Date: Fri, 19 Dec 1997 10:32:39 -0600
From: Diana/Wenn & Co
Nightshade's ice blue eyes search the shadows of her room and verify that Seth... indeed, the Necromancer... has once again slipped away from her. She rushes into the hallway, through the great hall and out into the night. A flutter of deep bluish purple robes and cape sweeps away to the darkest corner of night she can find. The night has ever been her only comfort and her greatest torture.
Standing in the still blackness she feels almost pierced by a ray of moonlight as a passing cloud allows it to beam down upon her. The light reflects from the gold medallion at Nightshade's throat up into her face. Slowly she pushes back her voluminous hood to reveal alabaster skin. Jet black hair, whose silk dances with blue fire of moonlight, falls across her shoulders. She reaches back to untie the black cord that holds the medallion 'round her neck. Holding the smooth gold disc in her hands, she can see her reflection... skin too pale, hair too dark and ice blue eyes filled with sorrow. Nightshade turns the medallion over in her hands. It is roughly hammered gold on the concave back side but the front is as smooth as still water, not a scratch or marr of any kind on it's surface. The disc nearly covers the palm of one hand and save for the loop of gold through which the black cord passes, the beveled edge makes a perfect circle.
It was just lying on the table by the door, a half discarded item. Its use seeming no more than adornment. When Nightshade had taken all she could have the herbalist's use and abuse, she decided to run away. On her hasty exit, a flash of light onto the medallion caught her attention, so she took it. Payment? Perhaps. Or just a whim, an impulse. She had never stolen anything in her life... except... life. The first was at the age of nine. Sarah's healing powers, discovered four scant years earlier, had brought unnumbered ill and injured to her family's home. The one she recalls most, the one that changed her life as much as the gift itself, was an eleven year old boy racked with fever. She sat on the floor next to the cot where they lay him. Her hand reaching up to his fevered brow. The others left her with him. It was very late. Sarah was very tired. She leaned her head against the edge of the cot. She fell asleep.
Awakened by a gasp from the boy, Sarah looked up, eyes wide. She pulled her hand back but knew already it was too late. The rattle of his last breath echoed in her ears. It still does. She heard and felt his life slip from him and much of her own spirit drained away as well. The rest would be left on a roadside away from her village. Her father took her there and bid her go far away, for her touch brought shame on her family's house as well as an onslaught of people wanting healing and now, some wanting to hire her touch of death.
The girl Sarah died on the roadside, watching her father's wagon turn back toward her home. She could no longer be herself for she had lost all she ever knew and had the stain of death on her hands, on her heart. She traveled, healed for money or food or shelter but mostly hid from the touch or even look of others. To her mind, all eyes could see the death on her and she was too afraid to allow even the barest touch of compassion. Twas the herbalist who gave her the name Nightshade and it seemed to suit. Before and since she has been forced to work to heal and kill, just to survive, but after the herbalist, Nightshade was bent on choosing her assignments as she could. Otherwise, she stayed concealed and separate as much as possible... til now.
Twas many years 'ere she could even bear to remember the boy's name, Seth. So far as she knew he was long ago consumed in his grave but now she knows this was not the case. Somehow he walks the shadows since she sent him to his death... and he has found her. Now she knows he is the Necromancer. Now she knows she helped create the devastation from the broken seals. She has known something else since their first meeting... she is drawn to him. Who else can know the sorrow and solitude of her life? Who else can bear her touch or touch her without risk? Yet... is her only option to deal in death with him? And then there is this destruction he has wrought. Can she stand idly by and watch it continue? Her only chance for "life" is in death and to accept that is to allow such monumental catastrophe that her mind cannot even grasp it.
Tears now trail across her pale cheeks as Nightshade stands in the night beneath the moon. She looks at the disc, now blurred. In a fit of rage over the injustice of her life, she flings the gold medallion out into the air. The disc pierces the darkness as it spins and catches the moonlight on it's smooth surface. Nightshade can barely follow it until she hears a thunk echo in the stillness, then there is a beam of light reflected to show the disc's location, embedded in the trunk of an old oak.
She sighs heavily and gathers up the hem of her robes to tramp through the underbrush and retrieve the disc. Nightshade speaks to it and herself as she ties the cord once again to hang the medallion around her neck. "What good are you to one such as me?" She sighs again "Where can you take me that I will not be myself?" As Nightshade comes back out of the brush, from the edge of the forest near Wolf Keep, she stops just at the edge of the road. She swallows. She considers. She looks south to the soft glow of light that is Camelot. She has an idea.
Nightshade appears a bit later near the Hall of the Round Table, staying just outside in a shadow, listening. Most of what she hears is mumbling but the few distinct words that come to her make her shake her head and whisper "It will not be enough." Too shy to enter, she waits for them to break up the meeting and hopes she can find the courage to approach one of the Council with her information, her notion.
She paced nervously outside the hall, her fingers idly feeling the edge of the medallion. She is startled when the door opens and the light spills out onto the medallion, thus illuminating her face. This also afforded her a glance at Tyralor to which she responded with an arched eyebrow, not at all expecting him to be involved in such proceedings. She peeks around him into the hall then turns to speak with him but is met only with a mutter as he walks away.
Nightshade stands in the narrowing strip of light as the door closes. After a pause, she takes off after Tyralor in a flutter of dark robes. She is too many steps behind him. He finally pauses and turns, but by the time she catches up, she is met only with a door closed in her face. She reaches up to knock on the door, hesitates, then hears her rap upon the door as though it were thunder in the dark hallway. Her voice hisses through the door, "Please, may I speak with you?" She waits but there is no response. She hisses to the door again. "Tis me, Nightshade... I have a... business proposition... to discuss." Her hand goes once again to the medallion as she waits to see if the door will open.
Date: Friday, December 19, 1997 4:41 PM
From: Chris/Morninglord
Northern Britannia: The sun was beginning to set and Ogryvan knew it would be dark in the valley below before he reached his destination. He had traveled for days toward the Druids circle, he needed their help in healing his daughter. No one seemed to know why she was sick, but that she was and there was no cure to be found. His clansmen took it as a bad omen, his wife was frightened and if not for his continual overcoming of obstacles that had strengthened him in his manhood and his generally optimistic view on life, he would have lost hope long ago. Now, he stood on a hill looking down at hope.. he knew, believed that the druids could heal his daughter, so with his only child asleep in his arms, he started down "We'll be there soon my lit'l angel" he said to himself more than his daughter.
He stepped into the clearing around the circle of stones, his eyes searching for a glimpse of those he believed in. "Help me, help my daughter!" he called and waited for a response.. none came. "My daughter is sick and she needs yer help!" he called once more.. still with no response. Ogryvan moved to a nearby fir tree and placed his most precious treasure in life gently on the ground, making a pillow of leaves and moss for her resting head, then turned and walked slowly to the circle. "Please! I need yer help! Why won't ye answer?!" He decided, though it may be sacrilegious, to step into the circle to look about. A small figure moved from behind a stone as he entered, and Ogryvan, silently screamed...
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Greece: In a temple of Apollo, a woman steps through the main entrance. Deane had decided to come for private worship, and why not? The mid-morning was bright and warm, a slight, but comforting breeze stirred and she felt more content than she had in many months. "No one to greet me? That's odd" she states to herself and knows that normally an acolyte would be waiting to greet her at the doors. "I have come to worship" she calls, thinking someone would surely hear her and come, so she waits.. nothing.
Walking to the private worship area, a place near the inner sanctum, Deane assures herself that someone will surely be there. She finds her way through the corridors, having been here many times in the past twelve years, since coming to believe in Apollo. Still no one to be found. "Hello?" she repeats as she walks and decides to proceed to the inner sanctum itself. She enters hesitantly and lays eyes on a small figure near the alter, it turns to her and she screams...
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Central France: Father Jaxom travels along a well worn road, his journey nearing its end finally. He will be home soon as his weeks long visitation to a sister monastery having ended just the day before. He rides lazily as the warmth of the day and his hunger take hold. His daze is shaken from him as he hears "Greetings!" from up ahead. As he nears its source he can tell that a wagon and its driver have lost their horse. "Greetings, my son" he says as he stops by the unfortunate soul. After the farmer explains that his horse bolted while being let loose of the wagon harness to rest and graze on the grass by the roadside, the Father offers for the farmer to use his own mount.
"Will you be alright Father?" the farmer asks after the wagon is readied. "Yes, my son, it is only a few miles more and my journey will be completed." The farmer, after making a small donation to the church bids farewell and moves on. Father Jaxom travels the rest of the quarter mile to the forking of roads where he sees a small child standing and watching him. The Father stops and asks the child "Are you lost child? Do you need help?" The child's gaze never wavers from the Fathers eyes "Bless me Father." An odd request thinks Father Jaxom while looking around for parents or guardians of this child "Child, if you are lost, I can help you find your way home" he states. "Bless me Father" the child says once more. "Child, this is a.." the Father starts and is interrupted by "Bless me Father." The Father thinks a moment to himself then pulls forth his rosary and a small vial of holy water "Alright, my child, then we have to get you home.." a brief pause "In the name of the Father, the his Son our blessed Jesu and of the.. Holy.. Spirit.. " and Father Jaxom hasn't the chance to scream as his body turns to ash.
Date: Saturday, December 20, 1997 6:42 AM
From: Ernie/Simon/Lerrad/Tuckian/etc
Simon's eyes flutter open and he squints in the first morning sun, now just beginning to shine through the trees. His vision is still a bit blurred from sleep, causing him to blink to clear it as he awakens, still laying still. He knows that he is not home anymore...since he woke up on the ground...and he knows that he is not anywhere that he has been before. Simon raises his head, pushing himself up onto his hands and finally sitting there on the ground.
"Ah..the boy wakes. Come. Sit with me, boy, we have much to discuss!", Simon hears the raspy voice, but in his sleepy confusion he cannot find the source. "Boy! Are ya deaf?!", the voice said again.
Simon frowns as he looks about, finding the source of the voice and squinting at him. The man is sitting on a stone, near a small fire only a few yards away. Silently rubbing his eyes, Simon moves to his feet and stands, staring at the man. "Well, do as I say, boy. Come and sit with me!", says the man in a rough tone. Simon lowers his eyes a moment, looking at the pattern in the stones on the ground at his feet, then looks back to the man's face expressionless, but doesn't move toward him. He doesn't know him, so he just stares at him silently.
Thorak stands with an exasperated sigh. He is a small man, shorter than any normal man but barrel chested and stout with loose black hair and beard that is streaked with gray. Simon tries not to smile as he notices the details of the man walking toward him now; the braids in his hair and beard, the leather armor he wears, the funny way he walks.
Thorak stops and looks sideways at Simon, "What's s'derned amusin', boy?". Simon only shrugs a silent response, the smile leaving his face quickly as he steps back a step. Thorak lifts a brow, not moving any closer, "P'rhaps it's best if I introduce myself. I am Thorak...your teacher. You shall be with me for a time, so ya best go ahead and talk."
Simon blinks silently, his wide eyes only staring at the man and his hands finding one another behind his back. He begins to twist a bit on his feet, thinking on what to say. "Um...where's Wenn?"
"If your talkin' about yer mother, she's home. I need ye for now.", Thorak stops talking a moment and winces, stepping back a step, then goes on through the pain he is feeling, "I need ye for now.", he repeats and looks at the sword in the ground between them, causing Simon's eyes to follow.
"Ye are...", with that, Thorak winces and collapses onto the ground next to the sword. Simon unconsciously rushes to him and bends down next to him..."Um...hey...you all right?", he asks with some concern. "I...tis fine...", Thorak replies, but does not move.
Simon absentmindedly places a hand on the sword to steady himself as he settles next to Thorak. At the very moment his hand connects with the sword, an expression of understanding sweeps across Simon's face. He nods, as if asked to do something, then stands and dashes off.
Thorak follows him with his eyes and sighs...his boy hero is nothing more than a coward. As he closes his eyes, perhaps for the final time, the last image he has is of Simon disappearing in the forest...of his hero, running away. A tear runs down Thorak's cheek and in his half dream state, before his perception fades to blackness, he thinks to himself.."Well then, all is lost...all is for not."
++++++++++++++++++++++++++
As black fades to blur and blur to right, the first sensation that Thorak absorbs is a smell...baking bread. He opens his eyes and winces as he tries to move, in this fine bed...in this finely decorated room. He lays his head back again onto the soft goose down pillow, staring at the ceiling..he dare not move.
A sound at the door makes him move his eyes there, but the only thing he sees is the last of a child silently scurrying away from the doorway. He moves his eyes, again, to the ceiling..noting that his armor is off of him and that, in fact, he is cleaned as well. He lays for a while, then another sound at the door moves his eyes there again.
This time it is a woman, of auburn hair and fir of skin. She stands in the doorway, silently watching him, holding a tray in her hands. As their eyes meet, she enters the room and sets the tray on the night stand..."I have made you some hot soup and there is bread on the way.", she turns toward him, looking down at his form in the bed and folding her hands in front of her.
"When you are well enough, I wish to speak with you.", she says politely, but sternly. Thorak nods, "I'm fine, Miss. What do ye have to talk t'me about." He attempts to sit up again, this time successfully but still very much painfully.
"Perhaps I should begin by introducing myself. I am Lady Wenndolyne and this is Wolf Keep...my home.", she glances back at the door, where Simon is standing and smiles, looking back at Thorak..."Simon is my son." Thorak looks at the boy, tossing his legs over the side of the bed and nods.
Wenndolyne pauses a moment perhaps to give Thorak the time to introduce himself, but when this does not come she continues, the questions on the events that have happened far outweighing her patience..."I would like to know how it is my son came to be that far from the Keep...how do you know Simon? Why does he protect that sword as if it were a babe?"...he eyes wonder off toward the window as she speaks..."He carried it all the way home, cradled in his arms...would not allow anyone else to touch it."
She starts as if woken from a dream.."I'm sorry, eat for now. The bread is likely done, I will fetch you a piece. Then we will talk more on this." With that she turns and passes through the door again, leaving behind the boy staring at him from there.
Thorak looks at Simon in the doorway, his expression blank, then he reaches and takes hold of the bowl, eating the soup quickly. He looks back at the doorway, only to find Simon is gone. He sighs, setting the empty bowl back on the tray and shaking his head. He must have made a mistake to have chosen this one...he must have been wrong...but it had not been he who chose the boy, the sword had.
Wenndolyne enters the room again with a basket in her hands, pausing at the door only for a moment, "Thank you, Chamberlain, please stay. ", she says to the tall man silently standing right outside the doorway. She crosses and sets the basket on the tray then moves to a nearby chair, looking at him with stern authority in her eyes..."Well then, Sir. You've slept in one of my beds, you've eaten my food...it is time, I think, for you to talk. Give me answers to my questions, please.", again said with a polite but stern tone.
Thorak slides off the bed and moves to the chair next to hers, pausing thoughtfully, then looking at her face and speaking, realizing he must weigh his words carefully.
Date: Tue, 23 Dec 1997 05:06:38 -0700
From: Dan (Ivarius/Rannis/Kavin/Many others)
The waves crashed noisily against the jagged rocks lining the steep cliff which overlooked the ocean. The plains around the tower were a stark contrast to most of the remaining world.. untouched by plague or famine. The grass grew as green and healthy as though it were mid summer, and the horsemen had not come. The tower itself jutted far into the sky, ancient in appearance, yet no windows visible until much higher up. The massive double doors were of a wood not seen in this realm, and the edges glowed with a faint, sickening red..
An air of fear washed across Tachin, brought by an ocean current. It was fear mixed with a dose of awe, for the tower was meant to inspire just that. Tachin was dressed in the torn and tattered clothes of one who had seen many hardships. And with him, his traveling companion and wife, Mira, was dressed no better. Both were unkempt, their hair falling in tangles, their faces smeared with grime.
Tachin walked with measured steps towards the tower, the hope that this place.. this lush green beautiful place which overlooked the sea.. could bring him and his wife the sustenance that they needed..
"Tachin.. no.." She said, laying her hand on his shoulder as he began to walk again..
He looked over his shoulder at her, his face haggard, and dark purple bags formed beneath his eyes from lack of sleep, "We have no choice, Mira. How long can we live without help? Our village is gone.. we can't go back.".
"But not here.. I have a bad feeling.. there are other places..".
"Where, Mira?" He demanded, then softened his expression, his words spoken harsher than he had meant. He turned towards her and brushed the back of his fingertips down her grime streaked face. "We have seen nothing for days.. this is the first building which shows life.. We must try..
She sighed in resignation. He was right.. they couldn't make it much further without real food.. not the scraps that they had found here and there, along the way which were few and far between..
He turned back towards the tower, strengthening his resolve to move forward. His feet moved, obeying his commands, but slowly and hesitantly. And it was with a long pause before he gripped the iron door knocker and administered it loudly to the surface of the door. The sound boomed loudly to his ears, resounding deep within the structure.
There was no answer. He bit his lower lip as Mira stood watching from a safe distance, before reaching again for the knocker. A loud voice suddenly shattered the silence.. neither elderly or youthfulness in timbre, it held an air of arrogance, and seemed quite impatient. "Who disturbs me?" It asked of him..
He faltered in his demeanor, and took a few steps back. The words cluttered in his mind as he sought to speak them, "T-Tachin sir...".
"Why do you disturb me, Tachin?" The voice came again, patronizingly..
"M-my wife and I sir.. we need food.. we need a place to rest. I thought...
The voice cut him off, causing him to shiver in fear, "You thought to come to the Master Ivarius T`egenatai for free room and board. Does my home bear the marks of a poorhouse?".
"N-no sir.." Tachin stammered, looking down at the ground. "I just.. I thought you could help us.. please, sir..".
"Please.." Echoed Mira, wringing her hands together from where she remained standing, looking hopefully towards the closed door..
The voice remained silent for a long moment.. and then the red glow faded from around the doorway. "You may now enter," It came again, no less patronizing..
The two of them looked towards each other for strength before proceeding towards that door, Tachin resting his hand on the surface for a long while before pushing the double doors open. She followed him inside, standing shyly back as she glimpsed the luxurious interior. .
The great hall of the tower was the epitome of elegance, with tapestries from far off countries adorning the walls, and a massive ornamental carpet covered the floor. Candles lit the room at various intersections, and a large fireplace burned brightly at the far end of the room. In front of this, sat a chair, turned away from them, large and deep leather, which looked absolutely comfortable to the both of them. Just in front of it, situated a small table, with a place setting of snacks laid out on a silver platter, as well as a prepared kettle of tea, and three mugs, already poured. The man sitting in the chair had his back to them, but they could see that his hair was a midnight black. In his left hand, stretched out to the side, he held a large staff, the pommel created from a perfect ball of obsidian. He spoke, both impatiently and arrogantly, waving them into stools set out beside the table. "Sit.".
They could hardly argue.. they did as they were asked, Tachin seating himself in the stool across from Mira. There they sat, eagerly eyeing the goodies set out across the table..
"Help yourselves," Came the statement, more of a command than anything. They didn't argue, tearing into the food before he could change his mind. From the doorway leading into the kitchen, Killashandra noted the two visitors. She was dressed in a loose fitting dress, for her belly was already rounded from the growing child she bore within her. Otherwise, her features were the picture of beauty. And a smile spread across her features as she crossed the room and seated herself on Ivarius' lap..
The wizard rested his free hand around her waist as a matter of instinct, watching his two visitors with his icy cold blue eyes. He seemed a distinctly uncaring man, his expression unchanging even as she set a kiss upon his cheek. She then shifted to look at the two, "Who are our visitors, my darling?" She asked softly, watching the two still eating. .
Ivarius smiled slowly, a cruel smile, complimenting the look in his eyes quite well. "They have asked for my.. help.." He answered evenly. .
The two looked up, finally realizing where they were, and their manners. Tachin's face flickered with a few conflicting emotions before he responded, finally giving over to utter gratitude. "Thank you, milord! You have saved us.. And we have nothing to give you in return." .
"Oh, but you do," Ivarius said without missing a beat..
"We do..?" Tachin repeated slowly. .
Ivarius drew his staff in front of his chair, leaning forward slightly as his palm curled around it. "Yes," He said, "You do.".
Tachin chewed on the morsel of food in his mouth slowly, only now realizing that he had not asked the price of the meal before agreeing to it. A feeling rose within his gut of fear. "W-what could we have to offer you?" .
"Your lifeforce. Your eternal service." Ivarius shrugged, and waved a hand airily. .
"B-but.." He stammered. .
"Please sir.. we've done nothing.." Mira whimpered from where she sat. Killashandra leaned towards her husband and whispered in his ear, knowing how much he hated her undermining him, "Couldn't you let these go? They are only two.. and they are weak." .
He sent her a glare which told her to remain silent, which she did at once, knowing how stubborn he could be. He glared at the man, who suddenly stood up, reaching into the folds of his tunic to draw a weathered dagger. Before he could move a single step, Ivarius looked at him coldly, uttering a soft command word for a spell stored in his staff..
The obsidian pommel glowed with an inner fire as it began drawing the life from the beings in the room to gather power for the spell. Tachin clutched at his stomach, and Mira gasped, horking out a mouthful of food onto the platter. Even Shandra felt the drain, nearly doubled over, her face contorted. The spell released.. a faint mist which spewed from the depths of the obsidian to hang around the man like a vice, sapping from him the strength which made up his being. His skin blanched, and became pale, his heart simply ceasing to beat. His lifeless fingers let the dagger slip to the floor. As she recovered from the drain, Mira's eyes widened at the sight. She looked up at him, fear and hatred both flaring brightly. "Bring him back!" She shouted, and then lowered her eyes. "Please.. I'll.. I'll do anything.." He smiled a little at the prospect, ignoring the warning glare from Shandra, but instead, chose another tactic for his amusement. "Anything?" He asked, then looked idly towards the fire behind her..
She nodded slowly, tears clouding her vision. "Yes.." She whimpered. His smile broadened, and he looked towards her, "Bring him back? Those were your words?".
Again, she nodded, not making eye contact with him. "Aye.. bring him back.." Ivarius looked down towards the motionless corpse of Tachin, then held his staff for Shandra to take hold of, freeing his hand for the gathering of energy. He held the palm of his left hand towards the ground, palm spread, and began drawing. A shimmering column of light, barely visible, began to form.. The plants around the great hall began to wither and die, falling to ashes as their lifeforce was torn from them. .
Eyes of both women widened as he gestured towards the fallen peasant, speaking the words of a spell he knew well. The air around Tachin shimmered.. then coalesced to bath him in the warmth. His body began to move.. and he drew upwards as though pulled on strings.. yet his skin regained no color or warmth. His eyes showed no sign of intelligence. And his lips twisted in a hateful sneer. .
Mira backed away from the ghoulish figure, shouting hysterically at him, "You said you'd bring him back!" .
"And I have, dear lady," Said Ivarius calmly, motioning towards the zombie. "He is quite.. 'back'. He is merely in another state of such. Quite the improvement, I think, don't you?".
"No!" She screamed, and backed away until she could move no further, caught in a corner of the room..
"Pity." Ivarius said, "I think he still likes you." .
And with that, the zombie moved awkwardly towards her, mouth opening wide, saliva dripping off the undead fangs. .
A scream rang out over the grasslands surrounding the tower, cut off abruptly, muffled by the sound of the water crashing against the breakers.. And the sickening red glow returned to surround the door..
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