Part 6>>>The Shadow of Love (an LoF adventure)

[Cyril Darkcloud]

Elsewhere – Beneath the terrible closeness of the Sky

Hurricane at the very least.....

Unbidden they come, these familiar words of desperate conflict and defiant challenge. Unbidden, but not unwelcome.

The bearing of the Presence changes, casting uncertainty aside in favor of an all too familiar insolence. The bearing of the silent stormwalker changes as well. The defiant freedom of his movements remains, but these are no longer the movements of one who has seen the end of conflict. The self-proclaimed demigod would assert his status even here. So be it. His eyes narrow. Let the barriers fall then, let this Shar upon whom he relies lend him her power and let the outsider make himself ready for battle of the most desperate kind. Without realizing it, so natural is the movement of his hatred, he removes the Stormreaver from its place over his shoulder. Burned fingers tightly grasp its handle and with a shrill hissing his wounded life leaps outward through the blade of the axe and the wind surges into gusting movement.

Where there had been merely threat within the wind – hurricane at the very least – there now is anger. Anger and hatred. His body begins to move in time with the storm that gathers around him and he turns his face fully toward the obscene and blasphemous power of that One who had once been called Larry. Ponderous and terrible – such is the might of Shadow. Furious and unrelenting – such is the defiant anger of Storm. And though the divinity of the outsider be a matter of mere pretense * there is no denying the magnitude of his power. So much the better. For there can be no better way for a man to die than in setting his face in firm defiance of impossible odds and in the pouring out of his life in the destruction of that which brings death. No straw death, this – indeed, the best of deaths. Fury gazes outward from his eyes and for a moment it would seem that the Storm itself and not a man looks outward from them.

Stormtaken. Surrendered completely into the violent freedom of She Whose Anger Cannot Be Contained..... She, the First Born of Wind....... So simple. So beautiful. For better than death in the face of the impossible is victory over the impossible. There is power in the Mage. Great power. Power more than sufficient to destroy him. But destroy him is all that such power can do. And destruction is not a thing to be feared, not when one has been broken. The fingers of his left hand reach for the wooden band he wears upon his right hand. He has but to remove it to make final and decisive his surrender to the movement of the Storm, and should the Mage fall here an evil, a truly great evil, would fall never to rise again. He has but to remove the ring - hurricane at the very least.

His fingers close around the wooden band. “No.” His voice is but a whisper. Even as his body moves along with the storm, his eyes look through it and his features harden. ‘Face into Storm’ so was he named after his first movement in the free and living air, and so has he lived his life through the long years of his exile. The call of the Storm is strong, but to submit to its voice is to submit to the demands of hatred and even the destruction of the Mage is not worth so great a price as this. He has been broken and such a breaking will not be set aside for the sake of his passions. His fingers loosen their grip upon the handle of the Stormreaver. He pauses in thoughtful silence and glances upward through the Storm into the silent vastness of the Sky. Suppressing this sudden surging of hatred, he steps forward, and addresses the Mage, “You have changed.” He falls silent. “And so have I.” Once more he pauses not troubling himself with adding to these simple statements of the obvious.

* The Windbringer has never acknowledged the Mage as a demigod (nor did the Devouring Wind for that matter) for mortals cannot ascend to divinity in his gameworld.

[ 04-19-2005, 03:14 AM: Message edited by: Cyril Darkcloud ]

[Salinye]

Senora

Senora listened to the friendly and open words of the man that introduced himself as Larry. He seemed pleasant enough, but he did mention the work of a magic spell that brought a form of “ugliness” as he had referred to it, upon him. He didn’t seem so ugly to her and furthermore she would be intrigued to learn more about such cloaking spells…VERY intrigued. However, first she wanted to be sure that this group was not the same as the evil presence she had felt earlier. Still unsure as to the level of safety she could reasonably feel amongst these men she simply replied to Larry with a brief curtsey. She then turned to the man who paced the grounds mumbling to himself. The man was either a mage or a priest, judging by the looks of him, she would guess mage, perhaps. Larry had called him Joseph. He also had mentioned tigers, the thought brought her attention back to Larry once more. She knew for a fact that tigers were not native to this area. Perhaps the man was simple in the mind or just…not well?

“I’m sorry, did you say…Tigers?” She couldn’t help but raise a skeptical eyebrow, a gesture hidden within the shadows of her hooded cloak.

[Cyril Darkcloud]

Joseph

He closes the spellbook carefully. As its covers are shut a faint shimmering signals the activation of the sealing enchantment he has placed upon it. He returns the book to its place among the others in his satchel. A mere gesture of his hand is all that is required for the satchel to reduce itself to a very small size. Secreting the tiny container away, he rests his hand on the other satchel that he carrries, a stachel likewise filled with books – books filled with arcane scribblings and bound after the fashion of spellbooks - and sits back to listen as the others make conversation with the new arrival. One can never be too careful where spellbooks are concerned and the muttering phantasm he conjured seems to have done its work of distraction rather well. He smiles. This time of restful thought has done him good and while he must rest yet longer before he can commit again his spells to memory, the time spent in preparing himself to do so shall serve him well on the morrow.

His eyes move once more to the newcomer – a lady, a priestess and a traveler, as the warrior has put it. How quaint. A most curious creature would be another way of describing her. There is a cautiousness in her movements and, he suspects, a wary appraisal in those eyes that are hidden in the shadows of her hood. This being able to observe her gazing at his duplicate has proven to be an unexpected benefit. He laughs silently to himself, amused that even as she gazes at his apparently distracted form he might in turn freely study her. There is a gracefulness about her movements and a tunefulness about her speaking that the folds of her cloak cannot conceal. Curious indeed, for she is hesitant with more than mere caution. ~ And whither truth between two who so actively conceal? ~ He smiles at the question and nearly bursts out laughing as the clear tones of Larry’s new voice ring out again. ~ Of course ~ he smiles wryly ~ some things will always find a way to manifest themselves.

The mental formality required in the selecting of enchantments no longer needed, his thoughts settle into a different and more relaxed rhythm.

Larry ...... Spontaneous. Too damn spontaneous. Likeable, true, but insecure and spontaneous – and that’s a combination that can get a guy killed. And his friends with him. Now ain’t that a kick in the head? He could just as easily leave, and that just might be his best move as it don’t take an awful lot of insight to see that there’s most likely going to be too damn much enthusiastic do-goodering, not to mention the typically excessive amounts of life-threatening situations that come with that heroic stuff, in the very near future with this bunch. He sighs. The fingers of his right hand trace a brief, but complicated series of movements and a moment later are holding a gilded coin. While the others speak and his double paces and mutters, he tosses the coin into the air, catches it and places it upon his left wrist. Heads it is. Looks like it’ll be danger and do-goodering for the time being. It’s always heads, of course, but a guy does have to observe the niceties in making big decisions like this.

His double falls silent and closes its book. It turns and walks over to the tree where he sits and as it moves to place its book within the satchel and to sit down itself, the illusion vanishes – the fading light of evening disguising the slight blurring of its form as it does so – leaving only himself resting quietly against the tree, his hand upon his satchel of books. Good manners would probably demand that he introduce himself to the newcomer, but he’s had more than enough of all that visiting new and exciting places and meeting new and exciting people nonsense for one day. And so he closes his eyes.

[ 04-24-2005, 09:22 PM: Message edited by: Cyril Darkcloud ]

[Larry_OHF]

Larry Silverfall

He had not noticed any of the actions of Joseph, for his back was to him as he responded to the cloaked one.

"Yes mi'lady, I indeed said tigers...for a particularly wicked were-tiger got after me in the castle of Lesismoore, a few hours ago I think...but then Morgie here came to my rescue and we escaped by way of some dimensional gate he was able to pull out of his bag of tricks...leaving behind some of my friends to fend for themselves...but then we got in trouble in there and that is when we met Joseph, the old guy behind me. When we heard you scream...we assumed that she had found you.
Why did you scream, by the way?"


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

Mage

The Mage saw the threat of Cyril as he approached and realized that he needed to commit fully to this conversation...and what was to transpire afterward. The conscience that was the Mage of Shadow concentrated his thoughts on one central location, that of the Windbringer, and this act of thought called for the complete focus to not be distracted by any other stimulant, and therefore the Mage in the tower vanished, dissapated as the full mental power of the Mage was now focused on a most important trade of words with his most competent enemy.

"Yes...and that is why we both stand here, together, again, today. You caused an event to occur which eventually brought about a stronger form of myself. As you can see...I have shed the foolish Silverfall from my back, and can now act with no opposing conscience. You would really love to send me back to the hell from whence I came, and I would love to see you locked away in a world of windless darkness until your bones rot away to dust. However, you have me at a slight disadvantage at this moment, and chose instead not to initiate another stand-off.

Why?"

[ 04-24-2005, 09:33 PM: Message edited by: Larry_OHF ]

[dplax]

Andrion Wilgor 22/22

A voice woke him from his sleep. A voice he did not recognize. He had not realised that he had fallen to sleep this close to the camp of a group. He surveyed them through the trees and did not recognize any of them. He was just about to drift back to sleep, when the conversation between the four took an interesting twist.

"...for a particularly wicked were-tiger got after me in the castle of Lesismoore, a few hours ago I think...but then Morgie here came to my rescue and we escaped by way of some dimensional gate he was able to pull out of his bag of tricks..."

Andrion immediately tried contacting the mage, but strangely he got no reply. An echoing emptyness was all he got as a reply. He tried again, and still got no reply. Again and again he sent the mental message towards the mage, but still he heard nothing from his master. Could it be some magic one of the group had cast on the area?

Andrion flapped his wings and took off from the branch flying a few hundred meters away from the campsite. He contacted the mage, but still got no reply. Had something happened to his master? Andrion had only gotten two hours of sleep, but he needed to press his body again.

He turned towards the far away Shadow Tower and set out, intent on informing his master of Larry's whereabouts. His loyalty to the Mage had only been fortified by the fact that the mage was possibly the only one, who could give him a new body.

[Elif Godson]

Vincent Pathfinder 98/98

" You know this man"? "Aye " was all Vincent could get out as heard a blood chilling scream from below. From the woman that had just brought him back to life." YEVAUD " came booming up the stairwell and Yevaud was brushing by him just as quickly as the scream came." Silt, fill me in on what transpired as we head down, would love to stay and chat but that doesnt sound good " Vincent said as he gave a quick look at the room and Silt then turned and bumped into Marcos due to his closness and then followed after Yevaud.

[Morgeruat]

Yevaud


Not knowing what else to do Yevaud continued to hold Anarrima as she cried, he did not tell ask why, he simply let her get the terror out of her system, the look he shot the guard who had followed her said “I will have more than words with you if this is your doing” a promise the elf appeared more than willing to carry out. Yevaud then returned his attention to Anarrima holding her in one arm and gently running his hand through her hair whispering comforting words in elven. There would be time to decide what was wrong, and what to do about it, until then he could enjoy the feel of the elf maid he’d pined over, always out of reach and beneath her notice, as she clung to him like a drowning sailor clung to driftwood.

[Morgeruat]

Morguerat 115/115

Seeing Joseph pace around babbling, and murmuring Morguerat walked to an ancient tree near where Joseph finally settled down and leaned back against it, letting it support his weight while "Larry" informed Senora of his worries. It was troubling that Larry would offer so much information to a total stranger, what does he think this is, some roleplaying game where everything not controlled by a great unseen "game master" was a player, and therefore worthy of trust? He had forgotten the evil mage in the castle who had been hunting him apparently, reverting to the idea that fellow pawns in the game were all allies unless placed by the capricious "game master" Slowly sitting down Morguerat felt joints ache, knees pop and other signs of a hard adventuring life. He almost wished he were waiting for a sign back at the tavern by the creek, at least then he could return to swimming in the cool refreshign water, and ease the wear of a long road out of his system.

[Cyril Darkcloud]

The Stone Circle

They have stood here, waiting silently for long minutes, and the grass beneath their feet has withered leaving small patches of death here where life is found in such strength. No sound issues from the holy place within the circle of stones, nor does any sound arise from the throats of the banewolves. The air itself hangs heavy with the weight of silent threat. A single paw is raised and its nails scratch the soil. Movement is followed by movement as other paws likewise scratch at the dirt and this slight sound of accumulated scratching is perhaps more terrible in the subtle persistence of its malice than the snarling which builds within the throats of the gathered banewolves........

ooc: Is that a dinner bell I’m hearing?

[Larry_OHF]

Anarrima

After a moment of settling down and realizing that she was not in danger, she was able to speak, a quivering still lingering in her voice, but more interesting was that her rich drow accent had returned from the long years that she had been made a prisoner in the Underforums.

"Yevaud...I felt the llanath d' ilythiiri, outside the dobor...I mean the door...a drow...the presence of...

Ai...quet lambi mori!" *

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

The guard was frozen in fear at the threat of the elven sword master...but when he heard Ana explain the dilemna, he was confused...yet did not question her, since she had now taken the focus off of him. He'd hope that there was a drow out there to go after. He did not need the elves holding him responsible for anything.

"If there's a drow out there, he'll be dead in a moment!" The man then darted off back down the hallway to reach the exit into the gardens. He wanted to be the one to impress this lady-elf. He was simply fascinated by her, and would do anything she asked him to. He'd be her hero today!


* Sindarin for "I am speaking the dark language...", and her tone is one of disgust and frustration. She is saying in her own tongue that the previous words were in Drow...if you did not catch the difference...

[ 04-26-2005, 11:22 AM: Message edited by: Larry_OHF ]