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

[mistral4543]

Mistral

It seems that… Master is finally… gaining some sense back.

She bit her lip, blinking her eyes as she reached out to caress the well-weathered feathers she had been stroking for the past few years. Indeed, Isabeau, he looks as if he is finally headed towards some form of sanity. As her dearest companion’s chest heaved slowly and with difficulty, she turned away, trying to stifle a sob.

I hate to leave you… Mistress. The once-beady eye that had once guided the bumbling ranger to a lone fighter-mage, was now weary, half-closed.

You have been so good to me, my friend. She clenched her fists, her dark brown eyes rapidly turning pinkish. You can call me by any name, you know. I have to turn back, turn to look at her before it is too late. And so, she glanced at her trusty familiar. But oh, how difficult it was to stop herself from emitting an involuntary sob!

You will… get through… this… Mis..tral. The message was getting fainter, and she nodded, patting the feathers reassuringly. No more words, Isabeau. I know. She felt her heart would explode very soon, if not immediately. You just listen, Isabeau. At least, she could still communicate by telepathy with this special friend. With humans, there was no such bonus.

We have traveled together, gone through many trials and dangers. And never once have you failed me, Isabeau. Was it a stranger who could speak so calmly, in the face of an impending separation, eternal separation at that? Knowing you has been my greatest privilege, and I want you to know that I will never forget you. The tears were now streaming down her cheeks, but she would not uncheck them. No, what was more important now than to hold her best friend with both hands at this critical moment? Rest well, and worry not about me, Isabeau. I will be fine. And she fought against the shadows of loneliness that were already creeping towards her, for this intelligent bird would detect any trace of untruth, even now.

We will meet again, Isabeau, in heaven. She clung on to the wings firmly but gently. Don’t you even try to escape me then. She was rambling on, as if compensating for all the moments of silence that had passed between them over the years. There seemed so much to say, and too little time to say it all. She could only hope that Isabeau knew everything, even if she had not time to finish it.

But it was useless, really, continuing. She saw that the moment was fast approaching, if not already here. Her beloved companion was unconscious, the breathing was going… going… gone. The warmth from the bird was flowing through her hands back to herself, as if it were a last parting gift to keep herself company for the rest of her life.

Goodbye, Isabeau… my dearest friend. Numbly, she turned her attention to the ground beside the dead hawk and began to dig a grave out of her bare hands.

Some distance away, a figure observed the ritual that followed.

[ 01-12-2006, 08:25 PM: Message edited by: mistral4543 ]

[Larry_OHF]

Larry Silverfall

Morgie's talking snapped him out of the daze.

Larry ran over and grabbed the candle, and shoved it into a pocket. He finally had it! It was his again! He could not believe it.

Then he looked back over his shoulder at the sword that laid there...a temptation. He had to have it as well. He scurried over to the sword and began to reach for it...hesitating for a moment before taking it in his hand at last. It was ice-cold to the touch. A familiar feel that spoke of its buried powers and the fact that the spirit of Chani's dad was in there still. He tested its memorable weight, swung it back and forth a moment, and realized that he felt right at home...and most important was this. There was no murderous feelings come over him, no impending doom weighing down on him, no screams haunting his ears from Mistral in protest. It was all very...normal.

He tossed the sword that Morgie had borrowed to him back.

"The sounds tell me that we'll be fighting our way out of here. You'll need your sword back. Feel free to take whatever will help you from this room. Its the only way I can repay you for the service you provide. Its sorta my treasure anyway..."

He looked about but realized something was wrong.

"Where's Joseph?"

[Morgeruat]

Morguerat

Morguerat took the sword, and slid it carefully into his belt, then continued scanning as he absently said "He was right behind me a moment ago."

The former knight then saw it, a large kite shield that had lain in the treasury for some time by the look of it. He began to shift it to check the straps in back and saw the dust and dirt shift across the surface. They revealed to his eyes a single unblinking eye in the dirt, that was gone in the blink of an eye as the falling dirt continued to the floor of the chamber. He withdrew the symbol of his God and stared at the unblinking eye of Helm, nodded to himself and lifted the surprisingly light shield. "Grab a tome or something for him, As much fun as this look see has been, it's nearing time to be gone from here, and as you said, we may very well have to fight our way out."

[Larry_OHF]

Larry

Larry nodded to Morgie, noting the shield that the big guy had located and claimed for his own. He remembered where it had come from, but did not think it the time to mention this to his companion and protector.

He looked about the room, remembering a certain book that he knew Joseph would go all giddy for and he wanted to give it to him for payment that Joseph had brought them this far. He also thought it would be nice to fish something out of this place for the female elf, knowing that she'd love to save something from this horde of treasure that belonged back with the elves.

So much treasure, but so little time!

[ 01-16-2006, 02:41 PM: Message edited by: Larry_OHF ]

[mistral4543]

Mistral

For years she had sat aloof, watching the events surrounding her disappearance unravel. For years, she had kept away, half from fear of exposing the bumbling ranger’s fiasco and half from dread of returning to the chaotic world he had created as a result of his folly. The years had brought her peace and rationality, and for that, she was grateful. But the day for setting things right was fast approaching; she could sense it from the turmoil generated in the Lord of the Forums thread, in recent days.

Why did the people in this thread continue to hang around in it? She doubted that it was because they had read the ancient One-Eyed Wolf tale and understood the significance of what was taking place. It just did not seem right that all the frolicking was taking place but nobody quite got it, except a couple of the participants.

Sighing, she shook her head as she looked at the newly erected tombstone for Isabeau. ”Only you would know the complete story, my friend. And even then, you are gone.” As she closed her eyes, the images began to form in her mind, swirling around with vivid clarity and ferocity.

Five decades ago, it was. Cyrus Nightblade and Aragorn Freelight were slapping each other’s back, before charging ahead to defeat the treacherous dragon. The defeat was hard won; there must have been at least two thousand casualties on each side. Aragorn struggled towards his friend and tugged at his shoulder. They were barely alive, kept alive only by the burning dreams of marriage to their respective partners. A lone owl hooted, piercing the intensity of her thoughts.

A blade with a faint green glow, wielded proudly by Aragorn as he held his beloved wife Eilonwy close to himself. Friendship between the elven and human races was at a peak, but already Cyrus’ chaotic streak was getting on his nerves at times. He would show that brigand how wrong he was, in his sweeping statements about human intelligence! Beside him, Eilonwy smiled maternally as she stroked her slightly protruding belly. Her eyes were dancing with joy as she exchanged a wink with Illuna Ravenwood, also pregnant with child. If only these males would keep a check on their competitive streaks! The ladies rolled their eyes. She stood up, eyes still closed, inhaling the cool night air.

Blood was being spilled over Shattered Reality. Aragorn stubbornly held on to his blade, scorning Meldrin’s insistence on having the sword. In the next room, Eilonwy was sipping a bowl of tonic delivered by her maid who watched her uneasily, biting her lip. Meldrin delivered his threat, leaving with a glint in his eye. The paladin huffed on and on about the ludicrous demands, not noticing that the hue on his wife’s face had turned ugly.

There was no stopping the torrent of images now; they flung themselves onward. The wretched man practically threw the baby into the hands of his warrior friend and stormed away, headed for his showdown with Cyrus at Ravenwood. Words and swords soon exchanged, and a bloodbath ensued. Cyrus, Illuna and a child were slain; only Arrakis and Chani survived. Her breathing quickened. Two decades passed, and an old man was now wrung by remorse and despair at losing his knighthood. He wandered around the streets, hoping to find the child he had abandoned… only to be confronted by four elves. The last words he heard were, ”This is for Cyrus and his family.” She exhaled slowly, regulating her breath by rote.

”A black-haired lady with dark brown hair barely spoke a word as she made her way to a site of sorrow. Beside her, her bumbling ranger watched for her safety. But she had eyes only for two characters. Arrakis and Chani. How to make amends? Who was to blame? She could not think, could not decide what to do. In the ensuing confusion and heartache, she deserted Larry Silverfall. Leaving a trail of tragedy behind…

“But I will not return yet, Isabeau.” She finally reopened her eyes and addressed the tombstone. ”Nothing can be rushed, and he must personally undo his mistake. I will wait for his sign. And then, I must leave you, if only temporarily...”

[Larry_OHF]

Anarrima

"Insect?"

She saw Marcos reach for his weapon when he called the warning, albeit a bit unemotionally and she turned to look.

"AAAAHHHHIIII!" She screamed when she saw the monstrosity coming after them.

She had no time for a prayed spell. She had to defend herself instantly. Her staff had been left back inside the ring of blue fire when she ran to aid Marcos. The only thing she could do was grab at the broken chair leg of the throne that Marcos had been tied to, and bring it up in personal defence. She hoped that Marcos was able to fight, else they'd both be in trouble.

OOC>>>Yikes

[Cyril Darkcloud]

For Brendon Grey [img]graemlins/blueblink.gif[/img]

Thorrin Ebonshield

He is halfway up the final set of stairs when he stops. With a sharp and sudden movement he strikes the head of his hammer against his shield and a tone clear and strident sounds above the drumming and the singing. At once the many drums and the many voices fall silent. He nods and a group of eight warriors steps forward. “The husk must be preserved, for it is that which the father of our father consumed but did not destroy, the shell of that one whose life was the seed from which darkness emerged anew. Terrakis, our father, achieved his greatest triumph by means of this husk of that one called Grey. Carry it below, stand watch over it and slaughter any who would approach whether it be creature of light or call itself creature of shadow. For none are to be trusted, nor any befriended. And none shall contest our claim.” As one the warriors nod.

Hands once more begin to strike the drums, but the cadence is slower and tone solemn.

Reaching the top of the stairs the warriors surround the lifeless husk that once was Brendon Grey. They strike their weapons upon their shields – a sign of their respect of the unliving remnant by which darkness was restored and their father, the great giant, stood in triumph over all the children of light. Sturdy arms reach out and lift the husk that was Grey and, laying it horizontally, place it upon one of the formidable tower shields of the warriors. The shield which bears the husk is then lifted, the burden of its weight shared by four of the warriors. Along the staircase, the remaining dwarves move to the sides creating a space through which the guardians of the husk might pass. Two warriors lead and two warriors follow, weapons held ready, and between these guards move the four who carry the unliving remnant of Brendon Grey.

The solemn beating of the drums keeps time to their steps.

He stands attentive and motionless until the husk has been borne away and the once more the stern ebony of his hammer strikes sharply against the ebony shield he carries. The drumming grows vigorous once more and the many voices erupt again into a song that is one. And swift strides carry them up the remaining stairs and into the room where battle had most recently been fought.

[ 01-18-2006, 03:27 PM: Message edited by: Cyril Darkcloud ]

[Cyril Darkcloud]

Joseph

A sound rings out, a note produced by something terribly solid slammed with great force against something equally firm. Drum and song fall instantly silent......

Definitely NOT a good sign.......

He smiles.

.......but they won’t be exactly thrilled by this either.

He nods to the space at the top of the stairs and the unthinkable begins to happen. Light in the rich brilliance of its varied aspects fills the opening as if it were a wall. Here within the tower shadows are dispelled. Light shines here within the very seat of Shadow with all of the intensity of full daylight arranged in layers that correspond the splitting of the sun’s rays when a prism is held against them. Even out of doors on a day brightly illumined by the sun such light as this would be blinding. Here, however, its shining beauty is painful even to those eyes which do not directly gaze upon the subtle interplay of its colored layers.

There will be no passing onto this level, or passage back down for that matter, without a passing into the beauty of the light. His own eyes widen and he stands quietly for a few moments to savor the delicate shifting of the colored pattern before him. From somewhere below on the staircase discordant notes are for the first time introduced to the song as eyes long accustomed to the dimness of this place are burned and blinded and voices shout in pain and protest.

Now THAT’s art!

ooc: The spell is Prismatic Wall and it’s among the most powerful of magics this game has seen. Creatures or characters of 8 hit dice or less are struck blind by the wall (duration 20-80 minutes) with no save. Creatures or characters above 8 hit dice can save to avoid the effect. It’s also very unlikely that Larry will have any ability to tap shadow power while so much bright light fills the area. As for other effects of the spell ..... we’ll just have to see what happens should someone pass through the light.

[Larry_OHF]

Larry

Larry was frantically kicking aside priceless treasures in a comic haste to find something of true worth to the two people that could not grab anything on their own at this time. It was due to his sense of paying back those that had given him so much that drove him. He had grabbed a magical elven braclet that the elven lady would adore and had just located and picked up the book that he knew Joseph would go crazy for when he heard some commotion outside the door to the treasury. He looked to Morgie who had heard it as well. Deciding that his time was up, he ran outside (The door was now open) but was more than a little surprised at what he saw out there.

[Cyril Darkcloud]

Myron Epimetheus

Years ago when the RP forum was but newly made a different manner of gaming and a markedly different style of posting were the order of the day. Many were the posters in those early days, and great was their activity. Games were spawned in large numbers, accumulated hundreds of posts in but a matter of a few days and then simply fell by the wayside, the stories begun in them uncompleted and likely grown incoherent, in favor of some other newly posted thread whose lifecycle would be equally brief and equally chaotic. One alone of all those ancient games saw a story move from beginning to end, the first, and for quite some time the only, game at IronWorks ever to reach a proper conclusion.

Something happened within that game. It happened after the arrival of the storms summoned by the silent foreigner, but it was not the arrival of the storms. The game grew dark, what humor it had becoming now but a means of fleeting relief from the grim and menacing notes that had thrust aside its previously light-hearted and tongue-in-cheek style of posting. Only beneath the dusky and threatening clouds could shadow be seen for what it truly is, but what happened was not the darkening of shadow......

Hurricane at the very least.....

“The song! The song! Of course the clue would be found in the song, for the song followed upon the shift and named the very nature of the shifting the took place.” The little man mutters contentedly as the lyrics of an old song by a largely forgotten Canadian band stir with the posts which provide the record of the ancient game. “If one would understand the shifting one must look to the song, for without the shift the song would not be here, and the song confirms and secures the character of the shift. Yes, one must consider the song for to consider the song is to consider the nature of the shift......” Sitting upon a hastily improvised writing bench the little man begins to scribble notes upon a stack of those little square napkins that are so wonderful for the writing down of things like these. “Indeed, at the very least a hurricane. Yes, of course, shadows moving without a sound. Lightning strikes on the hill. Trouble coming without control. Yes, it all seems to be detailed here......” Desiccated lips curl in a smile and a small light gleams in the depths of the sunken sockets which once housed his eyes.

What began as a tale of the Two Powers – Larry and the paladins – became the tale of conflict between two other powers, two very different powers. Not good versus evil, nor light versus darkness, nor Larry versus the many who opposed him, nor Larry versus Cyril....... but, the shift involved these two for the game was closed and only two could allow others entry and their names were given as Larry and Cyril, but it was not these two. The foreigner, the silent man of storms, whose name was never truly Cyril remained after the shift, but what of Larry?

Tempestuousness and Shadowiness – Storm and Shadow, two powers very unlike the first. And while none dispute that the foreigner, called the Windbringer, stood within the Storm, there is, at the very least, one, a little scholarly man who will not be denied the truth he seeks, who is not willing to grant that after the passing of the game from its first to its second thread that the character Larry Silverfall, formerly a ranger, was to be found any longer within the original game.