The Thelanis Anthology Thread

[Deriaz]

The Brothers Forged
Chapter 10
Losing Oneself



Deriaz moved through the house slowly. A few days had passed since Ragyr had explained everything, yet Deriaz still found himself troubled by what he has heard. In his hand was a sheet of paper and a writing stick. They both slipped out of his hands, and fell to the floor in the main room. He didn’t stop to pick them up, and instead he moved down the hallway, entering into one of the back rooms.

He moved to the center of it, and stared out the window on the far wall. The sun was beginning to set, giving the room an eerie red glow. He glanced down at the wooden floor. A few cracks were in the center of one of the boards. Hesitantly, Deriaz lifted his foot, and brought it down hard on the floorboard. The board shook across the span of the room, causing the shades on the window to crash down and block the sunlight. It was a lazy trick, but one Deriaz had done a few times.

Without the sunlight, a normal room would have become dark, but this back one kept the strange glow to it. Only this time, the room had different colors than just red. Among the hues that were in the room, a green, a blue, and a white glow had joined the red. Deriaz lifted his gaze to the walls, where the source of the glowing occurred.

The walls were lined with swords, maces, great crossbows, shields, and various other means of attack and defense. Some blades were sheathed in flame, a few maces were coated in acid. Two crossbows had a glow of lightning to them, and a quiver of bolts gave off a slight crackling sound, as if thunder surrounded them. There were enough weapons to fill the walls to the point where the wall itself was almost covered. Even the door behind him had a few swords and maces hanging from them.

Ragyr’s voice came floating back into his head. “. . .You’ve always had some purpose in mind. . . You’ve always been a puppet. . .” He stared at one of the swords, almost in a trance as the fire danced across the black adamantine. “. . . You never had your own choice. . .”

Deriaz raised one of his hands, and stared at it for a moment. Ragyr’s voice came back again, but it was accompanied by a second voice. “. . . A weapon. . .” It took him a moment to figure out who was the second voice, but it became obvious as the two words echoed in his mind. Serpent.

As he realized it, his memory raced back to the second time Serpent had tried to take over. It began to replay what Serpent had said, yet not all the words were understandable. Deriaz tried to shut the memory off, but it forced its way to the forefront. He staggered back slightly, as if he had taken a strike to the head.

A wave of emotion came over him, taking the form of confusion, and he thought for a moment someone was trying to enchant him. He spun around, looking for an assailant, but no one was in the house but him. The room continued to spin, even after he had stopped, and he felt the floor rush up to meet him. A few of the swords and other weaponry clattered to the ground as the room shook slightly from his weight. He heard Ragyr’s voice one more time before he blacked out. “. . . A parasite. A mistake. . .

“. . . An unforeseen bug in the experiment. . .”

* * *

Deriaz had never dreamt before, so when his vision came back, he wondered where he was. There was nothing around him: No swords, no weaponry, no house, no Cerulean Hills. He was floating—Or he thought he was—On what looked to be a square slab of stone. He stood up carefully, only to have his vision assaulted by a white flash. Serpent’s voice came rushing at him, though it sounded like it was his own voice as well. “Look at what you’ve done. Tsk. . .”

When the blinding light faded, there were people surrounding him in a half circle. He had been moved to the edge of the stone slab. He didn’t recognize most of the figures around him, but a few triggered in his mind. There were two Kundarak nobles staring coldly to his right. A small Halfling in a tattered robe stared at him with two dead eyes. Most of the other figures’ faces were featureless. Directly before him stood a bladed blue figure with red eyes. It took a moment to register who it was before he realized it was himself. “The lines are blurring, aren’t they?”

A red flash blinded him, and a rush of pain covered Deriaz’s body. When the light faded, he noticed that the blue figure before him looked normal with orange eyes. He looked down at himself, and noticed that his body had become bladed. Before he could react, an invisible force pushed him back. An orange flash assaulted his vision this time, and another rush of pain. The next thing he knew, he was back to normal, and weightless—And falling headfirst into nothing.

He looked up, or what he thought was up, and saw another stone slab coming up to meet him. He braced himself for the impact, but stopped two feet above rock. More figures began to form, and he recognized each of them this time: Jaggie, Liyra, Zoltando, Sho, Uxor, Varro, Ragyr, Lirondill, Kikyo, Sprue, Juryrig. . . Almost the whole of the Fellowship was before him, along with a few faces from the Crimson Nexus like Turen, and from Blue Line like Epox or Stompy. “Look at them. Your ‘friends’, right?”

Another red flash accompanied with pain, and he found himself bladed again. His joints were beginning to seep oil as well. The figures began to grin in an evil way, and an orange flash came to him again. “Or are they just using the puppet?”

He became normal again, but he found he couldn’t move easily from where he was suspended. He was encased in a block of water. He tried to get away in fear, but the water froze around him. Cracks slowly began to form around it, and it shattered loudly around him. He tumbled downward, but the stone slab opened up below him, allowing him to fall farther. “Can’t stop now, y’know. . .” There was a cackle, but it stopped after a moment.

He fell like this for a few moments, before another red flash came. The pain erupted around him, stronger than before. The falling sensation came to a halt, and he was suspended in midair. He glanced down at himself, and saw himself in the bladed form again. Black strings were connected to various joints though. Deriaz followed the strings upward, only to be met by the figure of Serpent holding the strings. Deriaz blinked, and the face changed to match Varro’s face. The figure’s face continued to change, cycling through almost everyone he knew. A soft chanting came to his senses, which grew louder over time. They were chanting the word ‘puppet’. Deriaz couldn’t help but feel he agreed with them, and almost felt like joining in.

An orange flash came to his vision. . .

* * *

“Just a puppet. . .”

* * *

. . . And he growled in pain as it poured over the right side of his body, only to have his vision focus again on the room he passed out in. To be more precise, his vision was focused on the floor.

He shook his head, trying to shake away the immense pain coming from his torso. He propped himself up with his left arm, and glanced down at the floor. His torso was dripping oil, and he blinked in surprise. Another wave of pain racked him, and he rolled onto his back. He raised his hands up to his face, trying to make sure that at least that was alright. . . But paused when only his left hand came into view. He turned his head slowly, trying not to trigger any more pain, and his eyes went wide at the sight of his arm lying a foot away. The livewood around his shoulder, and the shoulder area of the arm was slowly beginning to rot from being severed.

Deriaz cursed under his breath. He knew it wasn’t his fault and that. . . Whatever he had just gone through had triggered it. That fact didn’t stop the waves of pain he was feeling, and the oil that he was still losing.

“Need an artificer. . .” he groaned. He leaned over, and grabbed the severed arm carefully, as if it was delicate and would break. He stood up slowly, and wavered slightly in the wave of pain made another course over him. His eyes glanced down at the pool of oil, and the weaponry that had clattered to the ground when he fell. ‘Can’t worry about them now. . .’ he thought, and shuffled slowly back into the hallway. There was a slight oil trail behind him, but he didn’t care for once. Every joint on him was ‘bleeding’ oil, and the pain was growing stronger with every moment.

Deriaz paused for a moment, staring at the paper he had dropped earlier. On it was a list of events. The first on the list was clearly ‘Arrival at Stormreach’, though it was written in large and horridly bad handwriting. Another curse passed through Deriaz’s mouth as he stared at it. “What, is this another planned thing? That I’m going to fall apart after a year?” He knelt down, and placed the arm on the ground. Awkwardly, he scribbled out everything he had wrote, and wrote slowly in the corner the words, ‘Sorry for the mess.’

Deriaz moved to the door, and pushed it open with his weight. He stopped outside the door, and stared at the view of Stormreach. It was a long walk, and his left leg felt ready to fall off, but he had no choice.

Slowly, he began to drag his feet towards the city.

[Deriaz]

The Brothers Forged
Chapter 10, Part II
Losing Oneself



The doors to Stormreach opened slowly as Deriaz approached them from where he was walking slowly up the path. Control of his left leg was near impossible, and it dragged behind him, cutting a small trail into the rock and dirt of the road. The amount of fluid he had lost was beginning to slow him further, and as he passed the threshold of the Cerulean Hills into Stormreach, his vision started to dim.

He made it a few feet into Stormreach, enough for the guards to close the doors, when he collapsed on the ground. The pain washing over him was too much, and he couldn’t push himself to continue. He heard the alarmed yelp of a guard behind him, and footsteps rushing to his side.

“Wot do ye think happened to ‘im?” he heard a gruff voice say. He pinned it quickly to a Dwarf, but one that he didn’t know.

“Dolurrh if I know,” a higher voice said. Deriaz traced it quickly to what he believe was a female elf. “But we can’t have him lying here. Move the scrapheap to the side; we can see if anyone comes to claim him later.”

“Ye say that ever’ time someone comes through these gates as injured as this one is! I dunnae think putting him ‘to the side’ will help. We need an artificer.”

“And where do you propose we find one? This is the Harbor, remember? Maybe if we were over near the Marketplace, we could move him through the gates, and the guards on that side could help, but—“

The Dwarf cut her off. “I may know one. ‘E’s a rookie, but I dun’ think we have a choice,” he sighed. The Dwarf bellowed for more guards, and a few moments later Deriaz heard more footsteps rushing towards him. He strained his head, trying to see how large of a group was approaching, but another wave of pain racked him, and his face fell to the ground again. “We need ta move this one, and quickly. You three, take his torso. You, take that ruddy arm he’s holding.” Deriaz felt someone yank his severed arm from his grasp, but he was powerless to stop him. “And you—“

“Sir,” someone piped up, “his leg? From the look of it, there are only a few fibers holding it together.”

“Tear it off. It’ll be easier to carry him,” he heard the female Elf say coldly. A moment later, he held back a roar of pain as he felt his mostly severed leg finally disconnect completely. A large group of hands grabbed him, and heaved him a few feet into the air. As if on a death march, they began to silently parade off.

The stout Dwarf was still with them, and Deriaz heard his gruff voice again. “Anyone recognize the blue one?”

Someone spoke up. “An ambassador at one time, wasn’t he?” Another thought he had heard that Deriaz was with some golden group.

“Oh, how the ‘mighty’ have fallen,” Deriaz thought—Or he thought it was his thought. After the dream, though, he wasn’t sure anymore. He recalled Serpent saying it once. Deriaz ignored it as another memory swelling up and surfacing.

They moved through the Harbor slowly, as if dragging it out, but the guards were decent enough to try and conceal Deriaz as best they could to people with prying eyes. People still began to whisper, though; no doubt word would spread. The Dwarf led them into an inn, and down to the basement. He knocked on a door, and motioned for them to bring Deriaz in carefully and set Deriaz and his severed parts on his back on the floor.

The basement looked more like a workshop, with workbenches and tools scattered around. A young man approached the Dwarf as the group of guardsmen shuffled away. Deriaz glanced over at him, trying to make out who he was. He thought for a moment they had brought him to Nevann, but only the work clothes looked similar. Deriaz tried to make out the details of the young man’s face, but his vision was beginning to blur.

“To what do I owe this visit?” the young man asked, almost sounding scared that a group of guardsmen had just walked in, and dumped a battered Warforged on his floor.

“We’ve got a debt ta settle, remember? Jus’ fix ‘im up for me. Yeh can do that, right? I mean, yer an artificer, correct?” The Dwarf motioned at the severed arm and leg on the ground near Deriaz. “Don’ know what trouble he ran into, but he’s looking like a mighty good wreck right now.”

“Well, thanks for pointing that out,” the young man sighed. He put a pair of goggles over his eyes. “And I’m not that good. . . I’ve never dealt much with Warfor—“

The Dwarf shook his head. “Well, give it yer best shot then.”

The young man nodded. “Right. . .” He moved the severed limbs, and lined them up carefully to where they connected on Deriaz’s body. “I’m going to place you inert for a moment, alright?” He glanced down at Deriaz. “Just so you aren’t in too much pain, or you don’t feel it too much if I hurt you more.” He placed a hand on Deriaz’s chest, and closed his eyes. A soft glow began to show through the clothes—A dragonmark, most likely.

To Deriaz, the room began to spin again, and he went inert.

* * *

Deriaz snapped his eyes open after a moment. He was standing now, yet it was in a small, triangular room. He looked around, but didn’t see any noticeable doors or signs of escape. The wall to his left began to ripple like water, and a black Warforged with red eyes walked through it.

“The lines are blurring, aren’t they?” Ragyr said, almost with a grin. “You aren’t sure who’s who or what’s what any more, do you?” A wave of color washed over him, turning him blue and orange like Deriaz. The same wave washed over Deriaz, turning him into a look-alike of Ragyr.

There was another ripple, and Ranux walked through. His eyes narrowed, and he glared at Deriaz. “What are you, exactly? A weapon?” The image of Deriaz in his bladed form appeared to Ranux’s right. “A puppet?” An image of Deriaz covered in Juggernaut spikes appeared to his left. Hovering behind the image was the Lord of Blades, Nevann, and Ragyr. “Or just a toy to whoever feels like they want to play with you?” Ranux lifted an arm, and pointed at the remaining wall.

Deriaz turned to face it as it began to ripple like the last two. A familiar figure walked through it: Jaggie. Deriaz tried to say something, but found that his mouth wouldn’t respond. He took a step forward, only to have the floor give way, and he plunged downward into a pool of water.

He continued to sink for a few moments, before he finally came to a halt. His mind was racing, try to figure out how to get away from the liquid. He stopped, though, when he saw another figure walking towards him. The figure was blue, with orange eyes, and stood only six and a half feet—Deriaz, or at least how he looked months ago.

“Look at you,” his figure sighed. Deriaz felt every limb on his body freeze. He strained, trying to move something, but nothing would respond. “What exactly are you? Have you ever thought about that lately?” The shorter Deriaz placed a hand upon the larger Deriaz’s chest. The water around the two of them froze, locking the two in place. Deriaz couldn’t help but stare at the two orange eyes that stared emotionlessly back at him. “You don’t even know, do you?” The control returned to most of Deriaz’s limbs, though he found he couldn’t move his right arm, or his jaw.

“Tell me, what are you trying to accomp—“ The figure stopped talking. Deriaz blinked in surprise, and he felt his head spin again. The world around him began to fade.

* * *

“I think he’s coming around,” the young man’s voice came back to him. Deriaz’s vision slowly came back to him. He was lying on the floor of the basement again. He tried to say something, but all he could manage was a groan.

“Aye, ‘e looks better, at the least. . . I mean, his limbs are all there,” the Dwarf chuckled. “What all did you do to him?”

“Well. . . I’ve never dealt with Warforged before, so this was my first time. . . Um. . . I reconnected his limbs, obviously. But I disconnected a few strands of his webbing. I hope that as I brought him around, I reconnected those correctly. If I didn’t, it’ll probably be noticeable. A joint or two won’t respond, maybe. Nothing severe. . . I also noticed that whoever built him had him worked to respond to certain commands, but not all of them,” the artificer frowned. “So, I think that in altering his web slightly, I was able to make him more. . . Obedient to commands. Should we give it a test?”

The Dwarf shrugged. “Aye. . . I suppose. I bet that whoever owns him will be happy to know that.”

The artificer nodded in agreement. “My thoughts exactly. . .” He took a few steps back, and nodded at Deriaz. “’Forged, stand up.”

There was a slight pressure in the back of Deriaz’s mind, and he got up slowly. More to the point, his body got up slowly, though his mind was only half following along. The Dwarf chuckled again. “Aye. . . ‘Spose I should be takin’ him back to his guildhall or somethin’.”

“And am I being paid for this?” the artificer crossed his arms.

“Paid? I said ye wer payin’ off a debt. So, we’re even now,” the Dwarf grinned. The artificer only sighed. “Alright, then, Warforged,” the Dwarf said, turning to Deriaz. “Follow me. I’ll take ya back to whichever guildhall owns ya.”

Deriaz tried to speak up, but his jaw still wouldn’t function. He groaned, and tried to lift his right arm, but that wouldn’t work either. As the two stepped outside, Deriaz pointed with his left arm to the Cerulean Hills. The Dwarf took a moment to understand, but then blinked in surprise. “What, ye want ta go back out there?” Deriaz nodded. “Aye. . . I suppose when they say you beasts are loyal, they mean it. . . Wanting to jump right back into whatever attacked ye. . .”

The Dwarf led Deriaz back to the Cerulean Hills gates. The Elf was still stationed that, and he glanced sideways at Deriaz as he passed through the gate. Deriaz paid it no mind, and continued down the path. He was sure Jaggie or someone was worried about him. And if they weren’t, they were at least going to want him to clean up the mess he had made.

[Syriania]

The Tale of the Undines Sisters:

http://forums.ddo.com/showthread.php...66#post1398866

[Jaggie]

((*Clears away the dust, from this old thread.* *cough cough* woo... It's been so long since anyone thought to place there stories here. I've seen so many good tales be posted on these forums, but for some reason... no one thinks to post them here anymore.. I like these collections of stories. I think others should consider posting there own here. It's a beautiful little spot. Don't you think? Neh?.. Well.. here goes.)
((edit: Remember, please do not respond to these posts Out of Character[OOC]))


The life of a warforged

Foundry Days:

It begins simple, so basic. A mound of metal, a chop of wood, a slab of rock. Perhaps a scrap of hide... Some shiny pebbles. Simple things... And then they roll all those things together, up into a little ball, and mold it to how they see fit.
It is then that they breathe life into these little creations. Even I cannot explain how they do it, but new life does flow. It is aware, it is confused, and you take it. It becomes your child and you raise it for war.
Or you try....

House Denieth came one day, interested in your steel soldiers. Tireless war machines. A creature that shows no mercy, no remorse.
But our arms shook. Too unsteady to hold a sword and shield. They shake too much for arrows to fly true. Even such thoughts as somatic spell casting... unthinkable...
So Denieth turns away. What use have they for your toy soldiers?

Our training does not stick, and our instructors push the blame.
No one will claim responsibility.
We are faulty.
If not for the precious metals bound within us, we'd be worthless, and if those metals could be reclaimed, rather than turn to rust like all disassembled parts of warforged... we'd be scrap.

But they had spent good coin on us.
Spent so much time to mold us
Wasted it all away to train us...
And all for a war that ended before we were ready.

That was what I remembered of the foundry. Days of trainers that didn't teach. Days of long line ups as rich men and fancy houses inspected us, taking only the finest.. Only the brightest.
I remember all the times of being left alone in the darkness.
I remember it not being the life of a warforged. A life not meant for anyone.

I do remember that one day though. That day that was different than all the rest.
The sound of a fiddle, the strings of a lute, the beating of drums. Pipes, and whistles, and flutes.
What where they celebrating?
Why did it call to me?
What use have they for a 'forged who favors a life for the arts...
A life for music...

I guess we'll see
I guess we'll see

The life of a bard.

[RogueDM]

A tall pale woman, her pale silver eyes watch folks carefully, but she is always willing to lend a helping hand to those in need.

But is there something odd about her, thats she appears a bit too slender for her quiet strength, that her eyes seem more intelligent at times, as if something else shares her body, that her fingers just might be a bit longer and more slender than human fingers normally are?.. Nah, she is human, very human, isnt she?

[Mysterra]

Latania strums the last few chords of an old elvish ballad. A moment passes before the crowd around her is released from the reverie that had captured their hearts. Mugs strike tables and feet stomp the floor as several patrons call out other requests. A raised hand settles the noise to a dull roar.


"I met a young woman the other day, who I now consider to be a dear friend. When I first talked to her I could not help but notice a sadness in her eyes so deep, I felt as if I were staring into the depths of the abyss. How such a dreadful melancholy came to possess the heart of one so young is the next story that I want to tell."

Latania takes a candle carefully sets it in the middle of the table. A serving girl sets it aflame with a twig from the fireplace before moving to extinguish the other candles in the room. The flame flickers and dances, casting deep shadows on the walls. She stares into the candle for a long moment, as the room around her settles into silence.


"There are many a day when I wish that I had been born to some blissfully pampered royal life. To have all the delicacies and indulgences that life has to offer, brought to me on silver platters by adoring servants. The common masses worshipping my every thought and whim just outside my closed castle gates. Like so many others, I have a more than slightly skewed perspective on what it means to be nobility or royalty. We see the the face that they present to us, smiling and serene, seldom realising that there is a much deeper relationship between ruler and serf. I learned that day that there is a more profound story going on, hidden behind many of those closed castle gates."

Latania takes another candle from her pouch, lights it from the first and settles to the table. The shadows on the wall still flicker, but many are lessened.


"This story begins in one such kingdom. Generations ago, a young woman fought for many years to carve a place of peace and safety from a blasted, barren and demon infested wasteland. Over time, others flocked to her banner, taking up her cause. They made her a queen, the first of her line, to rule over the domain she had fought so hard to build. But the fight against the demons was neverending. Desperate for a way to make a more lasting impact on her enemies, she had a magical scepter created. With it, she could harness the light itself, to drive the demons back into the darkness, far from her home. But when dealing with demons, nothing is ever quite that simple. They learned a way to corrupt the heart of the scepter, poisoning its purpose, mutating its desire into one of hatred and revenge. As the days went by and the heart blackened, the young queen knew that something was dreadfully wrong. Unable to protect her people without the power of the scepter, she found a way to remove the heart, hiding it deep within the castle itself, sealing away its taint. Missing a key component however, the scepter lost much of its power. With the queen's hold on the demons diminished, they were once again able to regain a toehold on her kingdom. And so began a lifelong struggle to keep them at bay. Generations of daughters took up the scepter to defend their kingdom, to protect it from the horrors that lurk through more than just their nightmares. With this task they also accepted the keys to what lay beneath the castle, and the knowledge of what would happen if scepter and heart were ever reunited."

Another candle, and even more of the shadows flee from the light.


"The woman with the sad eyes is one such a daughter. Her name is Nereid Undines and like others before her, she was raised in the knowledge of what the future would hold for her. She studied the magical arts, becoming a skilled wizard, preparing to take over the role her mother had held before her. She was not prepared for the age at which this would happen. While fighting for her kingdom, the queen was struck with an illness that quickly robbed her strength. Near death she summoned her daughter and pressed the scepter into Nereid's trembling hands. Within days the queen was gone. The king, wrought with grief over the loss of his wife retreated into seclusion, seldom to be seen outside his chambers. Nereid was bereft of family, thrust into her role as queen many years too young. Despite this she shouldered the mantle of rulership proudly, seeing it as her chance to serve the kingdom that she loved. But she did this alone. Until she met a prince from another kingdom. For the first time she understood what love meant. For the first time she could look to the future and see a family around her once again. On the day of their wedding, celebrants from all over the kingdom came to express their wishes to the happy couple. The festivities went on for hours. During that time, the demons were also gathering, in numbers vastly stronger than ever before. At the culmination of the ceremony, moments before the couple were bound in union, they struck, quickly and hard, across the entire kingdom. Nereid raced out to defend her people against the intruders. Although at first she thought that she had pushed them back, it soon became apparent that her power and that of the scepter were failing against the combined masses arrayed against them. The defending forces, Nereid among them were pushed back into the castle. The young prince, her fiancee, rushed to her side. "Release the heart my love," he urged her. "Restore the scepter's full power and you will have the strength you need to fend them off forever." Blinded by love and fear of destruction, she did as he said. In the center of the castle she released the magical wards that sealed the heart away from the light, reuniting it with the scepter."

Another candle, and the room is no longer a place of shadows, but of a growing light.


"Freed of confinment, the power and taint of the heart flowed back into the scepter. For a long moment, time stood still as Nereid battled with the scepter's corrupted will. Rather than allow it to steal the life forces of those in the castle around her, she offered up her own, momentarily sating the ages old hunger that burned within the heart. Although weakened and near death, she was able to command it and with the scepter's power renewed was able to banish the demons that were rampaging across her land. Staggering back to the castle, wounded and exhausted, she stumbled into the arms of her fiancee, her true love, and her greatest betrayor. It was no effort for him to strike her down and take the scepter. Laughing, he revealed himself to be no mere man, but in truth a god, devoted to the powers of darkness. Ice cold hands of fear gripped her heart as she realised what she had done. He did not even try to stop her as she ran from his presence. He raised the scepter to the sky calling down the Veil of Darkness to blanket the land in shadow and fear, blocking the light forever. Under his rule, the demons could return to the land. Nereid fled the castle, knowing at that time that there was nothing she could do to stop him. She vowed that she would see him laid low, and the light returned to the kingdom that she served."

Latania places one last candle on the table with the others, but this time she does not light it.

"But how do you stop a god? Some would say this cannot be done, that gods are far beyond the ken and skill of we mere mortals. I say not so. There lies within each and everyone of us the potential for greatness, the stuff of legends. I saw in her eyes, beyond the sadness, a dedication to her task, and a will so strong she could move mountains, or defy a god. But she cannot do this alone. You may think that you can do nothing to help. I say not so. Even the smallest candle sheds light into the darkness. And when combined with others, " she lights the last candle, bringing even more light to the room, "can fend off the deepest of shadows. I would ask one thing from all of you as moved by this story as I was. Each day, as the sun sets and darkness falls over Xen'drik, light a candle. Place it near the window and offer a prayer to the woman who now challenges the very heart of darkness itself, to bring a new dawn to her people. Together we will light her a way home."



(The author of this story and the voice behind Latania Halfbeat, better known among the DDO community as Mysterra, offers thanks and inspirational credit for this story to Syriania, the voice behind Nereid Undines. For the rp'ers in our midst, this is one of the many tales that Latania would tell while chillin out at a tavern. If you like what you have read and want to support the story as well as make an impact on the its progression then feel free to rp that your character has heard it. .... and light a few candles of your own!)

[PaintHorseCowboy]

And all of this insanity is Legion's Fault.

[Uamhas]

And all of this insanity is Legion's Fault.

((Now that, sir, is going too far. Are you suggesting that Legion has invested their hard-earned reputation into the slightly left of center antics of actual roleplaying?))

[Jaggie]

(*post incoming.*)

[8_BitBlackmage]

Necromancer
Prologue
Unanswered Questions

Deep in some dark chamber, down below the desecrated temple to Vol an elven woman lay on a long stone slab seemingly asleep in a silk, snow white nightgown, her perfect bronze hair laid out behind her head, her hands resting upon her abdomen, but not even a single breath springs fourth. Her pale skin and unmoving form betray her, she is indeed dead. More accurately, not yet alive.

"You will draw breath again, no matter what I have to do." A tall man, an elf with jet black hair and crimson eyes walks along the edge of the stone bed, looking with great care at the woman that lay there. The stone walls shudder as they echo his voice. The shadows cast by the myriad of candles pale to his own. "Points, you can not stop me...no one can." The elf runs the back of his clawed hand down the side of the woman's face, fanging smiling to himself. "You will be happy when you see yourself, you're new body is just like the one you used to know, I left nothing amiss." The elf placed a small wooden case next to the woman, and upon opening it placed the rose it contained inside with the utmost care into woman's hair. "It won't be much longer now, I only need one more soul for you to awaken."

The elf looked across the room to a massive ritual alter, covered in hundreds and hundreds of soul gems all arranged in circles around a central empty slot. each one glittering in the flickering light of the candles. The elven man turns swiftly at the sounds of slow footsteps coming from down the passage into the chamber.

Near an army of wraiths, shadows and specters, escort an elven woman clad in shining mithral armor. The woman looks at ease surrounded by all the undead soldiers, knowing they dare not attack her, fearing the ire of their master. The emerald glare of her eyes falling on the man at the slab, her lips perking into a smirk as she nears what will most likely be her end. "Keaoden, you don't have to do this."

The elven man doesn't even acknowledge her comment, only standing straight as he stares at her with those crimson eyes full of cruel intent. "Eildre would of been the perfect one to complete her, but your power will make up for that"

The woman shook her head in defiance, her fists clenched, "Keaoden, you can still come back, you don't have to do this." her pleas fell on deaf ears as Keaoden slowly started his way across the cold stone floor of the temple's lowest chamber.

"This will be so much less painful if you do not resist." He spoke holding out a rather large khyber dragonshard. The pure black gem crackled with magic as he began to whisper his incantations.

"Dammit Keaoden, answer me! Why are you doing this? What happened to you?" Elven woman stands her ground, nearly yelling now as she waits for whatever she can out of the elf before he finishes his spell.

"I woke up" was all that came from him as he stopped not two feet from the woman with the gem in his outstretched hand. "Goodbye Auroriana I am-" and before another word is uttered from his lips his arm is severed, clean off at the shoulder by the woman who he intended to rip the soul with by a sword made of pure glacial ice.

Keaoden staggers back holding the bleeding stump where his right arm used to be, glaring at Auroriana with eyes of a demon and growling out a broken curse in infernal tongue.

Auroriana turns on one foot after her strike with the summoned sword and bolts down the passage, she needed answers, why was the once kind hearted necromancer now a corrupt half demon ripping souls from the living for a long dead woman.

"Find her, and bring her back alive! She must not be allowed to escape this temple!" Keaoden shouted out the order to the undead that stood at attention, and at his command they flew after Auroriana, intent set with the order to retrieve.

The blood that had been pouring fourth from his grave wound was black, and instead of just dripping to the ground it had started to reform his arm. "She should know by now...I cannot be killed..."

[PaintHorseCowboy]

((Now that, sir, is going too far. Are you suggesting that Legion has invested their hard-earned reputation into the slightly left of center antics of actual roleplaying?))

We did kill the butterflies....

[Robi3.0]

The rest of the trip to Tangleroot gorge was uneventful. The Head Master had only spent a day looking for Ulf. All that they had manage to find was the rope that he had left at the base of the tree when Belbe had untied him. No one outside of Belbe’s group knew or suspected anything.

With Kirshank’s map leading the way they reached Tangleroot in under a week and had been working day and night for two weeks to setup a base camp on location of the ruins the expeditions was to be exploring. Belbe had managed to talk their boss into letting Grimlore, Kirshank, and her take a day off. Her and her team hiked from base camp to the only Tavern/Inn inside the gorge right after they finished their last watch.

It was now close to Midnight and Belbe found herself sitting alone at the bar starring down that a bowl of questionable looking soup. The barkeep had called it Trotters and explained that is was made of sheep’s feet braised in cream sauce. Belbe would have preferred something else but it was the only thing the kitchen was serving at this hour. Belbe eventually finished her meal chasing every bite with a sip of wine. She paid the barkeep and went up the stairs to her room. The room was small only containing a bed, a side table which a large candle sat on and a chair. Belbe didn’t bother lighting the candle when she entered the room in stead she stood in the door way for a brief moment and let her eyes adjust to the pitch blackness of the room. She then walked over to the bed disrobed and climbed in. Belbe had spent most of her early childhood being raised by the humans at the orphanage, so she never learned the proper way to enter and elven trance. Growing up she simply got into bed and went to “sleep” like all the other girls and boys at the orphanage. She felt really good to be in an actual bed again and soon drifted off.

Grimlore eyed Belbe from the corner of the tavern as she left to go upstairs. He wondered to himself if he and Belbe where on the same page still and only briefly considered what he would have to do if they weren’t. Once Belbe vanished, Grimlore returned to his game of cards. He had only been playing a few hours and already he had won quite a large amount of money from his opponents, and from the looks of his current hand he was more then likely going to win again. ’”Well fellows I think I am going to raise only 1 gold.” With a look that was a cross between disappointment and disgust Grimlore reached into his coin purse and threw one gold piece into the pot. Grimlore’s opponents must have fell for his rouse all four of him smiled in hopes that they might finally beat the man that had been taken their gold all night. Each of them put their money in raising the ante a little as each turn moved around the table. When it became Grimlore’s turn again he was pretty pleased that the amount of gold the fools had laid down. “I think I need to call this round before it gets to rich in here for me.” Grimlore pushes a stack of gold into the middle of the table “Let’s see those hands.” Each of the four men laid their hands on the table. Grimlore cracked a tight smile when he saw that he in fact had won another hand; there wasn’t any real doubt that he wouldn’t. Grimlore in a very cavalier fashion tossed his cards down on the table giving then enough English that they curled back towards him before hitting the pile of gold in the middle of the table. “That is a pair of queens and two aces. Guess I win again.” Grimlore reached into the middle of the table with both hands and pulled all the gold to him in one swooping motion of his hands. “I think you have been cheatin’ us out of our gold all night” Grimlore stopped stacking his coins and looked up at the man that had gotten drunk enough to confront him. Grimlore’s stone cold expression could have made the dead shudder. “I am no paladin but I don’t take kindly to being called a cheat. Take a moment to think long and hard about what the next words that come out of your mouth will be.” Grimlore’s accuser lost his nerve at that moment and just turned around and walked to the bar to get himself a drink.

Grimlore smiled a big toothy grin and finished collecting up his winnings. “A wise gambler once told me you need to know when to walk away, and to know when to run. So if any of you other three think I have been cheating you. You better run. If not it is late so I am going to walk away while I am a head.” Grimlore got up and headed upstairs with his coin purse a lot heavier then it was when he had checked into the Inn earlier that day. His room was at the far end of the hall from Belbe’s and the dimly light hallway was troublesome to navigate through for Grimlore, but only a small trouble after all Grimlore occupation often lead him to dark places. Once Grimlore got to his room he threw his coin purse on the end table and lit the candle he found there. He laid his sword and other equipment on the bed, pulled a set of five playing cards out of his sleeve, Grimlore original hand, and chucked them in the trash. Before blowing the candle out for the night he moved the only other piece of furniture in the room, a chair, directly across from the door. He sat down in it and waited.

When Kirshank had gotten to the Inn he didn’t bother staying around for very long. He had used a weeks worth of pay to buy a full keg of the taverns finest ale and he planned on walking out into the wilderness and drinking himself stupid. It was almost sun down when he finally couldn’t resist the temptation to crack open the keg and help himself to its contents. He found himself a nice large moss covered rock to sit on and hoisted the keg off his should and place on the ground next to him. With a quick flip of the wrist and the help of a dagger Kirshank popped the cork out of the keg with practiced ease. Using the rock as a fulcrum Kirshank poured a large helping into a stein he had taken from the bar.

In a few massive draughts he finished off his first glass and had begun to pour himself another when a group of hobgoblin emerged from the bushes beside him. They must have been a patrol from a local tribe, because they where heavily outfitted with weapons and armor. They however didn’t seem to notice Kirshank sitting on his rock. They were focusing their attention on a Halfling that was running from them. Seeing the situation unfold; guessing what was going to happen, Kirshank from his rock pulled a throwing axe from his belt and lined up his shot carefully. He was planning on putting an end to this tomfoolery right here and now. With a mighty heave Kirshank let his axe fly. In the distance the lead Hobgoblin stopped dead in his tracks. He was utterly amazed that the prey he had just been chasing had just fell over dead in its tracks with a axe sticking out of its head that had appeared as if from nowhere.

Kirshank waited a few moments to let the hobgoblins ponder what had just happened before he called out. “Now that you guys aren’t busy would you like a drink?” The leader of the group turn starred blankly at Kirshank just now noticing him for the first time. The group of hobgoblins smiled widely at Kirshank and he returned a smile that was just as wide.
For the rest of the night Kirshank and his new friends took turns holding the keg over each as they took drinks. When they ran out of the ale Kirshank had supply the lead Hobgoblin sent an underling back to base for more “supplies”. The errand boy returned dragging two massive barrels of what the hobgoblins called ice-fire-brew, about an hour later. Kirshank used his sword to remove the top of the barrel. Kirshank took a big whiff of the liquid inside the barrel it had a dank smell like the moss of his rock, but also a slightly sweet smell. Kirshank hadn’t used a cup since his first drink and being to drunk to care, plunged his whole face into the barrel. The even though it was stored at room temperature it hit his face like a sheet of ice. Much to his disliking it sobered him up a bit. Intent on recovering the drunkenness he had just lost Kirshank took five huge swallows one right after another only stopping once he had run out of air. The potent liquor hit the back of his throat like he had just swallowed a torch. The burning only subsided when it hit his stomach. This was the best alcohol he had ever had.

When Kirshank finally came up for air each of the hobgoblins took turns dunking their faces in the barrel drinking until they too had ran out of air. This went on in this fashion until one by one each hobgoblin began to pass out. Kirshank soon found himself standing alone with the leader of the Hobgoblin patrol. Kirshank hadn’t lost a drinking contest in years and he wasn’t about to start. They each took their turn; the contents of the barrel became lower and lower. Finally they got so low that Kirshank had to practically climb into the barrel while the hobgoblin kept it from tipping over. Kirshank pulled himself out of the barrel and held it as he watched the hobgoblin climb in. He stood there waiting for his opponent to climb out, but after five minutes of not seeing the hobgoblin move Kirshank poked at him roughly. When the hobgoblin didn’t move he shook the barrel. When that did arouse his opponent, he gently tipped the barrel on its side and pulled the hobgoblin out. Kirshank had won the contest his opponent had passed out in the barrel. Kirshank stumbled off the rock in a victory march and fell next too a pile of hobgoblins at had passed out hours before.

[Robi3.0]

Grimlore was awake sitting in his chair when he heard the knob of his door jiggle. He calmly sat there twirling a dagger as he waited for the intruder to make his way in. After a minute or to the faint snap of the doors cheap lock could be heard before the door opened a crack and the dim light from the hallway flooded into the dark room. A head appeared in the door fallowed by its body. Grimlore’s visitor took a brief look around the room and stopped when he saw a man sized lump in the middle of the bed. Grimlore tucked away in darkness was completely concealed from prying eyes.

Once the first body made its way into the room three more fallowed it. When the last person entered the room Grimlore let his dagger fly passed the face of the last one in line. It stuck into the wall with a heavy thud. Grimlore lit his candle bring light to the room once more. All four of the intruders had shocked looks on their faces. “I thought I told you to run. I guess you guys weren’t smart enough to take good advice when you could.” The apparent leader of the group stepped forward. It wasn’t hard to tell that the man was obviously much shaken once he discovered that they hadn’t caught Grimlore off guard. “We have proof that you cheated now” The leader tried to talk as though he was very sure of himself. “After you left we counted the cards and found that we are missing five. You switched your hand in order to win that last round, probably been do that all night. Grimlore crossed his legs and reclined in the chair a little. His posture showed that he wasn’t scared of this band of drunks that had found a bit of fools courage at the bottom of a bottle. “So you came to get your cards back?’ Gromlore motioned to the trash can. “They are in there in you want them.” The leader with the wave of his hand brought his team forward. They were now standing shoulder to shoulder across the small room leaving Grimlore no way of escape. This was fine with Grimlore he wasn’t planning on running anyhow. “We came to get our gold back.” Grimlore shook his head as the group began to advance towards him. “You see now you have put me a terrible predicament. I can’t give you your gold back. Mainly, because I don’t want to but that is beside the point. So now you leave me only one choice. Deal with you!”
Once the group was with three feet from Grimlore he sprung into action. With one quick movement Grimlore planted his fist right between the eyes of the leader of the group. Grimlore felt more then heard the sickly snap of a nose breaking. Grimlore’s victim went down in a crumbled mass; his nose spewed blood and thick black circles already began to form around both of his eyes. The remaining three swarmed on Grimlore. He kicked one in the knee cap hard and was reward with a sharp crack and a scream of pain. Grimlore’s latest victim fell to the floor groping at his now broken leg. As the third man approached Grimlore, Grim Feinted a punch but before fallowing all the way through he ducked and side step under the man’s left arm pit and came up right behind his opponent. Grimlore then took the man by the hair on the back of the head; he then lead the man a short distance across the room and smash his head into the burning candle. The room went dark. Grim’s victim tried to scream out but was momentarily drowned in a pool of scalding wax. Grimlore pulled him up for air then threw him on the floor next to the other three.

Grimlore used the darkness to his advantage and silently circled his last opponent. The last drunk stood in the middle of the room rotating in place with his fists up ready to attack; unfortunately for him he had no idea where the next attack would come from. Grimlore crept up behind the man on all four and grabbed him by the ankles. With a swift movement, Grim jerked the drunk’s feet out from under him; he hit the hardwood planks face first. Grimore quickly crawled up his victim’s back and slammed the drunk’s face hard into the floor, knocking him out cold.

Grimlore tied each of the men up and gagged them by taking off one of their dirty socks and stuffing it in their mouth. Then he placed their belt around their mouth to insure that they wouldn’t spit out the gag. Grimlore made sure to relieve them of the rest of their gold for his trouble before leaving his room with a set of room keys he had taken from the lead drunk. The Inn keeper hadn’t bothered to label the key or the doors with numbers so Grimlore had to quietly try the key in each lock in order to find the right one. Once he did he propped the door open and made his way back to his room. One by one he dragged each of his victims across the hall to the room he had just unlocked. When he had stashed the last body in the room he shut the door locked it then broke the key off in the lock. Grimlore was now certain on one would find these four before he had made an easy get away tomorrow morning. Grimlore went back to his room shoved his equipment off his bed and crawled in.

Belbe awoke the next morning fully refreshed and completely unaware of what Grimlore had been up to last night. She dressed in her wool britches and a leather tunic, having no need to put on her armor as of yet, and went down stairs to get some breakfast. She picked the same seat she had sat in last night at the bar. She glanced around the bar only to find that it was completely empty with the exception of her and the barmaid that now approached her. Belbe gave the human girl a sleepy smile before she walk away to fill Belbe’s breakfast order. The barmaid returned a moment later with the cup of hot tea Belbe had ordered.
Belbe was sipping her tea, when a fat man with muttonchops wearing a more or less clean apron approached her holding a rolled up piece of parchment. “The name you used to register your room was Belbe. Is that your true name” Belbe eyed the fat man suspiciously. “That is my true name.” A look of relief spread across the fat mans face. “I am the owner of this establishment.” The fat man offered his free hand for Belbe to shake. Belbe sat down her tea and took the man’s hand. The Inn keeper then held out the parchment. “This arrived a week ago with the instructions to deliver it to a drow female name Belbe. As a member of the Hostelers guild I was honor bound to see that it was delivered.” The Innkeeper handed Belbe the parchment and walked away. The barmaid had brought Belbe’s food while her and the Innkeeper talked, but not wanting to interrupt her Boss’s conversation the bar maid had just set the plate on the bar next to Belbe.

Belbe broke the seal on the parchment with her fork then took a bite of the eggs she had ordered. They weren’t as bad as last nights dinner but they were still pretty bland; Belbe wiggled her fingers to cast a spell that would improve their flavor. After another bite of eggs and one of some mushmelon, Belbe unrolled the parchment and smoothed it flat with her free hand.

Belbe was overcome with joy to see that it was a letter from Falas. Her joy was short lived though. The letter was full of grave news. Beador, the dwarf that had been badly injuried during the assassination of the Coinlord, had taken a turn for the worst and had died. Falas not knowing what to do had taken the dwarf to Delera’s graveyard and buried him in an unmarked grave near a tree in the very back of the graveyard. After all trying to get some to give a dwarf covered from head to toe in unexplained burns a proper burial was not the way to keep a low profile. Belbe finished reading the rest of the letter while eating her food. The delicacy of Falas’ writing reminded Belbe of his handsome face and the sorrowful look that the elf wore most of the time; it made her yearn for his understanding and the warmth of his arms. Belbe shoveled the last two huge bites of her meal into her mouth tipped the barmaid 2 gold pieces and hurried up stairs.

Once she was in her room she quickly gathered her things, put on her armor and strapped her sword to her waist. If she was going to do this it needed to be done quickly. The more time she spent debating it in her mind the more likely it was that she would talk herself out of it. She then left her room in such a hurry that she didn’t even bother to shut her door. Two minutes later she was out of the Inn and on the road headed back to Stormreach.

Kirshank woke when the morning sun crept over the tree line and started to stab his face with rays of light. He rolled over intent on going back to sleep. The ground met with him hard; Kirshank had fallen off his rock.

He remembered where he was all of the sudden and was reminded of all the drinking that had taken place last night by the huge bubbles rolling around in his stomach. I need to get something in to soak up all this booze, he thought to himself. He began to gather his things when he noticed that the hobgoblin had taken off sometime earlier. Fine by him he never like conversation

The walk back to the tavern was a longer than it had seemed last night. He was more then ready to meet back up with his friends and head back to base camp. He was now broke and wanted to start earning gold quick. Just as he stepped out of the last tree line before the tavern, he saw Belbe exit the Inn and take off in the direction of Stormreach. Kirshank would have tried to follow her but it was very apparent by the speed she ran that magic aided her. He just shrugged and continued heading towards the inn.

[Robi3.0]

The trip back to Stormreach had been less then uneventfully. About 2 days out of Tangleroot gorge Belbe had come across a merchant caravan. She offered her service as a guard and spent the rest of the trip traveling with them. Grimlore and Kirshank had apparently not made any effort to fallow her; deep down she was glad for that.

Belbe stood outside of a very familiar door. Rain beat down on her in soaking sheets and it was bitter cold. Despite all this Belbe didn’t knock; she just stood there playing out her next actions over and over again in her mind. More unsure now, then she had ever been in her entire life, she reached up and knocked. Moments pass and the door was opened by an elf with unwashed blonde hair that always seemed to hang in his face obscuring his sorrowful eyes. Today however his hair did little to hide the look of surprise on his face.

“Belbe?” “Falas, Can I stay with you for tonight?” Belbe’s face formed into a sad puppy dog smile. Even though she was soaked to the bone with her hair matted to her head it only made her more beautiful to Falas.

Falas was completely put off guard by Belbe’s sudden reappearance he hadn’t seen or heard from her in a few months. His surprise stole the words from his mouth. The only thing he managed to do was shake his head yes and wave her inside. Once inside he regained much of his composure and was quick to offer her a warm blanket and a hot cup of tea.

Belbe quickly finished her tea; it warmed her stomach, but did little to brighten her mood. They spent a couple hour talking with each other and catching up.“I fear that I have lost myself,” Belbe said as she set her cup on a rickety wood side table. Falas looked deep into her eye. “Maybe you where always lost, and have just now found yourself.” Belbe just shrugged not really believing Falas’ viewpoint. “Lost or found, I am not really sure I want to be either one.” Falas pulled Belbe closer, and whispered in her ear, “Lost or found, I’ll love you either way.” Belbe was taken aback by Falas’ sudden confession. She had always thought the he had a thing for her and she or course had one for him. They seemed so much like opposites that she figured it would never work.

Belbe’s heart seemed to race up her throat only to get stuck half way up creating a huge lump that made it difficult for her to swallow. She turned to give Falas a kiss but was met half way by his soft lips. She wrapped her arms around him, and he did the same to her. Wet chain mail and clothes began to hit the floor; Falas whispered the word that made the room go dark.

Belbe gathered her things and dressed herself in the pitch dark. Falas lay unaware across the room. She pulled her still moist cloak on slipped her pack over one shoulder and crept to the door. She very slowly turned the knob and gently pulled the door opened. She glanced back for a long moment, taking in the last glimpse of the only person she loved with in thousands of miles from here. She turned and quietly walked out.

Once Belbe shut the door Falas rolled over and dashed to the only window in his shack. He watched Belbe once again walk into the fog of the early morning and out of his life. “Find yourself and return to me; I’ll be waiting here when you do.” Falas returned to bed and laid there staring that the ceiling and humming to himself.

[Robi3.0]

Belbe once more found herself standing in the harbor. Much like the last time she was here this was purely a business trip. She had booked herself passage on a boat heading for Sharn. It hadn’t been hard a small display of her fighting and magical prowess was all time took, though the sailors that had decided to test her wished they had just taken her word. They now sat on deck nursing their wounds, as Belbe gathered what few things she had brought with her. She quickly boarded the ship and retreated to her cabin to be alone.

The journey to Sharn had been a claim one. A steady breezed pushed the ship along at a remarkable pace and it soon entered Sharn’s harbor more then a day early. Belbe disembarked from the vessel. It had been almost two years since she had seen the city of Sharn. Its towers reaching far into the sky much like the massive forests of Xen’drik. The site of both never failed the amaze her.

She spent about an hour just wondering the city trying to get reacquainted with the place, before to long she arrived at her true destination, a large mansion in the upper reaches of the city. She stood in front of a heavy wrought iron gate as a guard walked out of the gate house to greet her. Belbe stood up straight trying to look important. “I request entrance.” The gateman looked at her and simply stated “Your kind is not welcome here.” Belbe rolled he eye and sized up the pudgy elf with her stone cold glare. Have I been gone that long? Belbe thought to herself as she pulled her arm out from under her cloak revealing a black tattoo the resembled the mark of shadow over a family crest. “You most certainly will not deny me entrance to this estate. The gateman’s jaw nearly fell off in surprise. He quickly fumbled with the lock on the gate trying as fast as he could to let Belbe in. “I am sorry miss I didn’t realize you where with the family. Belbe just blew the doorman off she was defiantly not a stranger to discrimination, and it rarely bothered her anymore.

As Belbe walked through the front door of the main house a middle aged elven women raced to greet her. Belbe’s eyes began to mist up a little at the sight and a tear ran down her cheek as the woman wrapped her in a huge embrace. “I missed you so much dear.” The elf maiden said as she squeezed Belbe even harder. Belbe now almost choking on her own tears stuttered a simple “I missed you to Mom.”
Belbe hugged her adoptive mother even tighter. Orcana d’Phiarlin and her husband had adopted Belbe many years ago when the human women that ran the orphanage Belbe lived in died before Belbe was of age. Orcana and her husband had been trying to conceive for years and had thought they were barren. They jumped at the chance to raise a child to call their own. It didn’t even matter that Belbe was Drow. They treated Belbe as their own.

[Robi3.0]

Belbe’s mom took her by the wrist and pulled her towards the parlor. “Today has to be the happiest day this house has seen in a while. It is the work for the Host that both my children have returned on the same day.” Belbe smiled slightly at the news it had been a long time since she had seen her sister.

Belbe and her mother stepped into a large room with a grand fire place on the far wall. In front of a raging fire sitting an arm chair was an elderly looking elven male. Standing in front of him but closer to the fire was a tall and slender Elven woman no more then a few year into adulthood dressed in gleaming full plate. A wide smile erupted over the younger elf’s face at the sight of Belbe. “Big sister you’re back and on the same day I finished my training. This is the best graduation present I could have gotten. Father is this you’re doing?” The elderly man looked up for the first time, apparently just now noticing his wife and the Drow he considered his firstborn. Even though he and Orcana had conceived Aliyssa a few years after they adopted Belbe. In his eyes Belbe wasn’t Drow she was his first child.

The elderly elf’s eyes brighten and he let out a soft chuckle. “This is news to me as well young one, but I will take credit it for it, if you want.” With that the old elf began to struggle to pull himself out of his arm chair. Aliyssa rushed to his side and helped him to his feet. He smiled a thank you and began to shuffle toward the back of the house. “The cook has been preparing a feast for Aliyssa’s graduation. It seems that it is going to be more special then we had originally thought.” Meldrose and Orcana exited the parlor together leaving their two children alone together for the first time in many years.

Belbe stood still from a few minutes scratching her head. She really didn’t know what to say. Alicia broke the silence with her ever chipper demeanor. “Did you find your roots over there in Xen’drik? Belbe really didn’t feel like elaborating on what she had been up to the last few years. Her family would certainly not approve. Instead she diverted the questions towards her sister. “So you’re a warrior now? Is training the only thing you have been up to since I left?” Alicia smiled. “Yup, basically now I am a fighter just like you B.” Alicia had apparently forgotten that Belbe hadn’t graduated from the academy, instead she dropout to pursue the arcane arts. “Oh one more thing,” Alicia said as she moved in closer to Belbe loosen her breast plate and pulling down her tunic exposing her neck and upper part of her chest. “I got my Dragonmark while you were gone.” Belbe eyed the purplish blue marking that started on Alicia’s throat and ran down her chest disappearing into her tunic. It resembled Belbe’s tattoo but was in fact the real thing, something that she would never have. “That is great Aliyssa. I am happy for you.” Belbe said then she began to move towards the same hall her parents had left through. “We better get presentable if we are going to attend a feast.” Aliyssa stood in place for a moment arms folded. Speak for yourself I am just fine. Belbe shot Alicia a doubting looking over her shoulder. Aliyssa lifted her arm and smelled herself. Aliyssa shrugged and followed Belbe to their old room silently conceding that she to could use a freshening up.

Belbe and Aliyssa’s folks were not only members of House Phiarlin, but also successful merchants in their own right. They had the money to give Belbe and Aliyssa their own rooms, but they were very close growing up and had insisted on sharing. Aliyssa has adored her older sister and Belbe was glade to have a little sister. Their room was anything but a simple four walls in a door. It was more like a large suite at the west end of the mansion feature a large common room a small sitting room and an adjoining master bath. As Belbe entered the room Aliyssa rushed passed her giggling as she went. “I call bathroom first!” Before Belbe could protest Aliyssa was in the bathroom and tossing pieces of armor out into the main room. Belbe didn’t care much she could wait instead she pealed off her chain mail heaping it in a pile beside her old bed. She climbed in pulling the covers over her head. Belbe drifted off into a day dream, a beautiful one where she and Falas laid in a meadow. Falas singing one of his songs her lying in his arms, she felt happier then she had ever been. She felt is though she knew who she was.

[trailjava]

Is this thread dead or has is moved to another site?

[FlaviusMaximus]

Barnabus Twizzlenits pulled his dirk from his trousers and proceeded to polish it vigorously.

"Can you please do that away from the campfire?" asked Fleance the foppish elf.

"It's got blood all over it, me boy," said Barnabus, gruffly.

"Well maybe you should think about where you're putting it" said Fleance, removing his gold locks from his face.

"Aye. Maybe I should put it in you, me boy," Barnabus growled.

"You couldn't even reach me with those short, dwarven legs of yours," said Fleance.

"Is that what you think?" asked Barnabus, letting his wash cloth drop to the ground. "Where is that Elven whistle they gave you for protection when you left the Great Tree?" asked Barnabus.

Fleance checked his neck. The whistle was gone.

"I....I..." stammered Fleance.

Barnabus held up the whistle and taunted Fleance with it.
"Roll a d20!" demanded Barnabus.

Fleance pulled his transparent green d20 from his satchel and rolled it.

"Gadhelyn be praised! A 16. I get a +4 to my initiative check for a total of 20. Beat that, fat man."

Barnabus reached into his dice bag and pulled out his famed black d20.

"No. Not that one. It's weighted. I've only seen it roll 20s. Use a legitimate die" said Fleance.

"Are you accusing me of cheating?" demanded Barnabus.

"Of course I am, you sour smelling dwarf. Use another die."

Barnabus pulled a different die out of his bag and proceeded to shake it in his hand. "This one is just as lucky." He threw the die to the ground and picked it up immediately. "Let's see..."

"Leave it on the ground, Barnabus. You can't pick it up and not let me see it."

"What? I'm just taking a closer look. It's too dark out here away from the campfire" he said inspecting the die. "It's a 20! Dwarf God of something or other be praised! For my turn, I will move to you and make a grapple check."

To be continued...