Chronicles of the Unrealm - a PuF RPG story

[Wolf Blackstar]

"Curses! I knew it was a bad idea to charm a Red Dragon from the start. They are evil by nature and must never be trusted!" Wolfram gritted his teeth as he surveyed the situation for the best plan of attack.

The dragon laughed out loud, a long, sneering cackle that was heard throughout every street and corner of the city. People on the roads leading to the city gates stopped to gawk at the spectacle. In an attempt to draw the dragon's attack on himself, Wolfram cursed the dragon and his foul ancestors with language that none in the party thought verbally possible, let alone considered using on another being.

The dragon obviously understood, for it ceased its laughter and commenced an assault on Wolfram, spraying him with a long jet of flame. Wolfram leaped to one side and rolled along the ground, the stream of fire scorching trees and bushes as the dragon tracked his movement. He brought himself to his feet just as the fire was upon him. Clutching his shield tightly over his body, he threw himself to one side again, catching some of the blast on the shield. Wolfram could see that the metal surface of the shield was glowing red with heat. As the dragon's breath gave out and it inhaled deeply to attack again, Wolfram darted beneath it and struck one of the taloned legs full force with his sword. The sword struck true, gashing open the leg and causing the dragon to screech in anger.



"A dragon, and a foul red at that!" Sir Damon Vanderwal, the paladin, was one of the first to see the creature, and now was running with all speed to do battle with the creature, his elven companion Qu'ean Quiksilver in tow. His plated boots beat rapidly on the hard and dry surface of the street. The elf trotted lightly alongside, crossbow at the ready and hurriedly reciting a spell as he ran. By this time, the scene had attracted the attention of everyone in the area, as store owners and tavern proprietors stepped out of their establishments to see what had drawn all their customers out to the streets. They too, immediately found themselves rooted to the spot as they stared in amazement. A dragon at the city gates, locked in combat with a small group of adventurers. Fire and steel striking each other. A human in shining full plate armor screaming cries of battle and brandishing a magical blade, and a crossbow-wielding elf chanting a spell frantically as it tried to keep up.

"So much for keeping a low profile" muttered Qu'ean as he finished the spell.

 

[Cammy]

Seeing the extreme danger of the moment, Du-de-es-ta quickly ran to Chun-Li and handed her the Girdle of Giant Strength.

"I'll distract the dragon a little," said Es-ta hurriedly, "so there'll be some time for you to put this on Wolfram."

"But..." said Chun-Li in hesitation.

"Don't worry, the benedictions of the Right Eye will protect me," said Es-ta, who dashed off to the dragon. "Hey, you fat a$$ dragon! Here!"

The dragon turned to Es-ta and breathed a jet of flame, but he nimbly somersaulted around and avoided the fire, toying with the beast. Chun-Li hurried to Wolfram and put the Girdle around him. "Here, wear this, Wolfram!" she cried.

"What are you doing, my lady?" asked Wolfram, puzzled. Then he felt a terrible surge of superhuman strength course through his body, a godlike strength he had never experienced before...

 

[The_Dudester]

Tlak-chee and her force of Hunting-spinners watched in amazement as the Urnamu and the scaly lizard-thing fought.
While the lizard-thing seemed incredibly strong, and possessed the ability to breathe fire, it was not obvious that it would win... its opponents were nimble and skilled, managing to avoid almost all of its attacks.
Suddenly, the biggest, brawniest of the Urnamu donned a strangely wrought belt and charged straight at the beast, while others of the two-leggeds distracted it.
Incredibly, the lizard-thing ended up lifted above the Urnamu's head, before being thrown in an arc through the sky. It landed far from the barbarian Urnamu, but only metres from Tlak-chee...
Quickly, she moved into action...with a silent signal, the Hunting-spinners were ordered to converge on the strange beast...quickly wrapping it thickly in their webbing before paralysing it with a bite. Once the lizard-thing was secured, (and so the Urnamu removed from harm), Tlak-chee retreated further into hiding, to observe the Urnamus' reaction to finding the lizard-thing thus disposed of.

 

[Wolf Blackstar]

The battle had been short but fierce. Immediately after Wolfram had slashed the dragon's leg, it had struck him with its tail, knocking him to the ground and shattering his shield in the process. Wolfram's sword had also been knocked out of his grasp. At that moment, a man had appeared sporting a suit of full plate armor that seemed to shine unnaturally, reflecting more than the sun's light alone. The man sang praises to his god as he leaped upon the creature's back, striking it in the back of the neck with his sword, then leaping off deftly. As the dragon turned its attention to the new assailant, an elf ran in behind the dragon and rolled underneath it. He stopped directly beneath the dragon, and extended his arms, one holding a light crossbow, and the other sporting a small but similar weapon attached to his wrist. He fired both weapons, then rolled just as quickly out from underneath the beast. Roaring in pain and rage, the dragon turned and released a fireball at the elf, who back-flipped out of the projectile's path with ease. The armor-clad knight struck the beast from the other side, and when the dragon retaliated again, the elf launched a series of small lightning bolts from his hand. Then Du-de-es-ta caught the beast's attention next, but he was moving far too fast for the dragon's flames.

This was a perfect distraction, and as the dragon fought back and forth against the explorer, knight and elf, he rose quickly to his feet. It was then that he was offered the belt. Though not understanding the magic in the item, Wolfram wisely made use of the dragon's distraction to slip the mysterious girdle around his waist.

Wolfram looked back just in time to see the dragon's whipping tail catch the elf solidly in the chest, sending him flopping head over heals across the ground until he slammed into the side of the wall. Then the dragon turned to face the paladin and unleashed a wall of fire in his direction.

Sir Damon Vanderwal did not even attempt to flee; he faced the dragon squarely and raised his arms high above his head, looking upward and closing his eyes, his sword held high in defiance and his other hand reaching out to the heavens. Wolfram saw his armor grow even brighter still, the runes and holy symbols that were embossed upon the pauldrons and breastplate phosphorescing with intense light, a second before the man disappeared into the flames.

A savage battle-cry of rage and bloodlust escaped Wolfram as he ran straight towards the dragon and leaped into the air. He caught the red beast in mid-flame as he connected with a solid blow to the side of its head. To Wolfram's surprise, the dragon bellowed in pain and fell back from the force of the blow. Then Wolfram was upon the beast once more, plucking the stunned beast from the ground by its tail and raising it high above himself as he threw the beast with all of his newly summoned supernatural might.

All the people of S'mon Traska were treated to the sight of the huge scaly beast flying backwards through the air, as close an expression of shock and surprise as possible with such a creature plain upon its demonic visage. It plummetted to earth again, vanishing behind a warehouse with a loud, dull *THUMP!*

Wolfram couldn't believe that he had just picked up a dragon and hurled it through the air with his bare hands. He looked down at the belt. The thing was not leather, nor any cloth he had ever seen. It was rough like canvas to the touch, and dark grey in color. Then he understood. In the northern regions, the seafaring Norsayr told legends of such magical items. The girdle had been woven from the beard hairs of a frost giant, giving the wearer strength equal to the giant's.

Wolfram quickly removed his studded leather belt and fastened it over the frost giant girdle, for such items were coveted above all else in the Unrealms. All of the adventurers tensed, expecting at any moment for the furious beast to charge furiously in retalitory rage, but all that came their way was a faint screech, then silence.

Wolfram turned to the newcomers. The elf had recovered quickly from the blow and was reloading his crossbows with a second set of poisoned quarrels.The paladin, despite having been the focal point of a dragon's searing breath firestorm, was on his feet and appeared unhurt, his armor not even charred in the least manner. "Well met, my friend! Damon Vanderwal's the name, a paladin of the noble Cavaliers of Light. My companion, Qu'ean Quicksilver."

"Call me Wolfram. How did you survive the fire?" Damon smiles and explains. "A Paladin must live by his faith and faith alone; in return, he is granted special abilities, especially in the face of such evil. Greetings also to you, sir, and to you, my lady." The paladin introduces himself courteously to Du-de-es-ta and Chun-Li.

"I hate to interrupt the forming of new friendships..." says Qu'ean, "...but should we not see if yon foul monster is dead yet?" There is a strong tone of sarcasm in the elf's voice. "At once" says the paladin, and Wolfram is in no mindset to argue. They immediately make their way through the gawking crowds and head out to the warehouse.

They approached swiftly and silently. Wolfram took the direct route from the south edge, The paladin cutting in from the northern side, blocking the easiest route of escape. Chun-Li and Du-de-es-ta approached from the east, and Qu'ean Quicksilver placing himself on the most strategic point possible from the west - the roof of the warehouse.

What they saw was not what they had expected at all, and brought about surprise for all.

 

[Cammy]

(I thought Wolfram et al had already been acquainted with the paladin and the elf-thief before? Well, never mind...)

To their surprise, they just managed to catch sight of several spider-like creatures scampering towards the dragon at lightning speed and wrapping him all up in webs before giving him a bite and dashing off again. The bite seemed to have an immediately noticeable effect on the dragon -- it caused him to grow still...

"W-What were... those things?" asked Rufus to himself.

In the distance, hidden in the shadows, the Ash-en watched on intently. They had never tried taking on a creature of this size and this nature before; would their web and venom work against him?

Their qualm just received an answer as the dragon started to stir again, slightly at first, then with greater determination. The adventurers stepped backwards. Isis and Freyja looked at each other with shocked realization, then quickly proceeded to call upon the curious onlookers to leave. "Back off, all of you! Back off! The dragon might break out again soon!"

Then there was a loud tearing sound as the dragon burst free from his web casing, rearing his angry head, eyes glowing with rage. "You've really made me angry, human fools... Now I shall destroy all of you!"

[Edited by Cammy on November 27th, 2000 at 04:49 AM]

 

[Wolf Blackstar]

On a road traversing the Deserts of Doom and Despair, less than seven leagues from S'mon Traksa, Jrathek the slave trader sat proudly at the head of his caravan. Riding on the back of an elephant, the slave lord looked proudly over his shoulder at the long line of camels and carts that followed. What a profit he would glean from the merchants of S'mon Traska with so many fresh slaves and beasts!

Jrathek's greedy mind was already calculating the rewards from such a "crop." He had traveled far and wide in search of such a boon, the sale to end all slaving runs, and now at last it had come. After years of following conflicts and battles, Jrathek would make offers to the victorious forces concerning the sale of their prisoners of war. He then sold them at exorbitant prices in S'mon Traska, where the rich lords and land owners were more than capable of meeting Jrathek's costs. Jrathek did wonderful business in the slums as well, for guildmasters and powerful assassins were in constant need of fresh victims for their spectacles and gladiatorial bloodsports, whether for public display of power, or personal use.

Jrathek took in the splendor of his shipment of flesh, caring nothing for the fate of those who made up his profits. Surrounded on all sides by his personal guard, powerful warriors all, he had taken great pains to insure that none rob him of his precious goods. Jrathek paid top coin for their services, but they had never been defeated and proved well worth the extra gold. Soon, Jrathek would be rich beyond his wildest dreams. Nothing would stop his precious cargo from reaching his destination.


Or so the human thought.....


It was early morning, though the sun's light had barely crested the dunes. The shadows were losing their dominance, but for now they held sway. It was a deceptive hour, for the tall, rocky outcroppings that pockmarked the dry landscape blocked the sun's light in many places. The guards were wary and apprehensive, but nothing could have prepared them for what was about to happen.

In fact, Jrathek saw it first, because he had been meant to see it. In vain he cried out, but his men were already dead. The first line was cut down in less than a second, the last man to be struck dying before the lifeles body of the first fell to the ground. An archer on one of the carts raised his bow, but was cut in half by a sword that came spinning through the air from seemingly nowhere. The slave convoy was under attack from both sides.

Jrathek's guards ran out to meet the threat. Some human, others half-orc and ogrish creatures, all were cut down with deadly speed and terrifying finality. Those who fought were struck down; those who turned to flee were stabbed in the back. Jrathek cringed in terror as he finally saw his assailants. A black-cloaked figure brandished a sword in either hand; he turned and spun about, dancing among the thugs with deadly ease. He struck not only with his blades, but with the backsides of their pommels and his flying feet as well, crushing blows followed instantly by the killing cut or thrust of steel.

Blood spattered the side of Jrathek's face and he turned to see more of his guard being slaughtered like swine. A woman in leather and chain mail swung a massive two-handed sword over her head, striking with force easily sufficient to sunder her foes in pieces. Tall, well proportioned and strikingly beautiful, yet deadly and lethal at the same time, she moved with ungodly speed and precision as she butchered the last remaining guards. Most disturbing was the expression on her face; she was smiling.

Within minutes, it was over. Jrathek's horde had never stood a chance. The black cloaked figure sheathed his gory blades and pulled the cowl back from his head; the light was enough to show clearly the black skin and silvery white hair of a drow elf. Jrathek nearly froze in shock, for he recognized the face all too well. He slapped the reins of his panic-ridden elephant in an attempt to escape. Instead, he was dumped to the ground as the frightened animal lurched forward in fear, running with all speed and leaving him face to face with his tormentors.

"My dear Jrathek," the drow spoke slowly. "You seem so surprised to see me again." Jrathek backed away in the sands, only one word escaping his trembling lips. "No.......No........"
"Oh, yes." The drow smiled as he began to advance slowly, one of his blades appearing swiftly and silently in his right hand. The woman stood off to one side and remained silent, but her eyes were locked on Jrathek as if feeding on his very fear, relishing his terror. Clearly it would be unwise to attempt any course of action, but Jrathek knew he was already dead, and he reached behind himself, drawing a jeweled scimitar and lashing out in primal fear and rage. The drow smiled and nodded to the woman, who stepped forward to meet the assault.

Jrathek swung with all the force he could muster. The woman didn't even draw her sword, but deflected his blow with the bracer on her right forearm. Then her hand snaked over the blade and siezed his own in an iron grip. Pulling him forward with her arms, she kicked him savagely, dislocating his right arm at the shoulder and landing him disarmed and in pain at the drow's feet.

"Now that you've met Taria, we can get down to business." The drow picked up the flailing Jrathek in one arm and pressed his blade to the man's chest. "The slaves.....take them, you'll be rich...." Jrathek sputtered. "I'm not interested in your slaves, Jrathek; they can rot here in their cages for all I care. No, Jrathek, you'll not buy your way out of it this time. I have come only for my revenge."

Jrathek screamed as the sword pierced his flesh slowly.

"You see, it takes more than a Sand Mauler pit to kill me. I slew the beasts with my bare hands that day, and swore an oath of vengeance upon you. It is fitting that after all these years of searching for you, I find that you are still the same spineless scum you were when you betrayed me, and know you get to die as such."

Jrathek screeched again as the blade pressed in again. The drow knew exactly what he was doing, and the sword was driving directly into one of Jrathek's ribs.

"You do remember my name, don't you, Jrathek?" The sword stopped its slow thrust.

Jrathek gasped for breath, then he hissed out faintly, one word, his last. The name of the drow.

"Dhakhath."

The drow slammed the blade forward suddenly, smashing through the ribs and skewering Jrathek's heart, the weapon's hilt slamming against the man's chest with a heavy thud. He lifted his sword arm, suspending Jrathek in air as he the last of his life force left him in spasmic jerking motions of the body, then angled the blade downward and let the now lifeless corpse drop down to the sand.

The sun now lit the desert clearly; Dhakhath wiped clean the blades of his weapons, then pulled his cowl over his head and set off across the sands, Taria following close behind.

Jrathek's blood drained into the sands. The desert winds began to howl over the dunes, almost echoing the sound of the dark elf's name.

Dhakhath.



[Edited by Wolf Blackstar on November 27th, 2000 at 01:17 AM]

 

[LordKhaine]

{You wanted an evil person, your getting one}


<Cue dramatic music>

And so the scene is set, a small isolated village, where business was as usual for a cold winter’s day……



….The village blacksmith set about fixing farmer Pindles spade.

“Ok laddie, give the bellows a good blow, we’ll need this here fire to be hot as the fires of hell for this job.”

The smithy’s apprentice obeyed the smithy, and soon the fire was burning a hot white colour. The smith donned his thick leather gloves and picked up the spade. He held it up to take a close look at it.

“Yep, looks like old farmer Pindle found another rock, he does have a talent for finding these here rocks, now if we can just knock this here bit a little further this way… You see lad?”

The apprentice nodded as he watched the smith do his work. He so longed for a more exciting life, surely there was more to life than fixing spades?…..


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


…..And so the scene changes, we move but a short distance to the hills, where dark forces are stirring…

The silence of the wood, is shattered by the sound of approaching creatures. Had the smiths apprentice been here to witness this army of darkness, he would have longed for the life of the smithy.

At the front of the force, were drow horsemen, scouting ahead of the main force, their mighty dark steeds moving like shadows, with the grace of a cat.

A short time after the drow passed, the main force could be seen, it was a terror inspiring sight. The drums thundered, and the warcrys echoed for miles, numerous banners and flags were held aloft. Ranks upon ranks of undead warriors strode onwards, marching in a tight formation along the road. All of them equipped with rusty armour and weaponry, several leaders wielded swords of magical origin. Here and there could be seen Wrights and zombies, the eyes of which glowed with a dark, unholy light.

Behind the undead strode the orcs and their various sub races, the animosity of the orcs a huge contrast to the rigid, inhuman discipline of the undead. Here and there could be seen huge orc champions, bullying their underlings into order. At least 2 dozen stone trolls could be seen amidst the orcs, at least 10 foot tall, with muscles bulging underneath craggy skins.

It was behind the orcs, that the man army was located, a vast mass of humanoid races, all armed with crude but effective weapons, humans mixed with beastmen, half-orcs with goblins, evil with evil. These, creatures, held nothing in common but their desire to inflict pain and suffering on the weak. Located behind these creatures, dark war engines were pulled by dark steeds, boars, and even a few giants.

At the very back were the heavy cavalry, dressed in dark, twisted armours, studded with spikes and cruel barbs, evil magical weapons glowed in the darkness, numerous mages and shamans rode amongst them.

Another band of drow horsemen passed by, armed with bows and insidious daggers, one of the horsemen held high a banner, displaying unholy satanic symbols, glowing bright red in the darkness. The darkness that followed this army likes a curse, leaving nought by death and misery behind…..


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


…High above the main force, flew a dark dragon, its sleek body cutting threw the air with ease. Its dark scales had a metallic hint to them. This beast was a grand sight, but its rider was even more impressive. On this dragon, rode perhaps the most evil and twisted entirety on this planet, Tzarina, daughter of Bhaal. Though she is the offspring of a god, she is still mortal, though you would not have thought so from her appearance.

Tzarina is a pale human, adept in the art of magic, specialising in the art of necromancy, the magic of death and life. Her magical powers were clear to see, as her eyes glowed a bright, piercing blue, a gaze that appeared to penetrate into the very mind itself. In her hand was a sword, upon which an unholy flame burned, her robes were dark purple, with hints of blue and yellow, and bellowed out behind her. Strange symbols on the robes seemed to change shape before the very eye, and a magic amulet round her neck radiated a metallic blue aura.

She looked down at her advancing army as it advanced along the forest path, heading through a small village. The screams and cry’s rose up from the village, as the drow reached the village folk. She laughed satanically, and dug her heels into the dragon, swooping towards the village. Another town to be consumed by darkness she thought to herself……..

 

[Omega-Seven]

On another continent, far far away...

A man, on a grassy knoll. Before his kneeling figure lies a most ornate cross, the resting place of someone dear to him. He clenches his hand tightly around a pendent. His eyes are closed, lost in pain and memories of another time.

"Garrison, the power to bestow life and death is the ultimate power. Watch and understand..." A cloaked figure raises gauntleted hands into the air amidst a raging battle. Intricate runes of magic cover his ornate silver gauntlets, bracers, and armor. The hood hides his face, but not the intense, evil glow of his orange eyes. Another, the one addressed as Garrison, raises his hands into the sky in response. It can be no coincidence that beneath his tattered white robes, his body is a perfect silver, as if his body were molded and cast of that metal. The only break, aside from his golden eyes, comes from a cross over his left eye, also gold.

The man lays roses of the purest red color down by the tombstone. "I've come to say goodbye...When you were in the world and by my side, you lent me your strength, your patience, your calm. But now... I can feel myself slipping. The rage and anger you fought so hard to bury, my promise..."

"Clael, what foul magic is this? What do you think you are doing?" The wizard's hood slips down, revealing the face behind the burning eyes. A maniacal grin greets the world with insanity, "You are nothing more than an obstacle to me Garrison, an inconvenient rock lying upon the path to enlightenment. I will remove you. Know the pain of watching a loved one die, and being unable to help..." A few yards away, a female clothed in robes of brilliant crimson red ran towards Clael, a war-hammer held in one hand. Clael, unruffled, turns to face her. "You know Garrison, after this I will don the helmet I made, and you will be my slave. But I want you to see this with your own eyes." The strain is evident on Garrison's face, but he cannot resist as his body is compelled to turn and draw a massive broadsword. His anguished voice shouts, "Rose! Nooooo!"

A tear waters the earth. "If only I had listened earlier... And that promise is all that keeps me from slipping into insanity. But now... now I am afraid, so very afraid of breaking my promise... of becoming..."

Another voice cuts in. "The man whom you were. The man whom you were meant to be, and whom you will always be!"

It is as if time has slowed to an infinitesimal crawl. Every detail is painful enhanced and perceived with crystal clarity. The sound of his sword piercing Rose's body, the sound of breaking bone and tearing flesh. The widening of her eyes, the small sound of pain Rose makes, the evil laughter of Clael. Every tiny detail of that moment forever drawn out into eternity, burned into his mind's eye.

Garrison, with his eyes filled with tears and his heart filled with pain, turns his head, the only part of him he can still control, to face Clael. Garrison's eyes burn with unspeakable rage and hatred... His eyes glow brighter and brighter as they accumulate cosmic, living energy... the cosmic blast fueled by his pain engulfs Clael, incinerating all of his enchanted armor and knocking Clael senseless... and further obliterates a score of warring soldiers.

The grieving man's eyes narrow, and his head turns at the sound of this new voice. "Maestro! How dare you!?"

"It has been a long time Garrison. The city needs you; prepare yourself, and I will explain along the way."

Garrison pauses for a moment, and studies the man named Maestro, his mentor and the leader of the Martial Paladins. His bald head is covered in tattoos and scars, belying years of experience... experience gained from action, as his sole left arm can testify to. His pure white eyes stare with an intensly at Garrison, as if evaluating his former pupil's soul. "I'm sorry Maestro, but that's not my problem."

"Oh, but it is. Enhanced criminals escaped from Skyhold last night. Criminals you put away, who have declared war on the city Garrison. If you do not show, they will raze the city."

The emperor glanced up from the scroll at Maestro, "This is the list of the criminals who escaped from Skyhold?"
"Yes. The lesser ones were quickly reclaimed, or killed at our outposts. However, a handful of enhanced criminals escaped, killing a dozen of the Mentu - their psychic jailors. They were last sighted moving in this direction - towards the capital city."
"I see. And at a time when we are without our heros. Of these enhanced criminal, Maestro, which should we be most concerned with?"
"Frankly sir? All of them."
"Then we must redouble our efforts to find Wolfram. Is there any news of his sister, Vanilla?"
"Only that she left on a quest to search for him; she left when the few survivors of the crusade returned but Wolfram did not. What details we have are sketchy at best..."

"I just told you. Find someone else; I'm retired."
With a surprising speed belying his massive body, Maestro backhands Garrison, sending him sprawling, then picks him up and negligently flings him against a large oak tree.
"You self-centered fool! I have had enough of your wallowing self-pity. Have you forgotten all that I have taught you? What it means to be a Martial Paladin? You will remember, if I have to beat it into you!"
Garrison rises to his feet, somewhat unsteadily, and spits blood on the ground. "I remember well my lessons. But I had to learn on my own, that we only harm the ones we love; sometimes, the greatest blows are struck from within."

Maestro snorts. "We all have our crosses to bear Garrison..." With a single, fluid motion, Maestro draws his bastard sword out, through the cross headstone of Rose's grave, and back into its scabbard. "But this one is not for you. Your hands are no more cursed than this sword... or your destiny. And you may bury your pain and your past... but you cannot hide from your destiny." The headstone crumbles away to reveal a large ornate broadsword. It's jetblack blade gleams softly from what meager light breaks through the mist... blood red runes cover the surface of the blade and the intricate gold crosshilt.

"Garrison, there will not peace for you until you return to the path of your destiny. And I do understand your pain. That is why I am here. In an hour's time, hundreds more will share your pain, countless innocents left to mourn their loved ones. You can stop that from happening."

Garrison, kneeling by the grave, looks up at the sword, his face a mixture of pain, sorrow, hesistance.

"Look not upon this sword as a curse Garrison...but instead, as your salvation!"

 

[Wolf Blackstar]

Wolfram watched the dragon break free of the webbing that the spider-like creatures had bound about its body. Obviously the beast still had plenty of fight in him yet. But a new wave of confidence washed over him as he felt the powerful energies of the frost giant girdle flowing through his body. Though his shield had been destroyed, he had recovered his sword, and even now his eyes searched out the weak spots on the back of the dragon's head and neck, and it's soft underbelly. He felt like he had fought numerous creatures such as this one before, but how or from where he knew he possessed this knowledge was a mystery.

The dragon reared up to full height, preparing to explode into a raging fury upon the adventurers. As it did so, however, it brought its head within mere feet of the elf on the warehouse roof. Qu'ean was not one to pass up such an opportunity, and with a light twang he sent two poisoned quarrels from his crossbows flying true, striking the dragon in a chink of the scales on its neck, delivering their blight into the vein beneath.

The enraged creature lashed out at Qu'ean with its huge teeth, but in doing so, it stumbled slightly, and the resulting attack came clumsily and very easy for the elf to evade.

The poison. Not just the deadly ichor that coated the elf's bolts, but the spider creatures had been biting the dragon when he was on the ground. The dragon had powerful resistance, but it was evident that it had weakened him considerably. Wolfram decided to exploit this immediately, and threw himself upon the dragon with renewed strength and vigor. His sword stroke had immediate effect on the dragon, which retaliated with a different attack. The beast's huge wings suddenly began flapping, and though the flesh upon them had been torn away in several places when the dragon had been thrown, they still moved the air with tremendous force. Wolfram was struck by this great gust of wind, and found himself bouncing backwards and rolling on the ground.

The paladin seemed to know what was coming next, because he began muttering a prayer, something that Wolfram couldn't quite hear clearly. Sir Damon Vanderwal closed his eyes and raised his arms skyward, and called upon divine protection. Wolfram watched as a brilliant sheen surrounded the paladin, sparkling magical energy thatWolfram knew would help him resist fire. But then he saw the same magical essence shining upon the Chun-Li and Du-de-es-ta, and the elf as well - and he looked down at himself and saw the same light shining upon him.

The dragon released a massive orb of pure fire that incinerated the warehouse to its bare framework, leaving a burning husk in its place. The orb expanded outwards and scorched the grass on the gound in all directions. The center of the fiery explosion was created where the five adventurers had stood moments before.

 

[Cap'n Beeb]

While riding through the woods today, I saw a strange occurence. A series of beams of light shot down from the skies and maintained their position without moving an inch. A few seconds afterwards, a great and enourmous explosion occured. Thinking quickly, I raced into a nearby cave and waited for the explosion to stop. After quite some time, it did. I poked my head out of the mouth of the cave, and saw PEOPLE in the beams of light! Not knowing what to do next, I grabbed my axe and approached the people...

 

[The_Dudester]

As the flames died down around them, and fragments of wood began to fall from the sky whence they had been cast, the adventurers were amazed to find themselves completely unharmed. The cost of this seemed high for the Paladin however, who had fallen to one knee from the exhaustion of creating the protective spell.

Meanwhile, the Dragon hovered nearby, flanked on one side by a large tower which had miraculously managed to escape the destruction. It seemed confused as well as poisoned now, and it wavered certainly as it discovered its failure. Slowly, it drew back its head for another blast...

...to its side, the windows at the top of the stone tower shattered, revealing several score skeletons. Moving with perfect, inhuman, speed and co-ordination, they leapt across on to the Dragon's back, and began attacking the base of its wings with a wide range of ancient and rusting weapons.
Distracted from its attack, the Dragon reared and bucked to throw its assailants off, but with mechanical efficiency the skeletons continued unabated...the Dragon slowly losing power in its wings until, suddenly, it fell from the sky with a resounding thud, which threw the undead scattered for some distance.
Relentlessly, they picked themselves up and marched upon the now seriously injured creature. Some were baked with flame from the lizard's smoking maw, but this scarcely seemed to slow them.

It seemed as if the Dragon's fate was sealed...

 

[Cammy]

(Note: If you don't like this post -- if you judge it's going to seriously affect what you have in mind for the story -- then please ignore it. Please just carry on the story just as if this post hadn't been here at all. Really, I mean it.

The numerous injuries sustained by the dragon finally began to tell upon it, and it collapsed heavily on its side.

"P-Please..." pleaded the dragon. "Spare me... I promise I'll never harm any humans again..." The advancing skeletons seemed to understand, as they stopped advancing.

"How are we to know you'll keep your promise?" interrogated a skeptical paladin, eyeing the skeletons every now and then with cautious suspicion, like the other adventurers.

Freyja stared hard at the dragon for a while. Sparkles could be seen in her eyes, and Rufus looked at her with fascination.

"I've searched the dragon's mind," she said. "He's sincere about it."

"I... can continue to serve you all as a mount..." croaked the dragon pathetically. "And I can also give you a powerful magical item as a token of my intention to keep my word..."

Chun-Li felt sorry for the dragon. "Come, Wolfram, let's give the poor dragon a chance. I think he's learnt his lesson."

"All right," relented Wolfram. "But what's that magic item you spoke of?"

The dragon coughed hard several times -- and finally spat out a large red gem from its mouth. Du-de-es-ta's eyes went wide with surprise and excitement. "H-How could this be?" he exclaimed. "It's... It's the Left Eye of the Golden Dragon!"

 

[Wolf Blackstar]

Note:Isis and Freyja, though somewhere in the city, seperated themselves from the party several posts ago.


"First things first," said Wolfram, and facing the dragon, he raised his sword menacingly over his head. The dragon cringed in fear, but at the last second, Wolfram turned the blade away from the creature's head and struck it squarely on the skull with his gauntleted fist. The dragon's head slumped to the floor, unconscious. "That's a start in ensuring you keep your promise."

Damon Vanderwal picked himself up from the ground, recovering his strength. He was only now beginning to master sharing his auras with others, and despite its effect on him, he was pleased to see that it had successfully fended off the flames.

Wolfram looked up from the dragon. Before him stood what lloked like a massive army of creatures. Half of them he recognized as skeletal warriors and mages, a common sight in the realms. Though they roamed freely as undea, and were sometimes dangerous, Wolfram had been quick to notice the unity of their assault on the dragon. Had they been acting naturally, undead were usually in the company of dragons or demons. Wolfram also noticed their non-aggressive stance now; with their primary target neutralized, the skeletons simply stood still, their weapons and arms moving slowly, but not at the ready.

But it was not the skeletons that put Wolfram on edge; rather it was the equally large number of many-legged, spiderlike creatures that made up the other half of the host of creatures.

Suddenly Qu'ean Quicksilver appeared, and striding forward without fear, but in an unthreatening manner, he spoke to Wolfram, saying "I'm gonna try talking to them" before moving ahead of him and into their midst.

 

[Omega-Seven]

King Valedon stood in the war room, looking over the map of his realm. Outpost Zeta was a dark circle. It had been destroyed by the escaped criminals.

"That's quite a predicament you're in...I can make it much worse for you..."

The King turned quickly. Floating outside the balcony was a strange man - his entire body was translucent, a dull grey color covering a blood red interior. He had no distinguished features, as if his body were made of jelly; every now and then parts of his body quivered, a pseudo pod formed, but was quickly reabsorbed.

"Do not speak, Lord for I come with an offer to save your precious city and it's pathetic people. We have only one demand: the Martial Paladin who hunted us down like dogs. Give him to us, and we will spare you city. What do you think Valedon? One man for the lives of countless innocents - quite a bargain, don't you agree?"

King Valedon spoke with clenched fists and suppressed rage, "You know I can't do that."

"Then if you'll excuse me Highness," said the figure, as it began to speed away, "We have a city to burn!"

The King stood silent for a moment, then motioned for his page. "Call for Captain Clavius."

 

[Wolf Blackstar]

Wolfram suddenly felt a dull pain in the side of his head as the elf passed by to speak with the spiders. It was not severe, but he couldn't ignore it. Sheathing his sword, he sat down gingerly on the dusty earth, resting his back against a large rock. This didn't seem to make the pain any better though; in fact, it seemed to intensify with every second. Suddenly everything around him went dark.....



The skies were beautiful that day. The clouds were pure white and silver in color, and the sun was high above even the tallest of them. It was hardly a scene befitting the clash that was even now taking place. Two islands floated in the sky, castles and towers crowning their precipices. The two strongholds dueled; boulders, arrows, crossbow quarrels, bolts of magical energy, and vats of flaming oil flew back and forth between the opposing sky fortresses. A large number of flying creatures circled above like birds of prey, seeking a weakness in their opponents side, waiting to strike.

Dragons.

Ahead of him, he recognized the castle of their ancient enemy. It's brimstone-colored walls were topped with stone carven demons and monsters. The standards on its turrets bore the bones and skulls of his fallen comrades, alongside banners displaying symbols of unholy power and magic. Evil red dragons took flight from its gates and commenced their assault.

He was leaving from his own stronghold, which bore the standards of the iron eagle on its towers. Silver dragons had been sortied to meet the evil reds in combat. It took him a moment to realize that he was actually watching himself, and that he was seeing into the past, or what he remembered of it.


Wolfram sat on the silver dragon's back. All told, a group of six rode upon the magnificent creature's back, but Wolfram held the reins and spoke directly to the creature, guiding and commanding it in flight. Wolfram was clad in gleaming segmented plate arnor, which had been forged of the finest metal, an alloy of the finest elven steel and dwarven mithril. The glowing runes incorporated into its shoulders told of its magical nature. The armor was lighter than leather, for it was magically blessed, and usable only by himself. Slung into scabbards were twin bastard swords which also seemed to be rune weapons in nature.

Directly behind him sat a wizard dressed in the traditional arch mage's robe and clutching a staff in his hand. The staff was embedded with a series of gemstones which sent pulses of magical energy along its length. The wizard's other hand was tightly embracing the straps which held him in place on the dragon's back; Wolfram seemed to find this amusing. Most magic users he had known spent all their time locked away pouring over scrolls or scrying orbs and rarely got a taste of the fighter's life. But here, the lines were drawn between good and evil, and all had to take the fight to the enemy.

Next on the dragon was a female cleric, who wore what seemed to be holy chainmail, for it radiated with divine essence and cast a calming blue light upon Wolfram and his comrades, which increased their concentration in the battle which raged around them. She was armed with a shield and a flail, and also had a belt that was stocked with healing potions and scrolls.

Behind her was seated a huge mountain of a man. He wore very little armor, but in contrast, his body seemed to be chiseled from stone. There was no fear in his eyes or anywhere on his bearded face, which clearly displayed his orc heritage; on the contrary, he was singing. In each hand he held a broad-faced axe, and his belt and shoulder straps held many more, some of them throwing weapons.

The woman behind the half-orc carried a sword on her back but wore no armor. No bracers protected her arms, and her hair flowed freely in the wind. She wore a silken dress that was imbued with magical protections, for fighter-mages could not cast spells with the burden of armor.

The leather-clad elf that sat in the back faced rearwards. He held a massive crossbow in his hands, yet he handled it with ease. It was clear that he was to defend the dragon from aerial assaults by other flying creatures.


Wolfram led the dragon into the battle, speaking gently to it, and keeping a firm hand on the reins. wolfram was flanked on eiither side by several more war parties also riding on silver dragons, but the enemy forces outnumbered his own by at least three to one, fielding both red and black dragons mounted by cambions, undead, liches and dark mages, knights, and archers of their own. In addition the dragons were reinforced by a large number of smaller demons and other creatures capable of flight.

But the differences in tactics was obvious from the beginning of the battle. The evil hordes fought by sheer brute force, concentrating as much firepower as possible on one foe at a time, while Wolfram's dragons fought in pairs and fours, each covering and checking the others, which helped make up for their numerical disadvantage.

A red settled on their tail and followed them closely, spewing red fireballs in an attempt to bring them down. A trio of liches fired a series of death spells at them, but the cleric wa able to nullify their effect. the elf shot two of them off with his crossbow and the barbarian sent spinning an axe that lodged squarely in the head of the third. The wizard cast a spell that turned one of the dragon's wings to stone, and the beast fell to earth helplessly.

Wolfram smashed his way through the enemy creatures, his own dragon unscathed, but sending six more red and black dragons down and slaying their riders. Suddenly, he handed the reins to the fighter-mage woman, and leapt from the back of the magnificent silver creature - directly into the courtyard of the brimstone castle beneath. Swords singing in his hands, he danced among the undead and demonic legions, cutting them down like harvested wheat. But where every demon met its death, more seemed to take its place, and he found himself fighting endlessly against an unyielding foe. He moved powerfully and swiftly, spinning and leaping in his attacks, striking each monster seven times in the time it would take most men to strike once, connecting with his boots, pommels and fists as well as his blades. Still the demons continued to reappear.

Then he heard something, a voice, calling his name. "Wolfram!!" He fought on in the direction of that sound, even though it seemed his vision was dimming now. He was covered in blood, his face, his hands and arms, even his armor, though still shining magnificently, it seemed almost defiled by the quantity of blood that drenched it. His boots seemed to be filled to their tops with blood, every step seemed to soak his feet in it. The blood of undead and demon covered him from head to toe.....

"Wolfram!"................ all turned to blackness..........

"Wolfram! are you alright? You passed out."

Gradually, Wolfram became aware of the present again, though he wished he knew more of what he had been seeing...

 

[Omega-Seven]

The King looked out over his city from the balcony. Already the outer fringes of the city were burning. The brigands started from the outside of the town, and moved inwards, a common pressuring tactic. "And that Clavius, is where the situation stands. Your orders are to blockade the city. Your men are to assist the wounded; THey are not to engage the enemy, is that clear?"

"Forgive me Sire, but I do not understand. We are many, while they are few. Why sho--"

"Silence. Did you gain your rank by questioning orders, captain?"

"No, of course not Sire. I meant no disrespect."

"Make haste. The people call out to us now."

"At once sire!"

At the edge of town, Foxlam, the younger sister of the missing Wolfram, looked on with surprise. She and her new companions, Alita (who claimed to be a warrior-priest, but whom Foxlam suspected was a Seraphim [ed note: she's not, i will expand on these two later; I know how touchy we all are on the subject of divinites ]) and Calibretto (a War Golem of old), had come to the city to purchase supplies for their trek to the north in search of Wolfram. Foxlam's recent experiences had been no less startling than Wolfram's.

Nearly 6 months ago, the King's mages detected a vast disturbance... every mana pool was unstable for a week. Those who ventured to brave the instabilities became withered husks... which rose from the grave the next day as powerful Ghouls. A magical contsruct which was sent to probe one mana pool came back and displayed what it had observed. The magi who watched were stricken with insanities, fearing the light and casting powerful magics against clerics who came to heal and calm them. When the much reduced imperial magery council was finally able to determine the cause, the plan for a holy crusade was set forth. Drawing upon the best of the realm, while leaving some few elite for defense, the crusade set forth to destory the source of evil, which had been pinpointed in the north.

Three months ago, the mad wizard Clael and his small army attacked the wedding of the Martial Paladin Garrison. His wife killed by his hands under the domination of Clael. Clael was rendered unconcious and placed in Skyhold, a prison for the supernaturally powerful - a band of psychics called the "Mentu" hold the inamtes in prison by sheer force of will. Garrison announces his retirement a day later. Of the attending knights and gaurdsmen, a third are injured - there are few casualties.

A month ago, a tenth of the crusading forces returned from the north, demoralized but in good shape - it is suspected that these soldiers deserted, though some saw action. They bring tales of great evil and dark magics sent against them. Over the next week, a stragglers return to the city in varying condition; they bring the survivor count to 3/10ths the original force. There is no sign of any more survivors after that, or of Wolfram, a general and hero who was sent with the Dragon riders. During that week, a magic box that Wolfram left behind for Foxlam opens. The note left with it mentions that it would only open in the direst of cases [in this case, Wolfram cannot remember who he is - in a strange way the magic considers him to be 'dead', though his memories are resurfacing].

Inside the box is a finely wrought silver warhammer. Taking this weapon in hand, Foxlam set off to find her brother. That same day, a band of thieves attempts to steal the hammer from Foxlam. They are stopped by the War Golem Calibretto and the Warrior Priestess Alita. They decide to set out together to the northern lands to find Wolfram and see the great evil, stopping first at the Imperial City for supplies.

Which brings them to the present. In front of a burning city.

"hmmzzt. i am currently scanning for the source of hostile activity. alita, all these attacks seem to be originating from a single magic user." Calibretto's optics settle on the figure floating above the city. A maniacal grin graces his face as he sends blast after blast of dark energy into the city, setting off fires, explosions, and death cries.

Alita looked upwards, eyes scanning the sky. "I see him. Alright, you two try to find a safe place while I deal with this nut. Don't go getting yourselves hurt now while I'm gone..." A pair of ethereal wings sprout from her back; they appear to be made of some sort of green energy but appear his feathered wings, as one might expect an angel to have. Quickly, she takes to the air and speeds towards the assailant.

Foxlam looked around, and spotted a building which had caved in. "C'mon 'Bretto, we gotta help these people...there could be someone trapped under that rubble!"

"hmmzt. alita told us to stay out of danger. she will be angry if..."

There was, however, little point. Foxlam was already clearing away the rubble with the war hammer. "Stop babbling and give me a hand already! I was right! I can see someone..."

Inside the house, huddles on the floor was a young woman dressed in old, tattered rags and a fine woolen cloak. Platinum hair peaked out from underneath the hood, and her eyes had a dazed quality to them. She whispers, a hoarse sound, "...please....run...away....."

Foxlam moved forward, offering her hand, "It's okay, we're gonna get you out of here. You're safe now..."

"..no...I came here...to...hide....please....go...." She raise her arm to her face, as if chilled suddenly, or afraid of being beaten... on her arm is a jeweled bracerm intricate and very old.

"Gosh miss, that's a pretty bracelet you've got!"

Suddenly, the ground erupts, throwing Foxlam back into Calibretto's massive hands [note: as a war golem, Calibretto is a 12ft metal construct... he has massive arms and hands, as well as a massive body in general]. A giant red Efreeti seems to explode out of the ground... gold bands around it's arms mark it's bondage, while it's four red eyes gleam with pure rage. "You Find Bulgrim's prison to be appealing, do you? You might not think so child, were you forced to SPEND AN ETERNITY WITHIN IT!"

Elsewhere...
Alita spied the hovering assailant ahead... dressed in dark robes, his translucent grey on red body was nearly indistinguishable from the robe, save his blood red eyes. He was throwing beams of darkness downwards into the city, laughing with glee and counting "34...35.....36...."

Alita stood at ready, hovering in the air as well. With a flick of her wrist, a battle staff of jade formed in her hand. "Let me guess, you were hired to tear down decrepit buildings, ya? Might have been a good idea to send an evacuation order first, don'cha think?"

With an angry cry, the dark figure let loose a withering blast of energy at Alita. "Damn you b**ch, you made Ink lose count!"

The shadow blast raged against the shield of green jade Alita hastily erected. The force of the blast pushed her backwards. "You...frreak.... lose count of what? The marbeles you've lost?"

"Of my victims...and now Ink start over. With you!"

"Right. You wouldn't hurt a lady would you? I think you need a time out!" With quick gestures a sphere of jade forms around Ink, then another, and then another. "Well now, that was simple enough..."

With a sound like thunder, the jade prison shatters; dark pseudo pods extend every which way like a messy ink spill in the sky. At the center, Ink laughs like the demented can. "Nice trick lady...Ink do trick too!"

The inky blob of darkness quickly engulfs Alita. "Raise your shield of jade pretty lady... Ink eat that away too, and soon you are mine!"

In the air, a dark sphere of blackness floats, as if a small section of the sky suddenly decided it was night-time. Ink's demented grin spreads across the surface, like a twisted giant smiley for the mentally ill. And within that sphere, inside a rapidly shrinking sphere of green energy, Alita couldn't help but think, this is not a good thing...

 

[PsychoMoggieBagpuss]

He crossed the bridge of stars amongst the heart of the procession. Occasionally he heard sharp intakes of breath from amongst the younger member of the congregation as they gazed through the shimmering translucent bridge, at the stars and constellations whirling around in an endless dance of sheer beauty. Asteph’theroc smiled slightly to himself, he remembered when he first crossed the bridge, so many years ago, swathed in the plain grey T’thlar (novice) robes.

“By Verishtars Hammer”, he cursed softly, his smile turning to a frown as he surveyed the gathering of T’thlarei (plural). They were so young, from the look of them the majority of them had not yet even reached their fifth century, let alone their ninth (the standard initiate age).
But B’var the Firstborn had called for them. B’var, he who had led the people since The Dawning. Greatest of the seers, B’var had seen a need for this action. No one had previously attempted this before, not because it couldn’t be done –anything could be done if the will was strong enough – but that it shouldn’t be done.
But B’var had foreseen that this would be necessary, the war had gone on long enough.
Time passed, or to be more precise a semblance of time passed. In this place time did not apply, a person could spend years in here and no time would have elapsed, or spend only a brief time and come out to find that decades had passed. For Asteph’theroc and the rest of his people this was no problem though, they were used to the effects and could override them.
Soon they were gathered around the Talis’van, the stone of the crystal wind, waiting.
After what seemed like a few minutes, a light began to pulse in the heart of the blue crystal.

“He comes”, intoned Asteph’theroc from his place atop one of the points of the triangle, etched on the floor surrounding the Talis’van in a silvery metal.
An eerie sound, like that of the wind blowing cold over twisted mountain peaks began to echo round the chamber, the glowing intensified until it was almost to bright to look at directly.
Gradually the light began to subside and a low murmur went round the gathered people as the young ones expressed there surprise involuntary at the physical condition of B’var.
Even Asteph’theroc had to stop himself from stepping back when he saw the condition of the First.

The figure that once stood just over 7ft now was hunched up and shrivelled.

Llaeresil moved from her place atop on one of the other points of the triangle to stand beside B’var, stopping just beside him, not steadying him, but ready to catch him if he fell.
For a moment it seemed that he would fall, Llaeresil shifting slightly, ready to grab an arm if needed, but with a creak B’var stood tall and planted his feet firmly on the ground.

Tel’mirion spoke from his place atop the last triangle point.
“We have answered your call B’var, we are ready to do what we must.”
Asteph’theroc glanced briefly at Tel’mirion, catching the slight sneering undertones in that statement. Too proud, Asteph’theroc thought to himself, he thinks he can lead the people away from this war, that another solution can be found, that we do not have to do…….this.

“Begin”.
Asteph’theroc snapped his attention back to B’var, quashing his doubts with his will and linking with Llaeresil and Tel’mirion, each of them acting as a focus for the thousands of people gathered behind them.
Soon he felt the power thrumming in his temples. It was agony to hold this amount of energy and not release it, all it needed was the slightest hint of doubt for his concentration to slip and the resulting backlash to leave him and many others seriously injured.

Then B’var took control of the flows.

Asteph’theroc went down to one knee, exhausted, but still acting as a conduit for the energy that B’var was using to force a bend in the weave, just enough to enable B’var to reach through and fetch the one who was needed.
Hours, days, years passed, it didn’t really matter, when they eventually left this place only ten minutes would have elapsed.
With a thundering crack the Talis’van shattered, shards of razor sharp crystal flying everywhere.
Hastily Asteph’theroc threw up an inertial barrier, trying to divert and contain most of the concussive force, but it was only partially effective.

B’var was wounded, critically.

Llaeresil was beside him in a flash, summoning energy to infuse B’var in the hope that it would boost his bodies natural regenerative powers.
“Hold”, ordered B’var querulously, “help me stand”
Asteph’theroc lent B’var his arm, helping him to pull himself upright.
B’var turned and advanced towards the naked figure, lying unconscious where the Talis’van had been.
“What is that……thing” muttered Tel’mirion, gazing at the unconscious figure in disgust, “it is not even connected to the weave”.
B’var turned his head to regard Tel’mirion, but when he spoke he addressed everyone, the chamber carrying his voice right to the back.
“He, not it, is a race evolved from the animals of this planet. Whilst not born of the weave directly, or born from one whose ancestor was, they are still connected. Their race was born from the earth, evolving from the beasts and creatures that walk, swim and fly over this planet. They will call themselves “human”…”.
“When will their time come?” asked Asteph’theroc, shaken.
“Soon….far, it makes no difference, you of all people should know that”, B’var admonished Asteph’theroc, “you will learn much of their idiosyncrasies”.

For a moment B’vars’ eyes looked saddened, before turning back to the figure lying unconscious on the cold grey floor.

“Llaeresil, I need you to lock away his memories, he would not function well if his thoughts are distracted by memories of his past life. Just leave him his fighting abilities and his name”
Llaeresil knelt beside the figure, using the weave to block off and conceal parts of his mind. Asteph’theroc gazed intently as she worked, trying to work out how she did this. Rather unsurprisingly he didn’t see anything. It was strange the way that some abilities, like that of rejuvenation, healing and the greater mind manipulation powers, were only able to be used by the females of his race. Then again no female had ever been able to effect the weave directly.
“Asteph’theroc”, B’var feebly turned his head to regard him, “you will teach him the arts of war, of how to shield his mind and help unlock his innate powers…”
“Innate powers, he hasn’t got any”, Tel’mirion interjected, still glaring at the still unconscious body.
“Not yet”, B’var paused briefly, before muttering again with a slight smile on his face, “not yet…”
“Old one let us help you”, Llaeresil spoke pleadingly, “your wounds are….”
“Of no consequence”, interrupted B’var.

Steadying himself he spoke louder again, addressing the rest of the people.

“Leave this place, it has now served the purpose for which it was built. Its time has passed. Llaeresil and Tel’mirion will provide the leadership as before, the only difference will be that Asteph’theroc will remain here, preparing him”, B’var glanced down at the still unconscious figure, ”for the battles and trials ahead. Now I go to meet my destiny”.
B’var knelt beside the head of the unconscious figure, his hand on the …humans… temple.
He remained like that for a few moments before toppling to the side.

“NOOOOOOOOOOO!”, Tel’mirion shouted, “the human killed B’var!”.
Tel’mirion rushed the still unconscious figure, swinging his sword at the prone figure, only for it to clash against the sword of Asteph’theroc, who had moved between Tel’mirion and his attended victim.
“You would break the covenant?!?!?”, accused Asteph’theroc forcedly, “The human is my charge, placed on me by B’var and you would seek to stop that.”
“He killed B’var”, spat Tel’mirion, trying to force Asteph’theroc back but to no avail.
“No he did not”, interjected Llaeresil, "B’var knew this would happen, if anything he willed it, besides some of his consciousness still remains”
“Where?” asked Tel’mirion incredulously.
“In the human”, Llaeresil glanced down at the human sadly, “I don’t know how but he transferred something to the human at the last moment, can’t you sense it? The human is now connected to the weave….”
Asteph’theroc sent his mind out, probing the mind of the figure, it took him a while to find the link, whilst there was one where there had not been before it was very tenuous, almost a thread.
“Besides,” Llaeresil carried on more forcibly, “We must be gone, we have our cities to defend”.
Tel’mirion backed away from Asteph’theroc, sheathing his sword in one smooth motion, his eyes full of hate, glaring at the human.
“I will not forget” he muttered, before turning on his heel and heading back towards the bridge, motioning others and shouting commands to the thunderstruck gathering, ordering them to depart.

Asteph’theroc and Llaeresil embraced.
“Farewell beloved”, Asteph’theroc murmured, “and be wary of Tel’mirion, his pride may create problems that could have a drastic effect on the course of the war.”
“Farewell beloved”, Llaeresil murmured back, “and don’t worry about Tel’mirion, I’ve managed to get him to keep a tight rein on his temper for the last millennia, anyway its not as if…… hold, the human stirs”

Llaeresil knelt besides the human lifting his head up with her hands and gazing at his face, waiting for his eyes to open.

Slowly they did. Blue eyes gazed fiercely at Llaeresil,
“You are so beautiful,” muttered the human.
Llaeresil started in shock at the humans words, before blushing slightly and guiltily throwing a glance at Asteph’theroc.
Asteph’theroc frowned, for a brief moment he had felt doubt emanating across the bond from his soul mate, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. A mistake he thought, brought on by the stress from the passing of B’var the Firstborn.
Llaeresil backed away from the human, gazing at Asteph’theroc for one last time before she turned and walked to the bridge of stars.
Asteph’theroc turned his head back towards the “human”, his anger growing when he noticed the way it followed Llaeresil with its eyes, almost hungrily.
“Stand, human. You have much to learn,” ordered Asteph’theroc.
Slowly the human stood up, his eyes locking on those of Asteph’therocs fiercely.
Impressive thought Asteph’theroc, he has a strong will, maybe this won’t be as hard as I thought.
“I have a name”, the human growled.
“As do I,” replied Asteph’theroc, “my name is Asteph’theroc Draco, Warblade and member of the Trivium, the three who interpret the Firstborn.”
Asteph’theroc stopped at that, his eyes moving to the dead B’var, the Firstborn.
“And you”, spoke the human, “may call me Wolfram”.

___________________________________

“Steph”
Asteph’theroc pulled his attention back to the present, his head turning to glare at Mirya.
“Lets pull up here and make camp, I have a feeling my randy mares thrown a shoe, and it’s going to be kind of hard if we need to get somewhere ….ummmmm…..like really quickly if we need to”.
“Agreed”, replied Asteph’theroc, “and you know I don’t like the word “Steph”.”
Mirya grinned cheekily before muttering under her breath,
“I know, that’s half the fun, besides, I could have called you Stephi”
Asteph'theroc wasn't listening, his thoughts were drifting again to a time long since passed, when Asteph'theroc himself had doubted, and in doing so had lost himself briefly, if only for a short time.

But a short time was all it needed.

Due to him Llaeresil was gone. His people vanished. Their last hope, the warrior Wolfram had been vanquished.
Wolfram had managed to defeat HIM, but due to Asteph'therocs doubts, his inability to act when he was supposed to, when he needed to, the enemy had escaped at the last moement, unleashing a great conflagration of magical energy that had razed the entire area.
By the time Asteph'theroc had recovered Wolfram had been nowhere to be seen.
The doubts caused by Tel'mirion, about Llaeresil and Wolfram....

"What are we doing tomorrow anyway?", questioned Mirya, sitting down by the fire she was preparing, her head turning to look at the nearby coast and the city on it.
"We are scouting out the city to try and locate the wherabouts of Khaine. We will need to be inconspicuous."

Mirya laughed,
"Inconspicuous .... you! You stick out like a sore thumb", she managed to say between laughs.

"Thats why I'm not going. Rest Mirya, you have a busy day tomorrow", replied Asteph'theroc.

Mirya stopped laughing.

(Here you go WAnk ..... you'll probably find Khaine in #stripbar )

[Edited by RumpleForeskin|PuF on December 4th, 2000 at 12:38 PM]

 

[The_Dudester]

Helmut von Swartzentodder stood in the midst of his party of skeletons and Ash-en slaves and waited for the elf to come to him. He caused the skeletons to part slightly as the approaching figure reached them, forming a narrow path to the centre, where he stood.

As soon as Tzchee-inki had uncovered the cause of the Hunting-spinner's surprise, she had agreed to send Helmut with additional aid. Although confident in the abilities of her own forces, a Dragon was a dangerous unknown (these beasts apparently not being native to the Ash-en archipelago), and so every bit of help might be needed. Luckly that the decision was made so, as the Hunting-spinners (now perfectly concealed from all eyes) had underestimated the resilience of such a magical creature by some measure.

Finally, the elf reached the necromancer, and bowed in greeting. Returning the bow, Helmut responded with an introduction:
"I am Helmut Von Swartzentodder, necromancer. I represent this tiny force in my name and in the name of Tzchee-inki, the leader of these spider people you see amongst us. We are seeking the cause of the "wrongness" which is sweeping the land.
I suspect that your mismatched little band is also attempting the same task?"

The elf indicated his assent.

"Well then," continued the necromancer, "perhaps we can be of use to each other..."

 

[Wolf Blackstar]

Wolfram felt that his mind was a locked tome; the knowledge which had been sealed away had to have been done so through the use of very powerful magics, for no other force could have such a thorough effect. Surely any natural memory loss would not have been so discriminating; for as Wolfram had discovered, his fighting skills had not been affected in the least, and fighting-related material such as information on enemies, monsters, and their abilities seemed to come to mind when needed. He seemed to know where to strike his enemies, and what he needed to defeat more numerous or stronger foes, but anything regarding his identity, such as where he got such knowledge, was inaccessible. Indeed, trying to recall such memories only seemed to come up with blankness, nothingness, a wall that was almost tangible in nature, a barrier to his inner psyche. All efforts were nullified, and served to create silent despair that was unlike anything he had ever known.

But no matter how powerful such magic could be, the mind and consciousness of a living being was a much more complicated creation than any sorecery could fathom, and there were gaps in the heavy blinds that had been drawn over the eyes of Wolfram's mind. It was through such gaps that the memories were returning, and they filled him with a powerful hope that drove him onward.

And as Wolfram walked the streets of S'mon Traska that evening, it was the hope that he would be able to make a breakthrough in this powerful magical barrier that pushed him forward. He had left his friends in the inn where they had made their temporary headquarters while they stayed in S'mon Traska. The elf had proved adept at public relations, and the necromancer that accompanied them seemed to possess a limited understanding of their culture and customs. The adventurers had taken to becoming acquainted with one another right away, as well as forming plans of action. Perhaps because he was a man of action rather than words, or more likely because he had so little of his own identity to share with the new species, Wolfram had decided to retire early from the discussions, in order to get some "fresh air" and be with himself for a while.

Wolfram had perused the street markets and suppliers for weapons and equipment. He had hidden the belt well by wearing two large leather girdles over it, and he guarded his back well against the prying eyes of the ever -present thieves. There were very few shields that held to the standards that Wolfram desired. Instead, he scoured the merchants for a good sword that would match his own. He finally found what he was looking for in the form of a bastard sword that seemed to stand out from among the others in display. The weapon was truly balanced, and the steel was finely crafted without flaw. The weapon felt very familiar in his grip, like a handshake with an old friend. Wolfram took a minute to hold a second sword in his off hand instead of a shield, trying to get a feel for what his mind would say. Though he received no concrete response, he felt that he had been trained to fight this way as well as with a sword and shield, perhaps even better. Sheathing his swords, he strode off into a dark alleyway as the dark grew deeper.

Wolfram walked without fear. Faces everywhere fixed upon him, sizing him up, assessing the threat he presented. Wolfram did not stare at them directly, but his fighter's instincts enabled him to keep his guard up without returning direct threats. Most turned away after a thorough assessment, some even started to approach him in groups, but all turned away almost immediately. Wolfram pressed on towards his goal.

The Sorceress of the Slums, she was called, also known as The Seer. A thorough casing of any informant types in the area pointed towards her being the best choice for what he had in mind. Wolfram was not about to waste his gold on a quick visit with a mad wizard or drunken cleric that would leave him without answers or give him false information. Only the Seer was anywhere near described as sincere, though she was obviously something more than what would meet the eye, for all who spoke her name did so in tones of suspicion or disdain. Though she was supposed to be good in nature, many who had encountered her seemed to harbor an inner hatred or distrust of the woman. Of course he was speaking to thieves and pickpockets, at best, but that did not necessarily discredit them completely.

Wolfram at last approached her dwelling, a ragged shack that was hewn from a purplish metallic alloy that looked liked it held one medium sized room at best. It was nestled tightly between two larger structures, and judging from their positioning, the shack probably never saw the light of day. He considered turning back, but decided to trust his instincts, or rather, what was left of them, and continued forward. Though Wolfram was no wizard, there was a palpable sense of magic about the little shack, and indeed, it seemed that there was much more than what met the eye. He paused for a moment, then knocked gently at the door.

As the door creaked open, a thick cloud of foul-smelling smoke rolled out into the streets and Wolfram was confronted by a shriveled old woman in a black mage's robe. "Whaddaya want?" she screeched in a voice that sounded like the scraping of rusty nails on steel. Wolfram looked beyond her shoulder and observed that the little shack was a mess, with animal entrails lying about and filling the place with the stench of rotting meat. The source of the thick green cloud was a large black kettle which roiled and foamed over with its foul brew. On the ceiling and walls, runes and satanic symbols were painted in blood, including a large pentagram which was centered in the ceiling. Cages lined the walls, live animals of all variety which probably served as the sources of ingredients for the witch's potions.

As he beheld the spectacle and smelt the putrid stench, however, his instincts told him of no danger, and despite the satanic symbols and the foul brew, he could detect none of the sensations of evil which had always been strongly present in any encounter with the forces of chaos. He stepped forward into the room and closed the door behind him, trusting only what fragment of instinct that he could call judgement implicitly.

As soon as he had closed the door, however, things began to change. The witch smiled, and suddenly a white mist filled the room, blocking everything from sight. Wolfram' hands touched the hilts of his swords, but there had been no expression of hatred in the woman's eyes, and there was no palpable sense of evil in the room itself. Perhaps he was being tested? Wolfram slowly moved his hands away from his weapons. The mist began to clear, and Wolfram noticed the foul smell was no more. Wolfram was standing alone in what looked like a staircase; not only had the room been an illusion, but the shack itself also served this purpose, for the lair of the witch, if that was what she was, was underground. Wolfram advanced cautiously down the steps. When he reached the floor, the room that opened up before him was large and spacious. The rooms only illumination was the large fireplace, but Wolfram could see that the place was kept neat and clean. Fine, thick carpets lined the floor and oak shelves held a rather sizable collection of magical tomes and chemicals. But instead of the shriveled old crone that had met him at the door, the "witch" was actually a young and beautiful woman, clothed in white silk, standing with her back toward Wolfram, silhouetted against the fire.

Wolfram couldn't quite place his finger on the style of architecture and layout of the room, but he felt certain that he had seen it before. He stepped forward, intending to walk around to face the woman, when suddenly turned around and looked him directly in the eyes. "Are you afraid of the truth?" she asked. Wolfram beheld her very dark skin and her bright white hair, and saw the pointed shape of her ears which made clear her elven heritage. She was Drow.

"Most mortal men would prefer to strike me down on the spot, and rightfully so." Wolfram considered this, but again restrained himself. Despite the drow elves' reputation for cruelty, mass murder, torture, and their general evil nature, Wolfram rationed that any attack directed against him would have been launched by now, and true drow do not live amongst humans. Wolfram now understood the need for the deception. Obviously others had seen her true nature before, and that was why they were fraught with fear and hatred when Wolfram had spoken of her with them. But, Wolfram was desperate for answers about his past, and he was not about to give up simply because the only seer in town capable of helping him was a dark elf. Besides, his instinct seemed to say that he had dealt with Drow before, and that there were valid exceptions to their barbaric nature.

"My lady, I have no intention of harming you. I come seeking answers for my memory, which has been lost. I was told that your was the only magic powerful enough to help me with what I need."

"You honour me with your words, human, but you must forgive me if I don't trust you. My time with your kind has been brief, since I was cast out from my house and my city, and I have had nothing but ill experiences from the surface dwellers."

"Humans do tend to be extremely superstitious. And, to this very day, nearly all encounters between human and drow have been on the battlefield."

"I am rejected no matter where I go. I was nearly killed by my own family for refusing to participate in the ritual torture of captured prisoners, and setting them free. When I fled the subterranean city of my heritage, I was chased and hunted by a human war party that included the same two humans that I had saved from death. I have since learned that there is no limit to the level your kind will stoop."

Wolfram suddenly smiled at her. "How did you escape the war party? You killed them, didn't you?"

Wolfram had never seen a drow blush before, but the color change on her face seemed to indicate that they were capable of doing so. She looked down at the floor, then back at him, and for a moment, almost smiled. "Your point is taken…..but you must understand they gave me little choice, and I am drow, regardless of what decisions I made which separated me from my kind."

"Of course," said Wolfram. "Perhaps now would be a good time to get to the business I had in mind. I need your spells, or whatever magic you have available, to aid me in recovering lost memories from my mind, which has been erased to a certain extent."

"Before I can accomplish anything for you, I require the price of 7,000 gold."

"7000?" The price was indeed steep, but Wolfram knew that it was a small price indeed to pay for gaining another shard of his shattered past. Besides, his recent exploits had left his party rather well off, and he had something that the drow might find suitable. Wolfram reached into his boot and removed a small leather pouch. Overturning it, he laid a small handful of gems on the table. The drow eyed them suspiciously, but then decided that they would suffice.

She removed some of the herbs and chemicals from her shelves, and began mixing a small vial of potion. She had also taken a couple of scrolls from the cases and prepared for casting her spells. "So, you say that you have no idea as to your true identity?"

"My name is Wolfram. I know only that I have lived by the sword all my life, and that I once fought for a great kingdom, and had many friends, and a family. I know also that they were all killed, and it was the doing of a very powerful evil. I cannot tell you any more, for I know nothing more of my past."
The drow sorceress set one of the potions on fire, giving the light in the room a strange blue tint, but giving off no smoke. "Call me Cryss," she said, then added another ingredient to the flaming mixture. It stopped burning altogether, but fluoresced with nearly twice the light, then faded slowly into a colorless, clear fluid. Wolfram stared at the other concoctions she was preparing; they gave off light but no heat, but had no odor whatsoever. "What, exactly, are you planning?" Cryss responded without looking up from her work. "I am creating a potion which draws on the innate magic of the mind, and uses such energy to work with mental information that is lost. I will then cast a spell of memory on you, and the combination of my magic and the potion's effects should be more than able to bring to your conscience the memories that you seek.

Several minutes later, the process was complete. Wolfram stared at the potion for a few seconds, then drank it. It had absolutely no taste whatsoever; the experience was akin to drinking warm water. But then Cryss began chanting the words of her spell, and when complete, his mind suddenly seemed to double in capacity to think, and he seemed to be doing so at a speed superhuman in comparison to normal human thought.

Wolfram sat down in one of the large oak chairs and closed his eyes, trying to relax and bring back the memories, or the state of mind he had been in when the memories had returned. His efforts were met with no success. "It doesn't work," he explained. "The only thing that seemed to bring it back was an experience in combat."

Then perhaps, we should recreate the stress of battle in your mind to aid the process of your memory." Wolfram considered her words. "And you have a potion that can recreate the feel of battle?" Cryss stared back, with an expression of mischief, deception, that seemed to typify the face of a drow female. "I have no such potion, and to create such a spell would take far too long. However, I have a more expedient solution at hand, one that, if I am correct, you might even find, entertaining." Cryss smiled, and began a second spell. "What the hell are you doing?" Wolfram sprang to his feet, but the words of the dweomer had already been completed and the spell set in motion. Before Wolfram a wall of fire suddenly rose from the floor. The flames gradually took on a swirling circular motion, and a large black hole appeared in the midst of the fiery wall. Wolfram stood speechless as he saw the claws of an otherworldly creature reach through. With a swift, and deadly graceful movement, the demon pulled itself through the fiery portal, followed by five more of its kind. The fiery portal disappeared, apparently having done no damage to the rug or the walls. The six demons closed on Wolfram, surrounding him in a circle as his bastard swords came free of their scabbards, and with an unworldly fury, they assaulted him.

 

[PsychoMoggieBagpuss]

Meanwhile Elsewhere

Asteph'theroc remembered the first time Wolfram had achieved the Varankesh state. Literally it meant "To Step Around Time". It was one of the first things that the people were taught, once they had mastered this they were considered to have passed the first of the five Ahloars (tests/states) which determined when their passage to adulthood, and to the donning of the grey robes of the T'thlarei(novices), was completed.
It normally took at least fifty years before a child (all were considered children until they achieved the grey robes) managed to achieve the first state, and at least another two years until the child could slip into that state instantaneously by act of will alone.
Wolfram had taken just seven months until he first achieved it, then just another two months until he could summon it at will .....occasionly.
Astpeh'theroc had never been able to understand why Wolfram had only been able to access the Varankesh state whilst under extreme stress/duress. Asteph'theroc had thought that he could have trained Wolfram so it could be otherwise, as well as taught him the two remaining Ahloars that he hadn't mastered.
But the war was coming to a frightening conclusion by the time that Wolfram achieved the third Ahloar, requiring both Asteph'theroc and his trainee to leave their place of training and venture into the heart of it.

Maybe if Wolfram had learnt the remaining Ahloars, and mastered the ones he already knew, the end might have been different.

We might have won.

With a growl Asteph'theroc shook his head, then let it settle back against the tree, his eyes fixated on the city that Mirya had just left to go to whilst his thoughts drifted back to, if not happier, somewhat more peacefull times, whence he still had hope.

_________________________________________

Wolfram cursed, before throwing the crystal bowl to the ground where it shattered, a myriad of stars sparkling on the cold marble floor.
"This is not working!", he shouted at the cloaked figure kneeling across from him, looking slightly amused by the whole proceedings as well as the now irate Wolfram.
"Your impatience will be your downfall human," replied Astep'theroc from his kneeling position, "one cannot ignore the rules of the universe if one is not aware of there existence and be in tune with them. Now resume the position and start again!"

Wolfram made as if to leave, but then thought better of it and grumbling, took his place opposite Asteph'theroc on the floor. Last time they had had a strong disagreement ended with Wolfram unconcious with his jaw broken, never having seen the punch even though Asteph'theroc had been a good seven foot away the time.

"Now concentrate on the water in the bowl".

Wolfram did as he was told, picking up the now flawless ball (Wolfram had stopped being suprised by Asteph'therocs powers by the third day) half full of water and gazed into the perpetually moving depths.
He remained like this for some time before Asteph'theroc judged him sufficently relaxed enough to be able to proceed.

"Listen for the beat ....the pulse that coexists with the wave movement"

Wolfram listened ...... for the last couple of months he had been sure that he could almost hear it - before that he had trouble masking out the sound of his own heartbeat - but each time he attempted this he failed

Asteph'theroc observed his pupils blank, placid face with only the eyes active, gazing intently at the water illusion in the bowl. Wolfram had already entered the pre state, the Akesh, the state from which all of the other five states were achieved. Wolfram merely thought he was masking out the sound of his own heartbeat, not realising that he was causing it to slow, sometimes even stop when it was needed. This had always been one of the hardest things to do, it was why training took so long, but Wolfram had mastered the technique in a matter of days, almost as if he remembered doing it before.
Most strange.

Asteph'theroc returned to observing Wolfram again, gazing at his eyes fixed on the bowl.

More time passed.

Asteph'theroc smiled. Wolframs eyes had started to take on a golden tinge. He was now hearing it.

"What is it?" whispered Wolfram in wonder his eyes still fixed on the bowl, listening to the resonating chime that repeated itself in a ringing, archaic, beautiful pattern inside his head.

"That is what you might call the heartbeat of the universe. We of the People call it Eriallaeth, your race will generalise it and try and break it up into manageable portions, calling them new labels, not realising that it is all one infinitly big living entity. You would call it TIME."

Asteph'theroc was silent for a while then, letting Wolfram savour the beauty of Eriallaeth, tears dripping down Wolframs cheeks as he wept at the sheer beauty of the sound.

"Now for the hard part Wolfram. Listen intently to Eriallaeth, fill your mind with it till all that you can think about is that sound."

Asteph'theroc stared intently at Wolfram as his eyes glowed brighter, until they seemed almost miniature flames.

"Now listen to the gaps between the beats and place yourself there!" Asteph'theroc shouted.

Wolfram concentrated on the sounds that were ringing through his head, at first they appeared to have no set pattern to their rhythm, just a cacophoney of beautiful sounds ringing endlessly away in the vaults of his mind.
But in the same way that a cloud can become a creature, or a sword, or the face of someone once loved, so did the noise become a pattern, and with the recognition of the pattern so dawned enlightment. He could see the gaps. He could see the spaces. He could see the order of this. He could see where he must go.
Wolfram stepped outside Eriallaeth, stepped outside TIME, stepped into a new beginning for himself. He could see everything as it was first built, as it was when it had crumbled due to age and everything inbetween. Looking up he saw Asteph'theroc throwing a dagger at him, Asteph'theroc moving at the same speed if not faster than him, but the dagger slowing almost to a halt after it had left his hand.
Bemused Wolfram reached out and picked the dagger from where it was hanging in midair....no not hanging Wolfram corrected himself, moving swiftly in Eriallaeth, virtually stopped when you were outside it.

"Our lesson is finished for the day", Asteph'theroc spoke, interrupting Wolframs thoughts, causing him to step back into Eriallaeth, "You may practice summoning the sound of Eriallaeth again for as long as you wish. Only when you can hear the beat, when you can distinguish the pattern in it can you step outside it. You must be able to summon this at a moments notice, you will not always have the luxury of five hours mediation beforehand."

_________________________________________

Asteph'theroc sighed, his mind back in the present. Wolfram had never been able to enter the Varankesh state at will. He had only ever been able to summon it in the heat of battle and even then very rarely, though he could still reach it by meditating, for just a mere two hours.
"Why do I still torture myself?", muttered Asteph'theroc. Wolfram was long dead. If he was alive he would entered a Varankesh state at least a couple of times in the last millenium, and if he had Asteph'theroc would have felt the tremor on the weave caused by someone stepping outside it - one of the gifts from achieving the fifth Ahloar - and attempted to locate him.

Asteph'theroc looked back at the city, wondering where Mirya had got to when it came to him, the first feather faint touch on the weave that signalled that somewhere, something, was attempting to use the weave.
Startled beyond believe Asteph'theroc sent his thoughts out along the weave in an attempt to determine the direction this was coming from...

Now back to you Wolf