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dplax · 03-13-2007, 12:10 PM

Andrion Wilgor

It had been a peaceful morning. The sun, partially obscured by the clouds, still managed to warm up the air to a pleasant temperature. Andrion sat in the back of a cart, behind the barrels of wine it was carrying. He had promised the merchant payment upon arrival at his destination, the small village just visible on the horizon.

The soft 'fffft' of an arrow flying through the air was all the warning he got. The cart, pulled by two horses, slowly ground to a halt. Andrion did not move, not even when footsteps approached the back of the cart. He felt the cold steel of a sword press against his neck from behind.

"Get off of the cart!" ordered a rough, male voice.

"You are a dead man." Andrion muttered under his breath.

"What was that?" asked another, younger voice.

"Estan quemando mis manos." (*) As the strange words left Andrion's lips his hands started to glow. When he whirled around, his hands were already aflame. He grabbed the sword with both hands, but to the surprise of the man holding it he did not try tearing it from his hands. The intense heat generated by the spell, simply melted the blade of the sword, dripping liquid metal to the ground. Suddenly unbearably hot, the sword was dropped to the ground.

Andrion backed back several paces. His robes were smoking from the heat they had been next to, but his hands were unhurt. There were six of them, and they looked like a well-organised band. Two had their bows pointed at Andrion, arrows ready to be fired. The one, whom Andrion presumed the leader, the one who was clutching his badly burnt hand, was to whom the other five looked for guidance glancing quickly between him and Andrion. The three remaining bandits, two of them looking to be twins, or at least brothers, all yielded similar swords to the one, lying in a pool of metal and several bits on the ground.

Several seconds passed, before the leader released his injured hand and drew a dagger with the other. His injured hand lay limply at his side. He opened his mouth to speak.

"You have just -"

"Oh shut up...if you leave now, I shall consider sparing the six of you. Take the cart by all means. I have nothing to do with its former owner."

The bandit leader was not used to being interrupted.

"Things are not that simple, you -"

"They are." Andrion muttered the phrase to another spell and pointed at one of the archers. One second the man was alive. The next, he was dropping lifeless to the ground.

"It is up to you whether you want to live or die." His words were lost in the roar of the two twins, or brothers, who were already charging at him. The archer's arrow missed his head by a fraction of inches. He did not get the chance to fire another. An illusory double, almost completely identical to Andrion appeared out of nowhere as Andrion suddenly disappeared. The double was ordered to mimic casting spells. Not caring any more about it, Andrion started casting spells of his own.

Several seconds later fumes erupted from the ground around the cart. All, but one of the brothers was immediately killed. It was another minute before Andrion reappeared. His body was covered in what looked like flames, and a shimmering globe surrounded him.

"You can still leave if you want my fight is not with you."

Surprised by the clemency of such a powerful mage, the young man hastily stood up and started running away, down the road. He didn't get further than fifty yards away, a flaming arrow fired by Andrion disintegrated the clothes on his back before burrowing deep inside of his chest.

Two days later

The horse was not made for heavy riding. In its whole life until two days ago it had been used to slowly pulling a heavily laden cart with its companion on the same road, every day. Its companion had died of exhaustion twelve hours earlier. This dark haired man - no, he was no man, he did not have the characteristic smell of one - was driving them as though he had his masters standing with whips behind him.

The brown horse staggered, almost falling. Fifteen meters later it was all over. A small hole in the ground, a broken foot. No more suffering, just a painless death as he had seen his companions receive at the hands of their masters once suffering such an injury. But what was this? The rider was simply walking away? Was the agony not going to suddenly end?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Tower of Shadow, abode of the Modding Mage was finally in view, albeit still two hours of walking away. Blasted horse could have lasted a few extra miles...

It is an imposing structure. Enough so to make anyone approaching it feel belittled by it. Its walls made of the shadow rocks brought for the Shadow Mage by his most faithful servants, the Shadow Giants.

There once was a time when getting into the Tower was simply a question of exploiting its weak points. That time is long gone. The roof has been reinforced. No longer can attackers enter from there. Getting to the tower now requires either the will of the Mage or moving across the barren wastelands surrounding it.

He already knows I'm coming. He has enough spies to spot a solitary figure barely an hour away. He knows I've succeeded in testing my powers.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fourth level of six. The throne room. One of the most powerful beings of Ironworks resides here. The shadow dwarves proudly guard the entrances, but allow the cloaked figure passage. Grey, once a powerful ranger known as Brendon doesn't even spare Andrion a passing glance. He poses no danger. Andrion knows his place. He serves the mage. And the servants of the mage have to be allowed to live. The mind of a zombie is really simple.

"I have returned." Andrion did not bow. It was not with gestures of subservience that he showed his allegiance to the mage. It was with action. Now that he had proved himself and the marriage between the gift of the mage and his previous powers was proven to be a deadly combination, he was ready for action.

"What are your orders?" Just four words, yet they carry so much meaning. Gone are the thoughts of rebellion against the Mage Andrion once had nurtured. Gone are the feelings of resentment against he, who gave Andrion a new body, a new chance. They are replaced by obedience.

OOC: (*) My hands are burning.
Spells used in order:
-Shadow enhanced burning hands (considered level 4)
-Finger of death
-Mislead
-Mantle (special spell)
-Abi dalzim's horrid wilting
-Flame arrow

[ 03-13-2007, 12:24 PM: Message edited by: dplax ]

03-13-2007, 12:10 PM	#78
dplax Jack Burton Join Date: July 19, 2003 Location: an expat living in France Age: 40 Posts: 5,577	Andrion Wilgor It had been a peaceful morning. The sun, partially obscured by the clouds, still managed to warm up the air to a pleasant temperature. Andrion sat in the back of a cart, behind the barrels of wine it was carrying. He had promised the merchant payment upon arrival at his destination, the small village just visible on the horizon. The soft 'fffft' of an arrow flying through the air was all the warning he got. The cart, pulled by two horses, slowly ground to a halt. Andrion did not move, not even when footsteps approached the back of the cart. He felt the cold steel of a sword press against his neck from behind. "Get off of the cart!" ordered a rough, male voice. "You are a dead man." Andrion muttered under his breath. "What was that?" asked another, younger voice. "Estan quemando mis manos." () As the strange words left Andrion's lips his hands started to glow. When he whirled around, his hands were already aflame. He grabbed the sword with both hands, but to the surprise of the man holding it he did not try tearing it from his hands. The intense heat generated by the spell, simply melted the blade of the sword, dripping liquid metal to the ground. Suddenly unbearably hot, the sword was dropped to the ground. Andrion backed back several paces. His robes were smoking from the heat they had been next to, but his hands were unhurt. There were six of them, and they looked like a well-organised band. Two had their bows pointed at Andrion, arrows ready to be fired. The one, whom Andrion presumed the leader, the one who was clutching his badly burnt hand, was to whom the other five looked for guidance glancing quickly between him and Andrion. The three remaining bandits, two of them looking to be twins, or at least brothers, all yielded similar swords to the one, lying in a pool of metal and several bits on the ground. Several seconds passed, before the leader released his injured hand and drew a dagger with the other. His injured hand lay limply at his side. He opened his mouth to speak. "You have just -" "Oh shut up...if you leave now, I shall consider sparing the six of you. Take the cart by all means. I have nothing to do with its former owner." The bandit leader was not used to being interrupted. "Things are not that simple, you -" "They are." Andrion muttered the phrase to another spell and pointed at one of the archers. One second the man was alive. The next, he was dropping lifeless to the ground. "It is up to you whether you want to live or die."* His words were lost in the roar of the two twins, or brothers, who were already charging at him. The archer's arrow missed his head by a fraction of inches. He did not get the chance to fire another. An illusory double, almost completely identical to Andrion appeared out of nowhere as Andrion suddenly disappeared. The double was ordered to mimic casting spells. Not caring any more about it, Andrion started casting spells of his own. Several seconds later fumes erupted from the ground around the cart. All, but one of the brothers was immediately killed. It was another minute before Andrion reappeared. His body was covered in what looked like flames, and a shimmering globe surrounded him. "You can still leave if you want my fight is not with you." Surprised by the clemency of such a powerful mage, the young man hastily stood up and started running away, down the road. He didn't get further than fifty yards away, a flaming arrow fired by Andrion disintegrated the clothes on his back before burrowing deep inside of his chest. Two days later The horse was not made for heavy riding. In its whole life until two days ago it had been used to slowly pulling a heavily laden cart with its companion on the same road, every day. Its companion had died of exhaustion twelve hours earlier. This dark haired man - no, he was no man, he did not have the characteristic smell of one - was driving them as though he had his masters standing with whips behind him. The brown horse staggered, almost falling. Fifteen meters later it was all over. A small hole in the ground, a broken foot. No more suffering, just a painless death as he had seen his companions receive at the hands of their masters once suffering such an injury. But what was this? The rider was simply walking away? Was the agony not going to suddenly end? ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The Tower of Shadow, abode of the Modding Mage was finally in view, albeit still two hours of walking away. Blasted horse could have lasted a few extra miles... It is an imposing structure. Enough so to make anyone approaching it feel belittled by it. Its walls made of the shadow rocks brought for the Shadow Mage by his most faithful servants, the Shadow Giants. There once was a time when getting into the Tower was simply a question of exploiting its weak points. That time is long gone. The roof has been reinforced. No longer can attackers enter from there. Getting to the tower now requires either the will of the Mage or moving across the barren wastelands surrounding it. He already knows I'm coming. He has enough spies to spot a solitary figure barely an hour away. He knows I've succeeded in testing my powers. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Fourth level of six. The throne room. One of the most powerful beings of Ironworks resides here. The shadow dwarves proudly guard the entrances, but allow the cloaked figure passage. Grey, once a powerful ranger known as Brendon doesn't even spare Andrion a passing glance. He poses no danger. Andrion knows his place. He serves the mage. And the servants of the mage have to be allowed to live. The mind of a zombie is really simple. "I have returned." Andrion did not bow. It was not with gestures of subservience that he showed his allegiance to the mage. It was with action. Now that he had proved himself and the marriage between the gift of the mage and his previous powers was proven to be a deadly combination, he was ready for action. "What are your orders?" Just four words, yet they carry so much meaning. Gone are the thoughts of rebellion against the Mage Andrion once had nurtured. Gone are the feelings of resentment against he, who gave Andrion a new body, a new chance. They are replaced by obedience. OOC: (*) My hands are burning. Spells used in order: -Shadow enhanced burning hands (considered level 4) -Finger of death -Mislead -Mantle (special spell) -Abi dalzim's horrid wilting -Flame arrow [ 03-13-2007, 12:24 PM: Message edited by: dplax ]