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gwaihir1 Poet Posts: 67 (1/15/02 7:57:53 am) Reply Re: Dead and Buried -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Fascinating. This certainly goes on my list of stories that I'll keep up to date with.

Hydrus Visitor Posts: 1 (1/15/02 5:12:54 am) Reply Dead and Buried -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- OOC: Please reply with any comments or critisms, I am only too happy to hear them. IC: Prologue The Scribe hurridly searched the ancient bookcase, just one of the many dusty and, for the most part, boring stacks of scrolls, books, tomes and other assorted writings. He raised the buring torch a little higher, and ran his eyes along a shelf. Finally, he found the book he was searching for. Carefully taking it off the shelf, and opening it to unleash a cloud of dust, the Scribe ran a single finger along the cracked anf yellowed pages, until he found the passage his had been sent to find. He read it with dread, a pure loathing, yet some strange dark force fueled hi curiosity enough for him to continue to study the blasphemous text: "In that dread desert, beneaths the Moons pale gaze, the dead men walk. They haunt the dunes in that breatheless, windless night. They brandish their weapons in mocking challenge to all life, and sometime, in ghastly dry voices, like the rustling of sere leaves, they whisper the one word they remember from life, the name of their ancient dark master. They whsiper the name Nagash ." From the Book of the Dead by Abdul ben Raschid translated form Arabic by Heinrich Kemmler CHAPTER ONE: DARK TIDINGS Lightning flashed, crackling down from the ebon sky, illuminating the wastes for a few misshappen seconds. The black foot hills stretched on for miles, dead or dying trees providing the only change from the bleak, grassless terrain. Rain pounded down from the midnight sky, coating everything in a silvery tinge. The Black Coach flew along the potholed road, clattering every few moments. The driver cowered under a black cloak, holding the reins with all his strength. The four mighty black stallions at the front pulled the coach along at break neck speed, lifting it rght off the ground in several places. But the pale skinned occupants of the Coach barely noticed. The two of them, a man and a woman, were dressed in regal robes of the purest black, eyes dark against pale white face, and all too finely made teeth bent in a cruel smile as they looked into each others eyes with dark love. They could practicly read each others thoughts, and were more deeply in love than any mortal could conceive. Suddenly, the coach slowed, grinding to a halt as the horses neighed with fright. Vlad von Carstein leaned out the small curtained window and shouted at the driver. "What causes this interuption?" "Horsemen approaching my lord, four of them." "Human?" "Difficult to tell my lord, could be fellow Nobility." "Let them approach then." "Of course, my lord." The horsemen galloped along the barren road at terrifying speed, a speed which not even the greatest elven riders of Ulthuan could maintain for long. They pulled up beside the coach, and the driver spoke. "Who goes there?" "A messenger from the south." Inside the coach, Vlad heard, and turned to his wife. She nodded, and shouted with a commanding voice; "What news, Servant?" The horseman in the lead turned and dismounted, and knelt on the ground beside the coach, oblivious to the mud and lashing rain. The horsemen had to shout to be heard. "My lord and lady, I bring news from your agents in Estalia. They say he has awoken." The couple were silent. "Whom?" The Horseman shifted uncomfortably, but his face was hidden to the searching eyes of the couple. "My lord and lady, I dare not speak his name." Something flashed in Vlad von Carsteins eyes. "Did ye come all the way from Estalia to waste our time, Servant? You name us, yet you dare not speak of this mysterious being. That would imply a disrespect. Tell us now, lest ye fall to the road side to be forgotten with the dust!" Vlad ordered. The horseman wavered for a moment, then decided that the present danger was the one to fear most. "They say, lord and lady, they say Nagash has been reborn." he said slowly. Vlad sat back in his plush seat. He contemplated this news for several moments. "It's time we gave our friends in Estalia a visit, don't you agree, Isabella?" Isabella smiled gleefully. "Oh, I do, dearest, I do. Onwards driver!" ***************************** Two days later, and two hundred miles to the south, a tall man with a moustache sat down at a table in the Beer Garden of the Halfling Hot Pot Inn. It was a clear sunny day, and the man was obviously in good spirits as he handed a frothy beer to his companion. "You owe me eight Geld, Hydrus." he grinned. His companion didn't. He was a dour looking dwarf who was wearing a tattered brown cloak. A dirty but none the less bright orange mowhawk erupted out of his head. "Bah, that puts us even for that time I saved you from that Chimera in the Mountains of Mourn." His companion frowned at this. "I could have taken them." "With a broken arm?" "Well, it would have been a close fight." He grinned again. Hydrus smiled slightly, then took a swig of his beer. "Well? What do you think?" said the man with the moustache. Hydrus screwed up his face. "Watery, tasteless stuff. Terrible." The man laughed. "That, my friend, is the best beer in the Empire." "The Empire can keep it." The man thought for a minute. "So, where are we headed next? Kislev to battle hordes of brutal Beastmen? East to slay armies of Orcs? West to take on a Wood Elf host?" "We're going Estalia." "Why? Whats in Estalia?" "More what isn't in Estalia." "Ahh, and whats that?" "The Empire." "Care to explain?" Hydrus glanced up. "I may have damaged a Temple in Middenheim. Slightly. Accidently of course." The man burst into laughter. "You're encouragable Hydrus." The dwarf finished his beer with a sigh. "Right, let's go then, Louen. It's a good step to Estalia." ************************************* Achates coughed loudly, snapping the reverant silence that usually coated the Library at The College of Eradication Magik in Altdorf. He glanced around nervously, spotting the huge form of the Master walking towards him. Achates gulped. He didn't know what he'd done, but it was bound to be bad if the Master was after him. Maybe he'd missed an important lecture on Summoning? Or had one of his experiments gone awry and blown up a town house? Either way, it was bound to be bad. Achates avoided eye contact and ducked down a side isle. He power walked in the opposite direction, head down. He made it out into the marble foyer and moved towards the large wooden double doors. "Achates! Stop, boy!" Achates stopped dead. He spun around, trying hard to smile. The large think frame of the Master loomed over him, robes flowing down behind the huge man. "My lord, what a pleasant surprise! What is your wish?" "Better to talk in the Retirement Room." ******************* Achates sat down in the plush red arm chair in the Retirement Room. It was a cosy warm room, a wood fire crackled cheerily on a single log, and even that log was there merely for aesthetic reasons, the fire was permant, one of the few advantages of studying at the Eradication College, thought Achates, is that you're never cold. The Master sat down in a chair facing Achates, a troubled expression on his normally unexpressive and strong face. "I have a job for you, Achates. "A job, sir?" "Indeed. How do you feel about a bit of travel?" "It depends heavily on the destination, Sir." "Estalia." "Estalia, my lord? That is quite a way. May I ask as to my errand there?" "Well, Achates, it's a delicate subject. I," but the Master was stopped by a knock at the door. "Enter." The door swung open silently, and at the door was a tall man dressed in the robes of a Reiksguard Knight. He was tall, well built, blonde haired. He didn't smile. "Ahh, Captain Alcadan, welcome. Please, be seated." "Thankyou, Lordship." The man sast down at a chair nearest the Master, and stared intently at Achates. Immeadiately Achates disliked him. He was obviously one of those pompos Reiksguard officials, too engrossed in their own wealth and possesions to possibly know a thing about the defence of the Realm. Technicly, the Reiksguard were the Elite knights of the Emperor, but in practise they were more members of the Altdorfian nobility, doing less fighting than a common peasant. "Captain, this is Achates Valorem, a Student here. Achates, meet Captain Alcadan." "Good Evening, Captain." said Achates, trying hard not to judge the Knight. "Good Evening, Achates. Has the Master spoken to you of our task?" "Not as yet, no." So, they were to go together? Well, thats just brilliant, thought the Student. "I was just about to say, Captain, that not a word mentioned here leaves this room. No friends, no family, no one, is to hear of this. As I say, it is a sensitive subject, and the fewer who know about it, the better." Achates heart raced. Usually, you could drop a trogdolyte on the Master and he wouldn't so much as raise an eyebrow, but he was being very careful tonight. "I say this because the task I will ask you to do involves a rather delicate Diplomatic problem. Two weeks ago, a Regiment of Estalian Militia was ambushed. There were no survivors. They were escorting a trade Caravan from Ka-Sabar in Araby to Estalia. Officially, the Empire dosen't know what was in those Caravans. Unofficially however, our spies know for certain that it was Warpstone. Tell me, Achates, what do you know about Warpstone?" Achates gulped. He didn't know much, other than it was very rare and very illegal. "Not very much, I'm afraid Lordship. Anyone caught with it in the Empire would receive the death sentence I believe." The Master nodded. "I would be more worried if you knew a lot of the stuff. Indeed, Warpstone is an evil substance. Physicly, it is a green rock hard substance, and it glows with an inner light. It is not on any of the Element Tables in the Imperial Laboritories, for it has one property that makes it more dangerous than most other substances in the Old World. It attracts magic like a magnet. The winds of magic are drawn to it from across the lands. Swollowing it kills all but the most powerful individuals. Deranged Wizards sometimes think they can handle it's powers, and try to consume it. I can tell ye, this is a dark substance indeed. If Estalia is importing it, it's bad news." There was a moments silence. "If this stuff is so poisonous, why is it a problem if the Estalians think they can use it Lordship?" Achates asked hesitantly. "Because, Achates, the main use of Warpstone is in the manufacture of Undead." OK. Thats a good reason, thought Achates. "Warpstone added to a skull of a skeleton makes any ressurection ritual far easier. So that is why your mission is of such high importance." explained the Master. "Forgive me Lordship, but you haven't yet explained the nature of our mission." pointed out Achates. "I shall come to the point. I want you and Captain Alcadan to go to Estalia, find out the important facts about this importation ofWarpstone. We need to know how much, where, how, by whom, and when. And we need to know soon. If someone in Estalia is raising an army of Undead, then we need to know about it." "But Lordship, didn't you say the Warpstone was stolen?" "Indeed I did. At present, we believe it was the Brettonaians who were responsible. They may well know more than we do. But, our information shows that this Caravan was a but a small piece of Warpstone. There is more being imported to Estalia as we speak, and this time the Brettonians may not be able to stop it." "Lordship, why do you need us? Surely you could just continue to use your professional spies in Estalia?" "I doubt that very much Achates, because they're dead." Achates gulped again. All this time, Captain Alcandan had barely moved a muscle. He still sat motionless, staring straight into Achates. The Master cleared his throat. "Tommorrow at noon, a coach will leave the City Square for Middenheim, where you will board the Imperial Frigate Revelation which will take you directly to Estalia. The entire journey will take twelve days. Once in Estalia, you are free to do as ye deem fit, use any means neccesary to find the Warpstone. Should anyone attempt to stop you, you may use either might or magic to stop them. We'll clear it up with the Estalians. Diplomatic immunity and all that. Until then, Good evening Gentle men." And without knowing why, Achates got up and went straight to his dormitory for a dreamless sleep.

Ozymandias the Elder The Founder Posts: 199 (1/17/02 7:28:28 pm) Reply Re: Daisy -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Ozymandias applauds animatedly. "Bravo!"

Bhurin Initiate Posts: 43 (1/17/02 7:16:32 pm) Reply Re: Daisy -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Excellant! Wonderfully whimsicle! Its been sometime since I read fairy tale satire. You have an excellant talent here.

Foe Calibur Page with the Golden Mug Posts: 52 (1/17/02 5:04:49 pm) Reply Re: -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Wonderful! Foe laughs heartily I love the way you inertwined the various fairy tales into one politically correct story.

Gyrfalcon25 Bard Posts: 184 (1/15/02 10:12:41 pm) Reply Re: -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- *Gyr laughs* I love it! Poor Daisy... I'd feel battered if that many stories intersected in my vincinity. *laughs* BTW, Daisy was the name of the Princess in the Mario Bros. series. *grin* *very* good, its always enjoyable to see new ways for old stories to turn out. =)

peredhil31 Elder of Lists and Manners Posts: 840 (1/15/02 8:06:17 pm) Reply ezSupporter -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Peredhil busts out laughing. Makes me want to tell Fairy Tales to Gloria again.

Signe Green Page Posts: 31 (1/15/02 7:52:56 pm) Reply Daisy -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Once upon a time there was a beautiful princess. Not that the beautiful part really needs to be said I guess because nobody wants to hear a story about an ugly princess who winds up an old maid running her brother’s castle so that the beautiful princess HE married has more time to well, be beautiful. Anyhow there was a beautiful princess and her name was Daisy. Not a very princessy name but her mother was one of those dairymaid turned Queen types and she had had a cow named Daisy that she really liked. Anyhow, Daisy (the princess, not the cow) had a ball that she liked to play with, made of gold. The courtier who gave it to her claimed it was solid gold, but of course if it were the princess wouldn’t have been able to lift it, let alone toss itgaily in the air and catch it again, which she was tremendously fond of doing. So one day Daisy (no, still not the cow) was playing with her gold ball in the palace gardens when she tripped over a branch a careless gardener had left on the path after trimming the apple trees. The ball flew out of her hand as she fell, and landed with a SPLASH right in the middle of a large pond! Daisy got up, and brushed the dust off her pretty princess dress, and straightened her tiara. Then she picked up the branch she’d tripped over, hoping to use it to fish her ball out of the pond. But try as she might, all she managed to do was soak her pretty princess slippers. Finally she sat down on a bench by the pond and began to cry. “Ahem! Over Here!” With amazement, Daisy realised the frog was speaking! “What do you want?” She asked. “This isn’t the Frog Prince!” “Oh” The frog looked somewhat taken aback “Err, well, that is to say. Would you mind letting me fetch your ball anyhow? And then kiss me? I’m awfully tired of not having opposable thumbs, it really does wear on a person you know.” Daisy sighed. She really did want her ball back, even if it did spoil some other story. “Alright.” She agreed, picking the frog up with a grimace and tossing him into the pond. A few seconds later he reappeared, pushing her ball up the bank to her feet. Again she picked up the frog, this time kissing him right between his big frog eyes, which really weren’t as cute as Kermit’s at all. Now, since Daisy fully expected the little frog to become a handsome prince when she kissed him I’m sure you can imagine her surprise when the poof of smoke cleared and there was a beautiful yet clearly old and evil witch standing in front of her! Daisy gasped took a step back and the witch cackled. “Foolish Princess, that’s the oldest trick in the book, I can’s believe you fell for that! Just because I’m feeling generous though, I’m gonna do you a favour. That and the fact that I love this spell. Instead of dying when you prick your finger you’re just going to go to sleep til a handsome prince comes and kisses you” Almost before she’d finished speaking the witch was gone. Daisy shrugged. After all, she wasn’t much of in the habit of using a spinning wheel anyway. “You there! Princess Daisy!” Daisy turned to see a friend of her fathers sitting in his carriage on the driveway, beckoning her over. She rolled her eyes, wondering which fairy tale was going to hit her in the face this time. “Daisy, your father’s been bragging about how you can spin straw into gold.” Daisy groaned inwardly, great, here comes the spinning wheel…”and so I’m going to borrow you for a few days, I know your parents wont mind.” Daisy sighed and climbed into the carriage. When they arrived at King Frank’s castle down the street, a maid took her to a small room full of straw and brought her a spinning wheel and a stool for her. Daisy sat down on the stool with a thump and started waiting for Rumplestiltskin. Around about noon she drifted off for a little while and when she woke up there was an old lady in the room who offered her an apple. Daisy (yup, still the Princess and not the cow) unthinkingly bit into the apple, realising her mistake when she fell of the stool, awake but immobile. Inwardly Daisy cursed herself for not even noticing the magic mirror poking out of the crones pocket. She waited She waited A bit of straw started to tickle her nose. She waited some more. Finally, just when Daisy thought she was going to go mad, the door opened again and in toddled King Frank and Queen Sally’s 2 year old son, prince Davey. Daisy silently entreated the child, crowing with glee at having opened the door, to plant a big baby kiss on her cheek. Prince Davey was oblivious. Luckily for Daisy, he was also unsteady on his feet, and as he fell face first his lips touched her left big toe, freeing her from the spell of the annoying apple lady who by rights should have been off harassing Snow White. “DagooBAH!” screamed Prince Davey, toddling back out of the door again. Daisy waited some more and sure enough, a small rumpled grumpy looking man soon appeared. “I’ll make a deal with you” he began. “Yah Yah” she interrupted “I know the drill. Here, I’ll save us both a lot of time. You’re Rumpelstiltskin, I need some gold, how about you save us both time and just change this straw?” The little man fumed angrily, but in the face of a girl who knew what she was about there wasn’t much he could do. He changed the straw to gold and left, thumbing his nose at her. And none to soon, because king Frank had returned to check on her! He smiled happily when he saw the heaps of gold lying about the room and clapped his hand companionably on Daisy’s shoulder, sending her reeling into, of course, the spinning wheel, which, of course, pricked her finger. Daisy’s last thought as she fell asleep was “Oh god, not again!” She woke later to see her pimple faced older brother standing over her, sneering and wiping the girl cooties off his lips. “You are so much trouble Daisy, Mom’s gonna ground you!” Sometime later Daisy sighed, looking forlornly out of the window of the tower to where she was grounded for disrupting so many stories, even though it seemed to her that it was hardly her fault. She glared balefully down at Daisy (yes! This time it’s the cow!) who never got pulled into other people’s stupid cheesy storylines. “Pssst!” Daisy felt a headache coming on. Not another one. “Psst!” “Whoever you are, I’m not interested! Can’t you see I’m in enough trouble here?” Daisy hissed back. “Oh. Sorry, I’ll just go find some other princess to rescue. Sorry I bothered you! Have a nice night…hopefully the rats won’t get you. Bye now!” Daisy rethought her position quickly. “WAIT!” The voice returned. “Yes?” “I changed my mind. Here!” With that Daisy took her hair down, letting it tumble like a rope down to the prince. Being a princess she had long hair of course. The prince quickly climbed up, bringing a rope which they tied to the bedframe so that they could both climb down again and go out for pizza. THE END http://www.themightypen.net/public/style_emoticons/default/ohmy.gif)

Zadown Bard Posts: 191 (1/18/02 7:36:54 pm) Reply Nevermore -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- A portal to the Astral shimmered in the middle of the room, reflecting the chamber of the seer. The Dreamer paused on it's treshold, turned back to inspect his handiwork. The seer was bound to the middle of the room with golden-yellow shackles, burning with brilliant inner fire. They ensured that whenever the Dreamer would need information, the seer would still be there, and not be dead or absent. No mercy for those who court the Fate, who try to see what is not yet there, who greedily turn their eyes forward in time. The decaying body of the seer seemed on the verge of burning, the shackles sending little flames and sparks up and down, but the planewalker knew the most they could do would be a little extra pain for the damned. ... my job here is done .. now I just need to follow this new knowledge, to find the Pool of Eternal Wisdom .. The Dreamer stepped through the portal.

Zadown Bard Posts: 190 (1/14/02 6:48:45 pm) Reply - -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- ... have to ... Summoning all of it's strength, the creature got to it's dark grey legs that were riddled with rust-brown stains. It turned it's blind head around, tried to held it's drying, rotting husk of a body up. .. to ... to .. ask it ... The raven in top of it's head plunged it's beak under the wrappings that hid most of the hideous carcass of the seer and ripped off a small strip of meat, eating it with relish. The seer stumbled, but didn't fall, and managed to align itself to almost the right direction for facing the Dreamer, who had recovered from the prophecy and was watching, alert. The thing that was the seer opened it's mouth, creating a sickening wet sound: ".. gghhh .. wodd... woughdd ... whould yhou ..." It coughed, it's frail frame shuddering, blood spraying all over the hand it held in front of it's mouth. "... khilll me?" It breathed heavily and made it's blind gaze to meet the Dreamer's dark grey eyes. The Dreamer smiled.

Author Comment Zadown Bard Posts: 157 (11/27/01 4:48:04 pm) Reply Nevermore -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Silence everywhere. No cackling of bound demons, no silver laughter of servant angels, no steady hum of fortresses ready to defend their master. Time had stranded him here, to a place before all that he owned, and he felt naked and helpless. The Void to every direction and the faint mark of the Chaos Sanctuary before him, but his key gone, consumed or lost in the fall to history. No help from there. But he had his powers and he was on his home grounds, on the Lost Paths, and for the first time for a long time he felt free, ready to choose his own direction and pursue his own goals. The promise to Chaos was in the future, even though he carried their powers already. He trusted that the gods wouldn't know when he was, and he had not offended the Ruler of Sigil just yet. Even the god of dreams might still be alive... ... but there was another one of him here, the proto-Dreamer, either prowling the Paths or already asleep, dreaming the dream of the Brothers Zadown, creating an archmage after archmage to infest the plane of Terra with shadowy and weak copies of himself. He needed to get away from the same time as that legitimate planewalker - that one held all the keys, all the bindings, all the storerooms. That one was the ruler, and he was just a shadow with all the same feuds but without the army to back him up. Timetravel ... tricky business, difficult spells. Can't do it quite, not without some more knowledge. I guess I'll have to visit it after all. Felt a shame not to use the information when I first found it... With a determined look, eyes flickering from one color to another, the Dreamer started to run the Lost Paths. Zadown Bard Posts: 159 (12/2/01 7:14:27 pm) Reply Nevermore -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I'm going to need some things and I'd better not go near my storerooms just yet... A fallen hero, floating in the vastness of the Void, cradling his mummified hands over his most priced possession, an enchanted blue steel sword (which however did not help when death came in the form of starvation), musters enough contact with its escaped soul that it manages to grimace when it suddenly grasps nothing. ...I really hate this test, probably the reason I never did go that way... "For Quetzacoatl! For the glory of our god!" Brutal and bloody and hot - it hadn't been like this in the books, the paladin thought as he rised and lowered his sword, once, twice, ten times, for eternity. Metal hammering metal, men screaming in mortal agony, the smell of entrails and sweat and other bodily fluids, the battlefield resembled the Abyss, but at least he was protected, by both faith and armor .. and that was the last thing in his mind as first his helmet disappeared without a warning just before an arrow pierced through his now unprotected head. ...been ages and ages since I last used armor, but this time it can't be helped... <the shield is gone> The thought reverberates through the ancient tomb, makes skeletal warriors arise with fire in their eye sockets one after another. <rage> They gather around the King In Waiting, all his trusted men even after breaking the oath, even after death, and rise their rusty swords in almost silent salute. <revenge> But the culprit is gone, far beyond their reach. ...that should be enough. After some time the Dreamer floats in the Void again, trying to get accustomed to the weight and feel of his new equipment, shifting his body to find the perfect position under all the steel, iron and mithril, rotating his enchantments to find the middle ground between different new magics that the gathered pieces carry with them. He looks like a warrior - a long, slender bastardsword that shimmers in different hues of dark blue, a tear-shaped shield scratches full of crude runes that nevertheless throb with strong magic, a holy helm that glimmers and full plate riddled with scratches, rust and old dried blood but also carrying with it the power of its old bearers. Time to dance with the Vulture... Zadown Bard Posts: 161 (12/6/01 12:15:51 am) Reply - -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- He is coming. The thing sucked the lead coin, shuddering and shivering slightly, drew visions out of the little lump of metal. The potency of them made his head jerk, his hand throw the coin away. Adrift in time the walker of the paths comes, riding with chaos and fury. The gods will hear, the angels see, but fury cuts ... and he will see a wisdom, and crush a seer with his iron grip, and hear a lament of a thousand. Rainbow eyes, sword of a shadow of a shard of a sleeping god, armored in things thicker than iron, lighter than mithril... The bird clawed him from inside, cutting the vision in half. The pictures scattered, flashing briefly before waning away: a sword and a cup, an apperentice, blue scarf swirling in wind... The seer coughed feathers. Zadown Bard Posts: 162 (12/6/01 1:11:19 am) Reply Nevermore -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The place looked huge and foreboding even from Astral - a fortress of labyrinths, twisting around each other like an immense ball of twine. Here and there an armored warrior angel, their bright shields shining as brilliant moons in the night of the Void. A wicked smile appeared on the Dreamer's face as he surveyed the Castle of the Birds and his flickering eyes settled on a dark red hue. Looks like even the guardian is guarded. Well, I'm dressed for battle and it has been a long time... The Dreamer blinked and his eyes turned red, signaling the end of thoughts and the begining of violence. With a small flick of his wrist, seemingly without effort, he created a tiny plane inside the nearest guardian and twisted the plane to piercing shapes in a fleeting moment - the angel, caught unaware, exploded and her shield sailed to the depths of the Void, mirroring everything as it gracefully disappeared rotating around itself. Kill kill kill! The angelic host turned their beautiful, perfect faces towards the Dreamer as one woman, their shield shining silver. The planewalker, full of rage gathered during the humiliations at the Chaos Sanctuary, unleashed a spell of pure force meant to dent the defences of a god at the now nearest one. She vanished, utterly torn asunder. Now drawing magic as a dehydrated, dying man drinks water, the lay lines near him shining pale blue, he channeled what he had through his underdeveloped psychic skills, using brute force to cover the lack of finesse. An angel's head exploded. RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!! The angels formed an attack and surged towards him as he wove a complex spell. The planewalker started to send globes of kinetic energy, one after another, towards the angels, who deflected some and dodged a few. The rest of the deadly globes crushed and maimed the shining celestials, wrecking havoc in the attack formation. Only a few of the original warriors remained, flying towards the Dreamer carrying dented shields, pure white robes stained from bright blood, armor glinting under them. When they were close enough the planewalker let one of his enchantments discharge. The resulting wall of electricity scorched all but one of the attackers, delivering mortal burns. The last one drew a globe of pure holiness from itself, but the white flame flickered and vanished, disarmed by one of the many protective spells the Dreamer had around him. Unfazed, not showing any emotions (as her sisters-in-arms hadn't, dying with calm faces), she drew her sword and flew straight at the planewalker. A speck of light flying so quickly she was a line of whiteness... and she hit a protective forcefield, bouncing violently aside, blood floating away from her broken but still beautiful face in great red bubbles. The Dreamer ran in the Void, charged after the warrior angel with his bluesteel sword now held ready at last, and without any unnecessary rituals he decapitated the last guardian of the Castle. AAAAAaaaaaaahhhh... hh... hh.. His eyes changed to black. Zadown Bard Posts: 164 (12/13/01 9:16:58 am) Reply Nevermore -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Dreamer dropped down, floating just enough to land with the grace of a winged elf and inspected his surroundings, sword and shield held ready. Above and below was stone, twisting and turning, not creating a ceiling or a floor but just four walls, sometimes five or three. The grey walls held no marks, and the labyrinth was immense and three-dimensional, made to confuse even the sharpest mind. Nevertheless, he had managed to followed the scent in the Void and it had brought him here. However, no way forward seemed in sight. I can feel the presence of the Seal of Vianicius as my sources informed. Good thing for them - I do hate incomplete information. Now, I need to find it or the Vulture. The planewalker stood where he had dropped, not moving, trying to see past the labyrinth of walls without using any active magic; even his enchantments were subdued and bound not to activate themselves. He abandoned sight and tried again tasting the Void with his slightly open mouth, feeling it with his planewalker's mind. But the Seal was hidden and he could not trace the distinctive aura of the Vulture, and he felt time pass without any progress in the search. The Dreamer's eyes flashed yellow. Never realized it could be hidden like this, doubly protected by labyrinth and the Seal - no magic, no way in, just twisting endless pathless stone. If you are ignorant you can't get in, and if you already know everything why would you try? Then he saw it before he felt it: a black bird gliding soundlessly through the mad labyrinth, it's eyes matching the deep blue color of the Void. It stared back when he looked at it, and he could feel his eyes adopting the same hue. The bird landed on the floor, or a wall, and tilted it's head, first looking at the planewalker with it's right, then it's left eye. He sheathed his sword, placed his shield on his back and jumped after it as it hopped back to the air and started to glide back to where it had came. It flew past six-way intersections, glided effortlessly through long corridors of crazy architect's nightmare and dropped through small holes between two seemingly connecting walls. Behind it, the Dreamer floated, following the avian guide gracefully, hour after hour and mile after mile. Until the jet-black bird stopped next to a door, the first one the planewalker had seen here. A stained bronze portal adorned with engravings that depicted souls flying away from dying bodies, all in the borders of the door, to join with the middle figure, a warrior in war gear, the Vulture. The bird pecked the door and it opened silently. Zadown Bard Posts: 166 (12/17/01 5:58:44 pm) Reply Nevermore -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Vulture stood in the precise middle of the room, standing very still but giving off the impression of a coiled spring waiting to be useful. It was a marvelous piece of work (for it was artificial and not really living, at least according to the lore the Dreamer had bought ages ago) - ebony black construct of armor that looked like it had been made out of steel feathers, the chest bearing a ornamental runed spiral, and the arms looking strangely like wings, both holding a long shiny longsword of sharp beauty. The legs were made to look scaly, and fitted the overall picture of a gothic dream of a black bird transformed into an armored knight ... and then there was the helmet. It must have been some artist's masterpiece, the one object they had sacrificed their soul to make. It's beauty shone without any magical enchantments - deadly beak, narrow slits for eyes showing only darkness and a magnificent display of metallic feathers. The last guardian of this place, the Vulture stood on the Seal of Vianicius, which covered most of the floor with it's creamy pale surface. Vianicius, the god of wizardslayers and magichunters, protected this place with his own personal presence, and any act of overt magic would bring the full fury of that particular god on the unfortunate mage. The Dreamer was not going to complicate his mission in that way, and so he was prepared to do battle in the old way, metal against metal. Behind the Vulture and the Seal, he could see tall double doors leading towards the inner parts of the Castle. Without concentration on observing the details any longer, the planewalker drew his blade and and retrieved his shield, standing ready to face the automaton. The Vulture shuddered slightly, and the Dreamer could feel a faint cold wind whirl through the chamber, a new presence enter and join the Vulture's powerful but oddly vague aura. The joining brought life to the guardian, and a pale ghostly face appeared briefly in front of the helmet of it, looking outside from the bird-helmet with a look of sad determination on it's young face. Without further delay, the Vulture rose it's blades to ancient battlefield greeting and carrying the same motion forward surged to attack the planewalker smoothly and with frightening skill. ... an armor for an insubstantial spirit? Or does it really feed on souls? That would explain the name... Rest of the Dreamer's thought's were lost in the rising surge of battle which painted his eyes red and dragged all the old moves with a sword and a shield from his huge but misty memory. Moving even quicker than his opponent, the planewalker glided to meet the automaton, his sword a blue blur, the opponent weaving two glittering lines of shining steel. The first clash of the two combatants would have been impossible for a mortal to keep track of. Zadown Bard Posts: 167 (12/19/01 8:36:07 pm) Reply - -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- They are fighting, close. He followed my guide, then. The seer sloshed the last lead-laced juices of the coin around his mouth, tried to catch a few more elusive pictures of the current, not of the future, but got only fragments and shards. Two combatants, faster than eye could follow, flying around each other, executing brilliant maneuvers that a master of swordsmanship would've paid his left hand to be able to do. AAH. AAAHH! The bird! Not NOW! The pitiful, rotten thing that was the seer fell to the filthy stone floor, trashed and convulsed, tried to claw itself through the floor with it's bloody nail-less hands but wrote runes of meaning instead, trapped to be a puppet of destiny. .. . . POOL... ... ETERNAL ... WISDOM ... ... GODS .... .... .. . SARNAEL ... DEATH.. .. . Retching in the middle of an endless seizure it suddenly jerked and stopped, then vomitted a raven. The newborn bird shook rotten blood away from it's feathers and hopped to flight. Edited by: Zadown at: 1/4/02 12:05:40 am Zadown Bard Posts: 168 (12/20/01 12:04:48 am) Reply Nevermore -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- He met with the Vulture, and the room exploded to full of sparks: bright red from the Vulture's swords, blue sparkly stars from his bluesteel blade and yellow angry flashes from the shield. The sound followed the sparks - rapid, almost constant and highly musical clash of enchanted metal against enchanted metal. A dance of two metal-clad ballet dancers accompanied by fireworks and music; the swords drew runes and marks to the air as the Dreamer and the Vulture went through ancient moves of attack and defense, of thrust and block, of swing and feint. The first few moments were furious, but both were just testing each other, still, and every blow was easily blocked or dodged. Then the combatants intensified their fight, hastening the tempo of an attack and a counter by half a beat after every brief exchange of blows. Neither was able to so much as touch the opponent's body armor - only the sparks got brighter and more numerous. There are myriad ways I could smash that annoying insect which stands between me and the seer .. but .. The Dreamer glanced briefly the seal, not letting his sword and shield get distracted at all. An idea rose from the depths of his memory and he rode it, jumping slightly, letting the blows of the Vulture throw him back in the air and landing in the ready position of a slightly different school of fighting that he had used so far. When the automaton rushed at him, he moved to meet it once again, fast as a lightning, and managed to deflect both of it's longswords aside with the shield. Not wasting a fraction of a moment, the Dreamer swung his sword and it crashed against the unprotected left shoulder of the Vulture. He stepped well back to appraise his handwork: the Vulture was damaged and blue light beams of an enchantment gone awry shone from the wound he had inflicted on it's left arm. It still held both of it's longswords, but he could see the same pale young face looking from inside the helmet, looking both pained and sad this time. Try dancing against me now, mis-enchanted piece of junk metal. I was practicing swordsmanship before the god that blessed your creator's parent's wedding was born... The planewalker narrowed his reddish eyes and stared back at his artifical enemy. Zadown Bard Posts: 176 (12/27/01 12:16:48 am) Reply Somewhere Else -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The captain lay on the bed, dead and pale, the first who had had the honor of the Duty for 300 years. On his chest they had placed the Vulture shield as the custom was, and the guards raised their heads high, opened their mouths for the song... Tagliare dentro le foreste profonde giù il Reno due-cornuto la nostra chiglia, stretto-calafatata ora galleggiato sul mare. Heia, uomini! Lasciare il resound di echi con... ... he who was the next captain let the song fall to the background and just stared at the ashen-faced corpse in front of them, the captain who had been so alive, so high above them, so full of authority and ... ... the dead man jerked slightly, a huge wound opening on his left arm. Blood sprayed out of it hitting those nearby, marking them with rust-red spots. The guards, used to both violence and the supernatural still shivered, looked white and afraid in their dark armors, recoiled slightly from the wound and those tainted by the blood of the dead. The song faded away. In that omnious silence, silence waiting to be filled with terrible and important omens, two things happened: the old, dead captain jerked again, more violently, and the new captain, most senior of those alive fell dead to the floor, ashen-faced and cold. In the new silence, even more shocked and still than the last one, blood began to seep from beneath the Vulture shield. Zadown Bard Posts: 182 (1/3/02 5:49:49 pm) Reply Nevermore -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Damned souleater. The Dreamer stood in a battle-stance, eyes black pits with streaks of red, a reflection of the Vulture who stood an equal distance away from the center of the seal in almost the same posture. He had killed it once, struck a mortal blow through the chest of the metal construct, but that and the earlier wound to the Vulture's arm both had vanished when a new soul had entered the vessel. Another young soul, looking infinitely sad. This will not be pretty... who knows how many souls have been bound to that marvelous cruel guardian. Too bad for them. Now fully warmed up and slightly more sure that the thing between him and the door had no special tricks up to it's sleeve, the Dreamer quickly surged forward, his feet barely touching the floor. Sparks flew again and the chamber was fully lit by them; the song of metal against metal filled it with the light. The planewalker and the guardian clashed, bounced away from each other, met again and circled each other. It was a beautiful dance, but a predetermined one - the first captain had been the most skillful of the guard, and the Dreamer did not grow tired, far from it. Each new soul got dispatched more quickly. The black drained away from his eyes as the red had already done, and the Dreamer's eyes took on a ghastly grey hue as the battle continued. His arms moved with their own will, remembering old skirmishes and practices, and his mind walked away from the carnage to think on more abstract things. He saw himself from a short distance, wondered with cold detachment how long he could keep his rising bloodlust, whipped to higher heights by Chaos, under control. For now, he had it contained, and he floated in the feeling of detachment, watching the battle... ... and then, after a long time, his powerful blow shattered the Vulture sending all the pieces clattering to different directions. He had removed the last known obstacle between himself and the one he sought. Eyes filling up with the blue of the Void, the control coming all back to him, he however just felt hollow about it. With a barely audible sigh he turned to look at the double doors beyond the seal. Zadown Bard Posts: 183 (1/4/02 12:06:17 am) Reply - -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- It lay still on the cold stone floor. Decaying sticky dark blood oozed from it's mouth, mixing itself with lead-grey saliva, pooling around it's putrescent head. It looked like it had been dead for weeks and that somebody had tried to mummify it after that, failing miserably. The room reeked of death and blood, decay and bird's droppings. The smell was so strong it swirled around the vast space as blue smoke, dimming light. The newest raven flapped it's wings noisly and landed on the silent seer. It turned to watch the big double doors that were the only exit from the room. "Caw?" ... I have ... to ... wake up ... Zadown Bard Posts: 184 (1/4/02 1:06:33 am) Reply Nevermore -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The double doors almost made him wake up the seal, after he had succesfully fought against the guardian's every soul with mere steel and mithril. Without thinking, he sheathed his sword and rised his right arm to point at the doors, half-uttering the spell of opening. Time stopped. One frightening fleeting moment he could feel the seal unfolding, see the shape of the god stirring under the pearly white surface of his mark - it had a terrible and powerful aura, full of revenge and the absence of magic. It's eyes shone with malevolence as it strained to hear the mana-whispers of the Dreamer's spell and it almost found him with it's gaze. Mustering his self-control, the planewalker let the spell fade. He grimaced as the unspent mana coursed through him, making him shiver, grimaced from more than the minor pain. That would've been very stupid mistake. I am losing my touch. Perhaps the Chaos just infested me, made me a doll that will explode far away, causing distractions and chaos on the way ... I will have to meditate on this. Lowering his arm slowly, he stared at the doors with yellow-green eyes. The the Dreamer shrugged and ran forward, graceful in the low gravity. Without slowing down he knocked the doors open and stopped only then, ready to fight if there were any guardians left that he had not been informed of. What he saw, instead, were the birds. Black rows of ravens, crows and magpies and white rows of sea gulls, a few brown hawks and owls here and there. There were over a hundred of them, sitting silently on stone shelves at the walls of the vast chamber of the seer. Every one of them stared at him with small black eyes. A sea of eyes, a forest of feathered wings. He could see past their mortal-looking forms, saw their potent auras: they were birds of change and prophecy, each of them infused with wisdom. The birds whispered visions of future, filled the Dreamer with a peculiar hunger. Knowledge is power. These birds were knowledge, and not only knowledge about what was or what is, but also what could be and what would be. A treasure beyond what I expected. I have to visit the one who sold me the information - would do no harm to show them my golden-white side, to let the people of the lost paths know that I can be something other than a terrible enemy to have. Then he noticed the seer, and the raven perched on top of the decaying form. The prophecy hit him like a sledgehammer.

Zadown Bard Posts: 183 (1/4/02 12:06:17 am) Reply - -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- It lay still on the cold stone floor. Decaying sticky dark blood oozed from it's mouth, mixing itself with lead-grey saliva, pooling around it's putrescent head. It looked like it had been dead for weeks and that somebody had tried to mummify it after that, failing miserably. The room reeked of death and blood, decay and bird's droppings. The smell was so strong it swirled around the vast space as blue smoke, dimming light. The newest raven flapped it's wings noisly and landed on the silent seer. It turned to watch the big double doors that were the only exit from the room. "Caw?" ... I have ... to ... wake up ...

Zadown Bard Posts: 182 (1/3/02 5:49:49 pm) Reply Nevermore -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Damned souleater. The Dreamer stood in a battle-stance, eyes black pits with streaks of red, a reflection of the Vulture who stood an equal distance away from the center of the seal in almost the same posture. He had killed it once, struck a mortal blow through the chest of the metal construct, but that and the earlier wound to the Vulture's arm both had vanished when a new soul had entered the vessel. Another young soul, looking infinitely sad. This will not be pretty... who knows how many souls have been bound to that marvelous cruel guardian. Too bad for them. Now fully warmed up and slightly more sure that the thing between him and the door had no special tricks up to it's sleeve, the Dreamer quickly surged forward, his feet barely touching the floor. Sparks flew again and the chamber was fully lit by them; the song of metal against metal filled it with the light. The planewalker and the guardian clashed, bounced away from each other, met again and circled each other. It was a beautiful dance, but a predetermined one - the first captain had been the most skillful of the guard, and the Dreamer did not grow tired, far from it. Each new soul got dispatched more quickly. The black drained away from his eyes as the red had already done, and the Dreamer's eyes took on a ghastly grey hue as the battle continued. His arms moved with their own will, remembering old skirmishes and practices, and his mind walked away from the carnage to think on more abstract things. He saw himself from a short distance, wondered with cold detachment how long he could keep his rising bloodlust, whipped to higher heights by Chaos, under control. For now, he had it contained, and he floated in the feeling of detachment, watching the battle... ... and then, after a long time, his powerful blow shattered the Vulture sending all the pieces clattering to different directions. He had removed the last known obstacle between himself and the one he sought. Eyes filling up with the blue of the Void, the control coming all back to him, he however just felt hollow about it. With a barely audible sigh he turned to look at the double doors beyond the seal.

Zadown Bard Posts: 176 (12/27/01 12:16:48 am) Reply Somewhere Else -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The captain lay on the bed, dead and pale, the first who had had the honor of the Duty for 300 years. On his chest they had placed the Vulture shield as the custom was, and the guards raised their heads high, opened their mouths for the song... Tagliare dentro le foreste profonde giù il Reno due-cornuto la nostra chiglia, stretto-calafatata ora galleggiato sul mare. Heia, uomini! Lasciare il resound di echi con... ... he who was the next captain let the song fall to the background and just stared at the ashen-faced corpse in front of them, the captain who had been so alive, so high above them, so full of authority and ... ... the dead man jerked slightly, a huge wound opening on his left arm. Blood sprayed out of it hitting those nearby, marking them with rust-red spots. The guards, used to both violence and the supernatural still shivered, looked white and afraid in their dark armors, recoiled slightly from the wound and those tainted by the blood of the dead. The song faded away. In that omnious silence, silence waiting to be filled with terrible and important omens, two things happened: the old, dead captain jerked again, more violently, and the new captain, most senior of those alive fell dead to the floor, ashen-faced and cold. In the new silence, even more shocked and still than the last one, blood began to seep from beneath the Vulture shield.

Zadown Bard Posts: 168 (12/20/01 12:04:48 am) Reply Nevermore -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- He met with the Vulture, and the room exploded to full of sparks: bright red from the Vulture's swords, blue sparkly stars from his bluesteel blade and yellow angry flashes from the shield. The sound followed the sparks - rapid, almost constant and highly musical clash of enchanted metal against enchanted metal. A dance of two metal-clad ballet dancers accompanied by fireworks and music; the swords drew runes and marks to the air as the Dreamer and the Vulture went through ancient moves of attack and defense, of thrust and block, of swing and feint. The first few moments were furious, but both were just testing each other, still, and every blow was easily blocked or dodged. Then the combatants intensified their fight, hastening the tempo of an attack and a counter by half a beat after every brief exchange of blows. Neither was able to so much as touch the opponent's body armor - only the sparks got brighter and more numerous. There are myriad ways I could smash that annoying insect which stands between me and the seer .. but .. The Dreamer glanced briefly the seal, not letting his sword and shield get distracted at all. An idea rose from the depths of his memory and he rode it, jumping slightly, letting the blows of the Vulture throw him back in the air and landing in the ready position of a slightly different school of fighting that he had used so far. When the automaton rushed at him, he moved to meet it once again, fast as a lightning, and managed to deflect both of it's longswords aside with the shield. Not wasting a fraction of a moment, the Dreamer swung his sword and it crashed against the unprotected left shoulder of the Vulture. He stepped well back to appraise his handwork: the Vulture was damaged and blue light beams of an enchantment gone awry shone from the wound he had inflicted on it's left arm. It still held both of it's longswords, but he could see the same pale young face looking from inside the helmet, looking both pained and sad this time. Try dancing against me now, mis-enchanted piece of junk metal. I was practicing swordsmanship before the god that blessed your creator's parent's wedding was born... The planewalker narrowed his reddish eyes and stared back at his artifical enemy.

Zadown Bard Posts: 167 (12/19/01 8:36:07 pm) Reply - -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- They are fighting, close. He followed my guide, then. The seer sloshed the last lead-laced juices of the coin around his mouth, tried to catch a few more elusive pictures of the current, not of the future, but got only fragments and shards. Two combatants, faster than eye could follow, flying around each other, executing brilliant maneuvers that a master of swordsmanship would've paid his left hand to be able to do. AAH. AAAHH! The bird! Not NOW! The pitiful, rotten thing that was the seer fell to the filthy stone floor, trashed and convulsed, tried to claw itself through the floor with it's bloody nail-less hands but wrote runes of meaning instead, trapped to be a puppet of destiny. .. . . POOL... ... ETERNAL ... WISDOM ... ... GODS .... .... .. . SARNAEL ... DEATH.. .. . Retching in the middle of an endless seizure it suddenly jerked and stopped, then vomitted a raven. The newborn bird shook rotten blood away from it's feathers and hopped to flight. Edited by: Zadown at: 1/4/02 12:05:40 am

Zadown Bard Posts: 166 (12/17/01 5:58:44 pm) Reply Nevermore -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Vulture stood in the precise middle of the room, standing very still but giving off the impression of a coiled spring waiting to be useful. It was a marvelous piece of work (for it was artificial and not really living, at least according to the lore the Dreamer had bought ages ago) - ebony black construct of armor that looked like it had been made out of steel feathers, the chest bearing a ornamental runed spiral, and the arms looking strangely like wings, both holding a long shiny longsword of sharp beauty. The legs were made to look scaly, and fitted the overall picture of a gothic dream of a black bird transformed into an armored knight ... and then there was the helmet. It must have been some artist's masterpiece, the one object they had sacrificed their soul to make. It's beauty shone without any magical enchantments - deadly beak, narrow slits for eyes showing only darkness and a magnificent display of metallic feathers. The last guardian of this place, the Vulture stood on the Seal of Vianicius, which covered most of the floor with it's creamy pale surface. Vianicius, the god of wizardslayers and magichunters, protected this place with his own personal presence, and any act of overt magic would bring the full fury of that particular god on the unfortunate mage. The Dreamer was not going to complicate his mission in that way, and so he was prepared to do battle in the old way, metal against metal. Behind the Vulture and the Seal, he could see tall double doors leading towards the inner parts of the Castle. Without concentration on observing the details any longer, the planewalker drew his blade and and retrieved his shield, standing ready to face the automaton. The Vulture shuddered slightly, and the Dreamer could feel a faint cold wind whirl through the chamber, a new presence enter and join the Vulture's powerful but oddly vague aura. The joining brought life to the guardian, and a pale ghostly face appeared briefly in front of the helmet of it, looking outside from the bird-helmet with a look of sad determination on it's young face. Without further delay, the Vulture rose it's blades to ancient battlefield greeting and carrying the same motion forward surged to attack the planewalker smoothly and with frightening skill. ... an armor for an insubstantial spirit? Or does it really feed on souls? That would explain the name... Rest of the Dreamer's thought's were lost in the rising surge of battle which painted his eyes red and dragged all the old moves with a sword and a shield from his huge but misty memory. Moving even quicker than his opponent, the planewalker glided to meet the automaton, his sword a blue blur, the opponent weaving two glittering lines of shining steel. The first clash of the two combatants would have been impossible for a mortal to keep track of.

Zadown Bard Posts: 164 (12/13/01 9:16:58 am) Reply Nevermore -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Dreamer dropped down, floating just enough to land with the grace of a winged elf and inspected his surroundings, sword and shield held ready. Above and below was stone, twisting and turning, not creating a ceiling or a floor but just four walls, sometimes five or three. The grey walls held no marks, and the labyrinth was immense and three-dimensional, made to confuse even the sharpest mind. Nevertheless, he had managed to followed the scent in the Void and it had brought him here. However, no way forward seemed in sight. I can feel the presence of the Seal of Vianicius as my sources informed. Good thing for them - I do hate incomplete information. Now, I need to find it or the Vulture. The planewalker stood where he had dropped, not moving, trying to see past the labyrinth of walls without using any active magic; even his enchantments were subdued and bound not to activate themselves. He abandoned sight and tried again tasting the Void with his slightly open mouth, feeling it with his planewalker's mind. But the Seal was hidden and he could not trace the distinctive aura of the Vulture, and he felt time pass without any progress in the search. The Dreamer's eyes flashed yellow. Never realized it could be hidden like this, doubly protected by labyrinth and the Seal - no magic, no way in, just twisting endless pathless stone. If you are ignorant you can't get in, and if you already know everything why would you try? Then he saw it before he felt it: a black bird gliding soundlessly through the mad labyrinth, it's eyes matching the deep blue color of the Void. It stared back when he looked at it, and he could feel his eyes adopting the same hue. The bird landed on the floor, or a wall, and tilted it's head, first looking at the planewalker with it's right, then it's left eye. He sheathed his sword, placed his shield on his back and jumped after it as it hopped back to the air and started to glide back to where it had came. It flew past six-way intersections, glided effortlessly through long corridors of crazy architect's nightmare and dropped through small holes between two seemingly connecting walls. Behind it, the Dreamer floated, following the avian guide gracefully, hour after hour and mile after mile. Until the jet-black bird stopped next to a door, the first one the planewalker had seen here. A stained bronze portal adorned with engravings that depicted souls flying away from dying bodies, all in the borders of the door, to join with the middle figure, a warrior in war gear, the Vulture. The bird pecked the door and it opened silently.

Zadown Bard Posts: 162 (12/6/01 1:11:19 am) Reply Nevermore -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The place looked huge and foreboding even from Astral - a fortress of labyrinths, twisting around each other like an immense ball of twine. Here and there an armored warrior angel, their bright shields shining as brilliant moons in the night of the Void. A wicked smile appeared on the Dreamer's face as he surveyed the Castle of the Birds and his flickering eyes settled on a dark red hue. Looks like even the guardian is guarded. Well, I'm dressed for battle and it has been a long time... The Dreamer blinked and his eyes turned red, signaling the end of thoughts and the begining of violence. With a small flick of his wrist, seemingly without effort, he created a tiny plane inside the nearest guardian and twisted the plane to piercing shapes in a fleeting moment - the angel, caught unaware, exploded and her shield sailed to the depths of the Void, mirroring everything as it gracefully disappeared rotating around itself. Kill kill kill! The angelic host turned their beautiful, perfect faces towards the Dreamer as one woman, their shield shining silver. The planewalker, full of rage gathered during the humiliations at the Chaos Sanctuary, unleashed a spell of pure force meant to dent the defences of a god at the now nearest one. She vanished, utterly torn asunder. Now drawing magic as a dehydrated, dying man drinks water, the lay lines near him shining pale blue, he channeled what he had through his underdeveloped psychic skills, using brute force to cover the lack of finesse. An angel's head exploded. RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!! The angels formed an attack and surged towards him as he wove a complex spell. The planewalker started to send globes of kinetic energy, one after another, towards the angels, who deflected some and dodged a few. The rest of the deadly globes crushed and maimed the shining celestials, wrecking havoc in the attack formation. Only a few of the original warriors remained, flying towards the Dreamer carrying dented shields, pure white robes stained from bright blood, armor glinting under them. When they were close enough the planewalker let one of his enchantments discharge. The resulting wall of electricity scorched all but one of the attackers, delivering mortal burns. The last one drew a globe of pure holiness from itself, but the white flame flickered and vanished, disarmed by one of the many protective spells the Dreamer had around him. Unfazed, not showing any emotions (as her sisters-in-arms hadn't, dying with calm faces), she drew her sword and flew straight at the planewalker. A speck of light flying so quickly she was a line of whiteness... and she hit a protective forcefield, bouncing violently aside, blood floating away from her broken but still beautiful face in great red bubbles. The Dreamer ran in the Void, charged after the warrior angel with his bluesteel sword now held ready at last, and without any unnecessary rituals he decapitated the last guardian of the Castle. AAAAAaaaaaaahhhh... hh... hh.. His eyes changed to black.

Zadown Bard Posts: 161 (12/6/01 12:15:51 am) Reply - -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- He is coming. The thing sucked the lead coin, shuddering and shivering slightly, drew visions out of the little lump of metal. The potency of them made his head jerk, his hand throw the coin away. Adrift in time the walker of the paths comes, riding with chaos and fury. The gods will hear, the angels see, but fury cuts ... and he will see a wisdom, and crush a seer with his iron grip, and hear a lament of a thousand. Rainbow eyes, sword of a shadow of a shard of a sleeping god, armored in things thicker than iron, lighter than mithril... The bird clawed him from inside, cutting the vision in half. The pictures scattered, flashing briefly before waning away: a sword and a cup, an apperentice, blue scarf swirling in wind... The seer coughed feathers.

Zadown Bard Posts: 159 (12/2/01 7:14:27 pm) Reply Nevermore -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I'm going to need some things and I'd better not go near my storerooms just yet... A fallen hero, floating in the vastness of the Void, cradling his mummified hands over his most priced possession, an enchanted blue steel sword (which however did not help when death came in the form of starvation), musters enough contact with its escaped soul that it manages to grimace when it suddenly grasps nothing. ...I really hate this test, probably the reason I never did go that way... "For Quetzacoatl! For the glory of our god!" Brutal and bloody and hot - it hadn't been like this in the books, the paladin thought as he rised and lowered his sword, once, twice, ten times, for eternity. Metal hammering metal, men screaming in mortal agony, the smell of entrails and sweat and other bodily fluids, the battlefield resembled the Abyss, but at least he was protected, by both faith and armor .. and that was the last thing in his mind as first his helmet disappeared without a warning just before an arrow pierced through his now unprotected head. ...been ages and ages since I last used armor, but this time it can't be helped... <the shield is gone> The thought reverberates through the ancient tomb, makes skeletal warriors arise with fire in their eye sockets one after another. <rage> They gather around the King In Waiting, all his trusted men even after breaking the oath, even after death, and rise their rusty swords in almost silent salute. <revenge> But the culprit is gone, far beyond their reach. ...that should be enough. After some time the Dreamer floats in the Void again, trying to get accustomed to the weight and feel of his new equipment, shifting his body to find the perfect position under all the steel, iron and mithril, rotating his enchantments to find the middle ground between different new magics that the gathered pieces carry with them. He looks like a warrior - a long, slender bastardsword that shimmers in different hues of dark blue, a tear-shaped shield scratches full of crude runes that nevertheless throb with strong magic, a holy helm that glimmers and full plate riddled with scratches, rust and old dried blood but also carrying with it the power of its old bearers. Time to dance with the Vulture...

Zadown Bard Posts: 157 (11/27/01 4:48:04 pm) Reply Nevermore -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Silence everywhere. No cackling of bound demons, no silver laughter of servant angels, no steady hum of fortresses ready to defend their master. Time had stranded him here, to a place before all that he owned, and he felt naked and helpless. The Void to every direction and the faint mark of the Chaos Sanctuary before him, but his key gone, consumed or lost in the fall to history. No help from there. But he had his powers and he was on his home grounds, on the Lost Paths, and for the first time for a long time he felt free, ready to choose his own direction and pursue his own goals. The promise to Chaos was in the future, even though he carried their powers already. He trusted that the gods wouldn't know when he was, and he had not offended the Ruler of Sigil just yet. Even the god of dreams might still be alive... ... but there was another one of him here, the proto-Dreamer, either prowling the Paths or already asleep, dreaming the dream of the Brothers Zadown, creating an archmage after archmage to infest the plane of Terra with shadowy and weak copies of himself. He needed to get away from the same time as that legitimate planewalker - that one held all the keys, all the bindings, all the storerooms. That one was the ruler, and he was just a shadow with all the same feuds but without the army to back him up. Timetravel ... tricky business, difficult spells. Can't do it quite, not without some more knowledge. I guess I'll have to visit it after all. Felt a shame not to use the information when I first found it... With a determined look, eyes flickering from one color to another, the Dreamer started to run the Lost Paths.

Zool47 Patron Saint of Aspiring Bards Posts: 174 (1/28/02 4:53:13 pm) Reply Re: Thanks. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Excellent, excellent story. Thank you. ~Zool~

Yui Temae Huntress Posts: 157 (1/26/02 9:34:49 pm) Reply Thanks. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Thank you for the warm words. I came up with the concept on the spur of the moment, and while I'm sure the story itself could be delivered in much better language and organization, I'm rather pleased with the premise. I'm glad you agree with me. Perhaps, someday, I'll refine it. For now, I'm just glad you enjoyed it.

Gyrfalcon25 Bard Posts: 210 (1/26/02 2:38:34 pm) Reply Re: Seven -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- *Gyr applauds* I love this, Yui. Poor Gyr never learned any lessons in his dyings, before he became Immortal... well, never tick off a Balor, or never taunt a Dragon until you *know* you're out of range. *grin* But never anything as important as what you learned. *applauds some more*