Valdar and Astralis

Ho_o/ \^_^A Po_o/ \^_^P Yo_o/ \^_^/ Bo_o/ \^_^I Ro_o/ \^_^T Ho_o/ \^_^D Ao_o/ \^_^Y !!!!

You forget pointy ears. Long, flexible ears are a must for any elven adventurer. And gnom(i)es, who are obsessed with the idea of magical, or mechanical tinkerage. Add sugar, and you get a walking recipie for absolute mayhem.

Usually the cheapest, handy bic 4-color fat thing, for in-lecture doodles, and a plain blue bic for the notes proper. As well as for general writing, of course, since scratching out what I just wrote usually take up 90% of the page. Can't waste expensive ink! Especially since it tends to eat through the page. . .can't stand that.

A semi-rhyme that popped into my head while EQ'ing. . .For you EQ'ers, my Dark elf cleric has been planning for a while now to cause a scandal in Filethwe, home of the uptight high elves. . .for that, she would need Faction. This is her tale. . A smile apon her face she wore And ringmail on bare skin The sturdy mount on which she rode Dismissed, that she stood alone Bladed mace she deftly twirled, Crystal shield pristine, Mind clear for the battle plan, She strode forth, Queen of lands. The first blow lands, A challenge commands, 'See who hath come, to ruin your land?' The ground shook, the king enraged Doors opened, like thunder they came

Valdar's stomach rumbles in the background after reading that poem. . .

Eh? WOOHOO, Madoka made her way here, somehow Not seen you in. . .what, a year? The last time you logged on EQ anyway.

I'm sorry, I dont understand where this came from. . . If you mean how the $30 was divided between the 3+1 men, it would be, (30-2)/3. Which would be, of course, $9.33, and would, of course, add up. It's all in the decimals/fractions.

It's like flying through clouds, sometimes, interplanar travel. Especially here, in the Greater Veil. A hundred million years of history lie burried in the thick fog of broken worlds. Of wars and mighty kings, leaders, and civilizations gone mad all reduced to this shapeless grey mass. Relics from the Veil are highly priced, because there's nearly no way to know what direction you're going. Only Planewalkers, or the pirates that operate from the Veil can pick their way through the debris and muck, and since pirates of the Veil have a standing bounty of several thousand Platinum Pieces on their heads, and Planewalkers couldn't care less, most of the artefacts that make their way out were either stumbled on by chance, or traded by a fool. We shouldn't be bothered too much by the pirates. They're a nasty bunch, but give Planewalkers a wide bearth, and as we come here mainly for the solitude, and occationaly to lie low a few years while the bounty on our heads is forgotten, Planewalkers have little reason to interfere with Pirate business. Not that many people bother to travel this far, most prefer to stick as close as possible to the relativeley safe hallway of worlds. Never know what's lurking in those thunderous clouds, they say. For the most part, a whole lot of nothing, as with the rest of the Void. An Astral Dragon or two. Pirates. Mainly hulks, though, burnt out worlds, and one or two bareley exsisting, though none with intelligant life. Probably why they were spared the grand destruction. Legend is, a god, or a Panthelon of them, went insane and rampaged across this portion of the ether. No one knows, really. But I'll tell you this, so far as history records, no one who has ventured into the heart of the Veil ever returned. My own wanderings have brought me close to the heart twice, and it never struck me as a particularly hospitable place. Notice how the fog lights up erracticly every few seconds? That's from the huge Electrical, and Mana storm near the heart. The haze is thick enough to walk on, down there, and bolts of energy try to fry you every heartbeat of the way. But there's something there, all right. On my last journey, between two strokes of thunder, I sighted a break in the storm at the very centre, but was forced away by the maelstorm. Maybe one day. . . But come, it's time to return. I will return to teach you another night, yes?

phat lewts!!11 What dropped? . . . Did I say that out loud? sorry, Happy birthday both! Double birthdays are good! Shinies all around, for sure. Edit: Meez spellingz r gewd.

Thank you, Peredhil and Zool. . . I find it hard to beleive we were born on the same day, and with the same first name (Michael). Prophecies of doom aside, that is, nearly four thousand kilometres apart only to bump twenty years later. April the 8th in Australia has long gone now, but have a good un, 'Vark. I'm spending mine alone

Now that's a pretty looking picture. Half elf, I preceive, ears not long nuff.

Abstain, I think. Beleive me, however, when I say I have seen far too many posts for healthy debate go right down the drain into an all out shout feast due to a single flippiant comment. Maybe it's because I have been hanging out in one too many everquest board. *shrugs*

I used to type my stories out, word for word on the computer, then erase most of it as it displeased me. Nowadays, however, as most of my computer time, and power is taken up by everquest, I have found myself going back to a basic pen and exersise book-now 20 pages deep in scratch marks I make as the words flow into my head. How do you write?

Duthanir, empire of the sun The great halls of fire flickered and flared like a living heart. Sol, god of fire and sky ruled his empire of the sun from this bastion, so called Dunthair, around which a storm raged. A terrible earthquake tore the smouldering landscape apart around the fortress, forcing geysers of fire from the core to shoot thousands of miles into the heavens. Inside, a greater storm stirred. Sol raged, and the tormented ground moaned, and heaved again. Already, the ravages were showing on Terra as crops shriveled in an unnatural summer heat. 'IMPOSTER! THEIF! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?' Sol's mighty hands closed about a spear of lightning, and hurled it at a massive runecrested bell, which fell in two halves with a crash that shook the heavens. The sun god strode back to his throne, another shaft of lightning coalescating in his fist. Taking his throne, silence reigned in the halls of Dunthair as the sky god waited. And so they came, summoned by the founding god from which they were derived. From shadow or blazing light, the lesser gods assembled for the first time in a thousand years. . .

This Post is rated MA, and can only be accessed by members.

Prologue. The smell of insence was near overpowering, for Helmut Green, pushing aside the bead strands that made up the door. The tiny caravan wobbled preceptiveley as the large smith sat down on a tiny stool, carefully placing the small bundle of cloth on the table before him. The cabin was still a moment, before the man reached for his purse, and placed two silver pieces on the thick tablecloth. Behind the curtain that hid the other half ot the table, a bony hand crept forward to claim the coins. 'So, come to name the girl, have we?' 'Our firstborn' the smith confirmed. 'Born on midsummer's eve, I preceive' The smith was impressed. 'Aye, sir. Pray good seer, what do the spirits say?' The gnarled fortune teller reached through the bead curtain, to touch the sleeping baby on the forhead. 'Spirits Forest, spirits deep, aid my faithful soul to seek. . . a name. . .' The seer leaned forward, in a trance. 'Akalia, your name shall be. Like the spring waters that flood the land, your generousity shall flow to spread warmth about you. Three children will be your fruit. I do see, however, a shadow against your life. A haze that obscures my vision-it is as if the spirits command me. . . they command me to see.' The seer trembled. 'Son of shadow and black flame, he comes. I feel him now, struggling against his mother's womb. Frost or flame, the doom of Terra in his hands hold-which will he choose? How can he choose? He is blind.' The seer stilled, sightless eyes staring intently into the gloom. 'Oune help me, he is here. His heartbeat is thunder. His cry shakes the world! The light of the sun obeys his will! HE BURNS! HE BURNS! WE ALL BURN! IT IS ENDED!!!' The seer fell heavily back on his chair, dead. Edit: No, the child is not 'the one'. Nor her children. Edited to make that clearer.

*Whap!* a stray tentacle caught the second angel as he basked in the moment of stunned silence after introducing himself leaving a streak of mud on his immaculate clothing. Waterlily, however, did not notice the new contestant, having it's hands full with Stick, who had reached 'two' on his last pin. The giant plant, however, was not helpless, and cheated outragously at every turn by using it's many tentacles to toss his opponent into the air and throttle him before Wyvren could yell at it. The tentacle that struck the Archangel streaked forward on it's own mission, and groped into the mud for a moment before emerging with a very soiled metal chair. This time, however, AngelXIIX was prepared and managed to leap backwards with some sembelance of grace-until the chair flew by where his head was a moment ago and clipped his wings. The Archangel fell into the mud with a sodden splat. The chair, meanwhile, soared back towards the waterlily with unnatural speed, to impact Dopey on the back while he was trying to choke the plant in turn. With a roar of triumph, the Waterlily 'stood' (I use the word looseley here) and struk at it's opponent's stomach. Grabbing one of the etheral ropes, the plant pulled itself towards one side, then propelled itself towards the other side of the imagindary arena, where it used it's momentum to perform another pass, before seeming to slip halfway, and giving Stick*The Elbow* with a thick stump of tentacles. Edit-Sorry, Stick, accidentally got you mixed up with someone posting on a totally different thread

Shattered persona, that is Valdar. Not quite a shapeshifter, nor lycropathic, he pops from big cute doggy, to mr sexy longears, to hyper gnomepowered ranger (sorta only in EQ, but eh).

Picture's in my head, Slightly dreamy-eyed elf, with foot-long ears (flexible, mind you). The rest of him is covered in scars and runes/tatoos on his arms and chest. Unfortunatley, my skill with sketching, or drawing is nil, so I can't really do anything about it

For the Everquest crowd: Lets kill one more then log. I wonder what loot this drops. . . I have torpor, I can solo it.

Backwards and forwards, the threesome battle raged on endlessly. The grassy field they stood on churned into a dusty battleground, a no-man's land where visibility was a bare ten feet, so shifted the sands. And yet the three warriors battled on. A downpour, an unintended inconvinence from the world's creation, changed the once-green meadow into a brown, murky mudfield offering little traction. The warriors slipped and fell, their every stroke and counterstroke never ceacing as they pushed each other to the limit. . .and beyond. *** In the dim, Azunost slid smoothly between the blow, cloak catching at the sword that gave it. In turn, he struck out. Once, twice, and again, his reward being a grunt of suprise from the attacker. His moment of triumph, however, was marred as a counterblow nearly took off his head, bareley stopped in time by The Sword of Roses. Time stopped, as the imperfect angel stared down with void cold eyes at the Master of the Shifting Sands, their blades frozen in contact. *** Un-noticed, a single lily parted from the fallen Angel's blade, floating into the storm and spiralling to the ground under the stiff drizzle. *** At the moment of contact between flower and ground, two tremendous pillars of flame errupted, a dozen spans apart, the fallen Lily marking the centre. A dozen more bursts of fire sprung up in short order, and a clap of thunder shook the ground even before the lightning came. Even louder, however was a booming voice that resounded from the heavens. CAN YOU SMEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELLLL WHAT THE WATERLILY IS COOKING?!?!?! Click Here <--hope this works, Wyvren supplied it. Another flash of lightning illuminates the two stunned warriors, blades still crossed, and blinking like deer in the headlights. Another roar joined in the cacophony. Ancient. Feral. . .Plantlike? The air between the two pillars shimmered, and a rip in reality developed, announcing a new contender. From behind the rift, a dozen tentacles shot out to grasp the edge of the portal followed by two dozen more. A Massive bulk dragged itself ponderously forward out of the portal. It was. . . A giant flower. No ordinary flower, however, could duplicate it's speed. One tentacle snapped out, catching the startled Sardin in the chest. Another brought a chair down on his head. Yes, a chair. The chair did not connect, however, as the warrior rolled out of the way with the grace of a tavern brawler. The chair contacted three more times with the ground, and finnaly with Azunost's chin once. The angel flew backwards gracelessly, falling on it's back. With a roar of triumph, the giant plant surged forward at terrifying speed. Azunost's eyes widened in suprise, and got a strangled '-no!' out before the giant plant landed on his chest, knocking the wind out of the contender. Wyvren, largeley unnoticed and dressed in vertical white and black, ran up next to the fallen Angel, who was now being held in a vise-like (literally) grip by the plant. The lizard dropped to his knees, and instead of giving aid to the fallen contestant, struck a scaled claw on the ground. One!. . .Two!. . .

In the land of doubles. . . There are lines, but no dots? Song, but no music? Chickens, but no eggs? Death, but never life? <--did someone mention this before? Valdar stabs in the dark a few more times before abandoning his attempts to break into this sphere of existance

The world can be a depressing place for one so socially deprived as I am. I greatly enjoy, and in a way, try to slavishly copy (in no particular order) the words of Robert Jordan, The lightheartedness of David Eddings (sorta), The epic scale of Toliken, The mortality of Raymond E. Fiest, word art by Zadown, 'oh this world isn't so black and white after all' of Guy Gavriel Kay (ok, so not quite yet), 'oh crap, we aren't alone in the grand scheme of things' feeling of Michael Moorcock (sp?), writing styles of Tzimfemme/Rydia/Rose/Sossity/Minta and Gyrfalcon especially, as well as all you other members of the pen! I tried to find the grouphug smiley, but it evades me.

Valdar. . .Valdar, where did Valdar come from? It wasn't *that* long ago that I was playing archmage under the name of 'Mad Jedi'. I was a guildleader back then, in the murks of blitz 2. (Blitz Guilded, now) His name, and history were made up from the cloth as I somehow managed to stray into ager 1. You see, my guild had several major problems (long story). A friend or two introduced me to one camp terra, and it was there that I first encountered the Legion of the White Rose, which I have recently had falling outs with. In any case, I was awfully impressed back then, and I decided to join them to learn more about the game, and perhaps managing a guild. However, one does not simply walk in with a name such as 'Mad Jedi'. It was in IRC that the first incarnations of Valdar first appeared, surrounded by 'big people' such as Tzimfemme (whom I didn't know Rydia and Minta were part of, then) and Gyrfalcon. The first Valdar was a human, an archangel sent back from the dead to do a god's bidding. The resonances from my first choice are still sorta haunting me, and is getting me stuck in Valdar's first story (The first scars, still incomplete). Anyway, sometime or another, some scoundrel came along and changed me into an elf. How about *that*? In time, however, I built a new story about Valdar 2.0, though it's still a tad messed. Astralis started as a human inventor, changed to gnome eventually. Waterlily is the only 'toon I kept totally intact. By the way, Rune, I never knew you played EQ-what's your character name? I assume you're on Sol Ro like the rest of us, since you mentioned the Legion. Unless you've completeley stopped, that is.

Keep of the Mighty pen, Terra Prime, Present date. It was a new age, for the land of terra. An age long past, an age of ice. For over ten million years now, the war of Archmagi raged on, leaving verdant and lush lands a charred landscape of dust and death until the apocalypse came to give rebirth to the land. Again, and again, the cycle repeated itself, life and death, power and loss. At the end of each age, a circle of Archmagi would rise above themselves, and rend the world asunder to show their power, banishing the souls of a billion people into the fires of hell for ten thousand years, while the world mended. Until now. A deathly wind blew through the remains of Valdar's empty quarters in the pen keep. A final bastion of sanity in the last days of the mad uprising, the elegant structure alone stood relativeley unmarked in the barren wasteland. No, This time, the world wouldn't be made anew. This was a place of dead gods. Outside, crows pecked futiley at a long dried skeleton. All traces of the terrible magical battle at this place were long gone, now. The wall of fire a mile high leaving but a bare scar on the earth. Dusts of decay blew down the mightly main hallway, where dimpled initiates once stood anxiously waiting for their teachers to make themselves known, or to see the response of the mighty Wyvren to their applications. The howl of the wind picked up to a wailing cresendo, rattling the empty pieces of armor lying about the floor near the central courtyard. The soot-gray walls turned black with blood, at this point. Every step forward had been paid in blood a thousand times by the desperate attackers. Heroes and villians rose and fell, in these sacred halls, their blood mingling with that of every nation. The central courtyard was a frozen visage of the most horrifying bloodbaths in the known history of the Archmagi. Shattered Guardian golems lay in a ragged circle around a marble fountain, their mighty animating magics dispelled by force of blades or word of power. Around the broken servants, a bloodwashed pile of armor twenty feet deep lay. Here and there, about the courtyard lay the uncorrupted bodies of angels mingled with their nether kin, mute testimony to the divine nature of the battle during the last hours of terra. The fountain, no longer functional, was a work of art, the dedication long since eroded away by the elements. The centrepiece was that of a man and woman reaching towards each other, one bearing a sword, the other a quill, tips touching. Their free palms facing each other as though indicating the emptiness between them. Here, the presence paused for a moment, taking in the scars of the once mighty pen keep before resolving itself out of the ether. Valdar flicked his ears, partly in irritation, partly in sadness. This world, which had been his home for many a turning of leaves had finnaly passed into ashes while he was away. He turned. A flight of birds flew screeching out of the shattered window as the ghost of the planewalker strode through the hidden door into the rooms he had once called home. He frowned. 'This won't do' he decided, reaching out with his part of his mind to yet another hidden vault. The first real sound Terra Prime heard for a thousand years issued from within. A thunderous roar shook the fortress, causing streams of dust and motar to pour from the celing as the final guardian woke. The planewalker smiled. His dormant servant, far more powerful than many of the fallen golems below, lived yet. It was also hungry, hibernating for a millenia now. No, he couldn't leave so valuble a servant behind. His will was insufficiant for what he intended, Valdar knew. But he was prepared. A moment later, like dim reflections in a dusty mirror, seven more identical ghosts apparated. The first smiled. On this dead world, no one would feel his full might. *** Silently, the eight reflections marched down dusty corridors in an octagonal pattern. Suspended between them in a shimmering field of energy, The massive waterlily trashed against spectral bonds along with the Elf's meanger possesions. The procession entered the killing grounds, bits of bone and rusted armor flying out of their path. The ghosts stopped, and uttered a single word. The giant plant slumped unconcious. In turn, the shadowy images stepped into one another, becomming more corporeal as they did until at last, only one Valdar stood in the courtyard. The elf took a deep breath. It was good to be alive once more. To be. . .whole. Dirt scrunched under his feet as Valdar stepped into the dry fountain. Slowly, he stepped around it, examining the two statues for a full quarter hour. "Ah." His ears bobbed in delight as the face of the long gone pattern was made clear to him. Valdar angled an ear forward and spoke a single word. A sizzling bolt of white light shot from the eartip, connecting to the two statues exactly where the pen and sword touched. Firey lines raced out from that point, illuminating runes unseen for a hundred generations. The platform between the statues caught fire too, circle within circle within circle burning away accumalated dirt and grime. Finnaly, the centre pattern lit up, a rude map of the multiverse, on which a single point burned brighter than all others. He tsk'ed. It wouldn't do, he decided, to leave trails where one's enemies may follow. Fully powered now, the device activated. A slash of light illuminated the courtyard, and the portal opened to a neatly trimmed hedge. Warm air blasted through the rift. Valdar already decided what he had to do. He gestured, and the force field containing his servant and belongings floated through to the new world. They would be safe there. As for himself. . . There was a castle in the distance, he saw. And the sight of it took his breath. Designed without any of the war-like defenses of the old keep, the new home of the pen had grown artisticly, all rose quartz towers and sapphire domes. From afar, the elf saw a true wonder. Children, running free in the rolling meadows around the castle, something never thought safe in the old troubled lands. Already, his sharp eyes picked out pointed fingers and cries of suprise at the sudden activation of the portal. Enough. The portal rotated shut, and the beam of light connecting Valdar's ears with the trigger changed colour, from white, to blue, purple, red then black. The black fire spread throughout the pattern, until the two statues burned in an obsidian inferno. Mystic symbols and runes corroded away under the torrent of nether magic, and the Astral map melted into a puddle of molten rock. Satisfied, the planewalker seemed to bow, and the channel of black magic ceaced as the elf stiffened, and shattered into eight presice shards, which faded away without touching the ground. The statues burned on forgotten in the dead lands of Terra Prime, their translocational powers stripped away. Vultures circled in the hot plume of smoke, eyeing the ground for any prospect of a meal. There was none. Norrath The dream was strange, and Astralis woke up more fatigued than when he went to sleep. Abandoned towers, magical portals, what place did a gnome have in all that? Yet inside the inventor, a strange feeling of satisfaction arose that carried him out of bed. The memory of the glass-like castle seemed to cheer him. Yes, at least I know where I can hide now. At least they still live. At least I will have somewhere to go after all this is over. . .if it ever is. The shard inside him grew silent. Astralis shook himself out of the daydream and yawned. He had loads to do. First, boiler number fourteen had a leaky valuve, then. . .