<font color=steelblue>The Mage

He awaited his orders to be carried out and to see these two prisoners that had been captured...but he also saw an owl entering the tower and coming into the throne room.

"Andrion...I have not summoned you. Why do you desecrate my throne room with your flapping wings and rat breath? Owls are not my favorite animal right now..."</font>

[ 06-03-2006, 10:21 PM: Message edited by: Larry_OHF ]

<font color=white>The Dwarves of Shadow</font>

<font color=gray>The Echo calls but they do not answer. The drumming persists as does the singing of the song, the song of their defiance and their triumph. The Echo is not the Presence, merely a substitute for its power, and they shall answer to no such thing. The shapeshifter is dead by their hands. Other creatures of shadow have been slaughtered by their hands. None summoned them when the tower had been breeched – they came on their own. None of the tower’s defenders succeeded against the invaders, but they have taken prisoners. Nothing less than the presence shall command them who are the children of Terrakis. The Echo fled. They stood firm. The others preserved themselves. Their brothers were lost to the barrier.

The Echo speaks – but nothing other than the banging of weapons against shields and the beating of drums is the answer.</font>

<font color=white>Thorrin Ebonshield</font>

<font color=gray>The Echo calls and it is all that he can do not to slaughter the captives as it speaks. “Leave me!” He shouts. Foolish Echo! The barrier nearly destroyed him just a short while ago – he will not risk it again simply because one who fled calls out, nor will he risk the destruction of the captives. “Where was your voice when all of them could have been slaughtered? Where was your voice when the husk was nearly destroyed? What power did you or any of those others – those that stood in the place that is ours by right – what power did any of you exercise that was proof against the invaders?” With sudden violence he strikes the floor of the chamber with the ebon warhammer. “I am the son of Terrakis, I am one of many brothers, and we shall answer to none but the Presence and NONE! None at all, not even the echo of his power, shall contest our claim!.”</font>

[ 06-04-2006, 01:29 AM: Message edited by: Cyril Darkcloud ]

<font color=green>Andrion Wilgor

Andrion did not know what had happened with the mage in the last couple of hours, but evidently it had put him into quite a bad mood.

He did not know whether the Mage understood owl speech, but then he remembered that previously he had communicated with the mage simply by transmitting his thoughts, so he tried this method yet again.

I have come to report on recent events which have happened in your tower, Master, and also of course about the events which preceded the arrival of Silverfall and his three friends in your tower.</font>

[ 06-04-2006, 06:04 AM: Message edited by: dplax ]

<font color=steelblue>The Mage

"Do not waste your time, I have already received a report from Echo. By the way...why are you still an owl? Have you not figured out how to get out of that body yet? Must I do everything for you? Bring me your severed head that the foolish drow cut off. Go."

The Mage was still fuming at the news. Nanashi was dead. He had raised her from a child to be his best killer, and now he had nobody but this foolish mageling. He would have to do something about that.

Just then, the Echo returned...and the air was clearly filled with a nervous sensation...a smell of fear.
<font color=silver>
"M..M..Master?"

"The uh...shadow dwarves obey no command from even your echo, rather only from your own personage will they adhere."...</font>


And that's the problem with a dwarf, isn't it! Always...wait...Echo...why are you not echoing all your words?"
<font color=silver>
"I...I'm just really scared right now, Master! Sorry...sorry...sorry!!!!</font>

"Oh whatever...just get out of here before I give you a body and kill you in it. I'll go myself."

The Mage stands and turns, and notices that an owl is still in his throne room.

"Why are you still here? Was my command not simple enough?"</font>

<font color=white>Thorrin Ebonshield</font>

<font color=gray>Still his anger simmers. So close they had been to seizing the four of them! He is certain the number is four - the one who breached the shadows and another escaped and there were no indications of any others besides the two prisoners. Had defense of the tower been entrusted to them instead of that stinking animal creature a group such as this one would have been stopped long before it reached the treasure vaults of the Presence. He kicks the fallen warrior – not even a magic blade!

The warrior must be well guarded as his size and bearing mark him as one of some accomplishment – perhaps a danger even without benefit of an enchanted blade. Surely any who would attempt to raid a place such as this without adequate tools is one of exceeding bravery or exceeding foolishness...... or exceedingly desperate. Moving with the brisk efficiency of his kind, he strips the warrior of his armor and weapons and then administers a potent narcotic, one that should keep him sleeping deeply for some few hours more. With luck this hateful barrier will have dissipated by that time.

He cares not that the other is female. His movements are equally rough – and become rougher once he realizes this one is an elf -- as he removes her gear, armor and weapons. The bracelet around her wrist will not be removed – surely the thing is enchanted – and he considers simply lopping her hand off at the wrist. For the moment such things are best left to the pleasure of the Presence, however, for he is likely to wish to learn all he can from the prisoners before harming them too greatly. That her beauty, even unconscious, is stunning is a fact he notes without reaction, a mere detail like any other. He is the offspring of dwarves, recently born of the substance of Shadow, the beauty of elves means nothing to him, nor do their lives. But now is the time neither for maiming nor for killing. She is not so physically strong as the warrior. Much weaker, in fact, and a dose the size he gave to the other might well kill her. “One less elf would not be so great a loss,” he mutters. “Still, for now she shall live..... should she be strong enough to do so.” He administers the narcotic in a smaller, but still potent dose, one heavy enough to jeopardize her health, but not to take it outright.</font>

Vincent Pathfinder

Cleaving one of the demon spawns down to it's waste brought a slight smile to Vincent's face, which was suddenly replaced by a grimace as the last spawn slipped past his defenses and tore at the flesh on his back and brought him down to the murky water at his feet. It burned and the sudden rendering almost caused him to black out but the cold water slashing up his nose and in his face brought him back. He had just set his hands when the creature was suddenly ripped from his back, causing another wave of pain to come surging forward. Rising to his feet, he spit the foul water from his mouth and shook his head shaking the water from it and causing his neck to really hurt. Grimacing and emmiting a low growl he set his attention back to the demon at hand.

<font color=white>Lady Sombra – With a little something for KayLisa Greywolf thrown in</font>

<font color=lightblue>She hums softly as she gathers the herbs required for the enchantment. Soon she will have the proper amount to add to the simmering mixture in the kettle and the tonic required for tracing the runic patterns will be ready. Already its bitter aroma lends a biting sharpness to the still air and she cannot help pausing to savor the scent. “Soon, my pack. Very soon we shall be ready.” Her voice is bright as she speaks to the blasphemous things that keep protective watch over her movements.

<font color=teal>“So it has come to this.”</font>

The whisper is at one and the same time impossibly quiet and unthinkably clear, as if the words formed themselves out of very air with her ears. The carefully gathered herbs fall from her hands. Only one has ever spoken in this way. Her pack should have warned her if anyone drew near, but the banewolves give no indication of having heard a thing. Of course they would not – that is not the way of his speaking. Emotions rise within her, provoked by the whisper, all of them violent. The dim color of her eyes shifts by turns from a ghostly silver briefly to a watery purple and finally to a pale amber hue. She steps quickly forward that she might stand with her pack which now gathers defensively around her, a monotonous growling issuing from their throats.

And then the sound of the growling is lost, simply taken away by the air.

Closing her eyes she marshals her anger and a pale blue light dances around her body. “I know well how to hurt you!” she shouts. “And I am only too willing to do so.” The minutes drag as she gathers her power and the strain of holding such strength is great. There is no answer and she cannot afford to relax her guard. Why does he not answer? Why has he come if it is just to taunt her? Beads of sweat would normally form on the face of one exerting herself in this way, but she has not yet acquired sufficient substance even for sweating. “Answer me!” Empty tear ducts strain to shed even the possibility of a tear and fail to do so. And.... her body, the substance she has labored so hard to acquire at the expense of the Other, it is becoming...... less tangible? Fear now vies with anger within her. No! She will not surrender that which she has taken from the Other. Yes, the Other...... In her anger she finds that One which was concealed to her cleverness, that life which she hates above all others. And finding it, she begins to drain it, restoring, no gaining, substance at the expense of her sister.

“Face me! Face me or I’ll......” She screams the words, but they fall away from her lips as little more than a whisper.

<font color=teal>“Or you will hurt me by letting your rage consume both yourself and your sister.”</font>

Her pack scatters, moving rapidly away from her. She calls after them, but they do not respond. When next she looks forward he is there, standing some small distance away. There is something different about his bearing, but there is no mistaking that it is him. The whisper confirms it, that damned whisper, sounding in her ears that only she might hear it.</font>

<font color=teal>“Strike me, then, if you must and spare nothing of your power. But you as well as any other know that I am one well-accustomed to pain.”</font>

<font color=silver>ooc: TAO – I’ll leave it to you to RP the effect of Sombra’s anger suddenly snatching a bit more of your essence away.</font>

<font color=green>Andrion Wilgor

It took quite some courage for Andrion to still speak despite the Mage not wanting him to. But project his thoughts he did.

I am sure that Echo has told you most of the essential details, but there was something he might have missed. One of Silverfall's companions. He was a pretty strange one. Disposed of Nanashi without me even detecting a spell, although I am pretty certain that he wouldn't have been able to take your favourite weretiger down in physical combat.

He seemed to be a mage, but I haven't seen anyone casting like him in my time. I was but a little boy at the time, but I still remember the mages of 2nd edition, and I'm a 3rd edition one myself, yet his casting style and incantations weren't anything like these, nor like any other magical styles I might have glimpsed from other rulesets.

I can't exactly place where he is from, but I thought that you might be interested that he has chosen to aid Silverfall.

Andrion had landed on the floor while he recounted all this, not wanting to tire out his wings before he set out to find his own head.</font>

<font color=steelblue>The Mage

If he thought he was having a bad homecoming reception already, Andrion was only proving to make it worse.

"So...this so-called mage is helping Silverfall, eh? He always did attract the oddest companions."

He was not surprised to hear that Silverfall had a powerful friend, nor that this friend was not a 3rd level creation.

Nanashi had been slain by this man. He was powerful, yes. It appeared that Silverfall had a new bodyguard therefore. He'd have to learn more of this new foe later. Right now, he had guests waiting.

"Very good, Andrion. I shall reward you when you return with your head. To locate it, just follow your senses. Your own soul will know how to find it.

Now leave me."

The Mage turned and walked towards the wall facing his throne and spread out his flowing cloak which action appeared to be as though a shadow were covering the small amount of light that illuminated the place, hiding the Mage from view. As soon as it had overshadowed the Mage, it dissapated, but gone too was the Mage.

=================================================

The Mage walked out of a shadow that had suddenly darkened one wall in the room where Thorrin stood and admired the two trophies he had collected. He looked at the two lying on the floor, and smirked. He recognized one of them. That was ol' Morgie lying there. Only then did the Mage realize the prismatic wall that prevented Thorrin's clan from being in this room as well. He looked at the wall, then to the dwarf, then back to the wall. That mage that was travelling with Silverfall...must be.

He was beginning to really lose his cool now. Four intruders break into a tower that could not be broken into...one of them being Silverfall. One his his companions...some mage of no small power had killed his favorite pet and now placed up a nasty prismatic wall! The outrage! However, for all that had gone wrong...he had learned one new thing...Thorrin the shadow dwarf was no mere minion.

"Thorrin...you passed through that?"</font>

[ 06-06-2006, 06:25 PM: Message edited by: Larry_OHF ]