Zadown

Ayshela's just building up a harem, nothing wrong with that.

I have to add - these quizzes are an absolutely fabulous idea, Salinye.

http://www.friendtest.com/viewquiz.php?account=zadown Whee?

Six B "Ye won't need yer guards there, I already said." "But.." "No nays nor buts, m'lord Valdar. 'Tis as safe as it can be, as long as .. well, sufficiently safe, sufficiently." "But..." "An' don't just stay there gawkn', watch th' way I go an' follow me, through th' illusion once we get there." "Yes, Master." "Master not for long, 'prentice. Remember that an' act accordin'ly." The Dreamer's eyes faded into darker blue, a color almost black. He whirled around, did not stop to look if Valdar did follow him, and strode deeper into Veil. Behind him Valdar's ears drooped slightly, then perked up as he rushed after his master knowing well he would not be able to keep up if he'd wait for too long. The Dreamer's long steps ate away the distance with haste, his legs stomping the Paths as if every stomp was a kick on the heads of the troops of Law. His face held a disfiguring sneer, a result of setbacks on the fields of war. As they passed, the denizens of the Veil watched the pair silently, assessing their strenght and speed and coming to the correct conclusion that leaving them alone was most prudent for their own good. * * * They stepped through the mirage, stood at the hall of Phacyra's hideout, master and apprentice: the Dreamer in his chaos-plate, Pain in a sheath on his back, iron crown keeping his unruly grey hair in place, scars marking the thousands of battles he had been in; and foot and a half shorter Valdar in his glimmering chain coat, sword on his belt, ear-blades glinting in the faint light. They looked like an unlikely pair - a king and a ranger, a pale corpse and a ritually scarred elf, a tall knight and a short archer. Anybody knowing something about fighting would have seen how they moved as a pair, however, ready to tackle whatever adversaries the Fates would put on their way. "Hoi, Rurag!" "Hoi, scum. Who is this? Ye know you are not supposed to show the way to anyone, even if you are pretending to be my master's best chum, Wodzan." "It's all been settled in advance, Rurag. This fine fellow is Valdar of th' Paths, my apprentice, to be given th' Rites of th' Planewalker right here." "Mmm, ready planewalker you say? Doesn't look too impressive to me." Valdar's ears swiveled around his face, the sharp edges cutting air with unpleasant sound, something flying through the air towards the demon. A moment later, Rurag the Doorkeeper removed a short dart from its forehead, scratched the wound absently with his left hand. Ears still held ready, Valdar snatched his dart back from the demon and grinned happily. "Next time I'll use the ears and not just a dart." "Hey, no tormentin' poor ol' Ruggy!" Behind the hulking form of the ten foot tall doorkeeper stepped into view the owner of the hideout, Phacyra. The thin planewalker was wearing his black and brown demon-skin jacket and trousers as usual, was slightly shorter than the Dreamer but quite a lot taller than the short elf, Valdar. He held his hands in the depths of his jacket in a way that suggested daggers could feature in the future of this conversation, but his smile was friendly if a bit sly. Phacyra made a small gesture that was obviously well known to Rurag, who stood aside and faded into shadows, hiding far better than a massive archdemon should be able to. Valdar's ears relaxed visibly and he turned towards Phacyra. "Aw, I knew demons have thick skin. You must be m'lord Phacyra?" "Wait, let me introduce ye both properly .. Valdar of th' Paths, my current 'prentice, meet Lord Anarchyan Phacyra Xe Tormeyentor, currently of the Veil." Valdar bowed - Phacyra performed a far too elaborate court bow and grinned, then made a show of looking Valdar over from the boots to the tip of his ears. "So, yer 'ere for th' Rites of th' Planewalker, neh? 'As yer master told how it'll go, yet?" Valdar's ears moved nervously. "No, he hasn't. He just grins when I ask, m'lord." Phacyra made a dismissive gesture, then started walking towards the depths of the building, the master and apprentice pair following him in. "Ye can cut that m'lord stuff in 'ere, Valdar. Me an' Wodzan here, we are allies in crime an' brothers of the Paths, any 'prentice of his can call me Phacyra. Now, this'll how th' Rites will go..." Phacyra's murmured words melded with the background hum of the plane, only audible to the short elf. In contrast, Valdar's reply ringed through the whole place. "I will have to do WHAT!?"

Dunno if this is an analogy, but it's not too far off the subject. Highjacks the thread with Appy and adds odd ramblings! My muse is buried 6 ft under behind our summer cottage's sauna. Instead of listening to her dead voice, I practice the impossible zen-art of writing without one. If my concentration and focus waver and I get stuck, I steal Yui's ideas and rework them to look completely different.

A thread called "Pen RP Character Descriptions" can be found in the Greenroom, which is a members only area. Contains descriptions of most of the Pen characters. A lot of us have been here long enough to know the characters of the other old-timers pretty well, as ye thought. Most of us have one (or a few) "main" characters we use as default, and then perhaps additional characters generated for specific RPs. Members section has both more stories (not much, most are in the public sections), places for critic, OOC and other meta-writing stuff, the place for secret world domination plans and a place where we discuss the structure and administration of the Pen. Initiate can see most of the rooms, but some are further restricted. There's FAQ somewhere, too.

Neat!

Six "No, no, 'old it with both 'ands an' point at th' sky, like this." The Dreamer adjusted the heavy wooden practice sword the girl held in both hands, his eyes sea-green. She was wearing light armor in the style the warrior wore, made of wood and bones, enough to deflect a glancing blow. There was concentration on her face, and determination, a look that said she would definitely master this soon and then move on to other things. "Now, try again, an' remember the ten easy forms of attack I told ye 'bout. If ye can manage to touch me with th' tip of yer sword, ye get a wish, neh?" Her look changed as she pondered on this possible reward. "You have removed your defensive wards, uncle?" "Ya, I wouldn't want my Li'tl' Princess get hurt, now would I?" "I told you not to call me that, I'm ... " A wild swing, easily blocked by the planewalker. "... Jankiize ..." A thrust, which the tall, scarred man sidestepped, almost smiling. "... Towikae ..." A scything blow, parried, her sword hitting the stone pier. "... Vangaijuua!" She panted, unaccustomed to the relatively heavy weight of the wooden sword. He stepped back and grinned. "Now, then, m'lady Jankiize Towikae Vangaijuua of the Holy Tree, if ye will not use th' ten easy forms of attack I do believe ye will fail in protectin' the honor of yer illustrous name, n.. eh?" As he finished the sentence, the look on his face changed in an instant, green draining out of his eyes and the wooden sword, forgotten, falling to the stone pier. The Dreamer's eyes turned pitch black, gave him the appearance of a scarred skull - without pausing to explain he uttered a powerful spell, prepared in advace for occasions such as this. Jankiize had time to look suprised, barely. Then a pillar of emerald green light flared from beneath her, buoying her up to the air and turning solid as it enceased her, her surprised look frozen in place. Who dares!? The door to the fortress of Pen crashed open, an armored figure leading the charge of a wave of warriors, all wearing a green-white tabard, armed with shields and longswords. Somewhere beyond the shining metal he could see people in robes, saw one of them raise his hand towards the girl and shout. "Kill her! For the Grail!" As one man the advancing group echoed his last words. "For the Grail!" His bodyguards appeared on his both sides in an instant, charged forward with weapons drawn without needing any further orders. The Dreamer's eyes were set ablaze, burning in hues of red and yellow. He clenched his fist, unlocked a trap he had set with a hasty thought. Three of the attacking knights were sent flying towards the stone wall of the Pen, each of them falling down as broken, crumbled shapes. This did not stop the onslaught, only made the wave of metal cry in unison. "The Shield! Shield of Faith!" One of the robed attackers raised a shield high. He could sense the powerful relic protecting the attackers, muttered two words and pointed at the ancient artefact. Blue lines of power shimmered all around him, pumping raw mana into him for him to channel. The shield imploded as if crushed by angry titans, his bodyguards wading now into the attacking mass of mortals, crashing against the rush of heroes, dealing mortal wounds and crippling blows. The planewalker glared at one of the three robed figures, channeling mana at such a rate he was lifted above the floor, air boiling around him. His psychic lance blew up the mage's brain, creating a slowly descending red mist where the mage's head had been. Still they rushed, past his two bodyguards, past their dead and dying comrades, crying their warcries. "The Spear! For the Grail! The Spear of Faith!" As he understood their words, he sensed the presence of another powerful relic hidden within the remaining attackers. He tried to pinpoint it, shouting angry words that killed the last knights one by one. Stone rose up to impale them, hellfire gripped them in shrouds of dancing purple flames and pure force tore them apart, but they did not stop. When he saw the spear, it was already too late: the runed weapon, an artefact imbued with faith and magic, flew through the air towards the girl. He pointed towards the hurled spear with an open palm projecting a field of force to knock it off it's deadly course, but the weapon sliced through the improvised spell, did not sway. It flew straight and true, pierced the solid emerald light ... and was turned by the wards written in her crystal amulet, glancing her cheek before clattering down to the stone pier behind her. When he turned back to look at the battle, the last of the knights were already down, his bodyguards looking around warily. There were no more attackers, however. Twenty-two knights and three mages, all broken, torn, dead. The Dreamer sighed, released the girl from the stasis field. She landed down in a daze, blinked, her look of suprise deepening. "... what, uncle? Oh." She saw the ghastly remains of the attacking force and turned pale, raised her hand to her cheek reflexively. Her eyes turned from the dead knights to her fingers, tried to comprehend the blood she saw on them. He kneeled down and smiled wanly to her, eyes grey. "See, Li'tl' Princess? Yer first scar." Still dazed, moving in slow, deliberate way, she poked the Dreamer with the tip of her wooden practice sword.

Five B His boots raised small clouds of dust, but even those small signs of chaos soon died. The Dreamer stopped and surveyed his surroudings, his bodyguards echoing his movements half a moment late. All around the three was desolation, an even desert of dull, brown sand, a few dull crystals here and there underlining the emptiness. The place looked even worse with the sixth sense: all the potential had been drained out, all life, energy and uncertainity, all the chaos was gone. The planewalker coughed, feeling worn in the air thick of the taint of Law, scratched his pale skin absently but insistently. Magic had not been removed, quite, but it had been fouled, rendered one-dimensional for anybody not mastering the Art perfectly .. or not following the ways of Law. He resumed his slow, weary walk, paused almost instantly when his right boot caught on something protruding from the dead ground. He regained his balance and stooped down to check what it was, brushed the dry sand off the item. The Dreamer picked up the demon skull, held it at arm's lenght staring at the empty eyesockets. This is what awaits us all at the end of the road if we do not contain the Law. Sand under their marching boots, even the weave of our planes dyed monochrome, lifeless. The Dreamer let the skull fall and expanded his mind, even if it felt painful to do so in this hostile enviroment. It brushed the demon and the angel, lightly, noted their discomfort and alertness, then rose higher. From the sky he could see the huge triangle burnt into the desert floor.

Five "My apologies, Master, but there is something I need to talk with you about." The Dreamer raised his eyes from the torn and bloodied parchment he had been reading and fixed his deep, dark blue gaze on the deeply bowing warrior. He slowly lowered the letter on the black basalt table, took his time with setting both of his hands to his lap. Only then he raised his left eyebrown questioningly and nodded his permission to speak. "Little Princess is soon five years old by my count, Master. There has to be a naming ceremony to receive her two names from the Heavens." "I was aware of th' fact, ya. In case I lack any of th' details, do go through what 's needed." "To do it right by the lore, we would need a tailored red silk robe for her, her parents or any other two living relatives... ", the warrior frowned slightly, the small gesture speaking volumes on his normally totally experssionless face, "... a priest of the Holy Tree and at least two witnesses from other noble families of note." "Robe 's easy - say, does th' lore specify living relatives, as such? Would her parents still do, what ya think?" An uncharateristic, cruel smile appeared briefly on the Dreamer's face before fading as he studied the warrior before him. The warrior frowned deeper this time, but now showing uncertainity instead of hostility. "What do you mean by that, Master?" "'Tis not dead which can eternality achieve, an' with strange devices even death can die ... if ye don't mind me misquotin', not that ye'd ever read th' original from th' Tomes of R'lyeh. But I digress." The shadows of planewalker's earlier cruel smile turned into unabashed grin. "I hold th' souls of her parents, suspended between th' heavens an' th' hells." The warrior trembled as the words sunk in, and his shaking hand moved slowly towards the hilt of his sword naked hatred burning in his eyes. The Dreamer seemed to drink this show of barely constrained anger as rare wine, his white eyes half-closing. "Ye can tell her that as well, if ye wish. Or ye can draw yer crude sword an' charge me - even if I do not move a muscle, my wards will end yer existence, effortlessly. An' she'll be alone, without any mortal company. Is that what ye want, warrior? An easy end for ye, a way to abandon yer post, now?" He opened his eyes fully. Then he blinked, seemed to lose interest with the charade, his eyes dimming to dull grey. "Ah well, her parents will do, I'm sure. Be sure to tell her so she'll not make a scene at th' ceremony 'tself, mm?" As if she had been waiting for her cue, a small girl padded out of the gardens, over the bridge and towards the two men, both waiting her in silence. She was clad in her nightgown and dragged in her left hand a gnome-made tinkered toy soldier. As she reached the warrior, she glanced at him sleepily, then padded right past him and climbed to the table, sitting down so her legs dangled right next to the Dreamer. "Uncle?" "Ya, Li'tl' Princess, what 's it?" "I can't sleep. Can you come tell me a bedtime story, uncle?" The Dreamer beamed at her, his eyes lightning up, turning snow white with golden veins swimming through them. "Of course I will, Li'tl' Princess. Let's go." He lifted the small girl from the table, grinned over her at the warrior who shot a smoldering look back, and started walking towards the gardens with his long, steady gait.

I can't paint and sometimes I wish I could ... but I can always write... It is a normal evening in the late summer in Finland. Rain has ended, and most of the clouds have gone away, leaving only a few odd ones behind, long trails of mountain-sized jet planes. Sky is steely blue-grey, already fading to black from the corners. In the horizont, above a lake, a massive anvil-shaped cloud blocks the sunset, standing there alone. Only a few fiery rays of violet-red escape from behind it, bathing some random clouds with blood. Under this sky walks a lone figure. He is clothed in black and grey, his pale, almost white skin looking even more pale against his dark clothes. Bald and skinny, a trench coat billowing around him, he is looks like some eccentric monk from an unknown sect of Tech Buddhism on a pilgrimage here in Real Life. All around him are colors: the various deep greens of wet bushes, trees and grass, the rich grey of the asphalt, man-made orange stars of streetlights, winking into existence one by one. He alone is devoid of them; black and white, some shades in between. He goes down a winding asphalted path, glances at an intruding (but dark and silent) motor home with distaste, and continues, past a sand beach, past boats, to a pier made of rocks tied together with wire netting. The man looks around, trying to see all there is to see. Water and forest, sky mirroring itself to the lake, dark trees surrounding everything. Here and there he catches a glimpse of civilization - behind him stands a factory, constellations of electric lights flash in the distance to the right, boats line the pier where he stands. But all in all, the view is mostly ruled by nature. Musing, he does not notice a water bird, and both are startled. The bird swims away, splashing. After a while, having seen the sunset, the man walks away, thinking.

Dawn sets the horizont to fire and colors the house with warm hues. A few larger dust motes dance in the reddish rays of light, without any background music, in eerie silence. Shadows creep lower, escape to the darker holes and hide behind the furniture, and slowly the stage of the night's drama is illuminated in it's all bleak but puzzling detail. A splash of already somewhat dried blood stains the wooden wall, in one place. The scream has faded, if there was one, and so nothing tells how it has gotten there. Some of the furniture that was upright in the evening has fallen, lighter spot on the floor telling where they used to stand in peace for ages and ages. It is very peaceful here, in one forgotten gateway to the Lost Paths. Nothing disturbs the silence.

Evening is here. The writer sits still on the chair, paralyzed by fear, feeling the enormous house all around him like a beast stalking him; its doors are maws, its darkening windows are eyes. He is already inside it - there is no place to hide. And here he needs to be, frightening or not. To leave would be the last failure he could stomach in his life, which is already one long road of mistakes and wrong paths. He glances at the other pen on the table and shudders. The writer wonders if perhaps this is how it begins, small details, like the evening star, a wrong pen, a soft sound heard where there should be none. He turns to look at the window, both afraid and lured by it and sure enough, it hasn't gone away: a tiny red light hanging in the sky, sky which is so pale yet no other stars can be seen. He wrenches his gaze away and nods to himself, in the dark. The writer looks around - deep shadows, shallow ones, a few old useless pieces of furniture standing here and there, some of them fallen already. Odd mixture of boredom and frightening, energizing excitement surges through him. He wishes he'd brought a watch.

The writer stacks the papers, the result of his work, to a neat pile and stops to listen. Sunburnt silence. The colors are already wandering from the yellow gold of the day to the blue silver of the evening - it is still hot, but he can almost feel the inevitable end of it, the coolness that will follow. He rises from the wooden chair and walks around the room, feeling nervous. Everything looks very ordinary, wooden, cheap, decrepit. He fancies he can sense something in the air, already, then he comes to the conclusion it is just his nerves playing games on him. He glances up, towards the attic. The place, just above the ceiling, calls to him. He knows that he will have to go there, sooner or later. Not yet, though, not yet. There are still some hours to go. A sudden sound - the fear of the half-unknown, of the potential and the night, hits him suddenly with great force, jolting his heart, making him pale, his hands shake, all in a fraction of a second. Then he turns to look and sees it was just his pen, falling from the table. He calms down and picks it up. Then he sees his own pen, right there where he left it, on the table. He stares at the pen in his hand like it was some poisonous viper. There are still some hours to go.

The writer writes. He thinks that he has calculated the risks, that nothing will go badly wrong .. but still. There shouldn't have been a noise in the afternoon, not yet. All the books talked of the night and only of the night. So, he writes down himself, his deeds and failures, his current situation and his last will, all in one disjointed story of bitterness and almost-success. A disquieting thought enters his head - what if the books are wrong? He feels a chill and pauses in his work. Then, he continues, a little quicker and a little more nervous. Heat lessens a fraction - the blurry shadows, created by the ambient glow of the sunlight, deepen. Night is still a long way off.

The writer sits on a wooden chair, tapping the desk with the pen in his hand, slowly and irregurarily. Around him, the room and the house look old, dry, used up - like faded photographs, all colors yellow and brown. Sunlight shines through the dirty windows, but does not dare to invade too blatantly; no brilliant lances of light, just an ambient glow. A soft sound from the attic between two tap-taps of the pen disturbs the writer, and he rises his head. A peculiar yearning twists his prematurely aged face. He strains to hear the sound, but it is gone, and a heavy silence permeates the house. It is a hot afternoon. Night is a long way off.

A very small sugar golem, light dancing and creating dozens of rainbows in its crystallized structure, comes skipping along, bounces past the booth, stops and runs back, all below the counter. It studies the altered sign carefully, muttering so silently the sound is drowned under the background cacophony. After a long while it stops reading and skips merrily away. A short time passes. This time, the inhabitants of the booth can see a lonely cream pie sailing along the edge of the counter, whoever is holding it below the counter. The floating mystery pie stops, then suddenly flies through the air and hits Salinye squarely in her face! "Whee!", proclaims a high, annoying voice, then the sugar golem only known as ||` jumps to the counter, unstickies 10 geld from its sticky left hand to the counter, goes "Wheeee!" again and jumps down before any of the three stunned people (using the term loosely) can react. Rapid sound of tiny, sugary feet and a distant "whee!" can be heard before Salinye starts to, very slowly, remove the creamy mess from her face. "What ... was that?"

Four B Frumious sneegles oozed from under the furry explosions. Somewhere in the distance yellow screams could be heard, overflowing the twingled abominations, left and right, and burned the glamorous fabbleworths to the iousuth and brambleling. "Gwarg, gwarg!" went the multitudous oblequotations, snorkling zarbuously, blithedly aphtertomating the Dreamer. He ignored them, dodged a quolating qwerty and stepped forward, through a veil. Before him in the small, normal space stood the imposing figure of Sir Owiric of Chaos. For a stretched moment they both locked their eyes as rams lock their horns, ready to fight. Then Owiric grunted and nodded, broke the silence. "So ye made it through th' madness. What ye want, traitor? An' why are we meetin' here, of all places?" "I knew ye wouldn't be able to resist the challenge, Sir Owiric. An' that ye'd know neither of us can bring an army through ... that. Even demons'd 'ave their heads explode." The Dreamer turned and pointed half-heartedly at the direction he had come. "True an' true, I suppose. So, ye 'ave proved ye can wield logic, now do ye have somethin' to actually say?" "Ya, I do, tho' I'm not sure I can get ye convinced about anything .. even in this dire situation. Ya see, th' attack against ye was not just personal revenge, even if 'twas that too, nor just me actin' like Law's mercenary. I owed a real debt to them, a debt they allowed me to pay like that. Now, I do not regret that, but as any fool can see, th' Chaos 'sn't havin' a good year, at all." Owiric growled and pointed at the Dreamer with an armored finger. "So yer sayin' I should forgive an' move on an' be best buddiest with ya, after what ya did? I 'ave half a mind to replicate yer trick an' wring th' neck of that long-eared elflin' I know ye teach." The Dreamer grinned coldly and sat down on a table. "Ye could try, an' abandon yer armies as ye run all over th' known multiversum lookin' for him; he is fast on th' paths, an' a tracker - not to mention in any real fight ye'd scar him at best, he'd scar ye at worst, an' then ye'd be th' ridicule of all. Naw, yer not goin' to do that as we both know, that much ye have sense, neh? An' no, no best buddies, but both commanders in th' army of Chaos, an' as such we should be able to talk, ya?" "So, ye want more knowledge to take to that White Witch of yers, huh?" "Think so if ye wish, but at th' very least don't attack my armies as they move to positions to block th' cold, merciless flow of th' icy Law, d'ye hear?" "We'll see .. where are ye movin' them to, then?" An illusionary map of the area of the multiversum in question sprang into existence out of empty air, coloured dots and arrows moving across the paths to show the movement of the Dreamers troops. Owiric nodded grudgingly, then cursed at his own weakness and started giving advice on strategy.

Four The flashing discordant lights finally quieted down. The Dreamer blinked, adjusted his vision to cope with the more muted light level and examined his accomplishment with critical air. It was a large shard of dim crystal, barely translucent on the edges, with intricate runes burned all around it. The planewalker muttered absent-mindedly creating an unreal chain to bind it, made an amulet out of it, as he kept on proof-reading the dozens and dozens of tiny runes. Finally satisfied, he grabbed the amulet by the chain and stood up looking around. The view confused him for a passing moment before he remembered what he had done and why: all around him the torn holes in the fabric of the multiversum, the windows to heavens and hells, depths and heights, were all now higher above the Astral pier and more muted, warded so they no longer tugged and called the minds of mortals staring at their depths. Silly children, even they should realize gazing into the Abyss is not healthy for them... He sighed and walked past his disabled portals, turned right over the new suspension bridge instead of going straight towards the door to the Pen, nodded to the archangel guarding the gate. He arrived to the gardens and paused, smiling at his newest creation. Harmless and non-poisonous plants from various, mostly heavenly planes filled the small garden, over half blooming in bright colors. The smell was almost intoxicating, unique - nowhere else would this particular mix of flowers grow, of that he was sure of. The Dreamer whistled softly, and a bird appeared from the bushes, staring at him with first right side of its small head, then cocking its head and checking whether he looked any better with the left eye. He stared back, and the small bird blinked, its yellow eyes turning immeasurably old and deep, the purest blue of Astral. It hopped into flight and flew through one of the tall windows in the wall surrouding the small garden. Eventually, it found what it was looking for and chirped words its tiny mind could not comprehend. "Hiya, Little Princess. Would ye escort her to the garden, warrior?" They both turned to look at the bird - a small, blonde girl in blue frock and her guardian and a short, darkhaired warrior in his immaculate bone and wood armor. The girl had been playing with three tiny shades dressed up as a dolls, a look of delighted concentration on her face as she went through the steps of her play, incomprehensible to any adult. The warrior had a worn, weary look that added five or ten years to his young age, but he still moved with the grace and determination of a true warrior. "Hiii uncle Dreamer! I know the way!" "Wait, Little Princess!" The little girl stood up and dashed away, the warrior barely keeping up with her. As they left the room the shades glided away from the middle of the room to the shadows near the corners, and the eyes of the bird turned yellow again, leaving the bird confused for a moment before it chirped and started hopping towards the garden again. When the little girl reached the gardens she ran straight towards the Dreamer, stopped only when she could see the scowl he aimed at her. "Now, what 'ave I said 'bout huggin' planewalkers, hmm?" "Am not supposed to." "Right. If ye do, their defensive enchantments are trigger'd and ye'll be toast, neh?" Illusionary, transparent lightning and thunder crackled around the Dreamer to underline his words, creating frightening shadows on his scarred face. The girl took a step backwards, eyes big. "Toast." "Ya, crispy, black, charred human toast." The warrior, close to the girl as always, frowned but said nothing. His body language spoke volumes in the silence, however, and there was bright embers of hate in his eyes as he stared at the Dreamer. The planewalker ignored the warrior, keeping his green eyes on the girl. "Anyways, Little Princess, I've made somethin' for ya. Here." He extended his hand towards the girl, holding the crystal by the chain. The crystal turned this way and that, reflected and refracted the artifical light pouring into the garden from above. The light bent around the runes, creating hundreds of miniscule rainbows that sparkled inside the crystal. "Oooo shinyyy!" She skipped forward and grabbed the crystal, tugged it away from the Dreamer's unresisting hand and raised it to her face, fascinated by the colors. "Now, put it on. And remember, never take it off, ya understand me Little Princess?" She pouted at the planewalker's serious tone but put it on, made a face. "It's heavy, uncle." She moved her small hand to take it off. His eyes flashed first yellow, then purple in rapid succession. "Never take it off. Never." The little girl started to cry.

I think Peredhil's post has wandered to the wrong thread...

Happy birthday, Z!

Three B His defensive wards bloomed around him like a spherical cage of living seaweed. He could feel them thrum with pressure, constrict an inch or two from the force of the deep seas all around him. It was dark and cold, just like the Void, but this time the darkness and coldness had a mass - primal water pressurized to almost solid thickness instead of intanglible emptiness. The Dreamer floated gently to the bottom of his sphere of protection but did not touch the waters, magic crackling between his boots and the elemental sea. This is minor favor? Pshaw! He flexed his wards and his invisible tentacles of mind trying to accustom himself to this place, frowned at the empty air as his senses brought back odd sensations, jumbled and meaningless. He stood relaxed, thinking, confident that the seeming emptiness of the surroundings was real. The first haunting, loud note jerked his head up and changed his eyes to yellow. Water seemed to tremble from the force of the song. ~~~~~~~~~~~~ Who ~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Are you? ~~~ Whoever wrote the ancient translation enchantments was a genius... He opened his mouth, cried the shrill cries of deep seas through the watery walls of his little cell of air, cringing at the sounds he made. ~~~~~~~~ I am ~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Surface-crab, Plane-dolphin ~~~~ ~~~~~~ Friend of Friend ~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~ Of the Mights of the Deep ~~ Somewhere in the deepest depths a mind the size of a city woke up, opened a colossal eye.

Three In the dark depths of the void, a single star was getting brighter. The Dreamer stood at the end of his Astral pier gazing at the approaching brilliant white point, hands held on his hip, Pain nowhere to be seen. His eyes flickered and changed, not knowing whether to pause at yellow, green or blue. The star changed into humanoid shape, still a mere dot for any natural eyes save perhaps eagle's, but anything approaching this close to the Dreamers home fortress could not escape detection and identification. Behind his immobile form another chair appeared from empty air and floated slowly to the other side of the table already there. The table was littered with books and parchments, far slimmer and mundane-looking than the normal grimoires and ancient tomes he tended to read, and piled next to it was three wooden boxes, their crude material looking out of place here. The small shape turned into dark-haired woman clad in white armor racing along the paths at blinding speed. Behind the waiting planewalker the books shifted, murmuring softly as their leather covers glided over the perfectly flat, reflective surface of the table, and three bottles popped into existence in the vacated space along with two tall glasses. The approaching woman was getting very close now, slowing down gradually, coming eventually to a halt before the Dreamer. "Hei-i, ye Chaos scoundrel." "Greetings, m'lady Faaye. Can we sit down?" "Sure, that'll ensure ye'll not be goin' anywhere before I've said what I'm here to say." The Dreamer's left eyebrown rose up inquiringly. "So yer not here to skewer me with yer blade, yet?" Faaye's blue eyes turned icy and her tone serious as she studied the Dreamer's face. "Don't ye mock me, Scourge of the Void. It might come to that still." "What, here?" The Dreamer made a gesture that encompassed his whole fortress, his Herald standing nearby and all the invisible traps he very well knew she'd know the existence of. "Well, let us discuss what ye have to say first, then. I generally prefer to know what I am being killed for." "Very amusin', Wodzan Xe Chanima of Chaos." "So cold to call me that after all we have been through lately, m'lady Faaye. Please, sit down." She did, after glancing through the various books covering still most of the table. The titles seemed to suprise her but she said nothing and turned her eyes back to her host, raised her glass without a word and waited patiently for the Dreamer to pour for them both and sit down. They both took the obligatory sip and then looked at each other in silence. He broke the silence first. "What is it, then? I was under the impression it all went as planned, as well as these things can go, practically." The Dreamer put his glass down and removed his gaze from Faaye's face, let it wander around his Astral Harbour without really paying attention to what he saw. She followed suit, the clink of the glass landing on the table sounding loud. "It didn't go as planned, not quite. Ye said we'd strike a blow against the military might of the Chaos an' so we did, aye, but I do not condone th' strikin' down of immortals not directly concerned with the war effort, an' that's what we ended up doin' most of all." He turned to look at her, frowning. "Ye think eliminatin' Owiric's apprentice is not a heavy blow against the armies of Chaos, neh? That's suprisin', but guess ye do not know him as well as I do, him or her. Now, see, despite his lack of personal power, he is one of the... what?" They both turned to look at the source of the unexpected sound. Some twenty feet away of the table stood a warrior in full armor made of bone and wood, with a small girl holding on to his leg. The girl was pouting - on the face of the warrior was a fatalistic look. The Dreamer's eyes turned purple, his tone angry. "What is it, this time? I did tell ye, very clearly, not to disturb me if I have visitors." The warrior kneeled before the planewalker, taking great care to keep the little girl attached to his leg upright through the maneuver. "Master, Little Princess said she wanted to see Uncle Dreamer. I had no choice to follow her when she set out to do just that, alone." Faaye's grave look was quickly turning into mirth as she witnessed the scene. "Uncle Dreamer now, is it? Hee, that alone was well worth the visit to yer gloomy den, Wodzan. An' just who is she, then?" She stood up, smiling dazzlingly towards the small girl who was now trying to hide behind the armored leg of her protector. As she took a few steps forward, the girl hid even further behind the warrior. "I'd stop there, Faaye - white's a color of death an' mournin' where she's from, an' she might be old enough to rec'gnize it already. Ye look like an' angel of death an' sorrow to her, Aunt Faaye." The Dreamer grinned widely, scars dancing over his pale face.

*shrug I'm an atheist myself, and I didn't find that especially brilliant. Seemed like an elaborate attempt to provoke (fanatic) christians. Not badly written, but as I do not feel strongly about the subject in any way and as it had little merit as a story, I found it boring if anything. As you can provoke fanatics by something as simple as using the name of 50 year old book as the name of the film inspired by said book *cough Two Towers cough*, I'm not impressed. Dunno about those forums, depending what they usually discuss that could be considered simple trolling.

Epilogue The rumble of the collapsing tower managed to make itself heard even over the constant thunder of spellfire. Through the new gap in the wall poured in a squad of archangels lead by two planewalkers: tall, scarred man in a loose robe of muted grey and a shorter, white-clad woman. They carved a quick path through the few disoriented demons rising from the rubble with a graceful ease, tall man's katana rising and falling in a counterpoint rhytm to the woman's shining broadsword. Owiric watched the duo from his vantage point with growing worry, even if he didn't show it. He was certain he could take on either of the two, but two planewalkers working together ... that was very rare and very dangerous, a force that was never used to attack this kind of minor outpost as his castle. True, a planewalker and his apprentice might fight together, but neither of these two seemed to be inferior, and the little he could see of their defensive enchantments made his frown deeper. He muttered aloud a word of power that would seal the broken tower for few moments, grimaced under his full helm when he felt it to break almost instantly. Fight here is lost. Law's long hand stabs again at Chaos because we lack, by definition, the grand scheme, the unified army, they have. Still, I have to face those two, even if it costs me a scar or three. They make take this inconsequential fort, but by Chaos! - They will not take my dignity! He prepared to jump down, checked last time his defensive enchantments were in full readiness. He had added one to the set but he knew it would not be enough, not against two. Just as he was about to challenge the pair of planewalkers advancing over the courtyard at a leisured speed, he heard a voice call out in defiance: "Halt, intruders! This is as far as you go, Dogs of Law!" The view now in front of him chilled him to the marrow and made him proud at the same time. His young apprentice, clad in red scale and chain, holding a longsword and a shortsword at ready, had appeared from the shadows and opposed the two Law's planewalkers now on the open courtyard alone. She was strikingly beautiful, courage and wrath written on her tanned face in equal measures. Her long auburn ponytail swirled in the hot winds created by the constant barrages of spellfire and her green eye shone. But no matter how vibrant and defiant she seemed, he knew she wouldn't be able to hold her own against either of the two. Owiric quickly leaped down, landing nimbly despite his heavy platemail. "No, Janna! Leave them to me, ye do not have all the skills for this kind of confrontation yet, my apprentice." The tall planewalker in grey, hooded robes penetrated Owiric with his gaze, twisted his lips to the parody of a smile. The face seemed familiar but the configuration of the enchantments was odd, and there was something in his whole presence that seemed to be ... out of focus, as if he wasn't really there. "And ye do, Sir Owiric of Chaos?" The woman glanced at her partner, took a short step backwards making it clear this was between the man in grey and Owiric and had really nothing to do with her. Janna lost some of her concentrated anger, felt how the tension shifted in the courtyard making hers a minor part. "Who might ye be, Dog of Law? I like to know the names of all the planewalkers I scar or kill, m'lord Greymane." Deftly forged veils and wards of blurring and misguiding were released, then, even as the battle still raged around this eye of the storm. The Dreamer's disguise, woven to perfection with the powers of two different planewalkers working in unision, was released. The katana grew and faded to a ghost of a blade, changed into Pain at the same time the grey robes turned insubstantial and uncovered the scales of dark red chaos armor. Iron crown was conjured around his pale head to mark him as a ruler of the paths, the illusion over his curious shade of pink eyes vanished, mist clearing from his face revealed a deadly grin on his bloodless lips. "Forgotten me already, m'lord Owiric?" With that whisper the Dreamer charged forward, flanked by Faaye Khanthius. Owiric and Janna dashed forward to meet them, but they were shocked by the revelation, unsettled. Faaye's blow was the first to land, a heavy psychic maul crashing against Owiric's newest ward, cracking and dispelling it in a blink of an eye. Without breaking his stride, the Dreamer struck with his own psychic power. Owiric reeled and came to a halt, stunned but ready to defend himself from the next barrage of attacks. When his eyes and mind cleared, he saw why he had been left in peace: Janna was between the Dreamer and Faaye, her delicate wards crumbling under the assault of two veteran planewalkers. "NO!" Owiric rushed forward, gathering momentum for his usual charge, but he could already see he was too slow. Janna leaped forward, blocked Pain with her longsword and stabbed with her left hand, striking the Dreamer's coruscating green protective field. The ensuing bolt of thunder crushed Janna's last wards, burned a snaking scar on her beautiful armor. As she cried in sudden pain, a searing beam of light hit her on her torso as Faaye shot her with her crossbow. Janna stumbled backwards, trying to hold her swords between her and the Dreamer - who ducked down and delivered a scything blow that passed under the parry and cut cleanly through Janna's stomach. "NOOOO!" Janna collapsed forward vomiting blood and dreams, deathly pale despite her tan, and grinning Dreamer, pink eyes gleaming in his pale face, turned to meet Owiric. Owiric's first wild swing was lazily blocked and as he took a half-step backwards to swing again with his heavy blade, a bolt of pure light bounced off his defensive wards, markedly weakening them. Owiric focused his fury and swung, ignoring Faaye; the Dreamer stepped aside and let the blade slice through the courtyard, a mocking grin on his face. Next blow was parried with arrogant lack of effort, giving Faaye enough time to dent Owiric's wards further with another bolt. Fourth wrathful blow was struck aside. This time the Dreamer disengaged backward from the parry, stepping on the prone, still moaning figure of Janna as he did so. He paused there, one boot on the armored back of the woman, pink eyes locked on the rage boiling in Owiric's eyes, mocking grin never wavering from his face. Faaye's crossbow was loaded, Owiric was ready to charge, but none of the three planewalkers moved. "Ya know, Sir Owiric, she might still survive if we stop now." The Dreamer applied some force on the woman's prone form, eliciting a pained whimper from her and a growl from Owiric. Owiric's eyes narrowed to almost straight lines of fury and he trembled visibly, holding himself in place. "What do ye want from me, traitor?" The Dreamer paused as if to think it over, cocked his head slightly, the grin he had held on his face all this time fading to make room for more thoughtful expression. Suddenly he smiled warmly, eyes white and gold. "Nothing." He reversed his grip on Pain and impaled the wounded apprentice with one swift coup de gracé. The End