Part 7>>>The Shadow of Love (an LoF adventure)

[dplax]

Andrion Wilgor 22/22

For a moment, all was confusing noise, and it was only after a second or two, that with his owl senses Andrion managed to sort out what had happened. Two things needed his attention, and the danger to himself was possibly the lesser one of these.

He heard the ju-ju zombie's shuffling footsteps towards its end, and knew that the Mage, might possibly suffer his loss more than that of Nanashi. He could only think of one possible solution to the problem, and even then he wasn't sure that it would work. At least he would be able to tell the Mage that he had tried.

His hoots and screeches filled the air, carrying far above the sound of the advancing dwarves, as he tried 'shouting' as loudly as he could.

"ECHO! You have to tell Grey to get out of the path of the dwarves!"

He could only hope that Echo, the only one capable of commanding Grey while the Mage was away, could understand him.

Once he had done that, he knew he had to flee from the path of the dwarves. He flew up to the same hidden window through which he had entered the Tower, and promptly left it, electing to stay in the safety of the outdoors until the Mage came back.

[Morgeruat]

Morguerat


"Where'd you leave the elf lady?"
"Just grab the elf and let's go!"

Morguerat relaxed as he felt the divine might surge through him chasing the zombie away, down the stairs towards Senora, he followed after Grey and recovered her limp form, slinging her over one shoulder. He then proceeded back up the stairs, quickly catching up with the obviously exhausted Joseph, "Pardon me," he said with a smirk and tried picking him up as well, but all he grabbed was empty air. He turned about and found Joseph actually standing in another location...it appeared...regarding him sternly. "Come on then! We've no time to waste!"

He turned and proceeded up the stairs as quickly as he could safely, following the path Larry had taken.

[ 12-30-2005, 09:02 PM: Message edited by: Larry_OHF ]

[Larry_OHF]

Larry

Larry heard heavy footsteps coming up the stairs and turned to see Morgie running up the steps as fast as he could, all the while carrying an unconscious elf-lady and Joseph was trailing behind. Larry broke a smile in this dreary tower because he had to say that they had been most fortunate in surviving even this long in such a place. He turned back to his task at hand. Locate the treasure room's door.

The room that the companions found themselves in was no more nor less dark and creepy as any other in this tower. It was one floor under the throne room, but they had no reason to go up there. This was the floor that held what they needed. The sounds of approaching doom was ever present, so haste was a key aspect of this adventure. Larry walked through the room towards the center of it, and circled around as he stared at the barren walls of shadowy substance...knowing that the doorway was in here somewhere. He could not remember it all, so had to rely on letting his memory seep back in, hoping for a lucky break. He had convinced the others that he could find this room quite easily. What was needed to complete this task?

He thought about it a moment, and realized that his eyes were the inhibitor. The doorway was hidden from prowlers like themselves...but not from the Mage. How could the Mage be able to see something that he figured nobody else could? He used his Shadow Magic. The door was therefore hidden in the shadows. How can one open a shadow door? With the same magic that created it. Lucky for Larry, he still had the ability...er...sometimes.

He concentrated, trying to remember his life as a Mage...trying to recall his evil deeds, trying to place himself back into the mindset of a powerful overlord that tried to usurp power from Ziroc and the others and gain control of this website and all its inhabitants. The strangely familiar feelings began to be borne again unto him. It felt like he was selling himself over to darkness once again, but he knew that this was the only way to save Mistral. Besides, he was reborn...and no longer the evil carrier of an evil spirit. There was a seedling there, but it did not have to be nourished into a great and terrible power like before.

Larry hoped that Morgie was not freaking out about this. Afterall, the big guy believed in him, trusted him...but Larry was sure that nothing he did would disturb Joseph. That man was just plain odd.

After a couple moments of preparation, Larry felt ready. He opened his eyes and looked about the room again. A phrase came to his head that had been buried there.

"Abrame la puerta de tesoro"

A door emerged from the darkness, being found illuminated by a ghostly shimmer.

"That's it! Come on!"

Larry ran towards the door and straight through it into the room beyond. Although the door appeared closed, it was in fact like walking through a fog.

He stepped out of the way for Morgie and Joseph to come through while he stared at the contents of the treasure room in awe. It was even larger than he had left it. The magical room contained as much treasure as one would expect from a dragon's horde. The only sad thing was that Larry remembered some of the pieces and those that he'd stolen them from. A regretful recall.

As he peered over the contents of the room, looking for the candle...he spotted something else that was centered in the room just where he'd left it. The Nightblade. His stare lingered there for a moment. He could not quite break away from it, actually.

[ 12-30-2005, 08:58 PM: Message edited by: Larry_OHF ]

[Cyril Darkcloud]

Thorrin Ebonshield

The drumming resumes, and with it the song. Heavy boots move forward through puddles of blood and upon the dismembered limbs of she who had once stood in that place which is theirs by right. If Andrion’s voice is heard above the din of drum and chorus, they give no indication. Their weapons do not need to be cleaned for none of the creature’s blood nor any trace of her flesh has clung to them. As one they turn in time to the song of obstacles swept aside.

Thorrin nods and the warriors begin their ascent to the next level where the zombie, Grey, stands at the top of the staircase.

[Larry_OHF]

For the Castle Group

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Anarrima and Marcos:

Anarrima comes to the aid of Marcos, kneeling down before him and making sure he was untied from the chair that had broken. She spoke in a hurriedly desperate tone: "Marcos sir! Can you stand on your own?"

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Cleric 1:

Casts his spell. A whirl takes place right in front of the cleric and from within is borne a creature. The cleric has summoned a monster to the field. From the blurry magical spinning cyclone steps...or rather flies a fiendish giant wasp! It looked at first glance to be your average giant wasp, but this thing had glowing red eyes and was blacker than a cloudy night inside a forest. It made a charge towards the closest opponents...Marcos and Anarrima.

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Cleric 2:

Still lays, unmoving.

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Cleric 3:

Curses as Yevaud through things at him, and realized finally what they were. He stops his advance on Vincent and decides to clear a path by sweeping the little devils out of his way. He kept looking up at Vincent, expecting more thrown projectiles, but what he got instead was a surprise as Vincent lit up his own longblade sword with a power word and the sword gleamed green. That usually meant poison in D&D. Drat. But what was interesting was that the sword's magic came to life inside the magic barrier! Would the spell on the sword do damage? If so...could he (the cleric) cast a spell on his own dagger for extra effect? He decided to try it. He looked at his own blade, and spoke the word, "An'rali".

The cleric's dagger did not glow with magic.

"What is this???!!!" He cursed, and threw the dagger in uttermost anger at Vincent. The dagger missed its mark by inches as Vincent's save took over the dice and therefore he dodged quite easily.

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Cleric 4:

Still works on a spell.

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Echo:

The calls of Andrion-Owl went unanswered as Echo was with the dwarves already...but trying to lead them. His attention was fully on this marching army of destuction and Echo wanted a part in the glory, knowing that they would indeed win the day for the Mage against Silverfall and his friends. Echo ignored all other minions in the tower who were lesser than these dwarves, knowing that they stood the greatest chance at victory.

"Come my minions...my minions...minions!"

"We must haste to the upper floors now!...upper floors now...now!

But as hard as Echo tried, he could not persuade the dwarves to fall under his command. They marched to their own beat and followed their own designs. They would not listen to the echo of their master.

How could this be? I am the Echo! I have as much power as He Himself! I AM THE VOICE!

Sadly however, Echo had no true power over these creatures of Shadow. He could not understand it. Neither could he do anything about it when he noticed that Grey stood in the way at the top of the staircase.

Oh no! The Master's prize monster! I am doomed! He'll banish me to the servitude of echo to a mouse! NOOOOO!!!!

[ 06-23-2006, 02:17 PM: Message edited by: Larry_OHF ]

[Morgeruat]

Morguerat

Morguerat watched in amazement as Larry made a door appear from the stone wall, while this was not really all that shocking in a tower of sorcery and cloaked with the power of shadows, what happened next was, He seemed to be becomming more and more like the Mage of old, if not in demeanor then in power, and control of his power, interspersed as it was with typical chaos and bungling he had demonstrated with Brendon.

He had proceeded through the door, almost as though in a trance, not realizing what he had been doing, Morguerat then walked carefully to the exposed door and opened it, spotting Larry on the other side, he walked in marvelling at wealth that would rival the most decadent kingdoms, gold, jewels, weapons, trophies, and more items of great power and fearful legend lay strewn about the room as if carelessly tossed aside, as though however great their power was, they were inconsequential to one whose power was so much greater.

[Cyril Darkcloud]

Joseph

And every day you’re in this place
you’re two days nearer death.
But you goooooooooooooooo!

Music. Silence. A scream. A shout, a defiant and shouted assertion of right and claim. Silence once more. And then the beating of drums and the chorus of many voices singing as one. And drawing closer. “Two days nearer death,” he laughs quietly, “we’ll be a lot closer than that if the kid don’t find that damn candle soon.” Of course, he doesn’t need to stick around for all this......

To think that oaf would have carried me!

His outward bearing is that of a tired man simply climbing a set of stairs. Inwardly, however, he bristles at the thought of such a potential indignity. Physical comedy! That sort of bush league crap might be all right for the kid, but there’s been more than enough of the absurd, the foolish and the poorly considered about this whole affair. ~ It would be interesting indeed to do the sensible thing and simply leave these three to face their foolishness......

He removes an ivory tube from a hidden pocket in one of his sleeves. While Larry pauses in scrutiny of the shadows, he turns his own eyes to the gem stoppered seal upon the tube. With a whisper and a gesture he dispels the warding enchantment over the seal – a guy can’t afford to take any chances with magic like this – and then unstoppers the tube. His slender fingers withdraw a tightly coiled sheet of vellum which he holds carefully while he replaces the cap upon the scroll case and returns it to its concealed location.

The kid begins to mutter, finally catching what seems to be the correct tone of voice for the correct syllables – that damn language of power again. Of course it would be an imperative construction, these obscenely powerful despotic types are all the same that way. Command. Demand. Command again, and give a few extra orders for good measure. Is a little genuine art too damn much to ask? He sighs and then braces himself against the wall as he unrolls the vellum. The elegant script upon it is his own. Simply preparing the ink for this scroll was a long and expensive process, and the labor of writing such precisely formed and arranged characters...... But all great art demands such cost and such labor. He smiles.

The warrior steps forward and opens a great wooden door – apparently Larry found some way to bypass the door. Interesting. But there are more important matters to worry about than the kid’s awkward use of shadow related power, namely making sure the labor invested in this scroll is not wasted in a flawed casting. First things first however. Even from this position, a bit removed from the opening, the hoard within the chamber is breathtaking and he pauses a moment himself to indulge his eyes.

There is movement at the entrance to the chamber below.

He smiles. Options. The scroll has an enchantment of great power upon it, an enchantment that might either seal off this stairwell from the obviously hostile and dangerous force that has gathered below and provide a fitting signature to the art he has worked this day at such great cost...... Or it might separate this strange little group which has unaccountably survived so much in spite of inadequate planning from the stated object of this little mission. ~ Of course, the retrieval of a candle was never my object. ~ The irony of this would indeed be poetic, a thing of no small art should it be done well. He smiles at the thought.

Options.

His speech is soft and his cadences perfect and as he reads the words of he has scribed with so much effort and expense vanish one by one. Something gathers about him as he reads, a thing subtle and profound and perhaps it is not simply the great quantity of bejeweled and gilded objects within the vault that has caused the very air to shimmer with such a delicate beauty......

[Larry_OHF]

Larry

As Larry stood there, gawking at the sword that was in the center of the room, he remembered some of his life from before.

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In but a second, when his guard was down, the treacherous elf had kidnapped his wife, disappearing with the aid of a ring. Larry's response was of brutal violence, for the Nightblade was singing through the air, slicing up the cottage. The ranger's fury was so great that he did not stop at the total destruction of the elven building, but carried his fury onward from there. He left the village, cursing and yelling crying for his wife to be brought back to him. He was a lost man. The only thing in the world that was cherised had been ripped from him, and he knew not why.

For days, Larry Silverfall wandered the countryside, searching for clues as to where Arrakis may have taken Mistral. He was unshaven, unbathed, and horrendous to behold...the fire of hatred still bright in his eyes. He never would have dreamed that the pain would be so great to lose her, but the inability to directly react against he who had taken her was worse.

Many people he passed simply shy'ed away from the man. Some had begun to whisper of his complete insanity, and so asked local authorities to have him detained. Yet anyone who challenged Larry to a fight ended up wounded or dead. he had lost control of his senses and time itself meant nothing. In the matter of two weeks, all traces of the man he once was had vanished. The Nightblade was the only company he had, and its cold assurance was not in any way making his life better.

Finally, when too many people began complaining about the wanderings of the wild man, and the authorities were banded together to rid Larry of his life once and for all did Larry abandon his searches for Mistral in the northern country. He had forgotten where he had been and where he lacked. He had forgotten his last name. he had forgotten why he was angry. What had occured so long ago? Why could he not remember? His wife. She had been murdered. Taken from him by the vile acts of a demon. He would find a way to get her back. Why had she left him? The Nightblade would not strike down a Ravenwood. He missed, and had hit her! Larry himself had slain his beloved!

When this thought became reality, Larry fled to the South, in search of healers that would bring her back. He had no money, so his sword became a tool to kill as a mercenary for the payment of a few dark arts priests to go and try to revive for him his wife. They returned and said that they had failed...that her body was unrecoverable. At this news, Larry killed those priests, with the aid of the Nightblade.

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Larry awoke from his daydreaming. He looked again at the blade that was before him. Dare he ever touch it again? He cast his gaze about and there he saw it. The black candle of Shadow magic that he'd created. It was sitting among all this gold and jewels like a foolish pretender, not measuring up to the grandeur around it. Yet...it was the most valuable object in the room.

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Months went by, and the darkness in the thread that was entitled the One-Eyed Wolf fell down the pages and was forgotten.

Darkness crept into the heart of the man, known as Larry. They called him the Mad One. He laughed at their foolishness. He was not Mad! He was Great! The gods above granted to Larry powers amongst the forums, and that greatness grew. So did his other strange abilities. Larry found that he could speak to his shadow and converse with it. That shadow taught him of powers from the goddess of the night. Shar had powers that had been hidden from Mistra, the goddess of Magic. If Mistra's powers did not contain the ability to raise his wife from the dead, then surely Shar had the answer. The Mad Moderator pondered this, and in the end decided to begin the studies of this anti-weave...a shadow of the real weave...the Shadow Weave.

It did not take long for this man to discover the powers of the Dark Shadow Weave, and was able to piece together a spell that would help him in getting Mistral back, no matter where she was. That was the beauty of the spell. He just had to create an item, and use an item he already owned. The candle, he'd create. The necklace she had given him on their wedding day. No matter where in the multi-forum website that she had been taken, he could find her. But when he did so, she would not recognize him like he was currently. He did not want to dissappoint her. He knew that he would have to change if he were to ever coax her back into the game world. For this, he lamented. He could not continue with his plans to revive her until the day that he made his heart pure once more. He cried when he realized this, but resolved that one day, he could be the Bumbling Ranger that Mistral loved. He hid the spell components away, and cast a spell upon himself to forget their location. In time, he would be ready. There was one small problem to that spell of forgetfulness, however. The Shadow Weave was poisonous, and did things to people that was not expected. Upon forgetting the location of the items, The Mad Mage ultimately forgot what he had just did, and so forgot about his mission to clean up his life. Instead, he decided to pursue darker arts and work more malice. His greed was fueled by a Power that was unlike any seen on Ironworks. He wanted to be the only moderator on the forums, and in fact, wanted to own them all. He devised plans for the conquest of Ironworks from that day forward.


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He shook himself awake once more. Such horrible memories, all coming at once now that he has beheld his two most prized worldly possessions. He felt sick in his stomach, and his head ached. He tried to clear his vision, which had become blurred with tears.

[ 01-05-2006, 03:49 PM: Message edited by: Larry_OHF ]

[Morgeruat]

Morguerat

Looking at Larry as he set down the elven lady, Morguerat watched the faraway look on Larry's face, and in his eyes saw Larry experiencing utter loss, anger and resentment, and eventually madness, when he shook himself, the look had faded and been replaced with the more normal appearance. Morguerat did not know what demons Larry was battling, but it was a trial he would have to face on his own. "We should be quick, Larry, from the singing below we have little time to waste with recollections, Part of my old holy avenger was present in this trove, I doubt it's still present in this game though..." He looked around for something that would be of use to him in the storm he felt under his skin, the storm that would quickly overtake them and carry them whithersoever it goes.

[Legolas]

Inquisitor Marcos of Snowdale - 98/98

Unbalanced by the recent experience, the inquisitor nonetheless rose to his feet. The supporting hand on the throne that had been his prison did not rest long against it, for he could afford no show of weakness. He would have to be better than to yield to this.

Standing, suppressing his swaying and ignoring the shifting blur that his sight made of the room, Marcos of Snowdale took stock of his surroundings. There was a powerful skirmish raging, the wolf-witch and her caster acolytes facing the warlock-priests. Only Vincent seemed out of place, relying on the magic of his sword rather than any power of his own. Odds were he had been enthralled by the druid, to force himself into such a situation.

"Yes," he said belatedly. "I can. Beware the insect."

As if taking his own caution to heart, his hand moved towards the hammer loop by his side.