Zadown Posted July 18, 2005 Report Share Posted July 18, 2005 You cannot escape me this easily. The Dreamer stood at the beach, his pale, scarred feet in the ocean, a heavy cream-colored robe covering most of him. His eyes were deep blue as he looked around. Behind him, beyond the small strip of sand, rose imposing cliffs of rugged stone. Before him the turquoise, warm sea. This place, Kythira, is where he landed first. But I can sense another disruption in the weak magical field of this plane - he must have been forced to gate again. Out of nowhere Pain appeared into his right hand, shimmered and wavered in the air that was just beginning to get hotter after the night, it's spectral blade almost invisible in the low-magic field. In his other hand the planewalker had as suddenly a long piece of brown ribbon. He raised the items high, aware that this place required as much ritual as possible for even him, a master of the Art, to work his magic properly. The Dreamer grimaced and sent his hungry fingers forward to steal the weak ambient mana, to rob the sword of its inner furnace of power. Sweat appeared on his white brow as the tracking spell proceeded ponderously, creating a faint glow around the ribbon that was waving in the morning breeze. Not ... just ... one ... jump. He growled aloud the last words of the spell, strained to manage the trivial spell under the heavy weight of this plane. A flare of light burst around his left hand, green motes and red dots of coruscating brilliance swirling around the runes being burnt on the narrow ribbon. Pain all but winked out of existence, it's blade a ghost of a ghost, and the Dreamer had a tortured, exhausted look on his cadaverous face, his eyes dim. But the spell was done. I shall find you, Zadown of Old. And this time, there will be no interference. The Dreamer's eyes turned black as he sidestepped into the Astral. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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