<font color=steelblue>The Mage

"NOOOO!!!!"

The mage was furious. He just knew that his giant had won, and this would all be over. BUt the elusive Cyril had done it again. Escaped once again from the death blow of the almighty Terrakis. What was going on?

The cold biting wind had picked up greatly and now was affecting even the Mage's area where he was watching. His lounge chair had blown away and now the Mage was left standing there, his black robes billowing in the wind in all directions, irritating the Mage. He was one of silence and stillness, for thus was the enviroment of a Shadow. This atmosphere however assaulted...no, taunted him. He felt personally attacked by it. Here, he had no say in how things are run, for this was not his thread of existance. He wondered if he even had any power at all. What he did have was Terrakis, who was not going to last very much longer here.

"Terrakis! Find him! Find him now!"

What else could he say or do?
The windbringer was god here. He called the shots.</font>

[ 03-04-2005, 02:10 PM: Message edited by: Larry_OHF ]

<font color=aqua>Larry

Larry frowned.

"I was the wielder of the Nightblade before certain events occured. Now it is in the hands of the Shadow Mage. I have lost my experiences and all that, but not my memories. All I need to do is get my hands on another longsword and I will be fine."

He turned to the stranger.

"Indeed, you are welcome to accompany us if it will benefit you in some way. We don't mind an extra face around...but tell me, am I now talking to the real you or another image?"

He looked over to the other man standing there, apparently an image of the real guy. </font>

<font color=steelblue>The Mage (in the castle, not on the battlefield)

The Mage heard the report of his servant. There had arrived some adventurers to find out what was going on. It did not matter. They were not going to find Larry in that tower, and his friends were all dead except for the one that travelled with him.

"Forget the strangers, Andrion. Larry is no longer in the tower. He has escaped. They used a teleportation spell to get away, and now I have lost the ability to track them. That will be your job. Just find him, and then report back.

Oh...and one more thing. Now that you are accustomed to your new owlish body...you are allowed to have 1hp per level, so your total life score is now 22hp."</font>

[ 03-04-2005, 02:24 PM: Message edited by: Larry_OHF ]

<font color=green>Andrion Wilgor 22/22

His master spoke and through his words Andrion felt a new healthlyness flow through the still somewhat unfamiliar body. His master had once again shown his power.

Sending a confirmation of having received his orders back to the mage the dark shaped owl flapped its wings and circling gained altitude. He started debating which direction would be the best to start searching in. A teleportation spell had been used. Given the history of this Larry character the distance could be pretty high - Andrion thought to himself.

Andrion's geographical knowledge about these parts wasn't too good. He glanced at the sun and determined which direction north was in and also roughly situated the direction in which the Shadow Tower was. He spread his wings and in a rapid diving motion gathered speed and then sped off towards the east, still at considerable height, surveying the ground down below him for any sign of Larry.

One thing had surprised him though. Larry was with someone the Mage had told him. Andrion had no idea, who this was, and as far as he knew it could be anyone.</font>

OOC: post with Larry's approval and help in how the shadow worked. And for spotting the grammatical errors. [img]smile.gif[/img]

<font color=lightgrey>Events from more than ten years ago (tying in Plaxica’s story with that of the Lord of the Forums games):

Although not many know it, in the deepest corners of every person’s soul a faint shadow exists. For the very large majority of people this shadow has no influence on their lives and they shall never know what influence could have taken them over. For, when encountering a person of great lust or desire, and sometimes evil that shadowy seed can take on a life of it’s own and can become a part of the greater Shadow Influence, the objective of which has ever been hoping to find a way into our world.

Long had the Shadow Influence been trying to find its way into the peaceful Forums known as Ironworks.

The man known as Larry Silverfall is only the latest in a series of many whom the Shadow had tried to use for its own purposes. Many have been taken over by the shadow and most did not even realize it. For the way the Shadow works is that it does not show its presence, rather it uses the desires of the influenced person and amplifies them so that the dominated victim works towards the Shadow’s own purposes. Later, when the Shadow Influence has gained enough power, it would then be manifest in a physical manner, and begin to work its newfound slaves into building up its position, and preparing to take over Ironworks.

More than ten years ago, before the tragedy of Larry Silverfall, the Shadow found a man. A man, who harboured a hatred against a family who generations ago had had a conflict with his. This man had originally been a mage schooled in the arts of dark magic and manipulation. The Shadow saw its chance and seized it. Hittokap did not even know it, but his destiny had been changed forever. As days turned into months his hatred only grew against the hated family, and not a year had passed before he was already settled in his plans against them. Through his dark allies he learnt that the family was now vast and that moving against them would probably have to start in a small secluded town where one of them was the mayor.

The first two times he sent assassins after the son of this mayor they failed miserably. The first time they got the wrong kid and the second time they struck when the boy known as Plaxica was away. Both times the assassins paid with their own lives for their failure in extremely painful deaths, the ideas of which Hittokap could not have imagined a year earlier. The Shadow Influence was already greatly at work within him. No matter what he did now he was never going to be able to lose it’s influence.

Waking from a very vivid dream in which the Shadow Influence told him what to do, which he then thought he himself had thought up Hittokap seduced the wife of the mayor with dark magics and then told her to poison her own husband.

But what did the Shadow want with going after this one specific family? What was its objective? Its ultimate goal at all times is of course total domination over Ironworks, but how was exterminating a family going to help it?

The Shadow wanted a base of operations, a place from where it could spread its influence outwards, until nothing could stop it. The small town was secluded enough and no strongholds of good forces were anywhere nearby. By the time the news of the Shadow’s takeover reached any of these strongholds it would be too late. The Shadow would have constructed an unassailable base and all attacks would have been futile.

But luckily for the forums of Ironworks this was not what happened. Although the mayor, the father of Plaxica was successfully pushed to death through the poison his dominated wife administered him Plaxica managed to escape. The priest who helped him escape paid dearly for it. Hittokap had sent his owl to follow the young man and then set out to clean up the situation in the small town. But all had gone wrong. The day her husband had died Plaxica’s mother had started to struggle against the domination and finally she managed to break the spell with her will. Realizing what she had brought about she committed suicide, but before she did so she told Plaxica’s uncle about everything she had been through.

The uncle, furious about all these unnecessary deaths, went to see the mage alone. Hittokap had not been prepared for him and he had never been good in close combat. Seeing the miserable failure that Hittokap had just brought about the Shadow abandoned him to his doom and Hittokap was easily defeated.

After that the Shadow set out in search of a new person whom it could seduce with the promise of power…</font>

<font color=white>Elsewhere – A place where the Sky is terribly close</font>

<font color=teal>The pain is great, and his body moves with reluctance. But movement with pain is a thing he knows well. Painlessness is a thing for the gods, but pain, that is the province of men, and whatever others might call him, he is but a man, a man well accustomed to pain. He knows nothing of the woman’s cry, lifted as if a prayer into the winds of the distant land of IronWorks, for such a cry cannot reach him here nor would he have listened to its words had it arrived. For here but one thing matters and that is the claim of the Scattering and he will spare not the smallest amount of his attention for anything else. He rises stiffly to his feet, but he rises all the same, despite the great blows of the giant. Already the giant has begun to turn in his direction his features drawn tight in anger and surprise and the struggle simply to breathe. It is but a matter of two long strides, mere seconds for the giant to close so small a distance as this, but much can happen in the span of a second, let alone several.

The features of the giant fall away as his eyes focus to look only at movement and ignore all other things. With a single step he begins to move along to the pattern of the wind, for one does not control the wind, one enters it, feels its freedom and moves. The Stormreaver has fallen some distance away and so there is nothing to slow the pouring out of life from his body to mingle with the wind. He has, perhaps, little more than scant health within his limbs, but the crass calculations of self-preservation are a coward’s way and he will not flee from death for the sake of living a straw life. And, indeed, flight of any kind is not possible here where death is the necessary outcome. His burned fingers seize the handle of the axe which hangs from his belt, an axe well-balanced and kept sharp for moments such as this. There is a song within the wind, a song of death, and he moves in time to the song. His lungs fill with air and a word froms on his lips. "Neh'fesh," his voice is cold and his gesture is sudden and violent and the axe flies outward from his hand toward the giant .........</font>

[ 03-05-2005, 06:20 PM: Message edited by: Cyril Darkcloud ]

<font color=steelblue>

And the Mage can only watch as the drama unfolds in front of him. Despite the bitter wind blowing about trying to rip the mage from the ground from which he stood, there he stayed as he watched and could only watch and hate and do nothing. </font>

<font color=99FFCC>Morguerat 115/115

"Ah, good lad. Give me a hand up would you." As Larry helped him rise, he drew the blade he'd been given, and handed it to Larry. "Truth be told I'm more familiar with a heavier blade, and fonder of a larger one, this one sounds like the sort of blade you used to wield, and having you armed and comfotable with your blade is more important than giving me one I'm less that perfect with. Cut me a staff when you get a chance and I'll be fine." The knight stretched, feeling the armor, cramped, and chaffing in a few places, but it was at least close enough that he should be able to make it more comfortable with the proper tools. As he handed Larry the longsword he'd received from the soldiers he added, "Larry, what do you know of a blade called Ardent Justice, and a noble man named Alfred."

Morguerat feared Larry would know naught of the man, but he had faith that if his companions knew nothing, then Helm would visit him granting a cryptic glimpse of which direction he should go, as he had so often done before. Perhaps the woman with the purple shifting eyes or the wolfs paw would present itself with a role in uniting him with his fate, as neither had yet been found he hoped that his last vision would have some relevence to the current tale, even if it had been given in another thread.</font>

[ 03-12-2005, 03:38 PM: Message edited by: Morgeruat ]

OOC: here is the start of Andrion's history. More shall come.

<font color=green>Andrion Wilgor

Caged inside an owl’s body. His mind felt as if it was in a small compartment, where its full potential could not be used. Like a caged animal, longing for freedom, but depending on its keepers for its release to happen. And the one, who held the keys for his return to a human body, was the one who had brought him back to life in this body. Still better than death, but for Andrion owls weren’t the most noble of all creatures. He had not liked owls before, but since the one called Plaxica had acted against him, he disliked them even more.

Yet this owl had served the mage. And it was a stepping-stone towards a form of greater power. A form like the one Andrion had used in his previous life. He had had many accomplishments in that previous form and had grown somewhat fond of it. His thoughts drifted back to his previous accomplishments and deeds which some would have considered foul. He also remembered the reasons, which had made him walk the path of evil.</font>

<font color=lightgrey>The day was like every other. The boys and girls after finishing the morning’s classes were playing in the street and the townsfolk were going about their business as usual. And young Andrion Wilgor was once again locked into his room. During the seven years since the death of his mother while giving birth to him Andrion’s father always had said that he was cursed with the child. Edward Wilgor punished the child whenever he could find a valid reason and sometimes even did it without reason.

<font color=limegreen>”Andrion!”</font> - his voice echoed from the far end of the house. <font color=limegreen>”Come here now!”</font>

Andrion knew that resisting was only going to bring a greater punishment and he went to see what his father wanted. Edward Wilgor was an extremely large man, over six foot ten tall and weighed an imposing 220 pounds. Andrion was a boy, who was small compared to his age and was dwarfed by the size of his father.

<font color=limegreen>”How many times have I told you to clean your room of this junk everyday?”</font> - he said holding up a wooden toy. <font color=limegreen>”How many times had I told you and you still can not learn! How many beatings does it take to get it into that thick skull of yours?”</font> Edward Wilgor holding the delicately carved wooden soldier in his enormous hand looked menacingly at Andrion. He dropped the toy and before the quickly stooping Andrion could recover it his heavy boot descended upon it and broke it into several pieces.

His foot did not stop in its movement and lifting the boot Edward Wilgor caught the stooping Andrion in the stomach with a well-aimed kick. Andrion collapsed in a corner whimpering.

<font color=limegreen>”Stop whimpering boy!”</font> His fist descended on Andrion’s back with a loud thud. <font color=limegreen>”Real men don’t whimper!”</font> He hit Andrion in the face with a right handed punch.

<font color=green>”Real fathers show affection for their own blood.”</font>

The remark caught Edward Wilgor totally by surprise and in his surprise he stopped beating Andrion.

<font color=limegreen>”Now look here Andrion. It is not because I don’t love you that I punish you. It is because of you doing stupid things all the time that I need to punish you. Now come here and give Daddy a hug.”</font>

Andrion simply stood up and picking up the bits of the broken toy ran back to his room and locked the door behind himself. A few minutes later the main entrance of the house slammed shut as Edward Wilgor went off to the tavern for his daily round of drinks. When he got back during the night Andrion hoped that he was going to be too drunk to think of him, otherwise not even the locked door was going to protect him.</font>

<font color=seagreen>Yevaud

The corpse Ana had chosen to pray over was nearly stripped of armor, an elaborate copper or bronze coated suit, and it appeared to have been badly mangled, likely by his killer. He scanned the area, and signalled the men to advance a bit more, keeping the shield wall in place he scanned the dead for small weapons he could have the shield bearers arm themselves with, large swords would be out of the question, but shortswords, daggers, orperhaps even short spears would be perfect weapons for allowing the guardsmen to defend themselves, and not rely entirely on the pikemen to skewer anyone coming after them.

At his command the archers gathered the remaining dead, and noticed that they had put those in uniforms together, and a few of elven, or half-elven heritage in a separate grouping with other non-uniformed corpses.</font>

OOC hope I'm not moving beyond what is permissible, just trying to move things forward.