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

[Morgeruat]

Morguerat

Morguerat cursed softly, it had been too long since he’d traveled with the ranger protectors, his woodcraft was rusty, but the question that worried him, was how rusty his skills truly were, an answer he did not have, and which would do him little good as it was. He saw a small clearing and slowed to a walk as he entered it, hoping for some clear view of the game trails that might lead him to whomever had cried out. He was greatly surprised to see the clearing already occupied by another. He set the butt of his staff into the soft loam and scanned both the figure, from the size and soft lines it was a woman, and the clearing. She appeared to be doing nothing more than bending over, but more than a decade of adventuring revealed to the former knight well concealed tenseness in her stance. Much of her was concealed by both her stance and the loose cloak that draped over her preventing a more thorough evaluation. Harmless she appeared, although he noted that she kept one hand tucked carefully underneath the cloak. On a weapon of some sort?

Such tenseness was warranted of course, a large man bursting from the bushes, his purpose as unknown as where he’d come from. And as much as he was used to sizing people up in an instant, he found himself lingering on her for much more than an instant, he was not satisfied that she was alone, but could not help but notice that in a casual sweep of the clearing his eyes came to rest on her and linger much longer than he was comfortable with.

He held the staff lightly in one hand, and relaxed his own pose into one more casual, but as always his feet were squared at shoulder width, the left slightly forward of the right, and he had no doubt he could bring the staff around quickly enough to fend off an attack. He breathed in deeply, and said in his deep bass voice, “You’ve nothing to fear from me, milady. I heard a cry and have come to investigate. Are you well or do you need assistance?”

[Cyril Darkcloud]

Elsewhere – near the valley of the Dark River

Places such as this, places remote and forgotten and far from the pathways of the mighty, are places that are quiet and where troubles, though at times they be great, have nothing of the epic about them. Farming is done here, the growing of crops and the raising of livestock, for the land is fertile and the water clean and so little known is this place that even the marauding armies of those who contested the fate of the Forums during the great struggle did not despoil this quiet land with their looting and violence. The peace and isolation of this place are not merely the products of that peculiar physical geography by which mountains and rivers might separate a fertile stretch of earth from ready access, for at the head of this valley is found a tomb, the resting place of man forgotten by all save those families that have called this vale their home for long generations. He it was who destroyed and drove away those strange creatures of living darkness that once encroached upon this valley, and he it was who died in so doing, and a light burns always near his resting place – a sign of hope and a reminder of the price paid on behalf of the simple and overlooked.

Places such as this are not frequently visited. Few men have passed by this way and none have stayed long. Only the great horse which ran into the valley just ahead of the flood swollen surging of the river during the time of the great struggle has remained here, finding ready pasture in the fields and a curious welcome from those whose eyes looked knowingly at its tack and saddle. It is the sudden snorting of this horse in the gathering darkness which alerts those returning from the fields to their rest in a small house at the edge of the vale to the arrival of other visitors.

Visitors such as these, however, do not arrive in the customary way of travelers. They burst outward in silent anger from the ground itself, axes and hammers gripped in their mailed hands. They speak not a word for they have not come for speaking. Their weapons swing without pity and even the great horse which dashes forward to protect the innocents of this house is wounded to the point where flight is not possible. Out of the darkness beneath the Forums they have emerged, these silent dwarves who move as if one with the shadows of night and so furious is their attack that in a matter of moments all once more is silent save for the gasping of the great horse as it struggles to breathe......

[Larry_OHF]

Ana

She looked at the human in confusion, but then glanced back to the way that Yevaud had left and quickly responded to Marcos,

"Oh...well...sure...whatever you need then. Please...Yevaud has never left the safety of Evermeet before now. I cannot bare to think he is alone against a skilled drow!"


Human guard that brought Vince his armor:

He looked at the elf in confusion, then glanced back the way that the other elf had run with three other guards to have all the fun while he was stuck here taking elvish lessons.

"Anything you say, fella. But if all of us go running off to fight whoever is up there...who'll stay behind and take care of the maiden, 'ere"?

He thumbed a gesture at Anarrima.

"She says she cain't cast spells right now...and so she's no business going up there."


Ana:

She turned to the guard making a fuss over her, and smiled.

"Do not take on worry for me, human. I am still capable of many things without my blessings of magic. Why don't you three go upstairs and see what the fuss is all about. Make haste now!"

[ 04-07-2005, 07:06 PM: Message edited by: Larry_OHF ]

[Salinye]

Senora 60/60

“You’ve nothing to fear from me, milady. I heard a cry and have come to investigate. Are you well or do you need assistance?”

Senora shifted uneasily underneath the intensity of his stare. She didn’t like the way he looked at her. Not because his eye lingered on her, that she was used to-an unfortunate side effect of whom she was. It was the depth of his look that bothered her. He was searching for something. She viewed him a well-trained warrior sizing up his prey or maybe just trying to accurately assess the situation at hand. Either way, she wouldn’t prove to be easy friend or foe. She took no one at face value.

Returning his stare she took the time to size him up in the same manner she knew he was. By the look of his armor, which clearly was not made specifically for his body, she thought it safe to assume he wasn’t a noble of any sort. He was bearded which could be a sign of a drifter or long time traveler, or could be as insignificant as his personal preference. Although his tone was friendly enough, she saw in his stance that he was no less ready for battle than he had been before he came across her. Noting her own grip on her sword, she thought that fair.

She knew not whether the penetrating evil she had felt earlier had come from him and she knew better then to assume not just because it didn’t appear likely. He had mentioned a scream, the same she had heard and suspected had been her own. She considered mentioning the danger she believed to be in the area, but faint memories of- “She’s a witch! Burn her!”- drifted through her mind. She would remain silent on the issue for now. However, she would keep him close. If he was a goodly man then she could use the ally should they meet danger in the night. If he wasn’t a goodly man, well better to know where he is than wonder.

Tugging at the hood of her cloak once more just to be sure she was properly veiled she stood to face the man. “I am both well and in need of no assistance. However, if you were heading out of the forest I wouldn’t mind traveling together. Night isn’t too far off and there is always more safety to be found in numbers. If you find this offer agreeable, the only thing I request is that we not work under a false pretense of trust. I know you no more than you know me and trust is not something I give of freely. I can however, give you my word on Kaelin’Dar that I intend you no harm if none is meant against me.” Her words, although simple and firm, rolled off her lips no less eloquently than one would expect from one of regal inheritance. Another unfortunate side effect…

She never removed her hand from the hilt of her sword as she spoke to him and her eyes, unseen by him, never left his. She hadn’t yet decided if her offer to travel temporarily together was a wise decision or not, but she would know soon enough. It would only be a matter of time and she would know one way or the other whether or not he was the source of evil that she now felt morally bound to find and eliminate.

[RoSs_bg2_rox]

Silt 29/80

Silt was on edge. He had that buzz about him, that tickling stomach, that vice like grip on his blades, causing his hands to sweat. His heart pounding harder and louder than is expected in every day occurrence. But this was not every day occurrence. As a child; as an elf yet to mature into the mental being of an elder and the toned prime physical shape of an agile warrior, he used to adventure. Silt and the others would hide; at the time seemingly for their lives. The adrenaline would pump as they were hunted, forcing them to run. Run and hide someplace else, on it went. A training technique used by the tutors – to teach an elf how to hide from danger. Of course everyone had a chance to become the danger. That moment, that moment Silt had spotted, spotted them pursued, pursued then caught, caught and won. He could feel that sense of being, he had accomplished his task. He would be rewarded. Rewarded for his effort, for his cunning, his interminable perception. His efficacious training had proved its worth. His perseverance had been put to the test.

Moving on. A year had passed. Silt now wielded a blade; two blades. He would practice day and night, striving to gain control of the blades. He would shape symbols with them, scythe the dense greenery with them, dance with them. He would do this until he had mastered them. He did do this until he had mastered them. Again, his perseverance was put to the test.

A month later. A dual. A challenge. Wielding his blades Silt stepped forth. Bravery – yes. Pride was at stake. A fast paced battle, sword upon sword; the deep clang of a collision, blade meeting blade, the light chink – armour being tested. The final cry, and urge for strength. Again the tickling of the stomach, the focus of the mind; blocking all outside vision, a competition for his viewing, for his thoughts. He grinned the grin of victory, walked the walk of valour, spoke the words of a hero, felt the feeling of a hero. But what of it? He had beaten his blade master, a symbol and a signal that he was ready to move on. His concentration had been put to the test.

Time passes. Sent as a messenger to another forest, Silt meets his next challenge. Awoken. Stirred from his peaceful meditation, to the sound of bandits. The stomach stirs, the eyes gleam, the mind focuses. This is real. Sensing the danger, he listens. A faint whisper, a jolly laugh, he imagined a grin. Had they seen him? Silt supposed not. Turning he saw them in full force. He saw the wheel of a caravan, the helpless body of a driver, the helm of a protectorate. This was it. He drew his blades. They came to him in an instant, long familiar with the elf’s grip. Revealing himself from the trees he walked forward, crouching, not with the fear of a novice, nor the clumsiness of a city guard, but the assassin like pivot. He could see his mentors in his mind willing him to overcome his latest task. Without warning, Silt leapt at the bandits, putting into practice what he had learnt those years before. He took them by surprise. One bandit was down in a heartbeat, two remained. He circled them, focussing on each in turn, a solemn look in his eyes. He struck and they did not stand a chance, for it was all over so quickly and there was nothing they could do about it and may their bodies rot and may their spirits be punished. Silt could still remember his thoughts. All of his training had been put to the test, and Silt had, again, passed…

The elf came once again back to his present situation. These were but memories, and many years had passed since their happening, many battles had been fought and many challenges overcome. Yet this Drow brought with him a new challenge. A challenge which was of considerate difficulty, but in the scheme of things was not at the top of the current list. Silt was the hunter, just as he had been in his childhood. He was good at being the hunter, his adeptness with his body giving him the prowess that he needed. Yet this time his stomach wasn’t tingling and tickling for this reason, but rather, because the elf felt he was being watched. Of course this was always true, to an extent. For surely the hunted would watch. But it wasn’t just a feeling this time. His senses all told him the same thing. He was sure he heard noises as he slowed his pace down, gradually descending the castle – or what was left of it. A hammer could be heard, this giving his visions of the old smithy, a clanging of metal on metal, the clang of an anvil? Who else was in this castle? More evil? Many questions were left unanswered. He descended further, catching a glimpse of a figure. Silt ducked, and after a moment assumed that familiar crouching position, of which he had snuck up on the bandits. He moved forward. More voices were heard, and looking down he was glad to see it was the voices of guards. The tension sub consciously built up inside of him lessened. Yet he noted the guards’ wariness. It was apparent all was not well.

From nowhere another voice protruded the morning air. "Halt! Identify yourself, elf!" followed by the footsteps of many. Silt took a moment to catch on, but shortly after realised he was being accused of wearing the guise of an elf, of his own race, as a Drow.

“Hold your fire, for you are very much mistaken.” The elf could not help but give a laugh. “I am not the Drow you seek. Indeed I am not Kynnen.” Looking up Silt noted the man who gave him the order was a fellow elf. “Hail and well met fellow elf. May I be graced with your name?” He abruptly changed his tone, from the sweet, serene chit chat to the deadly serious manner Silt was accustomed to. “It is a pity we must meet in such dire circumstances, but I fear we must find Larry, afore it is too late.” In this rushed scene the elf didn’t contemplate the fact that Larry might not be commonly known. “If we pass the evil Drow Kynnen on the way, well that is an added bonus, for I will avenge my deceased companions.” Silt took a moment to reflect on Vincent, a friend he had met and lost in such a quick space of time. And the inquisitor, a man of great knowledge whom Silt never really got the chance to talk to. He stood silent, leaving whoever wished with ample opportunity to speak.

[Larry_OHF]

The guard that has Silt in his sights:

The guard wanted to believe what this elf was saying. He was not sure, but wanted to at least give him the benefit of the doubt. It was probably unlikely that this was the drow...but then who was he and why was he sneaking about up here?

Before the guard could make a decision, Yevaud and his three human guards had arrived.

[Elif Godson]

Vincent Pathfinder 98/98

" Me thinks the lady will be fine, if you wish to ensure that good sir, mayhap ye will stay with her. I do not say this to sound cold to someone who has brought life back to an unworthy soul, but her diety is with her in many way's." finishing up the last buckle on his armor he smiled and his eyes glistened with the thrill of life." Shall we head to see what the commotion above is ?" With that he bowed slightly to his benefactor." Mi'Lady " and headed off in the direction the elf went in. It is good to be alive, let's not waste it again he thought to himself.

[Larry_OHF]

Larry Silverfall 23/23

Larry and his new companion, Joseph, had been busy for a while, setting up camp in the area they had chanced upon. Larry could not keep still, and kept staring off into the woods, expecting...rather...hoping, to see the big man that had rescued him from the were-tiger come back from his scouting trip.

He wanted to go looking for him about an hour ago, but was advised not to be so hasty.

[Morgeruat]

Yevaud

Yevaud led his men into the chamber where they heard the words of an elf. The accent was similar to his own, but sublty different, as different from his own as his was from Anarrima's. Years on the practise field had trained him for the practice field, and as confident as he was fatigue and youthful exuberance were at odds, and cooperatively wearing down his ingrained training.

He burst into the room, with three guards right behind, and from the sound of it, more following behind. He pointed his blade at the "elf" and began the intricate motions required for casting a spell, his sword moving like an extension of his arm, moving deceptively slow, and raising a tell-tale whistle, soft and low as he continued, "You there, stop yourself before I stop you, vile drow." He then continued in elven, "Nehel sii mor nesh i' buar en' llie ent llie nostale. Llie amarth naa sinome." as he finished his spell.

ooc PM Larry.

ooc: translation: "You will pay for the provocation of you and your kind. Your doom is here." not a perfecttranslation but the best I could get with the tools I was using...

[ 04-08-2005, 04:15 PM: Message edited by: Morgeruat ]

[Morgeruat]

Morguerat

Though he could not see her eyes he could feel the weight of her stare, he imagined it must feel similar to the effect others described his own gaze to possess. He imagined how he must look to her, a large imposing male, scruffy looking at first glance, though his beard was actually well groomed, if a bit longer than he liked to keep it. It was natural for a lone woman to be worried, although for her to be out here alone, she must either possess extraordinary skills, magic, or live nearby. Any one of which could justify her defensiveness.

“I am both well and in need of no assistance. However, if you were heading out of the forest I wouldn’t mind traveling together. Night isn’t too far off and there is always more safety to be found in numbers. If you find this offer agreeable, the only thing I request is that we not work under a false pretense of trust. I know you no more than you know me and trust is not something I give of freely. I can however, give you my word on Kaelin’Dar that I intend you no harm if none is meant against me.” Her words, although simple and firm, rolled off her lips no less eloquently than one would expect from one of regal inheritance. Another unfortunate side effect…”

She had immediately dispelled the third option, which left four options left, either she was highly skilled in woodcraft, or reasonably powerful in dweomercraft, both, or neither. He continued watching her as he scanned for any tricks, or traps he might have missed on his virst visual inspection before he spoke. “I must apologize for my rudeness, I am Morguerat, formerly of the Paladins of Keldorn’s Order, the Ironworks branch of the Radiant Heart. I left my companions a few miles from here when I heard the cry. You are welcome to join us. I would hear of your gawd, Calin-der was it? In return I will tell you of Helm if you would listen.” He was a bit curious about her need to conceal her features, women of noble birth seldom took pains to do so unless they were involved in an enterprise that would bring shame upon their lineage.

ooc that was me poking a bit of fun at the name of your deity, not Morguerat mocking him/her/it he is sincerely curious.