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

[Cyril Darkcloud]

The Tower of Shadow

Order has been restored – the Presence once more sits upon the throne and prisoners languish in narrow cells far away from the light of day. Work has even begun on the digging of deeper prison pits and elsewhere the Giants of Shadow stand ready to destroy the last, and most ancient, of IW’s clans. There is purposeful movement within these halls once more and all is as it should be.

With one exception.

Unnoticed amid the purpose driven activity that has attended the return of the Presence is the absence of one whose place here has long been taken for granted, for when the Presence speaks there is no Echo to repeat his words.

___________________________________________


Ravenwood

Echoes are derivative beings and yet there has long been a curious independence about this particular remnant of voice, a willfulness and an initiative that defy ready explanation. Despite the return of its master, the Echo’s place is here. Near Larry, but at a careful remove from the sage.

It speaks not, this Echo. But it thinks and had it a mouth, perhaps it would even smile in anticipation. ~ Soon. So very soon. Soon. Soon. Soon.

[ 07-19-2006, 01:49 AM: Message edited by: Cyril Darkcloud ]

[Cyril Darkcloud]

Myron Epimetheus

The boy can neither destroy nor alleviate and is hardly a fitting object of fear for anyone. Dramatic and given to exaggerating – so typical of one so young. The little man pays no attention to his words. Indeed, were it not for what must be disclosed here, there is very little about the boy to be worthy of a scholar’s interest and attention. Reaching into his pockets, the sage withdraws his notes – all carefully written down on scores of those little square napkins which serve so well for the writing down of things – that he might review them. The boy, of course, is not alone; although the boy is not aware of this. But there is much concerning which the boy is unaware. “Foolish boy,” the little man says quietly.

After a few moments of reading, the little man looks up and glances in the direction of the opening of this small clearing. “Foolish elves,” he mutters as he stands. “To live so long and to advance so little. Foolishness. Hundreds and hundreds of years of living and yet so stagnant. Such little erudition for a race so long alive.” He glances at the boy. “Misspent youth is one thing to be sure. But to misspend the centuries so casually that even the boy is a more worthy object of study. A foolish place this Ravenwood. And to presume to interrupt the disclosing of truth……” The little man’s voice rises, filling the immediate area. “Come forward!” At his command the members of a patrol from the elvish settlement step forward. Their movements are awkward, as if they are being pulled forward against their will.

“There will be no interruption of what must happen.” There is no anger in his words, only the solemn authority of one who will not see the truth of things lay hidden any longer. He fixes his gaze upon the one that is obviously the leader. He speaks but a few words in a guttural language and the papers on which his notes have been written begin to rustle. Pointing at the elf he speaks once more, a single syllable, and the body of the elf begins to shake in time to the movement of the small square napkins, those napkins that serve so well for the writing down of things worth reading later. As he shakes, his form becomes less distinct until there is nothing left where the elf once stood save a small pile of pages covered in flowing elvish script. With a movement of his hand, the little man summons the pages to himself and glances at them.

“So little from one alive so long.” There is a note of disappointment in his voice. His gaze then turns to the others. He looks at each in turn and then speaks again and at the sound of his voice a greenish light settles over each of the five remaining elves. The light flashes and the elves are no more to be seen, only five large crickets. “To waste the gift of so many years,” the little man says quietly as he tucks the pages that were once the leader of the patrol into his pockets. “Foolish, foolish elves. This Ravenwood is home to more than the folly of the boy.” Saying this he returns to the rock and sits down once more.

[Larry_OHF]

Larry Silverfall

He stared blankly at what he mistook for a baelnorn. He'd just wiped out an elvish scout party that had been spying on them. Fancy that! A baelnorn would not normally harm an elf, would he??? Larry began to wonder about this strange being, but at the moment, this mysterious personage was content to sit and be amused by Larry's upcoming actions. Okay, then.

He had expected many friends to be here to witness this marvelous resurrection. He had expected this moment to be filled with joyous words of support coming from behind him as he did this amazing work. There were no crowds cheering him on, there was no great celebration and there were no friends...just he and this strange baelnorn who was probably just making sure he did not desecrate anything elvish.

So be it. It was time.

Larry unpacked and laid out his items before him. There was the candle, the necklace, and his spellbook. Here at the site was the grave marker for his wife and a large, wide-trunked oak tree that was perfectly positioned so as to host the shadow that would be cast.

Larry began by finding the correct angle of the tombstone to the tree. The candle would be positioned behind the tombstone so that its light when lit would cast a shadow of the tombstone against the tree. He readied his candle, and when it was set, he lit the candle. The light was normal to anyone that would see it, but Larry had embued this candle wax with special magic long ago when he was the Mage. The wax held the power of a shadow portal within it, but not a normal portal...rather one that connected to the dimension of the dead. The shadow that was cast against the tree appeared normal, but since it was being made by Mistral's tombstone, it held a special marker that she would detect and that only she could pass through.

Next, Larry needed to extend the necklace into the position between the tombstone and the tree. This break in the casted shadow made by the necklace that Mistral bought Larry on their wedding day signified the key to his heart, and would be the opening to the door. When the necklace was placed in its position, a beacon to Mistral would shine in the darkest shadow and she could follow its light back to where she was supposed to be. It was made so.

Finally, the words to tie everything together and call Mistral from beyond the grave. He readied himself, being nervous because he still was not content with having to actually use shadow magic, since he had never really done ~good~ with it before.

"Escucheme, esposa mia, pues con el poder y la autoridad que poseo como tu marido, te suplico regresar conmigo, dejando la tristeza de la tumba, y vivir de nuevo!!"

That was it. The words would stretch forth into the realm of the dead and nothing could prevent her from hearing it...and the light from the necklace would show her the way, and the door would be open to none but her...and she would come forth in spirit and reposess her body within the tomb, and then Larry could cast another spell to restore her body in full with his spellbook...and then it would be done!!!!!

There was nothing to do,,,but wait...

and wait...

and wait...

Ten minutes, he waited and was beginning to get nervous. Where was she that was taking so long?

What...what if she...did not want to come?

and wait...

and wait...

Another five minutes passed. Had he done everything right? Was there something amiss?

and wait...

and wait...

Larry was visibly nervous now, and sweating. What was going on?

He turned to face the baelnorn for the first time in nearly half an hour. He said nothing, but with his teary eyes, begged to be told...what has gone wrong???

[dplax]

Andrion Wilgor, chosen of Shadow

A wide smile broke on Andrion's face as he glimpsed the bell tower of a familiar small church through the portal. Without another word, Andrion stepped through the ethereal gateway and arrived in the main square. The dirty little square was flanked on two sides by the pathetic village's two shops. The butcher, and a generalist shop. The square was dominated by the temple, raised in the honour of Demeter.

All in all, the village was fairly typical of the region, both in its architecture, and the views of its inhabitants towards strangers. Andrion was familiar with both. When first arriving in the world of Ironworks, this was the settlement he arrived in, through a small portal behind the butcher's shop, and in just a few minutes he had been fully acquainted with the phobia the inhabitants had of strangers.

A woman carrying a basket of apples looked on in disbelief at the man appearing out of thin air in front of her. As Andrion turned to face her, recognition seemed to flash in her eyes, but she had no time to speak as Andrion swiftly muttered a spell to silence her. The woman's lips moved, but no words left her parched mouth. As full recognition hit her, and terror set in at the promises this dark stranger had made when leaving the village, the basket fell to the ground, sending the apples rolling all over the main square.

She turned to flee, but found herself rooted to the spot, as a shadowy web entangled her feet. Unable to speak and move, all she could do was dart her terrified gaze all around her, seeking anyone willing to help her. But at the height of the day, almost everyone was indoors, sheltering from the heat. Andrion smiled. He only vaguely remembered the woman, who had glared at him as he left the village, but it pleased him to see her suffer from her fear.

Andrion decided that he would allow her to watch the rest of the village being destroyed before taking care of her.

Andrion sent his mind probing for the shadow's within, and called upon them for his next spell. A shadowy ball of flame shot out from his finger tips, straight into the butcher's shop. The force of the blast sent one of the week wooden walls flying, and the roof collapsed a few seconds later. The lack of screams from within indicated that the butcher and his wife had probably died instantly in the explosion. Even stronger than the smell of burning wood was the pleasant smell of roast meat spreading through the town as the shop's stock was set alight.

A minute later, and the fire was already spreading to nearby dwellings with inhabitants rushing out to escape from the rapidly spreading shadowy inferno. It seemed as though wherever there were shadows at the side of the building the fires seemed to spread with an astonishing speed. An unforeseen positive effect of the shadow influence, Andrion realised.

Simple magic missiles and lightning bolts flew from Andrion's fingertips, bringing to end the lives of all those who fled their homes. So far it was going very nicely, but there wasn't much satisfaction at killing thus, from afar. Knowing that the next few spells he was going to cast would endanger himself if not properly prepared. A Protection from Evil later, he was ready. Unfortunately his plans for killing the woman last would be stopped by the demon he was going to summon, but with an evil grin, Andrion realised that watching the demon do its work would be far more satisfying.

Calling upon a spell he hadn't used for many years, Andrion touched upon abyssall energies, and through almost a minute's concentration managed to complete the portal to summon a fiend. For the first time in the history of these forums did a balrog reply to the summons of a magic user. As it emerged from the portal, Andrion realised how fitting a creature it was for one touched by shadow to summon, for even a great writer once described these demons as creatures of shadow and flame.

Rearing its horned head, the beast surveyed its unfamiliar surroundings. Only one tiny human was protected against his malice. All the others had to perish and suffer for disturbing him, and bringing him to this cold plane.

When the balrog finally returned to its native plane only Demeter's temple remained untouched. The rest of the village was burning, the shadowy tips of the flames licking against the stone sides of the temple, but not able to harm the building itself.

Andrion picked up an intact apple from the ground. Gently wiping it in his robes, he cleaned it, and took a bite. The taste was excellent. Two hours passed, and Andrion ate half a dozen apples, all the while letting those inside the temple grow ever more fearsome of what was outside, and waiting for the flames to gently die down. The shadowy fire had burned throught the wooden buildings in the village at a speed Andrion had never seen from normal flames, and after just this long merely smoking embers remained of the once proud village. Smoking embers and a stone temple. The second part needed to be remedied.

The main entrance would surely be defended by the handful of survivors, but Andrion had just the spell he needed. To the surprise of the aged priest praying at the altar of Demeter a two foot large, five foot tall section of the wall, behind the altar simply turned to mud, and the mage against whom the handful of peasants had prepared a trap at the main entrance stepped through the hole, and then suddenly time stopped. When things started moving again, the bodies of the peasants by the door were horribly wilted, and the priest found himself lying on the altar, a dagger placed above his heart.

The shadow within Andrion moved his hand and lips as he murmured words in a tongue he did not know he was capable of talking.

"Demeter! Te ofrece el cuerpo de tu adepto! No merece de vivir mas! Es el decreto de mi Dios, el Dios de SOMBRA!"

As Andrion shouted out the last word, the dagger plunged down.

OOC: translation of what Andrion says:

"Demeter! I offer you the body of your servant! He does not merit to live anymore! That is the decree of my God, the God of SHADOW!"

[ 07-28-2006, 12:37 PM: Message edited by: dplax ]

[Elif Godson]

Vincent Pathfinder 56/98

"How could I have run the wrong way, I bring shame to the Pathfinder name. Foolish, surrounding yourself on a small body of land with water all about, what the hell was I thinking" .Searching around for a way out, he faintly heard what the cleric said from above and what the bladesinger was saying from as far away as he was. The blood was rushing and he was losing the battle of survival. " I have done nothing but make childish mistakes all the way through this ordeal, shattering my bow, oh gods, what was I thinking, silly fonkin."Yevaud was motioning in the opposite direction of which he had run, the leeches were closing in fast on his area and he would more then likely get run down no matter which he went. He knew there hunger, and knew that just killing a few of them would do him no good what so ever. " So the odds are against me, run the opposite way and possibly die, or run the way I have been going, and die out of breath and water logged." With a shrug of his shoulder's he glanced up at Annarima, smiled and shouted "I would be a load stone for you, there is no way you can support the two of us, I will take my chances come what may. May the Gods bring favor to you. " and with that, he spead back towards where Yevaud had motioned, with a prayer on his lips and hopefully fleet enough of foot to out run some ravaging leeches..


ooc: edited for sig, content and other stuff.

[ 07-27-2006, 04:42 PM: Message edited by: Elif Godson ]

[Larry_OHF]

Anarrima 55/67

Anarrima felt her eyes becoming wet as she watched the doomed half-elf. He was right, she could not lift him, and she had no offencive spells left to cover his escape as he now ran through the marshes while the leeches turned and were now pursuing their blood prey. It was just not fair!

Then it came to her. She had a spell that might work, but she'd have to fashion it just right. It would not take long to cast, and if she did it right, it would provide Vincent with just enough time to escape on his own two feet.

She began to pray, whilst running behind Vincent, albeit still ten feet in the air. When she reached the end of her prayer, she stopped in the air, turned her back to Vincent and pointed down to the marsh, just ahead of the oncoming leech infestation.

"paries di aeol!!" (wind wall)

A wall, two feet thick, made entirely of forced air shot down from Ana's spot and plunged into the marsh. Water sprayed away from the wall as it hit, causing the leeches to slow their pace. It would not work for long, and she did not have the energy to move it along behind him. It would be stationed where it stood until it dissapated, and that was all she could do for now. She ran again, towards safety, trying to catch up to the others. Again, she hoped that Vincent was fast enough to take advantage of the wall.

When she looked again, she saw to her excitement that Vincent indeed made it far into dry ground where Yevaud had led everyone. She still had 6 minutes of air-tme left, but there was no need for it. She walked down the invisible stairs of her airwalk and planted her feet on ground again. For now at least, they were all safe.

[Morgeruat]

Yevaud

Yevaud coasted to where the others gathered, still incorporeal, "The first few halting steps of our escape are complete, but there remains more, Kaylisa is mortally wounded it seems, and none of the rest of us are in good condition to continue as is. I suggest putting a few leagues between us and the leeches and then resting up for the night and seeing what can be done for those worst off." He then spoke a single word of power ending his spell and gently sat Tao down before casting one more spell, one which caused billowing clouds of foul gas to form behind the group, "Hopefully that will slow down the leeches a bit more"

[Cyril Darkcloud]

Myron Epimetheus

The little man rises as the boy looks to him and shuffles forward, his feet a few inches above the ground. The disappointed cast on the young man’s face provokes a change in the little man’s mutterings as his voice falls into the same language that this one called Larry Silverfall used but a short while earlier. “Así es con los jovenes – siempre sus sueños pesan más que sus manos pueden llevar.” Before the little man speaks his answer to the question of the ineffectiveness of the enchantment, however, another voice intervenes, a merry and mocking voice, a voice whose notes echo with malice.

Failure. Failure once again. Failure after failure after failure. A lifetime of failures. A failed life …… O! Yes! Such failure! Your friends imprisoned and abandoned. Your wife lost and gone. To fail even yourself …… So much failure in one small life. …… All this labor for nothing. These years lost and wasted. So many dead on your behalf and for what? Failure, sweet failure, O yes! Yes, yes, yes …… Failure. Failure. Failure. Failure.

The voice is at once familiar and strange, for the one named Larry knows well the sound of the Echo, a sound not all that unlike his own voice. But the mocking hatred in its words, this is something new. Mockery fills the young man’s ears and seizes his breathing, bitter and burning mockery and the echoed notes of the word failure gather each shred of guilt and doubt within him into a song of defeat and hopelessness.

“That will be enough!” There is strength in the little man’s words as his mutterings reach the conclusion of a very old, very terrible enchantment. The area around the tomb shakes violently and the body of the youth shudders as the mocking laughter is cast out of him and confined between the rune-scribed facets of a large emerald that the sage holds carefully with both hands.

[Elif Godson]

Vincent Pathfinder 56/98

" Thank you Mi'lady, I do not think I would be standing here now if it was not for your efforts, well in truth, I know I wouldnt.
" he bowed slightly. " yes, a few leagues would be grand. Let me carry Lady Tao, I do believe by the looks of things, I am in better condition then the lot of us. Interesting clound Yevaud"

[ 07-28-2006, 01:28 PM: Message edited by: Elif Godson ]

[Cyril Darkcloud]

Myron Epimethues

Maintaining his grip upon the gem the little man waits while this one named Larry composes himself – to the extent, of course, that Larry has ever been composed. The young are seldom composed, and this one is even more dramatic in his outbursts of spontaneous emotion than most of those who are young. So much energy, so little wisdom and such a foolishly ironic sense of certainty about the world .…. youth really is a troublesome thing. A chill overtakes the little man, a biting chill that lodges itself in his bones, and he shudders a moment. He is always so cold. He mutters softly and moves the fingers of his free hand and a pair of mugs filled with steaming liquid hang suspended in the air between himself and the boy. “Drink,” he says with a gentle firmness, “there is nothing like something warm to drink to bring a bit of comfort against the cold and to return one to his proper senses.”

With his free hand he takes one of the mugs and lifts it to his desiccated lips and sips gratefully from its contents.

“It is time you grew up, boy. And time to stop chasing after shadows. Boys are given to such things, but a boy cannot endure what you must now face and a boy will see his story end here before this empty grave.”

[ 07-29-2006, 10:45 AM: Message edited by: Cyril Darkcloud ]