Ancient Domains Of Mystery, forum overview / Stories / Wanderings
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Matt Registered user Adventurer Last page view: 6916 days, 8 hours, 40 minutes and 37 seconds ago. |
OOC: This is a story in progress. The other story, "Happenings", is sort of a prologue to this. . . As the day went by, Carak's frown deepened. . . He'd heard that Lawenilothehl was a lawless wasteland, a moral void, an unscratchable itch in society's backside, the last refuge of the damned, the only place in all of Ancardia where 'pure sin' wasn't an oxymoron. Passing travelers had taken the time to do impressions; one half-troll had even gone to all the trouble of flinch, moaning, and rolling his eyes twice 'round their sockets, simply to convey his deep psychological aversion to the name of the settlement. . . But now that he'd arrived, it seemed rather mundane. Admittedly, the gatekeeper had tried to send a quarrel through his rib cage, but that was it. No one else had even looked at him twice, which was odd. Carak knew that, as an orcish druid, he could be a quite an odd sight. Everyone seemed to pretty keep to themselves in the inner area of Lawenilothehl. . . And for that matter, the inner settlement seemed a bit too well-built to be a refuge of outlaws. Carak was currently in the local pub, which actually had a thick bugbear rug at the entrance, and he was sipping some ale, which was not only poison-free, but actually rather good; none of that 'light' watery stuff. . . He idly voiced some of this to the bartender, a round, burly fellow with matted black hair. (Carak wasn't certain the guy was 100% human.) . . The man responded simply, never taking his eyes (or just 'eye'? It might've been a scar) off the beer mug he was polishing with silent intensity. "Hotzenplotz, the crime lord, runs the town these days. Finances the inner settlement, keeps things in line." Carak inferred that 'things' also included various sentient beings. . . The young druid contemplated this newly acquired fact for a moment before speaking. "I think I'll have another drink," Carak said. . . "What'll it be?" inquired the bartender routinely. Before he could answer, a squeaky, slithery voice spoke up behind him. "Da orrrc and me's'd like two potions of boozzze!" the ratling said as it sat on the seat adjacent to Carak. . . The young orc began to correct the order, as he was in a mood for a heavier drink, but the bartender had already scooped two mugs into one of the barrels below the counter and set the two drinks down on the bar. Meanwhile, the ratling (who wore a pale green cloak) was softly sniffing his neighbor's--the orcish druid's--cloak, which Carak found slightly discomforting. . . "Uh.... hi," he greeted the ratling, whose eyes refocused before suddenly fixing upon the young druid with a conniving gaze. . . "Me's got a grrreaat offer for ye! Da key to da whole messss for but 500 gold pieces!" the creature whispered excitedly. . . The young orc kept a cynical mindset, wondering how many times the ratling had used the same line before. "I don't think...." . . Before he could complete his gracious refusal, the cloaked ratling was yanked off his feet and shoved out the door. . . Caral blinked twice before settling his eyes upon the new arrival, a burly half-orc who seemed not have even the intelligence to realize that he'd just thrown an inanimate object out of the way to make room for his massive form. . . "Need booze," the brute grunted in greeting, settling down upon a stool that creaked dangerously. The hulking fellow downed the cloaked ratling's abandoned mug in a single quick swig. . . Carak discretely shifted his stool a hand's-length away from the muscled patron, keeping his hand of his skull staff as an instinctive precaution. . . Several minutes passed as the orcish druid sipped his (ill-begotten) beverage while the half-orc drank barrel after barrel but didn't seem to grow intoxicated. Carak marveled at the sheer capacity of the fellow. . . After some time, the muscled (potential) menace began to speak of his daily activity as a bouncer for someone known as 'da boss', as the bartender listened while polishing the mug. At first the Carak was at a loss as to the identity of 'da boss', but then he remembered the bartender's words. . . The orcish druid interrupted. "You work for Hotzenplotz, I assume? I had hoped I would have a chance to speak with him before I left the settlement. Would you be willing to lead me to him, friend?" . . "Name's Durge, not Fend," replied the oversized bouncer. "An' ye needs an appoin'ment ta see da boss." . . "Oh, I have an appointment," Carak lied. . . For a minute the half-orc seemed to visibly struggle to defeat this logic, but in the end relented. "Okay," Durge grunted. "Follow." [Edited 6 times, last edit on 8/3/2004 at 22:59 (GMT -5) by Matt] |
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Matt Registered user Adventurer Last page view: 6916 days, 8 hours, 40 minutes and 37 seconds ago. |
. . A short while later Carak was attempting to keep pace a half-step behind Durge as the half-orc bouncer lumbered through the narrow, mazish streets, framed by the low-roofed shacks of the inner settlement. . . It seemed to him that there were no established living areas in the area. Every structure seemed to be some sort of hideout or informal 'storage' area; the few who openly walked the streets--mostly assassins, outlaws, generic criminal-types, and the occasional loose raider--walked along the edge of the road, rather than in the middle of it, as Carak and Durge did. . . The young orc's druidic perception enabled him to note all of this while simultaneously watching his guide carefully. He gaged the eight-foot brute to be presently undisposed to violence; still Carak firmly grasped his skull staff beneath his hooded cloak. . . The two pedestrians winded their way through several out-of-the-way alleys before Durge suddenly stopped in his tracks. The young druid (still a half-step behind him) barely halted his movements in time to avoid a collision. . . They had arrived before a fairly nondescript brick house. Upon closer inspection, however, the orcish druid noticed that it seemed straighter than other buildings he'd seen. . . The half-orc bouncer stepped forward and knocked on the wooden door three times. There was a short pause before Durge received three knocks in response. Then there was a click. . . The door clicked sharply. At this, the fellow grunted (to himself, Carak assumed....) before he stepped back and swung open the door. He then motioned for the young orc to enter first. . . For a moment Carak hesitated. A moment's deliberation on the part of the orcish druid finally produced a nod of assent. . . Stepping through the doorway, every sense on guard, the young druid treaded cautiously upon the carpeted entryway; his druidic senses weren't picking up traces of any traps, but, of course, it wasn't completely reliable. . . Making his way to the end of the hall, he felt the presence of the half-orc bouncer behind him. It didn't feel like an ambush, although it certainly seemed like one; all the same, Carak concentrated on gathering magical energies for an attack spell; Divine Wrath or Hellish Flames. . . He came upon a door at the end of the hall. As he opened it, every sense tingling, he discovered.... . . Well, the sight of two half-orc bouncers and a man wasn't particularly astounding he had to admit. The man was well-dressed, with dark hair and eyes of coal. Carak didn't have to cast Know Alignment to see that the fellow was chaotic and also, if the young orc wasn't mistaken.... . . "Hotzenplotz?" the orcish druid queried. When he'd opened the door, the two half-orc had immediately ceased their pacing and turned to him belligerently. The well-dressed man, long-bearded and his face adorned in various scars, was obviously in charge; he'd been deep in meditation. . . Carak held his position--his cloaked and hooded figure framed in the doorway--as the man turned to face him. The young druid could tell the man was dangerous; he had a brutal feel. . . For another few moments, there was a tension as each party assessed the other. . . The uneasy silence was broken as Durge poked his head through the doorway from behind Carak. "Da bass," the half-orc informed him. . . The man relaxed, and the orcish druid picked up on it and followed suit. It was a subtle exchange of gestures, but then the man signaled for the half-orcs to settle back. . . The man spoke first. "Aye. And who are ye? Why are ye here? And unannounced." He articulated calmly and with only a slight Drakalor accent, but made it plain in his voice that he wouldn't tolerate any more out-of-the-ordinary happenings, after this unexpected interruption. . . The young orc phrased his response carefully. No need to make this messy. "My name is Carak; as a passing traveler I have heard of your workings in the settlement of Lawenilothehl. In my admiration I sought that I might hold conversation with the crime lord Hotzenplotz before time necessitated my departure. Your kind employee, the esteemed Durge, generously agreed to lead me to your person," he finished. . . Hotzenplotz nodded as he spoke this. When Carak finished with the short explanation, the crime lord seemed to ponder silently for a short while before finally imparting a tiny smile. . . "Well met, orc Carak," the crime lord replied. "I've some time to spare, so, speak." [Edited 2 times, last edit on 8/3/2004 at 23:02 (GMT -5) by Matt] |
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Matt Registered user Adventurer Last page view: 6916 days, 8 hours, 40 minutes and 37 seconds ago. |
. . "I had heard terrible stories of the lawlessness and disorder of this place--and I had assumed them to be true, from what I knew of the ways of Chaos." . . Upon hearing this, Hotzenplotz smiled welcomingly, and Carak felt a wave of Chaos sweep out from the crime lord, and through the room. /Yes, he's chaotic... but what was that for? Was he showing off?/ the orcish druid mused. . . The young orc continued. "I see now that your arrival in the settlement must have changed the ways things work here...." He paused before continuing. "Although, I am surprised at your methods. The.... quality.... of the inner city is one that I would not expect of you. It seems almost...." . . "Ordered?" The crime lord chuckled, by way of interruption. "I suppose ye have not had the opportunity to fully hone yer Druidic senses--still young, aren't ye? So ye may not be able to see levels of Order and Chaos. Be assured, this place is thickly chaotic through many abstractions. . . "And, I am not new to Lawenilothehl," Hotzenplotz added. "My efforts here had been hindered by the Sheriff of Terinyo--recently slain by an adventurer under my employ." . . Carak blinked. "Tywat Pare? When did this happen?" . . "A few months back," the crime lord gestured dimissively. "It is of no significance. . . "Now, tell me," the man went on, "What be yer quest? An orcish druid is rare, and rarer here. By yer accent, ye are not from these parts." . . The young druid considered before answering. "Yes, I'm not a native of the Chain. I traveled here from a cold northern land, a land in which an orcish druid is not so uncommon. That I came upon the Drakalor Pass was mere chance; I had set out on a spiritual quest, as is customary of the Druidic people of my land." He paused for a moment before admitting, "I did not even know the name of Khelavaster until well into my travels through the mountain range." . . Hotzenplotz appeared to think this over for a little while. Finally, he spoke. . . "Carak, if you have no aim in this 'spiritual quest' of yours, perhaps ye could do me a favor." [Edited 1 time, last edit on 8/3/2004 at 23:06 (GMT -5) by Matt] |
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Matt Registered user Adventurer Last page view: 6916 days, 8 hours, 40 minutes and 37 seconds ago. |
. . The orcish druid looked on silently as Hotzenplotz continued. "A few weeks back a girl stole a trinket of mine. It is of sentimental value; she stole it to spite me, the girl did. So if ye were to bring her to justice, and return to me the bracelet she took, I would be very accomodating." . . Carak considered. A crime lord in pursuit of a simple wrist-decoration? No doubt it held some great magical ability. . . "Where would I find this girl?" he asked, letting show no outward sign of his suspicion. . . "The thief escaped the city by scaling the northern wall," the man replied. "She goes by the handle of 'the Thieving Wanderer', although I suspect that is not her real name. She has been linked to many a theft in these parts." . . Carak frowned thoughtfully for a moment before speaking. "What else should I know about her?" . . "The girl is dark elven, and her trade is that of a rogue," Hotzenplotz told the young orc. "She is moderately skilled in fighting; however, she has neither clerical nor innate magic. And I sense that ye have both." . . The orcish druid feigned disregard for this last observation, although it struck him; for a small-time crime lord, Hotzeplotz was unnaturally perceptive. . . "So, if I were to follow up on this suggestion...." Carak trailed off, waiting for the man to finish his sentence. . . "Oh, I will likely not reward ye. As I said before, what she stole from me is of no real monetary value; it wouldn't be worth twelve gold pieces," Hotzenplotz replied. "I only suggested it because ye implied that ye had no direct path in this quest of yers. . . "But," the crime lord finished, "If ye bring me back the bracelet as it were stolen, ye will have my thanks, and a favored owed ye. Do not take that lightly." . . Carak put on a nonplussed expression, and elected to finish their conversation. "Thanks, I'll keep that in mind," he said. . . As the orcish druid headed out the door, the crime lord said one last thing. "Oh, and orc Carak, be assured that despite yer suspicions, the trinket has no magic to it. Keep that in mind when ye make yer choice; I would not want ye to take on the quest in hopes to acquiring a magic that does not exist," he told the traveler. . . The young orc hesitate in the doorway, then continued his exit as though nothing had been said. . . Hotzenplotz watched in hidden satisfaction as the door closed behind the orcish druid. . . The crime lord knew that Carak would accept the quest, despite his distrust of the petitioner; he felt it clearly. . . As time pressed on, the forces of order and chaos would gather to the Drakalor Chain. The Second Nightmare heralded the coming of a new age. . . Hotzenplotz knew that the unaligned would take sides once again, yet the forces of Chaos would not repeat the mistakes of the past. All variables would be taken into account. . . The orcs were born of Chaos, and could not stay neutral. Even this learned druid could not escape the workings of ancient magic. . . "Grunge, could ye fetch me a cup of coffee?" Hotzenplotz told the half-orc bouncer. "And get yerself something while ye're at it. It's hard for me to drink when ye're eying my cup thirstily like ye always do. And no sugar," he added. [Edited 2 times, last edit on 8/3/2004 at 23:07 (GMT -5) by Matt] |
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Matt Registered user Adventurer Last page view: 6916 days, 8 hours, 40 minutes and 37 seconds ago. |
. . As Carak made his way out of the settlement at the eastern gate, he stepped over the rotting corpse of the gatekeeper without breaking stride. . . No one had bothered to clean up the corpse, or hire a replacement, for that matter. . . This presented a problem, because at the moment the gate was down. The orcish druid sat down for a moment to contemplate a solution. . . One epiphany later, the young orc was on his feet, his eyes closed, concentrating on the focus of his magic as he cast the spell of Lordly Might. . . He opened his eyes as he felt the effects of the spell take hold. He felt buoyant; his hooded cloak seemed light as a feather, his skull staff a mere reed of grass. . . Digging his fingers into the dirt to gain purchase below the gate, he heaved up with all his might, and the barrier groaned as it rose up reluctantly. . . As the young druid held it up with both hands, he made his way slowly across the space directly below the raised gate. . . He reflected that despite bestowing extraordinary strength upon its target, the spell had not altered the laws of the universe; the weight of the gate he supported caused each of his steps to sink a few inches into the dirt. . . Finally, he made his way past the gate-space, and let the barrier drop down with a massive thud. . . Glancing around, Carak reflected that the view looked very scenic. . . He stood on a rough dirt path outside the walls of Lawenilothehl. . . The stumps of countless felled trees stretched for half a mile around him. Behind him was the solitary form of the outlaw settlement. . . Forest stretched endlessly at the end of the stump field. A dirt road sliced through the western forest, and two smaller, low-rising paths winded into the northern and southern forests. . . The land rose to the north and south, and sloped downward to the west, where a setting sun framed violet-hued rainclouds. . . The orcish druid frowned as he considered the advancing storm. It occurred to him that perhaps he should have waited until tomorrow to set off. . . But, he had already set out, and he didn't like to turn back. . . He had made his way to Lawenilothehl from the east, so he could not head back that way. And if he did, the open road would provide no protection from the downpour. The north and south were his only options. . . To the south, he knew, the forest extended for two days' travel before turning to plains that bordered the river, along which resided numerous peaceful ratling villages, where he could find shelter while observing their way of life. . . To the north, he knew, was dense forest for a week or more before turning to foothills and then mountains, and no significant settlements. Raiders were common in the area. . . And to the north was Hotzenplotz's quest. . . He moved to walk onto the southern path, then hesitated mid-movement. . . Knowing he'd regret it, Carak set out onto the northern path. |
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Matt Registered user Adventurer Last page view: 6916 days, 8 hours, 40 minutes and 37 seconds ago. |
. . The solitary, cloaked figured passed quietly through the thick foliage across the dark night, as the torrent of rain was mostly abated by the overhead canopy. . . Every few seconds lightning would shatter the darkness and briefly illuminate the undergrowth. Carak's druidic training helped in this; he held the mental discipline required to fix and navigate mind-made 'maps' despite the moonless sky. . . The young druid made only the faintest of sounds as he strode through the brush. His movements were fluid and precise; he had trained with the rangers of his clan as a child, and he knew some of their skills. . . He had been walking for hours; twilight had faded some time ago. His endurance was excellent, but he knew he could not walk forever; he planned to walk through to the nearest village. . . The orcish druid's sense of direction never let him down. But, he was growing concerned.... . . Carak had received careful directions from a merchant while on his way to Lawenilothehl; he should have come to a teeming village by now. . . Frowning, he considered using Farsight for a moment. Then, as lightning flashed, he noticed something odd. . . Out of the corner of his eye he had spotted something.... shiny? In the middle of the forest? . . He stepped to the side of the dirt trail to examine, and reached down to pick up a broken shard of pottery. . . The young orc was about to dismiss it as some fragment of a discard vase, but then his six sense told him otherwise. . . Carak stood himself across the path in a firm stance as he took out his skull staff and thrust it up into the dark night. . . The orcish druid muttered the words of the spell in tune to the rhythms of the wind. . . As he spoke the final syllable of the incantation, the staff flashed blindingly for a moment as it served as a medium for the Spell of Light; a moment later, the radiance spread from the skull staff out into the surrounding forest. . . It was only then that he could fully examine the area. Looking around, Carak's druidic senses spotted dozens of minute clues in the forest, that all pointed toward one impossible explanation. . . "What happened to this village?" he whispered. . . "Do you truly wish to know?" a voice replied. |
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Matt Registered user Adventurer Last page view: 6916 days, 8 hours, 40 minutes and 37 seconds ago. |
. . Upon hearing the unearthly voice, the orcish druid wasted no time in his reaction. His skull staff flashed and whirled in the air, then lowered horizontally a half-span as the cloak swirled about his form deceptively before settling. . . For a moment Carak made no sound as he listened to the air while in the combative crouch. . . But he could not sense the presence of whatever had spoken to him. A spectre? he wondered, as he readied Bless in case.... . . "No need for that. I am no ghost," the voice spoke for the second time. Carak had trained his senses to anticipate the voice this time, and was able to discern which direction it came from; north, south, east and west....? . . "But you certainly are a powerful wizard," the young druid stated evenly. The being could sense that he had been gathering energies for the Bless spell, and was able to cloak its presence while projecting its voice from every which way; this was the clear explanation. . . There was a long silence, then the voice addressed the young orc once more. "That is true. You are no stranger to magic yourself, although I am suprised that a creature such as yourself--an animal for all appearances--would have innate and druidic sources." . . The voice was beginning to tick Carak off, though he didn't let down his guard for a moment. "If I'm the ugly one, why are you hiding in the shadows?" he called back edgily. . . With these words, the voice took form. A thin, ethereal figure materialized along the far edge of the mini-clearing that had been a village, only about fifteen spans away. . . His face and form were half-shadowed; he had given up his invisibility while standing exactly along the edge of the circular area that had been unnaturally lit by the Spell of Light. But the orcish druid could tell that he was a gray elf; the silver hair was a clear indicator. . . "This village," the elf said regally, gesturing toward the mostly-buried remains, "has been ravaged by Chaos." . . Carak frowned. "Well," he replied, "That would be one explanation. What I don't understand is how what was a teeming village last Threeweek now appears to have been laid to waste and abandoned for centuries." . . The mysterious wizard spoke. "The corruption that consumed this town is not limited by space or time. Are you unable to comprehend that such disruption is the nature of Chaos? We are all within the Dream...." . . "Personally, I don't buy into that ontologist idealist quackery," Carak replied. "I've always been something of an existential materalist." . . The gray elf let out a bitter laugh. "You are unschooled, young one. I perceive it. I thought that perhaps a Druid...." he trailed off. . . Carak cast his gaze aside uncomfortably as he responded. "I had.... I had thought that there would be people here. The merchant attested to have sold his wares here only five days ago." Somehow this bothered him. . . "Even I cannot tell you when this village fell. Untold millenia past or yet to come, it has no meaning. Chaos thrives upon such. In fact," the strange elf continued, "you would likely have been unable to see this devastation, had it not been full into Darknight as you came through." . . Carak absorbed all of this in silence. After some time he asked, "Who are you?" as he glanced over at the wizard, who he now realized had long disappeared. |
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Matt Registered user Adventurer Last page view: 6916 days, 8 hours, 40 minutes and 37 seconds ago. |
. . The orcish druid set his eyes on the space of air in which the wizard had stood some time ago. . . Shrugging, Carak allowed his eyes to flicker across the forest. The strange wizard was nowhere to be seen; he had left silently, apparently while the other had been lost in thought. . . Glancing around once more at the miniscule remnants of the village, Carak pondered the gray elf's words. He had at first thought it nonsense, but in the silence of the night and through his connection with clerical magic, he now found himself holding the wizard's words as significant.... Something about.... what had been the fellow's exact phrase? . . As he thought this, his druidic senses alerted him to a sudden atmospheric change. Craning his head, he spotted a tiny sliver of light through a crack in the thick forest canopy. The appearance of the moon beheld the end of Darknight; the month of the Sword was one day past. . . Carak, having paused his travels briefly to observe the sky, was about to resume walking through the forest when he suddenly hesitated. . . Had there been.... something here? A village? Someone.... No. . . The orcish druid looked around at the Light that illuminated the forest, and briefly wondered why he had bothered to cast the spell. The area was clearly a generic wooded area, and showed no sign of anything obtrusive. . . As he continued his passage through the forest, the smallest sense of something odd quickly passed from his mind. When Carak reflected upon the merchant's traveling advice, he only remembered that the man had advised him to press on through the lowland end of the forest until he reached a small town by the river; nothing at all to the contrary. . . True to the merchant's advice, the sun was almost fully above the horizon before Carak made his way to the top of a hill and spied dozens of people afoot, winding their way across, through and within shed and houses and mills, getting done the morning's labor. It was indeed a teeming town. . . He walked confidently down the slope of the low hill toward the bowlish outline of the town. The small, sturdy houses of the townsfolk were built very close to one another; cart-wide lanes criss-crossed through the quiet settlement. . . As the forest path fully emerged onto the hill and became more defined, the young orc experienced the buoyant atmosphere. He felt more than happy to take up temporary residency in this place until he could set off again later that night. . . Carak knew he would get some rest in this tiny, tranquil town. |
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Matt Registered user Adventurer Last page view: 6916 days, 8 hours, 40 minutes and 37 seconds ago. |
. . The young druid casually passed through the outskirts of the town. He took a sip of fresh water from the river at the far end of a field, then entered the streets. The morning sun continued to lift his spirits a great deal. . . To his surprise, the men, women and children of the small community paid him no mind, despite his appearance; apparently the sight of an orc in a hooded cloak wasn't enough to send little kids running away screaming. . . He opened himself up to the world, focusing on his heightened senses. The air was moist and cool. The uncut grass brushed across his legs and communicated a welcome. The wind whistled over his face and spoke to him.... spoke to him of.... . . "Good morning to ye, stranger." Carak released his druidic focus and turned to the speaker. A small, portly man with a kind grin peered up from his seat on a porch built before a small lodge along the streetside. He held a half-eaten biscuit in his hand. . . "And to you, fellow," the orcish druid replied with a small amount of uncertainty. He wasn't used to non-orc humanoids, especially not humans themselves, being so friendly with him; doubts and fears usually fostered silence. . . "Ye look weary from travel," the man said with concern in his voice. "I've got spare room in this here inn; only forty gold pieces a night." . . The young orc was momentarily taken aback. People were never this kind to an orc. But he sensed no untrustworthiness in the man's words, and reasoned that folk living in secluded areas must not encounter many outsiders, and would consequently appreciate the arrival of any traveler, orc or otherwise. . . "I am. I would like that very much," he told the innkeeper, who smiled warmly as he stood up and motioned for the orcish druid to follow. . . They walked into the inn, and the man led the young orc past a small diner and up a creaking staircase before stopping at the third door on the left. "Here's yer room, mister...." the innkeeper trailed off. . . "Carak. My name's Carak," the young druid told the man kindly. . . The innkeeper smiled and bowed to his guest, turned around and went down the stairs, calling back over his shoulder, "Two meals a day, served anytime!" . . The orcish druid examined his room. It was small, but held decent standards. He wouldn't have expected an inn at a remote town like this. . . He brushed a thin layer of dust off the small rectangular bed, fashioned out of rough wood and smoothed over. The inn hadn't had a patron in months, it seemed. . . Carak figured that the inn doubled as a diner, and the accommodations were simply guest rooms with two free meals on the diner: a simple business. . . There was a small window on the east wall, through which he could see the sun had risen three times itself over the horizon. . . The day had only just begun, but the young druid was so exhausted from a twelve hour's hike that he fell asleep less than a minute after lying down. |
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Matt Registered user Adventurer Last page view: 6916 days, 8 hours, 40 minutes and 37 seconds ago. |
. . #Wake up!# . . "Wha? Who? Wha?" Carak leapt from his bed disheveledly, one hand firmly gripping his skull staff, the other steadying himself. His eyes shot open and scanned the room. . . A bit wild-eyed, the orcish druid stood as still as possible, with only a slight sway due to the quickly receding fogginess of sleep, and expanded his acute senses. . . But there was nothing. The lodge's guest room was completely still. . . The young orc hesitated for a bit longer, then sighed and slowly lay back down on the bed. There was no one around; it must have been a bad dream. . . Passing it off as such, he had closed his eyes for less than a second before finding himself sitting up straight and widening his eyes in alarm for the second time at these next words. . . #Hey! I said, wake up!# an echoed voice called out to him. . . Now Carak was on his feet, fully awake, and readying himself for conflict. "I'm awake, I'm awake. Whoever you are." . . #Whoever I am? You don't know me? I'm Tywat Pare, sheriff of the city of Terinyo. At least, I was, not a short while back.# the being replied. . . "Nice try," the young druid cut in. "Sheriff Pare was assassinated a few months back. And you clearly don't have a Drakalorian accent. Now, I would very much appreciate it if you'd step forward so we can talk face-to-face.... I wouldn't want to have to make you." . . #I'm at the window# it answered. #And I can't seem to float in. As for me being dead....# There was a slight hesitation. #That's plain to see.# . . The orcish druid stepped forward, then suddenly lunged toward the window with his skull staff in a defensive position. . . Not a length outside the lodge, hovering in mid-air and eerily translucent, was Tywat Pare. . . Carak's druidic senses were on fire at this point. It was a ghost, he knew, but was it really Pare, or just a deceiving spirit? Many ghosts returned with a hatred for the living.... . . Stepping back, movements rigid and precise, the young druid addressed the spirit while readying Dispel Undead. "I'm not entirely certain of who or what you are. I think it would be best if you stated your business with me." . . #I am here to save you# the ghost replied. #You have not noticed, but this town, and soon you yourself, are under the control of a necromancer.# . . Carak snorted. "Sure, sure. And my cloak is woven of cheese." . . He sensed frustration from the being, who responded in annoyance. #You think you would have known? Are you sure you are yourself today?# . . "Why wouldn't I be?" the young orc said. "Don't think you can deceive me, spirit. I'll say again that your accent is as foreign as mine. And a necromancer only has influence over the dead. This town is very much alive." . . #You think so?# it replied. #These people are walking corpses, mockeries of their former lives. Only I, a wandering spirit invisible to most, can see the dark truth of this place.# . . "Maybe if I weren't a druid, I would believe you," Carak replied. "But, since I am, and my druidic senses tell me these things, I know for a fact that your story can't be true." . . #You are under a glamour,# the ghost revealed. #The river is poisoned with it.# . . "Uh, no. I always cast Greater Enlightenment before I take a drink, to identify all magical and non-magical properties. There no way...." But then the orcish druid hesitated, remembering. He had been so tired from the long travel, and distracted by the lively atmosphere, that he hadn't bothered to probe the river. He had reasoned that a river adjacent to a thriving settlement could hold no tainted water. . . Hesitating, the young druid took a step back, still eying the other-worldy sheriff, and raised his staff forward. "Don't come any closer," Carak warned the being. "This will only take a moment." . . He synchronized his breathing with his heartbeat, and focused on his body and spirit. Chanting in a low voice, he formulated and cast the Spell of Revelation. . . ....And discovered that the ethereal entity spoke truly. The spell had laid bare all his hidden qualities: intrinsic stun resistence, a slight magical quickness, rapid healing, and.... . . Poison. Some rechid substance seeping through his body. It traveled through his heart and into his brain, and every part of his body. It dulled his druidic senses and blocked his sixth senses. . . He realized that the poison would have killed him in a matter of hours, had he not been made aware of it. Immediately, the orcish druid set into Neutralize Poison. . . The spell took effect quickly, due to the intense purpose with which it was cast. A moment later he was free of the poison's dark influence. . . "Thank you," Carak told the ghost. "I had no idea that this substance was inside of me." . . #It's of no consequence# the being replied. #Since I was murdered, there have been few who can see me at all. I have been here a month, and watched as these good folk were poisoned and died and resurrected by the necromancer....# . . The young orc stood straighter as he heard this. "Where is this sorcerer? I'll kill him." . . The sheriff grinned. #That's what I was hoping you'd say. When you came here I sensed you would desire to release the lawful townfolk from their unholy reanimation.# . . Carak shrugged. "Sure. They're released when I kill the fucker who poisoned me, yes? Because that's all I really want, and need, to do." |
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Matt Registered user Adventurer Last page view: 6916 days, 8 hours, 40 minutes and 37 seconds ago. |
. . Stealthily, Carak, with the ghost of Tywat Pare in tow, creeped down the stairs of the inn and slipped out the back entrance. . . The orcish druid stuck to the shadows, casting a touch of Darkness and Light to better hide his presence from the passers-by. . . An open window revealed that the sun was halfway below the horizon; he'd slept nearly twelve hours. . . The ethereal sheriff was giving directions, to Carak's slight annoyance. He'd had to shoosh the spirit twice now; apparently his voice had the natural tendency to revert to a wailing monotone. . . The young orc and his undead friend crept throgh a dark alley on their way to what Pare described as the 'lair of evil'. Every once in a while they'd pass one of the townsfolk. . . Without the poison in his blood to distort his perceptions, physical and magical, Carak had to work to keep his revulsion under wraps. . . .What had been a thriving settlement now seemed a graveyard; rotting corpses populated the town's streets, walking and talking and interacting as if they didn't know they were dead. . . /But that's impossible,/ he thought, /Their movements are simply one grand charade. Necromancy is animation; these lifeless zombies are nothing but programmed puppets./ . . All these thoughts were only idling at the back of his mind, however; at the forefront of his consciousness he concentrated only on the exactment of his revenge. . . One certainty existed: no one, whether bard or merchant, humanitarian or serial killer, healer or necromancer, could threaten his druidic sanctity of body, mind, and spirit, and escape undecimated. . . The young druid's stride quickened as he paced through the streets of the deceased town, closer and closer to his destination. . . "Which way?" Carak prompted, glancing at the transparent visage of Terinyo's former sheriff, who gestured eerily to make a left turn at the intersection. . . Meanwhile, the Pare's ghost couldn't seem to keep his mouth shut. . . Carak knew, and recognized, that the man had been a well-respected and renowned leader and visionary in his community, with progressive policies and true leadership; in these latter days, with the influx of visiting adventurers, the tiny hamlet of Terinyo had grown to a city, but Tywat Pare had stepped up to the task. . . Until his untimely demise, the details of which were still largely unknown to Carak; he'd have to make a point of asking the fellow. . . Presently, the sheriff was talking altogether too much. The young druid reasoned it in his undead state, Pare was invisible to most, so he didn't have much opportunity for conversation. . . Still, couldn't the man give it a rest? His incessant talk of 'doing the right thing' and 'letting these good folk find eternal rest' was far more than Carak cared to hear about. . . Finally, the sheriff's ghost indicated their arrival. #There it is,# Tywat Pare moaned/said, lifting a ghostly arm and straightening his index finger to point at a crate at the end of an alley. . . The orcish druid frowned, stepping forward. The sun had descended well below the western skyline, and the moon was a thin crescent at the high point in its travel across the night sky. . . He and the ghost had come to a dead end. This lane between two houses was boarded up, a single shipping crate at its end. . . "So the entrance is behind the crate?" Carak asked the specter, who nodded in confirmation. "Thanks; that's all I needed to know." . . With this, the orcish druid raised his skull staff high in the air, muttered a light chant, then arched it down, impacting it upon the crate with the sharp *crack*. . . It split in two halves; each fell to one side, revealing the secret passageway behind. . . #How did you do that?# the ghost asked. #I've never seen such skill with the staff.# . . "Neither have I," the young druid replied. "It was simply a strike laced with Divine Key; you'd be surprised how willing the spell is to clear out anything that's hindering entry." . . The spirit of Tywat Pare blinked. #You need only have pushed it aside....# . . But Carak wasn't listening; he had leapt forward into the darkness of the hidden passage. [Edited 1 time, last edit on 8/20/2004 at 01:01 (GMT -5) by Matt] |
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Matt Registered user Adventurer Last page view: 6916 days, 8 hours, 40 minutes and 37 seconds ago. |
. . ....And found himself falling. . . "Oof!" grunted Carak as he hit the ground. It had only been a ten-foot fall, but at a treacherous angle; if he hadn't had a tough orc body, he could have easily broken something. . . He sensed the ghost float down behind him. #Are you....# . . "All right? Yes," the young druid replied. "In any case, thanks for leading me here, but you can feel free to leave." . . #I cannot, and will not, leave you to that foul sorcerer# the spirit said stoically. . . The orcish druid shrugged. "Suit yourself. But don't get in my way." . . Focusing his attention back on the matter at hand, Carak found there was little to focus upon. It was pitch black. . . Making a quick decision, he took a small stone out a hidden pocket inside of his cloak, and threw it up and out into the air. . . The pebble clinked up landing, and the young druid proceeded to cast the Spell of Light, with the stone as a focus. . . He could have cast it where he stood, he knew, but he had no knowledge of the nature of the area in which he stood; any illumination could reveal his location. Darkness was his friend, but he could not seek out the cursed necromancer blindly. . . As he uttered the final syllable, he felt the unique attunement of himself with the mana flow of the world as the magical energies channeled through him and into the rock. . . Carak narrowed his eyes to better adjust to the increased brightness, and observed his location. . . It was an antechamber of sorts; nothing ornate, but it was usable. It appeared carved by magical means, likely with a wand of digging. Thick limestone slabs formed three walls. . . The fourth 'wall' was clearly some sort of bizarre fresco; abstract art, it looked. The work of Chaos, he surmised. It wasn't bad. . . A makeshift staircase, built of rock and wood, rose up to the front and center of the wall, where an open door broke the pattern of randomness. . . "Ten lengths up from the floor is an odd place to put a door," the orcish druid mused. He moved to step forward, but suddenly his sixth sense set off like there was no tomorrow. . . He frowned. "Traps." Holding forth his staff, he closed his eyes and focused on one massive Disarm Trap spell. . . #What are you doing?# Pare's ghost suddenly interrupted. #There's a door over there.# . . Carak's eyes snapped open. "This antechamber is crawling with traps," he replied icily. "Now, will you keep quiet and let me concentrate on an anti-trap spell?" . . #I apologize# the specter moaned. #I will withhold my counsel.# . . The young druid rolled his eyes before resuming the spell. Ten seconds of rapid mumblings later, he raised his staff up high and felt the wave of magical energies unleashed across the room; clicks, hisses, and beeps marked the disarmament of the antechamber's denizens. . . Without pausing, the orcish druid took a step forward toward the staircase, then faltered. . . As he caught himself before falling, Carak realized that for the first time in months, he was running low on magical power. Because he had access to both arcane (innate) and clerical (druidic) magical sources, he had an intense connection to the mana flow of Ancardia, and consequently almost never channeled enough to feel the effects of his spellcasting. . . He supposed that the after-effects of the poison had caused this. Normally he could cast Revelation, Neutralize Poison, Divine Key, Darkness, Light, Disarm Trap etc. etc. easily, but for once he actually risked overchanneling. . . "Fortunately," Carak muttered, "I still have more than enough power to annihilate this necromancer." |
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Matt Registered user Adventurer Last page view: 6916 days, 8 hours, 40 minutes and 37 seconds ago. |
. . An unnaturally-lit hallway, he discovered, lay behind the door in the fresco. The Spell of Light had clearly been cast here. . . However, the orcish druid never let up his guard. It seemed unlikely that the necromancer would have set only one level of traps; if so, then he wasn't a very good necromancer.... only a very evil one, at that. . . The corridor seemed to go on forever, but eventualy Carak, with Tywat Pare floating a length behind him, came to the other side. . . A door. And behind it, he hoped, lay the man who had poisoned him. Carak reached for the handle. . . #Beware# the ghost said half-heartedly. Ignoring Pare's spirit, he kicked the door down and walked through the open doorframe. . . As he stepped through, into another dark area, he felt a jolt, like someone had seared his heart with ice, and then sensed his accumulated magical energies fall away from him, out of his reach. . . He then heard a thump, and, turning around, found that a wall stood in place of the doorframe through which he had entered this bespelled room. . . For a moment he was confused. He knew no magic that could affect the structure of a room so instantaneously as it must have. . . Taking out his staff, Carak readied himself for a fight to the death. Likely he'd been anticipated, Farseen by a watching wizard. . . He knew that there was one thing that his enemies would not account for, and that was his skill with the staff. . . The young orc had been gifted with innate magic, which had sped him through his druidic studies; with arcane and clerical sources, spellcasting had been easy for him. He'd watched his peers struggle to lay out their Light spells effectively while he worked at perfecting his Divine Wrath in the practice area off the western hills back home. . . His training in staves, the druid's weapon of choice, was the only thing he'd really ever had to work at, and for. And after countless hours of training and combat experience, he considered himself fairly adept at staff-fighting. . . Set in a fighting stance amid the darkness, Carak waited. Whatever came would find him quite a force to be reckoned with. [Edited 1 time, last edit on 8/27/2004 at 14:39 (GMT -5) by Matt] |
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Matt Registered user Adventurer Last page view: 6916 days, 8 hours, 40 minutes and 37 seconds ago. |
. . Several moments passed. Carak couldn't tell how long it had been, because every bit of his focus was on his senses, to detect the enemy before he struck. . . And then, all of a sudden, he sensed something behind him. He turned, struck out with his staff.... . . There was a sharp whistle as the skull end of the staff flicked outwards, directed by the motions of his skilled and dexterous hands. Yet the staff met no resistence. . . Knowing that the enemy must have dodged him, the orcish druid ducked off to the side and into a defensive position, waiting for his enemy's next movement.... . . #Hello?# the enemy asked. Carak stifled a curse; the ghost had not stood behind. . . "Leave," the young orc whispered back. "I am waiting for a hidden enemy. This place is a trap." . . #Then let both of us leave# Tywat Pare said. . . "Foolishness. My exit is sealed," the young druid quietly replied. "Leave now." . . #What do you mean, sealed? It is behind you,# the spirit told him, but the orcish druid had no opportunity to respond. . . At that moment, he sensed a sudden surge of channeled mana, channeled into.... . . Light! The chamber that had been dark became illuminated with a Spell of Light. Not his spell, someone else's.... . . Carak had regenerated some of his accumulative mana, and focused a tiny bit of it; he attuned himself to Web but didn't activate it. . . Someone else was here, for certain. . . He examine the chamber. Fairly small, with rose quartz making the walls, floor, and ceiling. The corners of the room were chiseled and fitted to form a seamless 'box'. . . Three paces ahead, in the center, lay a round fountain, currently not running. It was filled with a textureless, dull black liquid; initially, the orcish druid had perceived it to be darkness. . . Carak carefully and warily walked around it, never taking his eyes off the strange liquid; that smooth blackness could hide anything. . . On the other side, a narrow ramp lead up to a hatch in the ceiling. . . At the foot of the slope, the young druid turned around and addressed the ghost. "If you follow me, you will disrupt me," the young druid told him. "Please either stay here or leave." . . Tywat Pare's ghost nodded but didn't move, which Carak took to mean that he would stay here. . . "Thanks," the orcish druid muttered. He stepped up onto the ramp, and carefully stepped up until he stood below the hole in the ceiling. . . His mana had still not fully come back to him, but he knew he could not wait. Giving this necromancer any more time would be a bad decision. . . His staff firmly grasped in his right hand, he pulled himself through the hatch with his left. . . Setting his feet onto a warm, clay-like floor, the young orc took stock of his environment. . . He stood at the center of, from what he sensed, a massive auditorium. The hatch and a ten-length radius around it were bathed in a low purple light. Around him was darkness. . . "So, you're here," someone said. |
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Matt Registered user Adventurer Last page view: 6916 days, 8 hours, 40 minutes and 37 seconds ago. |
. . "You're very perceptive for someone who's lurking in the shadows." Carak focused on gathering his magical energies for a Light spell as he spoke, while still maintaining Web at the back of his mind. /Why is it that people continually address me when I do not hold them in my sight?/ he thought. . . "Well," the deep, unearthly voice (of the necromancer, he assumed) replied, "I would like to talk to you for a minute before we see one another. There is much to be reconciled." . . The orcish druid realized that the necromancer was not native to the Chain; the sorcerer's clear, even accent actually seemed northern in origin, like his. He had determined, in spite of the echo effect of the auditorium, that the necromancer stood somewhere in the east end of the chamber, watching from the darkness. . . "We did not foresee your arrival, ui'Manon Carak," the necromancer said. "You were not supposed to drink from the river. It was an error." . . The young orc blinked. /How does he know my name?/ he wondered. /Ah, yes. I remember. The innkeeper prompted me for it when I took the room./ . . "Indeed; you might call it a fatal error," he said aloud. "Because I'm going to kill you for it." . . And as he uttered that last syllable, he accessed the Spell of Light and focused it upon the eastern half of the room. Illuminated, he saw the source of the voice.... . . It was the corpse of a little boy, set upon a wooden stool. His eyes glowed with unnatural darkness, while his skin and flesh loosely clung to his body in discolored strips and clumps. . . /What!?/ Carak thought. /Typical necromancer..../ . . "Typical necromancer," he said to the corpse. "Possess one of your 'subjects' instead of risking a fight you know you'll lose." . . "On the contrary," the necromancer spoke, "I decided that setting up a dummy would wise, due to the nature of this meeting." . . Carak was about to reply when he suddenly realized that the voice hadn't come from the zombie before him; it had come from behind. And the voice.... he knew that voice. . . Turning around, he faced his enemy, and found she had stepped forward into the well-lit center of the auditorium. |
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Matt Registered user Adventurer Last page view: 6916 days, 8 hours, 40 minutes and 37 seconds ago. |
. . For the first time in what could have been years, Carak was floored. . . Out of the darkness had materialized a figure. Upon her head rested a thin crescent of raven-black hair. Brown eyes peered at him strangely out of a rough, tanned complexion of her face. Her features seemed both beautiful and brutish, an image of orcish distinction. . . Nakil was no longer the energetic young girl he had known back in the district of Manon. Her features had defined themselves; seven years could do that to a face. . . For a moment neither said a word. Then Carak refocused on the matter at hand, and tilted his head to the side expectantly. She spoke. . . "I see you still have that skull staff," the necromancer said. . . "I see you're alive. And chaotic," he replied tonelessly. . . She shrugged, then smiled lightly. "It's who I am. And who you are." . . He blinked, then shook himself mentally. He looked her in the eye as he responding. "I wish it could have been anyone but you. Until you stepped forward and I saw your face, I had accepted that you were one more lost childhood memory." He paused. "You should have stayed neutral. When you take up this cause, you lose yourself." . . She shook her head. "No, on the contrary," she said, "I have discovered myself. Carak, if you could feel it like I do, you would know where you stand, as I do." . . He cut in. "This is irrelevant. It's a wonderful puppet-show you've made for this place, very twisted indeed. But accident or not, you crossed the line when you allowed your.... poison... to violate me." . . "You must put aside your rage," she told him. "You do not understand what we have accomplished here.... It could change everything." . . The young orc realized that she was obviously insane. 'We' instead of 'I', and references to 'feeling' chaos, as if it were something more than an ideology. . . "Look," he said, "Your arbitrary belief don't change what happened. Just because we were friends when we were twelve doesn't make me any less inclined to kill you." He believed that, for the most part. . . Nakil sighed as he said this. Carak stifled an irritated noise, and prepared to make his move. He still had the Web at the back of his mind, and was planning to spraying her full blast the moment she let her guard down. . . "You will soon see things as they are, old friend. We will very much appreciate a fine spellcaster as yourself," the necromancer said. . . "I sincerely doubt it," Carak said as he spotted his opportunity, flicking his palm forward and watching as the sticky, intricate webs criss-crossed and weaved their way through the air between them at incredible speed, thoroughly gridding the area occupied by their target. . . The orcish necromancer was seemed stunned; she had not expected him to precast. Carak wasn't surprised that she'd been unready; he had only begun to develop the technique two or three years after her disappearance. . . He focused his magical energies, which had for the most part fully regenerated by this time, and muttered the spell Greater Divine Touch, with her as the focus. He saw in her eyes that she recognized the incantations, and what they meant. But there was no fear. . . A moment later, with the final syllable he attuned himself to the mana flow of the world, and moved to activate the spell.... . . ....But then suddenly found he couldn't. In fact, thinking had become quite difficult all of a sudden. It became a trial to discern the mind's eye from direct sensory input.... . . His mind was frozen. |