfinished, he could tell, not yet full of the power their full swords possessed, but the blade still glowed white-hot from the heat of the coals and the magic of the enchantment.
He held the sword out before him. "And when I return to the Astral Plane," he said, stepping back, "that isn't a choice you're going to be able to make." Rakjat turned, and stepped forward through the portal.
"A trial?" he said. "As if we believed in such things?"
"She wanted this to be 'official,'" said the eldest of them, a grizzled old gish named Senkajar. "After all, we wouldn't want you waltzing back in claiming that none of this ever happened."
Another of them spoke. "Rakjat, you stand accused of speaking against the beliefs and ideals we hold sacred, as well as not paying proper respect to the Lich Queen."
Rakjat snorted. "The Lich Queen can cunniling herself, for all I care, and I've never said anything that wasn't true."
Senkajar raised his eyebrows. "So, you deny that you stated that we should avoid punishing the slaves?"
Rakjat laughed. "I did say that slaves work better if they're not unconcious. I also said that they learn to obey better of you only beat them when they're doing something wrong, rather than all the time." He looked from face to face. "And yes, I did say that the best slaves are the ones you never beat at all, the ones who believe that they're doing what they want instead of what you want, the slaves who think they're not slaves. The ones like all of you."
All of the assembled githyanki gasped, and then Senkajar raised his hand into the air. "The accused has been found guilty." His hand lowered, and he stared at Rakjat, malice in his eyes. "From this day forward, you shall be known as Rakjat the Exile. You are hereby banished to the material plane, and if you ever return to the Astral, you will be subject to immediate execution." Senkajar waved his hand, and a portal opened behind Rakjat.
Several of the members of the tribunal stepped forward, raising their hands as if to push him back, but Rakjat swept his hand across them. It was a gesture, nothing more, but they stopped for a moment. Rakjat sneered. "The Exile? Fine. I'll relish the name." He reached out to his side and grasped the handle of one of the silver swords lying in the brazier. It was unfinished, he could tell, not yet full of the power their full swords possessed, but the blade still glowed white-hot from the heat of the coals and the magic of the enchantment.
He held the sword out before him. "And when I return to the Astral Plane," he said, stepping back, "that isn't a choice you're going to be able to make." Rakjat turned, and stepped forward through the portal.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Alkadian Entaris Beldier III: Of Birds and Stones
For weeks now Alkadian had been far from the OTHERS. He was starting to FORGET what it was like out on the road of adventure. He indeed felt the wander lust but was bound TO his POST.
Entaris keep was in the final stages of furnishing, and men had come in good supply to stay within it's walls and take part in its maintenance. Alkadian had checked over the supplies, and knew that his warriors would easily survive the winter with the current food stores. Some of those now calling it home were great hunters, and others fine bandits, so more food and supplies managed to trickle their way in. It was a well maintained cycle. Sir Vharkas had proven to be a great asset in gaining strength for the fortress as well. He took some of the other men below daily to improve their fighting skills, he was very intelligent (which helped with all the paperwork), and his music filled the halls at night keeping men happy and at home. He wasn't sure who had sent Vharkus to find him, but he gave them silent thanks often over the past days.
His plate had indeed been piled high with tasks and responsibilities since he founded his new home, but slowly the plate crew encrusted with gold and gems, symbolizing his ascent to Lordship in this new land. It was a plate he would gladly stack labors upon.
In time the need for excitement became too much for him to contain. He didn't miss the danger against this life, but he did miss the feeling of surprise around every corner. Every day out there proved to be a new challenge for his skills, and along side his allies it seemed there was no challenge too great. He decided it was time to travel back to the new town (currently being rebuilt by Steelsmith's armies) and see if his fellow entrepreneurs of adventure had discovered any interesting leads. He sure as hell hadn't buried here in this cave of raucous sell swords.
To simply transfer himself there magically would have been a simple act (so to speak) but the promise of a few days ride by night through the untamed land gave him all the motivation he needed to pack up his personal belingings and make for the road. He would simply be killing as many birds as possible with the fewest number of stones available. With that thought he went to find Peldra to ready his Warhorse...
...But she was nowhere to be found. He shouted and looked from top to bottom, even having Rog'Beal aid him in the search, yet she was no-where on the premesise. A cold feeling stirred in his stomach and suddenly the idea of the ride wasn't as grand as he had been planning. It was going to be hard work. Perhaps the spell was in order....
"Where is that thrice blasted wench!"
Entaris keep was in the final stages of furnishing, and men had come in good supply to stay within it's walls and take part in its maintenance. Alkadian had checked over the supplies, and knew that his warriors would easily survive the winter with the current food stores. Some of those now calling it home were great hunters, and others fine bandits, so more food and supplies managed to trickle their way in. It was a well maintained cycle. Sir Vharkas had proven to be a great asset in gaining strength for the fortress as well. He took some of the other men below daily to improve their fighting skills, he was very intelligent (which helped with all the paperwork), and his music filled the halls at night keeping men happy and at home. He wasn't sure who had sent Vharkus to find him, but he gave them silent thanks often over the past days.
His plate had indeed been piled high with tasks and responsibilities since he founded his new home, but slowly the plate crew encrusted with gold and gems, symbolizing his ascent to Lordship in this new land. It was a plate he would gladly stack labors upon.
In time the need for excitement became too much for him to contain. He didn't miss the danger against this life, but he did miss the feeling of surprise around every corner. Every day out there proved to be a new challenge for his skills, and along side his allies it seemed there was no challenge too great. He decided it was time to travel back to the new town (currently being rebuilt by Steelsmith's armies) and see if his fellow entrepreneurs of adventure had discovered any interesting leads. He sure as hell hadn't buried here in this cave of raucous sell swords.
To simply transfer himself there magically would have been a simple act (so to speak) but the promise of a few days ride by night through the untamed land gave him all the motivation he needed to pack up his personal belingings and make for the road. He would simply be killing as many birds as possible with the fewest number of stones available. With that thought he went to find Peldra to ready his Warhorse...
...But she was nowhere to be found. He shouted and looked from top to bottom, even having Rog'Beal aid him in the search, yet she was no-where on the premesise. A cold feeling stirred in his stomach and suddenly the idea of the ride wasn't as grand as he had been planning. It was going to be hard work. Perhaps the spell was in order....
"Where is that thrice blasted wench!"
Monday, July 20, 2009
Alkadian Entaris Beldier III- Sword and Soul
The halls of Entaris Keep echoed with the ringing of hammers that night. Word of Alkadian's deeds in the recent war had spread quickly, and men had come to pledge their services to him. Their efforts now furnished and developed his Stronghold from an empty stone compound to a flourishing sanctuary for the wars exiles. Some outcasts from the military forces of Jason Steelsmith's army, while others had served the armies of Thesk, and lended their allegiance to the Lord of house Beldier in the name of their black emperor. They now made their home here, filling the many rooms, and bringing with them the weapons and armor of the fallen forces. Spoils of war and tools of battle stacked high. His rise to power was quickening.
For the first time since he was a child, men were once again calling him Lord, and meaning it. His family had a reputation back in the dark kingdom, and many had just assumed they were all killed by a warring household. News that the son of Entaris Beldier II was indeed alive, and tipping the scales of battles in the new untamed realm caused commotions amongst the neighboring towns. A few gold coins ensured that men returning from battle brought with them news of a powerful Mage gaining influence and land beyond mankind's borders. He used this gossip and mystery to fuel the fires of his greatness. Words were very powerful tools. He was again feared.
He sat alone in the audience chamber, studying a map he had made of the Green Wild. Calculating the distances between outposts and looking for regions that promised adventure and wealth. His thirst for power was yet quenched.
He folded up the map after a time and pulled out the rod he had received from Milo's chests before the battle had started. It was ancient. He knew that much. The craftsmanship put any item made by his hand to shame. The power sleeping inside was weak after no doubt decades of dormancy. Patterns along the shaft led him to believe it was part of a set. Somewhere out in the wilderness there may be more like it, possibly crafted by the same hand. This idea exited him. Alkadian loved wands.
Uttering a few magical words, his eyes began to glow with a blue heat. The world before him unfolded into a tapestry of arcane design. Invisible threads of magic that held this plane of existence together became clear to him, and everything around him hummed with dull energy. Looking over the rod again revealed a vast history of powerful markings. The very frame of the device seemed to unfold and reveal its construction, whispering secrets about how and what made it. Just then he sensed an intense increase in magic from the doorway behind him.
Spinning on his nimble feet he turned to face a dark figure hiding amongst the shadows of the far wall. Cold empty eyes peered out at him. The darkness did nothing to hide the man from his arcane vision. Sneering, Alkadian drew power from the rod in his hand and without a sound projected a massive spear of magical energy towards the intruder from the tip of his outstretched finger. The room seemed to go silent as the shadows and air appeared to suck into the tip of the spell before it struck the man, pinning him to the wall through his chest. Even the screams from the pain were swallowed by the imbibing force of the spear.
Wand in each hand, Alkadian stepped forward to confront the unseen trespasser. The thought of it being one of his new men mattered not to him. No one dared to sneak up on Lord Beldier. Thoughts of the enemy mages throne room ran shivers down his spine.
"Name yourself." His voice was calm and powerful.
"I... I am...your servant my master..." His voice was full of terror, and as the blood poured from his body the strength seemed to drain from his words. "I have come..to.....serve you.... Lord."
Alkadian recognized the man now. He was the white haired fellow Jason Steelsmith had introduced after the death of SamDread. He could sense power in this man. He was strong, and arcane energies coursed through him. The spell would have killed any lesser man, yet here he stood, wounded and pledging his life to Alkadian. Caution got the better of him.
"And why do you wish to serve me? Why would you throw away a life of freedom to live under the service of one like myself?" Alkadian questioned, wands at the ready (should his answer displease).
"You...are destined....for power." He urked out under the pressure of the still humming magical spear. "I look upon you and...see the dark shadows of strength...like rays on the sun....And I must..keep my oath..."
He lowered his wands. Suddenly he sensed a connection he had not felt before. Some distant and cold voice seemed to whisper to him. A gift. A blessing. Embrace my strength child. Your day will come. He is here to guide you. He looked down to the humming energy of the black sword strapped to the mans side. Uttering the words under his breath, Alkadian summoned forth another spell. Their eyes locked, and like an orange Alkadian peeled back the layers of the man's mind. He saw a long and deadly road that lead from a grave, across the countryside, and to Alkadians new home. He sensed terrible fear, and great dark power hidden all around him. A strange yet familiar name met his lips...Vharkus....
"You swear to serve my will? You swear by your life that in service to me you shall spread the words of my greatness, and live only to aid me to my seat of power?" He asked with razor sharp seriousness.
"My master...I am yours. Let me......serve...my.........master..." Tears were pouring down the man's long face. He was shaking with terror and confusion, but his words were sincere. The man fell to the ground as the spear of energy vanished. He landed on his knees, and simply lowered his head in surrender and pain.
A new wand protruded from Alkadians sleeve, and with a small flash of light the mans wounds began to heal. Placing his hand under the injured stranger's chin he lifted his head to look him dead in the eyes.
"Your life is now mine, and through me you shall sit in the seat of greatness. You will be my chosen. Pledge your sword to me, and you shall be my left hand." Slowly Alkadian unsheathed the elven blade he wore at all times. A blade that never saw the face of battle, but marked his rank as high lord of the Beldier family. He then proceeded to place the blade on the man's left shoulder, followed by his right, as only a lord could. "Now arise and serve me, Sir Vharkus Grey of House Beldier."
"My sword and my soul are yours to command my Master" He spoke with a new found strength, and the fear seemed to leave his eyes.
**********
In a far off place, where darkness hung thick and commanding, two skeletal hands clasped in a gesture of success. The pieces were beginning to fit together.
For the first time since he was a child, men were once again calling him Lord, and meaning it. His family had a reputation back in the dark kingdom, and many had just assumed they were all killed by a warring household. News that the son of Entaris Beldier II was indeed alive, and tipping the scales of battles in the new untamed realm caused commotions amongst the neighboring towns. A few gold coins ensured that men returning from battle brought with them news of a powerful Mage gaining influence and land beyond mankind's borders. He used this gossip and mystery to fuel the fires of his greatness. Words were very powerful tools. He was again feared.
He sat alone in the audience chamber, studying a map he had made of the Green Wild. Calculating the distances between outposts and looking for regions that promised adventure and wealth. His thirst for power was yet quenched.
He folded up the map after a time and pulled out the rod he had received from Milo's chests before the battle had started. It was ancient. He knew that much. The craftsmanship put any item made by his hand to shame. The power sleeping inside was weak after no doubt decades of dormancy. Patterns along the shaft led him to believe it was part of a set. Somewhere out in the wilderness there may be more like it, possibly crafted by the same hand. This idea exited him. Alkadian loved wands.
Uttering a few magical words, his eyes began to glow with a blue heat. The world before him unfolded into a tapestry of arcane design. Invisible threads of magic that held this plane of existence together became clear to him, and everything around him hummed with dull energy. Looking over the rod again revealed a vast history of powerful markings. The very frame of the device seemed to unfold and reveal its construction, whispering secrets about how and what made it. Just then he sensed an intense increase in magic from the doorway behind him.
Spinning on his nimble feet he turned to face a dark figure hiding amongst the shadows of the far wall. Cold empty eyes peered out at him. The darkness did nothing to hide the man from his arcane vision. Sneering, Alkadian drew power from the rod in his hand and without a sound projected a massive spear of magical energy towards the intruder from the tip of his outstretched finger. The room seemed to go silent as the shadows and air appeared to suck into the tip of the spell before it struck the man, pinning him to the wall through his chest. Even the screams from the pain were swallowed by the imbibing force of the spear.
Wand in each hand, Alkadian stepped forward to confront the unseen trespasser. The thought of it being one of his new men mattered not to him. No one dared to sneak up on Lord Beldier. Thoughts of the enemy mages throne room ran shivers down his spine.
"Name yourself." His voice was calm and powerful.
"I... I am...your servant my master..." His voice was full of terror, and as the blood poured from his body the strength seemed to drain from his words. "I have come..to.....serve you.... Lord."
Alkadian recognized the man now. He was the white haired fellow Jason Steelsmith had introduced after the death of SamDread. He could sense power in this man. He was strong, and arcane energies coursed through him. The spell would have killed any lesser man, yet here he stood, wounded and pledging his life to Alkadian. Caution got the better of him.
"And why do you wish to serve me? Why would you throw away a life of freedom to live under the service of one like myself?" Alkadian questioned, wands at the ready (should his answer displease).
"You...are destined....for power." He urked out under the pressure of the still humming magical spear. "I look upon you and...see the dark shadows of strength...like rays on the sun....And I must..keep my oath..."
He lowered his wands. Suddenly he sensed a connection he had not felt before. Some distant and cold voice seemed to whisper to him. A gift. A blessing. Embrace my strength child. Your day will come. He is here to guide you. He looked down to the humming energy of the black sword strapped to the mans side. Uttering the words under his breath, Alkadian summoned forth another spell. Their eyes locked, and like an orange Alkadian peeled back the layers of the man's mind. He saw a long and deadly road that lead from a grave, across the countryside, and to Alkadians new home. He sensed terrible fear, and great dark power hidden all around him. A strange yet familiar name met his lips...Vharkus....
"You swear to serve my will? You swear by your life that in service to me you shall spread the words of my greatness, and live only to aid me to my seat of power?" He asked with razor sharp seriousness.
"My master...I am yours. Let me......serve...my.........master..." Tears were pouring down the man's long face. He was shaking with terror and confusion, but his words were sincere. The man fell to the ground as the spear of energy vanished. He landed on his knees, and simply lowered his head in surrender and pain.
A new wand protruded from Alkadians sleeve, and with a small flash of light the mans wounds began to heal. Placing his hand under the injured stranger's chin he lifted his head to look him dead in the eyes.
"Your life is now mine, and through me you shall sit in the seat of greatness. You will be my chosen. Pledge your sword to me, and you shall be my left hand." Slowly Alkadian unsheathed the elven blade he wore at all times. A blade that never saw the face of battle, but marked his rank as high lord of the Beldier family. He then proceeded to place the blade on the man's left shoulder, followed by his right, as only a lord could. "Now arise and serve me, Sir Vharkus Grey of House Beldier."
"My sword and my soul are yours to command my Master" He spoke with a new found strength, and the fear seemed to leave his eyes.
**********
In a far off place, where darkness hung thick and commanding, two skeletal hands clasped in a gesture of success. The pieces were beginning to fit together.
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