Mizyrlou
05-05-2007, 07:16 PM
She watched as her oldest friend stormed out of the Open Palm. Shambala knew there was a chance that the meeting might go awry, but hoped that it would be the same as the others. Through an old pact formed when they'd both first arrived to the city of sharing what treasures they could with each other, Shambala had found a bastard sword that crackled with electricity that would be the perfect gift for her friend who preferred the massive blade. She'd sent him a message through the d'Orien courier to arrange a meeting time.
At least it was early enough that not many would be at the inn to see the spectacle, though it was bad enough that Brother Bancroft and Haddi the barkeep saw it all.
What Shambala had neglected to tell her friend in advance was that she was no longer the human mage-rogue he'd long known, but now an elven cleric.
She pulled her hood over her head and sighed. Off to the side of the main room, a warforged bard unstrapped a lute and began to idly strum, then sing softly.
"All around me are familiar faces, worn out places, worn out faces.."
Shambala listened to the song for a few more moments. It felt as if the song was speaking to her, and her mind began to wander back to when she first set foot in Stormreach.
Her people were from Khorvair, a wandering band of nomads that travelled from village to village providing cheap entertainment and such though some accused them of thievery. Truth was, it wasn't so much thievery but taking advantage of those not securing down thier goods. Had that elven mage not joined them on the road for that time, she probably would've stayed home. But hearing his tales of faraway lands and watching the simple arcane tricks he'd perform had set a strong wanderlust aflame within.
Soon as she could, she was on the first ship out.
There had been many on board also seeking their fortunes, all new to the adventuring life. And after an amazing adventure that started from just heading down to the tavern cellar to bring up a keg of Old Sully's that went into fighting a dark cultist, Shambala had joined a group of others from the ship. After they'd all pretty much fallen for 'Lord' Goodblade's trickeries, they counted themselves the wiser and with the bonds of friendship formed through those adventures, they vowed to keep in touch as much as possible.
Over time they did, though some of that group faded away, probably returned to thier homelands once they were full of adventures. Eventually it was just the two of them, her warrior friend and her.
For her though, there was still so much to see and do. She'd grown enough that much to her surprise, the Wizard trainer accepted her as a pupil, and she was finally able to cast the wondrous magics that elven mage had from all those years back.
While she'd been caught up in her own adventures for the most part, she still kept in touch with her friend. They'd spend hours sharing tales of battling ogres and mummies along with silly stories of the others they'd adventured with. It still brought a smile to her face of the time that thier cleric ended up in an argument with thier warforged warrior over matters of healing since while Shambala had been doing her best since she wasn't an artificer, the cleric felt the warrior had taken too much damage and had cast a powerful heal upon him whereas he insisted he was still quite functional. While the clerical threat of 'If you die, I'll res you, beat you to death with my mace and res you again and maybe you'll learn' never came to fruition, it was still funny to see.
But as much still was left to be seen and done, Shambala felt that something was lacking within. It hadn't been so apparent in the beginning, but over time, she felt limited. The deciding point had been after the group she was with had gone to recover the Xorian Cypher and the roaming spheres of Xoriat's madness had been ruthless. Repeatedly she ended up slain from either cold rays, disintigrate rays, scorching rays or worse, slain-raised-healed-and slain again. The group's cleric had used her greatest powers to keep bringing the dead back, but by the end of it, Shambala felt like an empty shell.
Afraid by this sensation, she'd kept to herself hoping that her old confidence and ability would return, but the aching empty feeling persisted until there was only one choice left.
No one spoke of it openly, but all were aware of it. Kept secret by all major powers in Stormreach was a powerful artifact of 'unmaking'. No one knew where it came from, not even the ancient orders of orcish druids who speculated it existed before even the Progenitor dragons of Siberys, Ebarron and Khyber. The 'unmaker' allowed any who were broken in mind or body to be remade into new forms.
Some chose to change the race they were, others chose to change thier professions, while others completely wished to negate who and what they were for a new existance altogether.
For Shambala, she just wanted to feel whole again, and that had been her sole thought as she was led to the artifact and took it in hand.
Looking back, the sensation of being 'unmade' was like dying yet not. There was no pain, just a gentle warmth and mometary oblivion before a gentle awareness of self crept in.
That empty ache was gone, and in it's place was a vivid possibility that was intoxicating.
She could be anything from back to human to warforged, could do anything from a sturdy warrior to whimsical bard, could even change from female to male. Nothing was tied to her past. All she had to do was choose where she wanted to go...
Letting her stream of conciousness dictate, she opened her eyes to see hands more delicate than what she remembered. The room seemed crisper to her senses, colours brigher, the air more vivid.
Gingerly she reached up towards her hair and felt a delicate pointed ear. She was an elf now.
The healers of House Jorasco helped her to a recovery room as her mind still thought as a human and the refined senses of an elf were overwhelming. After a short rehabilitation as she learned her new body, it was then only a matter of deciding what to do as far as a profession.
While she'd had many fond memories of her days as a rogue, it seemed as if they belonged to another as she recalled her longer time as a wizard. That it seemed that death had been the trigger to her path to the unmaker, she pondered the path of a cleric.
Over time she'd seen warrior clerics and master healers, and all flavours in between. The one thing they had in common was the ability to affect life and death.
But the more she mulled it over, was death even the end as there were plenty of undead tearing around areas of the city almost to the point there seemed to be several zombies and a few wights in each basement.
The need to know more about the full circle of existance burned within, and her new path was chosen. For the time being, she would learn all she could as a cleric before returning to the path of wizardry. Hopefully between the two she would have the knowledge she craved.
After the healers let her go, Shambala had made a quick visit to an old clerical friend, Sensoria who'd she'd made arrangements with to temporarily hold onto her many personal possessions that had she kept them with her would've been siezed by the Coin Lords and House Kundarak as they were quick to draft the legal clause of anyone going through unmaking forfeited any monies or items immediately. If only they knew how many used the loophole of having a trusted friend hold onto everything save for a few token items to bypass the clause, they'd probably enforce harsher penalties at the vendors and auction houses.
Once she was as settled as can be, Shambala noticed the bastard sword she'd kept meaning to send to her friend but usually forgot. As it'd been so long since they last seen each other, rather than courier the blade over, she wanted to see him again.
He looked the same, though the armour was a bit more dented, face a little tired but the gleam in his eyes and the smile on his lips as full of life as ever. He'd seem dazed when she pulled her hood back to show him the new her, and as she explained what happened and why, he grew angry and yelled over how nothing stayed the same.
It had been then he stormed out, leaving her quietly lamenting what had been her longest friendship shattering.
A loud bang of the inn's door broke her reverie as the morning crowd tore in. A group of battleweary dwarves heading straight for the bar and ordering Haddi's roast boar specialties, a halfling who stripped out of his armour and began bounding over chairs and tables as if he'd drunk a keg of hasting potion, and a group of guilded adventurers discussing new weapons they'd acquired and were heading for one of the side rooms to test them out away from the other patrons.
With a sigh, Shambala gathered up the sword and headed out. At least she could sell it at the auction house.
She started down the cobblestone path and as usual, got turned around within House Jorasco. Why it couldn't be as easily navigated as House Denieth or Kundarak, she didn't know.
As she neared the Garden of Respite, a sharp whistle caused her to look. Sitting on the edge of the garden was her friend beckoning to her. She walked up the ramp, catching a glimpse of the mind flayer below with tentacles quivering.
"Hey.", she said softly as she sat next to him.
"Hey.", he replied, eyes looking at his boots, "I..I'm sorry about before."
Shambala was silent, letting him continue.
"So many of those I know, knew, did the same thing. You were the only one who stayed the same. I didn't expect to see you as you are now."
"I'm still me.", she said, "Just a different body and now not knowing a Kobold's yark about traps and stealth. I feel as I should've been at the beginning."
They were silent for a few moments before he spoke.
"Still friends?"
"That'll never change.", she said with a smirk that was the same as when she was human.
"Good.", he smiled back.
Shambala handed him the sword and playfully scowled, "Now take your **** blade I can't use."
He laughed. "Same Sham."
"You got it.", she replied, laughing as well.
They hugged and headed out of the garden. After all, there were still plenty of adventures to be had.
At least it was early enough that not many would be at the inn to see the spectacle, though it was bad enough that Brother Bancroft and Haddi the barkeep saw it all.
What Shambala had neglected to tell her friend in advance was that she was no longer the human mage-rogue he'd long known, but now an elven cleric.
She pulled her hood over her head and sighed. Off to the side of the main room, a warforged bard unstrapped a lute and began to idly strum, then sing softly.
"All around me are familiar faces, worn out places, worn out faces.."
Shambala listened to the song for a few more moments. It felt as if the song was speaking to her, and her mind began to wander back to when she first set foot in Stormreach.
Her people were from Khorvair, a wandering band of nomads that travelled from village to village providing cheap entertainment and such though some accused them of thievery. Truth was, it wasn't so much thievery but taking advantage of those not securing down thier goods. Had that elven mage not joined them on the road for that time, she probably would've stayed home. But hearing his tales of faraway lands and watching the simple arcane tricks he'd perform had set a strong wanderlust aflame within.
Soon as she could, she was on the first ship out.
There had been many on board also seeking their fortunes, all new to the adventuring life. And after an amazing adventure that started from just heading down to the tavern cellar to bring up a keg of Old Sully's that went into fighting a dark cultist, Shambala had joined a group of others from the ship. After they'd all pretty much fallen for 'Lord' Goodblade's trickeries, they counted themselves the wiser and with the bonds of friendship formed through those adventures, they vowed to keep in touch as much as possible.
Over time they did, though some of that group faded away, probably returned to thier homelands once they were full of adventures. Eventually it was just the two of them, her warrior friend and her.
For her though, there was still so much to see and do. She'd grown enough that much to her surprise, the Wizard trainer accepted her as a pupil, and she was finally able to cast the wondrous magics that elven mage had from all those years back.
While she'd been caught up in her own adventures for the most part, she still kept in touch with her friend. They'd spend hours sharing tales of battling ogres and mummies along with silly stories of the others they'd adventured with. It still brought a smile to her face of the time that thier cleric ended up in an argument with thier warforged warrior over matters of healing since while Shambala had been doing her best since she wasn't an artificer, the cleric felt the warrior had taken too much damage and had cast a powerful heal upon him whereas he insisted he was still quite functional. While the clerical threat of 'If you die, I'll res you, beat you to death with my mace and res you again and maybe you'll learn' never came to fruition, it was still funny to see.
But as much still was left to be seen and done, Shambala felt that something was lacking within. It hadn't been so apparent in the beginning, but over time, she felt limited. The deciding point had been after the group she was with had gone to recover the Xorian Cypher and the roaming spheres of Xoriat's madness had been ruthless. Repeatedly she ended up slain from either cold rays, disintigrate rays, scorching rays or worse, slain-raised-healed-and slain again. The group's cleric had used her greatest powers to keep bringing the dead back, but by the end of it, Shambala felt like an empty shell.
Afraid by this sensation, she'd kept to herself hoping that her old confidence and ability would return, but the aching empty feeling persisted until there was only one choice left.
No one spoke of it openly, but all were aware of it. Kept secret by all major powers in Stormreach was a powerful artifact of 'unmaking'. No one knew where it came from, not even the ancient orders of orcish druids who speculated it existed before even the Progenitor dragons of Siberys, Ebarron and Khyber. The 'unmaker' allowed any who were broken in mind or body to be remade into new forms.
Some chose to change the race they were, others chose to change thier professions, while others completely wished to negate who and what they were for a new existance altogether.
For Shambala, she just wanted to feel whole again, and that had been her sole thought as she was led to the artifact and took it in hand.
Looking back, the sensation of being 'unmade' was like dying yet not. There was no pain, just a gentle warmth and mometary oblivion before a gentle awareness of self crept in.
That empty ache was gone, and in it's place was a vivid possibility that was intoxicating.
She could be anything from back to human to warforged, could do anything from a sturdy warrior to whimsical bard, could even change from female to male. Nothing was tied to her past. All she had to do was choose where she wanted to go...
Letting her stream of conciousness dictate, she opened her eyes to see hands more delicate than what she remembered. The room seemed crisper to her senses, colours brigher, the air more vivid.
Gingerly she reached up towards her hair and felt a delicate pointed ear. She was an elf now.
The healers of House Jorasco helped her to a recovery room as her mind still thought as a human and the refined senses of an elf were overwhelming. After a short rehabilitation as she learned her new body, it was then only a matter of deciding what to do as far as a profession.
While she'd had many fond memories of her days as a rogue, it seemed as if they belonged to another as she recalled her longer time as a wizard. That it seemed that death had been the trigger to her path to the unmaker, she pondered the path of a cleric.
Over time she'd seen warrior clerics and master healers, and all flavours in between. The one thing they had in common was the ability to affect life and death.
But the more she mulled it over, was death even the end as there were plenty of undead tearing around areas of the city almost to the point there seemed to be several zombies and a few wights in each basement.
The need to know more about the full circle of existance burned within, and her new path was chosen. For the time being, she would learn all she could as a cleric before returning to the path of wizardry. Hopefully between the two she would have the knowledge she craved.
After the healers let her go, Shambala had made a quick visit to an old clerical friend, Sensoria who'd she'd made arrangements with to temporarily hold onto her many personal possessions that had she kept them with her would've been siezed by the Coin Lords and House Kundarak as they were quick to draft the legal clause of anyone going through unmaking forfeited any monies or items immediately. If only they knew how many used the loophole of having a trusted friend hold onto everything save for a few token items to bypass the clause, they'd probably enforce harsher penalties at the vendors and auction houses.
Once she was as settled as can be, Shambala noticed the bastard sword she'd kept meaning to send to her friend but usually forgot. As it'd been so long since they last seen each other, rather than courier the blade over, she wanted to see him again.
He looked the same, though the armour was a bit more dented, face a little tired but the gleam in his eyes and the smile on his lips as full of life as ever. He'd seem dazed when she pulled her hood back to show him the new her, and as she explained what happened and why, he grew angry and yelled over how nothing stayed the same.
It had been then he stormed out, leaving her quietly lamenting what had been her longest friendship shattering.
A loud bang of the inn's door broke her reverie as the morning crowd tore in. A group of battleweary dwarves heading straight for the bar and ordering Haddi's roast boar specialties, a halfling who stripped out of his armour and began bounding over chairs and tables as if he'd drunk a keg of hasting potion, and a group of guilded adventurers discussing new weapons they'd acquired and were heading for one of the side rooms to test them out away from the other patrons.
With a sigh, Shambala gathered up the sword and headed out. At least she could sell it at the auction house.
She started down the cobblestone path and as usual, got turned around within House Jorasco. Why it couldn't be as easily navigated as House Denieth or Kundarak, she didn't know.
As she neared the Garden of Respite, a sharp whistle caused her to look. Sitting on the edge of the garden was her friend beckoning to her. She walked up the ramp, catching a glimpse of the mind flayer below with tentacles quivering.
"Hey.", she said softly as she sat next to him.
"Hey.", he replied, eyes looking at his boots, "I..I'm sorry about before."
Shambala was silent, letting him continue.
"So many of those I know, knew, did the same thing. You were the only one who stayed the same. I didn't expect to see you as you are now."
"I'm still me.", she said, "Just a different body and now not knowing a Kobold's yark about traps and stealth. I feel as I should've been at the beginning."
They were silent for a few moments before he spoke.
"Still friends?"
"That'll never change.", she said with a smirk that was the same as when she was human.
"Good.", he smiled back.
Shambala handed him the sword and playfully scowled, "Now take your **** blade I can't use."
He laughed. "Same Sham."
"You got it.", she replied, laughing as well.
They hugged and headed out of the garden. After all, there were still plenty of adventures to be had.