|
Post by Beowuuf on Mar 31, 2008 16:56:53 GMT -5
From BC and Beo: Due to the crash that Tower of the Sun suffered, the Chapter 16 of the West Watch was lost. It would be great if we could recover much of the 'lost' thread as possible. Feel feel to post your sections, in one lump of posts, into this thread. As with the efforts for the other chapters, this will be turned into a .html file without the forum format. With what you will post here, a new Story so far will be written for Chapter 17.
Edit: To avoid confusion, this thread is locked. Please PM Black Cat, Ghost Bear or Beowuuf if you possess any missing sections of this chapter.
The Story so far...
For a while, Magnamund seemed as if the light of Good was illuminating it with a renewed power, but the servants of Naar made sure that it wasn’t going to be an easy win. Many of them emerged from the shadows and are now threatening the fragile balance of the planet.
The Vakeros Knight turned wolf creature Beowuuf continued his undercover mission in the Darklands. Unfortunately, in the ransacked temple at Point Vashna, it was the Death Knight Dark Walker who received clues to the mineral Urga-kor-Naar, the 'footfall of Naar' - the Drakkar told to 'go to Maaken'.
Beowuuf overheard and realized the knight needed to be stopped, but an altercation with the Death Knight leader Karlnos provided Dark Walker with the opportunity to escape this and the troop - slaying many of the Giaks and blinding a fellow knight Crimson Blade. Karlnos only survived the treacherous stab that started the escape by the fast actions of the Death Knight Toraar, a 'coward to pain' who Beowuuf realized had a connection to Karlnos.
The remaining troop chased Dark Walker, seeking steeds in Argazad and finding a slight delay near Kaag when an Advanced Vordak, one whose body was invulnerable as long as two hosts possessed its mind and Vordak Gem, tried unsuccessfully to take their mounts.
Meanwhile Kollosco, the ex-ship's captain who betrayed Beowuuf and was a self-confessed Brother of the Descending Night, had started piecing together what was happening to Beowuuf. Kollosco intercepted Beowuuf in Argazad, but the uneasy truce did not last long as the man left to pursue what he knew before the troop had got near Kaag.
The luck of Beowuuf finally turned outside the Darklands, when he was captured over the reclaimed lands on his way to Maaken. Toraar was slain by an arrow and Karlnos' Zlanbeast was shot down. The remaining Giaks were similarly slaughtered leaving only the blinded Crimson Blade and Beowuuf as captives of a dwarf company. It turned out that this company was lead by none other than a disguised Prince Torfan, the son of King Ryvin and next King of Bor.
Beowuuf was then further sent into a spin when he discovered that he was, in fact, not the Vakeros Knight Tamas Rehme - for the man, and Lord Gralmis his mentor, were both still very much alive and had returned from the Darklands.
Meanwhile, Master Andras, the high councilor of the Brotherhood of the Crystal Star who gave Beowuuf his mission yet does not remember, welcomed the remainder of Kollosco's betrayed crew home, including the new captain Duman. Andras had been unsuccessful in finding clues to the Urga-Kor-Naar. He was further concerned at learning of Kollosco's betrayal, for it turned out the two had been lifelong friends and Kollosco himself had told Andras of the existence of the Brotherhood of the Descending Night.
Master Andras finally discovered something to answer the mystery of why he had sent Beowuuf into the Darklands without remembering it. Unfortunately, that discovery happened behind closed doors with his advisors Childers and Bulanis - and those three were now acting strangely and were keeping the secret they had discovered even from the Guildmaster himself.
In Kuchek, having received some mysterious intelligence regarding documents that could in some way compromise Durenor or Durenese assets, Simey and Armadalus left the city in search of more information. Whether by coincidence or design, this led them to accompany a group known as the Order of the Yellow Robe as they ventured into the living nightmare that had formally been the city of Eshnar in an attempt to thwart the source of the evil there.
In Southern Magnamund, the Amazon Aguila Saber was sent away from Telchos by order of the Council of Thirty for mysterious reasons. The first leg of her journey was taking her to Westhaven in Lencia aboard the Lencian trading ship The Condor.
However, a few days out from Telchos, the ship encountered a strange creature called the Sea Maiden who lures sailors to jump overboard to their doom as well as being capable of powerful psychic attacks.
Aided by Aguila, who was the focus of the Sea Maiden's attacks, Staro, the first mate, managed to slay the evil creature. For her help, Aguila received two items which that had been found where the Sea Maiden had been stained: a red ring (which Aquila kept sealed into a bottle) and a small cittern which, judging by its design and inscriptions on it is of Telco origin. Aquila learned that the music played by the Sea Maiden was very similar to her own music.
The ship made a stop in Quill. During her stay there, Aquila stopped a pick-pocket attempt on her escort Marco made by a rogue called Bolo the Swift. It ended with Bolo the Swift being led away by the guards.
Unfortunately, Bolo the Swift was not a man to cross. The next day, he tried to kill Aquila when she left the house she stayed during the night. Bolo did no better this time and was quickly defeated and caught by Aquila.
The attack had been seen by an artist called Tinto Escalon who suggested to Aquila that she took Bolo to his house, which she agreed to do. However, Tinto wanted in fact to paint Aquila’s picture, but didn't said it so.
Aquila found out much sensitive information about Bolo and particularly about the shady guild to which he belonged. While Bolo was questioned, he tried to kill Aquila and Tinto with a poison tablet but fell prey to its effects himself.
Tint’s father Leonardo returned home after having been fetched by a worried servant. Tinto and Leonardo made a number of paintings of Aquila. In the evening, there was a meeting with the family which also included Tint’s sister, Tina. They discussed many things as well as a plan to eliminate Bolo's guild.
The next morning, the militia attacked the guild. Most of the members prefered to kill themselves rather than being taken captive. It was estimated that roughly two thirds of the guild had been taken out in the attack. Meanwhile, assassins visited the Escalon estate and killed two guards before they were discovered outside Tinto's room and escaped.
Leonardo compensated Aguila for her help and offered her two noteworthy items. The first was a painting of herself made by Tinto and set in a valuable frame that beared the Escalon family mark. The second was an engraved silver chalice which was offered by a dwarf from Boden called Elrin in return for a portrait that Leonard painted for him.
Aguila and Tinto were smuggled out to The Condor and shared the journey together to Westhaven in Lencia.
Back in Sommerlund, Kai Master Wild Horse reached the city of Toran and presented himself at the Castle of the Fleets.
Taking some time to understand the workings of the Kai Fleet and the life of the crewmen, Wild Horse wrote a report to Ghost Bear, the Kai Lieutenant of the Order. He proposed some policy changes and ideas for the improvement of the Kai Fleet, notably easing the way for interested Kai Lords to sail the seas as part of their Kai Training. To his surprise, in reply, he found himself rewarded with a promotion to the rank of Grand Master, and given the Kai Weapon Illuminatus.
After the ecstasy of that raise, Wild Horse continued with the naval training exercises. However, the news about two new ships being built in Anskaven prompted him to undertake a short voyage across to the northern city to check on its progress abroad the Emerald Defender, supported by the Crystal Forge.
A letter was send back to Dharn's hometown from his auntie Fanny with news about Dharn. Apparently, he and Hazelae are now taking odd jobs to make ends met. As they worked together, they each learn more and more about each other.
The newly knighted Vakeros, Ninja Flick, along with his commanding officer Knight-Captain Doran, journeyed from Dessi to Kakush in pursuit of the disappeared villagers of the small mountain town of Parma. On their way to the capital city of Nikesa, they were informed that there was internal strife between the Emir of Kakush and his brother, Vartan. Upon arriving in Nikesa, the two Vakeros discovered that the people they were looking for were Vassagonians that have been traveling with Vartan’s company.
Flick and Doran sneaked into Vartan’s camp, located outside of the city’s walls. While searching for the Vassagonians, they discovered that Vartan was in league with the kidnappers of Parma’s inhabitants, and was also in on the attack on Flick’s company. They overheard a conversation between the Vassagonians and Vartan, during which it was revealed that the Vassagonians were trying to create their own race of Giaks. They were to be a cheap source of soldiers for Vartan to unseat Emir Lobar, as well as for the Vassagonians to use in an invasion of Dessi. The Vassagonians were hoping to get their hands on a Vakeros or a Kai in order to make the soldiers more powerful.
Sadly for Flick and Doran, they were discovered before they could kill Vartan and put an end to his plan. They tried to fight their way to an ancient airship that was in Vartan’s possession, and supposedly contained the missing villagers, but during the desperate battle the Vassagonians reached it first. Knight-Captain Doran ordered Flick to return to Elzian with the news of what happened, and he spellstepped onto the airship as it flew away. Flick quickly made his escape from the encampment and traveled back to Dessi.
After his return to Dessi, Flick learned that Captain Doran had recommended him for a specially accelerated program, and that he was to be given the provisional title of Knight-Captain. He was told this by Knight-Commander Oswalt, who had gone through the same program twelve years earlier. He was to be prepared for a mission into Vassagonia in search of Captain Doran, and was also charged with finding a way to stop the Vassagonian’s plan.
Flick was finally given a Blue Steel Sword, which was Doran’s first sword and was an heirloom of his family.
Things weren’t looking good in Helgedad. The Drakkarim known as Wyrmslayer became a legend among the creatures of the city for the role he played during the recent civil war. However, now that he was in charge of the reconstruction of the Black City, Wyrmslayer learned that the supplies he needed to rebuild Helgedad were starting to get rare. Less and less minerals arrived in the city, which made the Drakkarim mad.
Deep under the city, Storm-Helm was exploring some type of catacombs, trying to find the source of the powerful Black Magic that was shooting green lightning across the area. Finally, the Drakkarim arrived at a place with strange hooded figures standing around a dragon-like beast. However, his presence was noticed and Storm-Helm was captured. It was at that moment that he discovered that Gartuk, who was following him, was in fact a Helghast in disguise. The dragon (a Nadziranim for sure) wanted to use Storm-Helm as a sacrifice to whatever he planned to summon from the Shadow Gate that was nearby. Luckily for the Drakkarim, he was able to set himself free and, just he was doing so, a group of soldiers appeared and attacked the cultists, cutting short the ceremony.
At the Sea Castle, on the Rhorgal Island located just outside Anskaven, Black Cat met Baron Cila, Ambassador of Eldenora in Sommerlund, during a supper the night before the actual ball that Lord Aldius had invited them to. Cila took the occasion to tell the Grand Master of the Order that he had documents of very high importance that he wanted him to hide. The Ambassador believed that, within the Sea Castle, some people were trying to get the envelop containing the documents before it reached the authorities of Sommerlund. Black Cat accepted to hide the documents in his bedroom until he could find a way to give them to Lord Valkom, the uncle of Aldius and Minister of State for Foreign Affairs.
The next day, the day of the ball, Aldius asked Black Cat in his office and tried to make him spill the beans about the documents, saying that they were in fact part of a conspiracy against the King. Black Cat lied to Aldius, believing that he was probably the man trying to get the documents back that Cila warned him about the night before.
During the ball however, while Black Cat was talking to Lord Valkom's daughter, Kina, who was also the fiancée of Lord Aldius, the guards of the Treasurer of Sommerlund interrupted them to bring the Kai back in front of Aldius. There, Black Cat discovered that he had been had and that Cila had lied to him; Aldius had been saying the truth all that time. According to Aldius, the documents were indeed plans for an unknown organization of rebels, the Freedom Brothers, to assassinate the King. Even worst for Black Cat, Cila himself tried to make Aldius believed that Black Cat was the leader of the Freedom Brothers in charge of the assassination.
In front of these facts, Aldius decided to send both Black Cat and Cila to jail while waiting for a trial. However, Cila committed suicide before he could be brought in his cell. Now, only Black Cat is left with charges of conspiring against the King, and the only man who could have saved him by saying the truth was dead.
In other news, after achieving the rank of Kai Master, Wise Fox was sent to Eshnar by his superiors of the Monastery. In this mission, he would have to join a group of creatures led by a Sage of Lyris who happened to be a Cat creature named Zipp. The consequences of this expedition are still unknown.
A little bit further to the South, in Holmgard, the Kai Lord known as Star Dragon came back home after being missing in action for quite a while. He was transformed, looking more like a pirate than a Kai. He went to the Monastery and secretly went to get some mysterious documents from the library without anybody noticing his presence. The said documents were the diary of a forgotten Kai Master. A passage talking about Kalte attracted Sky Dragon’s attention. A few days later, he set sail in that direction on his new ship. He was going to Ikaya.
Kehl Loeman, aka NightHunter, was given the task of officially becoming the chairman of the Magnamund Knights' Council he had helped secure. His task was to form an official sitting council with staff to solidify what had been a nebulous organization of the Vakeros, Sommlending and Duranese knighthoods until now.
What lies in the shadows for all these characters? Will Flick find a way to stop the Vassagonians? What is the mission of Aguila? What is the Order of the Yellow Robes that Simey and Armadeleus are helping? Does Urga-kor-Naar really mean “The Footfall of Naar” and not “The football of Naar”? Is the story of Aguila and Tinto on the Condor not a Magnamundian version of the Titanic? Will Black Cat be able to return to the ball and show all his dancing moves to impress the girls? Chapter 16 of the West Watch will start right now.
|
|
|
Post by Beowuuf on Apr 4, 2008 6:58:21 GMT -5
Simey wrote: (end of chapter 16 sections)
Somewhere near Eshnar
"Hail!" called the green-clad figure who had apparently been following them.
Simey peered through the trees and frowned; the approaching man looked oddly familiar and yet Simey couldn't place him at all. The uncomfortable feeling of pressure in his mind returned once again and he forced himself not to consider the origins of his recognition.
"Hail!" called Armadalus after a few moments, the friendly tone of his greeting tainted by disquiet. Simey glanced at the Sommlending and could tell that the man was not completely unknown to him either.
"Lord Armadalus, Lord Vojske! It is indeed good to see you again!" said the man enthusiastically as he made his way up to them. Simey's eyes again flicked uncertainly to Armadalus to see if the man's knowledge of their names was as much of a surprise to him.
"Master Wise Fox," said Armadalus slowly, experimentally. It looked to Simey like he was going to say more, but he didn't.
"Yes," said the man hesitantly, obviously affected by the unsettled welcome. Then, with a deliberate injection of enthusiasm, he continued, "I am very glad to see two familiar faces in the midst of all this strangeness. Have you seen any of the others? Do you know what happened?"
"No, we don't," said Armadalus. "And we haven't."
Again Simey felt that the Sommlending was holding back from saying more, but, having no idea what his companion and the newcomer were talking about, he could not hold back himself from asking his own, somewhat incredulous, questions. "What do you mean 'what happened'? And what 'others' are you talking about?"
Armadalus drew a tense-sounding breath and the man apparently called 'Master Wise Fox' looked at Simey disbelievingly. Ignoring the lack of an immediate response, Simey went after the answer he wanted most. "And how do you two know each other?"
Yet again the sensation that Armadalus had something to say, but was forcing himself not to speak. Master Wise Fox, however, did respond with but one word, spoken with a suddenly haunted tone and expression.
"Eshnar."
There is another.
Senses that for so long have recognised only a single realistic - though nevertheless marginal - threat are surprised to encounter a second entity emanating potential outside the mundane. They probe further and feel the cold touch of the void. This is unexpected and gives even such a disparate consciousness pause for consideration. A firm grasp on a link to some external source would make it simple to sever the connection, but this is not to be had, so indefinable is the wielded power. Whilst extremely unlikely, it is notably not beyond possibility that this being might, therefore, defeat anything that Eshnar is capable of pitting against it.
The focus on the newly acknowledged power broadens, seeking a chink, however minute, in its indistinctly robust armour. It finds one, and in so doing makes another unforeseen but fascinating discovery: this potent entity is tied to another. The manner of their bond is as elusive as the source of the being's capability, but this matters little to the heart of Eshnar as it decides - in its multifariously coordinated way - on a course of action.
The enemy of my enemy is its friend, quips a facet of the heart, and the sensation of myriad malevolent smiles fills its countenancelessness and seeps out into the fabric of the living city.
Soon there will be no other.
|
|
|
Post by Beowuuf on Apr 4, 2008 12:29:55 GMT -5
Beowuuf's chapter 16 starting posts:
It is important to know ones own mind. Especially as a Vakeros, with all their need to channel battle magics, and their repute for stoic skill in the face of all agreesors. Even more so as a student of the college of Kaernos.
It is important to know ones own mind, for everyone is the hero of their own story - from noblest kai lords to blackest villainous drakkarim, from most intelligent giak to the most self-serving of knight. From the common man to the uncommon Telchos, and even the unique and terrifying controllers of the undead all see the world in a differnt way. It is important in the flow of the tapestery of life, the weave that forms the soul of Magnamund, to know ones place ther, to stake ones own mind down firmly against the tide of perception that might threaten to overwhelm it otherwise.
The Vakeros knight Beowuuf was doing, he would have considered, quite well - maintaining his mental faculties after a shaky start. For when his body was incarcerated in Kaag, and the only choice left to him was to move his mind into the body of a wolf creature, he had to flee and leave his mentor to an uncertain fate that must surely be death, and adjust to a body that had instincts of its own, and whose own mind was not fully departed from its form either.
He had done well when that mind had surfaced. He had even done well when he had been forced to go undercover in the Darklands, a place he never wanted to visit again, pretending to be the wolf creature. Infact, so well he had discovered a strange balance and calm he had not known since the accident.
To discover that his mentor was still alive would be a challenge to the balance Beowuuf had managed to achieve, but not an insermountable one. Certainly however, to discover ones own original body not only still alive but still possessing all the faculties you believed you had was a challenge.
Being a wolf creature driven by the echo of another's mind was certainly enough to make one doubt one's own mind, especially when you were still convinced you were the vakeros. And certainly when the only powers you had to draw on were perhaps only in relaity memories of another.
Beowuuf may not know his own mind, but he knew one thing - he was not yet mad, and he was alive no matter what he actually was. Even if his past memories were a lie, the recent past and the present were not - he was still the sum of his actions.
Those actions should not be withdrawing into the comforting arms of unconsciousness, no matter how tempting it was to stay there. And so with an odd mental prod, and with extreme reluctance, Beowuuf, whatever he truely was, opened his eyes...
Temporary headquarters of the free companies, somewhere near the border of the Darklands
"What should we do with the wolf and Drakkar then?" said a voice.
"One of us needs a bath," said Beowuuf groggily, pulling himself upright, "and it certainly is not the Death Knight. After that you can do what you want with me." Beowuuf's mind then caught up with him, reminding him of the unreal awakening he had last time. He opened his eyes properly, but apart from being in some form of dorms, with temporary rough cots that could house soldiers, the scene had not changed much.
Prince Torfan, the next king of the dwarfs of Bor and apparently leader of the dwarf armies here, was still present. The dwarf was the one who spoke, and he was talking with Lord Gramlis, the man Beowuuf still thought of as a mentor, and...Tamas. The man Beowuuf had believed himself to be.
Odd to know a man's mind so well you would swear to being him. Odd to only knowing yourself through a stranger's memories. A part of Beowuuf's mind tried to rebel again, and Beowuuf had to settle for not thinking about it. He had chosen the name 'Beowuuf' when he first came back to Dessi in what seemed a lifetime ago. He had chosen that name, not Sorba the wolf nor Tamas the Vakeros, though Beowuuf had certainly tried to integrate back into that life unsuccessfully. Beowuuf was...someone else from all his memories, and his past did not matter - only what he did now.
"You are awake already?" asked Prince Torfan neutrally.
"Fast body," said Beowuuf with a grin. He winced as he shifted into a sitting position, one that reminded him of all the wounds he had received. Relatively old wounds from a Helghast encounter that had led him to this strange mission in the Darklands, a mission that was not quite over. And there were recent wounds where the squad of Drakkarim and Giaks he had been leading had been cut down. Only one Death Knight, the blinded Crimson Blade, and Beowuuf himself had survived. Beowuuf still did not know what to make of that. Was it a weakness to feel something for cold blooded murderers, just because they had odd quirks of character? Or was that the strength that ultimately would see the followers of Light were stronger than those of Naar? A debate in his mind for another time, surely.
Beowuuf's general lethargy of body was reminding him that, despite the superior nature of his wolf's body, it was not inexhaustable. A price was eventually demanded for its focus and power. "If you will not give me some soap, hot water and privacy," said Beowuuf sadly to the three staring at him oddly, "then can I at least request some decent hot food to replace the taste of Darklands fare in my mouth and memory. In return," continued Beowuuf looking to Torfan and slightly at Tamas, but not quite able to look at Lord Gralmis, "in return I will answer any questions. Or at least try as best as my besiged mind will allow me."
Toprfan nodded slowly at the offer, gesturing to the corner. One of the twins, skillful dwarfs under Torfan's command, had apparently been there. With reluctance he moved out of the doorway's shadow.
Lord Gralmis looked over to Tamas, for Tamas seemed hesitant yet managed to ask the question. "You, you said...you mentioned..." he started.
"He is alive," said Beowuuf, without lettign the man finish nor without looking at him fully. "M... our...I mean..." and Beowuuf could then not force himself to say 'your', "Sahmas is alive," he settled for. "And yes. Lina and he managed to escape after all, it seems." Torfan was completely at a loss as to what was being said, as Beowuuf knew yet cared little about. Lord Gralmis might understand the news better, might realise the full import, but he would know better than to share either or comment. Some things were private.
Meanwhile Beowuuf had to force himself to give Tamas a sympathetic look, for some reason knowing the emotions the man was going through made him less sympathetic not more. Then again, Beowuuf had cursed himself for a fool for not staying in Dessi. Perhaps it was simply the fact that Tamas still represented Beowuuf's own mind given form. Why should he be any less hard on the man that he had been on himself.
Except...except if Tamas hadn't have gone to the Darklands, Lord Gralmis would surely have perished. And even after the incident, the real Tamas had trekked as Beowuuf had not, had faced his fears instead of being swallowed by them. Had gone all the way to Helgedad from Kaag to rescue his mentor.
Tamas was displaying all the reserve of the Vakeros at the news, but Beowuuf realised this was how he himself must appear when he had fought in battle - outwardly calm and unshifted when in relaity his emotions were a maelstrom inside.
"I should give your condolences to Lina when you see her, her father perished in the escape," said Beowuuf offhand, finding the exchange was mentally draining.
"We have many questions, it seems," said Torfan, not really understanding the exchange and wishing to move back to miltary matters while the knight Tamas was temporarily speechless.
"And I will ask them," reassured Lord Gramlis, gesturing that both Torfan and Tamas should leave. Beowuuf gave a neutral look at this, and both Tamas and Torfan seemed hesitant. However, Prince Torfan bowed in respect to Lord Gramlis's bow, and Tamas did not argue - Beowuuf remembered well the many discussions in which Tamas would have learned the futility of it. "Watch yourself, old man," said Tamas with a flick of Beowuuf's own humour and for some reason that stung the wolf. Howevr Tamas's smile fell and his unfriendly gaze to Beowuuf showed that his words were not lacking true concern.
Lord Gralmis nodded and smiled as the two left, and then turned to Beowuuf. The wolf had to finally look at the man. Gralmis had changed much and yet had not changed. His features and body showed the ravages of his confinement. However, his eyes had not lost their strength nor sparkle. They regarded Beowuuf now, in a face that seemed to convey both compassion and fondness. Beowuuf had to turn his head away, shifting nervously.
Lord Gralmis simply sat down on the nearby cot, not saying anything. A few simply movements and Gralmis was in one of his normal medative poses he used when sitting on a chair. It had been a few meals before Beowuuf had realised...no, Beowuuf had never had meals with this man before. Still, the memories were so strong.
It felt very strange, but Beowuuf shifted himself too. Although his limbs felt odd, for he had never done this since being in this body - no, since he had never done this before -he managed to find an equivalent position. Since part of the meditation stance was ignoring his body to regard his mind alone, the odd feeling of how his legs felt drifted away. Hearing the old magi's breathing he could almost fool his mind into hearing birdsong, into being in a moment of quiet contemptation.
There was a quiet chuckle. "You really are Tamas," said Gralmis.
Temporary headquarters of the free companies, somewhere near the border of the Darklands
Beowuuf opened his eyes to see the man regarding him. It was a hard thing to admit. "No," said Beowuuf, and it felt strange, almost blasphemous, to say. "I just cannot remember being anyone else."
"The mind is everything," said Lord Gralmis's quiet voice, sadly rougher than Beowuuf remembered.
"No it is not, and you have changed much if you believe that." Beowuuf smiled sadly as Gralmis smiled, a dozen conversations on the matter remembered. Conversations that Gralmis had deliberately started just to get Beowuuf inducted on the powers yet ultimate limitations of the mind alone. Beowuuf suddenly felt a lump in his throat and a slight mist in his eye as he realised Gralmis was really alive with him, had really been captured. He shifted his gaze and even the usually composed Gralmis averted his gaze for a moment.
Gralmis moved on his cot and cleared his throat. "Whatever you believe, or do not believe, this is yours I think." With that he reached behind himself and brought out Beowuuf's bluesteel blade.
Beowuuf broke his stance and took the thing with surprise. "Surely this is not mine?" he said evetually, surprised at not only being given a weapon, but this one.
"It was meant for you. No matter who you think you are or are not, I do not imagine this was forged for a figure half formed of memories. It was meant for you" Lord Gralmis painfully stood up, but waved Beowuuf away when the wolf, despite himself made to help the old man.
"Where are you going? I thought you were going to ask me questions."
"You told me all I needed to know, for now, and there will be plenty of time 'Beowuuf'. I thought you could use the rest."
"Surely Tamas would want this weapon?"
Lord Gralmis laughed, an odd grim laugh Beowuuf couldn't ever remember hearing before. "Your case is an interesting on. The power of choice - and the cost."
Lord Gralmis sat down again on the edge of the cot, with a further wince that made Beowuuf feel guilty for having stopped the man. "You see," said Gralmis, continuing, "you are not Tamas Rehme, whether you never were or you now are not. However, neither anymore is the man who rescued me. We change all the time, even if we keep the same labels. For you, you chose one path and had a far more obvious manefestation of that." Lord Gralmis turned sadly to look to where the Vakeros had gone before turning back. "However, your ...I do not know what word you would be comfortable. Your other self?".
"He is Tamas, I told you," sais Beowuuf grimly.
"Very well, you may not be Tamas, but Tamas is not the man you remember anymore either. In a way Tamas died that day of your memory. You simply have a means of realising you changed from that day onwards, whereas, like normal people, the other Tamas does not. But of course changed as well. He will not even speak of the journey he suffered across the broken lands nor how he made it. It is obvious that it cost him much. You, you would give up that sword though it cause you pain. Yet you would also keep the sword, though that too, I can tell, causes you pain."
"It was the happiest experience when that cell door opened and the near dead figure of Tamas came to take me away from that dungeons," said Gralmis, his voice breaking and Beowuuf felt unwell for leaving the man to his fate. Perhaps Gralmis spotted that and leaned in closer. "And yet it was one of the sadest in my mind too. For the Tamas I knew would not have made that journey. Just as the Tamas I knew would not keep the weapon merely to stop you from having it."
Lord Gralmis sat back. "You managed to let go, and in doing so could let go of your pain, slowly. The Tamas that recused me, I fear, could not. And I fear that pain is something deep now that he will not easily shift. This is the Tamas that exists. That man has demons just as yours. I fear you look into the others hearts, but cannot aid each other, only revile what is inside." Lord Grlmis stood up again, sadly and painfully.
"Perhaps one day..." said Grlmis, moving away. "Until then, the sword is yours. And the questions can wait for another day."
"No, they cannot," said Beowuuf sadly, as something he had pushed to the back of his mind floated to the surface. The dwarf twin and guard over Beowuuf chose that moment to come back, but Beowuuf only paid him, the simple stew he brought, and the suspicious look that he gave Beowuuf and Beowuuf's weapon half a mind. Instead Beowuuf looked at Gralmis and gestured to the bed again.
Seeing the old man in less than the best health, Beowuuf realised that he should not mention what he was about to mention. Was this who he had become? Even when convinced he was someone else, convinced he was a knight who cared for this man, he could ignore even that strong false memories for the mission.
"You see - I found it for them," said Beowuuf.
"Found what?" asked Lord Gralmis suddenly cofused.
Beowuuf sighed, then almost laughed. The he looked across, trying not to utter the words. It was no use. "Urga-Kor-Naar," he said, wincing at Lord Gralmis's expression. "I found their weapon for them - and now there is not much time!"
|
|
|
Post by Beowuuf on Apr 4, 2008 12:34:10 GMT -5
Temporary headquarters of the free companies, somewhere near the border of the Darklands
The group sat around a table in another nondescript room. It was obvious not only had this place, whatever it was, been commandeered, but it had also been neglected for the more important business of conducting operations against the Darklands forces. No reason to spring clean or do the place up.
Torfan's most trusted dwarfs were gathered close around the table, standing behind him or hovering closeby with an implied threat to the others aroudn the table. Beowuuf could understand himself being mistrusted, he had not realised his fellow Dessi friends were also not fully believed yet.
Torfan sat back after Beowuuf's tale. Gralmis met Beowuuf's eye, and nodded once. Tamas had listened fully to the tale barely looking at the wolf when the wolf was looking around - though Beowuuf's sharper eyes had caught the peripheral movement of Tamas regarding his strange twin every so often.
Beowuuf himself did not spare these people much attention though. Torfan had trusted Beowouuf enough even before the story, so the tale would not affected his reaction. And while Beowuuf felt more at ease with Gralmis now, it was not something that then helped Beowuuf with Tamas. Beowuuf had smiled slightly at the nod he was given by the Elder Magi earlier, and had then instantly winces as he saw the Vakeros Knight's face fall.
Tamas had almost giving Beowuuf a petulant look, and for a second Beowuuf wanted to rap his fingers once on the pommel of the sword he had been allowed to keep - a source of irritation for Tamas apparently.
Beowuuf had sighed - what did it say about a man if he could not get along with himself? Then again, he was not this Vakeros - this man had just infected Beowuuf with all the Vakeros's memories so Beowuuf did not have any of his own he could claim to connect to. Why shouldn't he-
Beowuuf had sighed again, and had tried to clear his head. Unfortunately, this was all too confusing, made worse because the only other people sitting at the table were two more figures from the past, both eying Beowuuf with neutral expressions.
Jorat and Toth. It was somehow painful to see them, for they carried ghoss around them of the others wo had not made it, for whatever reason. Two more Vakeros Knights, who while showing their marks, had also survived Helgedad and been rescued by Tamas.
Beowuuf felt even more guilt now at running - even though, given what he had seen, how was he to know? Know that apparently the two had been left unchanged, left to use to break Gramlis - as Beowuuf had found with Basama. No, as Tamas had. Apparnetly though, these two knights had then simply been forgotten in their cells when the decision was made to block Gramlis's man's mind instead. Left to rot while more powerful methods could be found to directly smash the mage's powers from him.
Jorat had always been a honour-filled soul once, though rarely spekaing carrying it as a deep weight. Now he carried a dark cloud instead, and his humour was black. If he didn't concentrate, the Vakeros would start mumbling his thoughts to himself and laugh bitterly.
Toth was worse. The man had been loquatious and large and showed his enthusiastic and optomistic youth once. Now he looked only half his frame, and his sunken eyes darted around in constant nerves - flies buzzing over a world dead to him. Toth would not speak, at all. Tamas and Gralmis has confirmed that he had said not one word to any of them. Simialrly, the group had been kept together in sight all the time by Toth, who would not let them separate without then screaming wordlessly. It was as if he feared they would drift off one by one and he would be left alone again. Beowuuf could sympathise - bah, no, he could not...
"Maaken, you say?" asked Torfan at length, breaking Beowuuf from his thoughts.
"Yes, Maaken," confirmed Beowuuf, glad to be taken out of them.
"You wish...to go...to Maaken?" asked Torfan strugglign with the concept.
"I have absolutely no wish to go," corrected Beowuuf, "but we have every need to go. Whatever has contacted Dark Walker is giving him power. Or rather, whatever has contacted him has given him belief, and that belief has made him powerful. How it ties into..." Beowuuf hesitated, but Gralmis nodded for Beowuuf to continue, even though Tamas shifted uncomfortably, and Jorat looked downright unfriendly at the confidence being broke. It was understandable in a way, the group had given so much for that secret, a secret Beowuuf casually shared now, and in the recent past had apparnetly stumbled into and just as ineptly allowed that to create a problem of no small measure for the allies of light.
"How the stone," continued Beowuuf, "this 'Urgo-kor-Naar', ties into the plans of the Darklands I have no idea. Enemies seem to have dogged my every step since I left Dessi, and I still have not figured how they all fit into it. How I fit into it."
"Maybe it is not about you then," said Tamas, looking up and meeting the wolf's eyes for once in a strange challenge.
Beowuuf actually laughed. "You know," he said, meeting Tamas's gaze right back, "I have a strange feelign it really is not."
Temporary headquarters of the free companies, somewhere near the border of the Darklands
Tamas had not known what to make of Beowuuf after his annoucement in the meeting, and Beowuuf still had no idea how to square the very existence of Tamas away. Therefore there had not been too much mutual sadness at splitting up soon after when the various groups were requested to prepared according to the plan that was hatched.
Still, Beowuuf had one concern and after wrestling with himself for a while found himself walking down a familiar coridor he did not wish to walk down. Still not fully trusted perhaps, there were two dwarfs and a Lyrian soldier walking behind him, althought in respect to the wolf creature they at least made sure to follow him at a distance.
Beowuuf raised his hand to knock on the door, then hesitated again. Finally he did it.
"Is Gralmis there," he said nodding to what still felt like an odd mirror. Beowuuf felt as if he wanted to grab the man to see if Tamas was real - or to see if Beowuuf himself was real. Perhaps he would pass streight through him...
"No, he is not..." said Tamas and tried to close the door.
"Good, it was you I wanted to see," said Beowuuf realising it was a partial lie. 'Needed to see' would have been a better word choice.
"I highly doubt that," said Tamas reading his mind, which wasn't hard, and saying it with dryness Beowuuf expected - although with an edge he didn't. "And whatever sympathy or apologies you wish to give me..."
"Give you?!" asked Bowuuf, shocked, "because of you I have no real memory of my own life and have to walk around with a mockery of yours!"
"Seems to have done you well so far!" shot Tamas back with heat.
Beowuuf and Tamas stood with the half open door not a good enough barrier between then, the air crackling. "Well," said Tamas, broking irst, "it has been so nice to clear the air, if that is all-"
"Wait," said Beowuuf with regret, blocking the closing door with his hand and breathing deeply, "I came about Gralmis. He should not go."
Tamas's face, that had hardened with the door stopping, altered in some way at the comment. "On that we at least agree," he said sharing a reluctant look with Beowuuf.
"A good thing it is not up to overly concerned Vakeros knights, however," said a voice, and Beowuuf gave Tamas a hard look as Lord Gralmis opened the door further and stared at both the men.
Tamas shrugged but seemed uncomofortable, either at being caught discussing the man, or at not managing to persuade the magi otherwise.
"So, Beowuuf," sais Gralmis avoiding the tensions, "are all the preparations ready?"
"I believe so," said Beowuuf, "Prince Torfan is basically giving the same speech as you are to his concerned dwarfen leiutenants, and then we will be able to leave." Beowuuf nodded, but now feeling uncomfortable he moved off with a nod to both and without any further word.
* * *
"He still carries that sword," said Tamas, leaving Lord Gralmis by the door and stalking off with irritation, unable to meet the Magi's eye.
"And what should he do with it?" asked Lord Gralmis gently.
"Give it to Jorat or Toth, they are defenseless!" said Tamas.
"Or yourself, unless you have mastered the shards as Beowuuf has?" Tamas tugged at his sleeve self self-consciously to pull it down, and Lord Gralmis gripped the man's shoulder tightly in supprt. "Tamas, Jorat refuses to weild a weapon and Toth cannot even speak-"
"Where is he?" asked Tamas, lookign aroudn and realising that the door was still open, and the silent Vakeros was not in the room.
* * *
Beowuuf stormed down the corridor, then stopped, the breathed in heavily, then stormed more, then stopped, then simply slumped and pressed his eyes tightly together. His wolf body wanted to rip his old body apart, and whatever passed for his mind wanted to go in one hundred different directions. He needed to focus, to keep away from distractions. He...felt the tug.
Beowuuf turned around, and saw the emaciated and skittish Vakeros Toth standing regarding him. Beowuuf was startled, and this did not improve his mood any. Just looking at the man regarding him so deeply.
"Toth," said Beowuuf, realising his voice sounded strange, as did saying the name with this mouth. "I...I..." he didn't have the words to say to the man, but the man didn't seem to care. He reached forward tentatively to the wolf creature again, tryign to pull a part of his fur - an oddly timid gesture. What did it mean?
The Toth looked behind Beowuuf, and the moment broke as Beowuuf looked backwards to see his two dwarfs coming forward. "It is alright!" said Beowuuf, but it was too late, and Toth scarpered in a strange sideway lop towards the room he had come from, leaving Beowuuf confused.
Outside the temporary headquarters of the free companies, close to the Darklands
Beowuuf felt slightly ostracised as they stood outside the headquarters preparing for the trek.
Beowuuf also had not appreicated the amount of trek still to undertake. Foolishly assuming that, so close to the Maakengorge they would be there in a day or so, he had finally seen the map of the location of the ruined city, and realised it was almost at the other side of the deathly chasm. He also realised, from how the dwarf and human soldiers were talking, that there might be a few surprises along the was. The phrase 'zombie' had cropped up once or twice.
'Fantastic,' Beowuuf thought to himself, and adjusted his equipment, and shifted his sword. That of course made him look guiltily back across to his fellow Vakeros. Tamas was standing closest steadfastly ignoring him. He seemed to have deliberately positoned himself to block Beowuuf from Lord Gralmis, who regretably was still coming. Tamas seemed to be having another futile word on that subject. Jorat scowled darkly around at everything, and Toth stood in a daze. Both Vakeros were clustered near their leaders, and in individual ways showed their apprehension.
Beowuuf sighed, feeling oddly excluded yet glad of it. Meanwhile, the dwarf and human warriors were assembled in their own cluster, with the dwarf higher command drifting together. Beowuuf wondered if he should give them whimsical names, sicne he simply could not remember their real ones that had been spoken in a blur earlier. There was pug nose the soldier, and shooty, and...
"Gardax Holt with the scar, Bos-Sal with the breath and mah second," said a voice by Beowuuf's side, and a finger came into view pointing towards the dwarfs. "Feltholm Colt is the lanky human leader with the white bow, Lythe Wite is his pug-nosed second besides them holding a gifted Bor Rifle." Prince Torfan stood in non-descript mecenery gear, and grinned as if reading the thoughts of the wolf.
"Good to see you," said Beowuuf nodding to he dwarf. "Good to be seen," said the Prince with a wicked grin that made Beowuuf want to sigh. While more restrained, he was sure it was exactly the same way Gralmis was feeling when he had insisted on coming. Meanwhile, the dwarf had turned to point behind the assembled Vakeros. "And meaning no disrespect to any of you," the dwarf continued, "but your shadows will be Bos-Twilt and his brothers the twins Dwist and Twarl."
Beowuuf looked behind, and indeed saw the two. He then realised there was an expectant air from the Prince, and Beowuuf was getting a look. It took him a moment to realise. "Jorat is the Vakeros standing tall, and Toth is the Vakeros looking nervous," Beowuuf reminded the Prince in turn. Beowuuf noticed Toth staring across at Beowuuf, and Beowuuf could almost imagine a pleading look there. He ignored it to look at the Torfan.. "I hope your 'shadows' will not be too twitchy, I am not sure of what Toth will do, I would hate his unsettled demeanour to cause a problem."
"I think," said Prince Torfan, "that it is yer own demeanour you ought to worry about - the Vakeros are trusted to an extent, although we have a healthy distruct o' anything emerging form the Darklands. You, on the other hand - let us just say I only hope they are listening to mah words in regards to you."
Beowuuf laughed. "Well, that might be a forlorn hope since you are not listening to theirs!" Prince Torfan raised an eyebrow. "Can no one persuade you to not come?" Beowuuf asked sincerely, "I honestly have no idea what to expect at Maaken, if anything - but it will not be good, and it will be dangerous."
Prince Torfan's expression fell, and Beowuuf realised he was probably echoing what everyone had said to Torfan ever since Torfan had announced his intention to lead the group.
"Perhaps I should not have worn the mercenery clothes," said Torfan dropping the brogue, "it seems people still need reminding of who the prince is around here." With that he walked away, and Beowuuf sighed to again be the centre of a circle of looks and space.
Luckily, the human leader Feltholm - whose name seemed more Sommlending than Lyrian, backed up by his appearance - along with Prince Torfan soon caled a start to movement and the groups acted upon it. All told there only seemed to be about ten of each of the dwarfs and humans. Adding the tagging along wolf creature and Dessi men and the commanders the party could be no more than thirty.
No more than thirty? That sounded odd to say - why did Beowuuf fear it was not enouhg? His thoughts though, as they started to march, were interrupted as he thought he saw a shape off to the left. Beowuuf biased across to it, knowing that he would be getting looks and perhaps even pistols trained on him. It took him a moment to confirm there was a shape hidden by scrub and the twist of the landscape, and then only when he got closer did he realise what the item was.
He realised even more so that he would probably be the focus of many looks but now he did not care.
The shape had indeed been a figure, now he was close he realised it was a Giak - infact Snarler - staked up. The Giak's body had not yet begun to decay noticeable, a quirk of Giak physiology perhaps. Though ith smelled so rank Beowuuf's sensative nose had shut itself down already, and even the taste in the air made the wolf want to vomit. The arrows had not even been removed, a very deliberate warning to any Darklands forces that something unpleasant was close, and for them to turn back.
Beowuuf turned to look at those aorund him. Lord Gralmis seemed interested, Tamas aggressively disinterested yet looking inspite of himself probably, the human leader perplexed, the dwarfs and soldiers inscruitable, and Torfan cocking his head slightly with an odd look.
Beowuuf turned back, and with a strange anger and powerful set of blows from his foot he managed to pull the stake and the body down onto the ground. Drawing himself upright, he looked over towards the dwarf shadows, looked down at the body, and then looked meaningfully towards the headquarters they all had came from. Prince Torfan nodded to the dwarfs as they understood the unspoken request - or perhaps command given Beowuuf's stance. The three brothers dragged the body off, while Prince Torfan walked across. "So, that watching of your demeanour we talked about?" he asked.
"No one was blown backwards, were they?" asked Beowuuf with a smile. Despite himself Torfan grinned. "So then, did that Giak have a name?"
"Rashgesh, not that it matters" said Beowuuf. "And I do not doubt he deserved his fate...just..."
"Just we are taller than Giaks."
"Certainly prettier," said Beowuuf with a humour he did not feel, and still odd contradictory feelings abotu the whole matter. Torfan seemed to detect all that too, and patted the wolf on the arm with a strange smile. Beowuuf felt slightly uneasy, there was something in the Prince's smile as if the dwarf had reached a decision. Meanwhile, with the drama over, the shadows back to their position and the tension released by Torfan's move, the group carried on again.
Beowuuf wished he didn't feel every single eye still on him.
|
|
|
Post by Beowuuf on Apr 12, 2008 3:31:17 GMT -5
Small camp, on the way to Maaken
The first day had been strange. The groups had interacted well, at least of the dwarfs and human soldiers. Unfortunately, Beowuuf was still warily regarded so he had forged on alone, though not too far. This was made harder also by the fact he did not know this region - the second they left the visibility of the Maakengorge, he could not quite track the twists and turns and often found one of the twins coughing and gesturing with a pistol to follow a differnt path. He decided not to comment on this, when one time he saw the subtle crack he was about to walk into had he carried on the way he wished.
The Vakeros neither tried to interact with him nor he with them. Lord Gralmis seemed to keep back for Tamas's sake, which improved Beowuuf's mood immensely. At least Torfan took pains, when Beowuuf came back to the group, to speak to him. Unfortunately, the questions seemed probing, and he was aware of revealing alot of his own activities of the past and present. The odd hunger still seemed to be with Torfan, the odd resolve. And Beowuuf was also aware that the further bakc the questions probed, the more he was intruding into Tamas's past, not his own.
The gorge itself was quite impressive when the walked on the rim, a fact Torfan himself pointed out with a smile.
"It's so quiet," said Beowuuf surprised.
"Aye, sometimes it seems so - other times you can hear the fallen. O' course, the loudest voice - that one has been silence, has it not?"
Beowuuf had to agree with a troubled look. He then looked around as if the answer to a different question would be obvious.
"Where is the Maakengorge Bridge - or whatever you call it?"
Beowuuf perhaps felt rather than saw the prickles from his mentor - no, from Gralmis - even though the Magi was far away. Torfan turned aroudn with a smile. "We passed it already - though if this quest o' yours is a success, we'll be back with that little piece of yours to compare it to the bridge, have no fear."
After two stops during the day for meals the third was an encampment for the night. Beowuuf remembered the previous forced marches he had engaged in with fondness now, marches that did not allow him either time to think nor time wasted from his mission. With his strange thoughts raised by Torfan's probing throughout the day, his odd removal from his Vakeros roots for the moment, and also his restless heart at getting to Maaken now they were moving again, he could not help but have strange dreams, he supposed...
He was standing beside a copy of himself, his vision was blurring, was it really Tamas coiled in a feotal shape or something else? He was both himself standing and Tamas in the shell, he was both pushing his fist with force through the heart-shaped membrane and he was the curled shape inside awaiting the touch. Instead of pain there was only pleasure, a release as he joined with himself as it was meant to be.
He had existed forever, strode these lands long ago, and revived only recently ever since the balance had twisted. Restored as a seed ready to grow and strike once more. A clue should have been a noble not finding mirth as a plague of laughter had swept the world. Had the druid realised its effect, omne of balance, or had the balance merely seized its opportunity.
For each paragon of good, for each victory of supreme goodness, it grew and grew, the seed became a consciousness once more became power once more, and the form remembered its purpose once more - finally the chance for release!
It was not of the balance though, this broken parts of a single creature, and the balance found other release while the broken one's own power waxed and waned. Dark blood corrupted goodness, dark deeds tried to push the pendulum centrally. This awareness was not a tool to be created and discarded though, it was not something to be abandoned and betrayed. Naar had tried that already.
It was evil, the balance had returned an ancient evil and it would serve balance no more. Its parts found manefestation once more, and moved for the one glorius day of release. An army, an army of undeath would break free the shell it itself wished over this city. Free to incubate in here, now the link to the world had come with those that could harm it. Him.
Those that could harm him would be the first to feel the Undeath before it spread across this pitiful world- a true disease those Cener could never have dreamed of.
Beowuuf then felt it, the small pain even in the ecstacy of joining. This shell had some strange link, something strange tore it. Was it loved? That...that was something that must be dealt with.
But first... Beowuuf ripped out of the heart and merged effortlessly with his own physical form, striding tall as one person again. Each footfall made no noise, for he was merely an extention of everything around... well, almost everything. There were a few imperfection, ticks on his extended skin and he would need to scratch. He raised his hand, knowing he would...
Wake up in a cold sweat. He looked around at himself. He was both male, a wolf creature, and should not eat so late if those were the dreams he would have. He feared, though, it was some strange attack of the wolf's mind. Odd imagines summoned from those memories.
Beowuuf shuddered, and did not get back to sleep easily nor well that first night.
The two knights ran, one with purpose, the other with as much dignity as his brain could muster. The walls around pulsed with energy - like breathing. Like life. Life was not what they possessed, animation would be closer to the horrible truth.
A creature, idenitfiable as human from its basic form, stopped infront of the two men suddenly and howled a soul-piercing shriek without the aid of any obvious lung in its explosed rib-cage.
The determined knight did not break stride nor become less determined, his stance shifted and he struck a powerful blow skillfully that cleaved a decending arm from the undead creature he faced. The knight showed himself to be Sommlending by the masterly skill with his sword, twisting it to deliver a head removing cleave while the thing was unbalanced.
The hand fell to the ground, where the pulsing street was quick to claim it. A second hand and arm rose up, tearing the supposidly solid material of the ground apart sickeningly like flesh.
The first arm somehow stuck to the second, and the mis-shapen but more human looking entity that drew itself up seemed to welcome the additional appendage. It gave it extra expressiveness as it raised all three arms up and clawed the hands to the sky, throwing back its head and silently opening its barely decomposed mouth in some terrible, tortured shuddering scream.
The reluctant knight found a purpose fueled by revlusion and struck down the creature in a few skilled rather than panicked blows, perhaps recalling them from training long ago.
"The may be hope for you yet, Vojske" said the determined knight, displaying an impressed expression unusual in this company.
"Thank you," said Simey, showing no gratitude and taking a moment to wipe the blood distastefully from his weapon before returning to his horrified look around the street they were following.
"Come, we must move!" said Armadalus, pointing with his sword and moving before more creatures closed in on them, drawn by the sounds.
Simey was about to nastily ask where, since it felt as if they were lost, when he saw something that threw his train of spite. A young woman, not the odd girl they had seen nor the 'Lady' they had come here with, was walking across his vision in the distance. Simey wanted to call out to her, tell her to beware, but she simply smiled at him, blew him an odd kiss then disappeared into nothingness.
Simey blinked, as if the serving wench, for such she had been, would still be floating as an image on his retina. 'Please let that be another horror of this place,' thought Simey, then realised that his mind seeing visions like that might not be innapropriate in this nightmare of a place.
A worse thought struck Simey. Perhaps this place was the vision, this horror...
"Vojske, now!" said Armadalus, reducing the dignity of the White Knight further by grabbing Simey aroudn the collar and half dragging him away.
"Where are we going?" asked Simey, cursing that he had lost the moment to put a nasty tone to the question. Lost the moment and also the inclination.
Armadalus turned, and Simey saw the odd look in the knight's eyes that was unfortunately all too common in their relationship. The man was hunting. "This place is a web," said Armadalus, "I can feel it. The centre is this way, the buildings guide us!"
Simey however saw something beyond Armadalus's shoulder. "Why did you mention spiders?" the White Knight asked with genuine regret, "they heard you."
"I did not mention spiders," said Armadalus with a frustrated tone, but then he, too, saw the elongated spider-like leg emerge from around the corner of the building. The fact that it was as tall as the building would make even the most hardiest knight pause.
Beowuuf smiled from his vantage point, stroked lovingly a pulsating piece of rooftop and...
"Beowuuf!" came the concerned cry, and Beowuuf shook the vision free.
On the way to Maaken, by the Maakengorge
Beowuuf had been half-crouched, as if receiving his knightly vows again. He was holding on to his sword, leaning against it. The smell wafting from the creature pinned by the sword point was not making Beowuuf gag merely because Beowuuf's wolf body...no, his own body... had shut down the nose instantly.
"What...oh, it is your first time facing the undead," said Tamas, his harsh tone breaking into an an tone, apparently showing genuine concern.
"Yes," said Beowuuf, now curious at what horrors Tamas had to face in the Darklands. Unfortunately, Beowuuf as he rose back to his full height unconsciously shited his sword to his other hand away from the man. It was a gesture that Tamas noted and the human's expression went back to harshness. Tamas span quickly on his heel, and with apparent lack of concern almost shouldered the other knight Toth.
Toth was regarding Beowuuf strangely again, and Beowuuf was still feelign too disoriented to deal with the Vakeros.
"Ah, that was bracing friend, bracing!" said a dwafish voice. Torfan strode, his small hand-aze stained with grotesque matter and the tube of his bor pistol still smoking.
"Where do these...things...come from," asked Beowuuf with disgust, pulling his sword point free with speed as he realised he'd left it embedded for so long.
"Who knows - I fear the rise of Vashna, and the rise of evil aroudn these lands, has let some slip the bonds of the Maakengorge, and allowed the fell energies to claim others. Who knows, all I know is it is a pleasure to free their souls from Naar's corruption and give them their dignity back!" Torfan's light tone had darkened and his smile had settled to a determination. It hadn't ben ocnscious, and he gave a strange embarrassed look to Beowuuf and moved on.
Beowuuf scanned aroudn to see how everyone had fared. The dwarf twins had slaughtered the surprise band that had appreared with efficiency. They now returned with their brother having apparently found nothing worthwhile.
The men and dwarfs had all settled into the routine of slaughter as if thye had done this man times. The human second had trusted his men and had apparently been happy to get on with the task of skillful slaughter with his Bor Rifle and a borrowed bow.
The human leader - Colt wasn't it - had shouldered his own bow, forming a strange partnership with Torfan's dwarfish second Bos-Sal and the two had effortlessly co-ordinated and overlapped the defense, directing men and dwarfs with ease to gaps and areas of opportunity.
The group was now going back over the bodies, removing organs and limbs to ensure the creatures would rise no more, and occasionally daring to look closely at a face.
Beowuuf did not look back down at the creature - he feared it was a woman, and not a warrior by the frame - and decided concentrating on the living may well produce less disturbing daydreams of slaying undead somewhere else. Simey Vojske, why did that name ring a very, very vague bell?
Beowuuf shook his head to clear it, and looked across at his other two fellows. Jorat was listening in to somehting Gralmis was saying, the man was enthusiastic about somethign to do with the undead they were crouching beside. Jorat, perhaps bored or perhaps sensing he was being watched looked around and caught Beowuuf's eye with a strange expression. Beowuuf again was not sure how to react to a man he had known sowell, would have once had no hesitation in raising a humoured eye at Jorat having to listen to Gralmis in full flow.
Except now Beowuuf felt a twinge of jealousy at the genuine connection the Vakeros had, and Jorat and his humour were not the same anymore.
And Jorat was not actually looking at Beowuuf...
"Traitor," said Toth, looking directly at Beowuuf and standing cvery closewhen the wolf looked around. Toth then nodded, hesitantly. Beowuuf blinked, unsure if he had heard the word. Toth hesitaantly quivered, then looked over Beowuuf's shoulder nervously and walked away quickly.
Beowuuf almost moved to catch the man, but instinct made him look back. Jorat's expression showed he was confused, as if trying to work out if he had seen what he thought he had seen. Had Jorat saw the word? Had orat heard it, the hiss had carried.
Gralmis was looking up, but apparently to see what Jorat was doing.
Beowuuf had no idea if he had just been accused or confided in, but either way he needed to know and sudden;y, for so many reasons barely dawning on him he didnt' wish someone lse asking him questions.
Sadly, Tamas had apparnetly got his temper back under control and was walking forwards himself, this time being the one almost shouldered out of the way by Toth, who then did a small nervous dance around his fellow Vakeros and continued on.
"Beowuuf, I..." started Tamas but Beowuuf, wincing internally, had to shake his head indicating another time, and carry on forwards.
Unfortunately, the slight did not even go rewarded for then Torfan came back to ask Beowuuf about something. Beowuuf was body blocked this time, and less comfortable about dismissing the Prince than Tamas. Cursing internally at the missed opportunity Beowuuf had to answer the questions and watch the nervous Vakeros walk in an odd wide arc back around to reach his fellow Vakeros again.
Beowuuf could not ask Toth about it later that night, for the next time Beowuuf saw the man Toth was already dead.
Aboard The New Day
"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaye!" came the yell from the crow's nest. Ekk looked up concerned, then looked to the horizon.
Crazy 'Ayes' was the nick-name of the look out, a sailor whose mind had been ripped apart during an assault on the ship by Darklands forces. Somehow 'Ayes' had kept fighting and killed the Vordak attacking him, even as the man's higher consciousness had disappeared in shreds.
The crew kept him around for three reasons - to honour the bravery that day, because you do not abandon one of your own, and most importantly because 'Ayes' seemed to spot things those distracted by normal thoughts missed.
"Bah, wha's that crazy fool seen now?" said one of the many new deck hands.
"Show some respect! Get a spyglass instead of flapping your gums and straining your eyes!" came the harsh reply. The man Ekk had shouted at, easily a head and a half taller, looked surprised, chagrinned, and then moved swiftly to comply.
Ekk would never have dreamed of addressing the crew like that in earlier days, and would never have dreamed he could. However, now he was now the second mate, third in command of the ship though he felt the master-at-arms probably should rank higher if push came to shove. Ekk's ability to channel the tone and words of the two brothers who commanded the ship, and the respect of the old crew for Ekk, seemed to allow Ekk to command the newer and frankly less experienced and respectful new elements. Ekk was sad to realise they might not have the learn to respect the various odder members of the old crew.
Ekk was still shaking from the confrontation as he headed off to find Captain Duman or his brother the first mate Dyvan. "Captain!" said Ekk, finding the former, "'Ayes' has spotted something behind us!"
Captain Duman turned around, his face troubled. Duman never showed indecision, there was no worry over his captaincy. He was simply unafraid or unused to keeping his thoughts and reactions hidden, nor moving swiftly to an action just to mask fear to themselves.
Meanwhile Dyvan had emerged from his pouring over of the maps, especially focused on the island chain off the coast of Sommerlund. Dyvan looked up warily and with barely disguised anger. The brother of their Captain, and first mate, was usually better at hiding his emotions. However, this time around the arguments the two had engaged in, supposedly in secret in the cabin, were well known.
"Who or what is it?" barked Dyvan, and Ekk could do nothing but shrug.
"Lakuri!" came a voice - it was the new deckhand from earlier. He had gained a telescope, and by the amazed look in his eye balancing the fear, obviously he had gained some respect for 'Ayes' too.
"Lakuri pirates - we can easily outrun them," said Captain Duman dismissively, taking a breath and looking about the ship for some reason.
"Orders, Captain?" said the young hand, perhaps forgetting himself. Ekk shared a look with Dyvan that had nothing to do with the break in protocol, and everything to do with the orders of the Brotherhood of the Crystal Star they were following.
Or more precisely, the orders of Master Andras of the Brotherhood. Wide ranging orders, for a search they were asked to undertake. Unfortunately, the method for the search left alot to be desired.
"Lucky," said Duman, addressing Ekk warmly by his nickname to hide the coldness the man would no doubt feel about giving the order, "take the sail down for two thirds the speed, and get the men quietly armed. Hide the weapons well. Give the pirates a good show of weakness until the last minute." Duman nodded to Ekk to encourage his second mate to move quickly.
Captain Duman then turned around in a direction that avoided his brother's gaze as Ekk left. "And may Ishir protect us when they catch us," Duman said quietly to himself.
|
|
|
Post by Beowuuf on May 5, 2008 8:11:37 GMT -5
The two knights ran, one with purpose, the other with as much dignity as his brain could muster. The walls around pulsed with energy - like breathing. Like life. Life was not what they possessed, animation would be closer to the horrible truth.
A creature, idenitfiable as human from its basic form, stopped infront of the two men suddenly and howled a soul-piercing shriek without the aid of any obvious lung in its explosed rib-cage.
The determined knight did not break stride nor become less determined, his stance shifted and he struck a powerful blow skillfully that cleaved a decending arm from the undead creature he faced. The knight showed himself to be Sommlending by the masterly skill with his sword, twisting it to deliver a head removing cleave while the thing was unbalanced.
The hand fell to the ground, where the pulsing street was quick to claim it. A second hand and arm rose up, tearing the supposidly solid material of the ground apart sickeningly like flesh.
The first arm somehow stuck to the second, and the mis-shapen but more human looking entity that drew itself up seemed to welcome the additional appendage. It gave it extra expressiveness as it raised all three arms up and clawed the hands to the sky, throwing back its head and silently opening its barely decomposed mouth in some terrible, tortured shuddering scream.
The reluctant knight found a purpose fueled by revlusion and struck down the creature in a few skilled rather than panicked blows, perhaps recalling them from training long ago.
"The may be hope for you yet, Vojske" said the determined knight, displaying an impressed expression unusual in this company.
"Thank you," said Simey, showing no gratitude and taking a moment to wipe the blood distastefully from his weapon before returning to his horrified look around the street they were following.
"Come, we must move!" said Armadalus, pointing with his sword and moving before more creatures closed in on them, drawn by the sounds.
Simey was about to nastily ask where, since it felt as if they were lost, when he saw something that threw his train of spite. A young woman, not the odd girl they had seen nor the 'Lady' they had come here with, was walking across his vision in the distance. Simey wanted to call out to her, tell her to beware, but she simply smiled at him, blew him an odd kiss then disappeared into nothingness.
Simey blinked, as if the serving wench, for such she had been, would still be floating as an image on his retina. 'Please let that be another horror of this place,' thought Simey, then realised that his mind seeing visions like that might not be innapropriate in this nightmare of a place.
A worse thought struck Simey. Perhaps this place was the vision, this horror...
"Vojske, now!" said Armadalus, reducing the dignity of the White Knight further by grabbing Simey aroudn the collar and half dragging him away.
"Where are we going?" asked Simey, cursing that he had lost the moment to put a nasty tone to the question. Lost the moment and also the inclination.
Armadalus turned, and Simey saw the odd look in the knight's eyes that was unfortunately all too common in their relationship. The man was hunting. "This place is a web," said Armadalus, "I can feel it. The centre is this way, the buildings guide us!"
Simey however saw something beyond Armadalus's shoulder. "Why did you mention spiders?" the White Knight asked with genuine regret, "they heard you."
"I did not mention spiders," said Armadalus with a frustrated tone, but then he, too, saw the elongated spider-like leg emerge from around the corner of the building. The fact that it was as tall as the building would make even the most hardiest knight pause.
Beowuuf smiled from his vantage point, stroked lovingly a pulsating piece of rooftop and...
"Beowuuf!" came the concerned cry, and Beowuuf shook the vision free.
On the way to Maaken, by the Maakengorge
Beowuuf had been half-crouched, as if receiving his knightly vows again. He was holding on to his sword, leaning against it. The smell wafting from the creature pinned by the sword point was not making Beowuuf gag merely because Beowuuf's wolf body...no, his own body... had shut down the nose instantly.
"What...oh, it is your first time facing the undead," said Tamas, his harsh tone breaking into an an tone, apparently showing genuine concern.
"Yes," said Beowuuf, now curious at what horrors Tamas had to face in the Darklands. Unfortunately, Beowuuf as he rose back to his full height unconsciously shited his sword to his other hand away from the man. It was a gesture that Tamas noted and the human's expression went back to harshness. Tamas span quickly on his heel, and with apparent lack of concern almost shouldered the other knight Toth.
Toth was regarding Beowuuf strangely again, and Beowuuf was still feelign too disoriented to deal with the Vakeros.
"Ah, that was bracing friend, bracing!" said a dwafish voice. Torfan strode, his small hand-aze stained with grotesque matter and the tube of his bor pistol still smoking.
"Where do these...things...come from," asked Beowuuf with disgust, pulling his sword point free with speed as he realised he'd left it embedded for so long.
"Who knows - I fear the rise of Vashna, and the rise of evil aroudn these lands, has let some slip the bonds of the Maakengorge, and allowed the fell energies to claim others. Who knows, all I know is it is a pleasure to free their souls from Naar's corruption and give them their dignity back!" Torfan's light tone had darkened and his smile had settled to a determination. It hadn't ben ocnscious, and he gave a strange embarrassed look to Beowuuf and moved on.
Beowuuf scanned aroudn to see how everyone had fared. The dwarf twins had slaughtered the surprise band that had appreared with efficiency. They now returned with their brother having apparently found nothing worthwhile.
The men and dwarfs had all settled into the routine of slaughter as if thye had done this man times. The human second had trusted his men and had apparently been happy to get on with the task of skillful slaughter with his Bor Rifle and a borrowed bow.
The human leader - Colt wasn't it - had shouldered his own bow, forming a strange partnership with Torfan's dwarfish second Bos-Sal and the two had effortlessly co-ordinated and overlapped the defense, directing men and dwarfs with ease to gaps and areas of opportunity.
The group was now going back over the bodies, removing organs and limbs to ensure the creatures would rise no more, and occasionally daring to look closely at a face.
Beowuuf did not look back down at the creature - he feared it was a woman, and not a warrior by the frame - and decided concentrating on the living may well produce less disturbing daydreams of slaying undead somewhere else. Simey Vojske, why did that name ring a very, very vague bell?
Beowuuf shook his head to clear it, and looked across at his other two fellows. Jorat was listening in to somehting Gralmis was saying, the man was enthusiastic about somethign to do with the undead they were crouching beside. Jorat, perhaps bored or perhaps sensing he was being watched looked around and caught Beowuuf's eye with a strange expression. Beowuuf again was not sure how to react to a man he had known sowell, would have once had no hesitation in raising a humoured eye at Jorat having to listen to Gralmis in full flow.
Except now Beowuuf felt a twinge of jealousy at the genuine connection the Vakeros had, and Jorat and his humour were not the same anymore.
And Jorat was not actually looking at Beowuuf...
"Traitor," said Toth, looking directly at Beowuuf and standing cvery closewhen the wolf looked around. Toth then nodded, hesitantly. Beowuuf blinked, unsure if he had heard the word. Toth hesitaantly quivered, then looked over Beowuuf's shoulder nervously and walked away quickly.
Beowuuf almost moved to catch the man, but instinct made him look back. Jorat's expression showed he was confused, as if trying to work out if he had seen what he thought he had seen. Had Jorat saw the word? Had orat heard it, the hiss had carried.
Gralmis was looking up, but apparently to see what Jorat was doing.
Beowuuf had no idea if he had just been accused or confided in, but either way he needed to know and sudden;y, for so many reasons barely dawning on him he didnt' wish someone lse asking him questions.
Sadly, Tamas had apparnetly got his temper back under control and was walking forwards himself, this time being the one almost shouldered out of the way by Toth, who then did a small nervous dance around his fellow Vakeros and continued on.
"Beowuuf, I..." started Tamas but Beowuuf, wincing internally, had to shake his head indicating another time, and carry on forwards.
Unfortunately, the slight did not even go rewarded for then Torfan came back to ask Beowuuf about something. Beowuuf was body blocked this time, and less comfortable about dismissing the Prince than Tamas. Cursing internally at the missed opportunity Beowuuf had to answer the questions and watch the nervous Vakeros walk in an odd wide arc back around to reach his fellow Vakeros again.
Beowuuf could not ask Toth about it later that night, for the next time Beowuuf saw the man Toth was already dead.
On the way to Maaken, two days out, night camp
The scream was horrible, drawn out, and pulled Beowuuf like a shot out of his quiet contemplation at the edge of the gorge, where he could still see the gorge's edges highlighting the black depths in the gloom of moonlight.
There was some scrub and a small area of trees where they had all set up camp in various small nooks. Beowuuf already realised with horror which nook the scream had come from, and shouldered passed a tree aggressively to see the grizzly spectacle revealed.
A familiar bluesteel dagger lay in the grass and scrub, for some strange reason that odd glinting item drew Beowuuf's gaze first. It was of an unusual design, entirely unique to Beowuuf's knowledge, forged by Toth himself. The man must have still possessed one after all, though of no use for magic if Toth refused to speak. And apparently no use for defense, from the look of the scene...
Beowuuf reluctantly raised his gaze across to the form lying in the reddened vegetation. If Toth had concealed the dagger before, he would not have been able to again. His clothes were in tatters, ripped open just as the flesh beneath. The marks on...the clothing...were close to the dagger's jagged teeth. Perhaps the dagger had been used after all?
Toth had been killed by his own dagger. So much blood, and even a bloodstained handprint on the hilt. Surely a murderer would be easy to spot?
Beowuuf suddenly felt a prescence to his left, and turned to find the knight Tamas standing there. Beowuuf's hand was already on the hilt of his weapon, his blade starting to pull free. Finally, because-
-because it would just all be so easy if Tamas was not Tamas. If this were some fell Helghast or the shell of Tamas turned, it would be perfect. Beowuuf could feel the ease of the emotion, the rightness of striking a spawn down and claiming Tamas's life as Beowuuf's own again. It would be so easy For Beowuuf ignore it all and follow his desires, his earnest belief.
To ignore the lack of blood on the man. To ignore the horrified look on the man's face, for Tamas had worked with Toth the rest of the day after Toth's subtle change in attitude, attempting to coax the man to speak and to interact beyond the group. It was certain that if Toth was caught alone, a state the man had feared apparently since the Vakeros and Gralmis has found him again, it was because of Tamas's efforts.
And finally, for Beowuuf to ignore the prickle in his own arm telling him this really was Tamas, the man who had tried to steal Beowuuf's life but stopped at the last moment. When Beowuuf - Sorba, whoever he was - had revealed his own mind and imagined the rolls reversed, imagine taking over. And so Beowuuf had been trapped in his own form again with an echo of Tamas's mind instead of Beowuuf's own, and worse yet the guilt of an action he had not commited. And here Beowuuf was, faced with the reality again for a moment, and apparently he had learned nothing.
Beowuuf was still set in anger and it was with reluctance he let the sword fall, but already Tamas was turning. Beowuuf idly realised that Tamas was turning his right arm away from Beowuuf, as if he had felt the prickle too, the connection of bluesteel that forged a bond, just like the bluesteel sword Beowuuf weilded seemed to create a wedge.
"What...Beowuuf?" said Tamas confused, then seemed to register the look Beowuuf had not been fast enough to hide, the move Beowuuf made to his weapon covered too slowly. Tamas seemed genuinely confused as well as horrified by the whole situation, locked in his own revulsion. "You, you think that I am some form of-"
"Traitor!" came the yell over Tamas's alternate words, and both Beowuuf and Tamas looked across the way at Jorat. The man had apparaised the situation quickly it seemed, and held a normal sword up already. It was pointed towards Beowuuf, of course. Beowuuf wasted no words, simply squaring off to the man.
Jorat, too, had no blood on him. His hand was not steady - it was shaking. Whether from the horrific experiences in Helgedad that had stopped the man usually weilding his plain weapon, or whether it was the emotion of the currentscene, a scene Jorat seemed to be working hard not to look at, Beowuuf could not tell.
"What are you talking about Jorat," asked Tamas, taking a step forward then hesitating because of what was between the men, and the behaviour of his fellow Vakeros.
"That thing was called a traitor, by Toth himself!" said Jorat.
"What? By Toth? When?" Tamas seemed confused angry, and his quick look too Beowuuf seemed to register bboth those emotions equally.
"Yes, Toth spoke to me," said Beowuuf nodding but not looking away from Jorat's own glare. "What makes you think he was accusing? Why couldn't he have been warning..."
"He called you a traitor and you killed him before he could tell us why!" hissed Jorat, again his hand shaking with his sword, and his eyes quivering too, not looking down at the body and watering because of it.
A strange feeling came over Beowuuf, a quiver in his own arm. A pressing in his chest as if he were in danger. He had felt it in the company of death knights, he had not expected to feel it in the company of his fellow Vakeros. No, of Vakeros. It was an odd, alien feeling to him, and it was that that allowed him to control the urge to act before Jorat could.
"ENOUGH!" came a booming voice. Beowuuf had just enough time to look to his right and see Lord Gralmis before a sensation in Beowuuf's mind caused him to black out. The last thing he saw was the blue dagger in the grass. The last thought in Beowuuf's mind was an odd one. "What if Toth did it to himself?"
Third day to Maaken, campground by the Maakengorge
Beowuuf cocked his head to one side, looking around the corner of a building, standing on his toes then hunching down to get the perfect angles to see the little episodes of action that had stirred.
He could feel the fear, the anger, all the wonderful emotions welling up as the building of Eshnar that surrounded the party made an unusual assault. He could feel the death already coming...he could already see in his mind's eye...
...an entirely different death to feel revulsion at...
Beowuuf awoke with a start. The memories of what he had seen before his sleep came to him instantly. The reason for the disorientation, for the light of day, were less forthcoming. The memory of what else had happened and caused his unusual rest only clicked into place when he saw Prince Torfan talking, across the way, with Lord Gralmis.
Beowuuf looked around, and realised there were a few humans and dwarfs surrounding the wolf, just as there seemed to be escorts on both Tamas and Jorat also in the clearing. The blood on the grass had not been cleared well, but the body and dagger had gone.
Beowuuf realised too that the other two Vakeros were still out cold. Lord Gralmis, and in turn Torfan upon noting the magi's look across, spotted that Beowuuf was awake. Lord Gralmis turned his shoulder to Beowuuf, as if to stop the wolf creature from seeing anything the man said.
Tamas hadn't learned to read lips that well infact, not that Lord Gralmis would have been fully aware of this fact. However, the wolf body had exceptional hearing, and Beowuuf successfully strained to hear.
"Definitely no others?" asked Torfan quietly resuming the conversation.
"None," confirmed Gralmis. "I could feel no other minds, nothing else around. Toth was in pain, in fear, and then he was...gone." Lord Gralmis's voice was already weiry, so broke no further upon that annoucement. "Upon my arrival there were no other minds but my three companions."
"How can you suspect it is one of your own?"
"Do you think I wish to!" hissed Lord Gralmis. "There was no one else, and I cannot read their minds. I am too weak, and Jorat and especially Tamas are my best students."
"What of Beowuuf," asked Torfan, a quiver in his voice.
Lord Gralmis looked back over, and Beowuuf had to pretend to be looking around idly. "That one has the memories of my training, and - something else." Beowuuf was startled to hear that. Beowuuf had assumed his mental focus came only from his training, no, from the memory of his training in Kaenos. Who was this creature Beowuuf had inhabited then? No, who was this creature he used to be?
"So you cannot read anything in them?" asked Torfan again.
"No, I cannot - yet I feel nothing strange from my two students. Therefore..."
Torfan and Gralmis left the conversation hanging, and Beowuuf's heart fell. The two who had actually trusted him in this group now did not. Meanwhile, Toth was dead - and Toth had been trying to tell Beowuuf something, something the man couldn't apparently trust to his fellow Vakeros.
"You will keep an eye on him..I mean them?" asked Torfan at length.
"Of course," said Lord Gralmis.
Beowuuf was distracted by a commotion as Tamas woke up. The Vakeros seemed to assess the situation similarly to Beowuuf, although there were a few trailing threads of conversation between Jorat and Beowuuf that may have plagued the man's thoughts.
Apparently, they bothered Tamas enough that he made motions to be allowed to walk across to Beowuuf.
"What is happening?" asked Tamas, amazingly there was no angry edge directed at Beowuuf in his words.
"We are suspects," said Beowuuf.
Tamas looked uncomprehendingly, and then seemed to want to say something else as his brain registered the accusation.
"You were going to attack me," he said to Beowuuf, a statement.
Beowuuf felt uncomfortable. "Yes, there is more than enough suspicion to go around," said Beowuuf sardonically but feeling uncomfortable. Beowuuf had spotted Lord Gralmis looking across at the two of them, and after making his apologies to Torfan the magi was already moving across.
"No, that is not what I meant," said Tamas, though Beouuf was too distracted to give the man his full attention, "I mean you-"
"Tamas, Beowuuf," said Lord Gralmis, coming near and breaking into the conversation.
"What is going on?" asked Beowuuf, eager to complete the break.
"I had hoped to ask you - my powers are not what they were," said Gralmis, "My students bright, and then I have always felt there were certain boundaries one should not cross to ensure trust."
Beowuuf, having heard the conversation with Torfan, felt a chill. Gralmis suspected them, Beowuuf most of all, and certainly had tried to ascertain what was happening.
"Beowuuf, it may well be best if Torfan and I took separate accounts to ensure no details are lost," the Elder Magi continued. Beowuuf wondered if Gralmis had decided on that idea before, or had instead picked up on the chill from Beowuuf.
Tamas's eyes shot up, and Beowuuf shrugged his shoulders to indicate proof of suspicion, before the wolf remembered the conversation he had been ignoring. Beowuuf departed towards Torfan without further comment.
* * * *
"Beowuuf is right - you suspect us!" said Tamas quietly as the wolf left.
"Not quite - just, there are circumstances you do not appreciate," said Lord Gralmis, still looking away towards Beowuuf.
"And there are some you do not appreciate," said Tamas, coming forward to press the shoulder of his mentor. Lord Gralmis turned around slowly, uncertain of Tamas's odd action. "Beowuuf," Tamas continued, "you did not see him when I came upon Toth's body" continued Tamas.
"Beowuuf was already there?"
"Stop it and listen, old man!" said Tamas. He said it with humour but Lord Gralmis felt the unusual sting in the words. Another example of how Tamas had changed. Tamas carried on, apparently not realising anything was wrong. "He tried to attack me, for a moment - I mean it when I say stop it, I can tell your expressions - I was saying for a moment he was thinking of attacking me."
Lord Gralmis held his tongue this time, genuinely allowing Tamas the time to form thoughts, thoughts Gralmis could see were hard to word - and Tamas was not unintelligent in the ways of the mind.
"You don't understand," the Vakeros finally continued, slowly, "I saw the body of Toth, and I felt...frozen. I did not know how to react. Yet when I looked across at Beowuuf, while he was trying to hide it and certainly had fought the impulse, he had reacted with anger, tried to draw his weapon."
Lord Gralmis still did not, apparently, see it.
"You were the one that said you thought he was me - and you did not see the action. He was not drawing against an enemy, he was ...he was reacting to Toth's death. Personally."
Lord Gralmis realised it now - not what it meant about Beowuuf, but what it meant about Tamas - as far as the Vakeros was concerned. "As you once would have?" asked the magi with a raised eyebrow and low, sad and yet sympathetic voice.
Tamas nodded. "What has happened to me?"
"Nothing that could not, in time, be resolved in your mind," said Lord Gralmis with reassurance and a smile paler than usual, understandable in the situation. Lord Gramlis gripped Tamas's shoulder. "If you can ask the question, then you can also find your way back - or through - whatever is weighing your soul so."
Tamas seemed to be engaged in a mental struggle. "Do you really believe that that crea...that that..that Beowuuf is...I mean thinks..."
Lord Gralmis made a face that, in happier times, would have made Tamas smile. It was a botched attempt at feinting inner wisdom he could not share.
However, though Tamas's face acknowledged it, the expression then hardened. "If you do believe it," asked Tamas, "then how could you suspect him - or if you do, then surely you suspect me aswell?"
"I suspect no one," Lord Gralmis said in a placatory way.
Tamas gave him a look. "As I said, you weren't there, you didn't see the look," said Tamas
"Thank you, I shall pass your words on," said Lord Gralmis at length and Tamas seemed to collapse on himself slightly. A death weighing heavily now other confusions had been banished. "What is happening?" asked Tamas, imitating Beowuuf's question from earlier.
"Later," said Lord Gralmis, "for now, I need you to look after Jorat - the man is regaining consciousness." Tamas quickly looked across, and knew better than to argue with the man's skills, and more importantly to push the other point now. Tamas nodded and gave an equally pale smile to his mentor, again understandable in the circumstances.
Lord Gralmis returned it until the Vakeros's back was turned. Then his face fell as he watched the departing knight, and became darker still as he looked back towards the wolf creature across the clearing.
|
|
|
Post by Aguila Saber on Jun 16, 2008 12:34:30 GMT -5
Westhaven, Lencia
The journey on The Condor to Westhaven had been tranquil and the weather had helped aiding the speed of the voyage.
Upon re-entering the ship Aguila had traded some of the more valuable gemstones she had found in Bolo’s pouch for the dress she had borrowed from Marco. The body-guard duty had proved to be unnecessary for this part of the trip. Aguila had enquired Marco if any new sailors had been enlisted in Quilla, but the answer had been negative. Most of the sailors had been on The Condor for multiple voyages back and to Telchos.
Aguila had feared that Tinto would begin to make advances but to her relief there had been nothing of the kind during the voyage. Aguila had asked Tinto why he didn’t paint anything during the journey. “It’s the rolling of the ship. It ruins my work,” he had explained and instead asked Aguila to play some music for him, which she had done.
*-* Westhaven *_*
“What do you suggest now, Tinto?” Aguila asked looking out over the large harbour area of Westhaven.
“Assuming you want to stay as my body-guard a few days longer, I’d suggest staying in Westhaven a couple of days,” Tinto replies.
“Of course I do. How do we easiest travel to Vadera?”
“The easiest and fastest way is to board another ship. However, myself I’m up for a change of travelling and would prefer a voyage by land instead.”
Aguila nods in agreement. “A good idea. It was a while since we had some firm ground under our feet.”
“We can either buy a coach ticket on one of the coaches that travel between the cities, or we could rent a horse and cart and make the journey that way.”
“And what would you recommend?”
“I’ve tried the coach before. It’s a bit boring. You travel all day, and then in the evening you rest in an inn. Nothing much happening.”
“So you would prefer a trip with horse and cart?” Aguila asks.
“It’s the slowest way, but also the way we would see the most of Lencia. Besides, I used the trip on ‘The Condor’ to read up on tales and legends in Lencia.”
“You did?” Aguila queries.
“I borrowed a few books from my father’s library. To see if there would be something worth capturing in a painting in Lencia!”
“And your conclusion?”
“Most of the noteworthy things are in the cities. Westhaven has some interesting places I will want to check out, but there are a number of things of interest by the road as well. I’d say it’s well worth a try.”
“Right. I’m a person fond of open places myself. I’m all for the horse and cart trip,” Aguila says.
“Besides, spending some time here in Westhaven might allow us to pick up what is happening to the north of Lencia,” Tinto says.
Aguila looks doubtful.
“I think that if there is another crusade or war ongoing with the Drakkarim then we will find out, but then again wars and minor skirmishes with the Drakkarim is probably so common that few people would notice,” Tinto says. “We could always entertain ourselves with observing how much of the population here is lone women.”
“Oh? What could be read out of that” Aguila asks.
“The books I read told me that there are very few women here in Lencia that try to become knights or practise warfare, so if there is a war brewing then it is the male population that is drawn away.”
Tinto manages to attract the attention of a driver on a horse drawn coach.
“Passage to the ‘Blue Octopus Inn’ for me, the lady and our luggage,” Tinto calls out.
“Certainly sire,” the driver responds and starts to load the carriage with their luggage. He then holds up the door for Aguila and Tinto who enter the coach. “The trip will be six Lune, sir”
Tinto pays the driver.
“I hope you will enjoy the trip,” the driver says. “It’s fair weather to take a coach trip with your lady.”
To be continued.
|
|
|
Post by Aguila Saber on Jun 17, 2008 11:45:39 GMT -5
Westhaven, Lencia
On the way to the inn Aguila pondered the reaction of the driver. So far it seemed to be common to see couples everywhere and anywhere. On the ship, it had been fairly easy. She and Tinto have had separate cabins. Doing the same here might raise questions among the inquisitive Lencians; sharing rooms might on the other hand raise questions among her people.
“What are your plans regarding rooms?” Aguila asks.
“A good question. I think if you assume the role and acting of a bodyguard, then we could get them to accept that you are my bodyguard. I guess we could use this to motivate either one or two rooms depending on how close you are going to watch me.”
“You think they will believe you?”
“They know that I’m a well-known painter, and you can look quite determined when you want to. I know that they have a couple of adjacent rooms with doors between the rooms. I guess that be the best solution, though a fairly expensive one. The Blue Octopus is one of the best Inns in Westhaven so the cost per night will be steep.”
“How steep?”
“Something like fifty Lune per night. The rooms are quite large and luxurious.” Tinto says.
Aguila’s eyes widen. “Fifty … fifty Lune? You are not serious are you?”
Tinto nods looking serious.
“Why are we staying … there if it’s so expensive?”
“Because I’m a well-known painter and because it is the best Inn in Westhaven,” Tinto answers.
Aguila looks doubtful. “Just how large rooms are we talking?”
“Quite large.”
“All right. We will spend the money on purchasing a better transport later instead. Just remember that I will be sleeping alone in my bed during our stay in the inn.”
“Of course. Just remember to act like a bodyguard when we get to the inn,” Tinto says.
“How is this stance?” Aguila says crossing her arms and looking intensely before her.
“Also remember that there are porters in the inn. We are not supposed to carry our luggage up ourselves. We wait by the inn until one of the porters outside take our luggage.”
Aguila nods.
They arrive outside the inn and the coach driver takes out their luggage. A porter walks up to them and addresses Tinto.
“Are you guests to the inn?” the young boy asks.
“Yes, we are,” Tinto says and places a couple of silver Lune in the boy’s palm, then he motions for Aguila to follow behind him.
She does so making sure to keep a suitable distance. Tinto walks up to a desk by the entrance where sits a middle-aged woman. “Good afternoon,” she says. “Good afternoon,” Tinto says. “I’d like one room for myself and my body-guard.”
The woman looks up at Aguila looking a bit doubtful. “Isn’t she a bit too young to be your bodyguard?”
“She’s a Telchos Amazon. She knows her business.”
The woman looks up again at Aguila.
“Is there a problem master Escalon?” she says taking on a determined look.
“Escalon,” the woman says pondering the name.
“Tinto Escalon the famous artist,” Tinto says.
“Of course sir. That explains it! She is your model?”
Tinto leans forward and whispers something to the clerk.
“Of course Mr Escalon. I will give you room 12. It’s one of our finest. How long do you wish to stay?”
“Three nights,” Tinto answers. “We are going to take a good look at your beautiful city.”
“I’d advice you to visit the Royal Heritage Gardens. They are beautiful this time of the year.”
“Anything else of note happening?”
“The bard troupe the famous Wind Blowers are giving a show in the gardens tomorrow,” the woman says.
“What type of show?” Tinto asks.
“It’s a choir with blow instruments. They will perform music composed after the recapture of Gamir in MS 5075,” the woman explains.
“Thank you,” Tinto says accepting the key. He then takes the stairs with Aguila following behind.
|
|
|
Post by Simey on Jun 17, 2008 15:22:46 GMT -5
The ale was....bland. That was the only way of truly describing it. And in his position, Simey thought to himself with a wry smile, he would be honour bound to truly describe it as such to the landlord, should the man make any related inquiries.
His half empty tankard sat on the bar looking at him, emanating insipidity. Simey picked it up. Here's to blandness, he thought, and took another swig.
It was strange being off duty, especially here, but his choice to dress down and blend in as best he could seemed to have been a good one. He still didn't look especially Slovian, of course, but disgarding the fine clothes that he habitually wore, due to his frequent attendance at the various meetings organised by Lord Brassenhal, in favour of more ordinary apparel certainly seemed to have granted him a welcome anonymity that he wasn't used to; even though only a handful of people in Suentina actually knew who he was, it was normally clear that he was an official of some standing, and that was enough to turn most folk away.
It didn't help that the befuddled leadership of the Grand Principalities was engendering none too much confidence in the general population. Various princelings in some of the outlying provinces were making separatist noises, and Grand Prince Surov was too tied up with his own bureacracy to make any effective passifying manoeuvres. This tended to mean that visiting representatives of other nations that were dealing with the Slovian leadership were not held in particularly high regard.
Simey looked around the tavern at the people there: ordinary folk enjoying a little evening relaxation after the toil of a long day. It was these people that the Grand Prince, and, with regards to Durenor's dealings with Slovia, Lord Brassenhal, ignored at their peril. Not that the commoners of Suentina seemed likely to revolt as such, but should things ever threaten to get out of hand in the distant provinces, and effective leadership not be forthcoming from Prince Surov and his government, they might be an easily wielded tool for an opportunist to grasp at the right moment.
As he watched the many people of the crowded taproom conversing energetically around the high tables, alternately sitting on tall stools or standing up depending on the fervour with which they wished to make a particular point, Simey's eye was caught by something. Or, rather, someone. The girl was moving through the tightly-packed room, going methodically from table to table.
Simey could only catch glimpses of her at first due to the crowd, but she gradually made her way closer to where he was at the bar. Black hair hung untidily-but-perfectly around an elusive pale face and a slender, delicate neck. The tatty dress she was wearing failed to disguise the graceful glide of her slim shoulders or the smooth flow of her arms. The noise of the tavern dimmed slightly in Simey's perception.
As she became less hidden by the numerous clientele, Simey saw that the girl was carrying in front of her a tray covered with various small bundles of flowers: lucky charms, no doubt. A small voice representing his everyday self bemoaned the selling of such trinkets and the false-appeal usually employed to do so, but Simey could not help but feel that this particular girl was merely trying to provide a small suggestion of hope, add a little twinkling of light, to the lives of those to whom she sold the charms.
He watched as she proffered her wares - not forcefully, he thought - to the folk at each table, the smile that he could half-see surely bringing more light to their evening than her trinkets ever would. After some time, during which the sound of the taproom seemed to have dulled further, she was on the other side of the table nearest Simey, and then....
She looked at him.
________
Simey immediately looked away, of course, to examine in detail the fine craftmanship of the tankard that held what remained of his ale. Well, the craftmanship wasn't so much fine as functional. Well, not so much functional as feeble. Well, not so much feeble as f-
Simey chanced another look.
The girl was chatting to one of the patrons, holding up one of her trinkets for the man to see more closely. She laughed at something in the conversation and her teeth, lips and cheekbones joined forces to produce a smile that danced lightly-but-brilliantly across the room. Simey's heart stumbled.
And then she glanced over at him again.
This time, by sheer willpower, Simey did not turn away, despite the fact that his rational self desperately wanted to exit his body, grab him by the hair and slam his head repeatedly into the bar in order to beat out of him this insane course of action which could surely lead only to embarrassment.
He attempted a smile, though he felt certain that it would come across as some sort of obscene leer. The girl smiled back with a shyness that contrasted greatly with the easy manner she had been employing only moments before. She lowered her eyes briefly, but then looked back and held his gaze. Her eyes were that ever-so-slightly-less-rounded shape that Simey had noted marked typical Slovians out from typical Durenese - and which he found rather pleasing - and reflected lamplight glinted in them magically.
Words would have failed him long moments ago had he attempted to use any, but now thought failed Simey too. She was beautiful: utterly, captivatingly beautiful. And not only in outward appearance: an inner beauty shone from her also. And that was all. There was nothing else. Nothing else in the whole world.
For a few moments.
Suddenly, the girl's head turned as if she'd been called. Simey hadn't heard anything, but then the landlord could have been leaning over the bar bellowing right into his ear and he wouldn't have noticed. She glanced back at him, and while her smile was still the same, her eyes had changed slightly. Simey felt a twinge of concern, but he didn't know why. Her attention darted once more to the front door of the tavern and by the time she looked at him again she was gathering up her tray of charms and moving away.
A thundering wave of thought crashed in Simey's mind: he did not want her to go. But no thoughts came as to how to stop her, and he froze, watching helplessly as she approached the door. She beamed back at him once more, and this time he identified the change in her eyes: sadness was there, though a grateful sadness, not a tragic one. Her hand turned the doorhandle and she pulled the door open and stepped out towards a brightly-lit meadow of long, breeze-tossed grass.
The girl was still looking back at Simey as the light became brighter still and gradually enveloped the meadow, and was then so dazzling that he struggled to see her clearly past it. The intensity grew. and the light radiated through the open door of the tavern and spread out to either side, fillng the taproom, filling Simey's vision. He shut his eyes.
A meadow? In the middle of the city?
Simey's eyes flickered open, and he immediately squinted against the sun that had just been revealed by a passing cloud. The sun, the cloud, indeed the whole sky, was directly in front of him. And the upper part of the scene had a border of grass-tops as looked at from beneath.
He closed his eyes and sighed softly. Sadly.
________
It had been raining.
He could see this by the drops of water that still glistened on the long grass all around him, and also by the distant, receding muster of dark clouds. He could feel this by the dampness of the back of his clothes. Whilst he had been lying asleep or unconscious - he had no idea which - on the ground, the sun had evidently dried his front, but as soon as he'd moved to get up he'd felt soggy material unstick from the skin of his back.
The half wet, half dry experience wasn't particularly pleasant and Simey hoped that the sun would quickly dry the rest of him, but its position in the sky directly above him meant that in order to have its rays shining directly on his back, he would have to lie flat on his front: a somewhat self-defeating exercise. He looked about him in the hope of spotting a large rock which might have dried quicker than the grass, on which he could lie, but he couldn't even see anywhere that a rock might have come from, short of falling directly out of the sky; all about him were grasslands, mostly flat, broken up only by the occasional copse. In the distance in one direction, the green of the grass eventually gave way to a sort of greyness; in the opposite direction, mountains loomed up, seeming closer than they actually were because of the crystal clear air. Simey supposed that when the sun had eventually moved some way from its midday position, he might be able to determine which direction was which, but for now he had no idea.
He was thirsty, he realised. He didn't appear to have a waterskin on his person, or indeed any provisions at all, so, selecting a course at random, he started walking in search of water. He was mildly concerned that his skills at surviving in the wild were not all they might be - the military camps that had seen most of his stays away from towns and cities had been well supplied, particularly with other people that had made sure the likes of him had plenty to eat and drink - but his surroundings didn't look remotely threatening, and logic suggested that the recent rainfall should have created at least a puddle of water somewhere or other. He wandered relaxedly on through the long grass.
The sun beat down warmly, and the dream did as dreams do, slipping quietly from his mind.
|
|
|
Post by Beowuuf on Jun 17, 2008 16:02:35 GMT -5
Eshnar.
A terrifying place to some, to others...less so.
Beowuuf cocked his head to one side, looking around the corner of a building, standing on his toes then hunching down to get the perfect angles to see the little episodes of action that had stirred. Eshanr did not bother him.
He could feel the fear, the anger, all the wonderful emotions welling up as the building around made an assault on the party. Not a physical assault, that was what the drones, the Shamblers, were for. Nothing directed at him though. Why would the buildings do that though? For want of a better word, they loved him. Well, hated him so, so much less.
The living buildings were inflicting a heavy psychic price on those who had dared come. In each mind already images of other buidlings in other cities were being conjured. Cities these creatures loved were discovered, memories twisted so that once dear mental pictures became living nightmares. Eshnar and its weeping, bleeding, undulating walls took on the distorted but recogniseable forms of Varetta, of Holmgard.
The Cats were less affected it seemed. This was understandable to Beowuuf. The Cat Tribe, being nomadic, had no real equivalent to Eshnar. The brick walls and buildings could illicit no initial echoes of recognition.
The psychic assault was still that though, even without the hooks in memory, and there were still twinges of revulsion in the Cats. Imagining the plains rising up in an unnatural horror like this was a less enforced concern. However, the two bodyguards were able to block these fears by their focus on their function. The leopard like creature Jareyd was creating a wall of spinning death with his twin silver weapons that few of the Shamblers could get passed. If they tried, the other Cat Creature, Grey, reached out his rapier with elegant efficiency between the dancing blades of his companion to perfectly spear a tendon or spinal cord. Occasionally a more powerful undead, one that mortal weapons could not harm, forced a delaying thrust until Jareyd's enchanted weapons could slice the creatures up. Little did they know Beowuuf was holding most of those creatures back - the Lurkers and the Body were much too important assets to use as fodder while the buildings worked their will.
And the third cat, that blue haired bitch Zipp, was far too formidable of mind - perhaps amazing herself. Zipp did not seem to be affected with more than a twinge of disgust at the true vision around her. She had her back to the attack most of the time, seeking out the rest of the group that had been split up by sudden rush of undead. Occasionally with a jostle at her back Zipp would turn and perform a similar trick to Grey, usually prefering the quick flick and slice of a tendon with her weapon.
Beowuuf smiled at the sight that affected Zipp more than the psychic attack, the struggles of the creatures she had brought to this nightmare, the nightmare of undeath Zipp felt responsible for as a yellow robe.
The Telchos giantess should have been similar to the Cat creatures, unaffected. Except the walls had found a deep, racial secret, the ruins of a great civilisation and the anger and shame of a pact long ago. The giantess had her hands to her head, a head that was thrown back as she screamed and screamed at the images and memories flooding into her head. Agarash the Damned himself could have stepped around the corner of a building and the Telchos would not have been surprised, though she would now be unprepared - her runic spear lying kicked away on the street.
Renashta's howls were not terror though, they were thoughtless summoning of power, and the sage Fren was brought low by them. Enough that dispite his skills with his small blades and sage abiltiies the walls around could finally gain access to his deepest fears and childhood memories. Fren's howls were of terror, and Zipp shuddered for the man was not chosen for his lack of abilities.
Armadalus seemed stoic, but he was a constricted immobile statue. Then a creature would shamble close, and Armadalus would explode outwards, his sword moving with speed and purpose to remove the threat, before his posture and stance would go back to the clammed up statue. The man must be using his entire control not to break, but it could not hope to last.
Beowuuf smiled wider now, waiting for the resolution of the pattern infront of Zipp, now that the lesser distracting parts had been recognised and assessed.
Zipp saw three of the staggering, barely formed undead creatures make a move towards the group, especially Fren. She focused on her skills, ready to make a move to defend her companion when one of the shuffling undead moved sideways and an area, an item resolved itself.
It had looked like a strange colourful statue at their back, since it did not move much, but then Zipp realised it was infact a body. Another of the undead...no, wait, there was something familiar about...
The rapier that dropped to the ground was echoed as Zipp's own rapier dropped. Beowuuf laughed to himself as Zipp realised that the beheaded figure falling infinitely slowly against the magics trying to animate it was Remoire.
Beowuuf uttered a light, tinkling laugh like a child, the delight of his enemy's pain like a fine meal. Then Beowuuf shook his head. The laugh was not his own, not right for his wolf's body. It knocked his consciousness somewhat. Now he could not feel satisfaction at the revulsion he felt to the suffering of Zipp - for she was a fellow beast creature, after all.
No, he wasn't a Beast Creature.
Wait, yes he was. And there was an entirely different death to feel revulsion at...Toth was...
Beowuuf sat upright again. The dream was back again, the dream he first had that night after discovering Toth. Perhaps now he acknowledged it and remember it he could get better sleep. He certainly needed it.
Beowuuf tried to brush away the lingering echoes of undead moving around, and so almost had his throat ripped out by the real undead creature that moved towards him.
Eshnar, Eshnar, what was so important about Eshnar. Why was he dreaming of it? And why, although it was certainly an event in the past, did his dreams feel like revisiting visions of the future?
And, more importantly though Beowuuf, how could he get to his sword quickly?
Day five travelling towards Maaken
It had not been a pleasant time.
Prince Torfan had been incredibly polite and had listened to Beowuuf's version of events those days ago. Politeness was the key, Torfan had not been polite and statesmanlike since he had met Beowuuf, and Beowuuf had found his wolfish heart sinking at losing that sparkle in the eye of the Prince.
Lord Gralmis, of course, kept his distance. Beowuuf felt again isolated. In a way he was as disconnected as he had been in the Darklands, except he had expected it there. Then again, his trek there for this 'Footfall of Naar' had come from feeling disconnection back in the 'civilised' world, and that disconnection came from his own mission away from his people, and that disconnection came from...
Beowuuf could see a strange pathway of chains in his mind that he had pulled against and severed, or at the time had felt had been severed for him. And strangely, he had come full circle and been reuinited with his old self again - except he was rejectd from it, it was not, as it turned out, his. And his old mentor was now the man was acting as a stranger.
Beowuuf could perhaps have stomached it all, and treated it as he had the Darklands were it not for two things. Both were in one area, the figure of Tamas. He was a reminder of that rejection from his own life, when perhaps some twisted part of his mind always thought he could return whenever he wished, even somehow regain his old form.
The second was that Tamas was now seeking to engage with Beowuuf. Beowuuf could barely stomach any conversation the man tried to start, it was obvious that Gralmis had put Tamas up to finding out more. Both that Gralmis would do that, and that Tamas was trusted enough to do it, made Beowuuf seek any distraction.
Jorat would have been an obvious choice, for the man had saved Beowuuf from the undead the night before - holding a zombie back until Beowuuf could get his weapon. Except Beowuuf's distaste at Tamas soured that plan, to engage Jorat because...because the man did not seem right. And if Lord Gralmis spoke true, then there had been no one else but the four of them around. Rule out Beowuuf and Tamas - and how Beowuuf would love to rule back in Tamas - that left only Jorat.
Why rule yourself out, your mind isn't what is was, neither are your dreams
One part of Beowuuf's mind could not belief Jorat would be a traitor. However, another part of Beowuuf remembered his own time in Kaag - no, remembered Tamas's time in Kaag. Darpo, another trusted friend, turned to evil - a Drakeros, a figure of infamy and something that welled a hatred in Beowuuf so deep he shook even as he stopped the memory in its tracks. Jorat could not be such a creature too.
Could he?
"Watch your step," said Bos Twilt. Beowuuf had almost tumbled into one of the small fissures as they skirted the edge of the Maakengorge again. The dwarf, the brother of the silent and deadly twins that usually shadowed Beowuuf as both guards and bodyguards, had seemed a logical person to pick on to avoid Tamas's advances. The dwarf however, seemed slightly nervous of the wolf.
"Thanks, you were saying?" asked Beowuuf.
"I was not," said the dwarf, looking around deliberately to the path of the gorge and not the wolf creature.
"I thought you would have welcomed the opportunity for some pride in your brothers, you do not strike me as the jealous type," said Beowuuf. The wolf had been trying to dig into the frankly scary and professional nature of his twin bodyguards, silent shadows of death barely seen. And, of course, for something to ask that might draw Bos Twilt into his own story of life. Somehow that was making the dwarf even more uncomfortable.
"I do, and I am not," said the dwarf answering the wolf's questions in a crisp military way. Beowuuf was not sure if it was the dwarf's natural speech or just his way of dealing with these questions.
"I see, you you take pride in what they are, but not why they are that way - and it has somehting to do with you..." said Beowuuf. And then Beowuuf froze for three reasons. Firstly, the dwarf gave him such an angry and shocked lance of a look that Beowuuf realised that he had been right. The second was that Beowuuf had no reason, not even on any subconscious intuitive way, to know any such thing about the dwarf. Beowuuf felt the flavour of his mind right now, the trecherous taste of the wolf's mind in the background. Now Beowuuf had thought on it, he had felt that once before - an argument with Commander Karlnos, the Death Knight commander Beowuuf had teamed up with in the Darklands while undercover. The disgraced death knight held a secret, and Beowuuf had thought he had lucked upon it, had lucked upon the connection of a son in a fellow death knight Toraar.
Beowuuf had, at the time, thought he had read such signs easily because of his own history. Perhaps not. Not that it mattered, Toraar had died with an arrow in the eye, and Karlnos had either suffered death by rifle or death by fall from a Zlanbeast. What did matter was who was this wolf that Beowuuf ....that Beowuuf really was. Who was this strange creature with visions of Eshnar, and intuition about people that came from nowhere.
These should have been enough reasons for Beowuuf to freeze, but the sound of a Bor pistol being cocked by Beowuuf's head was certainly a third, overruling reason.
"I apologise for prying," said Beowuuf, turning to one of the two twins...sadly he still only knew them by the weapon they favoured. However, Beowuuf's brain had already realised something was wrong before he had turned to see the direction the Bor Pistol was pointing.
Beowuuf quickly tracked the trajectory as Bos Twilt did. On the horizon was a winged shape - too big to be a Kraan, perhaps too big to just be a single Zlanbeast. Beowuuf almost grinned, had he just conjured the creature with his memories of his travel across the Darklands?
"Keep moving, just a rogue flock I hope, we will catch up," said Bos Twilt of himself and his two brithers. Beowuuf didn't turn to nod. He instead shook his head, still looking up, and drew his sword.
"No, it is not," said Beowuuf, wishing he knew if it was his natural warrior instincts or something more that filled him with dread and certainty.
|
|
|
Post by Beowuuf on Jun 17, 2008 16:03:13 GMT -5
The undead hold no feelings of jealousy. Thus the Body did not rail against their role, paid no heed by their controller. What the will was focused on at that time, the Body mindlessly sought out. They needed no mind, all they did need was the power for motion. A body hacked apart would still crawl towards the Goal while it could, or shake with the desire to otherwise. And while the Body did not need minds, it did need hands, and feet, and claws, and eyes, and ears.
What had once been human, or animal, now was merely controlled flesh. The magic that animated it allowed the corpses to grab what was needed. A thing without a mind and borrowed will had no sense of self anymore. Thus the Body were the most hideous and terrifying of the abominations so far faced. Things barely recogniseable, or too recogniseable and grotesquely twisted, closed in from all around. Lurching forawrd with slow inexorable malice, an inevitable death from the multi-limbed horrors with twisted faces.
Jayred was already having to work harder, holding both the leader Zipp, and taking on the creatures that were around. The Body, closer to their controller than the poor Shamblers who were just caught in the eddies of the magic in Eshnar, were stronger in substance. Only magical weapons could tear into the binding magics and Grey was relegated to hunting a safe path with swiftness.
"What is wrong with her?" asked Armadalus of the blue haired cat walking as if floating without thought - both kin and antithesis to the Body.
"I do not know," snarled Jayred then grunted in pain as a third clawed foot kicked out from the thing before him and tried to take his wind from him.
Armadalus cleaved hands and claws arms from the mass before him, prefering to wage a slow war of attrition on the ability of the mass before them to injure and pursue. Armadalus was ignoring the sight beyond the wall of flesh before him, that of the body of Simey half consumed by one of the windows of a building across the way. The building's window buckled, sucking in its victim with a grisly crackle and flow of blood. Whether Armadalus believed the vision before him or not, or simply put it from his mind unresolved, he continued another deliberate swing propagating the illusion of the Body disintegrating as they touched an invisible wall.
The undead hold no feelings of jealousy. Thus the Body would not feel anything towards the Lurkers. Those creatures were allowed to keep their minds, and some feelings - pleasure, for one. The Lurkers trembled with pleasure as their controller's whispered words echoed in their crumbling minds. Words that soothed the pain, allowed the lurkers to act intelligently in the shadows, working more complex or darker deeds.
Grey tried to look for the correct path to the heart of Eshnar now that Zipp was temporarily unable to lead them. He did not see the danger until it was too late, a being ripping itself form a wall in shadow and pulling him into the dark. Grey twisted, using his rapier to twist the thing's grip. The thing's flesh was not even nicked, and it sent a decayed palm into his face to knock him down. Grey then felt multiple little legs on his own as some spider creature also peeled out of the shadow to finish the task. The two front legs, oversized and held in the air, waved around in delight at the helpless prey it could skewer and kill. It was two simple movements to take out Grey's eyes.
Or should have been, except the cat shifted at the last moment, regaining his footing and weapon quickly. "I have the path!" Grey called out loudly, fencing with the spider creature's two raised legs and tryign to work out how to deal with both it and the all too human undead that moved int othe light, revealing pitch black eyes obsenely widened like burnt moons.
"Good, go," said Zipp dreamily from by Jayred's shoulder as they all heard the cry.
"Mistress! What is wrong?" asked Jayred, relief not in his voice nor nature at the signs of comprehension from their leader.
"Connection," said Zipp, quickly lapsing back into the waking dream she had emerged from after. Armadalus shrugged and twisted to begin cleaving a path towards the cat creature Grey. Jayred adjusted himself, to guide Zipp by pushing against her towards Armadalus while facing and dealing with the tide of undead lurching behind them. Even if it were in his nature, Jayred was too focused now on his blade work to spare much thought to how the other yellow robes were faring.
The wolf creature observing them from the distance was similarly uncaring in other yellow robes, prefering the actions of fellow beast creatures. The leader Zipp held his attention most, along with their progress.
At first both had seemed amusing, and he had watched with pleasure. However, two of the Lurkers guarding the way had apparently tipped the direction, and Zipp's strange reaction hinted that her mind had not, as the wolf had hoped, been tipped into paralysed terror.
What was that woman doing then?
The wolf creature paused to look at itself in the now mirror-like glass of a building, infact what was now the eye of the living brick and felsh monstrocity. It did not blink in surprise at being used so, but the wolf did several times. Looking back at him, instead of a furred wolven body, was the well dressed form of a noble lady, thin and cruel of face but with deep dark eyes sparkling in anger, just as his had been.
For one moment the wolf creature looked aorund as if expecting to see the woman standing behind him. Somehow, his awareness realised, even as he turned back, that the figure in the mirror-like surface of the eye-window had not turned aswell.
"Who are you?" said the voice. It was not the wolf's, and the wolf had not even opened his mouth. His reflection's gaze became angrier and cold. The wolf took a step back as if physically attacked by the look, and seemed to step out of the body that was being reflected.
The real woman now turned, yet her eyes passed over the wolf as if not seeing. The wolf was glad, for in the flesh her eyes were terrifying, dead things. Their life was alien, the anger and sparkle a projection in the mind apparently.
The wolf took another step backwards as he felt the gaze sweep in smaller and smaller strokes left and right, slowing to a final resting place that would be right at him. The confusion and malice of the woman seemed to melt to an amusement, as her eyes barely flickered back and forth now. The wolf took another step backwards and...
...woke up with a start. He look around quickly, but the scene was the same as when he had drifted off t osleep.
With a sign, he put his head back down and looked at the framework of his tent, and listened to the small and familiar sounds of the Ilian Plains.
Wolf Tribe encampment, Ilian Plain, MS5100
"Sorba, your noise wakes the mind of the herd," said a soft voice. Sadly, not soft enough, and the tone too mocking. Sorba knew he would not get back to sleep and would have welcomed the company of many of the female warriors around, but the sleek male who entered was the last creature Sobra wished to see in his troubled state.
"Only a warrior would joke as if the herd had no mind," said Sorba in reply.
"Only one of your kind would comment like a hunter yet dare to try and talk to me as an equal," said the wolven warrior resting his hand on the pommel of a short sword he always carried. The silver and brown haired wolf was called Grakx, which meant 'tongue' in Wolven - behind his back they said it was because the wolf was all talk, yet oddly none said it to his face.
"Am I not an equal when you trained me so well?" asked Sorba lightly, stretching his limbs and wondering if the night held any promise, if he should simple walk the perimeter and see what friends or prey the dark might offer him.
"Bah, you barely touch the path to the Source, Sorba," mocked Grakx , "I taught you as little as your wit and strength allowed."
"You taught me nothing with your mouth, Grakx," said Sorba harshly, "but you should know better than to keep secrets from one who walked the hunter's path - you cannot hide your nature and knowledge in your actions."
Grakx snarled. "A shame both paths will be lost as your mind comes apart, mystic" snapped the sleek wolf uttering one of the harshest insults.
Sorba's snarl of shock and anger turned almost immediately to laughter, his furrowed brow and red eyes softening almost as soon as the bloodlust hit him. A demonstration of his path's power. "Your jealously tastes sweet, Grakx," said Sorba, turning his shoulder to the wolf as he looked for somethign to wear - a status symbol to wolves, nothing to do with need nor modesty.
"And your pride will be the stone round your neck that drowns you in one of the swamps of the Dark Plains when we toss you to your fellow mystics the apes," said Grakx.
"Grakx, grakx, grakx..." said Sorba, and it took the other wolf a moment to spot the flavour and realise he was being insulted with his own name. Sorba did not smile, for Grakx was hitting too close to Sobra's own fear.
"The council," said Grakx deliberately, "will not welcome you with open arms if your are not balanced - remember that. Remember it was I who foreshadowed your fate when that day comes and you are found out for the fraud you are. Know the pleasure I will take from that sight on that day."
"Perhaps I cry out because I am a mystic," said Sobra in apparent agreement, hiding the distaste and also the deeper fear, "and perhaps I have already foreshadowed your terrible fate, Grakx." Grakx seemed caught up in the talk - suddenly not sure if he were being lied to or told the truth.
"In that day," continued Sorba, sensing the distasteful weakness in his foe, "I will be at the council's side as a trusted aide, and you - no, that would be spoiling the surprise." Sobra found a cloak and turned his back on the wolf. Grakx snarled but the rustle indicated the warrior was gone.
Sorba sat back down, and dropped the cloak. He did not look at his trembling hand, for wolves did not have nor show fear, and therefore his hand could not shake, and therefore there would be nothing to see if he looked at his hand, and so he ignored it as an irrelevant and foolish thing to look at at this moment..
Wolves held no fear, there was no reason. They were perfect, and all others were inferior. And yet the irony of life was that unlike the lesser Boars and Cats with whom the wolves shared the plains, unlike those lesser beast creatures who simply existed, a wolf's perfect mind and perfect body were not one. They were two entities, the body still fueled by the Source - the primal rage and power that the Darklords had sought to corrupt and harness an age ago, yet could not. The Wolves had broken free of that oppression, taken the Cats and the Boars and the rest, even those traitorous Apes with them. And yet the power of the Source that had freed the Wolves no longer obeyed them. A wolf's mind and body were in a constant war, civilisation and control versus barbarism and animalism. Distasteful.
Lesser wolves did not feel the call of the source as strongly, and simply learned to control it day to day as they grew older. Those of power, who felt it keenly though...
Some sought to distract the Source with external influences, become Hunters. Gathering resources, gathering information, always focused on the world around them - on the prey. Others simply embraced the Source and learned to tame its powers - the Warriors of the Tribe, strongest and highest regarded. And of course, there were those cowards who found the brightness of the Source too much, turned from it to hide in their own minds - the Mystics. They were found early, usually, and cast out of the tribes.
However, there was another path, for those of real power, of real vision. Perhaps not regarded the highest, for the rest knew fear. But the most respected. Those taking a path bringing together those three paths that other, lesser wolves sought. To have the true courage and skills to harness the power of the Source, guided by a hunter's instincts and insights, and finally controlled by a dominant mind.
Let Warriors fight, and Hunters seek lesser prey - a true Assassin was the pinicle of the wolf. Not an assassin, a thug who kills for money or by command, but a Woven Assassin, a wolf creature with such control and skill that any delicate task was possible. Be it diplomacy with other races or travel into the world of humans for information or, of course, the delicate task of neutralising unfortunate circumstances and individuals where appropriate.
Sorba knew himself to have that greatness. He had easily opened his mind the the herd, the mass of voices and minds and bodies in the world who did not feel the Source as the wolf did. And he had tamed the Source burning in himself.
Why, then, when he had turned his brilliant mind to tying both parts together finally as an Assassin had that mind betrayed him, was it all now coming apart?
Where were these dreams coming from? The dreams of a dark human female, beautiful no doubt by human standards, yet terrible. Why was Sorba seeing this woman constantly?
It was definitely something he needed to seek answers to, and soon. Sorba's perfectly arranged path could withstand anything Grakx might say, no matter that wolf's sway with the council. However, if Sorba's own actions and mind started to betray him, there was nothing the wolf could do to save himself form banishment from the tribe.
Sorba felt the weight of his situation, the helplessness, fall upon his shoulders and mind. Luckily, the reluctance to face such thoughts brought about a lethargy in him and he yawned. Grabbing the cloak beside him, and turning it into a pillow, he laid his head down to sleep once more.
And held aloft a sword, shining blue in the sun, raised in challenge to three black, winged beasts of nightmare.
Zlanbeast - the creatures pf the Darklords he was challenging were called Zlanbeast, weren't they?
|
|
|
Post by Simey on Jun 19, 2008 12:04:11 GMT -5
"You look lost."
"That's because I don't know where I am."
"As a good a reason as any, I suppose."
"Better than most."
Simey's eyes narrowed. His indifference at having come across Armadalus was turning to mild irritation even as he approached the man.
"Better than some," corrected the Sommlending. "Better not to look lost if you can help it: it cedes an advantage to your enemies."
Inwardly, Simey rolled his eyes: maybe outwardly too, he realised as Armadalus' gaze sharpened. He had been wandering contentedly in pleasant sunshine for perhaps as long as an hour when he'd noticed a figure sitting at the edge of a copse. He'd been curious enough at the sight of someone sitting by himself in the middle of nowhere to approach, despite not feeling any need of company or interaction. The sensation when he'd realised who it was had been rather odd, almost as though his memories of Armadalus - who he was, how he'd come to meet him - had previously been entirely absent from his mind and had suddenly arrived there all at once. Even so, he'd felt neither pleased nor disappointed to see him again: until the Sommlending had started speaking.
"Can you not just relax and enjoy a beautiful, sunny day?" asked Simey with a vaguely familiar feeling of exasperation, though he kept his tone agreeable.
Armadalus' eyes took on the questing, examinatory look that Simey had been subject to before. The man seemed genuinely puzzled as he scrutinized him, as though he didn't fully understand what he was looking at.
Simey looked down at himself to see if he'd failed to notice some glaring injury that he'd sustained or piece of clothing that he'd put on the wrong way round. He was a bit of a mess, he noted: his tunic and the leather armour he was wearing had been badly ripped in places and he'd apparently sustained a good few scratches judging by the numerous small bloodstains all over his clothes. But he was in one piece and all his limbs worked alright, even if his upper right arm did sport a sizeable, bloodied bandage and was, he realised, rather sore. What was Armadalus so confused about?
"Does it not concern you," asked the Sommlending speaking carefully, almost experimentally, "that you have no idea where you are?"
Simey thought for a moment. He supposed that perhaps he should be somewhat perturbed by his situation, particularly given his lack of supplies, but he answered honestly as he was required to do.
"No. Not really," he said lightly. "Do you have any water?" He smiled hopefully and bemusedly at Armadalus' discomfitted expression.
"No, but there's a stream not far away," said the Sommlending vaguely, his mind clearly still focused elsewhere. Then, intently again: "Do you not want to try and find out where you are?"
"I'd rather find the stream first," grinned Simey. "I'm parched."
"Okay, I'll show you where it is in a moment," said Armadalus placatorily. He paused for a moment, apparently in strategic consideration of his next question. "Where were you before you were here?"
Simey's deliberate good humour ebbed slightly, impatience setting in. He started to try and recall where he'd been most recently, but then decided not to: he was thirsty, and standing around answering pointless questions wasn't doing anything to change that.
"Do you remember being in Kuchek?" asked Armadalus after a moment's procuring no response.
For a second time Simey experienced the peculiar sensation of memories suddenly appearing in his mind. The repetition of the occurance, however, lent it more detail: it wasn't actually as though the memories had one moment been wholly nonexistent and the next been present, fully-formed; it was more as though they had been comprehensibly crumpled and crushed right down until they were nothing but a tiny bud, almost invisible on the edge of his consciousness, and that that bud - upon the prompting of Armadalus' question - had instantaneously blossomed into full flower, allowing him complete, normal access to his recollections.
"Yes," he answered, with a jarring feeling at a response that became truthful only moments before he spoke it. "Of course I remember Kuchek. Why?"
"What about after Kuchek?" said Armadalus, ignoring the question.
"Why don't you tell me?" snapped Simey, irritation suddenly getting the better of him.
"I can't," said Armadalus gravely. "Not for sure. But I fear something terrible has taken place."
________
Yet another crisis.
Simey recalled now how Armadalus tended almost constantly to carry the demeanour of someone intent on averting terrible happenings in the world. It really was quite tiresome. Still, the sun was warm and the air refreshingly cool and clear, so he was enjoying their walk to find the stream that Armadalus had mentioned despite the Sommlending's ominous - yet entirely unspecific - talk of dreadful recent events.
"So, where did you go after you left Kuchek?" asked Armadalus, suddenly returning to his line of questioning from earlier.
Simey's lips tightened and he flicked an abrasive glance at the Sommlending. "Don't you mean 'where did we go?'" he retorted after a moment.
"Yes, of course," said Armadalus formally, as though Simey had just passed some sort of little test.
"Well then, you should know, shouldn't you?" said Simey flatly.
"Yes, I should," said Armadalus evenly, "but so should you."
"Does it matter? Really?" asked Simey in exasperation.
"You tell me."
"Well, no then. I don't think it does matter," said Simey, his arms and hands spreading suddenly wide in a gesture of obviousness. "I think it's a beautiful day, I think I'm in a beautiful place, and once I've had something to drink, I don't think I'll have anything to worry about at all. I think....I think I feel lucky to be alive today!"
"You probably should do," said Armadalus darkly.
Simey took a stride forward into the Sommlending's path and spun round, bringing the man to a halt. "That's enough!" he half-shouted, frustration and incomprehension coming together to give a sudden intensity to his voice and actions. "If you don't shut up about this, I am going to hit you." He snorted derisively at the notion even as he voiced it - he knew that if he and Armadalus did get into a fight, the Sommlending would make short work of him - but he meant it.
"Alright, I will," said Armadalus calmly, "if you tell me how you got from Kuchek to here."
Simey threw his head back and glared at the sky, an infuriated growl issuing from his throat. His mind span into action, determined to get its unwanted course of action over and done with. Kuchek was a starting point: then there was an instinctive swing to the north, a lengthy ride, a feeling of familiarity....
"Hammerdal," stated Simey as definitely as he could. "We went to Hammerdal."
Armadalus' eyebrows lifted slightly, prompting Simey to continue. But he couldn't. Or didn't want to. They had met a group of people in Hammerdal, he remembered, but his mind reflexively objected to trying to work out who they'd been, or how himself and Armadalus had been involved with them. He quickly gave up thinking about it and a pressure that had begun impinging uncomfortably on his thoughts immediately receded. The release was most gratifying.
"I don't know," he said with a shrug and a grin. "Beyond that, I really don't know." He regarded Armadalus amicably for a few moments and mercifully the man didn't question him further. "Now then, that stream: where is it?"
The Sommlending gestured forwards and moved past Simey to continue walking, the look on his face suggesting that Simey's responses had simply made things worse.
Simey rolled his eyes. Yet another crisis.
________
"That doesn't look good."
Simey looked up from his hands' cup of water from the little stream by which he was kneeling. Armadalus had his back to him and was looking away into the distance where dark clouds loomed. Twisting his head to check the position of the mid-afternoon sun, Simey determined roughly that the bad weather was approaching from the north. "I've only just dried out," he muttered.
"We should find shelter," said Armadalus.
Simey looked about him: the land was marginally less flat than the area where he'd woken up, but there was still little other than long grass and occasional wooded areas to be seen.
"Where are we likely to find shelter around here?" he said doubtfully, as much to himself as to Armadalus.
The Sommlending was searching the landscape in all directions with piercing eyes. "There," he said after a few moments, pointing to a small wood perhaps half a mile away. "Even if we can't find cover there, we can make some."
You might be able to, thought Simey, acknowledging to himself once more his relative lack of outdoor survival skills; a tent and some cooking equipment were the minimum he would normally have with him in such circumstances as these.
"Come on," said Armadalus. "Let's get moving."
"Alright, just wait for a moment, will you?" said Simey, glaring sharply at the Sommlending before returning his attention to the stream and the quenching of his thirst. ________
"It's a pity we've got no way of carrying water," said Simey a short time later as he and Armadalus walked briskly to cover the distance to the wood before the weather closed in; the clouds were making steady progress towards them and the rain they were bringing looked somewhat torrential.
"We're somewhere near Eshnar," said Armadalus, his voice edged slightly with annoyance.
"What?" said Simey in surprise.
"We're somewhere near Eshnar," repeated Armadalus, his tone unchanged.
"Why are you telling me that?" said Simey, perplexed.
"Because you haven't asked me," replied Armadalus.
"Because I haven't asked you," said Simey slowly, trying to see if the Sommlending's response made any more sense than was immediately apparent. His pace lessened as he pondered the matter and he had to jog for a moment to catch up with Armadalus. "Why would I have asked you?" he said, no less confused after his brief deliberation.
"Wrong question," said Armadalus, raising a stern finger in emphasis, though still not turning to look at Simey, and continuing to walk just as quickly. "Why wouldn't you have asked me?"
Simey thought for a moment, wondering as much whether he understood the question as whether he could answer it. Armadalus' whirling round to stand right in front of him cut his musings short.
"You find yourself in the middle of nowhere, having no idea where you are and no idea how you got there," said the Sommlending with obvious frustration, though his face betrayed concern of some sort also, "and it doesn't even cross your mind to wonder where you are? Don't you find that strange?"
"Well, it....it didn't seem to matter," said Simey lamely, finding himself thrown by Armadalus' sudden aggression. Then a thought rushed righteously to the front of his mind, obliterating all others. "You said you'd stop talking about this," he said, smiling humorlessly. "I suggest that you do, and that we do something about finding some shelter."
Simey moved past Armadalus and continued walking towards the woods for which they were heading. It was only after a few moments he noticed that a tension which had once again been building in his mind had evaporated. Conversations with Armadalus were obviously a bad idea. He shook his head in annoyance as he strode on.
It would soon be raining.
|
|
|
Post by Aguila Saber on Jun 19, 2008 14:50:41 GMT -5
Westhaven, Lencia
Aguila and Tinto go out late in the afternoon. Tinto wants to take a look at some of the exotic shops nearby, and so Aguila follows him out.
Aguila notices that the exotic shops indeed deal with exotic things, or at least things exotic to her. Fragrances and spices for the journey she’s not heard of. These Aguila can understand but there is also some other things which Aguila cannot even guess what they would be used for.
“For painting, for fun, and I collect them,” Tinto answers when prompted outside. “Mostly for fun. Anyway, onwards to the next store.”
The next store is a tailor specializing in female outfits.
“You want to buy women’s clothing?” Aguila asks when looking at the wares at display.
“I’d like you to model for some more paintings. I buy the outfit, you stand model. What do you think about that model?” Tinto asks.
Aguila can hear voices from inside. A male in dark grey clothing dressed in an elaborate and elegant dress is speaking in a harsh voice to the female proprietor.
Aguila nods to Tinto, while she follows the conversation inside. It seems to her that Tinto is not aware of the scene. “It looks nice, but I would prefer the black and red one,” Aguila says pointing to another outfit. Tinto follows Aguila’s direction and looks thoughtfully at the dress.
Aguila frowns when she realizes what the conversation is about inside. The man is an extorter and he threatens dire consequences unless she pays for protection. Aguila’s eyes are drawn to a rod the man is carrying. She draws a deep breath when she catches sight of a symbol on the rod.
“What is it, Aguila? I was …” Tinto says.
“Sharks!” Aguila hisses, Tinto is confounded. “Sharks?”
“Hide in that portal and quickly,” Aguila says. “No time to discuss. Do it.”
Tinto complies and watches Aguila ready her Shiel-fa. A few seconds later the door opens and Tinto takes cover. There is a shout and then a thump, and then nothing for a few seconds.
“You mind explain what this is about?” Tinto says returning to Aguila.
Aguila hands him the rod the man carried. Tinto turns it over and over. “I can’t see anything in particular,” he says.
Aguila is sifting through a folder, after finding and opening a sealed of part of the folder Aguila takes up two documents.
“Take a look at these then, while you check the street is clear,” Aguila hands him the two documents.
“Hey these looks like the documents we found on Bolo!” Tinto exclaims and then quickly hushes himself up.
“Exactly. And the rod has the ankh sign at one end,” Aguila says.
“You think they know of what happened in Quilla here?” Tinto asks.
“Not sure,” Aguila says. “Read the documents and use that special memory of yours.”
Aguila is working on another document in the folder, using items she finds in the folder as well as studying the rings on the man’s fingers.
“I’m done. What do you suggest now?” Tinto says.
“I have seen what I need. Let’s give him back the documents and let him wake up by himself,” Aguila says.
“You think that will work?”
“Likely. He could have just slipped and fell when he went outside,” Aguila says. “I don’t think he is aware of us at all. Let’s return to the other shop. We can observe him from there.”
Aguila and Tinto return to the exotic shop. Tinto inquires about some additional merchandise while Aguila observes the street from the window.
Two minutes later the man rises grimacing badly while touching his head and bottom. He takes up his rod and folder, and mutters some curses.
To be continued.
|
|
|
Post by Beowuuf on Jun 19, 2008 15:12:21 GMT -5
Fifth day on the journey to Maaken, under attack
"Clear back," cried Bos-Twilt to Beowuuf, the wolf standing in strange challeng to the three Zlanbeast coming close. The dwarf shook his head in irritation as he propared to deal with it himself. "Clear back," he repeated, "it is just-"
"Enemy, incoming!" yelled Beowuuf loudly and clearly over the protestations of the dwarf.
Bos-Twilt rolled his eyes then stood tall as the voice of Prince Torfan echoed. "High ground, now lads," said their leader, and the brothers snapped quickly to go. Beowuuf was surprised that his words had elicited a reaction in Torfan. He looked around and notice that Tamas standing close had also reacted positively, nodding to the wolf then rapidly running across to Gralmis. Beowuuf realised it was probably the wrong time to have doubts. No, it was stupid to have doubts, something had made him sure. Beowuuf raised his sword again in salute, then looked backwards and followed the group as they sought a better high ground with more cover and less entanglements. Being away from the Maakengorge would help - an enemy that could fly around could force them all into its depths as Vashna himself had once been.
"We will soon see if it is merely scavengers, perhaps something intelligently guided, or...something worse," said the tall human leader Colt. Beowuuf felt the man delivered it in a strangely detached way that the wolf was getting used to from the man, as if he was reporting the possible behavious of some bugs rather than potential enemies to be faced. "Scavengers would not cross the chasm," contnued Colt, "ridered Zlanbeasts could be eventually coaxed and forced across if any with enough purpose riding them dared..." The group then saw the lack of hesitation of the flying creature. "And now, I fear the 'something worse'," finished the man quickly flipping his white bow from his shoulders. Colt's pug-nosed second did not nod at the assessment, but that was because Wyte was reacting to his Bor Rifle being relieved from him.
"Sorry friend," said Prince Torfan, "but this will be a tricky shot and we gave yer an affa fine weapon." Beowuuf almost smiled, but was too lost in admiration for the casual way the prince got into a steady firing positon, butt firm into his shoulder. The Prince did something complicated with the firing mechanism, and the shot rang out unexpectedly loudly.
Beowuuf had already tracked his eye forward again and saw the small spread of shots explode with devistating effect on...a wall of nothing. Behind that wall of nothing was definitely something. Beowuuf's eyes could see a cloaked figure on the lead Zlanbeast now, a cloaked figure that had its arms stretched wide, long blue nails coming out from the folds of the sleeves. Beowuuf didn't need to hear the high pitched laughter to know what the creature was - it was a Nadziran, it was infact Namanas from Argazad whom he had met briefly before.
The sight caused more of a stir than expected, and before Beowuuf could voice his knowledge to the others the cry was already being raised. "Nadziranim, flee!" came the shouts, high pitched. It was like a wave, invisible yet just as crushing, flowing over the troops and squeezing out their courage. The dwarves stood firm but stiffly, the humans took a few steps back but for the most part tightened their grips on their weapons and held.
Beowuuf knew that the creature would make himself impervious to magic aswell, however he already had a recent memory that sparked an idea... The wolf looked left and right, seeing his Vakeros comrades. Beowuuf realised though that Tamas was unarmed, aside frm the bluesteel shards he had shown no inclination of using, and Jorat carried only a plain blade. It would be up to Beowuuf, and that meant allowing the creature to close nearer. Damn, the Maakengorge would go unfed today. Beowuuf already found Gralmis's eyes on him. Beowuuf railed against the suspicion he could see there, instead flicking a meaningful look of consternation and then a differnetly flavoured one at the Zlanbeast. For amoment Gralmis did not see to understand, and Beowuuf could only hope that the bond of flase memory would allow Gralmis to see the opportunity quickly enough.
Torfan and Colt were ordering their men with rigidly disciplined voices that brooked no argument into battle formations. Arrows fired and seemed to be blocked. Beowuuf realised the further two Zlanbeast were also being targetted, also to no effect. However, Beowuuf could only focus on the lead one, seeing an invisible line in the sky he was waiting for the Zlanbeast to cross. The wolf tossed his bluesteel weapon from his right to his left hand, feeling an odd connection of bluesteel weapon to the shards in his arm.
'Steady...' though Beowuuf to himself. He gestured and nothing happened. He snarled in irritation.
Ah, Beowuuf, came a voice in his head, high pitched and evil and aline and as mocking as it had been in Argazad, do you really think you are powerful enough to-
The Zlanbeast's head crossed a new the invisible line, and Beowuuf gestured again hoping the failure was just in his gauging of the range. He channeled his ability to hold a person in magic at the head alone, hoping Namanas arrogant enough to merely shield his person from magical effects, not his mount.
The Nadziran's words were cut short as Beowuuf succeeded in pulling the head alone down, knowing the body and hence Namanas would follow. Sadly, the invisible line put the Zlanbeast beyond the Maakengorge chasm onto this side. And sadly, a Nadziran probably had ways of staying afloat, unless...
Namanas's laugher echoed throuhgout the chasm, and Beowuuf's heart sank. Beowuuf only realised it had a different, more joyful and less mocking flavour as the robed creature landed with a sickening crunch into the ground. The creature still laughed in a high pitched way, and a blue-nailed finger poked out, doing some obscene gesture as if twisting into an eye-socket. Beowuuf looked around and saw Lord Gralmis sweating, concentrating fully on the Nadziran. "Pleasure, not pain...thought it might...be an unguarded way in..." said the Edler Magi with a pained smile.
Beowuuf grinned and felt himself sag in relief, then realised there were still two more Zlanbeast that apparently had protection. He looked on towards the revealed riders, three across two beasts, and saw they were normal sized and humanoid. "Fire!" said the various dwarf and human leaders with clearer voices and hearts. The arrows and bullets and occasional spear, however, thumped into various shields and bounced, exploded or burnt to a crisp.
One of the hooded figures brought their Zlanbeast to a hover closeby. It made an exagerated look down at the fallen Nadziran still cackling to itself lost, then looked to the group and shook its head. Beowuuf felt afraid as he quickly looked around. Lord Gralmis was busy, Beowuuf was next to useless even if magic would save the day against these further figures, and the remaining soldiers were currently powerless. The figure on the Zlanbeast lifted up its hands, lowering its hood.
"Is that any way for a comrade to greet an old friend," said the voice of Alder Kollosco to Beowuuf, and the wolf realised his fears had been if anything an underestimate of the situation.
* * * *
The man giggled happily, picking a flower from the wall of a building. The fact that the flower was already dying in unnatural decay and undeath, and was between the folds of skin-like material that were the flesh of Eshnar now did not concern the man.
The woman walked imperiously, not allowing her demeanour to alter as the man pointed to the flower and gave her a look like a puppy. She did not seem to have the heart to smack him nor do anything but nod encouragingly then look away swiftly with an odd disgust.
She should have killed the man an age ago. She had done so many times in the past as she shifted from country to country as her age, or lack of aging, became a concern. Here a noble, there a Prince, even once a king - although his arrogance and misogeny cost him dearly and her the ability to have the power she wanted in that place.
Perhaps it was the nearness of her ascension, finally reclaiming her powers, that made her chose this last noble as someone to share the vision and evil. Well, for a while at least before betraying him once her power was complete. Unfortunately, no matter how slowly she tried to bring him to full knowledge, moving from his dabbling in the dark arts to sharing them to revealing herself as the once source of them aeons ago, it was still to much knowledge not to break his mind.
Instead, her loyal servant had become her real confidant, his deformed figure not even hinting at the true deformity of heart inside him. The mess of malice and evil and glee in the ending of the world was refreshing. Sadly, the hunchback was still a coward beneath it all, never daring to enact the venom in his soul unless ordered by her, hiding behind her skirts.
Somehow though, she could not get rid of the strange giggling husband. She tried to convince herself it was pleasure at seeing that noble laid waste, the work of years to fracture his proud mind. Yet it was always unsettling at how much distaste she had rather than dark hunour in his ways.
A Shambler came close, and without thought Hazelae beheaded it backhandedly before it could grip the distracted man's neck. The husband did not seem to notice, and instead offered the flower to the empty air. The wolf creature he could infact see, that was frozen in terror at being seen, finally relented and reached out to take the item while keeping its eyes on the other two, the two that did not see it.
'Hazelae. The terrible woman before him was called...Hazelae...' thought the wolf to itself, not knowing how he knew her thoughts and purpose.
The flower hovered in the air for a moment before falling through the insubstancial fingers, and the wolf stood, apparently still invisible and untouchable. The husband sighed and looked around for something else. "The inn is closed," he said to Hazelae.
"I know, dear," she said without much thought, looking onwards at the sight behind the wolf.
The wolf did not wish to turn around, for the sight was a distrastful one. The giantess had gone mad, apparently the buildings had worked their will fully. It was not something he wished to see, a striking warrior like that brought so low. The dwarf Fern was tryign to reach her, but the Body had come out in force to split the two up just as the undead had effectiely split the group up around the city.
The giantess bellowed again, some primal howl of power that sadly did not work on the creatures infront of her. It might, however, have had an effect on what she saw - Agarshi or some such creatures of legend. She was fully emersed in the bad days, fighting the villainy that her rune spear had been forged to kill.
In her mind Agarash stood before her, and by her actions the Telchos would live or die, be damned for thousands of years due to the actions of the male council, or freed from that fate by her sacrifice. The Body reared up, and to her it was the mocking maw of Agarash himself.
"You shall not have them!" she cried, strong and true, and with a powerful thrust pierced the heart of Ararash the Damned, seeing the immortal creature thrash and fade as a result of her actions.
"Free!" she called, the blood dribbling down from her mouth. Her rune spear stuck out obscenely from her, taken from her grasp in curiosity and plunged there by one of the multitude of undead.
"NOOOOOOO!" cried out Fern, thrashing out with abandon with twin daggers and diving through the wall of undeath. He found mind enough to use his sage skills to force a further passage to the woman's side.
"Free," she gurgled as the undead creature pulled the rune spear out, snapping the shaft again and again. As if in derision of the weapon and its power, the creature then started taking bites of it, throwing other parts to its fellows. They all then screamed in agony and fell backwards bursting apart as the magic still inside the weapon pieces destroyed them.
Fern reached the Telchos's side, but she was already dead. With tears flowing freely, oddly falvoured with emotion Fern had never suspected inside himself, he looked towards the temporarily opening hole that lead onwards towards the centre of the city, and the rest of the group.
Except he could not leave her like this, especially in Eshnar, where the dead walked. He knew his duty, but he would not-
His legs had already propelled him through the gap, and his head and heart were stunned. The gap closed, and the Body turned around to regard the short sage. Wiping his eyes the sage turned and ran before the horde of undead could engage their mismatched feet in pursuit.
Sorba could not turn around to watch, but knew it was happening anyway, seeing it play in his mind.
"Take this," said one of the undead behind his back and the runespear, re-assembled, came into his side vision. Sorba hesitated, looking up to see if Hazelae and her servant had noticed. However they simply looked on to the scene behind with amusement. Sorba looked back down, reaching out expecting his hand to go through the spear, but it grasped the plain wodden haft firmly. Sobra blinked and-
Ilian Plains, Wolf-controlled territory, MS5100
-realised he was holding a simple wooden spear with bone tip. He looked up and saw the plain stretch out before him, and looked backwards at the wolf hunter that had given him the weapon.
Sorba looked down at the plain spear again, and it threatened to metamorphose in his vision as a runespear once more, the green grass by his feet turning a vile pink again. He willed the vision to stop, closed his eyes, opened them, then looked. His hand held a sword, bluesteel, and it was human. He losed his eyes again and opened his eyes again his hand became the accustomed furred limb. The bluesteel blade however did not vanish.
Sorba shivered a moment, looking up and seeing twin visions of both the green plains in reality and a blackened gorge with two winged beasts flying above in a waking dream. Sorba raised what he knew was a spear up, willed the green plains to remain green, and gestured for the group of wolves he was leading to march onwards.
Ilian plains, MS5100
The group spread out, Sorba taking point. The hunt was a fun pasttime, thouh one Sorba had outgrown. His focus was destined to be more specific as an assassin, his prey either more nebulous as a concept, or just as literal yet much more resourceful. Sorba picked at the point of his spear as he contemplated the strange mission.
Grakx was the only warrior asigned to the hunt, overseer for the council. Goodness knows what this little jaunt was supposed to prove. Grakx was the one who knew the reason for it. "This is far enough," said Grakx finally.
"There is nothing to be seen yet, nor smelt nor sensed," said Sorba with a sneer, turning around to share the sneer with the other hunters at the expense of the warrior. Also glad to turn his back on the waking visions which were making a mockery of Sorba's claim there was nothing to see.
"I disagree, our prey is directly before some of us," said Grakx, unsheathing a bone sword and pointing it towards Sorba.
"So you think you can take me alone?" said Sorba with disgust, without shock. "You think you can take me alone and explain it all to the council?"
"Accidents happen in the hunt, especially the hunt I have woven to the council," said Grakx with a smile. "And I am not alone, I have many respected hunters who like me do not like the suspected stink of mystic on you, and who will swear you perished bravely. Who will, infact, make sure this is the case."
"Grakx, you are a fool if you do not see we are, all of us, alone," said Sorba. "If you were anything like a true wolf you would know that." Grakx sneered, and looked to his comrades. Grakx's sneer then faded. "Also," comntinued Sorba, "if you really suspected me a mystic Grakx, you might have acted a litle more directly and less like a coward. Reported me to the copuncil, for instance."
Grakx looked back to Sorba, suddenly unsure and afraid as the hunters were 0ne by one falling to their knees, clutching their stomachs and foaming green at the mouth. Sorba gestured. "A Mystic might well have a vision, a vision of being out alone with a group of hunters and a warrior, a vision of danger." Grakx snarled. Sorba shrugged. "I would not expect you to understand," the assassin said.
"I find it amusing you think that alone I am not a threat," said Grakx drawing himself up to his full height and flexing his muscles.
"You are a Warrior," said Sorba simply, turning his back and walking away.
Grakx bellowed his anger. "You think that makes me weaker than you?" said the wolf with a threateneing tone.
"No, I think it makes you slightly stronger than the hunters," said Sorba over his shoulder, "after all, you drank the water this morning too". Grakx realised his legs were weaker and he collapsed as he tried to pursue the brown furred wolf.
"You will not get away with this, you will be hunted down and murdered," said Grakx spitting venom literally.
"Why would I?" retorted Sorba, "you are going to report you successfully completed your mission, though sadly the hunters with you were slain, the assassin presumably so. So great was the danger, after all - I would expect nothing less to spring from your tongue."
"Why should I say that?" asked Grakx, inspite of the odd spasms he could feel in his chest and limbs.
"You are not that strong, the poison is fatal without the anti-dote"
"Which I will take from you, you blasted-"
"Which, of course, I know the location of," finished Sorba
Grakx tried to stand and failed, then tried to focus his body's powers on countering the poison, but agan could not. He remained huddled in a shuddering ball. Looking across the grass at the sightless eyes of one of the hunters convinced him to relent.
"I accept your terms," said Grakx, with less reluctance than he would have prefered - but he had seen how quick the poison was.
"Good," said Sorba, nodding and walking away. He turned, hefting the spear. "It is on the point of this," Sorba sneered, and threw it with all his might. Nodding satisfaction, Sorba stalked off.
"Why," came the small cry from behind him.
Sorba stopped. "I meant it - the antidote is on the end of the spear. The easiest way into your bloodstream." Sorba paused. "Of course, being speared through the leg might just pursuade you not to come after me now."
Sorba carried on. Then Grakx heard Sorba's final words, on the edge of hearing. "I do hope the random limb and vocal paralysis that will afflict you for the next few days as a side effect might buy your co-operation. I would hate for this not to be goodbye, Grakx."
The brown furred wolf faded into the distance, and Grakx vowed to himself that Sorba would would not get away with this. However, he also vowed to never see the wolf again - for that face to not be that last thing the Warrior saw while paralysed in the night. Sorba was certainly dead - in the morning to the council, and one day, one fine and perhaps far off day day in reality.
|
|
|
Post by Aguila Saber on Jun 22, 2008 12:44:44 GMT -5
Westhaven, Lencia
The man looks about himself, mutters some more curses. There is no one answering his call. He eyes the closed door to the shop warily but then sets of with determined steps along the alley.
Aguila watches his doings from inside the shop. When he’s out of sight she looks at Tinto who is haggling the price with the merchant. She leaves the window.
“I think it’s time for us to leave. Let’s pay the tailor next door a visit,” Aguila suggests.
Tinto nods and concludes the deal.
When they enter the shop a small bell chimes but there is no sign of the proprietor. The two takes a look around the shop. Aguila notices that some price tags on the items on exhibit and reads them. This is clearly an expensive shop. Even the cheapest pair of gloves costs 50 Lune.
“You have been to the Lencian court before?” Aguila asks.
“Yes, I have,” Tinto answers.
“Would the dress you suggested be suitable for court?”
“Perhaps. It is not what the Lencians would wear but I suggest you ignore their fashion,” Tinto says. “You should wear something you are comfortable in.”
“Oh?”
“Your face and features are foreign. Select your own style of clothing.”
“How about this dress? Too revealing?”
“For a Telchos, no. But the colours are all wrong for you,” Tinto says.
Aguila nods. “The Lencians seem to have something for blue clothing. But how about this red dress?”
Tinto looks at it. “It would fit but it would cost quite a lot. Not sure we could afford it together.”
There is a small harkling sound. They turn to notice a woman in her forties with reddish skin around her eyes.
“Can I be of service?”
“Perhaps. Perhaps we could be of service to you as well,” Aguila suggests.
The woman hesitates.
“I couldn’t help noticing the unpleasant customer you had in here before us. We may be able to assist you.”
The woman pales. “It’s none of your business.”
Aguila produces the paper she took from the folder earlier and places it before the woman.
“You stole it?” she says drying a tear from her eyes. “I don’t see how that would help.”
“How about if it was signed?”
“That would be most appreciated,” the woman says. “But you don’t have the seals have you?”
To be continued.
|
|