The Lord of the Forums >>> Return of the Nightmare

[TAOWolf]

Watching the Alpha leave, she senses the Hunger dying and releases the storms.........

then turns, staring off into the lower valley at the Tower......

narrowing her eyes, she takes out a small dagger... slim in shape, blade of ebony with silver runes carved into the garnet hilt...

raising this above her head, she screams, then slams the dagger into the hilt of SpiritSword shattering the encasement of lightning sending it to the Tower with a message...........

ooc: Larry will know the message...we are old enemies after all

and I'm sorry, but I will probably not be posting for awhile.. I just found out my father passed away

it's been a great game, and I'll miss it...

[Cyril Darkcloud]

ooc: TAO, my most heartfelt condolences on your loss. You and your family will certainly be in my prayers over the coming weeks.

[Legolas]

The possessor

Two ice-cold, flaming eyes had carved their way into permanent memory. No longer were those of his mistress dwelling there alone. Under their dual gazes, it felt as though his very soul was constantly ripped apart, turned over and over in a search for something neither of them could identify.
He wondered at where they had gone, though he did not regret their absence in the least. One moment of intenst agony, of feeling as though his entire being was transformed into something he was not, down in the darkness. The very next, the sensation faded and he found himself surrounded by light.
A bad dream. A horrible nightmare of eyes. Yet now, had not he woken?

He found himself standing in a study, walls made of smooth, straight boards. Outside, he could see branches. Inside, a little man trying to get his attention. Tell him of things?
Much as he struggled, he could remember only the darkness of his sleep.
Fighting in an arena, sleeping on the ground. Wandering the corridors, eating bugs. Those chilling eyes. That vision of a woman, sun at night, which dawn had dispelled so cruelly.
Almost. He should almost go back to sleep for another glimpse.

A warm drink. He sipped, enraptured by the feeling of something warm inside for what seemed the first time ever.
Yet the liquid did little to ease the hoarseness of his voice as he asked his question.

"Things?"

[ 03-20-2004, 08:27 AM: Message edited by: Legolas ]

[mistral4543]

OOC>>> I'm sorry to hear about your loss. You have my condolences.

IC>>>
Rhianneth

She obediently remained sprawling on the ground, craning her neck as if it would kill her to lift her head to meet him. For it was he, the one she had gone through hell and high waters to meet, the one who had now caused her to lose her powers of sorcery. The flames of humiliation consumed her cheeks as she continued to stare at her outstretched hands, even as those who surrounded her began to speak.

But she was not paying attention to the words. How could she, when she now faced an identity crisis?

I am Rhianneth. Here was a fine start. I am Rhianneth Freelight, and I... What else had she to add to this statement? I have dark brown hair and eyes? At least she had not lost her caustic side. I am an ex-sorceress? She could not even think of any person she had befriended in her youth, that would now come to her aid. I am ungrateful, foolish and arrogant? Fine words of recommendation she was giving herself here. I am an orphan... a useless orphan.

She gritted her teeth, breathing rather noisily in the process. There is no point crying, there is nothing to cry about. At least she was still alive... or would death have been a pleasanter fate?

I have got to snap out of this. The conflict between obstinacy and weariness shook her frame and she finally tilted her head, beholding the new party before her. Hissing, she could only gape at the transformed Brendon Grey.

Why him? Why he, when he was the most idealistic, even idiotically optimistic boy who deserved a heroic death, if not a triumphant victory over evil? He was now one of them! Oh, Heaven, Heaven, who says you do not like to make sport of man?

[Cyril Darkcloud]

Elsewhere within these Forums

The finding of the other has not taken so long a she had feared it would and that in itself is reason to smile. Once more joy simple and unanticipated is a thing to be acknowledged and savored however briefly. The lessons of her mother have indeed been well-learned. She is swift in her movement and does not trouble herself with the greeting of any others in this place than the one for whom she has come. “Surely ...... surely, you have felt it,” she speaks in heavily accented syllables for this is the first time she has spoken in this language. There is no time for awkwardness with words, however, and so she simply speaks hoping that she is understood. “It is true ..... the One that is called Lar-ree has returned ..... the time to act within is small ...... Come ...... I shall explain as we travel ......” Having spoken she holds out the token she has brought along that she might recognized.

[ArcadesSabboth]

From the depths of the ravine, movement of the resting dragon glitters in the dim light like diamonds. His eyesight, while not perfect, is strong enough once more for him to escape, and his wings are once again strong enough to carry him.

The great golden dragon soars into the sky, catching a hint of Kaylisa's scent on the wind and flys to her, landing close by in the valley of the Tower.

Greetings again old friend.

[Cyril Darkcloud]

The Inner Forums

Travel was swift and with the need to discuss what must be done the act of traveling itself was a thing hardly noticed. “You know ...... know far better than I ..... what it is .... you must do to be ready,” she says to her companion. “I go now ..... to do what I must do.” She smiles as she turns happy to be freed from the struggle to speak in the difficult and strange tongue of this place.

[ 03-20-2004, 12:22 PM: Message edited by: Cyril Darkcloud ]

[Cyril Darkcloud]

The Tower

There is an enduring power, it is said, about the classics, a strength that resists the vagaries of time, a strangely persistent and compelling speech that asserts itself and makes its voice heard in even the most unlikely of places and manners. Perhaps that is why it also has survived intact, this single scrap of paper, a page torn from a book and delivered to this fallen tower just prior to its collapse. The tale within that book was ancient before even Greyhawk was young, its words older far than the tales of Tolkien’s Middle Earth and it characters more compelling by far than the bantering cartoons of the BG series. So mighty was the tale it asserted itself over novels of the Forgotten Realms to shape the story of this game according to itself. Even now, as things move swiftly to conclusion, the words of this tale once more assert themselves.

Perhaps that is all this is, the self-assertion of a tale compelling and old, this movement of wind that lifts a torn page from the broken stones and bears it slowly to the newly cut stone tiles where a broken woman lies. Perhaps, there is no truth to its persistent words other than mere persistence. perhaps they are simply another painful irony that presents itself to a woman whose life has been so ironically undone. Be that as it may, it lands before her with its defiant words facing upward toward her eyes:

The page taken tells the tale of one tortured for his defiance of the power and authority of Olympian Zeus. The Greek of its words is that spoken more than two millennia in the past and in its speaking of an ancient and foolish act of resistance it provided the words which have come to describe another, the defiant act which toppled the One called Larry from his throne:

Prometheus: Yes, to my friends I am pitiable to see.
Chorus: Did you perhaps go further than you have told us?
Prometheus: I caused mortals to cease foreseeing doom.
Chorus: What cure did you provide them with against that sickness?
Prometheus: I placed in them blind hopes.
Chorus: That was a great gift you gave to men.
Prometheus: Besides this, I gave them fire.
• from Prometheus Bound by Aeschylus

[ 03-20-2004, 01:37 PM: Message edited by: Cyril Darkcloud ]

[Cyril Darkcloud]

The Tower

Words are curious things, exhalations of breath spoken into air. Sometimes such speaking drifts into the fading repetition of mere echoes. Other times perhaps these bursts of breath are received, kept and allowed to speak again having lost nothing of their originating vigor. So it is that the slender fingers of a young woman remove the stopper from an earthen container and words spoken once in splendid and spiteful humor sound once more in the presence of the one who first had spoken them:

"What does he think this tower is, having a damned owl deliver messages! This isn't the Damned Hogwarts School of Magic, and I ain't damned Harry Potter! Can you believe this guy???"

Brazenly she stands before mage and giants and there is a disturbing familiarity about this brazenness. Still she is curious and her question must be asked, “Tell me,” her accent is very pronounced as she speaks the strange syllables of the language of those who dwell here so far from the sky, “who is Harry Potter?”

ooc: A curious reprising of incidents first recorded here.

[Larry_OHF]

Larry

Larry sneers at the intruder.

"So, word has already circulated around that I have returned. Interesting. Your accent is familiar to me, as is your defying attitude...but you are not the Windbringer...the one that saw to my destruction before. Has he sent you in his stead?

I have yet to regain my powers, rebuild my tower, and set up guard...and you have banked on these being weaknesses that you would come into my home to try and destroy me again!

NOT THIS TIME!

GREY! Attack, using your bow!"

The zombie Grey, so newly crafted that he still appears alive, except for the burning hatred in his eyes which are clearly inhuman, lifts his bow and fires two shots in succession with all the agility and power that he has gained to his already impressive abilty by being now an undead thing.

[ 03-20-2004, 02:40 PM: Message edited by: Larry_OHF ]