Search for Healing
posted December 14, 2002 04:04 AM
-elenna
Bronwen paced back and forth on the great walltop of the Citadel. Another case of the Pestilence had been discovered in the city - a young boy named Granel, a Guardsman's son.
"Bronwen?" A voice came from the doorway.
"Himesh? What's wrong?"
"I suppose you heard about Antenor's son. The boy has it bad, and the healers are saying there's nothing they can do. We're being called to a council later tonight."
-Cimmerian
Neandarth
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Neandarth flopped his large frame under the shady tree, the only one in miles. The tall youth had been roaming around the forests and countrysides for the last few days. The sun had bronzed his skin and the dry winds left his hair matted. His purse was quite empty. It had been a rather long time since he had last sold his sword.
His skills with the broadsword were legendary, for one so young. Life had made him a lot wiser beyond his twenty three years. Neandarth had left his homeland when he was too young to remember its name and now he simply didn't care.
Life taught him two lessons; One, trust no one. And two, when in doubt, kill. He had to learn both of these lessons the hard way. But he had two weaknesses, gold and beautiful women. And often either had led to ruin.
Neandarth was also legendary for all the wrong reasons. However, once paid the youth would be loyal for the required duration. Though these days it was harder to acquire decent mercenial work.
With some thought of what the future may hold, the dark haired youth slowly drifted off to sleep.
-mym
Raven
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Bronwen sighed and looked up alarge fountain, long dried up. On one of the ledges a raven was perched. It watched her intently as she drifted away on her worries.
A council? Hmm, tonight....nope, my busy social calendar doesnt present anything. My my, anyone would think I had no friends... Raven thought wryly as she stretched her wings, flying over the walls of the city. No one was allowed out of the city not the pestilence was upon them, but the restriction didnt apply to birds... She let her mind wander as she floated on the breeze. Where had it come from, this damned plague?
Her small black eyes only half took in the landscape below her. Grass, plain, another bird, tree, rather handsome young man, more grass- what? This should be interesting... She darted into the branches of the tree. A few seconds later a dark haired young woman fell out of said tree with a squawk.
Picking herself hastily up, Raven dusted off her dark clothes, feeling ridiculous. It was always hrd to judge as an elf in animal form. A small cough from behind her made her wince. Oh boy. Talk about a great meeting...she turned slowly to see the young man looking at her with dark brown eyes set in a sun bronzed face. He had a strange expression on his face, a sort of mixture between amusement and suspicion.
She smiled ruefully at him. "I didnt...Im sorry to...I have to-"
"Where in the name of Yavanna did you come from?" He interrupted. A grin was threatening to slide across his face. Oh boy. How do I answer that one? Best with the truth.... "The sky." She said brazenly. No one ever belived the truth...
The youth now grinned and ran, or attempted to run a hand through his hair. Raven flicked her own, hastily changing the ends back to hair from feather. Oh no, had he seen...
"Where did you come from anyway? Not the city at any rate." She definitly would have noticed him in the city, as anyone that good lookig would have a mob... immediately the suspicion on his face took over. She decided to set the ball rolling. "I am Raven."
"Raven, or a raven? Strange, I saw one a moment ago...oh its vanished." He hadnt looked around. A feeling of unease crept over her- he couldnt have guessed. He continued, introducing himself against, it seemed, his own thoughts. "I am Neandarth. Now, from where did you come?"
-ShadowStaar
Corrah
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Corrah sat with the boy, Granel was his name. She sighed, and looked at his youthful face. This was the 4th case this week, and there was nothing she could do about it.
"Dammit!" She cursed and threw a vase at the wall, it shattered and the flowers fell to the ground.
"Milady healer?" Ask one of the servents sent to keep watch on Granel.
"What?" Corrah turned back to the boy, and gripped his hand.
"Are you alright? I heard a crash, and I came running, I thought the boy was having a fit, and I thought you might have been injured." The girl replied, her eyes looking to the floor.
"No, I'm fine, just please go." Corrah gave a sigh, and tried to smile at the girl. "Please, take the night off, I will stay with him."
"But, Milady! You need your rest!" The servent protested.
"No, just go. I will keep watch."
With that the servent left, and Corrah yawned, she was tired, but this was her duty, and she couldn't loose another victim to this Pestilance.
-Cimmerian
Neandarth greets Raven
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"You're a witch," the young man blurted, wide-eyed," or some something near it."
Raven threw back her head and laughed and at this Neandarth grew more suspicious, he drew his broadsword and held it up, ready to strike.
Raven feigned a frightened gasp and mocking said, "A big strong man like you is afraid of a little thing like me?"
The tall, muscular youth frowned; he wasn't sure of what the old legends said of witches, he mostly dismissed such talk as old fairy tales. Lowering his sword, he said, "I am not to sure as to what threat you might be to me, still a comely lass such as you merits better than the sword."
Raven smiled and ran her hand over her face, but she couldn't hide the reddening of her cheeks, she suddenly looked at the tall man in front of her with interest and noticed that his eyes too were upon her with interest.
Suddenly the morning air around them seem to get warmer. The two of them stood facing each other, awkwardly silent.
-mym
Invitation
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Well well, this was certainly something I didnt bargain for... Raven thought as she examined the man with her eyes. A blush had spread over her overly pale skin- she wasnt used to this attention.
He had worked out she had magical abilities, this rather awkward young man, yet still he hadnt made much of it. A warrior...
"Come Neandarth, where is it you come from?" She said to break the increasingly awkward silence. His smile faded and she wished she hadnt spoken, immediately wanting to bring the broad handsome smile back. "I am sorry. May I then offer you somewhere to go to?"
She cocked her head inquisitively like a bird and he gave a small laugh. "I should like that very much if I be travelling with you."
She started to blush again and laughed also, extending a hand to him. A small voice was nagging at her though- she had no doubt come farther than she thought on the wing; it would take a long while to get back to the city. And he already really knew.... She bit her lip, hesitating for a moment. Then she turned back to Neandarth. "I fear we are quite a long way from the city I come from, so I have to know; can you keep a secret Neandarth?"
-Cimmerian
Invitation
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Neandarth gazed at the lovely young woman dreamily. Her heart shaped face was very pale, yet she blushed prettily. Rich, dark curls fell around her face and over her rounded shoulders. Her large eyes were warm and friendly and as she shyly looked away, Neandarth felt his heart beat faster. She bit her full, red lips and asked the tall young vagabond, "Where are you from?"
Neandarth kept staring, enjoying the effect he was having on her and also the effect she was having on him. Raven felt herself blush again, and then she looked deeply into his wide, blue eyes and asked him, "Can you keep a secret?"
It took a while for Neandarth to comprehend what she said. Then, straigtening himself, he said, "Aye, fair maiden, you can trust me to keep a secret. In as much I don't know too many people well enough to share them."
Raven smiled, suddenly she felt she could sense a warm, friendly vibe from the rough looking man. Beneath this tough exterior, she was sure, hid the sweet, compassionate persona of a little boy.
She walked up to him and placed her hand on his broad shoulder. Looking up, she took a deep breath and sighed. Neandarth looked down at her, keeping his hands to himself and close to his sword hilt, not exactly sure of what she was about to say to him. He hoped it had something to do with gold or riches, and maybe some food. It was many days since the barbarous youth had seen the former and precious little of the latter had some his way either.
-mym
[i[Changing
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"Aye, fair maiden, you can trust me to keep a secret. In as much I don't know too many people well enough to share them."
Raven felt a pang of sympathy as she realised just how alone Neandarth was. Well, that would make two of them...Fair maiden? Well, he was certainly a change from the lads in the city...
Fighting down the blush that was once again forcing its way up she put her hands on his shoulder, estimating what sort of weight he was. Well, he was certainly muscly. After a moment she stepped away and took a deep breath.
"Could you look away for a moment please? I...well, it might not be entirely comfortable for you to watch." And not to comfortable for me either...
Neandarth looked bewildered; had he offended her? For a moment he seemed to consider that she might run off before he nodded and turned around. Raven smiled. "Thankyou."
Luckily, a horse shape was one she was quite used to, but not usually one that would have to be so strong. Lets see... Closing her eyes she let the change come over her as she focused the shape of a mare in her mind. Her muscles thickened and grew and she fell forward as her bone structure changed. Oh no, dont look around!
Too late. Neandarth heard the thump of hooves on the ground and turned. He gasped in surprise as he saw the last stages of her change, stepping backwards until his back hit the tree. In front of him stood a gleaming black mare, muscles rippling under beautiful dark fur. Carefully Raven walked up to Neandarth, stopping about half a metre away from him. Slowly he looked up...and his eyes widened even further as he saw her strange eyes, still black. She inclined her head. "Come on then, get on."
"It speaks!" He gasped as her mind speak reached his head. Raven rolled her eyes, a strange site on a horse. "Fair lady?" Neandarth said incredulously. Vigorous nodding from the horse.
"Well, a stranger site I doubt I have seen." He muttered as he approached. Raven nuzzled at his shoulder gently to reassure him and he gave her a tenative pat before swinging himself onto her back. Raven knew that if she was in elf form she would be blushing like goodness knows what now! Snickering quietly to herself she started off towards the city...
-Cimmerian
A shadow of doubt
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Neandarth stood in awe a shile, a strange sensation wobbled through his being. Before him stood one of the most beautiful mares he had ever seen. He had owned many horses, or rather he had taken many a horse for himself, but none could he keep for long, owing to his nomadic lifestyle.
However, this was far from what he had experienced in his short but eventful lifetime. Being ever suspicious, the young mercenary mounted the beautiful mare. Her soft downy body felt good under him. He caressed her neck and back as the horse galloped ahead. She neighed softly at his touch. He knew not where she headed, but he hoped it would be to a place where he could find means to earn some gold and a belly full of food.
As he rode along, a thought suddenly crossed his mind. Firstly, this being appeared to be a raven of the air, and then she bore the look of a comely village belle, and she did blush prettily, and now she was a horse. What could her true form be, he wondered and he hoped that the lovely maiden whom he spoke to would so.
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-elenna
The Council is called
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Bronwen sat nervously on a black wood chair placed at an even larger table. A council had been called of the guardsmen at which they would be informed of any information about the pestilence that was now sweeping the city. As Bronwen sat, other Guards were riding the city streets, looking for anyone who may have some idea about what to do.
Do not meddle in the affairs of writers, for they are strange and have REALLY sharp pencils.
-ShadowStaar
The Council is called
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Corrah still sat, trying with all her might to stay awake. Granel was the general's son, and she had to keep the boy alive. She was going to the meeting tonite, to inform the General of his son's progress, or regress as fate would have it. The boy was getting worse, and she had no clue as to how to stop it. She stood up and looked out her window, it was almost sun down, and she had a meeting to go to.
"ROCHIR!!" Corrah screamed for the servant girl.
"Yes, lady healer?" Rochir bowed.
"Can you watch him? I have to get ready, and then leave for a meeting. Can YOU watch him, and make sure nothing happens?" Corrah asked the girl.
"Yes, milday." Rochir nodded.
"If ANYTHING happens, send someone to me, IMMEADIATLY! Ok?" Corrah asked again.
"Yes, milady." Rochir said, her still on the floor.
"Ok, I'm leaving now." Corrah walked out of the room, and sighed. She turned to the wall, and banged her head on it.
'What am I going to do?'
-mym
The Council
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Raven slowed as they approached the city. She looked up at the guardhouse, realising it was doubtful she would get back in with her new companion. Before she could do anything though, Neandarth thumped his sword against one of the metal secures of the gate, sending a loud clang up the huge gates. After a moment, a head popped indignantly out of the gatehouse on the wall.
"There is no entrance to this city, boy." The old man shouted down irritably. "A Plague is upon us and no-one may enter." The head disappeared again.
"No wait! Surely...surely I can get in to a plague ridden city?"
"And why would you want to do that boy? You would not be allowed out again. The lords orders clearly state that-"
"We will think of that when we come to it. Come on, Im burning as I stand here in this heat!"
There was a moment hesitation and a whipered conversation from above before the gates swung slowly open. Raven trotted in, diving behind a small shed. She hesitated- she couldnt come out as an elf now! He would know for sure then! Ah well, he had more than a fair idea already... She emerged a few seconds later to see the astounded Neandarth waiting.
"Did you just-" He began.
"No time. Come on, I have heard of a meeting about this illness, for the wellfare of all who live in the city. I.." She started to explain then gave up. She was probably already really late."Ive got to go ok?"
The mercenarys eyes widened and she started to turn but he grabbed her wrist. She stared at his hand in surprise for a moment. "Im coming with you."
She looked at him puzzled- why would he care about her city? Still, he was a wanderer, and he couldnt get out...she shrugged and smiled at him as she led him to the meeting place she had seen the young woman tell the other of.
-Cimmerian
The Council
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Neandarth followed Raven, keeping close to her. All around a seemingly deathly pall of gloom shrouded the entire village. People appeared to have lost the will to live, though in the eyes of some, the fire to survive burned defiantly. Neandarth wondered what kind of illness the people of the town had been afflicted with. The young mercenary had never suffered from an ailment of any kind for as long as he could remember. Life on the road, living off the land had made him immune to the natural ills that affected people who lived in the pampered shelter of civilisation.
Neandarth's thoughts returned to the strange and beautiful woman who led him to this village. He felt as if he was obligated to protect her, to be by her side. Did she use any of her magicks on him? he thought, and his practical, rational side made him wonder if such a ragged populace could afford to pay him in gold for his service. He was not sure of the kind of service he was expectecx to render. Clearly it seemed, though, that the people here needed help.
Raven led the tall, young man to a large, though dipladated structure, clearly the most inportant building in all the village. There were people milling around this place, as it appeared the village heads had gathered for some sort of council.
-elenna
The members arrive
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Bronwen stood at attention as people began to file into the council chamber. First came the Captain of the Guards, Antenor, followed by several other important officials. The chief of the Healers came in. Last came a mysterious maiden and a man, by his dress, a mercenary.
Antenor gestured for Bronwen to sit. She found herself sitting beside this unknown mercenary.
"Neandarth," he said, grasping her wrist in greeting.
"Bronwen, daughter of Branrod."
"What is going on here, Bronwen? I just arrived in Minas Anor, and was told that, since I looked to be a fighter, I should come to this council."
Bronwen opened her mouth to speak, but found that the rest of the gathering had fallen silent and was looking at the Chief Healer, who stood and began to explain the problem.
Do not meddle in the affairs of writers, for they are strange and have REALLY sharp pencils.
-silverstorm1321
Layla's Belated Enterance
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Trumpets sounded through the streets of Minas Anor, reverberating off the walls of the citadel and causing Layla to jump, knocking over the bottle of scarlet-black ink she had balanced precariously on the edge of the ledge on which she sat. "Dammit!" she swore under her breath as the ink bottle smashed, spraying ink all over the cobblestones in the street. She slammed the leather-bound book in which she has been writing closed, trapping her feather quill inside. "He'll never forgive me this time...where am I supposed to get the money to replace it before I have to go home for supper?" she pondered as the band of people the trumpets had so inconveniently announced passed quickly by. Most of them looked stressed and frustrated, like a student pondering over his night's math assignment. "What in the world?" she wondered aloud. Deciding to chance her grandfather's wrath, Layla rearranged her hands to get a better grip on her book and jumped the five feet to the street below, running straight towards her and her grandfather's home almost before her feet had hit the ground.
"Grandpa! Grandpa! Did you see those people who just sounded the trumpets?" she burst through the door shouting, seeing through the front windows to the shop they lived above that no customers lingered to disturb their conversation. Her grandfather appeared from behind a curtain hanging over a doorway in the back of the shop.
"Yes, child, I did, and you don't need to shout," he replied, his eyes twinkling in a way she recognized all too well.
"What do you know that you haven't told me, and what did you do to find out?" she asked knowingly. He remained silent, but an inkling of a smile played across his lips. No one in the city had really been able to smile since the Pestilence hit, but this was the closest he had come in a long while.
"If I bother explaining it to you, as we both know it will take hours," he toyed with her sarcastically, "you must promise that you will commit to it before I go putting ideas in your head you will only agree to carry out half-heartedly." Layla rolled her eyes at her grandfather.
"Oh, just tell me already, so I can get on with whatever foolish idea you have for me now. Most likely you want me to attend some silly town meeting and record it all in your book so I can pass it down to my children's children." Layla almost-smiled, and gave a rather unenthusiastic wink.
"That, my dear, is exactly what I need you to do, but I would hardly call this meeting silly. It has to do with the Pestilence, and possibly a cure. This is the one of the largest crises to hit this city since the Third Age, and I'd like to know when I die that there's an accurate and slightly biased record floating around my family tree!" her grandfather retorted, his half-smile staying firmly in place.
Layla threw her hands up to the ceiling in a gesture of surrender. "Fine, you win. I go, I scribe, I come home and hope there's a decent meal on the table?" she asked rhetorically. He nodded in reply, still half-smiling. Layla got up, went to the jug of water sitting on the counter farthest from the front of the store and poured herself a glass. Slowly, she sipped from the cup as her grandfather went about his duties in the store, and her eyes darted cautiously to where the ink bottles sat on the shelf, displayed for customers to purchase. Setting the glass back down on the table next to the jug, she went to the front counter, picked up her book with her quill still inside, and looked at her grandfather. He had occupied himself balancing the books for the shop, a task she usually undertook for him--she knew the only reason she was being exempted was because of the meeting she was to go to. The corner of her mouth twitched in dull amusement. "I'm leaving," she said quietly, slowly moving backward toward the shelf that held the ink bottles just waiting for her choosing. Quickly she spun, grabbed the first one her fingers found, and streaked out of the door shouting another goodbye. Behind her, still with his face buried in the large book, her grandfather chuckled inwardly, his eyes still firmly locked on his granddaughter's rapidly retreating back.
Layla rushed up the steps to the citadel, the guards posted at the gate recognizing her, not bothering to stop her. Some threw questioning glances in her direction, others threw looks of desire. No matter what the state of the city, men would still be men. Layla found the chamber in which the counsel was being held easily, and slipped quietly, almost soundlessly inside the door. She cringed and blushed, embarrassed and angry at herself for arriving late. Looking around for a seat near to the wall, preferably toward the front, but found nothing available anywhere. "Dammit," she swore again, drawing the gaze of a man towards the front she did not recognize. He looked as though he were a stranger. Layla raised an eyebrow at him, but turned to the wall on the right of the chamber and began to make her way up towards the front, to the space between the chairs and the table set in the front of the room. Here she sat herself, leaning against the wall, drawing her legs as close to her body as she could and still allow herself enough room to rest her book on her knee to write. Carefully, still leery of gravity and ink bottles when combined, she unscrewed the cap of the ink she had nabbed from her grandfather's shop and set it on the floor next to her. Opening her book to where her quill marked she had left on, she dipped the feather in the ink and scrawled a new header, following that quickly with everything she had so far seen and heard. All through the meeting she kept notes, taking down details that seemed weighty and doodling small pictures that popped into her mind as the soldier (who looked as though he might even be a guard) standing in front of the room outlined the situation.
-ShadowStaar
Layla's Belated Enterance
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Corrah stood at the head of the council, looked around, and cleared her throat.
"Welcome." She started, she was bit nervous, "In the room, there is a boy, Granel, the commander's son, he has been found to have the Pestilence virus in his body, how he got it, we don't know yet. The symptoms are as follows: Coma, fever, hallucinations, paralysis, blood clotting, and death. Now, Granel does NOT show all these symptoms at the moment, I am determined to keep him alive, I will not loose another person to this Pestilence."
"How can we stop this?" A young woman asked.
"We need a plant, it's called the Wave lily."
"The what?" A man blurted out.
"The wave lily, it can be found on the shores of the Grey Havens. This plant is our only hope to save this boy, and I have to go alone, I will. This Pestilence will destroy everything in its path, we have to stop it! If we do not, then you and your children are next. Now, do I have any volunteers to come with me?"
-Cimmerian
Neandarth volunteers...
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"Aye, that you do." A tall young soldier next to Neandarth stood up, hefting a large pike. "I, Belom, will fight by your side, Corrah."
The young mercenary looked up at the one who had asked the question. She was not much younger than him, and if she prettied herself up a bit, she would appear quite comely. Neandarth wasn't one who volunteered easily, he decided to wait until there was mention of some reward or payment.
The mysterious woman who had led him to the town was nowhere in his line of sight, instead another beautiful young woman, who introduced herself as Bronwen sat by his side. She appeared tired and sad, but in her eyes burned the fire of a warrior, even if she claimed to be a healer. Neadarth smiled to himself, even if there was no mention of monetary rewards, there were factors enough here to keep him interested.
Just as he thought such, his attention fell upon yet another young maiden, this one appeared vastly different from the women-in-arms around the council. She was much shorter, and dressed in simple garb. She carried some scrolls, and bound books with her. She walked with an ar of nonchalance, almost bored expression. Suddenly their eyes met and the mercenary smiled broadly, but the young girl looked away, without a blush. Neandarth smirked to himself, a worthy challenge.
"Why don't you volunteer?" a firm, feminine voice jolted the big warrior out of his reverie. Turning he looked into Bronwen's inquistive eyes.
"Have you?" he asked in turn.
"Aye!" she replied, still looking expectantly. Eyeing his heavy broadsword, she knew that this one would be useful in battle. She had seen his kind in war.
"And what of gold or payment?" Neandarth inquired.
Bronwen's face clouded, and she almost snapped, "We are in a grave crisis now and all you can think of..." but then she looked up sadly, aware of this trait in mercenaries, "Alas, we have none to make... for now."
Neandarth breathed deeply, he was stuck in this town anyway so he consented, "allright, I will help... for now!"
"That's two, and four including Belom and myself," announced Corrah, "Two swordwarriors, a spearman and a healer. We will be needing someone with magical abilities, an able archer and possibly a good scribe. Any more volunteers?""
[This message was edited by mym on July 07, 2003 at 07:44 AM.]
[This message was edited by mym on July 07, 2003 at 08:08 AM.]
Posts: 890 | From: Australia | Registered: December 11, 2002
Laiedheliel
new Born
posted December 14, 2002 09:03 AM
Layla Voulnteers
Layla sat dumbfounded. Her grandfather had known they were going to be asking, and he had sent her to voulnteer. "He is going to pay for this one..." she thought, almost smiling. But instead, she said, "If it's a scribe you want, I'll come along. I also have some combat skill, though I don't carry weapons." Most of the people who had not noticed her entrance to the meeting turned towards her in surprise. Corrah, the soldier who had asked for volunteers, looked pleased. Some of the spectators looked confused, and that pleased Layla. One of her favorite activites was shocking people, especially if she was going to be rewarded with a violent reaction.
"Good," Corrah said. "That's five now. Will no one else voulnteer?"
Posts: 37 | From: The Bleak Edge of Sanity | Registered: December 14, 2002
mym
Maiden du Mystique
Chief Shirriff
posted December 16, 2002 12:14 PM
Raven
"That's two, and four including Belom and myself; Two swordwarriors, a spearman and a healer. We will be needing someone with magical abilities, an able archer and possibly a good scribe. Any more volunteers?"
Raven looked up sharply. One of magical abilities... Well, hers were undoubtedly in that category.
"I think I can help in that category." She spoke clearly. Quite a few turned surprised; they had seen this woman about, but she never really held a memory...except the eyes...
"You? What can you offer, skulker of the shadows, an elf?" One podgy lord scoffed. The young shifter glanced at him steadily for just long enough to make him uncomfortable then turned back to Corrah and Bronwen, the leaders of this expedition.
"I would be gratified to join this quest. This disease affects us all."
"And what can you do?" Bronwen asked, more gently than the lord, but still puzzled. Raven hesistated. Im a shapeshifter. My weapons include every talon, paw and claw and hoof of the Kingdom. Hmm, maybe not...
"I have skills with knives and can handle a long sword. I am also educated in the ways of nature and the animal world..." To tell them, to not tell them... "And I have, as you put it, magical abilities." She ended, failing to tell them exactly how. When they continued to look at her doubtfully she groaned inwardly. Ah well, now for a little trick she had learned... Lengthening her fingers slightly to the long thin strong ones of a cat, but not so it showed that much outwardly, she still kept her eyes on Bronwen. In a sudden movement she flicked three throwing knives from hidden pouches in her leather fighting vest, whirling on into the air and another two in different directions across the room; one flicked towards the light, hitting it and spinning of back to her, the other sliced towards the fat lord who had insulted her, whipping just past his hat, slicing a feather that was stuck in it in half before it his the wall behind him as Raven caught the other two, the first as it fell from the air, the other as it ricocheted from the light. She still hadnt removed her eyes from Bronwen but now she smiled slightly. The healer smiled back and Corrah nodded at her appreciatively.
"One of magic and skills. Your company will be accepted...?"
"Raven."
"Raven..? Just Raven?"
The dark haired girl seemed to consider for a moment then nodded. "Indeed. Just Raven."
Give a man a fire and he'll be warm for a day
Sey a man on fire and he'll be warm for the rest of his life!
Posts: 756 | From: the edge of innocence | Registered: December 16, 2002
elenna
Keen Eyed Wanderer
Shirriff
posted December 18, 2002 05:23 AM
Bronwen's reaction
Bronwen glared at the back of Neandarth's head. How could he think of payment when her entire city was threatened? Damned mercenaries. Yet, he did agree to come with us, she reasoned.
And a treacherously feminine part of her brain muttered "And he's rather handsome too."
posted December 21, 2002 10:47 PM
Neandarth muses!
The tall young mercenary looked at Raven in awe as she exhibited her skills. He smiled absently unaware of the cold glares he got from Bronwen and some others who felt insulted by his request for payment. The dark haired youth's steel blue eyes fell on the lovely raven tressed sorceress only. He drank in her beauty and deadly grace. She would make the most interesting of companions. No matter how gruelling and savage the journey or battle may seem, a sorceress always seems to maintain her poise, grace and beauty. Neandarth gazed dreamily at Raven, and even a sharp nudge from Belom's spear butt at his broad back went unnoticed by him.
IN STEEL I TRUST, BY CROM!
Posts: 1265 | From: Grim Grey Mountains, The Frozen North | Registered: December 12, 2002
shadow_staar
The Fortuneteller
Town Local
posted December 22, 2002 03:13 PM
The boy...
"Well, I welcome you all. I assume we have all who we need, and I exspect you all to be ready by dawn, no acception. All you need to bring will things that will contribute to our journey, and things such as food, clothes, and weaopontry. I also exspect that all of you will do as you are told, and follow my lead, I know what I am doing, also Neandarth, there will be no pay, we do this to save live, not for money. Also exellent skills Raven, I'm sure you will prove to be helpful." The healer smiled, and looked at those who come to join her.
"I must ask one last thing, I would like you all to come with me right now to see the boy, so you know what happens when they are attacked by this disease, you need to be humble while we journey, and you need know what those who get it go through." Corrah aimed most of this at Neandarth, who seem to be still staring at Raven.
I had a little lobster, it's name was crab
He said, "Oh no! I have a little scab!"
"Owie owie! It hurts like the dickens!"
"I think i will go and buy some chickens!"
Posts: 177 | Registered: December 14, 2002
shadow_staar
The Fortuneteller
Town Local
posted December 23, 2002 06:33 AM
The Boy...2
Corrah led the group up to the room where the boy laid.
She stopped before the door and spoke,"Now, I want you all to be quiet, no sudden movements. He is very VERY ill." She opened the door and went in. "Rochir, how is he?"
"He is still the same, Lady Healer. No changes, except his fever seems to have gone up." Rochir replied.
"Alright." Corrah rubbed her eyes, and turned back to her group, "As you can see, this is what the Pestilance does to you. It eats away at you until you are nothing but an empty corpse."
"May I go over to him?" Bronwen asked.
"Ofcourse." Corrah gave her an odd look as she walked over to the boy, and held his hand.
I had a little lobster, it's name was crab
He said, "Oh no! I have a little scab!"
"Owie owie! It hurts like the dickens!"
"I think i will go and buy some chickens!"
Posts: 177 | Registered: December 14, 2002
Cimmerian
The Sentinel!
Chief Magistrate
posted December 24, 2002 12:20 AM
Shrouded Forces of Evil!
Eternal night filled the nitre covered walls of the foreboding cavern that housed the servants of Sauron. No dimmest flicker of light showed for those of the servants rose, worked, ate and slept by command. In a subterranean chamber, an eeire glow of evil illuminated the low domed chamber. The nine black robed men, hooded low over their eyes, who waited beaneath the dark dome knelt as Isandaier entered, each holding a curved dagger to his chest.
"Hail, Great Lord Isandaier!" they intoned.
"All hail the Dark Lord, Sauron!" the mage replied. He was robed as they.
One of the robed men shifted, "The illness has taken its toll, Great Lord! The seeds of pestilence we had sowed have ripened."
Isandaier acknowledged him with only an irritated flick of an eyelid. He was atall man, cleanly muscled but slender. Bland smooth features combined with a shaven head made his age indeterminate, though something in his dark, obsidian eyes spoke of years beyond knowing. His ears were square but set upon his head in such a fashion that they appeared pointed, sometimes to the point it was near impossible to fathom if he were man or elf. But it was his soulless eyes that convinced others that he was a mage before he even spoke.
He raised his hands over his head, letting the folds of his dark robes fall back, revealing tighly corded muscular arms. "Attend me!"
"We attend, Great Lord," nine voices spoke as one.
Isandaier's voice boomed and echoed as he fell into a trance induced chant,
" We, Eleven saintly shrouded men
Silhouettes stand against the sky
One in front with a Staff held high
We come to wash thy sins away
We'll be saying youir prayers when the moment comes
There'll be penance to pay when it's judgment day
And the guilty'll bleed when that moment comes
We'll be coming to claim, take your soul away
We'll be coming to bring the eternal night
We'll be bringing us all immortality
Holding communion so the world be blessed
My creator, the Dark Lord lay thy soul to rest
Forsake the love of the havens above
We chose the lust of the earth below
We, Eleven saintly shrouded men
We come to wash thy sins away!"
The nine who knelt before him, shuddered in fear at the chanting, bowing their heads low.
Then Isandaier addressed them. "You have done well, and no doubt you will do even better when the time arises for already my senses tell me that forces gather to oppose me. Now go, all of you, food and drink await you in the inner sanctum, go feast and rest."
"All glory to the Dark Lord!" They chanted as they rose and slowly filed out of the chamber.
Isandaier waited until the heavy stone door, cut from a massive boulder was firmly shut behind the men before he spoke again.
"Cyrziniel!" He called in a low tone, "Attend me!"
A chill rose in the air and a shrouded figure appeared as if out of thin air. Robed in black and hooded like the rest, the summoned was much smaller in height and stature than either. Removing the hood back, the newcomer revealed a head of dark, silken hair that cascaded around a heart shaped face of ivory whiteness, pale and cold, large eyes as black as Isandaier's stared straight at the mage, full lips, bluish as if lifeless twisted in a sinister smile.
"Cyrziniel, what have you to report!" the mage asked, settling down onto the cold floor of the grotto.
"My Lord!" hissed the pale woman, her voice at once breathy and raspy like a serpent's, "Much there is to tell!"
"Begin!" urged the mage impatiently.
Throwing her head back and tossing her dark curls, Cyrziniel leaned forward amd licked her lips.
IN STEEL I TRUST, BY CROM!
Posts: 1265 | From: Grim Grey Mountains, The Frozen North | Registered: December 12, 2002
Nevtalathiel
Midnight's Mistress
Keeper of the pipe-weed
posted December 24, 2002 10:47 AM
Cyrziniel had been watching the chant from the shadows, as she watched many things from the shadows. Blending in among the darkness was one of her great skills, to such an extent that often she could pass unnoticed by all but the most observant of watchers. Now though, she shed her shadow raiment and stepped forward to where Isandaier stood.
He settled himself on the floor, and she reached below her cloak for a pouch which hung on her belt and momentarily revealed the slender and attracive figure rarely seen. She took a handful of the poweder contained within the pouch and let her cloak fall once more around her. She cast the powder onto the stone floor of the cavern before sitting herself opposite Isandaier. The powder had more uses than a drawing board, but the ingredients were not rare, and more could be made without much trouble to herself.
"They are beginning a search for the wave-lily, my Lord," She spoke the final two words with mockery; she was not one who would ever tolerate a master, "though they have not yet begun their quest, they will soon, and when they do they will travel fast." She sketched a quick map of the land between the city and the country where the wave-lily grew, adding the cave with a swift movement of her finger.
"They will be starting from the city of course, and the most sensible route would be this one." With a long red finger nail filed into a point, she scratched the route into the sand-like powder. They do not, of course, know the source of the pestilence which afflicts them, nor how it is transmitted. Should we choose to waylay them, here would be a suiable spot," she slashed a cross into the floor. "Of course, we could always make our own way to the Havens, and destroy forever all hope of curing the pestilence." Her voice echoed slightly in the cave and made both options tantalising. The option is yours, my Lord." This time the two words were not so much a mockery but a challenge. She licked her lips and leaned back alluringly.
"By the pricking of my thumbs,
Something wicked this way comes." - Macbeth Act IV Scene i
Posts: 461 | From: The Hithershore | Registered: December 18, 2002
elenna
Keen Eyed Wanderer
Shirriff
posted December 25, 2002 04:34 PM
Bronwen entered the Houses of Healing as silently as she could manage. She looked around and her breath caught in her throat.
"So many!" she whispered to Corrah. "I had no idea that so many had this disease."
Corrah nodded sadly. "And there isn't much chance for these that're sick now."
Bronwen knelt by little Granel's bed. His eyelids fluttered and he tried to smile. "Did you come to take me home, Bron?"
"No, Granel. Not today. You have to stay in bed for a little while longer." The boy looked heartbroken. "But don't worry. I'm going on a trip, and when I get back I expect you to be up and about again. We never got the chance to go fishing like I promised."
Bronwen stroked little Granel's forehead, and by his regular breathing she could tell he slept. The guardswoman looked up at Corrah, pleading in her eyes. Corrah shook her head. "He's too far gone. The fever will kill him within the week."
"He's too far gone. The fever will kill him within the week." Bronwen looked heart broken, "I'm sorry Bronwen, but think of what we can do with this plant, we will be able to save others."
"Yes, I understand, but it's still so heart breaking! I promised him so many things!" Bronwen hissed in a whisper.
"I know, but we can still do good." Corrah turned to the group, "We leave at dawn, be packed and ready! Go home now and sleep, eat, relax, for tomarrow is a big day." The others nodded and walked out the room, but Corrah caught Bronwen by the arm, "Be strong my friend, you will do marvelous things on this journey, and we do not need you to falter. You are strong, stay that way." Corrah turned her back, and walked over to Rochir.
"You are in charge now, if anything goes wrong, you know what to do, I trust I taught you well."
"You have, milady." The girl smiled.
"Good-bye Rochir, Keep them alive as long as possible, and do your best." Corrah turned and walked quickly out of the room, to her own just down the hall. She collasped on her bed, and heaved a sigh. 'What a long day.' She got back up and tossed a few things into a bag, and ate some food. She layed back down, and was soon fast asleep, her dreams filled with the journey that lay ahead...
I had a little lobster, it's name was crab
He said, "Oh no! I have a little scab!"
"Owie owie! It hurts like the dickens!"
"I think i will go and buy some chickens!"
Posts: 177 | Registered: December 14, 2002
mym
Maiden du Mystique
Chief Shirriff
posted December 27, 2002 12:21 PM
The night before the journey
Raven also dreamed that night.
She had offered Neandarth a bed in her home for the night, but he had looked mildly embarrased and shuffled his feet for a few moments, making the Shifter smile. He was staying at one of the inns nearby, having insisted despite Ravens worries; the inns were dark places full of desperate people these days. Still, she hardly needed to be worried about the mercenary, and at least this showed he was a gentleman.
Running through the dark streets, she kept to the shadows as she often did; blending in among the darkness was one of her skills. It was starting to drizzle when she reached the side street she sought and entered. She walked along until she had almost reached the end of the dark street. A movement in the shadows attracted her attention, until it was followed by a hacking cough, putting her at her ease.
"Milar?" She whispered questioningly.
"Aye, little bird, tis me." A cracked old voice answered before Milar started coughing again. Raven followed the sound and crouched down, placing her hand on the blankets covering the thin figure of the old woman until Milars coughs subsided. "Thankyou little bird. A kind creature you are to help an old woman."
"An old friend, Milar." Raven smiled in the darkness. Milar had looked after her when quite young, was the only one who Raven had told of her ability to Shift. But now her sickness worried Raven. She had the pestilence, but refused to go to a healer.
"I have something to tell you, little Raven." The old womans cracked voice was fading and Raven bent her head to hear. What came next shocked the Shifter. "I...I knew your mother, so I did, my little bird."
Raven stiffened. Surely she couldnt have, she must be imagining it, half dreaming as she did sometimes; but Raven had never known the old woman to lie. Pause. "My mother, Milar?"
"Aye Raven. Your mother."
"You...she..." the young elf took a deep breath before asking the question that had ever plagued her. "What was she like?"
Silence from the thin blanket. Under her hand, Raven realised how still the thin body was. "Milar?" She whsipered again. "Milar?" She shook the thin body gently. A pair of small, bright blue eyes opened for a moment, but were misting over. "My little bird..."
"No! Milar, I'll get you to a healer, please stay-" Ravens tears ran down her white face as she clutched at her old friends hand but the Pestilence had a tighter grip.
"Goodbye little bird...." The womans voice faded and she finally went completely still.
Raven stayed beside her friends body for a long time, her head bowed as the tears tracked down her cheeks. She buried the pitifully thin figure as the sun started to edge over the dostant hills in a dampened patch of earth which the old woman had called her garden. Straightening up she swung up into her small, out of the way home, more like a nest and fell onto the bed. But her dreams were plagued with memories and what might have been memories, a face always coming up, a face she knew she should recognise but didnt, never would...
As the sun finally rose, she crept down and after saying a few words over her friends grave she made her eay slowly to the town hall.
Give a man a fire and he'll be warm for a day
Sey a man on fire and he'll be warm for the rest of his life!
Posts: 756 | From: the edge of innocence | Registered: December 16, 2002
Laiedheliel
new Born
posted December 27, 2002 07:25 PM
Unnoticed
Layla managed, much to her dismay, to remain unnoticed even as she voulnteered her services. The young woman scowled. "Still treat me as though I were a child, all of them," she
thought resentfully, thinking more of her grandfather than anyone present in the meeting room. "I'll show them, eventually."
Silently and quietly, almost like a shadow, Layla followed the rest of the party to the Houses of Healing. All along the way her thoughts darted to and fro, taking in the details of her surroundings as though she were memorizing them for a test, or an artist surveying his model landscape. She saw things along the streets, in front of the inns and houses, stores and pubs, that the others she accompanied did not even turn their heads towards. This knowledge satisfied her in some small way, filled the spot in her heart that had been scraped out when she had been ignored. She didn't like being ignored.
The healer led the party up to a small boy's room. Layla's jaw dropped in a silent gasp. "No matter how much of this I see everyday, it is still hard to watch," she thought increduliously as she watched the guardswoman walk to the boy's bedside. "Did you come to take me home, Bron?" he asked, the sound of hope in his tiny voice heartbreaking.
"No, Granel. Not today. You have to stay in bed for a little while longer." the woman's voice nearly broke, and Layla's emotion almost swelled out of check. She cursed herself inwardly, reminding herself why she had come here. She was sent as an objective observer, one who watched, saw, and recorded everything. "How, dear grandfather, am I to remain objective when I see something as touching as this?" she asked herself retorically, and the small voice that had once replied before replied again. "Do you really think that he expects you to remain objective? Do you think he could, at this sight?"
She filed out of the Houses of Healing along with the rest of the adventurers, but instead of running home like she usually did, she stuffed her book, ink, and quill into her bag and ran along through the streets of the decrepit city, sticking to the shadows and moving with the silence she had been so taught. Eyes from the shadows she ran in saw a blur that their ears could not hear, and most almost wrote her off as imagination, as fever dreams or drunken halluncinations. She turned a corner and stopped to catch her breath, and was shocked at where she had ended up. She raised in eyebrow. "Here?" She walked up to the door of the small cottage wedged in between a pub and another, larger house and knocked softly. A young man with red hair came at the sound.
"Who's there?" he asked through the door.
"I am. Open up," Layla replied quickly, her gaze answering that of the eyes in the shadows that passed over her.
"Layla?" he said, the door opening before her.
"Of course. Will you let me in?" He stood aside to admitt her slender frame. She stood almost a full foot shorter than he, but his green eyes followed her religiously.
"What are you doing here, at this hour? You're grandfather was here earlier, asking for a bag, as though he were planning a journey." He left the statement hanging, obviously waiting for her comments.
"Most likely it was for me. I just came from the meeting in the citadel. I'm going with them. To find the wave lily and cure the Pestilence." The man's jaw dropped in the same silent gasp.
"Are you here to say goodbye, then?" he asked, concern filling his eyes.
"Not goodbye, really. I'll not be gone very long."
"Why are you going?"
Layla paused, unsure of the answer. "He wants me to. I will go for him, and to fulfill my own curiousities. Is that not enough, Ailin"
"Of course it is. Who else is going?"
"A healer, a lady guard, a mercinary, and a witch, an elf shapeshifter."
"A shapeshifter? Are you sure? Are you feeling well?" he asked playfully.
"I'm fine, thank you. I'm positive. I was sitting on the floor against the wall when she changed. Not changed, really. She altered the shape of her fingers. They were...almost catlike. They asked for a person with magical abilities and they got what they asked for."
"Did they also ask for a peasant scribe?"
"Yes. They did ask for a scribe. Why are you so ashamed of who you are that you must tease me? I must get home." Layla rose angrily and left Ailin sitting alone at the table in his cottage, confused and worried about his childhood friend. Layla ran again. She ran through the shadows towards home, not letting the salty tears that blurred her vision to streak down her face. She burst through the door and shut it behind her quietly, then raced up the stairs and into her closet of a room, flinging the door closed behind her and herself onto the bed. She had fallen into sleep almost before she hit the pillow.
Her dreams were violent and dark, nightmares. She dreamt that Ailin stood outside of the Houses of Healing, his eyes clouded with tears and puffy from sleeplessness. She asked him where her grandfather was, but he would not look at her, and mumbled his reply so that she could not understand. She flew back to the shop, and searched for her grandfather, called his name, turned over anything that was in her way. She found him nowhere and turned back out of the shop and to the Houses of Healing. "Ailin," she shouted, "Where has he gone?" He only raised his head to look at her, and pointed through the door beside which he stood, into the Houses of Healing. Her grandfather, sick?
Layla bolted upward in bed, interrupting her restless sleep with a stiffled scream. The first pink rays of sun poked rebeliously through the curtain draped over her window. "He's not sick," she muttered softly to the corners of the room. "He can't be sick." From somewhere down the hall, a dry, scratchy fit of coughing came.
Posts: 37 | From: The Bleak Edge of Sanity | Registered: December 14, 2002
Cimmerian
The Sentinel!
Chief Magistrate
posted December 27, 2002 11:02 PM
Neandarth the Barbarian!
As the first rays of the new morn sun streaked across the mist shrouded mountains, a birdsong shattered the still air. Neandarth arose and stepped out of the filth infested little tavern he had spent the night in. The rooms, all of them tiny and countable on either hand, were filled with men, women and children, far in excess of their allowance. Everyone seemed afraid to venture out, in fear of this illness. The tall mercenary had slept on one of the rotting wooden benches in the bar, and his large, muscular frame was stiff from the neck down.
Once outside, he washed his face in the nearby stream that trickled through the village and stretched out his limbs to bring back some life in them. The beautiful sorceress, Raven had offered him the comfort of her abode, and normally Neandarth would jump at such an invite, for more reasons than one, yet he felt a certain degree of discomfort by her alluring presence, was it out of respect, or did his savage heart feel the strange emotion called love. He was confused.
Shaking his black maned head, Neandarth eased out his heavy broadsword and began his daily ritual of manuvuerves, hacking away at a large stump of a tree with heavy mortal blows, which was already scarred with the signs of sword hits, possibly by the young warriors of this village at a healthier, happier time.
Belom watched from the shadows of his little room, high above on the makeshift watchtower. He did not approve of having a mercenary along for so delicate a mission. Yet he was ready to follow the orders of Corrah and Bronwen. He decided however to keep a wary eye out for the barbarian.
Nendarth carried on his exercises pausing only to grin and flex his massive arms at the giggling young girls who watched him shyly as they went about their morning chores.
The tall mercenary was looking forward to this mission, even if it was to acquire some kind of flower or plant, it was a long time since he had last earned his keep. As he slammed his sword into the tree stump once more, his eyes fell upon the simple young girl, who seemed different from all the rest, the one who carried some parchments and a bag. She was to accompany the party as a scribe. Neandarth wondered if that was all she was capable of, for he knew that this would be a mission wrought with danger, his barbarian instincts often warned him of such. If she wasn't a force with the sword or dagger, she was yet a comely lass, pleasing to the eye.
Neandarth was pleased at the company for this first mission.
[This message was edited by Cimmerian on December 28, 2002 at 08:45 PM.]
Posts: 1265 | From: Grim Grey Mountains, The Frozen North | Registered: December 12, 2002
shadow_staar
The Fortuneteller
Town Local
posted December 28, 2002 10:32 AM
NOT just a healer...
Corrah awoke to the sounds of giggling, and quiet gossip. She looked out her window and saw Neandarth stetching, and practicing with his massive sword. She rolled her eyes at the young girls as he flashed a smile towards them. She got dressed, but not her usual comely dress, but of green legging, dark brown boots, and a tan tunic. She tied her belt around her waist, but not just any belt, for this one had her remedies, and spices. She hooked her sword to her side, and through her gray cloak around her shoulders. She stepped out side, and walked up to Neandarth.
"Ah, I see your not to bad with a sword." Corrah observed.
"Ofcourse not, Lady Healer." He flashed a smile.
She smirked and drew her own, "Well, neither am I. Care to spar? Or does this healer frighten you?"
"As you wish." The barbarien grinned, and they readied there swords.
She attacked first, swift and quick, but he blocked.
"Not bad, my lady."
She grinned and lunged at him again, but again he blocked. They exhcanged a few friendly blows, until he knocked her sword from her hands.
"You win." She smiled and sheathed her sword.
"You did well, I didn't exspect such skill from a healer."
"Well, when you grow up with all brothers, then you learn how to fight early." She winked and walked over to Layla.
"Goodmorning, Layla." Corrah smiled.
"Goodmorning." She seemd a bit troubled.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing, I'm fine."
Corrah nodded, and turned to see Bronwen, Raven, and Belom coming towards them.
"Time to leave." Corrah mumbled to herself, as the group gathered around her.
Amin i waith dangeren i firn i guinar. Amin ith a riel guldur.
Posts: 177 | Registered: December 14, 2002
mym
Maiden du Mystique
Chief Shirriff
posted December 29, 2002 12:41 PM
Setting off
Raven watched the pair sparring from above. She preened her soft feathers before spreading them, enjoying the freedom no elf nor mortal could ever understand. Ravens could be free, they had the emotions of the air itself...not the emotions known to one who lost a friend. Ravens couldnt cry.
She saw all of them, but now noticed one she hadnt before; a young girl, carrying a large satchel like bag. She watched Neandarth and Corrah spar with interest, as did the raven a few feet above her head, but her eyes were those of a dreamer it seemed. Yet when the girl looked up, her eyes held as direct a stare Raven's.
The match finished in good cheer and the healer sheathed her sword. Slipping behind a building Raven changed and hurried up to them. She grinned at the group and after a few moments of talk they were off!
Raven smiled to herself, feeling the purpose of the quest as almost a tangible thing, but also felt something wrong. Turning, she saw Layla watching her with a raised eyebrow. Walking up to Raven, the young scribe reached behind Ravens ear and produced a small soft black object. A feather.
The girls direct stare held Ravens own before the Shifter smiled and taking the girls arm they started walking. "Why is it that you keep feather behind your ears, mistress elf?" The girl imquired quietly in a casual tone. Raven smiled; this girl had used her brain, to be sure.
"I see you possess the brains enough to match those fine eyes, child." She murmered. "Why do you suspect? What is your theory then?"
Give a man a fire and he'll be warm for a day
Sey a man on fire and he'll be warm for the rest of his life!
Posts: 756 | From: the edge of innocence | Registered: December 16, 2002
Cimmerian
The Sentinel!
Chief Magistrate
posted December 30, 2002 03:40 AM
Neandarth greets Layla!
Neandarth's face brightened as he saw Raven step into view. Turning away from Corrah, the tall youth swaggered over to where the ravishing shapeshifter stood conversing with the pretty young scribe. He approached the two young women, grinning widely.
"Good morn to thee, fair ladies!" He greeted, towering over the two, hands on his hips.
"And to thee as well, fair Neandarth," smiled Raven, "I trust you had a good nights rest."
Neandarth grimaced and rubbed his neck with one hand, "I've had worse beds to lie on. Hullo, young scribe," he added turning his gaze toward Layla, "I am called Neandarth!"
"Layla!" said the young scribe with a slight smile and took the tall man's outstretched hand gently. His grip was strong and firm and she winced.
Raven placed a slender hand on the barbarian's massive shoulder and said, "Have you had any breakfast?" Neandarth shook his dark maned head, "Then come, let us partake in some before we depart."
IN STEEL I TRUST, BY CROM!
Posts: 1265 | From: Grim Grey Mountains, The Frozen North | Registered: December 12, 2002
Cimmerian
The Sentinel!
Chief Magistrate
posted December 30, 2002 03:54 AM
The great Evil of Isandaier!
Isandaier stared balefully at the woman as she spoke with feline grace and venom, his obsidian gaze oblivious of her beauty and sensuality. Still seated, the dark mage reached into his robe and produced a piece of black chalk. "They seek the wave lily, do they. Let them try!" Isandaier spoke in a dry whisper. He then proceeded to make strange designs and runes upon the very floor he sat. His shrouded minions had placed four large earthen wine jars filled with blood in a semi-circle around where he was seated before they had departed. Isandaier marked the jars with the same symbols he had etched on the dry floor, chanting in a strange tongue all the while. Cyrziniel recoiled at these words and backed away.
Then the tall mage rose and exactly on the spot he had been seated, he drew the symbol of life and immediately the one for death right over it. His chanting grew louder and reverberated around the damp caverns. Isandaier's face darkened as a chill rose in the air. His words now came in puffs of white and his voice took on a hallow aspect as if he called from a vast deep. Mist roiled over the circle of earth, blue and flecked with dark silver, and still he intoned the primordial spells. The hairs on Isandaier's arms and legs stirred and rose. He could feel the power rising within him, curling through his bones.
In the center of the shrouding mist light flashed, argent and azure lightning. In silence the air of the cavern quivered as to a monstrous clap of thunder. Then the four earthen jars shattered into numberless grains of dust and the parched soil drank blood. The teneous vapours above began to glow. Never ceasing his incantation, Isandaier sought within himself the source of the power that coursed his veins, seized on it, bent it to his bidding. With ever fibre of his being he willed a summoning, he commanded a summoning, he forced a summoning.
Blood clotted earth cracked and broke and a hand clawed its way upward to the surface. A hand withered and twisted, its nails like claws, its skin a mottled, moldy gery-green. More of such monstrously deformed hands broke free of the blood caked earth, clawing their way free. Cyrziniel backed away, pressing herself to the damp walls of the cavern, she forcefully held back the strong desire to purge herself of the night's feast.
Slavering panting beat its way up from below, drawn out by Isandaier's demonic chanting. They dug their way out from the bowels of the earth, stumpy misshapen creatures bearing little resemblance to humankind. Yet humans they all once were, victims of the fatal disease brought upon them by Isandaier. There was no distinciotn between men and women, with hairless mottled skin stretched over domed skulls whose opalescent eyes had seen the grave from inside. Their lipless mouths emitted a cacophony of howls and lamentations.
"Silence!" Isandaier commanded, low and cold. He it was who had summoned, and they could do all but obey, though some glared at him with hellborn eyes. "Hear my words," the mage commanded, "Each of you have a task to perform. Seek out the ones who travel in search of the Wave Lily. Kill them all!" A low moan rose from the collective throats of the damned, but Isandaier silenced them, "Nothing else will you do, unless I command. Now be gone!"
"I hear," came the muttering moans, " and I obey!"
Slowly the ghastly forms sank back into the darkened earth from where they came.
Isandaier leaned back contendedly as Cyrziniel stood silent and shook with fear and disgust. She had heard much of the dark mages power, but nothing had prepared her for this.
IN STEEL I TRUST, BY CROM!
Posts: 1265 | From: Grim Grey Mountains, The Frozen North | Registered: December 12, 2002
elenna
Keen Eyed Wanderer
Shirriff
posted January 03, 2003 12:11 PM
Bronwen had been watching the muscular mercenary practicing with his sword and flexing to impress the maidens. She rolled her eyes and went back to saddling her horse.
"It isn't as though we'll have time for anything like that." she muttered to Roan as she buckled his girth. He snorted as if he agreed, shaking his gray mane. She patted his neck and led him out. Everyone had left the practice yards by then.
"Are we NEVER going to leave?" she almost yelled, frustrated.
posted January 03, 2003 07:26 PM
"Patience my dear Bronwen, we are leaving now." Corrah said as she led her Buckskin mare, Runya out to meet Bronwen.
"Good, I was beginning to think we might never leave." Bronwen replied as she mounted her horse.
"Alright then, everyone up, and lets go." Corrah mounted Runya followed by everyone else swinging onto their mounts backs.
The team left for the gates, but where stopped by the guards, "You know, once you leave, you may not return."
"Yes, but we will return, and when we do we will carry the ingredient that will cure your people. Good day fair guards!" Corrah said as she nudged her horse into an easy trot.
"We do have a course set don't we?" Layla asked.
"Ofcourse we do...I think." Corrah said, an odd glint in her eyes.
"You think?" Bronwen asked.
"Well, we'll figure it out." She smiled to herself, and went into her own little world, soothed by her horses steady beat of hooves.
posted January 03, 2003 10:20 PM
The journey begins...
Neandarth saddled up one of the horses from the stable and swung himself upon the animal. Breakfast was meagre and he was somewhat subdued by Layla's cold attitude, but he knew riding beside Raven would brighten up his day. He wondered if the lovely shapeshifter would indeed turn herself into a horse again, or perhaps into a bird. Though he wished that she would keep to her natural elven form and ride beside him.
Corrah led the company, with Bronwen, the guardswoman, beside her. Then followed Belom, armed to the teeth with lances and spears, with him rode another spearman, Kerediac. Layla followed them, seated in a wagon which carried supplies and vessels in which to carry back the plants. The wagon was harnessed to two horses and driven by a stout man, named Orlos.
Neandarth brought up the rear and looked around hopefully for Raven, in what ever form she may be, he knew she would acknolegde him.
As the party moved on, the townspeople, of whom had the strength and will, gathered by to bid them farewell. Their hopes and fears, their dreams rested on the weary shoulders of the departing.
Posts: 1265 | From: Grim Grey Mountains, The Frozen North | Registered: December 12, 2002
mym
Maiden du Mystique
Chief Shirriff
posted January 04, 2003 10:04 AM
Raven hadnt brought a horse, as most of the others had, and she cursed not thinking of this. Besides, she wasnt really used to riding on a horse, more in a horses spirit. Neandarth himself had brought a horse, but he glanced at Raven, remembering when he had last rode on that beautiful black mare. Layla however hadnt brought a horse and was looking a little panicky as the others mounted. Raven hesitated. Now, she would be better to just go and get a horse, but when this would be so much easier....
No, she told herself firmly. It would be easy. Too easy. And she would do it more and more until there would not just be a mercenary and a young scribe who knew. And THAT would lead to problems.
"Excuse me Corrah, I have to, erm, yeah..." She tailed off uncertainly and ran to a stables she knew not far away. Walking into the darkness she could see the dark velvet figures looking at her with their huge soft eyes. Looking around she saw one she had admired before, but knew the owner disliked. He was a man who relied on luck, and such an incredibly white horse, but with that strange mark on its head was thought of as unlucky. Ah well, she wasnt really stealing then... she was borrowing, without technically getting permission....
Swinging onto the white stallions bare back- it was easier to ride bareback- she rode out into the open and caught up with the group, where Layla had also got herself a ride. They rode out of the gates with an angry crowd murmering behind them, being held back by guards; it would not be unusual for such a mutinous group to try and break free, to get out of the plague ridden city. Raven forced herself to stay calm- like the bird form she so often used, she wasnt used to large groups of people so close, on all sides. The group rode through at a fast walk.
As soon as they were out of the ill city, the gates closed hurriedly behind them, with many a longing glance from bystanders. When they were out they continued to ride in silence for a moment before Corrah sighed deeply, happily, expressing what Raven herself felt. It was like a weight had been lifted of her shoulders, the oppresive deathly risk taken away. She gave a small laugh and Corrah glanced back at her and grinned.
"Well, we're out then." Raven said quietly. "At last." The others were also smiling now, until Bronwens smile began to fade.
"Aye. But theyre not." She said softly with a glance towards the city. "They still remain, forced to stay there by the sickness."
Raven's smile also faded, but she rode up to the swordswoman and gave her hand a small comforting squeeze. "I know Bronwen. And we shall rid them of that sickness, the sickness that claimed my oldest friend."
Give a man a fire and he'll be warm for a day
Sey a man on fire and he'll be warm for the rest of his life!
Posts: 756 | From: the edge of innocence | Registered: December 16, 2002
elenna
Keen Eyed Wanderer
Shirriff
posted January 07, 2003 05:23 AM
Bronwen looked sadly at Raven. "I am sorry for your friend. I too, am losing a friend. A little boy. It is a sad thing when such innocents suffer."
Neandarth called from his tall horse "And that is why we travel, ladies. Don't immerse yourself in sorrows. We have much work to do."
Bronwen smiled at him. "Like, maybe, stopping to let our horses rest and us to have some lunch? I'd hate to see them collapse before we even get out of Gondor."
They all laughed and stopped. Bronwen cooked them a hearty traveler's stew, and they ate in contentment, temporarily forgetting the grim nature of their mission.
posted January 07, 2003 09:31 PM
Neandarth ate with gusto, it was seldom that he had such well cooked meals on his hard life as a mercenary. As he ate, he shared a few jokes with the women, all save Layla found amusement. Neandarth felt strangely warm and happy when Raven laughed, her laughter sounded like silvered bells and songbirds in springtime. The grim nature of their mission was indeed forgotten for the while.
Meanwhile the halbardier, Belom, ate his meal in silence, often glaring at Neandarth. He hated mercenaries and this one seemed to warrant even more of his hate. It was inconcieveable for him that someone would expect payment for what he considered was duty to his people. Something Belom was trained to believe from a very young age. Kerediac and the portly Orlos didn't share Belom's sentiments. They laughed at the barbarian's jests as much as the others.
"Soon the sun will begin its westward descent" said Corrah, rising up, "Eat up, people. It's time to be on the road again."
Posts: 1265 | From: Grim Grey Mountains, The Frozen North | Registered: December 12, 2002
mym
Maiden du Mystique
Chief Shirriff
posted January 08, 2003 12:48 PM
Raven regretted leaving that close, cosy company. Bronwen had been kinder than the Shifter had thought, not hoighty toighty. Neandarth was easy company; strange that one whos livelihood was killing was so different in real life, as he told his jokes rowdily. Raven hadnt laughed as much in a long while.
Only two members of the party didnt laugh, Layla and Belom. Layla still seemed to have much on her mind- sad that one so young should carry such heavy burdens. Belom simply glared at all and sundry. She was uncomfortable about this practiucally silent member of the party.
They started off again and although the chatting was reduced, but not gone, the cosy atmosphere stayed on as they rode.
Give a man a fire and he'll be warm for a day
Sey a man on fire and he'll be warm for the rest of his life!
Posts: 756 | From: the edge of innocence | Registered: December 16, 2002
Laiedheliel
new Born
posted January 08, 2003 06:48 PM
Sorry for the long post...I've been sick and hafta catch up. *sheepish smile*
Layla lay awake in her bed for nearly an hour, watchful eyes clouded and troulbed by shadows of her nightmares. Everytime fatigue overtook her and her eyelids drooped closed, the backs of her lids became a screen onto which her dream was projected. Horrifying images haunted her thoughts with such perserverance that finally she rose and began to prepare for the journey ahead.
Rather than dressing in the bodice and skirt that was expect of her station (the expectation being the only reason she wore such inhibitive garb), she pulled otu of her drawer two sets of clothes, both composed of a tunic and linen pants. One set, which was of a dark and unidentifable color, she put on; the other she folded carefully and pakced in the bottom of her now empty bag. She gathered from her room the leather-bound volume she carried with her always, some spare parchemts and her quill and newly found bottle of ink. Layla paused and glanced around the room. Nothing extraordinary was to be found there, the closed of a room, filled with shadows and dust, that belonged to Layla. but she had spent many a night alone, working and dreaming of adventure in this room, and it was an omnious feeling to be leaving it.
Downstairs, she gathered more things, some maps, extra quills and spark ink. Layla moved cautiously, not wanting to disturb her sleeping grandfather. She want quietly through the curtain at the back of the store to the kitchen and found all of her efforts to be subtle needless. "What are you doing up so early?"
"Cooking breakfast. Yourself?" Her grandfather set a plate of hotcakes on the table in the center of the room.
"Preparing. Trying not to be too nervous." Her grandfather nodded in reply.
"Hungry?"
"No."
"I had a feeling. Thirsty?" He offered her a tall glass of orange juice.
"Parched." She took the glass and drained half of it in one gulp. Her grandfather gestured at the chair nearest her. Layla sank into it. They sat, silent, looking at each other. After a few minutes, her grandfather produced a small, shiny object from beneath the table.
"This belonged to your mother. She had asked me to give it to you when you were old enough to understand, and now I am. You look so very much like her..." He paused and cleared his throat. Layla's throat was so choked with tears that she couldn't speak. "Well, I supposed you have to leave. Be safe. savor every moment, and don't forget to write it down. Go on, Layla. I'll be here."
Unsure, Layla rose and turned, her mother's necklace clutched tightly in her hand. "Promise?" He nodded. Several emotions welled up inside her, sending opposite impulsed to her brain. Layla ignored them and walked out of the shop. The moment her feet touched the street, Layla ran.
Slowing finally to a brisk walk, Layla began to catch her breath. The recollections of dream and dread she had wanted to outrun still haunted her thoughts, mocking her, planting seeds of doubt in the scribe's fertile imagination. Attempting futially to shake off the shadow. Layla turned a corner and foudn the barbarian mercinary form the meeting last night showing off for some giggling girls.
Corrah, the healer from the meeting last night, apprached the barbarian and challenged him to a mock fight. layla took a seat on a nearby hummock to watch the show. The competetors exchanged what looked to Layla as a few light blows, but a soft noise above the party caught Layla's attention. Above them a raven circled, lower and lower, almost as if it were watching the fight. The raven let out a cry, though it's eyes held almost a human quality, an intelligence greater than any beast's. The play fight ended, the healer sheathed her sword, and the raven veered off course and slipped behind a building.
While she was watching the building for signs of the strange raven, the sword-maiden now returned to healer came over and greeted her. "Goodmorning, Layla," Corrah smiled.
Layla's gaze still drifted off in the direction of the building. "Goodmorning," she replied absentmindedly.
"What's wrong?" the healer inquired, genuinally concerned, her head cocked to one side.
"Nothing. I'm fine." The healer nodded and wandered off towards the rest of the approaching party. From behind the same building the raven had disapeared behind just a scant few moments later, Layla saw the elf enchantress that was to accompany the party on the quest appear. Layla looked at her with great interest, having heard but stories of the Elven kind and never seeing one for herself. Something about her appearance was...off, out of place, as though it didn't belong. Layla felt the right eyebrow on her face raise, the look her grandfather had described to her as her "lost, confused, and trying to repair the condition" look.
Layla walked right up to the elf, reached up, and pulled from behind her ear a small, velvety soft object: a feather. The elf glanced quickly from the young scribe to the feather and back again before taking Layla's arm in her own. "Why is it that you keep feathers behind your ears, Mistress Elf?" Layla asked casually, shifting into the state of mind that she occupied while writing, or while "taking notes" for her book.
"I see you possess the brains enough to match those fine eyes, child," the elf replied quietly. "Why do you suspect? What is your theory, then?"
"I have many theories, each as unlikely as the next. Mainly, I think that you are not the sorceress you claim to be, but one who can change her shape at will. Am I so far off?"
The elf smiled slightly. "Perhaps not." Inside, Layla beamed. Outwardly, though, Layla kept her composure and held onto it tightly. A shapeshifter in the party to save the city?
"Good morn to thee, fair ladies!" a deep, powerful voice boomed from somewhere above her. Layla turned to see the same mercinary towering over her.
"And to thee as well, fair Neandarth," Raven returned, smiling. Layla thought it looked a bit like they had eyes for them. "I trust you had a good night's rest."
The barbarian frowned. "I've had worse beds to lie on." He turned his attention towards Layla. "Hullo, young scribe. I am called Neandarth!"
"Layla!" Neandarth offered her his hand in greeting and she took it gently. His grip was overpowering, and she grimaced. The elf shifter swept the barbarain away, and Layla was the happier for it. The information in her brain was on the edge of overload, and she had the long ride ahead in mind for sorting it all out.
Caught without a horse and without a friendly soul to save her from such an embarassment, Layla found herself bouncing along behind the rest of the party in the back of the wagon. Layla sighed. This adventure wasn't starting out incredibly well. Her thoughts weighed heavy on her mind as they started out of the city. The largest crowd she had witnessed in a long while gathered to see them go, and possibly slip past the gates, which had become more of a barricade, protecting the rest of the world from sickness. She searched the crowd for a friendly face, but found none. A desprete shout caught her ear. "Layla! Come back safe!" Ailin cried over the dull roar of the crowd, and Layla's spirits were lifted slightly because of it. She waved back, but the thoughts of her grandfather and so many other things were not left behind.
After they passed through the gate and had put some distance between themselves and the city, the party seemed relieved to be outside of that city. But Layla could not leave behind her thoughts of friends and family who had fallen to the Pestilence...Her mind seemed to vibrate with the storm clouds that rolled across it.
They stopped a short while later and ate, but Layla could not find her appitite and picked at her food. The only other member of their strange fellowship who did not join the the festivites beside herself was a strange, silent man, angry and surly. Layla tried to recall his name...Belom. Layla wondered why this man was as subdued as she was. He couldn't possibly have as many concerns on his mind as she did.
Climbing resentfully into the back of the wagon in which she rode, Layla watched the sun begin to slide down the horizon toward the west and wondered what else this journey could hold in store for her.
[This message was edited by silverstorm1321 on January 08, 2003 at 07:06 PM.]
Posts: 37 | From: The Bleak Edge of Sanity | Registered: December 14, 2002
shadow_staar
The Fortuneteller
Town Local
posted January 09, 2003 05:48 PM
Corrah rode in front of the group, her elf eyes watching for anything unnatural. The sun was low, and cast a golden glow upon the party. They sky was full of beautiful hues of reds, yellows, and purples. She marveled at this beauty, and wished she could have seen it on a different occassion.
"Are you prepared for this journey Runya?" Corrah asked her mare.
The horse shook her head and bounced a little in her steps.
"We should find camp soon, the sun is almost down!" Neandarth shouted from the back.
"We will soon, but we had best cover as much land as possible before we camp!" She shouted back to him, "Come people, lets ride!"
Corrah nudged Runya into an easy canter, she also found a thrill in riding her mare. She smiled as Raven caught up and slowly began to pass her.
"Ah, a race mistress Raven?"
Raven nodded a yes, and spurred her stallion forward. Corrah leaned forward, and Runya ran.
"Ladies, we have no time for games!" Belom shouted.
The two elves looked at each other, and they both slowed their horses to a trot.
A while later, after the sun had gone to sleep behind the hills, the party stopped and set up their camp. Bronwen again cooked their meal, as tasty as the first.
"Alright everyone, get some sleep, we leave at dawn, our rode lies to the east."
Amin i waith dangeren i firn i guinar. Amin ith a riel guldur.
Posts: 177 | Registered: December 14, 2002
Cimmerian
The Sentinel!
Chief Magistrate
posted January 10, 2003 03:47 AM
The seedlings of love?
"An 'ere we shall rest," said Corrah, "And at first light on the morrow we shall ride over that hillock to the land where the wave lily grows. Get some rest for we will have plenty to do."
Dinner was as splendid a repast as lunch. Bronwen knew her way with food. Having has their fill the others all settled down to a night of sleep. But rest was the last thing in Neandarth's mind as he slowly crept over to where Raven sat, she was humming to herself in a voice so sweet that even bees would forsake their quest for nectar and come to listen. Looking over her shoulder, she smiled as the burly youth sidled up and flopped down beside her.
"The others can rest!" he whispered, "I sleep lightly, if at all. Years on the road have honed me thus."
Raven smiled, she looked into his blue eyes, as wild as the seas at a storm they seemed. His boyish smile, and the way the wind caressed his long dark hair over his handsome face captured her imagination. His smile broke into grin and she blushed, looking away.
"You elven sleep seldom too, if ever." Neandarth continued, "Corrah too is awake, she stands guard there, a worthy sentinel."
Raven looked back at the young mercenary. "What do you know of the elven?" She asked, her eyes dancing on his face inquiringly.
"Very little, though I have seen some and avoided some. I am yet to befriend any." Neandarth replied. "You may be the only elf I have ever been so close to."
Neandarth traced his fingertips up Raven's arm and over her shoulder, then gently ran them through her dark tresses, the elf maid closed her eyes and shivered.
"Sing, sweet Raven!" Neadarth whispered again, "Your voice is so soothing, so relaxing. Do sing on, milady."
He lay down his head on the elf maid's lap and closed his eyes. Looking down at him, the elven shapshifter placed her small hand on his head and closed her eyes, her full lips formed an 'O' as she sang the first notes of a lullaby so sweet that even the most tormented of souls would find respite. Neandarth smiled and let the weariness lift form his body as the soothing caress of sleep overcame him.
TEMPT NOT THE BLADE OF THE SENTINEL!
Posts: 1265 | From: Grim Grey Mountains, The Frozen North | Registered: December 12, 2002
mym
Maiden du Mystique
Chief Shirriff
posted January 10, 2003 09:37 AM
Raven rode her horse a little past Corrah, smiling slightly at the other elf, already cantering. Corrah raides an eyebrow and sped up a little as well, and Raven did the same again.
"A race mistress Raven."
At this the Shifter openly grinned and soon they were both galloping. Raven felt the thrill of her mare, like an extension of herself; she loved the speed like this, in elven or equine form. The healer was neck and neck with her-
"Ladies, we have no time for games!" The voice of Belom jerked them out of their dizzy adrenaline spell. Raven caught Corrahs eyes as they slowed and both elves rolled their eyes, and grinned. Inwardly Raven grinned even wider; she felt like she was actually part of this group, even if this was an early stage.
That night they sat in front of the campfire and she caught Neandarth looking at her intently, smiling slightly.
"You elven sleep seldom too, if ever. Corrah too is awake, she stands guard there, a worthy sentinel."
"What do you know of the elven?"
"Very little, though I have seen some and avoided some. I am yet to befriend any. You may be the only elf I have ever been so close to."
"Well, as you know, I am not exactly a normal elf." Raven replied softly.
"That makes it all the sweeter." Neandarth replied likewise. He moved closer, sitting right beside her now and she felt his breath on her cheek. "Raven..." He whispered. Now his hand moved onto her arm wth a soft touch, but it felt like electric to the elf, electric shots up her arm. He traced her arm upwards, onto her shoulder and brushed her silky black hair back behind her ear. She gazed into his eyes intently but she didnt move. His hand moved across the back of her neck and she shivered as she put her hand on his other hand.
He lay down on her lap and she looked down at him, smiling. As he requested, from her heart she began to sing, a soft song in the Forgotten language, older even than elvish. She felt him relax as her sweet notes flowed over him, her hand carressing his cheek softly. As the lullaby ended she smiled at him, remembering what he had said about 'having had rougher beds to lie on.'
"How does this compare then, brave warrior?" She murmered to him, but Neandarth was already sleeping softly and peacefully, and she knew he would dream peacefully. He shifted slightly and she caught his head, moving it onto her soft cloak lying on the ground to use it as a pillow. Bending over him so her nose was almost touching his, a dark strand of hair fell from behind Ravens ear, stroking the mercenarys face. "Good night, brave warrior." Raven whispered.
She continued to gaze into the fire, musing about many things, but a feeling of restlessness was coming over her; she couldnt think properly in elven form. Too many emotions...glancing at Neandarth she smiled again. A few seconds later a jet black raven flew from the spot, dancing on the still night breeze.
[This message was edited by mym on January 10, 2003 at 10:47 AM.]
Posts: 756 | From: the edge of innocence | Registered: December 16, 2002
elenna
Keen Eyed Wanderer
Shirriff
posted January 11, 2003 12:01 PM
Bronwen was awakened by the sound of soft singing. Raising her head, she saw Raven perched on Neandarth's lap, singing sweetly into his ear.
Silently she stood, pulled her cloak around her, and went to sit where their horses were tethered. She pulled an apple slice out of her pocket and handed it to Roan as he snorted into her hair. Then she glanced upward - a raven flew overhead, its wings making little noise. Bronwen sighed. She had no hope that she would be able to sleep this night. Might as well not even try,she muttered.
Bronwen stood and, not even bothering to saddle Roan, hopped on his back and they trotted off, not going anywhere in particular. The stars shone overhead as she rode.
-----------------------------
The dark clouds closing around me,
but I am not scared.
Thunder booms,
Lightening strikes,
Sending their warning,
Yet I am not afraid.
I am the Wanderer.
Posts: 654 | Registered: December 12, 2002
Cimmerian
The Sentinel!
Chief Magistrate
posted January 12, 2003 02:13 AM
Evil raises its ugly head...
Isandaier sat motionless, his dark unblinking eyes staring directly ahead, as if in some arcane trance. His calm face betrayed the savage turmoil that played out inside his mind.
"They are beautiful," Cyrziniel lied, referring to the hideous creatures that the evil mage had summoned. She despised being in the cave where the creatures had manifested, but she knew she had to, for Isandaier provided the means for her to get what she wanted. She swayed as in some trance herself as she neared the obsidian gaze of her lord. The loose diaphanous cloth of her robes caressing every vouptuous contour of her body with every step. Her sultry eyes caressed him.
He acknowledged her only with a casual wave of his hand. In three days, he thought, the party from Minas Anor would reach the Grey Havens and would acquire the accursed wavelily, the only elixir to his poison. He was sure that his minions would make short work of them, but then if they had an arcane or mage of even half his skill and prowess, the undead might be overcome.
With the nine acolytes of his order and the woman Cyrzinel and himself, powerful forces of darkness could be invoked to counter such mages or pretenders. Then again, it was his ultimate goal to destroy the Grey Havens, to spread his disease into the very heart of the place. And what better way than to have some of the very party of innocents who ventured there to be the bearers of his vile gift.
If this opportunity was to be missed, there wouldn't be another for a while and not one as easy. It was time to act now, if not he would have to wait longer, even longer than he had awaited this far.
"You will let me have them, Isadaier?" Cyrziniel's purr slided into his reverie.
"Of Course," he replied absently then pulled himself from his grim ruminations. "Have what?"
"The young mercenary and the shapeshiter," Cyrziniel said, "Have you not been listening?"
"Of Course, I have been listening. But tell me again about them."
"Our spies report that among the party is a shapeshifting elf, possible a magess and with her rides a tall barbarian youth."
"Go on!"
"The others are mere soldiers, ready to die at your commands, but there is something about the two that troubles me. I want them for my own sport?
"What need have you of them?" Isandaeir asked irritably, his mind still lingering on the young magess mentioned. Perhaps she could prove a threat.
Cyrziniel came closer to Isandaier and sank down to her knees before him, not once did he flich, his cold eyes staring at her. She leaned forward, her breath almost on his face, her lips caressing the line of his clenched jaw.
"Surely my great lord will deny me not this trifling that I ask?" she purred, with eyes closed.
"I deny you nothing," Isandaier said calmly, "Save what I can find use for."
Cyrzinel smiled, a vulpine smile, thowing her arms around the impassive man, she kissed him savagely.
After a while, the grim faced mage barked, "Enough of your toying, woman. Have your games with the two you seek, but come not to me lamentling if they prove too severe for you. Now go, back to your shadows, it is time for the shrouded to pray!"
IN STEEL I TRUST, BY CROM!
Posts: 1265 | From: Grim Grey Mountains, The Frozen North | Registered: December 12, 2002
elenna
Keen Eyed Wanderer
Shirriff
posted January 12, 2003 12:54 PM
The next morning, the party awoke early. Bronwen had returned during the night, and was already dressed. She was practicing her swordplay. Neandarth and Corrah both came over to watch.
"Bronwen!" Neandarth called. "You'd be able to practice harder if you had an opponent!" He stepped into the clearing and drew his sword. Bronwen smiled and nodded once.
"Very well, Neandarth." And with that, they squared away. The mercenary had the advantage of size, and his strokes were well-timed and heavy. Bronwen parried them with strength remarkable for a woman. Then, as Neandarth swung again, she stepped inside the arc of his blade, twisted around behind him, and pressed her swordpoint to the side of his jaw.
"You're right. That was much better than working on my own," she said simply.
-----------------------------
The dark clouds closing around me,
but I am not scared.
Thunder booms,
Lightening strikes,
Sending their warning,
Yet I am not afraid.
I am the Wanderer.
Posts: 654 | Registered: December 12, 2002
shadow_staar
The Fortuneteller
Town Local
posted January 12, 2003 01:23 PM
Corrah laughed slightly at Bronwen's comment, and smiled at the young guard.
"Ok everyone, tack up, and lets be on our way, we need to travel far, and ride hard today, if we want to save those people." She called to the party, her voice loud among the quiet trees. She found Runya quietly munching on some grass, and she walked up to her mare.
"Good morning." SHe said quietly. She brushed the mare down quickly, and got off any extra mud that she might have missed the previous night. She tacked quickly, and was mounted before everyone else.
"Hurry people, we have a job to do!" SHe called. She turned in her saddle and checked that her saddle bags tied securly to the saddle.
She walked Runya around a bit, and waited for everyone to be ready.
"Alright, over that hill we go." She pointed to the east. She nudged Runya into a trot, and looked back to make sure everyone was following.
She looked to the sky, and studied it. A storm was coming.
"Stupid weather." She mumbled to herself. "Come people lets ride! A strom will upon on later this afternoon! We best make it over that hill before it does. She nudged Runya into a canter, and the party followed, gaining ground to were the hill lay.
The wind and rain beat at their faces, and the mud was deep. They were making their way up the hill.
Runya slipped, and fell and Corrah tumbled off. She quickly got up and grabbed Runya's reins before the mare fell on top of Bronwen's horse.
"People, get off your horses, this mud is to deep to ride in!" She shouted above the wind and rain. "Layla! Help them with the wagon! Don't let the horses do all the work!" Corrah shouted.
"We must find shelter!" Belom called.
"No! We can't! We need to make it over this hill. We don't have time to find shelter!"
SHe led Runya through the mud, and the other followed. A clap of thunder, and bolt of lighting flashed across the sky. The two draft horses reared, and tried to get loose from Belom and Layla.
"Hold them! Don't let them get loose!" Corrah yelled.
"I'm trying!" Layla screeched, just as the horse broke free of her grasp.
"Hold her!" Corrah shouted to Neandarth, as she handed him Runya's reins. Raven followe Corrah, as they chased after the horse.
"Go to the left, I'll go to the right!" Raven shouted. They followed the horse, as he ran up the hill. He tripped and started to slide down.
"Catch him!" Corrah shouted. They ran up to him, and Raven caught the reins, and Corrah got behind him. They horse stood up and bucked in the air, almost knocking Corrah's head off.
"Hold him!"
Raven held on tightly as she tried to calm the horse. Corrah came up next to her, and spoke some soothing words into the horse, to calm his fear.
"Get them up here, and follow me." Corrah told Raven. The girl nodded, and went down the party.
"Neandarth, I'll take her, thank you." Corrah said, and she tied Runya's reins behind her head. She led the scared gelding, and Runya followed.
"Do you think it is wise to let your horse loose, mistress healer?" Neandarth asked.
"She will followe me were ever I go." Corrah replied, as they trudged through the mud, and the rain.
Amin i waith dangeren i firn i guinar. Amin ith a riel guldur.
Posts: 177 | Registered: December 14, 2002
Cimmerian
The Sentinel!
Chief Magistrate
posted January 13, 2003 12:20 AM
The Rains come...
Neandarth could kick himself, being bested at the Sword had always been a sore point with him. Very few people had done so, some were his teachers and others who did were long dead. If Neandarth had one weakness, it was of the fairer gender. He was always distracted by their comely charms and true to his nature, rather than focus on the weapon, he was enjoying the proximity of herself Bronwen bestowed upon him.
He had woken up a few moments prior, with Raven's cloak under him, warm and scented by her essence. He buried his face into the soft cloth, and snuggled tightly when Corrah stepped over and asked him to get up.
As he sat and breakfasted, after Bronwen cleared his head of dreams, it started to rain. Large drops of water pelted the barren rocks and dry grasslands with a loud clatter and hissing sound. Neandarth loved the rain and was much inclined to keep moving in the downpour. Though there were protests from some, Corrah decided to keep moving much to the mercenary's relief.
Dismounting to lead the horses through the mud, Neandarth helped Corrah with her mount as she tried to take control of the wagon.
Ooc - Read Shadow's post from here and come back to this following part -
"Do you think it is wise to let your horse loose, mistress healer?" Neandarth asked.
"She will follow me where ever I go." Corrah replied, as they trudged through the mud, and the rain.
Neandarth raised his eyebrows and smiled, he was yet to know of a beast of burden who would willingly follow its master with dire situations. Never the less, he led the horse he rode on by the reins as they headed for the nearby hill. The rain came down in a blinding sheet now and it would hinder the party much if they walked into an ambush. It was difficult to see far ahead and even hear in this deluge.
Looking back, he saw Raven struggling with her mount, she smiled at him exasperatedly as she came nearer, he waited for her. Reaching out his hand, he helped her over a ledge and asked, "Would it not be prudent for you to change into something that can cope with this rain better, though I am not one to complain, the streaming water agrees goodly with your beauty."
Raven blushed at his smile, and even in the rain her skin felt hot. She brushed his hand away. "I cannot change in front of everyone. Consider yourself favoured that I have let you in on my little secret."
Neadarth smiled, it was nice to be favoured. He let Raven pass him by and then fell in step behind her as she struggled to plough through the mud.
IN STEEL I TRUST, BY CROM!
Posts: 1265 | From: Grim Grey Mountains, The Frozen North | Registered: December 12, 2002
Nevtalathiel
Midnight's Mistress
Keeper of the pipe-weed
posted January 13, 2003 09:49 AM
Cyrziniel reached the mouth of the cave just before the rain had begun. She had spent the night outside, punishing Isandaier for her harsh treatment of him. She had also been doing something possibly more fun.
She had settled herself on the ground near a small stand of trees and, with the aid of some of the powder which hung at her belt had started a small fire. She had easily entered the state of concentration necessary, and had sent tendrils of her mind out searching for another. She found it without much trouble; the young man was unaware of the danger he was in and it meant she could reach inside his dreams with ease. He had dreamed of Raven, and by the fire it had drawn a smile from Cyrziniel; things were as she had expected. Another thing had dawned on her for the first time; she noticed how much Raven resembled her mother. Slowly and skillfully, she had begun to turn the dream over in her hands and mould it as she chose. Seemlessly Raven's face had been replaced by her own.
As the dawn had begun to rise, Neandarth too had stirred and Cyrziniel had relinquished her hold over it, letting Raven's face slip back. When he awoke, Neandarth would know nothing of the deception, thinking only that he had dreamed of Raven, but Cyrziniel smiled to think of his face when they met for the first time.
Inside the cave, the Shrouded and the legions of the dead stood behind Isandaier in silent rows.
"We have been waiting for you." He said, his cold tone did not question where she had been, it merely stated that she had better not do it again.
"Then it would be good to remember that I am worth waiting for" she replied, laughing and placing her arms around his neck; the sport of the night had been enough to make up for Isandaier's coldness towards her in the evening. "A storm is rising, you have planned well. Last night they camped just over the hills." She told him, and knew that the information would make up for her absence. As the Shrouded and the dead marched from the cave at Isandaier's command, she wondered whether it had indeed been chance which had brought the rain.
"By the pricking of my thumbs,
Something wicked this way comes." - Macbeth Act IV Scene i
Posts: 461 | From: The Hithershore | Registered: December 18, 2002
elenna
Keen Eyed Wanderer
Shirriff
posted January 13, 2003 03:33 PM
Bronwen struggled up the hill, pushing the wagon with her shoulder, trying desperately to free its wheels from the mud.
"The thrice-cursed rain!" she muttered to herself, indulging in a moment of helpless rage. The wheels themselves wouldn't budge. The draft horses strained at their traces, but no ground was gained.
"There is no way we're going to get up this hill," Bronwen said to Neandarth. He nodded grimly.
"We'll have to take some of this out, and leave the wagon. The horses can carry it. At least some of it," Neandarth said, punctuating this with a muttered oath. He and Bronwen stepped to the wagon and began to unload everything onto the muddy ground.
-----------------------------
The dark clouds closing around me,
but I am not scared.
Thunder booms,
Lightening strikes,
Sending their warning,
Yet I am not afraid.
I am the Wanderer.
Posts: 654 | Registered: December 12, 2002
Cimmerian
The Sentinel!
Chief Magistrate
posted January 13, 2003 10:34 PM
Kerediac and Orlos helped Bronwen and Neandarth as best they could in unloading the battered wagon and in tying the goods upon the backs of the horses. The beasts neighed softly, as if grateful for this recession of burden. It would be much easier for them to carry a load than drag it along in this hindering weather.
Belom took point along with Corrah and kept moving forward, leading their horses by the reins. The rain showed no signs of abating and suddenly the horses, all of them, neighed in sheer animal fear. Their instincts warned of danger.
Neandarth grumbled as he unsheathed his broadsword, Browen and COrrah already had their weapons in hand. Kerediac and Belom followed suit, and Raven walked up beside Layla, whom Orlos took it upon himself to protect. The large, jovial man wore a grim expression on his round face. The air, thick with the stench of wet grass and mud, now seemed filled with an odour even far foul.
IN STEEL I TRUST, BY CROM.
Posts: 1265 | From: Grim Grey Mountains, The Frozen North | Registered: December 12, 2002
Cimmerian
The Sentinel!
Chief Magistrate
posted January 14, 2003 05:18 AM
A Touch of Evil!
Suddenly the ground began to shake violently, making the muddy surface even more slippery to hold a footing. A few of the party fell, getting mud and silt all over them. Layla screamed, her eyes wide with fear, she pointed at Orlos. The fat man appeared to be struggling more that the others. Neandarth stared in disbelief as a twisted grey, rotting hand reach out from the muddy soil and pinned the large man by the throat. He struggled violently, but even as Neandarth moved towards him, the earth under his feet shifted and cracked open and similar hands from the nether reached upward and grabbed at his legs.
"Evil spirits!" yelped Kerediac as he too felt himself gripped by similar hell born hands. Everyone drew their weapons, and Layla screamed louder. Neandarth scrambled to his feet and tried to pry his leg free but the leathery fingers held on with pretenatural strength. Another deformed hand burst through the mud and reach for him, but his broadsword leaped from its sheath and arched downward, One severed hand dropped to the floor and another still gripped him. But at least he thought steel would slice them.
With his sword point he pried the fingers loose from his ankle, but even as the hand fell to the ground, the head of the creature, with pointed ears and dead, haunted eyes above a lipless gash of a mouth, smashed up through the mud and snarled at him. Handless arms stretched out to the severed hands lying in the muddy ground and the mottled flesh seem to flow and once again the hands were attached to the arms.
"Foul sorcery!" bellowed Neandarth and his broadsword swung and sliced the head off his attacker. "We need enchantments to fight these fiends." he cried, looking for Raven, but she was nowhere within his line of sight.
Corrah and Bronwen agreed with the barbarian as they too struggled against their unassailable foes. The rain came down incessantly and Neandarth made his way toward a hysterically screaming Layla, leaving his headless opponent to grope around for its head in the mud. The severed head rolled around in the mud, its hellborn eyes glaring after the barbarian.The creature that had attacked Orlos now turned on Layla, having ripped the entrails out of the fat man, its leathery grip inches from her face. With a shriek, Layla fainted, as Neandarth reached her side. Grabbing her as she fell, he cut her free of her undead captor. There was nothing there to do but die.
"Flee! We must flee this place!" The mercenary bellowed. Tossing Layla like a sack of meal over his shoulder, the barbarian turned and ran. "We need enchantments to slay these things!"
Belom grimaced, but he knew the uncouth mercenary was right, he called for Bronwen, Kerediac and Corrah to retreat.
NEandarht ran a few hundred paces until they reach a grove of tall trees. Layla had stirred in Neandarth's grip as he ran, she moaned and then screamed. Remembering the tenacity of the hand that had gripped his leg, Neadarth lowered Layla to the ground and bent to feel along her leg. His fingers encountered a lump of leathery skin and sinew, it writhed at his touch. With and oath he ripped it from her flesh and hurled it into the rain.
Layla sobbed openly now. "Those demons... what are they, where did they come from... they killed Orlos?" she wailed, "Oh, Eru protect us!"
Neandarth held her close and gently clamped his hand over her mouth, "Quiet yourself, girl!" he said in a low voice, "We will wait here for the others. The demons are minions of the Nameless enemy, no doubt. Remember, show them no fear, show them no pain!"
IN STEEL I TRUST, BY CROM!
Posts: 1265 | From: Grim Grey Mountains, The Frozen North | Registered: December 12, 2002
elenna
Keen Eyed Wanderer
Shirriff
posted January 14, 2003 08:42 AM
Bronwen wiped her sword blade with a rag. It was dripping with grayish blood. Only the whiteness of her face betrayed how truly shaken she was.
"Neandarth is right," she called out, masking all fear in her voice. "Something is controlling those creatures, and we can't show them our fear. We must bury our dead and keep moving."
They dug a grave in the mud and buried the torn body of Orlos. Layla wept, and even Corrah and Raven couldn't suppress tears. Bronwen stood with clenched teeth. She had liked Orlos - he had been a cheerful, steadfast man. Whoever this sorcerer was, he had killed one of her companions.
"You shall not go unavenged," she whispered as she and Neandarth filled in the grave.
-----------------------------
The dark clouds closing around me,
but I am not scared.
Thunder booms,
Lightening strikes,
Sending their warning,
Yet I am not afraid.
I am the Wanderer.
Posts: 654 | Registered: December 12, 2002
shadow_staar
The Fortuneteller
Town Local
posted January 17, 2003 12:36 PM
Corrah quickly tended to Layla, and walked over to Neandarth.
"Thank you." She told, wiping the rain out of her eyes.
"For what?"
"For taking care of Layla, I don't know what would have happened if you wouldn't have tore that thing off." She nodded, and walked over to Bronwen.
"Are you alright?" Corrah asked gently.
"Yes, I'm fine, but whatever is trying to stop us will pay." Bronwen hissed.
"Your right, they will, and to do so, we should keep moving. The undead will come to look for us again." Corrah turned, and spoke clearly,"Alright, everyone up, we need to move! The undead will be back! Gather the horses, and you stuff. We WILL make it over this hill!" She called to them.
Amin i waith dangeren i firn i guinar. Amin ith a riel guldur.
Re: Search for Healing
mym
Maiden du Mystique
Chief Shirriff
posted January 17, 2003 12:58 PM
Raven jumped away as she thought she felt something clawing at her ankle, and made the mistake of looking down. Oh, she hadnt imagined it, something was clawing at her ankle. With a stifled shriek she leapt away. What in the name of Eru...
The group were all otherwise engaged. None of them were looking, taking any notice...she bit her lip. Dare she do it...? Another mottled grey hand clawed at her ankle and she made up her mind. The ankle began to change...
Thickening under the creatures hand, her foot and the other foot began to grow soft black fur. Underneath were strong and overall heavy hooves. Grimly Raven smiled, stopping the change there, and with a sort of satisfaction she brought down her foot hard. A strange muffled squeal emmited from the ground before the hand lay limp.
Corrah, at the front of the group, turned at the noise but the rain covered the sight of Ravens horse hooves. She hoped so anyway.
Changing back swiftly she raced onwards, after the group. trying to avoid the hands. Her horse! She stopped and turned as fast as the mud would allow and started back down the hill, heedless of the mud until she felt her feet slipping beneath her...
Give a man a fire and he'll be warm for a day
Sey a man on fire and he'll be warm for the rest of his life!
Posts: 756 | From: the edge of innocence | Registered: December 16, 2002
Laiedheliel
new Born
posted January 17, 2003 04:57 PM
The first days of the journey passed swiftly for Layla. Layla learned early to adjust to the jolting of the wagon when she tried to write her records. She also began to write down a sort of journal on some of her other parchment. She started on a long, curled piece of parchment, keeping her writing neat and tiny to make it last as long as she could.
Layla rode along in the wagon, using the trained disipline of her muscles to move smoothly with the motions of the wagon. Storm clouds boiled overhead, and Corrah urged them on to reach the other side of the hill ahead before the storm hit.
Water flew like darts through the air, propelled by the blinding winds that came with the storm. The road underneath the party turned to squishy mud, and the sound of the horses hooves changed from a firm clop to a wet splooching noise. Corrah's horse stumbled and sent it's rider tumbling off. "People, get off your horses, this mud is too deep to ride in!" the healer shouted back to the adventurers. "Layla," she re-directed her shout, "Help them with the wagon, don't let the horses do all the work!"
Layla stuffed her bag under some of the other cargo in the wagon, got a grip on the side, and kicked off the wagon bed, sending her body over the side of the wagon and into the river of mud. Layla nearly lost her footing as she waded up to the horses and took the reigns in her hands. The horse struggled in fear of the storm, and Layla whispered comforting words to the horse over the noise of the storm, but they went unheard. "Hold them!" Someone shouted. "Don't let them get loose!"
"I'm trying!" Layla screamed back, her voice conveying in it's pitch her high-strung mood. The horse reared back, and the slippery reigns were torn from her hands. The horse shot off, nearly knocking her to the ground. The wagon stood still, and Layla knew it would have sunk into the ground by now. "What about the wagon? It't won't easily move!"
"So we'll put our backs into it," Bronwen said as she passed Layla. A few moments later Layla joined Bronwen, putting her shoulder into the back of the wagon, trying to find a grip to push the wagon out of the flowing mud.
"We'll have to take some of this out, and leave the wagon. The horses can carry it. At least some of it," Neandarth said, and Layla perked up her ears. She hefted herself over the back of the wagon and began to hand things out to Bronwen and Neandarth. When her hand landed on her bag, she slung it over her shoulder and across her chest, accentuating her features.
Some of the other members of the party began tying the unloaded gear onto the backs of some of the horses, and Layla did what she had last time-flung herself over the side of the wagon and into the river of mud. Layla slipped up between two of the horses and gripped the saddle straps, both to help her wade through the mess and to help with the horses.
The rain still poured down on the party, but the horses' neighing was different. There was an underlying tone of animal fear, more than is usually caused by a mere storm. The warriors around Layla drew their weapons, feeding off the animal awareness. Layla looked around, searching through the curtain of rain. She could find no visible threat. She began to ready herself internally for battle, tightening and relaxing each muscle in her body and shifting her awareness. What came next she never expected.
The ground beneath them began to tremble, making Layla's footing even harder to maintain. Orlos, the man who had taken it upon himself to guard the seemingly helpless healer, found himself pinned by a large, grey, rotting hand that sprung from the ground. Layla's eyes grew wide with fear, and before she could still it, a scream bounded from her throat. Layla's fear battled with the training of her mind. What was in front of her didn't make sense, it was like something out of one of her grandfather's books. Layla went into shock, nearly losing control over her body, running on instinct. Sound escaped her throat uninhibited, and if she were anywhere near where her body resided, she would have noted that she has quite a vocal range.
When she came back to her senses, Layla was weeping, incoherent, and in a completely different place, her bag nearly choking her. "Those demons...what are they? Where did they come from? They killed Orlos?"
Neandarth held her close and gently clamped his hand over her mouth, "Quiet yourself, girl!" he said in a low voice, "We will wait here for the others. The demons are minions of the Nameless enemy, no doubt. Remember, show them no fear, show them no pain!"
Layla's memory returned slowly, and the memory of her first reaction to the creatures disgusted Layla. She couldn't believe that she had reacted like that. Corrah came over to see if she was all right, but Layla waved her off. She was so angry with herself that she wasn't sure that she would be able to talk to anyone coherently for the next hour.
Corrah turned and spoke over the storm to the entire fellowship, "All right, everyone up, we need to move! The undead will be back! Gather the horses, and your stuff. We WILL make it over this hill!" Layla stood, wondering what she should do. She had been mountless before the attack, and leaving the wagon behind left her without a ride. Who would be kind enough to share?
"I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear." --From the Litany against Fear of the Bene Gesserit rite.
Posts: 37 | From: The Bleak Edge of Sanity | Registered: December 14, 2002
Cimmerian
The Sentinel!
Chief Magistrate
posted January 17, 2003 10:00 PM
The rain now subsided to a drizzle and faint sunlight streaked through the dripping trees. The mangled body of Orlos was buried in the mud nearby, overseen by Bronwen. Neandarth wondered who had dragged the heavy corpse all the way where they were. Perhaps Belom and Kerediac.
The tall youth looked around for Raven and then his furrowed brow eased and he smiled. The shapeshifter came awkwardlyslipping and sliding over the wet grass and land and joined the party. Neadarth walked over to her and caressed her cheek lightly, she smiled and returned the favour and then turned to face Corrah.
"What in Eru's name are we up against?", she asked,her melodic voice now quavering.
"Someone very powerful and evil!" grunted Belom, his dark eyes flitted from person to person.
"Whoever it is, we shall overcome him!" Corrah stated grimly.
"I would have asked for a hundred coins of gold if I'd known dark sorcery was involved," muttered the mercenary and Belom and Bronwen glared at him.
Kerediac stood next to Layla. Orlos was his friend and he was too saddened to heed any of the conversation. Layla meanwhile, had recomposed herself, making up her mind firmly to not be taken unawares like that again. She hated the thought of being rescued, and that too by a sellsword who seemed to swoon over a shapeshifting elf. She wondered if Kerediac would offer to share his mount with her, since the wagon was destroyed.
IN STEEL I TRUST, BY CROM!
Posts: 1265 | From: Grim Grey Mountains, The Frozen North | Registered: December 12, 2002
mym
Maiden du Mystique
Chief Shirriff
posted January 20, 2003 10:27 AM
Raven led her horse, not wanting to leave the beast in danger in case...in case Something came up from the ground again. She crooned softly to it, but watched her own feet carefully.
Dont worry, little Raven. You wont come to any harm. Raven jerked then smiled as she recognised the familiar voice in her mind. The beautiful woman in her mind had spoken to her since she was little, but her figures always remained blurred. Other children had had imaginary friends, but not ones that seemed to live in their mind....Raven felt a shiver run down her body, but forced herself to believe it was the cold.
Where are you headed, little bird?
"The havens." Raven replied in her mind. She felt the other woman smiled.
Ahh, the havens....
Something grabbed Ravens ankle again, stronger this time; she hadnt realised, had been preoccupied with the Woman. She kicked out against it, but another grabbed her other foot, pulling sharply so her feet flew out from under her. The reins were dragged out of her hands.
Hands, hands everywhere...they were all over her body as she thrashed wildly in the dark mud. Managing to get a hand free she pulled opne of the small knives from her clothing and swiped at something. She turned, trying to pull her other arm free and looked into a face, centuries dead. Gritting her teeth against the scream that was welling up inside her she fought wildly still, even as the sucking mud dragged her underneath the mud.
But there was not just mud here it seemed. She felt her legs slip through, apparently hanging into some sort of hollowed out space beneath. Oh Gods....Her mouth was full of mud, so were her eyes, hr ears, her nose, her lungs....her entire body was going underneath the mud...
Give a man a fire and he'll be warm for a day
Sey a man on fire and he'll be warm for the rest of his life!
Posts: 756 | From: the edge of innocence | Registered: December 16, 2002
Cimmerian
The Sentinel!
Chief Magistrate
posted January 22, 2003 11:14 PM
Neandarth gasped, his eyes wide with horror as the soggy ground appeared to swallow the lovely Raven before his helplessly outstretched arms. He was too flabbergasted to move, and then instinct and warrior skill took over as he dove in after her. All thought of his own safety having left his senses. As he clawed at her, she slipped deeper into the swampy ground until she was but all gone and then Neandarth found his fingers raking across the hard packed earth beneath him. The soft, squelching mud had suddenly hardened over Raven and she was no more to be seen.
Desperately, Neadarth, Corrah and Bronwen tried to dig at the hard ground with their weapons, but only succeeded in damaging their steel.
"She'll be fine," said Layla, almost in a hoarse whisper and Neandarth jumped. he hadn't noticed her silent approach, "You and I well know of her special gift!"
"What do you mean?"
"You know what I mean, mercenary!" Layla smiled, "She may as well adapt herself to a life underground long enough to survive a rescue."
Neandarth eyed the young scribe warily. There was more to her than what met the eye. But she was right, there was no gain in trying to rescue one who was far more capable of protecting herself than anyone of them. It would be prudent to carry on with the quest and pray that Raven could join them soon.
IN STEEL I TRUST, BY CROM!
Posts: 1265 | From: Grim Grey Mountains, The Frozen North | Registered: December 12, 2002
Nevtalathiel
Midnight's Mistress
Keeper of the pipe-weed
posted January 24, 2003 11:00 AM
The barrow was large. So large that it resembled a hill, and that was what the travellers had taken it to be, but Cyrziniel knew better. she stood in the main chamber and waited. Above her head a scrabbling noise could be heard drawing swiftly closer. A slab of stone fell from the ceiling to the floor and a shower of earth followed. Cyrziniel stood, statue-like, waiting. The inhabitant of the barrow dropped from the roof dragging a gasping Raven behind him. Cyrziniel handed him a small coin, which he placed in his mouth with his numb grey fingers.
"Thank you for your services, we have a few things to talk about. I will be here a while longer." Cyrziniel said, and her voice had none of the sweetness she used with and Isandaier, and yet none of the cruelty she would use on Raven. The dead man nodded dumbly and shuffled away into the shadow.
Raven had been sitting on the floor where she had been dropped, coughing and splutterng and smeared with mud. Cyrziniel turned to her in the flickering torchlight and helped her to her feet.
"Raven" She said, looking the girl up and down, and her voice sounded dreamy and far away. "Raven" she repeated as if the word took several repetitions to accept. "Raven" Again, but this time it had a final air to it, and when she spoke again, her voice would be quite different.
"I've wanted to meet you for some time now, in the flesh." Cyrziniel added the words crisply for effect; they both knew they had spoken before, if it could be called speaking. "And I'm sure you've wanted to meet me, but do you know who I am Raven? Do you know who you are?
"By the pricking of my thumbs,
Something wicked this way comes." - Macbeth Act IV Scene i
Posts: 461 | From: The Hithershore | Registered: December 18, 2002
shadow_staar
The Fortuneteller
Town Local
posted January 24, 2003 12:34 PM
"Dammit!" Corrah hissed, as all they reached was dirt and more dirt, and not Raven, "We can't afford her loss! We need her! She is powerful."
"Don't worry we will get her back," Bronwen said soothingly, "It looks like Neandarth took this really hard," She pointed to the mercenary hanging over the spot where they were digging.
"He likes her," Layla said as she walked over to them.
"Well, we should start a fire or something, rest here, and hope that the rain doesn't start up again," Corrah suggested.
"Ok people, lets set up, and form a plan!" Bronwen told everyone.
The company slowly gathered their things, and began to set up camp. They started a fire, and Bronwen cooked another delicious meal.
After they ate, they gathered around the fire, and started to formulate a plan.
Little did they know, they were being watched...
-----------------------------
Do not try to bend the spoon, that is impossible. Instead realize the truth.
What truth?
That there is NO spoon...
::BENDY BENDY::
Posts: 177 | Registered: December 14, 2002
mym
Maiden du Mystique
Chief Shirriff
posted January 25, 2003 03:36 AM
Raven was thrown down on the floor, spluttering and gagging as she tried to clear the mud out of her throat and mouth. The dead mud...
She shuddered and calmed her breathing. She didnt look up until she heard the dead man, the owner of the barrow she thought, shuffle away. Another stood there, now holding a torch over her. She forced herself to look up, raising her chin from the muddy floor to look at the woman in front of her. Her eyes adjusted to the torchlight and she forced the gasp in her throat back as she looked into almost a mirror of herself.
To her surprise the woman extended an elegant hand to her. After a moment, Raven accepted and pulled herself up.
"Raven." Dreamy, like a wvoice from the past.
"Raven." Wondering, unbelieving this time.
"Raven."
The way the woman said it this time made Raven shiver inside. Although the elfs voice was as sweet as honey, it held the finality of a tomb.
I've wanted to meet you for some time now, in the flesh. And I'm sure you've wanted to meet me, but do you know who I am Raven? Do you know who you are?"
Raven knew well who the woman was. "The elf, the beautiful...Cyrzinniel." She murmered. The womans eyes widened for a moment and her perfect mask slipped.
"How do you know my name?" She snapped.
"You...I saw it the first time we met. I-" She straightened up and said in a firmer voice. "I just know." Truth be told she didnt know exactly how...
Now the elfs mask was back and Raven looked once again into the face of the woman she thought she had known for years. She brought the torch closer.
"And do you know who you are Raven?"
"More than you, of that I am sure." Raven replied warily. The woman glared then smiled slightly as if something was funny. "Aye. You do indeed take after your mother."
In a flash Raven had a knife out, her face only few centimetres from Cyrzinniels face. "What do you know of my mother?" She whispered into the others face.
Suddenly she gasped as a band of ice tightened around her slim waist. It kept tightening, squeezing the breath out of her with every painful yank. Suddenly she was released and fell to her knees gasping, her knife falling from her hand and skittering across the muddy floor. Cyrzinniel crouched down to her eye level and looked straight into her face. Raven, in such pain as she was- it felt like a rib was broken- forced herself to look back into eyes as black as her own.
For a moment Cyrzinniel stared into the shapeshifters eyes and Raven could see that there were more emotions twisting inside than she had let out...Then she was gone, taking the torch with her, leaving Raven kneeling on the floor, left with her own confused thoughts and half memories.
Give a man a fire and he'll be warm for a day
Sey a man on fire and he'll be warm for the rest of his life!
Posts: 756 | From: the edge of innocence | Registered: December 16, 2002
Cimmerian
The Sentinel!
Chief Magistrate
posted January 28, 2003 12:05 AM
As Raven came to grips with herself under Cyrziniel's malicious ministrations, from deep within the cavernous underground came echoes of sinister laughter, growing louder with every wave instead of softer. Cyrziniel winced, this would ruin all her plans, she thought desperately. Isandaier intended to have Raven all to his own. Then, as if from the depths of the nether, a voice hideous yet full of charm and melody broke into a chant -
You were mesmerised slowly
Till you can't believe your eyes
Ecstasy controls you
What you give will serve me well
Without warning you're here
Like magic you appear
I taste your fear
You're so afraid
And I feed the flame
In this night
you come to me
You know you want
My Touch of Evil
In this night
I will set you free
You can't resist
My Touch of Evil
Aroused with insane desire
I have put you in a trance
Sacred visions of fire
You do not have a chance
A dark angel of sin
Preying deep from within
Come take me in
You're so afraid
And I still feed the flame of fear
In this night
you come to me
You know you want
My Touch of Evil
In this night
I will set you free
You can't resist
My Touch of Evil
The bone numbing chill of the caverns would freeze any mortal yet Raven perspired as if she was in a furnace, her mind filled with Isandaier's evil will. Cyrziniel's frustration knew no bounds. She had to break this occult contact.
IN STEEL I TRUST, BY CROM!
Posts: 1265 | From: Grim Grey Mountains, The Frozen North | Registered: December 12, 2002
Nevtalathiel
Midnight's Mistress
Keeper of the pipe-weed
posted January 28, 2003 10:03 AM
Through gritted teeth Cyrziniel cursed the fates. She had to break free from Isandaier's mental hold over her. He would know by now where she was and what she had been doing, and knowing this made her curse again.
Her feet felt rooted to the ground and her limbs felt like the marble they resembled. Mentally she strove with Isandaier's will.
"I'm not the one you want." She told him, andreached only blackness. "I'm not the one you want." She repeated more firmly, pressing the statement further. "She's there, you've got here, let me go." A shiver ran the length of her spine and if she had had control over her muscles, she would have winced at it's intensity. "Let me go Isandaier." Again nothing, but she was almost certain he'd heard her.
By now the pain was excrutiating and tears ran down her frozen cheeks and spilled onto the dark earth below. "Let me go Isandier." Even mentally it was a sob. "Please let me go, please, please." Her voice broke into a sob which was strong enough to convulse her body for a moment and she was free. Cyrziniel collapsed onto the dirt floor like a dropped doll and the torch she had been holding rolled away down the passage. Cyrziniel could not make out how far away it's ball of illumination finally come to rest - her eyes were blurred with tears, which she bitterly and swiftly wiped away. Shakily she stood and wondered what she should do next.
"By the pricking of my thumbs,
Something wicked this way comes." - Macbeth Act IV Scene i
Posts: 461 | From: The Hithershore | Registered: December 18, 2002
mym
Maiden du Mystique
Chief Shirriff
posted January 28, 2003 11:14 AM
raven could feel rather than hear thee chant at first, until it came down, reaching into her ears. But not just in normal hearing; it forced its way mercilessly into her mind, her brain, it sent a chill through to her very bones. The chil was intense, so intense, its icyness burning. Raven sat up, pressing back against the muddy wall, trying to get away from terrible chill, sweat breaking out on her body now as the chill combined with a heat as fierce as the fire of mount doom.
She felt her body shutting down. Her eyes closed and her fists were clenched. She had never heard the words, yet it seemed she knew them from somewhere deeper.
Please, let go, let me go, let me go...
"LET ME GO!"
The shriek echoing her own thoughts resounded from along the corridor, breaking he spell momentarily as Raven looked up to the sound. "Im not the one you want!" Again the despairing voice.
Raven smiled slightly to herself; Cyrziniel also felt this. But how could that be? It felt like something she had known for so long, like something personal, from her own body...
She gasped in pain as the heat and ice returned to her body suddenly, tensing her whole body up. She was passing out, she knew it...
Then it was gone. The grip was released and Raven fell once more to the floor, panting. The supernatural chill was leaving her body now, leaving the regular cold of the underground. After lying for a few moments, she forced herself to her hands and knees, then to standing. She retched emptily for a moment, then straightened and took a few deep breaths.
She had to get out of this place, had to get away from the barrow, from Cyrziniel...from the voice. Looking around she looked in the blackness for some way out of this nigtmare...
A true soldier fights not for hate of what is in front of him, but for love of what is behind him.
-м¥м
Posts: 756 | From: the edge of innocence | Registered: December 16, 2002
elenna
Keen Eyed Wanderer
Shirriff
posted January 28, 2003 11:56 AM
Bronwen began to kick dirt in the hole she and Neandarth had dug in their fury. Her face was calm and grim, but inside she was screaming in frustration. Neandarth heard the sound of her teeth grinding together.
"Bronwen?" he asked. "Are you all right?"
"I hate this," she said quietly. "I hate being helpless like this."
-----------------------------
There is no spoon.
Posts: 654 | Registered: December 12, 2002
Laiedheliel
new Born
posted January 29, 2003 02:21 PM
Layla and the party stood, sad and confused, as the rain fell in sheets around them, blanketing them in moisture. Slowly foward they moved, wading through the muck the storm had created. Layla walked along the horses, carefully noting the way Raven led her own horse. But Layla walked not by choice but out of nessecity--the abandoned wagon had been her only form of transport. "He gave me scrolls and ink, but he couldn't have sent me with a horse..." Layla felt a pang of homesickness, but supressed it, knowing that the next few hours would be trying for her as well as the rest of the party.
Layla saw Raven's struggle before she heard her shallow shriek. The rotting hands reached up from the mud and seized Raven, pulling her downward into the dark river of mud. Layla found herself unable to move, her mind flying, analyzing the situation before she could drive her body to act--there was nothing she could do. She possessed no weapons, and her strength could not be any greater than that of Raven's herself. Raven was swallowed by the mud, pulled under by the grey hands of the undead.
Neandarth, Corrah, and Bronwen lunged at the place where Raven had disspeared, digging with their bare hands, trying futially to reach their lost companion. Layla knew the futallity of the action--none of the others had been taken by such force. Someone, the person or thing in command of the rotting hands, wanted Raven, and Raven alone. Layla's mind whirred, racing forward, seeing their problem from every facet.
"She'll be fine," Layla said, her own voice hoarse and barely above a whisper, laced with amusement. "You and I well know of her special gift!" The mercinary started; he obviously had not noticed Layla coming up towards the three miners from behind.
"What do you mean?" Neandarth returned.
"You know what I mean, mercenary!" Layla smiled, as though the plain facts were an inside joke of hers. "She may as well adapt herself to a life underground long enough to survive a rescue."
The mercinary eyed her with unmasked suspicion which did not suprise the scribe. He obviously had not held her in high esteem, thinking possibly that she were more of a liablity than an asset. Her mind followed quickly the path that the possiblity set up for her--would she prove yet to be an asset?
Dammit!" Corrah hissed. "We can't afford her loss! We need her! She is powerful."
"Don't worry we will get her back," Bronwen said soothingly. "It looks like Neandarth took this really hard." She gestured to the brooding mercenary.
"He likes her," Layla said, again stating something that had be unbelieveably obvious to her.
"Well, we should start a fire or something, rest here, and hope that the rain doesn't start up again," Corrah suggested, not noticing or not acknowledging the nonchalance in the scribe's voice.
"Okay, people, let's set up, and form a plan!" Bronwen shouted to the dwindling numbers of their party. The party gathered around, and someone started a fire. Bronwen prepared a meal, and Layla ate more than she had in any of the past days--a full meal. After everyone was finished eating, the party condesned, and gathered around the fire.
Council began, but Layla had already reasoned through much of what the party was attempting to work out. She listened with interest, but contributed little. The council was going the way she had expected it would, and there was little she needed do, besides answer the questions put to her. Her own questions buzzed in her head as well, and she half-hoped that the council would answer them.
------------------
"I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear." --From the Litany against Fear of the Bene Gesserit rite.
Posts: 37 | From: The Bleak Edge of Sanity | Registered: December 14, 2002
Nevtalathiel
Midnight's Mistress
Keeper of the pipe-weed
posted January 31, 2003 11:45 AM
A wave of her hand, and Cyrziniel had extinguished the torch. She did not need its light, she had brought it only because she had wanted to see Raven, and for Raven to see her. Now she wanted to remain unseen. Her eyes were sharp enough to allow her to see through the gloom in the cavernous chamber. Raven too it seemed had been released from Isandaier's call and Cyrziniel knew she would be handsomely rewarded if she could get the shapeshifter to him.
Slowly, she began to move towards Raven. She had a cat-like elegance and crossed the uneven floor without a sound. It took her only seconds to be behind Raven. With one hand, she grabebd the girl's wrist ad twisted the arm sharply behind her back. Cyrziniel clamped her other hand over Raven's mouth.
"You're not going anywhere." She hissed into Raven's ear, pressing her nails into raven's cheeks and feeling the deep crimson blood she could not see. "And you're not going to change. I know how it's done, and I know how to stop you doing it." She dragged her nails across Raven's cheek, scoring it deeply and muttered as she did so. "As long as the blood flows from your cheeks, you will stay elven. And after that, you should remember that I can trap you as any creature you choose to be." Cyrziniel's voice was crisp and seemed to define the space within the darkness. "Don't think you can escape me either, you may know my name, but you do not know who I am, and I do. I know more about you than you can possibly imagine."
"By the pricking of my thumbs,
Something wicked this way comes." - Macbeth Act IV Scene i
Posts: 461 | From: The Hithershore | Registered: December 18, 2002
mym
Maiden du Mystique
Chief Shirriff
posted January 31, 2003 12:23 PM
Raven winced against the sudden pain as her arm was twisted back, but couldnt make a sound even if she had wanted to as Cyrzinniels hand clamped over her mouth. Forcing Ravens arm against her back, Cyrzinniel dug one of the nails of that hand into her cheek, and dragged it across, up the shapeshifters cheekbone line. Raven silently cried out in pain, writhing against Cyrzinniels grasp, but the worst was yet to come. A strange sensation was spreading over her body, then her mind, like a blanket...
"You're not going anywhere." Cyrzinniel stopped her muttering, her voice now right beside Ravens ear. "And you're not going to change. I know how it's done, and I know how to stop you doing it. "As long as the blood flows from your cheeks, you will stay elven. And after that, you should remember that I can trap you as any creature you choose to be. Don't think you can escape me either, you may know my name, but you do not know who I am, and I do."
She released her hold over Ravens mouth to take a firmer hold on her arm, but Raven didnt cry out. She could sense the womans face was still beside hers, her mouth beside her ear. Salty tears were already running down Ravens cheeks, both the cut and uncut. She turned her eyes to the side, then her head, knowing that if there was light she would be looking into the eyes of the woman who seemed to hate her with such venom. Her cheek was on fire, but she forced the tears out of her voice. "Why?" She whispered. Cyrzinniel seemed to ignore her as she whispered back.
"I know more about you than you can possibly imagine."
Raven decided now was time to take a wild stab in the dark. "I know your name, yet you do not know my true name, yet you claim to know more about me?"
Pause. After a moment Raven was yanked to her feet and Cyrzinniel started to yank her along. Raven stumbled along behind her, trying to wrench her arm out of the witches grasp. The light was now dim and Cyrzinniel turned suddenly to face Raven. "I know more about you than you can possible know. And your true name is part of that!" She started walking fast again.
Raven gave a hoarse laugh. "Oh aye, from the times when you pryed into an innocent girls mind!"
"From before then, child! I have always known your name because-" She stopped suddenly, covering her mouth with her hand as she bit herself off. Raven froze also before speaking.
"Because what?"
The witch was breathing heavily, as if under a heavy burden before she started walking again, almost running.
"Because what?" Raven was shouting now and she stopped suddenly, pulling back her arm, forcing Cyrzinniel to stop. "Because what, witch, what? Tell me!" She shouted into the witches face.
Cyrzinniel didnt reply as she stood staring at Raven in silence, a strange expression on her slim face. She opened her mouth-
-and a resounding boom shook the cavern, causing them both the lose their balance, falling against the walls. Cyrzinniel looked terrified. "Isandier." She whispered, her pale face even paler as she looked around wildly. raven took advantage of this; she ran, trying to escape the heaviness once again in her mind and limbs, but even more trying to escape Cyrzinniel...
A true soldier fights not for hate of what is in front of him, but for love of what is behind him.
-м¥м
Posts: 756 | From: the edge of innocence | Registered: December 16, 2002
Nevtalathiel
Midnight's Mistress
Keeper of the pipe-weed
posted February 02, 2003 08:00 AM
In the violent quake, Cyrzineil was forced to let go of her captive in order to steady her balance. Despite her best attempts, she found herself thrown against the wall of the cavern and by the time the ground had stopped heaving, she was reduced to her knees on the dark floor. Tentatively she picked herself up and reached out with her hands for the wall and her mind for Raven. She felt shaken and could not find the strength to summon her cat-like night vision; the spell she had placed on Raven would drain her power while it worked, but it would also allow her to track the shape-shifter and know how close she was to freeing herself from the encantation. Outwardly there would be no signs of Cyrziniel's diminished power, but she would feel it until Raven's cheek stopped bleeding.
Cyrziniel could feel Raven's presence as she stumbled blindly away down the passage, feeling her way along the damp wall, not knowing where she was going except that it was away from Cyrziniel. Cyrzinziel took a deep breath. She would have to follow. She desperately wanted to be the one to hand the shifter over to Isandaier. She could not see where she was going, but somehow it did not matter, she knew, because Raven had just been there, had just tripped on a loose stone which Cyrziniel could now avoid.
"You can't get away" she whispered to the darkness, and knew from the sudden tension that Raven had heard her. In the gloom she felt Raven stumble, and it gave her focus. "You said I did not know your true name, but I do." Cyrzinziel was going more slowly now, concentrating her malice on her voice and the girl ahead of her. "You have no true name, because the true name is given by the mother just after birth." Cyrziniel's voice was a vicious hiss, and as she felt Raven slowing further, she gained strength. "Your mother gave you away before she had named you. You have no true name so you are not a true person.
"You've always thought there was some reason why your mother didn't keep you, you dreamed that she had to go off and fight a monster, that she was forced to by some evil, that she knew that she was dying. I know, I've seen them all, but there's a much better reason. You mother got rid of you because she hated you. She hated you so much she didn't even give you a name so that you could be a whole person. She hated you when you were born, and she still hates you now."
The tunnel fell silent and Cyrziniel stood still as she knew Raven also did. She waited.
"By the pricking of my thumbs,
Something wicked this way comes." - Macbeth Act IV Scene i
Posts: 461 | From: The Hithershore | Registered: December 18, 2002
shadow_staar
The Fortuneteller
Town Local
posted February 02, 2003 02:24 PM
After the council was over, Corrah watch Layla intently. The scribe had said little, but her eyes showed much more.
Corrah stood up and walked behind her.
"You know something scribe, and I intend to find out," Corrah said in her ear.
She stood up and walked over to Runya. She had told the company that she was taking first watch. She hopped on the mare, with out bothering to put saddle or briddle on, and walked around a bit, searching for anything unusual. Corrah searched out her elf sensed, but noticed nothing.
"This is going to be a long night," Corrah sighed.
-----------------------------
Do not try to bend the spoon, that is impossible. Instead realize the truth.
What truth?
That there is NO spoon...
::BENDY BENDY::
Posts: 177 | Registered: December 14, 2002
mym
Maiden du Mystique
Chief Shirriff
posted February 03, 2003 09:46 AM
Raven tried to run but her face was on fire, the pain making her stumble in the already shaking tunnel. Cyrziniel was after her she knew it, she could hear her footsteps coming after her.
"You can't get away."
Because of the echos it seemed that the whisper came from all around the tunnel. Raven shivered; no five words had ever seemed more terrifying. Once more she stumbled, this time falling onto her knees.
"You said I did not know your true name, but I do. You have no true name, because the true name is given by the mother just after birth." Raven scrambled to her feet, ready to run again, but the last words made her stop. Cyrziniel continued.
"Your mother gave you away before she had named you. You have no true name so you are not a true person. You've always thought there was some reason why your mother didn't keep you, you dreamed that she had to go off and fight a monster, that she was forced to by some evil, that she knew that she was dying. I know, I've seen them all, but there's a much better reason. Your mother got rid of you because she hated you. She hated you so much she didn't even give you a name so that you could be a whole person. She hated you when you were born, and she still hates you now."
Raven didnt even realise she wasnt breathing any more. She stood frozen in the darkness, but in her mind these words sent her falling, spinning in a void as dark and terrible as these words. "What?" She managed to whisper.
"You-" Cyrziniels voice suddenly stopped and Raven heard her gasp, heard her knees hit the floor. A split second later Raven herself felt the vibrations running up and down the tunnel once again, but she forced herself to stay upright; in a childish was she was determined that she wouldnt react the same way as Cyrziniel. Less than a minute later though she too was driven to her knees as that voice came echoing along the corridor once again, the chant flowing like dark, suffocating oceans down to where Raven knelt. She looked ahead through eyes half closed and saw about a score of men marching towards her- no wait, not men...no man could walk so mechanically, so in time with the others...and most men didnt have decomposing flesh...
She tried to scream but her mouth wouldnt open, tried to shift but she was stuck in this form, tried to fight but was held back by her leaden limbs. A pair of zombies grabbed her arms, pulling her to her feet, a limp bundle, somehow unable to fight. They held her upright but before her the others...the others were bowing down, creating a walkway between them.
And through this walkway, this path made by the Undead came a man. Yes, certainly a man, but like animals can smell danger, so Raven could sense the power and evil coming of this man. Pure evil...
Stepping right up to her, Isandaier grabbed her chin, turning her face roughly to look at him, his fingers digging into her. She held his gaze though...until once more that chill into her mind; it was only for a second, but was like a whiplash and she cried out silently, closing her eyes. When she looked back up Isandaier was walking back down his path. "Take her to the cell directly underneath my quarters. Chain her but do not kill her- I want her alive."
"Please master, please, let me deal with her!" Cyrziniels voice now took on a silken tone, but at the same time she seemed to worship him; it disgusted Raven. Isandaier point blanc refused, but Cyrziniel continued to wheedle before at last he swatted at her like a fly. "Fine. You may do what you wish with her. Just keep her alive and dont damage her too badly, otherwise I will match it on you."
He clicked his fingers and the Undead began to drag Raven along the corridor. She had now got back control of her limbs it seemed and she kicked and flailed for all she was worth, but to no avail; the creatures that held her were past mortal strength and the grip she was in was that of steel. She saw Cyrziniel for a second, smiling smugly as she leant against a wall, watching; she would see Raven later. Then one of the beings dragging her knocked her hard on the side of the head. Before she drifted into unconciousness the words Cyrziniel had said came back to her, the last thing she heard.
Your mother got rid of you because she hated you. She hated you so much she didn't even give you a name so that you could be a whole person. She hated you when you were born, and she still hates you now.
A true soldier fights not for hate of what is in front of him, but for love of what is behind him.
-м¥м
Posts: 756 | From: the edge of innocence | Registered: December 16, 2002
Cimmerian
The Sentinel!
Chief Magistrate
posted February 03, 2003 10:19 PM
Isandaier smirked sarcastically as his undead minions whisked the young captive away. Even in pain and fear, her radiant beauty would still any man's heart, but Isandaier was above such emotions. His heart, if he had one, was as cold as the frozen peaks of the Misty Mountains.
The bald headed necromancer turned toward Cyrziniel, the pale sickly light of the cavern gleaming off his shaven pate and his soulless eyes. The woman shivered, yet she smiled. Isandaier had yet again given in to her persistent pleading. Though the evil man was oblivious to her charms, or appeared to be so, Cyrziniel was more than ready to give herself to him. She had come to him on her own free will and had not been ensnared by his evil grip, as had been all his other minions and servants. Now this Raven would add nicely to his collection.
"Cyrziniel!" Isandaier's cold voice cut through the air like a hissing blade, "Have your pleasure with the shapeshifer and then go aboveground. Those that seek the wave lily have moved to more secure ground and my minions cannot prevail there. You must infiltrate their ranks and infect some of them, especially the mortals, with my gift."
Cyrziniel stood silently as if her master's voice held her in a trance and then nodded eagerly. Her eyes gleamed in evil glee at the prospect of her mission.
Isandaier retreated the way he had come, where the shrouded awaited their lord, for the nightly ritual of chanting to begin.
IN STEEL I TRUST, BY CROM!
Posts: 1265 | From: Grim Grey Mountains, The Frozen North | Registered: December 12, 2002
Cimmerian
The Sentinel!
Chief Magistrate
posted February 03, 2003 10:31 PM
Neandarth squatted by the river and scooped up a handful of pebbles, he sighed as he began tossing the pebbles into the water lazily.
At the council, the decision to move on without Raven was taken. Corrah and Bronwen agreed to this suggestion from Belom. Kerediac did not vote on the matter and Neandarth alone wished to search for her, though Layla, the young scribe, did her best to convince him otherwise.
She approached the mercenary and smiled. Neandarth mumbled under his breath, his broad shoulders had slumped a bit.
"Come now, brave sir!" Layla said, "We have a mission of serious import at hand. Many depend on us and more will die if we further delay..."
"I know," Neadarth cut her off gently, he smiled weakly and rose to his feet. Placing his hand on his sword hilt, he said, 'Come on, little miss... it is time we earned our keep," and under his breath he grumbled, "Though it may be our very lives in this fool errand."
Layla smiled, her uncanny sharp ears had picked up the barbarian's lament but she kept it to herself as they joined the party.
Belom was looking at them impatiently as they were the last to mount up, but Bronwen smiled. The guardswoman had devised a path that would be safe for them to take, and Corrah agreed to that. They set off.
Re: Search for Healing
elenna
Keen Eyed Wanderer
Shirriff
posted February 05, 2003 05:21 AM
Bronwen picked her way through a streambed, barely wetting her feet as she leapt lightly across. Neandarth tried to follow her lead, but he stumbled forward, splashing the entire party. Bronwen, being right in front, was drenched. She laughed as she turned around to face the dripping Neandarth.
"Is this going to become a habit? We shall break for lunch now. I need to dry off."
She laughed again, and the company looked at each other in surprise. Bronwen, daughter of Branrod, had never so much as giggled in their presence before.
-----------------------------
There is no spoon.
Posts: 654 | Registered: December 12, 2002
shadow_staar
The Fortuneteller
Town Local
posted February 05, 2003 02:39 PM
Corrah wrinkled her nose, as Neandarth fell and splashed her with water. She had to smile though, when she saw the mercenary's wet hair hanging in his face.
"Well Neandarth, I think this is a new look for you!" Corrah laughed, as Neandarth growled.
"Is this going to become a habit? We shall break for lunch now. I need to dry off," Bronwen said.
"Ah, Bronwen, are you going to cook another wonderful lunch for us?" Corrah asked.
"Ofocurse!" Bronwen smiled, and the group began set up.
Corrah started a fire, and Bronwen set to getting the food ready. They were in for another wonderful dish. They talked, drank, and ate, and all the cares seemed to be gone, but only for a while.
-----------------------------
Do not try to bend the spoon, that is impossible. Instead realize the truth.
What truth?
That there is NO spoon...
::BENDY BENDY::
Posts: 177 | Registered: December 14, 2002
Cimmerian
The Sentinel!
Chief Magistrate
posted February 06, 2003 03:41 AM
The Grey Rider!
Neandarth wiped the wetness from his face with the back of his hand and slowly rose to his feet. Ordinarily he would have enjoyed this, but his mood was gloomy over the loss of Raven. Sullenly he padded over to where Bronwen had called for camp and flopped himself down against a tree. He sat there looking fixedly at the ground before him, his massive fist grasped at his sword hilt as if to use in a sudden burst.
Layla watched the huge barbarian and smiled. He looked ready for a hug or two, but she was rather afraid of getting too close to him. Instead she decided to sit beside the equally dejected Kerediac.
Suddenly Belom stiffened and Corrah leapt to her feet weapons drawn. Someone was approaching.
A single rider came galloping up from the western frontier.
"Hail, friends!" the man called, he was greying of hair and beard and was dressed equally sombrely in dull, grey clothes. His horse, however, was of the darkest black, "Where are you headed?"
Belom shouted back, "Who are you, sir, and what business is it of yours?"
"I am Kerragan, a ranger from the north," the man replied with a smile, "I ride south to Gondor in heed to summons of aid from the town of Minas Anor!"
"What seek you at Minas..." Belom asked irritatedly.
"We come from Minas Anor," interrupted Corrah and Bronwen together, "We seek the healing properties of the Wave Lily and are headed to the Grey Havens. Accompany us, Kerragan." Corrah added.
"The wave lily..." mused Kerragan, "But why head you so far to the Havens? I have seen some of the very plant the way I travelled, due west along the Bay of Balfalas."
"Oh good, lead us there, ranger!" Bronwen said, with a hint of eagerness.
"But should we trust this stranger..." Belom cautioned.
"He is but one man..." Corrah shushed him, "Yes, Kerragan, lead us to this place, but before that, join us for lunch."
Kerragan smiled and dismounted as Layla, Kerediac and Neandarth watched the newcomer with indifference, but the barbarian thought to himself that if the man was trouble, he would have a bellyful of steel following his free lunch.
Bronwen and Corrah looked expectantly at Kerragan, but Belom's eyes flash with unconcealed suspicion.
Ooc - Take it from here, Shadow, Laiedheliel and Elenna, we can all play Kerragan's part between ourselves. And Nev, Kerragan is not Cyrziniel in disguise.
IN STEEL I TRUST, BY CROM!
Posts: 1265 | From: Grim Grey Mountains, The Frozen North | Registered: December 12, 2002
Laiedheliel
new Born
posted February 08, 2003 12:14 PM
Layla giggled wildly as she watched the exchange between Bronwen and the mercinary. It felt good to let go a bit, to finally feel something other than anxiety and worry. Still a bit giddy, Layla followed the rest of the party to the area Bronwen had pointed out, and took a seat near Kerediac.
Neandarth flopped down near a tree, looking dejected; obviously he was still pining for Raven. Layla felt tempted to go over and comfort the grizzly warrior, but she still felt a small amount of fear whenever she came near him; the emotion wasn't even fear, it was something else, something she couldn't really idenitfy, and something she didn't really want to pursue.
"Hail, friends!" The call came from the west, a lone rider who approached the party. Layla looked on with indifference; the man looked like a ranger, a man who wouldn't want to attack the party on a humanitarian mission. Layla eyed him critically, but took little interest in the coversation until he mentioned the presence of the wave lily at the Bay of Balfalas.
"Oh, good, lead us there, ranger!" Bronwen urgered eagerly. Layla silently agreed. This man carried a regal air, and he showed no sign of deciet. Layla reached into her bag and pulled out her leather-bound book, a quill, and a pot of ink, and began to write.
------------------
"I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear." --From the Litany against Fear of the Bene Gesserit rite.
Posts: 37 | From: The Bleak Edge of Sanity | Registered: December 14, 2002
shadow_staar
The Fortuneteller
Town Local
posted February 11, 2003 03:31 PM
Corrah was extremly grateful for the help of this newcomer, not to mention, that she thought he was quite handsome.
She put that thought aside, and began to question him as they rode.
"How do you know of this place?"
"I have travel far and wide, but I know of it from an old friend. He told me of this place, and that the most beautiful flower lived there, and that it would please any maiden," He replied.
Corrah nodded, and rode a bit ahead, surveying the land in all its lush vegetaion. She smiled as she spotted a small squirll scurying to a nearby tree. Her smile soon faded as she caught site of something black moving in the distance. Her elf eyes couldn't see what it was, it was so far off. She held up her hand, and company halted.
"Stay here," She told them.
She spurred Ruyna straight ahead, and galloped fast until she could see what the dark things were. Dead.
She cringed and turned around, and galloped back to the company.
"A band of Dead! Far to the south, a few days ahead of us yet!" She told them.
"Wonderful." Kerediac muttered.
-----------------------------
Do not try to bend the spoon, that is impossible. Instead realize the truth.
What truth?
That there is NO spoon...
::BENDY BENDY::
Posts: 177 | Registered: December 14, 2002
elenna
Keen Eyed Wanderer
Shirriff
posted February 12, 2003 09:35 AM
"We have to get to the Bay." Bronwen's voice was purposeful, much steadier than she felt. "Minas Anor's only hope is those flowers. If the dead get in our way, we have no choice but to fight them. However, we shall not go looking for battle."
Neandarth looked disappointed. "But what about Raven?" he asked. "They might have her with them!"
"True. They might. And would you sacrifice a whole city of women and children for her?"
-----------------------------
There is no spoon.
Posts: 654 | Registered: December 12, 2002
Cimmerian
The Sentinel!
Chief Magistrate
posted February 12, 2003 11:04 PM
Neandarth looked glum, but he wasn't angry for he understood the urgency of their quest and Bronwen was proving to be a good leader. Though she was right, Neandarth quite felt like he was ready to forsake the whole world for the love of Raven. He was determined to get her back to him and to hell with whatever stood in his way, dead, undead or alive.
But now, he resigned himself to get on with the task at hand. Kerragan seemed to be a man of his word and Neandarth was too depressed to care other wise, just as Kerediac was.
But Belom looked at the ranger with utter comtempt, as much as he did the barbarian youth.
IN STEEL I TRUST, BY CROM!
Posts: 1265 | From: Grim Grey Mountains, The Frozen North | Registered: December 12, 2002
Cimmerian
The Sentinel!
Chief Magistrate
posted February 13, 2003 05:02 AM
The Summoner's Tales
In his antechamber Isandaier massaged his temples as he paced, momentarily ignoring the Shrouded and their captive. He had recieved no more news of the search party that was out seeking the only cure to his evil that had succumbed the town of Minas Anor. A cure that was only to be found in far off Grey Havens, the raods to where his minions and underlings kept vigil. How had the miniscule party eluded his minions was beyond him, but no matter he had one of them captive, the most powerful one, even though she herself was not aware of it, of her full potential, which he intended to exploit.
Carefully Isandaier gathered the powders and implements he would need. Dawn was a few hours distant and in the full light of the sun he had fewer abilities beyond those of mortal men.He could not call upon the full extent of the evil source while the sun shone, despite being hidden so deep belowground. He could not summon the undead then, though commands previously given would hold, and they would fight in the day hours, if somewhat weakened.
Isandaier had to know more, and preparations for such had been arranged. He knew something of the travelling Gondorian guardsmen; of the tall barbarian youth, the shapeshifter and the little scribe he knew nothing. And often what one didn't know posed a bigger threat than the known.
He motioned the Shrouded to follow, with Raven securely held between two of them. A sliding panel in the wall let into a secret passage, dim and narrow, that led down to a chamber containing the circle of barren earth. The Chamber of Summoning.
Raven shivered at the deathly chill of the chamber that gripped at her, she shivered not at the chill but in expectant anxiety. Quickly a corspe was brought there to Isandaier and arranged by the Shrouded under his instruction, spread-eagled in the center of the circle. Raven gasped, it was the mangled form of Orlos. At a word the Shrouded moved away as Isandaier studied the cadaver, smiling. He had done this countless times before and had never failed.
While Raven and the shrouded watched, Isandaier raised his arms high and began to chant, in a tongue long dead and meaningless to those who heard it, perhaps even to the dark mage himself. His words began to ring within the dark walls and immediately Isandaier felt the power surge within him, he rejoiced in the sheer weight of the power and the near uncontrollability of it.
Silver flecked blue mists rose from within the circle and engulfed the dead body within, the mist coalesced, roiling, swirling away form the circle. Isandaier willed it not to be so, he willed the mist to be contained within the circle, and he felt the resistance ripping at his marrow. Agony most torturous and exquisite. Through a red haze of pain, he chanted.
"You who called yourself Orlos the Craftsman," Isandaier intoned, 'I summon you back to this clay that was you. By the powers of darkness enchanted and the power of three, I summon you. I summon you. I summon you."
The bright mists flared and within the circle the head of Orlos's corspe rolled to one side. The death smote eyes opened blearily and the mouth moved raggedly. "Noooo!" It moaned painfully.
"Speak I command you, speak true!" Shouted the dark necromancer, looming menacingly over the reanimated corspe. "Tell me all there is to know of your party and your mission."
"Yes!" The word was a pain-filled hiss. "I tell all."
"No!" Raven whispered hoarsely, her eyes wide with fear and disgust as Orlos, of the undead, began to painfully unravel all that he knew to the leering sorcerer whose domed head gleamed with perspation and dark soul-less eyes betrayed the evil glee that he felt inside.
IN STEEL I TRUST, BY CROM!
Posts: 1265 | From: Grim Grey Mountains, The Frozen North | Registered: December 12, 2002
Cimmerian
The Sentinel!
Chief Magistrate
posted February 13, 2003 05:12 AM
Taming of the Raven
Isandaier smiled broadly now, though his eyes remained obsidian and cold. He waved the writhing corspe of Orlos away, it had served his purpose and would be summoned again when the need arose. The tall, bald necromancer turned his gaze upon Raven. The beautiful young woman gasped again and stared straight ahead at the soul-less man. The cut on her cheek still bled and restrained her from using her powers of shape-shifting. Inwardly she curse Cyrziniel, but felt sorrow for her too. Why she could not fathom.
Cyrziniel had been sent away by Isandaier to spy on the party, perhaps, he thought that she could do a better job than his undead minions and the Shrouded. Besides he needed her away at that precise moment, for all his attentions had to be focused on Raven and her wonderful abilites.
Slowly Isandaier made his way to the very end of the Chamber of Summoning, towards what appeared to be a crude stone alter, black and bare.
"let the woman, Raven, be brought forth." He commanded and immediately the two who had held on to her, pushed their captive forward roughly. Raven stumbled but was held erect by the two as they reached the dark altar. Her large eyes looked up in fear at the dark, cold ones that looked down at her. She had all but lost her voice.
"Disrobe her!"
Raven's eyes bulged in terror as her garments were stripped away. Slender, but full figured and well rounded, her body glistened with the sweat of fear. Broken and dispirited, her beauty yet shone through. No eyes there, however, looked upon her as a woman, least of all Isandaier's. They were all beyond such earthly pleasures.
"Prepare her!"
The two who had held on to her and disrobed her, now quickly lifted her limp form and laid her onto the black altar. Raven lay there as if immobilised by fear, her eyes darting about frantically.
Isandaier folded his palms together and chanted and a long silvered blade materialised into his hands. The two of the Shrouded hastily backed away. Then Raven found her voice and screamed. Her screams blended with Isandaier's chants as he invoked the powers of great evil. His voice rang out from the walls, yet he did not shout; he had no wish to drown her wails. He could feel the power flowing in him, flowing through him. Silvery azure mists rose and enveloped the altar, Raven and Isandaier. The Shrouded fell to their knees on the floor in awe and fear. Isandaier's silvered blade plunged down. Raven convulsed and shrieked one last time as the blade stabbed to the hilt beneath her left breast.
Quickly Isandaier materialised a golden goblet and held it to the end of the blade-hilt. Blade and one quillion of that knife were hollow so that a vivid stream of heart's blood spurted into the goblet. Swiftly the level rose, then the flow slowed, stopped and only a few drops fell to make carmine ripples.
Withdrawing the blade, Isandaier held blade and goblet aloft, calling upon the evil source in words of ice. Bringing the goblet to his thin lips, Isandaier drank deep the blood of the shapeshifter to the last drop. Then letting the implements of his gory sorcery clatter to the floor, he beckoned, "Awake, Raven!"
No longer did a wound mar Raven's beauty, neither on body nor on face. The eyes of the woman who had been stabbed in the heart fluttered open and she stared at Isandaier, her gaze filled with horror and emptiness.
"I... I was dead!" She whispered, "I stood before Eru's throne!" She shuddered and huddled into a ball on the stone altar. "I am cold!"
'Ofcourse you are cold," Isandaier said, his voice seemingly colder, "You serve me now, all that you are and can be, you will for me."
He threw a cloak around her state of undress and helped her down off the alter. The Shrouded still knelt and kept their heads bowed down.
Raven shuddered as the words of the dark mage sank in. "No... I.. I will not..." She wept.
"Be silent!" He replied and her protests died on the instant. "Now come, we have much to attend to."
Isandaier strode out of the chamber with Raven mechanically following him, as did the Shrouded. Her mind was clouded and words of what Cyrziniel had said echoed within.
IN STEEL I TRUST, BY CROM!
Posts: 1265 | From: Grim Grey Mountains, The Frozen North | Registered: December 12, 2002
mym
Maiden du Mystique
Chief Shirriff
posted February 18, 2003 12:00 PM
Raven stood before Isandaier, trembling, feeling so naked. But she wasnt stupid, nor was her mind immobilised; she knew what was about to happen. But with the cold dead grip of the undead like a vice around her arms, she had no idea what to do about it. Her mind worked frantically. Ah! An idea struck her. But this would only work if the cut on her cheek truly had stopped bleeding...
As she lay on the slab she saw the knife materialise in Isandaiers hands and her eyes widened. Her voice returned with a vengeance and she started screaming, more to put him off than anything else. Then the sorcerer started to chant. The darkness started to grip Raven in her mind, but also all around the darkness seemed to grow as her chanted. Now her screams became more real...
She couldnt move. Her mind seemed to be shutting down, but one point remained, a sharp, double edged point...the point of the dagger...
The knife plunged into her heart and her screams went silent, so strong was the pain that gripped her. Her mind sought desperately for a way out...her cheek was no longer bleeding and she began to try and shift...
No. The knife held her body like this, but her soul started to shift, started to move, away, out of this body...
As Isandaier wrenched the knife out of her body, the shifters mind returned with a start, as if afresh to a body. Her soul...it was as if she could almost reach it, but it was slightly detached, as if held just out of her reach...
Isandaier was looking at her expectantly and Raven forced her mindm distant though it seemed, into action. He had plunged a knife into her heart, what was he expecting...
"I... I was dead!" She whispered, "I stood before Eru's throne! I...I am cold."
The sorcerers thin lips curved into a smile of dark, grim satisfaction; he seemed to believ her, and threw a cloak around her shoulder, along with her clothes. She dressed quickly, but before she did, she felt where the knife had pierced her but where the wound should have been...
there was nothing.
She then felt her face, not believing what she felt, along her cheekbone where Cyrzinniels knife had cut her. Nothing.
"You serve me now, all that you are and can be, you will for me."
""No!" Fear gripped Raven. So he had aimed for more than to just kill her..." I-I will not..."
"Silence! We have much to attend to!"
Raven had no choice but to follow him; she felt the knife blade in her mind twist and gasped, forcing herself to her feet. But she could feel something else in her mind, something..no, someone else...Raven gasped to hear Cyrzinniel.
"So, little shapeshifter, you have joined us."
A true soldier fights not for hate of what is in front of him, but for love of what is behind him.
-м¥м
Posts: 756 | From: the edge of innocence | Registered: December 16, 2002
Nevtalathiel
Midnight's Mistress
Keeper of the pipe-weed
posted February 18, 2003 12:40 PM
"It was inevitable of course, especially for one of so little ability and cunning as yourself." Cyrziniel relished the shiver she felt from Raven, through Raven. "From your father, he never was the best of breeding stock." From where she sat in the shade, Cyrziniel smiled the smile of a cat toying with a mouse.
"A pity you were so much like him. If only you had followed his lead and let me kill you. He had delusions of grandeur. He thought that because of his position he had power. I didn't mind until he began to think he had power over me. How amusing his face looked just after I told him he had drunk from a posoined cup and that he had minutes left to live. I thought that was the best time to tell him that I bore his child and that that too would die at my hands." From within her head Raven heard Cyrziniel's dry laughter.
"But you wouldn't would you." Cyrziniel's voice rose suddenly, almost defeaningly, from the venomous purr. "The childsbane had no effect, you would not die!" The sound became a scream of rage, and Cyrziniel began to shake, tears winding down her marble cheeks. She took a deep breath and continued, her voice calm once more but still angry.
"I don't know what I ever saw in your father. He was a rebel, but he never would have got anywhere alone. He would never have amounted to anything, just as you never have. He wasn't even that good. A small amusement for a month or two while my other plans matured. If I had known all the trouble it would have caused me, I wouldn't have wasted my time.
"So you see, you had no choice but to join us. Both your parents were evil. One of them was stupid, and you've clearly taken after him, but both of them were evil. Eventually you would have joined us, it was just a case of when and how. You may have had no choice, but you will learn to love it, just as you will slowly be corrupted from the outside in and the inside out."
"By the pricking of my thumbs,
Something wicked this way comes." - Macbeth Act IV Scene i
Posts: 461 | From: The Hithershore | Registered: December 18, 2002
mym
Maiden du Mystique
Chief Shirriff
posted February 18, 2003 01:15 PM
"From your father, he never was the best of breeding stock."
Raven felt herself freeze and she stopped walking before the knife edge in her mind forced her to carry on. She struggled against it, but the pain just intensified. She didnt notice that this had caught Isandaiers attention, nor did she feel his cold eyes on her.
"My father?" In her shock she whispered aloud as she replied.
"A pity you were so much like him. If only you had followed his lead and let me kill you. He had delusions of grandeur. He thought that because of his position he had power. I didn't mind until he began to think he had power over me. How amusing his face looked just after I told him he had drunk from a posoined cup and that he had minutes left to live. I thought that was the best time to tell him that I bore his child and that that too would die at my hands."
At this Raven went completely still, not noticing the knife edge against the pain she was feeling already, deep down. After a moment the sorcerer snapped his fingers and a minion stepped forward and delivered a punishing blow to her stomach...which would never rise as a bruise. She was shaken out of her trance as she doubled up, then pulled onwards as the pain from Isandaiers knife hit her anew. But she couldnt ignore the voice, pressing on relentlessly. Torn between the two pains she fell to her knees. Isandaier tried to force her on, but she was now almost unconcious. With an irritated gesture, he just allowed the minions to dump her in the corridor and stormed off; she couldnt escape anyway.
"But you wouldn't would you.The childsbane had no effect, you would not die!" Raven covered her ears in a futile attempt to block out the scream of the other elf. Cyrziniel continued and Raven couldnt ignore her, but the last sentence made her look up in the darkness of the tunnel, to freeze even more totally.
"You may have had no choice, but you will learn to love it, just as you will slowly be corrupted from the outside in and the inside out."
"Never."
Ravens icy cold hiss surprised Cyrziniel, the venom ejected through their minds only in their inseperable link. She rose slowly to her feet and began to walk along the corridor, the way she knew Cyrziniel sat. She felt the satisfaction of Cyrziniel...and her fear.
"I would never join you. And you have no power over me." Her voice was still ice cold as she walked fast along the dark tunnel.
"Of course I do. The cut, remember?"
"Nay, twas healed by Isandaier. Completely healed. Only while there was some evidence of it ever happening could you have controlled me."
Raven smiled as she felt Cyrziniels slow realisation, and continued before the other could gather herself. "And Im coming Cyrziniel. I havent used this shape for a long time, but I always felt it was given to me...now I see by who. Do you remember on my fifth birthday? I just started changing, for no reason. Milar was terrified to find me as I was, just standing behind her, watching her. Then she explained, about the voice in my mind, how it spoke to her as well. Do you remember that present?"
Raven started to change, but not to a form as small and insignificant as her names sake. Her fingers shortened, and the nails hardened and blackened. Her face grew outwards, her ears moved down the side of her head and changed shape, as the rest of her body was doing. Dark fur started to cover her slim body, over her skin and skin tight clothes, and her backbone started to lengthen...
"Do you remember?" Ravens voice was a sinister whisper now. "Well, that present is coming back to you.
In that dark corridor, a black wolf started to run...
A true soldier fights not for hate of what is in front of him, but for love of what is behind him.
-м¥м
Posts: 756 | From: the edge of innocence | Registered: December 16, 2002
Nevtalathiel
Midnight's Mistress
Keeper of the pipe-weed
posted March 07, 2003 11:36 AM
Cyrziniel could hear the pounding feet, the scratching claws, the thumping heart. She could feel the blood lust, the urge to rip, to tear, to bite. With a practised coolness borne of years of supressing her feelings and using her head to rule her actions, she squashed the small animal part of her mind which told her to turn and run. She stretched her back and shook her head, her black hair shivering down between her shoulder blades, the image of serenity. Somewhere inside her a part of her still screamed in terror, but her heart beat and breathing were normal, there was nothing to betray the iron control she was exercising over her interal self.
She closed her eyes and focused. A deep breath in was held for several seconds as Cyrziniel focused herslef on the breath, imagining it as a part of herself. She breathed it out and knew it shimmered in the air, feeling somehow a sense of self go with it. She opened her eyes to see the translucent glow fading. Now Raven would have trouble finding her. The trick was to let go of yourself, to feel yourself not as an individual, but part of something larger. Then you could imagine yourself leaving yourself and spreading everywhere. As a result anyone trying to find you using any form of magic would feel you everywhere and no where, a useful trick to know. The effects couldn't last forever of course. After a few hours you began to gather yourself back and slowly a more and more accurate picture of where you were would come together for anyone looking, but the time was generally enough to get yourself somewhere safe, and Cyrzineil was aware of Raven's feelings. Currently, she was very confused, but as soon as she was again racing towards Cyrziniel, Cyrziniel would be aware of it. For now though, she settled herself and began to craft inside her head a dream for Neandarth, a sly smile sneaking acorss her face.
"By the pricking of my thumbs,
Something wicked this way comes." - Macbeth Act IV Scene i
Posts: 461 | From: The Hithershore | Registered: December 18, 2002
shadow_staar
The Fortuneteller
Town Local
posted March 14, 2003 02:42 PM
"We rest here tonite, I will stay up to watch!" Corrah called to the group as they dismounted, "Bronwen start a fire, and everyone find yourselves a dry spot to sleep on. Get to sleep quick tonite...tomarrow will be a long day." She told them as they readied themselves for the night.
Corrah left the group to themselves and untacked her mare.
"Follow me," She whispered into the mares ear, and they began to walk. Corrah found a rock, and hoisted herself onto it, and Runya bent her head and nibbled at the grass.
Corrah rubbed her temples, and heaved a sigh. She searched the land with eyes and ears but found nothing out of the ordinary.
It was late into the night, and Corrah was bored, when she heard footsteps coming towards her.
"My lady elf, why don't you rest a bit?" Kerragan asked.
"Elves don't need rest. You should know that," She told him as he climbed onto the rock with her, "But men do."
"Ah, true, but I cannot sleep tonite, and Neandarth is snoring loudly, and we both know that that isn't pleasant," He cracked a smile.
"Well then tell me more about yourself, Kerragan."
As they were talking a very dangerous act was happening to one of their own. A deep and twisted dream had weaved itself into Neandarth's subconscience mind...
-----------------------------
Do not try to bend the spoon, that is impossible. Instead realize the truth.
What truth?
That there is NO spoon...
::BENDY BENDY::
Posts: 177 | Registered: December 14, 2002
mym
Maiden du Mystique
Chief Shirriff
posted March 15, 2003 05:52 AM
Ravens could smell Cyrzinniel, smell her clothes, herself... her fear. She was coming close now, close to the origin of the smell. There would be a cave ahead, and inside it....
"What?!
Raven paws skidded slightly as she halted suddenly. The cave was empty! Cyrizinniel wasnt here! But there was only one entrance...
Raven stopped sniffing around the ground and sniffed to air....yes, the witches smell still hung here, but strongly. Raven knew in that instant, by the bond that Cyrzinniel herself had created between them, that her mother was still here.
"Come down, Cyrzinniel!"
No reply.
"Come down, witch! Come down, evil one! Come down, masquerader! I call you to come down by all the names that are truly yours!" Raven yelled angrily, the echoes of her mind voice ringing deafeningly in their silence. Still there was no reply. Raven started to pace slightly, scratching her black claws into the rock. In her agitation, she started to change once again, and in a few seconds she had reverted to her own elven form, her pale skin half glowing in the darkness, but her black clothes as dark as the wolves fur. Her eyes remained ever the same, their irises as black as her fur had been. When Cyrzinniels voice came from the darkness, Raven forced herself not to jump, but to stare steadily into the centre of the high room, where she knew Cyrzinniel was, despite appearances.
"Masquerader? Evil one? Hmmm, such names I deserve no more than you, or than you soon will.
Raven couldnt help replying. "Whats that supposed to mean?" Her voice sounded bolder than she felt at first, but its echoes came back with tremors of fear.
"Well, blood will out as they say..."
"What blood? What blood can I share with you? Your lies are no use here, Cyrzinniel!"
"Lies? No, not lies, never lies. There is a strong tie between me and you, Raven my dear. Here, let me show you...
The air seemed to shimmer, and Raven thought that the witch was making herself into solid, visible form.
But the scenery continued to change and Raven found herself standing in a dark wood, in front of a cave, the grass wet beneath her feet and star dusted sky shining slightly above her. The shadows all around seemed to move slightly, shimmering darkly...
Among the dark shadows, another stirred, one of a different type. It moved in the stillness which surrounded it, an island of life in a dead sea. Beneath the star-filled abyss, the shadow flitted from between its deeper, darker brethren, the image of a twilight that was not yet completely faded. The patch of lesser blackness paused in its flight for a moment and was gone, melting back into the shadows. An animal screamed in pain but the stillness was preserved, a blanket which smothered the night. The shape emerged once more from the gloom, a human figure clear in the white light of the newly risen moon. It bent double for a few seconds and then haltingly continued its progress.
The cave, it seemed, had been prepared for this event; there was wood enough for the night and a fire waited only for a spark to bring it to life, food had been stacked at the back of the cave, a surprising amount of it fresh. Even the cave had been carefully selected; it was sheltered from the wind and rain and the floor was level and had been swept clean. Perhaps most importantly of all, a small stream leaked from the rocks above – nothing had been left to chance.
The figure was outlined momentarily against the stars before falling to the floor to strike sparks onto the fire. Once the fire was burning safely, the figure moved to the back of the cave and drew a pile of blankets from the flickering shadows. Beside the fire, she drew off her cloak and became instantly recognisable as one of the fairer sex and of the fair race of elves, and fair she was, though dark in some intangible way. As she arranged the blankets on the floor and around her normally slender figure, her raven black curls fell in front of her chalk white face, and she became another contour of the darkness. She sat down with care, wincing more than once and settled herself for a long night. A careful observer would have seen a tear in her otherwise confident eye. She was alone, for this the most demanding thing she would ever do. An irrepressible sob of rage and pain shook her body and she concentrated on her task, her will entirely focused on what she had to do. Except for the hiss and crackle of the fire and the woman’s rhythmic breathing, the cave fell silent.
The cry of the newborn shattered the silence. Cyrziniel looked down at the child and confusion contorted her exhausted features. She had planned to kill it is soon as it was born, to be rid of it forever, but now she could not help but rock the baby gently in her arms. Cruel as she was, she had not yet succumbed wholly to cruelty. The tiny, helpless creature she held in her arms drew from her the last kind act she would ever commit. For minutes, she battled with herself as to the best course of action, and the fire burned low and the shadows sank her face and she seemed old in a way she would never be. Even then, she might have been saved; her heart was not yet utterly dead, but her darkness finally won, and a part of her was gone forever. The pain she caused herself she would never forget, though she would blame it on the child, and it would serve only to feed her hatred. She flung her cloak about her shoulders, wrapped the child in a blanket and put out the fire. She would not come back.
The guard on sentry duty rubbed his hands together to dispel the chill, and wondered at the approaching figure, a woman he was sure of it, but at this hour? He moved to prevent her from passing.
“No one may pass the gate at night.” He said, and marvelled at the woman who stood before him, tall and proud. She was aloof, alone and yet resolute. He almost let her in, but she did not try to go beyond him. Instead, she pushed a bundle into the man’s large, weather-chapped hands.
“Look after her.” She said, and the man was surprised; in her otherwise emotionless, confident voice he thought he could hear a slight tremor. She then turned, her dishevelled black hair mirroring the starlight.
“Wait!” The guard called after her, but she was gone and he dared not leave his post, for the world was growing dark. He looked at the blanket thrust into his hands, and there lay a baby, a girl, barely hours old. He looked again into the night, searching for the mysterious woman, but saw nothing. She was gone.
They did look after the girl, the guard and his wife, and called her Raven, for all that even the guard could remember of her mother was the colour of her hair. For her part, the mother returned to her companions before dawn, and none of them knew anything of the matter.
But as the years moved on, Cyrziniel found she could never quite forget the child, nor rest peacefully while she knew that it lived, for she felt that somehow it would be her undoing. She was bitter to all kindness and drew great pleasure from destroying others through their kindness, but her hatred for her daughter still burned in her soul. She channelled her energy into learning to control her consciousness and those of others, and seven years after what she considered to be the worst decision of her life, she stepped into the dream of her daughter’s foster mother. For weeks, she slipped nightly into the woman’s mind, altering little at first and then gradually more until finally she revealed herself fully. The woman recognised her at once, for the physical resemblance was strong, and from then on they would converse often in dreams. Cyrziniel slowly gleaned useful information from the visits and began to organise “accidents” for the girl – she was thrown from a horse, she encountered a wolf while out riding, she found a snake in her bed.. As Cyrziniel became involved in other plans, Raven would find that she only had "accidents on her birthday, or the day she thought of as the day before her birthday, as she had been passed to the guard a few hours after midnight. These incidents were so strange; the girl got on so well with animals, although it was ten years before she learned truly of her Gift. But despite this, Raven would never tell her foster-mother of the accidents which were not obvious, and the old woman spoke only once to Raven of the fair elven woman who had visited her in the depths of the night. She did not have time to say what she wanted at that time, in her last few breaths, and if she had, it would not have been correct....
A true soldier fights not for hate of what is in front of him, but for love of what is behind him.
-м¥м
[This message was edited by mym on March 15, 2003 at 10:32 AM.]
Posts: 756 | From: the edge of innocence | Registered: December 16, 2002
Nevtalathiel
Midnight's Mistress
Keeper of the pipe-weed
posted April 04, 2003 05:31 AM
Around the mother and daughter the shadows of the cave spilled out into the dusk, the gloom intensifying as the vision faded.
"Do you understand now?" Hissed Cyrziniel bitterly across the immense distance between parent and child. "Has your mind finally grasped the concept of your heritage?" Disdain dripped from her voice. "Your father was stupid, but I did not know you could have inherited so much of his ignorance to the facts in front of you. I spent years trying to undo my misjudgements, and now I have you here within my reach." Cyrziniel's voice was soft now, but it had lost none of it's malice. Gracefully she took a step towards her daughter, and carefully her hand moved to stroke Raven's cheek. Raven tried to move away and found herself frozen, unable for now to move.
Cyrziniel laughed gently, and it was a true laugh, free from hatred. "Yes, you'll find yourself a little - aha - stiff for a few moments, just while I decide what to do with you, it's a most useful trick." Cyrziniel flashed snakes' eyes at Raven and winked.
"So long, so very long and here you are. The chance is here, right at my fingertips, all it would take is a small slip of the wrist and you'd never be able to trouble me again. But it's not your birthday is it?" Cyrziniel's voice came back a little way from the distanced almost dreamy tone it had taken on. "What do you think?" She asked flashing her eyes at Raven again, "Would you like an early birthday present from a mother who has been very, very neglectful?" Her eyes were wide with a mock innocence, and her voice taunted. "You may speak."
"The artist is the creator of beautiful things" - Oscar Wilde
Posts: 461 | From: The Hithershore | Registered: December 18, 2002
mym
Maiden du Mystique
Chief Shirriff
posted April 04, 2003 10:07 AM
"You may speak."
Raven felt her face unfreeze, but she kept it as solid as stone. Too many emotions swirled beneath the surface, but she was damned if she would let any of them out to this...monster. And yet...and yet there had been something there, in the memory which Cyrziniel had shown her. She had not only seen it from the point of view of the elfwitch, but had felt her emotions...
She glared at Cyrziniel, not moving. The witch laughed once more, stepping closer, her face less than a foot from her daughter's. "What, wont you take advantage of you freed-"
She stopped abruptly as a large gob or spit rolled down one elegant, smooth cheek. Not Raven let her face unfreeze, as a small smile crept across it, the mirror image of the smile which had just been wiped off the face of Cyrziniel. Yet it was an empty victory; she didnt feel the satisfaction she would have expected. All those emotions, when they added together in this way, they all amounted...to nothing. She had waited years for this, for the moment when she would eventually meet her mother, the one who had given birth to her, who should have cared for her, looked after her, taught her to speak and walk...
Her face remained like stone, but she could feel the tears welling up in her eyes. In response, she started to change her face to that of a snake. Not far, of course, not so it would show. Just so that her eyes felt like that of a snake, although of course their colour and appearance didnt change. Some things never did. But as she made this slight change, she felt the rest of her body come free from Cyrziniels hold; so the witch only held in her grip the elven Raven. She noted the surprise on Cyrziniels face, a slight, momentary movement of her eyes noting her alarm as her control was twitched away from her.
And Raven's smile returned now, with real satisfaction this time.
She had more power than the witch her...mother.
Cyrziniel once more cast the spell, trying to freeze Raven, but the girl only needed a second to wriggle control of one part of her body and change, however slightly...and she regained control. Cyrziniels smile was very weak now, its confidence vanishing fast as she realised too what was happening. Raven smiled again, innocently. "Oh Im sorry, Mother is there a problem?" The word Mother contained a slight mocking tone.
"Dont call me that." Cyrziniels voice was quiet, not much over a whisper. Raven kept a straight face as she moved forward slightly, once again slipping out of the other elf's power.
"Call you what? Did I say something to upset you, Mother?" The last word was even more definite and mocking this time.
"Dont." Cyrziniels voice was also louder, and she seemed to move back slightly.
"What, Mother? What is it that Ive done, Mother?" Ravens voice was getting wilder now, and as her mother stepped forward she stepped back. Cyrziniel was once again trying to cower the girl with her power, but they were being easily and ruthlessly knocked aside. "Hmmm, Mother? Mother? Mama?! Her voice was near hysterical now, and she kept moving forward, full steps now, making the witch in front of her step back. Cyrziniel raised a pale hand once more...and slapped her daughter across the face.
That simple movement seemed to stop everything. Ravens rippling changes stopped, and the power sank away from Cyrziniels hands and mind. Raven stared at the other elf, her hand on her pale cheek, already reddening. Their eyes stayed fixed into each other, and it seemed that there was something more in Cyrziniels eyes. The hate had melted away, and underneath, Raven could see a maelstrom of emotions at least as strong and wild and complicated as her own. Her hand came down from her cheek, lowering slowly.
And she pushed her mother in the chest. Hard.
The woman fell backwards; she completely hadnt anticipated this, and it caught her off guard, making her fall to the ground. Raven looked down at her in disgust. Still the emotions were there, but she could see the elf for what she had been for all these years. When she gave away her daughter, she gave away her soul.
"One question," Her voice was croaky, cracked, despite herself. "If you are an elf and my...and he was an elf...why do I have these powers? Why can I shift?"
"It was passed on." Cyrziniel murmered. "I...I once did a spell, a severe spell, to allow myself to change into three forms other than my own. And yes, I regret to say it has passed on...even stronger."
Raven nodded once, her face again as carved, stony and pale as a statue. Wordlessly she reached out a hand to the elf on the ground and, after another shocked pause, Cyrziniel allowed herself to be pulled up. Raven stared at her once more, not a glare; there was no hate in it this time. There was nothing in that look, no emotions at all. She leant forward and, putting her hands on either side of the other elfs head, she pulled their foreheads together. Their pale skin touched for a moment, their minds close for a moment. Then Raven looked up, seeing the tunnels leading away from the cave. One of them must lead to the outside. Wordlessly she stepped back, but couldnt leave without one more thing.
"What animals could you change into?"
Cyrziniel didnt reply, nor did she smile or frown. Raven nodded, accepting, and once more looked up, raising her arms this time.
A moment later, a raven flew away, leaving the elf in the cave alone in the darkness. Ever alone with her darkness.
A true soldier fights not for hate of what is in front of him, but for love of what is behind him.
-м¥м
Posts: 756 | From: the edge of innocence | Registered: December 16, 2002
Nevtalathiel
Midnight's Mistress
Keeper of the pipe-weed
posted April 07, 2003 08:14 AM
Cyrziniel turned her back on the outside and her eyes betrayed her sudden fears. Something had stirred within her which she did not understand and could not control and it scared. She shivered in the cold and pulled her cloak around her tightly, trying to block out the doubt which was growing on her mind. She shook her head in an attempt to dislodge the pounding within her ears, and brushed a hand across her brow.
"Focus" she whispered to herself, "focus"
Still looking distracted, she sat down, knees huddled up to her chest and shivering. She sat for a few moments until the shivers had died away and she felt in control once more. She closed her eyes. The colours swirled.
They were dark colours a first, reflecting the night she travelled through. BLacks, greys, midnight blues and deep greens like the depths of the oceans. Slowly, the colours gerw brighter until there were reds, oranges, yellows, gold, white. The colours swirled and came together forming shapes abstract and seperate moving together becoming more complicated; places, people, faces.
In the shadows under a dream tree a shape watched and waited to sew her vision into Neandarth's. Raven was there with him and it required only a moment's concentration to make her disappear, fading away before his eyes. Cyrzinziel waited a few moments and stepped out of the darkness.
"Raven!" Neandarth called and ran towards her. Cyrzinziel stepped away from his embrace and gently brushed a finger across his lips.
"Not quite," She whispered gently, her lips close to his ear moving slowly and sensuously, her fingers carefully running down his chin and caressing his chest "Not quite, but nearly."
"By the Pricking of my thumbs,
Something wicked this way comes" - Macbeth, Act IV, Scene I
Posts: 461 | From: The Hithershore | Registered: December 18, 2002
mym
Maiden du Mystique
Chief Shirriff
posted May 29, 2003 07:43 AM
The raven flew up through the darkness, until it spied light. It had flown for almost a day, or so it seemed, for time is strange when one is all alone in the dark, with such a troubled mind. But the raven's mind was only that of a bird now- simple and untroubled. It flew up to the light, with no thought of the dangers, and carefully fluttered though this hole, its little black wings almost brushing the sides. For this was not a large exit, no more than a hole in an hollow tree, rotting from the inside out, and from the outside it could simply be seen as a small nook, maybe inhabited by a woodpecker or squirrel. No one would know just by looking at it what dangers it led to. But the little raven, after it cast one last glance down into the hole with its strange black eyes, did not wish to dwell on it. Hopping onto an outward branch of the hollow tree, it surveyed the area around it, and in a few sharp, darting movements, fluttered up to almost the top of the tree. The sunlight on its wings as it spread it was refreshing and warming, chasing away the chills it felt outwardly, and the chills inside its mind. The grove of trees was quite beautiful, picturesque and serene, and beyond it, the raven could see fields, with small, bright blue and white flowers growing there in what looked like almost a solid carpet of pearl and saphire...
Something stirred inside the mind of the bird. Those blue and white flowers had struck a chord inside it, and beneath the untroubled bird's mind, another was struggling to remain hidden. The bird almost seemed to give a sigh, before it hopped down under the shelter of the leaves once more.
A quick change and an almost fall later, a girl with hair as black as the little raven's, but her tight fitting leather clothes rather dustier, reluctantly appeared over the treetops. She stared at the flowers, trying to gather her thoughts into a sensible order, as it was near to impossible to make sense of the scattered thoughts and images of a raven in this form. Then her eyes widened and she seemed to take in the flowers anew, the shock of the revelation almost making her fall from her precarious perch once again.
"The wave lilies..." she breathed, not quite believing it. This was what they had searched for, and now here they were, and there was no doubt in her mind that it was certainly them- they were distinctive and beautiful flowers, true to their name: delicat inner petals as blue as the sea, and the longer white outer petals as white as the crest of a wave.
A sound behind Raven made her turn, crouching low and unnoticed in a split bough. Looking down, she saw a pair of beings walk through the trees. One of them plucked an instrument of some sort from its belt and held it to its eye, looking out in the direction of the lily fields. It stared through this for a few moments, then lowered it and nodded to the other. Then they turned and began to walk back. Watching them as they left, Raven recognised them for what they were, for they suited the description- the clothes sat on them oddly, as if they weren't used to them, their movements were jerky, their eyes were dead and skin grey. These creatures of Isandeier had somehow got to the surface, and Raven had no doubt as to who had sent them, and why.
The young woman sighed and stood tall again, looking this time in the direction the creatures had headed. There was no sign of any life out in the dusty plain, but beyond the plain there was another forest, as sudden as this one. Maybe that was the direction which she needed to go. It was as good a guess as any. Now she just needed a form to go in...
Deciding to stick with her favourite, she concentrated and let herself change to the form of her namesake, letting her mind slip almost, but not entirely, into that carefree, jaunty mind that she knew so well. It would be so easy just to stay in this form, to let the mind take over completely...
"Goodbye little bird...."
The words of Milar, the old woman, came back to Raven, and she shook away thoughts of desertion. No, she would find Bronwen, Corrah and the rest- she would find them and tell them of the wave lily, for the sake of the city and her old friend, her surrogate mother, Milar.
Casting one last glance at the lily fields, unnoticed by the strange creatures, smelling of rot and grave-dirt, the little raven flew from her perch over the plain towards - hopefully - her friends.
* * * * * *
If I had the wings of a dove,
O'er these stony hills I would fly,
I would fly to the arms of my true love,
And there would be happy to die.
-м¥м
Imladris
Posts: 756 | From: the edge of innocence | Registered: December 16, 2002
elenna
Keen Eyed Wanderer
Shirriff
posted May 30, 2003 07:43 AM
It was a clear, starry night. Bronwen leaned forward and threw another stick on their campfire. The company was exhaustedly staring into the flames, too tired to sleep. They were fatigued and depressed, not knowing what to do now.
"How can we move on?" Corrah asked quietly. "We will die as soon as those creatures regroup. And without Raven, we barely have a chance."
"Maybe we should turn back," Neandarth whispered.
"Damn you!" Bronwen shouted, her patience snapping. "My city! My people! You just want to go back empty handed? Coward!"
-----------------------------
Thunder and lightning batter the rocks.
The winds howl and great storms break on the forest.
We will not go down.
We will not be beaten down like grain
Re: Search for Healing
shadow_staar
The Fortuneteller
Town Local
posted May 30, 2003 06:05 PM
"No, we can't go back," Corrah sighed, "They are my patients,"
"People! Are we just going to sit here, and depress about how this journey is not going our way?!" Browen shouted to the crew.
"But what else can we do?!" Neandarth argued back.
"We stand up and fight," Corrah said.
"With what? Your healing powers?" He sneered.
Corrah stood up and walked over to him. She slapped him across the face.
"At least I'm trying," She spat, and walked back to the fire.
"Enough! We will fight, and we will win, or die trying. That is final," Bronwen ordered.
-----------------------------
"We do not have to visit a madhouse to find disordered minds; our planet is the mental institution of the universe."
-Johann von Goethe
[This message was edited by mym on July 07, 2003 at 07:14 AM.]
[This message was edited by mym on July 14, 2003 at 12:31 PM.]
Posts: 177 | Registered: December 14, 2002
mym
Maiden du Mystique
Chief Shirriff
posted June 20, 2003 03:18 AM
Raven could feel the evil that was growing. Something was getting ready, something deep and old and cruel. And she knew exactly who would be at the head of this.
She was flying more urgently now. She would have changed to a better shape, a faster one maybe, but there was no time, and besides, she knew this form better than most others. She would have to change when she found them though- it is hard to fight as a raven. And they would have to fight. Beating her little black wings as fast as she could, she made for the forest in the distance. The others would be there, she knew it, maybe a little beyond it. But the evil was coming too; because she had been so close to its main part, to Isandeier, she could feel it even more strongly than she might have before. Had the others even noticed, her companions? The forest ahead was not rippling as it usually would be- it was lush and green, but silent. The animals had fled or taken cover. Would they even have noticed that?! She thought, exasperated. They must have noticed that!
But deep down, she knew they would not have. The wave lily was close, but the evil was closer, and it was ready to wipe them out. Raven's little claws clenched together as she might have clenched her fists in human form in determination and, flying as fast as this form would allow, she made towards the forest...
[This message was edited by mym on July 07, 2003 at 07:13 AM.]
Posts: 756 | From: the edge of innocence | Registered: December 16, 2002
elenna
Keen Eyed Wanderer
Shirriff
posted June 27, 2003 03:41 PM
"Coward? Gods, woman! I've faced down armies of the dead for you and your city, which I care nothing about. I've watched Raven, who oddly enough I do care about, get grabbed by something I can't fight! So HOW DARE YOU CALL ME A COWARD!"
Neandarth towered over Bronwen, his swarthy face dark with rage.
"What else would you call one who wishes to abandon his friends as soon as the road darkens? I call that a coward! We are only three days out from Belfalas, and yet you speak of turning back! What kind of warrior does that?"
Bronwen grasped the hilt of her sword as she spoke, ready to fight the man who had only days ago been her close companion. But suddenly, something dark swooped not six inches above her head. She ducked, unsheathing her sword and pointing it at...
A slim maiden, her face covered in blood and bruises.
"RAVEN!" Neandarth called, sweeping the girl up in an embrace that swung her around, oblivious to Raven's grimace of pain.
-----------------------------
Love is like a snowmobile racing across the tundra when suddenly, it flips over and pins you underneath. At night, the ice weasels come.
[This message was edited by mym on July 14, 2003 at 12:33 PM.]
Posts: 654 | Registered: December 12, 2002
mym
Maiden du Mystique
Chief Shirriff
posted June 28, 2003 04:02 AM
Raven smiled gratefully as Neandarth swung her around, but after a moment she had to struggle out, as he was pressing against many of the injuries she now had, and because she had to tell the rest of them her news, her warning. She was healing already, as her powers of healing had always been extraordinarily good, but they didn't usually translate across her shapes so well- it just showed how badly injured she was. She certainly wouldn't be able to go back into raven form for a few days.
Bronwen gasped as Raven faced all of them and the woman saw how bad her injuries were. "Gods, Raven, what has happened to you?"
"Archers," Raven was panting, and held her side as she spoke. "They are...they are g-guarding the wave lilies-"
"The wave lilies? They are up there?" Corrah's voice was eager and excited, and she started up the hill. Bronwen caught her by the arm though, spotting the 'but' before it came. Raven smiled her appreciation, and wiped a small cut above her eye.
"- but there are archers up there- that is how I...that is how I am like this. One saw me as I flew over them, and fired-"
"Flew?" Bronwen spoke here. Raven hesitated, realising she had made a mistake. But, in the corner of her eye, she saw Leila smile, as if she had been proved right about something. Raven looked back at Bronwen and Corrah guiltily. Corrah still looked completely puzzled, but Bronwen was nodding slowly, as if she was putting something together. Corrah spoke, slowly, a frown on her face. "Flew? How could you have-"
"I haven't time to explain!" Raven's voice was louder now, desperate. She glanced up over the crest of the hill- some of the dark ones would no doubt have followed her. Her voice went back to its normal volume again, but the desperation was still there. "There are many of them, archers and foot soldiers. But...but..." She stopped. How could she tell them that the soldiers were undead?
"Can't we get around them?" Bronwen asked, her eyes now straying up to the hill's crest as well.
"We can fight them!" Neandarth interjected, glaring angrily at Bronwen. "After all, that is what a true warrior would do. But you wouldn't know, would you now, Bronwen?"
"Just what are you implying?" Bronwen's hand was on her sword. Raven closed her eyes, trying to blot out the pain in her side. She would have to shift again very soon, to try to stop the pain so much. She moved in between the man and the woman.
"Please..." She gasped. "I will change...I will go up to them..."
"What do you mean, 'change'?" Corrah asked, still confused.
Raven couldn't reply with words. Instead, she took a deep breath, fixed the image of a wolf in her mind, and concentrated....
[This message was edited by mym on July 07, 2003 at 08:12 AM.]
Posts: 756 | From: the edge of innocence | Registered: December 16, 2002
elenna
Keen Eyed Wanderer
Shirriff
posted June 30, 2003 04:51 PM
Before the company's eyes, Raven shifted into the shape of a wolf. Corrah's rosy cheeks went violently pale.
"Oh. Change. I see," she said redundantly. But Bronwen and Neandarth had already forgotten her. Corrah turned to see Bronwen bristling in Neandarth's face again. She got the impression of a mouse facing down the cat.
"Well? Speak! What do you mean by suggesting I'm not a warrior? But I warn you, make your reply short, because there is warrior's work to be done over that hill, and I don't plan to shrink from it!"
-----------------------------
Love is like a snowmobile racing across the tundra when suddenly, it flips over and pins you underneath. At night, the ice weasels come.
[This message was edited by mym on July 14, 2003 at 12:34 PM.]
Posts: 654 | Registered: December 12, 2002
Cimmerian
The Sentinel!
Chief Magistrate
posted July 07, 2003 03:23 AM
"Well then," Neandarth barked back at Bronwen, "We go fo the wave lily right now. You will know that I am no coward and gold is not the only thing that drives me." He cast a glance at Raven in her canine form. Even in that guise she looked graceful. "And I will see that you put your money where your mouth is, fair Bronwen."
With that the tall youth strode off with blade in hand, cutting gleaming arcs in the air as he went. Corrah looked at Bronwen and shrugged. She knew they would need his strength and skill to get the wave lilies. And it did seem necessarry to charge him up for the job and get his infatuated focus off the shapeshifter. She looked at Bronwen and Raven in uncertainity.
Layla, Kerragan and Belom all stood and watched the huge warrior trudge away and then looked at Bronwen and Corrah for instruction.
IN STEEL I TRUST, BY CROM!
Posts: 1265 | From: Grim Grey Mountains, The Frozen North | Registered: December 12, 2002
mym
Maiden du Mystique
Chief Shirriff
posted July 07, 2003 06:11 AM
Stealth
As Neandarth strode off, Raven caught Corrah's uncertain gaze. Trying to make light of the topic, she rolled her eyes and let her tongue loll out as if smiling. Corrah looked startled, then grinned back. Bronwen looked over and saw it as well, and also smiled. But for all Mym's trying to make light of the situation, it was not just the oncoming enemy that worried the shapeshifter; something far more mundane seeming, but far closer, was worrying her. The way Neandarth had glanced at her just then, as he spoke to Bronwen….the way he had seized her, not just happily, but possessively…
The Shifter shook herself mentally. She made a small noise in her throat, not quite a growl, more like a human clearing their throat, and Bronwen turned towards her again. Raven had made a mental note to do this before she tried to speak to the woman mentally, as she wasn’t sure Bronwen would have been able to handle it without jumping, and Raven had no intention of making the woman seem weak in front of the others, especially Neandarth. Keeping her eyes on Bronwen, she ‘spoke’ to her.
”Can you hear me, Bronwen?” She asked softly, although she knew full well she could. For a moment, it looked like the guardswoman's eyebrows would disappear in her hair, they shot up that fast, and Raven gave her wolverine grin again. Bronwen peered at the wolf, then stepped forward a few steps and knelt down so she was on one knee, her face just a few inches from Raven’s. Raven appreciated this- it showed that Bronwen was not afraid of her, and that she knew the wolf to really be the shifter, in control of her own body. For that, Raven was thankful.
“Yes, I can hear you,” She replied softly, and rather self consciously.
”I will go up to the forest- they will not shoot a wolf, I think. After all, what would be the point?” Raven did not say anything about Cyrzinniel. No need to worry Bronwen when it might never happen. The guardswoman nodded, and Raven continued. “I can change up there- I have found a spot where they have less archers posted. I can manage to inflict some damage up there. Once you see a raven fly above the trees- and it will be very quick, I can’t stay in that form for long- make you way up as quietly as you can. Can you see those bushes over there, the scraggly line of them?” Bronwen looked over, then nodded. “Try to go through them. I will be attempting a distraction, and you will need to move quite fast, but with luck, they will not notice you for a while, as long as you are very quiet.”
And providing my distraction works. Raven did not voice the last part. Bronwen nodded and was about to reply, when she saw Neandarth looking. She glared at the mercenary, and seemed about to call over to him, but Raven made that small half growl again, and her head snapped back towards the wolf, a little too quickly- she wasn’t entirely comfortable with the wolf form, then. “Please,” Raven’s mind voice was soft and slightly pleading. ”You need to stand together. Do not fight with him.”
Bronwen regarded her for a moment, then nodded and gave a small smile, standing. “Alright. I’ll go and tell Corrah and the others what you have told me. And …Raven,” Raven turned to face the woman once more- she had just turned to go. Bronwen hesitated, then smiled again. “Good luck.”
Posts: 756 | From: the edge of innocence | Registered: December 16, 2002
Nevtalathiel
Midnight's Mistress
Keeper of the pipe-weed
posted July 12, 2003 03:51 AM
Cyrziniel stood, arms raised and outstretched towards the wood and the approaching party. She felt the power approaching her and felt the fear, the hatred, the passion. It coursed through her and made her strong. She could feel the emotions, she knew them, she could use them. Bitterness. Towards each other, supressed but there, as strong as the other emotions, and just as important. The group was fracturing. She felt it as though it were the ground beneath her feet splitting and falling away. Gently she smiled and lowered her arms, the brightly coloured emotions fading from her view leaving only the stragling trees, hung with shadows and dark with undergrowth.
"They're coming" she spoke delicately to Isandaier and withdrew once more to the shade of the twisted trees. There in the cool gloom she focused.
"Neandarth," she called warmly, slowly, luxuriously. "Neandarth, they're going to betray you. Don't let them. Let me help you Neandarth, let me help you save yourself."
Posts: 461 | From: The Hithershore | Registered: December 18, 2002
mym
Maiden du Mystique
Chief Shirriff
posted July 12, 2003 10:52 AM
Raven had just reached the wood, and was hastily shifting back to her elven form so she could move into her raven shape for a few minutes to give 'the signal', when she sensed it. She stopped, still in wolverine form, and listened.
Raven could sense the witch as she called to Neandarth, using her mind to project the voice to the unsuspecting mortal. Raven's eyes widened as she realised what was happening, then she almost laughed. Why would the mercenary believe the witch? Surely he wouldn't...what reason could he have to...he wouldn't...
But as Raven squinted down against the sun, her sharp dark eyes picked up Neandarth and, to her horror, she saw Neandarth turn slowly, his expression one of wonder and happiness. No...
Raven couldn't see Cyrziniel, but she knew vaguely where she was. And as the witch continued to cajole Neandarth- she didn't cover her mind speak, she obviously took Raven for being dead or far away- Neandarth began to turn towards Bronwen, whose back was to him as she faced the wood, watching for Raven. She wasn't even on her guard, and Raven couldn't speak to her from this far away without her mother's powers, and those she did not currently have...
There was no time to change any more- her muscles flowing under the surface of her sleek fur, Raven in Cyrziniel's direction, ready to tear apart all soldiers who got in her way, living, dead, or otherwise...
Posts: 756 | From: the edge of innocence | Registered: December 16, 2002
elenna
Keen Eyed Wanderer
Shirriff
posted October 17, 2003 11:18 AM
Let me help you, Neandarth,the angelic voice whispered in his mind. Only I can help you save Raven from those who would harm her.
"Who?" Neandarth asked, his voice taut with anxiety on behalf of his beloved. "Who is it?"
The voice didn't answer, but Neandarth found himself thinking of Bronwen.
Her, Neandarth. She will betray you all! Cyrziniel's poisoned honey tones spread themselves throughout the young mercenary's mind, and he had no doubts that the Minas Anor guardswoman was out to kill Raven.
Slowly he turned toward her, unsheathing the massive sword on his back.
[This message was edited by elenna on October 19, 2003 at 08:19 AM.]
Posts: 654 | Registered: December 12, 2002
mym
Maiden du Mystique
Chief Shirriff
posted October 18, 2003 10:03 AM
As Raven ran, she shot a quick glance down towards the group, half hidden, below her, and her stomach dropped.
Neandarth was right behind Bronwen, his sword drawn.
All the time, Raven heard Cyrzinniel's voice, sweetly speaking in the tones of one of the valar to the warrior, so strong in body, but obviously so weak in mind. "She will betray you all..."
"No! Bronwen, turn around, quickly! Not able to run and project the message when she was still weakened from the journey after so long not eating as well, Raven skidded to a halt, her paws digging into the ground as she stopped abruptly. All she could do was hop desperately that the message would cover the distance in time...
Neandarth raised his sword behind the warrior-woman's spine, ready to drive it in with a fatal blow...
Bronwen looked up, startled, one hand to her head, then she looked up quickly. For a split second, her eyes met with Raven's and widened slightly...
Neandarth lifted his arms slightly, before bringing the sword down, fast, tearingly fast towards the smaller figure in front of him...
...And the clash of swords reverberated throughout the valley, causing all to turn, as Bronwen spun with speed that belied even her already small and agile form, her knuckles white on her sword as it clashed against Neandarth's with all of her strength, on one knee in order to avoid his blow, her teeth gritted as she struck up against Neandarth's sword.
Throughout Raven's mind another sound echoed - the scream of anger and frustration that Cyrzinniel produced as her plan failed. And for that brief second, Neandarth blinked, and seemed to waver slightly for a second - a second in which Bronwen thrust away his sword from her, standing quickly to face him. Then the mental grip of iron that Cyrzinniel had honed all these years came down crushingly on him again, and his eyes hardened to the steel of his sword.
There was no time to spare. Already Cyrzinniel was seeking with another part of her mind to find Raven, knowing now that it must be her daughter who had alerted Bronwen, and Raven could feel her prescence. And although her daughter wanted to scream out where she was, to tell Cyrzinniel exactly how she would stop her, to make her run, the girl kept her mind covered so the witch wouldn't be able to find her without complete concentration. She would reveal herself at exactly the right moment...
She had no fixed plan in her mind, no true course of action. But all of herself, as she Changed as fast as possible into an eagle and took off, keeping running all the time she could, was focused on getting to Cyrzinniel before...before it was too late.
Keep one eye from their battle, witch, she thought, for I shall come as quietly as you left...
* * * * * *
Life - loath it or ignore it, you can't like it.
-м¥м
Nanna's Gollum fan club...Blog
Posts: 756 | From: the edge of innocence | Registered: December 16, 2002
elenna
Keen Eyed Wanderer
Shirriff
posted October 19, 2003 07:40 AM
With a strength uncommon to a woman, Bronwen managed to shove Neandarth's blade away.
"What's wrong with you?" she cried as he stumbled, trying to recover his balance.
Instead of an answer, Neandarth snarled at her, bringing his sword down again in a bonecrushing blow. Bronwen stepped to the side, wincing as the sword whistled past her ear.
"Stop it! Neandarth! What is wrong?"
-----------------------------
I am the blade that pierces the heart.
You are the torch that lights the pyre.
Together we conquer.
Together we rule.
Posts: 654 | Registered: December 12, 2002
shadow_staar
The Fortuneteller
Town Local
posted October 21, 2003 11:45 AM
Corrah spun around, and gasped as she saw the two go at it. Bronwen was screaming for Neandarth to stop, but he wouldn't listen. Corrah noticed an odd look in his eyes: Hate, pure hate. The healer was so confused, she didn't know what had spurned this emotion in the man. She didn't know why he was so mad at Bronwen, but she would find out. Nothing could keep her from reaching her goal, not even someone trying to tear the group apart.
"Neandarth Stop!" Bronwen screamed, as she blocked another blow.
"You won't betray us!" He grunted as he swung again.
"What? Betray you?" Both Corrah and Bronwen asked.
Neandarth swung again, and Bronwen used all her strenght to keep the crazed warrior at bay.
-----------------------------
"We do not have to visit a madhouse to find disordered minds; our planet is the mental institution of the universe."
-Johann von Goethe
Posts: 177 | Registered: December 14, 2002
elenna
Keen Eyed Wanderer
Shirriff
posted October 26, 2003 11:05 AM
Bronwen barely managed to block the next stroke, using her reserves of strength to shove the big mercenary away from her.
"Neandarth, I'm not a traitor! Stop this!" she shouted. Neandarth, his face scarlet with rage, responded by directing a downward chop at her head.
Bronwen brought her blade up just in time. The hilt of Neandarth's sword locked around her own hilt, and he forced her to her knees with his greater mass. Then he reached down, grabbing her by her throat.
"I trusted you, and this is how you repay me," he snarled. Then his hand tightened, cutting off Bronwen's oxygen.
The Guardswoman had no choice. She reached down and plucked the long dagger out of her boot, thrusting it deep into Neandarth's unprotected chest.
Neandarth's dark eyes widened as he dropped do the ground. Bronwen, dizzy from being strangled, crawled over to his side. Corrah too ran over, but it was no use.
Neandarth was dead.
Posts: 654 | Registered: December 12, 2002
shadow_staar
The Fortuneteller
Town Local
posted October 31, 2003 12:24 PM
Corrah choked back a sob, and turned her head away. There was nothing she could do for the dead man, so instead she went to Bronwen.
"Are you ok?" She asked gently, as she saw the bruises forming around her neck.
"I'm fine," Bronwen said, still looking at the dead Neandarth.
"I can't believe this happened," Bronwen whispered.
"Things never go the way they are planned, that is the course of life, no matter how uncomprehensible it is," Corrah tried to soothe the warrior, "Here, now let me put some salve on that, it will help with the bruises."
Corrah dug out some salve from her bag, and mad Bronwen sit down. Bronwen argued that she didn't need any, but Corrah insisted.
"We must do something," Bronwen said quietly.
-----------------------------
"We do not have to visit a madhouse to find disordered minds; our planet is the mental institution of the universe."
-Johann von Goethe
Posts: 177 | Registered: December 14, 2002
mym
Maiden du Mystique
Chief Shirriff
posted November 02, 2003 10:53 AM
A sudden cry of pain from down where her friends were hiding, and at the same, a yell of anger and surprise bursting through her mind, made Raven look with dread down to where her friends were hiding. ..and the world seemed to work in slow motion.
Her sharp eyes picked up everything in fine, perfect detail, allowing her to see everything perfectly as it unfolded. As Neandarth's hand closed in a tight, vice-like grip around Bronwen's throat, Raven's mouth opened...
...and as Bronwen's sword sank in a flash into Neandarth's stomach, right up to the hilt, her cry came out, a deep, wild, full-throated noise of pain and anger and surprise, a message sent out to all sides through her mouth, and through her mind.
"Noooooooo!" The howl, the likes of which would rarely ever be heard to a human that would live out the night to remember it, embodied such pain that even the humans among the shapeshifter's enemies froze at the sound of it, their hearts almost breaking at first to hear such sorrow, then, as some instinct inside them recognised the sound, their blood turned to ice, their knuckles tightening around weapons that they suddenly knew could be snapped like twigs in the jaws of a wolf.
But not all of the enemy were human.
Like one well-oiled machine, the heads of one hundred hand picked warriors, their lungs still and their hearts dead, turned towards the sound of the wolf, then down the hill to where the first cry had come from, to where a pitiful group of a few brave warriors knelt or stood, staring up in horror at the force as, moving as one, one hundred warriors stepped forward out of the trees.
"Kill them!" Cyrzinniel's voice was a harsh screech as she yelled to forces...who were not under her command. Isandeier stiffened suddenly, then turned, very slowly, his eyes, visible in the slit in his mail helmet, blazing literally red with a wizard's anger, until he faced Cyrzinniel. And, fired with enough rage herself, had the foolishness not to lower her eyes.
His gauntletted hand whipped out in a second, striking her in a vicious backhanded blow across the side of her pale face, and the witch went down immediately.
Involuntarily, Raven flinched.
Isandeier turned back to his troops, the undead halting the living who had started forward at the witch's command while they themselves stood as still as if nothing had happened, and, in the same way as if nothing had happened, he gave his own command.
"Cythar, gallath!"
Was she alright? How much had it hurt, would she be ok? The thoughts sprang into the wolf's head involuntarily, catching her by surprise. Why did it matter to her...?
Isandeier's voice a slow, long bellow in a language Raven didn't need to understand to get the meaning.
In the distance, almost inaudible to human ears, a wolf howled.
Slowly, with the slow, precise menace of those who feel no fear, backed by those who, confronted with such a pitiful enemy, did not need to, the dark forces began to march towards the group at the bottom. And Bronwen, in a moment that made Raven's heart swell with pride for her friend, drew her sword.
And again, louder this time, from a slightly different direction, came another howl.
Raven got to her feet from where she had crumpled in her despair, her ears pricking for the sound, listening to the messages carried. Another howl sounded, that desolate, eerie sound carrying now even to the dull ears of the humans, and a few faltered slightly, looking around. On the hill, Raven smiled, the sides of her mouth pulling back in a wolfish grin. In about two minutes, the dark forces would reach her friends, slow as they were, and when they did, she and her companions would fight as if to the death...but as to whether that death would ever come....
The wolves had left this forest not long before.
But they had heard her.
And they were coming.
Throwing back her maned head, Raven howled again, as powerfully as she could, telling them she was here, she needed help...
And towards her, straightening from where he was hunched over the witch, was directed a glare of such hate that said that, if looks could kill, whole legions would lie dead. Hefting a huge battleaxe, Isandeier left the unconcious Cyrzinniel...and started towards her daughter.
* * * * * *
Life - loath it or ignore it, you can't like it.
-м¥м
Nanna's Gollum fan club...Blog
Posts: 756 | From: the edge of innocence | Registered: December 16, 2002
mym
Maiden du Mystique
Chief Shirriff
posted November 22, 2003 06:03 AM
The eerie call flowed from inside Raven from deep in her soul, both parts of her giving it all she had, both the wolf and the elf in her. It was their last chance...again, she howled, wild, desperate, the call of a lone wolf in need of help...
And as she paused, a reply came. Then another. The another. Three different calls, from leaders, from two different directions. By their voices, the tones of confidence and command in them, she knew that had to be at least 15 full grown wolves. Fifteen savage wild animals, powerful and intelligent, with weapons born with more natural ability than any two-footer wielding a sword could ever accomplish...
Excited and fueled by the answers of those speeding towards her to her aid, Raven opened her throat and howled once again-
-and the next second was flung through the air, all the breath knocked out of her in a yelp. She landed nearly two metres from where she had stood, sprawled now in the mud churned up by the feet of the nightmareish army who were drawing ever closer to her friends who, unable to stop themselves, were drawing away slightly, not retreating, but fear showing in their eyes. Raven opened her eyes wide to see who had struck her, and saw, advancing in three huge steps, a vision of armoured evil. Isandeier. Scrambling to her feet, Raven leapt to the side, shaking her head to clear the fuzziness, and his battleaxe, swung down on the spot where she had been with an almightly yell from Isandeier, landed deep in the ground, the whole blade buried in the mud.
He wrenched it out with some difficulty, his helmetted head turned to her, the eyes through the slits almost invisible but their anger flashing through as he raised the viser. Raven scrambled away a few steps, slipping in the mud, then stood her ground, teeth bared, a snarl at her lips. The warrior in front of her curled his lip underneath his helmet, then raised the axe once more, swinging it from above his head at her.
"Cythar!" He bellowed. Raven fighting away the terror inside her, leapt from where she was towards him, the axe missing her, but her claws meeting his flesh with a tearing sound as they snagged in his cheek. As she came back to land once more, she looked up, defiance in her very stance, crouched on the ground ready to leap again, as she surveyed the damage she had done. The man gave another bellow, this time of pain, one hand clutched to his face. From beneath his fingers, blood leaked, dar, almost black blood, testimony to the wickedness of years.
As Raven summoned up another leap, her muscles tensed under grey fur...a sound, so close, distracted her attention. Looking around, surprised, the shapeshifter saw there, on the edge of the forest, the first lot of wolves, ten of them, tongues hanging from the run, but still ready for action. Their leader, an almost black, magnificent being, the hair around his neck thick and his head held straight and high, met her gaze. The shapeshifter lowered hersef slightly in acceptance and deference and, satisfied, the wolf bowed his head slightly, then howled again....and another howl came from the other side of Isandeier's army, followed by more and Raven, hardly able to believe it, saw five more wolves there.
And, as if at a silent signal, they attacked.
* * * * * *
Life - loath it or ignore it, you can't like it.
-м¥м
Nanna's Gollum fan club...Blog
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