Date: Wed, 26 Nov 1997 02:54:57 -0800
From: Chung Chow aka Dream Knight
"Tell me true, tell me why, was Jesus crucified.
Was it for this that daddy died?"
~ Pink Floyd "The Final Cut"
The winged angel floated gently down to the grass into the forest that lined to the south of the massing armies. In one fluid motion, he landed and started to walk away from the noise of the running soldier and knights that tried to keep order among the ranks. His wings fluttered then folded onto his back, disappearing away as if he had none.
His semi naked body was then covered in clothing. His black satin breeches and black silk shirt was covered by a blooded red fur cloak. His black high riding boot softly crunched the grass underneath him.
Simon the Angel looked from the fields at the back of his brother and then turned and scanned the human wheatfield. He spotted Dream Knight in the distances and nodded to him. Dream Knight smiled and rode away on Destiny. The angels, of more than 50,000 strong all fluttered their wings and folded them onto their backs. Their bodies now covered in clothing or armor. They silently moved and spread out into the network of the armies without a hint that they once existed where they stood. No one bothered to notice as they were busy with their own preparations, never a thought of angels in the army, and those who have noticed have suddenly forgotten that there were such a holy mass.
Lucifer walked through the forest. His thoughts on the mission that faced him. His blood red pupil eyes narrowed as his absently ran his finger down a long scar on the right side of his face. He sighed and disappeared into the night air.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The figure on the pale horse sat there and look upon the horizon of the town of Grathiem. His eyes glowed red then suddenly changed yellow. He looked up into the sky as the clouds darkened. A droplet of water fell onto his face and sizzled away in a breath of steam.
The rain started slowly, trickling on to the ground, soiling the dry dirt on the rode when he sat. The figured grinned as the icy cold rain fell harder, kicking up dust and gravel alike.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Little Dalila stood at the window looking at the pouring rain with a pout on her face. "Mother! It is raining harder. Does that mean we can't go to grandma's tomorrow?"
Dalila's mom looked up from her paper work and smiles at her 6 year old daughter, "It will let up in the morning dear."
Dalila looked from her mom back out to the outside world.
The roof of their small quaint house in the Common Sector started to make noises as if children were throwing pebbles and watching them cascade back down off the roof.
The mother looked up from her paper work and frowned. "Dalila, is it still raining?"
Dalila look to her mother, "No, it's falling hard snow."
"Hard snow?" she said partly to herself and got up from the table and walked over to Dalila. She looked out and saw golf size hail. Her eyes widen, "It never snows around here," she thought, "Let alone hail."
She turned to Dalila and was about to tell her daughter to step away when the window suddenly exploded, glass flying every where. Little Dalila flew across the room. She sat up and rubbed her eyes and started to cry.
"Mommy...." she called out sobbing. No answer.
"Mommy?" she said again, hoping that her mother would come and hold her and tell her everything will be alright. She wiped her tears away, trying to clear the fish eyed vision caused by her watering eyes.
As her vision cleared, her mother was ten feet away, face to the floor. A pool of red blood flowed from her crushed head gathering around one of those hard snow balls. The size of the ball reminded Dalila of the balls they used in school during play time.
"Mommy?" she said again crawling towards her. The pounding from the roof and the walls didn't seem to make a dent in her determination on getting to her mother's safe cradling arm.
She kneeled over her mother's still body, her knees drenched in her mother life force, soaking into her cloths. She shook her mother to wake up.
"MOMMY!" she said bursting into more tears... "Wake up mommy! Please!"
No answer.
Dalila shivered and sobbed, "Please mommy, if you get up I won't every be bad. I'll always listen to you. I promise!"
Promises remained unheard from the deathly ears of a pale body.
"RUN! Little one!" screamed a voice in her head.
Dalila screamed and got up running across the room. Fright filling her soul.
"Run Dalila!"
She climb the steps of their two story manor as more hard snow balls crashed through the walls. She screamed again.
She flew into her room and crawled under her bed like a rabbit. There she felt much safer.
"The balls can't get me here... can't get me here...." she whispered to herself.
A crash came through the ceiling above and she screamed again. The bed shook hard but she remained safe.
"See! I knew this is the safest place on earth!" Dalila said to herself.
A huge crackle sounded through out the manor and the building lurched. Dalila screamed again as the floor underneath gave way. The whole manor fell into upon itself.
Safe indeed...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Death sat on his horse as he watched the city crumble down to the onslaught of raining boulders. He was satisfied and smiled. He blinked and the cascading death stopped.
Death turn his pale horse around and started off along the unknown road when he was suddenly stopped by a cloaked figure on the road. Death watched curiously as the figure just stood his ground. This man was no man. He did not fall from his presence into the darkness that awaited.
The cloaked figure pulled down his cowl and looked upon Death with flaming eyes. The scar on the man tinted with a red glow.
Death nodded in respect.
"It is not your time." Lucifer said.
The Reaper sat there silent.
"The seal were wrongfully broken. It is not your time to unleash the fury that you hold."
The Reaper nodded his head down and closed his eyes...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
War looking upon the chaos that reigned from the fighting below. He gestured his bony hands when he suddenly bowed his head down and closed his eyes before he could finish his bidding.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Half way across the world, Pestilence nodded his head, sleep over came his eyes. Slowly he closed them.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Famine's hunger struck the city as he galloped his horse through the square. He quickly halts his horse and looked out in the horizon. Then he too bowed his head and close his eyes.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Death looked up at Lucifer, opening his eyes that now glowed in a dark dancing globes of hue.
"Lucifer, Prince of Lies, Father of Deceit..." said a voice that was four from the Reapers moving lips, "The seal have broken, and our purpose has started."
"You must stop. The time has yet to come before you are needed. Your creator demands it."
"Lucifer, First loved above all. Your standing in the Books of Revelations is irrelevant. It has begun."
Lucifer smiled, "'And I looked, and behold a pale horse; and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed him...' That is my relevance. There is no hell that follow you... I am Lucifer, First loved above all... I am hell."
Death was silent as he silently conferred, "You are envious, you are afraid."
Lucifer cocked his head to the side, "Of?"
"The revelations will end and a new Jerusalem will the creator bless the chosen ones with. There will be no more hell... only heaven on earth. You are irrelevant. I am Death, and I have come."
The Reaper bowed his head once more and rode pass the Fallen Angel. Lucifer cursed and frowned in anger.
Pestilence continued to plague the earth, War still raged, Famine still came and death followed.
Lucifer denied.
Date: Tue, 25 Nov 1997 18:49:25 -0800
From: Daniel/LordWolf & Co
The white arctic wolf races down the road towards the city below as once more he hears the screams of the dying. Again the screams are cut short only to start once more from another set of lungs. Reaching the outskirts of the city, his emerald eyes spot the guards laying on the ground. As he dashes past he sees the same look upon their cold dead faces as he saw at the Castle above. As he enters the city, he pauses and scents the air, finding it thick with the stench of death. Off to the left it appears to be stronger and with caution born of centuries of hunting he slowly moves forth in search of the killer.
A scream reaches him, closer this time and down the street. As the wolf pads along, staying to the shadows he sends his senses out into each building he passes, seeking signs of life and finding none. On silent paws he moves along the street passing the occasional body, not bothering to even look at it for he knows already what he will find. Suddenly there is a scream from a house two doors down and across the street. Know he is close the wolf pauses as his form is shrouded in a bright light as he calls upon his birth right and shifts once more to the form of a man.
Quickly, LordWolf crosses the narrow street and runs to the door of the house from which the scream issued forth. Not bothering to check to see if the door is locked, he lowers his shoulder and slams into the door, tarring it from it's leather hinges. LordWolf lands heavily upon the floor, the door under him and quickly looks around. His acute eye sight quickly spots the bodies of the family that once lived here. There is the barest flicker of movement near the back door and he quickly rises and dashes through the doorway and back out into the night.
LordWolf hastens his legs and sprints to the next building, a shelter for orphans judging by the sign hanging above the door. This time Wolf tests the door latch first and finding it open quickly rushes in. A cleric of Tarkius looks up at his sudden entrance and quickly rises, uncertain of who this stranger is. Before the cleric can speak though Wolf addresses her, "The children where are they?"
The Cleric pauses and squares her shoulders, "Sir, you will kindly have to leave this home. I do not know who you are, but the children here are under my care."
LordWolf stops and faces the cleric. "Sister, I am LordWolf, A Knight of Camelot and the children are in grave danger. Now tell me where they are!"
The cleric hesitates for though she has heard of far off Camelot, still there was no proof the man was who he claimed to be. Just then there was a child's scream from the second floor of the building. Without a glance to the Cleric, Wolf rushed up the stairs, taking them two at a time and upon reaching the top of the stairs stops in horror at the sight he sees.
There before his eyes is a long room with forty or so pallets laid upon the floor though none sleep there now. The children are huddled in one corner save for one lone child which lays upon the floor unmoving. Before the children silhouetted against the far window stands a figure dressed in a long black robe with the hood pulled up hiding any features from sight. Within the figure hand is a huge sickle raised high and to the side. The figure reaches forth and grabs a child who screams, and in one quick motion the figure of Death slices the sickle across the child's throat, cutting off the scream as the child's soul is ripped from it.
"NO!!!!" Shocked into motion Wolf rushes forward his only thought is to kill this thing before it can harm another living soul. The Reaper turns at the sudden yell from Wolf and brings his sickle around, aiming the blow at LordWolf's heart. Ducking the sickle, LordWolf slams into the figure and wraps his arms around it, driving it back. As the terrified children watch the two crash through the window and fall to the ground below. Wolf falls to the ground and quickly rolls away from the Reaper and gets to him feet facing the Dealer in Death.
A cold soft voice echoing of the crypt reaches him, "Why do you interfere with my work mortal? Are you in that much of a hurry to join those I take? The time is at hand that the innocent shall fall like stalks of grain before me."
LordWolf crouches low and eyes the sickle and then answers. "You will not find me as easy a target as the others, Dark One!" Gesturing with his hand LordWolf releases a bolt of lightning at the Specter from point blank range. The reaper raises his sickle and deflects the bolt into a near by wall blasting a whole in it.
"Come, why to you struggle so," whispers the voice of Death. "All will come to me soon enough mortal. The seals on the book of life are being opened and I but fulfill the task assigned to me," continues the Reaper as he takes a step forward towards LordWolf.
"Back you fiend! Back to the hell hole that spawned you," LordWolf yells as he raises a hand and an invisible hand of force slams into the Reaper driving him back into a wall with enough force to crack the bricks. LordWolf slowly begins to close his hand and the invisible force starts to squeeze the Reaper. The Black Specter brings his sickle down and slices through the invisible hand. LordWolf is suddenly thrown backwards as the spell recoils back to him, the force of it knocking him backwards several feet and to the ground.
"Don't you understand, your spell can not stop me. Try all you wish but you can not stop what is meant to be," states the Reaper as he advances on LordWolf. Wolf gets back to his feet and shakes his head to clear it a bit then raises his hands and quickly says the words to another spell, his hands a blur as they move through the motions of casting. As the Reaper moves closer, Wolf releases the spell and the ground below the reaper suddenly turn to a pool of quicksand. The Specter struggles but once and then stands still as it slowly sinks. "You can not stop Death for I come for all in the end," whispers the Reaper just before his head disappears below the surface.
"I may not be able to stop Death, my friend," replies Wolf to the now still pool of quicksand. "But I can stop you." Once more the Ancient one raises his hands and drawing upon a node of energy close at by he shifts the pool of quicksand, making it solid rock once again. Sighing heavily LordWolf turns and makes his way back towards the door of the orphanage, intent on see that the children are well. Suddenly, his instincts take over and he ducks so quickly that his long white hair bellows out behind him as the cold sound of the Reapers sickle passes directly where his head just was. He drops and rolls away from the Specter of Death that stands behind him unharmed, absently he notices a large lock of his hair laying on the cobble stones of the street. Quickly he scrambles away from the advancing Specter and tries to get to his feet. As he rises, his boot slips on a chunk of brick from the blasted wall and he loses his balance, falling backwards and hitting his head upon the cobble stone hard enough that his vision blurs.
As his closes his eyes and tries to focus he senses it is already too late. "Your soul is mine!" he hears the Reaper say as the air echo's with the whistle of the falling sickle to claim its prize.
Date: Wed, 26 Nov 1997 00:47:03 -0700
From: Dan (Rannis/Kavin/Ivarius/Saevad/over 40 others.)
He laid the body of the villager carefully into the grave which he had hollowed out; one of several that he had been working on that day. He had come across this village in his travels, to learn what he could about the coming plagues and the famine which had so completely covered the land. And yet he did not contract this plague himself; he did not know if he was able. Nor did he require near as much food as did these people.
Mystaran was not of here. He was from elsewhere. His body not by any definition large, his skin was a pale blue, stretched tightly over his form, most of which was concealed by a type of scale armor. His legs were covered as well, by a fabric which stretched and molded to his movements. Though his feet were bare, his three toed feet did not feel the stones and other sharp objects digging into the well padded limbs. His head was much like that of a human, but his features more elongated, and not a hair to be found on that smooth blue surface. His ears were little more than notched holes in the side of his head, and his mouth tight, his lips overly thinned. His nose was upturned, and notched with two elongated slits, which seemed only to pass air at long intervals. His eyes were the oddest thing about him, however, glowing a pale purple light, which seemed to swirl to reflect his emotions. Upon his belt he carried no obvious weapons, merely a few cylinders of dubious use.
'Yes', he thought to himself, 'The Balance is surely at stake.'
He rose from the grave, his hands sliding from beneath him, and rising, turning back for a moment towards the village. He made an obscure gesture with his right hand, almost a gesture of sorrow, or perhaps of respect. His head shook slowly to either side, one of the many more human expressions that he had picked up, from his dealings with Lilith. Turning, he lifted the shovel which remained nearby, and began to cover this, the last of the townsmen.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The lone figure strode towards the wide open valley, now desecrated by foul magicks. Mystaran paused as he reached a location, and the air in front of him opened into a darkened portal, as though his very presence was enough to part the fabric of time and space. He stepped inside, gazing around at what was now his dwelling for as long as he stayed here.
Images danced on one wall, of plague here, and plague there, as though the scenes were there before him. The portal fell shut behind him, shutting him off from the world. But that was exactly what he wanted; to not be observed. Turning to a blackened wall, he tilted his head towards it, purple eyes dimming as though deep in thought. The wall swirled to life, and the image of one not unlike himself came into being drifting a few feet from the wall, flickering in the air.
The figure's mouth didn't move when it spoke, and the words flowed like water into Mystaran's mind. 'Mystaran, scout and protector, we are listening.' He responded in kind, the blue creature of unknown race that was Mystaran, his head still lowered in reverence, 'Much is amiss. The Balance is shifted. People die.. crops die. There is much to be done, but I do not know where to begin.'
The eyes of the being hovering before him seemed to retreat a little, withdrawn in interest. His hands traced strange thoughtful gestures through the air before him. 'You are a protector. You are a mind healer. You are a warrior. You will know what to do and where to do it. We hold faith in you, Mystaran, scout and protector. We know you will not fail in times that come. Seek Balance.'
With that, the figure in front of him shimmered and flickered out of existence, ending the council. Mystaran gave a shallow out take of breath, which he had learned here to be known as a sigh of hopelessness. But that was not the proper attitude for a protector. And he had work that he indeed must do. He turned back to the portal, which once again opened to admit him passage to the outside of his invisible dwelling. As he passed, it closed again, taking form to match the surroundings.
Mystaran looked about him, eyes beginning to swirl in confusion. Where should he start? So much to be done. Without further hesitation, he simply picked a direction and began walking, his form shimmering as he did so, becoming opaque and transparent, and finally flickering out completely to match the terrain.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The town was silent. All was silent, save the eerie moans of the dying, drifting to his non-visible ears from various huts as he strode through the center of town in a half crouch, though he knew that no one would see him. So much to do here, he thought to himself, then selected one of the few houses that still held life within. The stench was not the first thing that he noticed; rather, it was the powerful psychic emanation given off by the dying. His race was renowned for their psychic ability, and rightfully so, for they were unable to speak in conventional means, as they lacked vocal cords.
His eyes lighted in anguish, his empathic side tugging his emotions to match the pains of the family huddled there together, mourning the dying child on the bed. Sores covered her body, and were beginning to form on the bodies of those around him. Again, the pain filled his body, threatening to draw him into depression, but his years of training overcame that urge. He was a protector; a warrior and mind healer. And in this case, a mind healer first, he thought to himself. But to accomplish anything, he would need to be visible. He set in concentration, and his form wavered into view, becoming first transparent, and then solidifying.
The mother was first to look up, a breathless scream escaping her lips as she glimpsed what could only be a daemon forming in front of her. The father, and the two other children as well looked towards him, also staring in shock.
Mystaran smiled, allowing soothing emanation to flow freely from his mind, hoping to comfort these people enough to allow him to approach. The tactic worked, for these people truly had lost all hope, knowing that death was only a matter of time.
He slid through the room, not making eye contact with any of them but the child laying upon the cot. He stepped to her side, and gazed down at her. She was almost dead, succumbed to the illness which wracked her body, but she wasn't beyond saving. Mystaran gently wrapped his pale blue fingers around her fragile hand, and clasped it between his other. The family watched in fear, now certain that this was indeed the reaper of souls, come to collect the one held dear to them. But they merely watched, lacking the energy to fight, and wishing to see an end to their daughter's suffering.
Mystaran began a soothing melody within the child's mind, his psychic waves flowing into her mind. The tune was wordless, and seemed to speak of bravery and triumph, lifting her spirits, and commanding her to fight the illness which threatened to take her. The song increased in intensity, and wisps of it escaped the two minds, soft echoes entering the minds of the others of the family. The sores began to recede from the body of the child, closing in some form of magical or psionic means, her skin beginning to regain color.
His song trailed off as her eyes opened, and she looked towards him with those deep blue pools. Yet she was unafraid, soul lifted from the tune. She whispered simply, "Thank you.."
The eyes of the mother and father watered at the sight, and they huddled around Mystaran, thanking and blessing this kind 'man'. But he turned to them, for his work was not finished, and this he told them through the words of his mind. Gently, he knelt on the floor, and held out a hand to the first of the other two children, beckoning him forward. As the child approached at the urging of his parents, he smiled comfortingly. 'Yes,' he thought to himself, more emanation from the rest of the village drifting to him through the air, 'I have so much to do..'
Date: Wed, 26 Nov 1997 03:52:27 -0500
From: Suk-Yin Lai/Sulieka...
A whisper. A wind that barely breathes above a faint ghost-touch on the leaves. Perhaps it is an illusion that the shadows of the forest move.
Dark eyes uncovered from where a patch of blackness existed. Gleaming for a fraction of a second. All at once, part of the shadows uncloak to reveal a figure clothed in the ebony blackness of night. A brief tantalizing illusion of a branch swaying and the figure is gone, like a hallucination of a fevered imagination.
Brief flick-flick-flick of moonlight thru the trees. A sudden glint and a flicker of copper red, gleaming for a split second; the briefest glimpse of a swiftly moving figure. Then abruptly the trees merge into a barren glen drenched in moonlight.
Swift hands shake the dark mask from a slim, dark, almost elven face. Revealing a flash of crimson and cobalt war patterns and the gleaming amber eyes of Carradoc Sionadh Ceiteach Stormwolf. But tonight, there is no softness or gentleness in her face. Coldly calculating, the amber eyes turn to icy topaz. Yin Katzuo, Kunoichi of the house of Nikaido hunts tonight. And there will be no mercy shown.
One slim, scarred hand grips 3 small shuriken, each etched with a fast-acting, deadly poison. The other keeps a secure hold on a wicked thin stiletto with razor edges. A soft name released into the winds. Then a flash of steel flying towards some nameless patch in the darkness and an soft agonized cry. Then the thud and crackle of something falling. And no more.
Carra darts into the bushes. Kneeling down with flint-hard eyes beside the still twitching body of a black-clad man of curiously misshapen face. His mismatched eyes roll in agony as the poison does its work. But the glare of defiance and rebellion does not change throughout.
Carra casually grips the stiletto. Placing it just above the man's throat as she asks gently, "Now. Who are you."
Raw contempt and defiance spill from those dying, hate-fulled eyes. Spitting out a faint, "You...are dabbling with....things you do not...understand....wench." A gurgle. A choking, wracked cough that spits up dark blood all over his chest. A twitch and he is still forever.
A hiss and Carra sits back on her heels. Eyes glittering vengefully. "What is happening to Camelot?" she quietly murmurs, hands searching the dead man's body and clothing skillfully and swiftly. Suddenly her finger catches on something sharp. In an instant she has pried it from the inner pocket of the man's belt.
A curious knife indeed, this. With strange, almost demonic symbols that appear to glow and hiss and spit with ire. In Carra's hands, the blade seems to grow dull at once, fading from the smooth silver sheen to matte black.
Topaz eyes narrow, startled, turning glittering emerald green. "Shahala..." the soft exclamation explosively escaping her lips with a hiss and a sharp intake of breath. Turning the hilt, reading each of the runes with a practiced eye as she mouths each word.
"Kha'Tyh es ThiirGhur...Ma'anRhu'dan se tu Lagh..." Again emerald eyes glitter with a strange gleam. "And behold a pale horse...and his name that sat on him...was Death..."
The dagger drops. Carra draws her breath sharply. Realizing that more than just a year of disturbance and unusual laments plagues Camelot. "The horsemen..." Almost with a chill she crosses her hand to her belly. "Airk...." For a moment, the hard face softens. Then like a fleeting vision, it is gone and the cold mask replaces itself.
7 nights, spent in tracking this one who was seen lurking around Castle Stormwolf's southern frontiers. 7 nights of bringing back old memories and haunting nightmares of a past life that seems another time away. Only Airk knows the extent of the hidden past that Carra has carefully concealed from those in Camelot. That she still holds position as the head of the most powerful ninja clan in Japan and that she once hunted as one of the hidden ones. And she realizes that once again, she must hunt. For the future of her beloved home and all she cares about.
A swift flash as the dagger is picked up and hidden beneath form-fitting black clothing. Then a breath of wind, and she is gone. The kunoichi of the house of Nikaido and queen of the Stormwolf lands.
Date: Wed, 26 Nov 1997 05:27:09 PST
From: Kien_Hal/Danijela
(I hope its not late, but if it is.. *shrug* Hope you all enjoy it, and please, send your comments on it.. its my addition to the storyline... And please pardon any liberties I have taken. :)
Waking up from troubled dreams, Kien_Hal sits up, hugging her knees to her chest. Shaking her head clear she rises from her bed and walks to the window to catch a bit of fresh air. Looking out across the mists she shudders, feeling a foreboding sense of doom. Thinking a moment, Kien decides to call upon someone who owes her a favor, someone who can help her figure out why she saw the horsemen in her dream, and the haunting laughter.
Slipping on a simple wool dress she 'ports herself to a small pool in the woods surrounding Dark Forest castle, shivering slightly in the twilight chill. Picking her way barefooted she gathers stones to make a summoning circle, saying the prayers of protection and forgiveness taught to her in lifetimes past. Finishing the circle, she looks towards The Castle, then towards Camelot, and prays that no one learns of her doings.
Taking a deep breath, she goes into a trance, chanting softly, but slowly her voice gets louder, her words flowing like a raging river swollen with springs thaw..
"I Am the Red Sea I Am your Blood I Am Yours you are Mine I Call You as You Called Me Once Before Up from The Depths, Up from the Earth, Heed Me See Me Hear Me Answer my Call."
On and on Kien_Hal chants, her voice rising and falling like waves crashing on rocks, her body swaying with concentration. The ground withing the circle of stones cracks, and an inky black smoke rises up from it. The inky smoke solidifies into the form of a young man with green fire for eyes.
"You rang, Oh Childe of Mine?" the voice drawls out sarcastically.
Kien_Hal comes out of the trance and raises an eyebrow at the man within the circle of stones.
"Lifetime after lifetime trapped, and still you cannot answer a summons without an attitude. But I digress.. I have questions to be answered, Arathanor," Kien_Hal 's green eyes watch the man with cold eyes.
The man laughs. "So, you remember my true name. I regret that I cannot remember yours. Ah well, those times were lifetimes ago. What do you wish, Mistress?"
Kien manages a smirk. "My dreams, Spectre, my dreams. The four horseman. Seals that are weakening, one already broken. Morning Star. What can all this mean? Surely the horsemen are not loose again?"
The Man raises an eyebrow. "Interesting indeed, Childe. yes, a horseman is loose. the Dark Horse has a rider once more, " he pauses for effect, "and is rallying up the others. Morning Star is the name of Him before He Fell. The horsemen are coming, and death precedes them. Pray for the innocents that will die on a battlefield in the name of a Great Castle and a Great Hall."
Kien_Hal shudders. "Can you name the Great Castle? The Great Hall?"
The Man smirks. "Those are deeper answers. An offering for these.. you know the rules." His eyes glitter hungrily.
Kien glances to the Castle, then towards Camelot. She sends a thought ::Caish, Carradoc, Aegosk, and all others that hold me dear.. Do nae hold against me for what I give, and what I may release...:: looking back to the spectre she bites her wrist, watching the demon blood flow dark and slow. Stepping closer, she offers the wrist to The Man, her Emerald eyes void of expression. The Man licks his lips hungrily before clamping his clammy lips to the wrist just within his reach. Kien Hal hisses as she feels her blood being drawn out of her, feeling her soul flow with that blood. With a scream she rips the Spectre from her wrist, panting with the exertion. Kien_Hal fights unconsciousness as she raises her eyes to Glare at the blood-tinted Spectre.
The Man laughs, the sound sending chills down Kien's spine. "You Tasted my Blood. I Tasted Yours. Now We are Even, Lea of Landria. Now We Are One."
The ground rumbles as the Spectre steps out of the circle of stones and places a hand on Kien_Hal's shoulder, his Green eyes lighted with the fires of Hell. Kien_Hal sighs and turns away from him, walking towards the Castle. She turns back only once to Say:"Well? Are you going to help or am I going to take back my blood and send you back? We have work to do."
Binding her wrist with a strip of her dress she walks ahead, The Man Quickly matching steps with her as they near Dark Forest Castle. Some Where On the Roads to Camelot, A Horseman On a Gaunt Black Horse Shudders as he Feels the Resurrection of a Former Master...
E-mail comments and/or corrections to Diana/Wenn & Co