The building had once been owned by a man named Tanner Vysian, his name being a misconception as he dealt not in tanning or it's offshoots, but in vegetables. The name had been a wish of a father, and want of a mother and the disregard of a son. In the end, it would not have mattered what his chosen occupation would have been, tanner or vegetable merchant. For he died one night, a sudden thing that left blood seeping from his nose and a body that laid undiscovered for a week in the rooms upstairs. It also left a building that was quickly acquired by a shipping concern in Heath, that had offices spread all over the Amasynia Plateau. A shipping concern that was operated by men from a place called Orvere, in Thessilane, and who were paid by the royal seat in Meadowford. The building had been left empty for over a year now, seemingly gathering dust. The rumour was that the men who owned it didn't feel that the thought of opening another trading office in Myrken was a good idea. The truth was far different.
For the building was, indeed, full and rather well maintained. Stocked with bed rolls and weapons, foodstuffs (which were now rotted, thanks to that last blight) and barrels for water. Some liquor made from aniseed and juniper berries, potent enough to burn brightly in the night were it ever to be lit aflame. It was rarely guarded, for it was never used. At most, there was one within the building who took up the onerous task of safeguarding the gathered military goods. On this night it was a man named Wystan Larose (no relation, amazingly enough, to the Larose's of Thessilane). And on this night, he would find himself nailed to a wall with the remains of his chair, the wood driven into flesh and into the oaken walls that held the roof up. Blood seeped lazily out of the wounds, pooling upon the ground beneath his feet.
Wystan, who was finding that breathing was harder and harder to maintain while nailed in such a fashion, gazed at the creature that had done this to him. Not overly tall, if he was to guess, but solidly made. With shoulders the width of an lumber-jack's axe handle, and bare arms that were crisscrossed with scars and traced with blood. A torso sheathed in robes that were a mix of subdued crimson and unrelieved black, an empty weapon belt cinching his waist. Upon his head was a hideous mask made of silver and iron, with wickedly molded features. The eyes that gazed out of the silvery eye-sockets reminded him of the Northern part of New Dauntless: Cold. Unforgiving. Merciless. Deadly.
Wystan took a breath. Tried too. His chest was heavy, he couldn't feel his legs. Nor could he feel his hands. The creature that stood before him took a step closer and raised his hand. The voice that issued forth was barely a notch above a whisper, but Wystan was almost certain he could have heard it on any battlefield. It burned froth from the maw of the mask, he could see the lips behind cruelly formed silver teeth moving. [i]â€
The Cleansing Fire
6 posts
• Page 1 of 1
The Cleansing Fire
by Vanidor » Sun Sep 10, 2006 8:23 pm
One should always be drunk. That's all that matters... But with what? With wine, with poetry, or with virtue, as you chose. But get drunk. - Charles Baudelaire
-
Vanidor - Member
- Posts: 909
- Joined: Tue Dec 10, 2002 5:00 am
- Location: Under the desert sky.
To be cleansed...
by Vanidor » Sat Sep 30, 2006 6:46 am
OOC Note: This will take place the night of Sunday, the 1st
It had been a pair of weeks since the gargoyle had made his presence known to the girl, Agnieszka. A pair of weeks as he brooded and planned the opening movement of his campaign of fire. His own, small, burning crusade. Kerrak smiled, now, and surveyed the building that lay across from this old storehouse. It partially amused him that his immolation of poor Wystan had gone unnoticed, yet there were many things he had never told young Karolinger. Many secrets that, despite it all, were still locked up solid and tight within his skull.
Even the mindflayers had failed to crack that particular nugget of information. They had shattered his will and invaded his mind, but not before certain other more arcane defenses had been put into place. Sadly, he could not remember all of the information either. It was like a giant hole had been bored into his memory, it was discomforting, but the information could be done without. All that mattered was the need to cleanse the corruption and filth that currently settled within the province. And the root of it was there. There at the Meeting House. The creature smiled once again.
He settled his heart, slowed his breathing. Slowly drew upon his will and focused upon the nothingness of the void. Eyes closed. He felt the prick of the splinter in his fingertip, the pain in his heel. The old ache of an injury to his side, where ribs had been bruised and had never really healed properly. He felt it all, that and the filth and corruption of the source that flowed through him. He felt sick. He felt alive.
The doorway before him suddenly burst open, a roar of splinters and gouting flames. Townsfolk (the few who dared walk openly so late in the night) stared at the sudden detonation. The wood gored a guardsman and left his partner crying in pain, a foot of wood lodged in her stomach. He strode out of the smoke and ashy aftermath, even as dust and debris started to rain to earth. Heavy iron boots carried him forwards, pain settled upon the void like dust on cloth. Inorexiably he moved for the Meeting House.
At the steps the usual patrol of Brotherhood soldiers looked on in shock. Their sergant cried out, and the men and women came to their senses. Six grabbed their long pikes and rushed down the stairs. The other four started to unlimber bows, setting steel-headed arrows to strings. The officer cried out again, yelling to someone inside. Behind his gargoyle-mask, he grimaced. Fought with himself for a space of seconds, seconds that seemed like hours.
These were his comrades, brothers and sisters in arms... But no. NO. They were corrupted by the insidious nature of this place. By Giscard and the rest of the Council. They were unclean. It saddened him, almost to the point of weeping. They had been good and upstanding, and courageous soldiers. That they had to die... Well, at least it would be at -his- cleansing hand. He would wash away their sins with the righteous heat of his fire. And so his hand rose, fingers splayed out in an array before him.
"Be absolved of the sin you carry within your breast, by the cleansing nature of my fires!" And in a wide swath before him, the fires danced. It was something he had never tried before, but that was before his mind was shattered. Before the voices spoke to him in greater multitude and whispered ways to overcome his... limits. A wave of flame, that sheeted out a good fifteen feet wide and cut directly acrost the makeshift phalanx that had formed before him. The flames curled 'round the bodies of his former comrades, catching them in the sudden gout. There were screams. Cries of the damned, of the suffering. The screaming died soon enough, even as he strode past their smoldering remains, savouring the stench of broiled flesh.
At the doorway the remaining five stood stock still, fear coursing up and down their bodies. Veterans all of them were, but that... They remained in their position until a whorl of flame and wind caught them up and tore their bodies into pieces, limbs aflame and being tossed in all directions. The man laughed deeply, then strode through the gore and viscera to step into the building itself.
He dregged up from his memory something Nils had taught him. How to bind the energies of the world into place, if for a short time, and let them unravel themselves after that time was up. He warned that it could be dangerous, as too much unleashed too quickly could be... disasterous. Not only to himself, but to the people and objects around him. It would be dangerous. That garoyle-mask laughed once again, dark and sinister. Someone came out of the main conference room, a spear held upward at an angle. A twist of his head, then a crunching sound. The spear pierced his torso and made him catch his breath.
For a space of seconds the two men gazed at one another. The man with the spear gasped, a brief moment of recognition at the eyes that hid behind the silver and iron mask. And then his face was melted by a venemously green burst of flames. The spear would be ripped free, a hand placed against the slow seep of blood that drizzled from his side. A long breath, and then he set about his work. It would be quick enough, considering. Nils (yes, even Nils) would have called this foolhardy and reckless.
He called it cleansing the province of it's dastards and sins.
Ten minutes after the silver-faced gargoyle burnt the bodies of the guards protecting the meetinghouse, nine after having been stabbed in the side. And four after a hasty command of twenty came to investigate, and find the place empty... The true conflagration occured.
For it was here, then, that the release had come. Fire and Air and Earth that had been bound by strands of Spirit had come apart, bursting into the real world with a sickening fury and roar of anger. A great ring-blossom of fire rose into the air, pieces of the Meeting House spraying in it's heady wake. Fragments and splinters scattered into the night, the debris returning to earth as small flaming comets, doing even more damage to the buildings that surrounded the Council-hall. All the guardsmen inside died, leaving only body parts and bits of weaponry to identify them.
Of the one who caused the conflagration... There was naught but mocking laughter, and the promise of more destruction...
It had been a pair of weeks since the gargoyle had made his presence known to the girl, Agnieszka. A pair of weeks as he brooded and planned the opening movement of his campaign of fire. His own, small, burning crusade. Kerrak smiled, now, and surveyed the building that lay across from this old storehouse. It partially amused him that his immolation of poor Wystan had gone unnoticed, yet there were many things he had never told young Karolinger. Many secrets that, despite it all, were still locked up solid and tight within his skull.
Even the mindflayers had failed to crack that particular nugget of information. They had shattered his will and invaded his mind, but not before certain other more arcane defenses had been put into place. Sadly, he could not remember all of the information either. It was like a giant hole had been bored into his memory, it was discomforting, but the information could be done without. All that mattered was the need to cleanse the corruption and filth that currently settled within the province. And the root of it was there. There at the Meeting House. The creature smiled once again.
He settled his heart, slowed his breathing. Slowly drew upon his will and focused upon the nothingness of the void. Eyes closed. He felt the prick of the splinter in his fingertip, the pain in his heel. The old ache of an injury to his side, where ribs had been bruised and had never really healed properly. He felt it all, that and the filth and corruption of the source that flowed through him. He felt sick. He felt alive.
The doorway before him suddenly burst open, a roar of splinters and gouting flames. Townsfolk (the few who dared walk openly so late in the night) stared at the sudden detonation. The wood gored a guardsman and left his partner crying in pain, a foot of wood lodged in her stomach. He strode out of the smoke and ashy aftermath, even as dust and debris started to rain to earth. Heavy iron boots carried him forwards, pain settled upon the void like dust on cloth. Inorexiably he moved for the Meeting House.
At the steps the usual patrol of Brotherhood soldiers looked on in shock. Their sergant cried out, and the men and women came to their senses. Six grabbed their long pikes and rushed down the stairs. The other four started to unlimber bows, setting steel-headed arrows to strings. The officer cried out again, yelling to someone inside. Behind his gargoyle-mask, he grimaced. Fought with himself for a space of seconds, seconds that seemed like hours.
These were his comrades, brothers and sisters in arms... But no. NO. They were corrupted by the insidious nature of this place. By Giscard and the rest of the Council. They were unclean. It saddened him, almost to the point of weeping. They had been good and upstanding, and courageous soldiers. That they had to die... Well, at least it would be at -his- cleansing hand. He would wash away their sins with the righteous heat of his fire. And so his hand rose, fingers splayed out in an array before him.
"Be absolved of the sin you carry within your breast, by the cleansing nature of my fires!" And in a wide swath before him, the fires danced. It was something he had never tried before, but that was before his mind was shattered. Before the voices spoke to him in greater multitude and whispered ways to overcome his... limits. A wave of flame, that sheeted out a good fifteen feet wide and cut directly acrost the makeshift phalanx that had formed before him. The flames curled 'round the bodies of his former comrades, catching them in the sudden gout. There were screams. Cries of the damned, of the suffering. The screaming died soon enough, even as he strode past their smoldering remains, savouring the stench of broiled flesh.
At the doorway the remaining five stood stock still, fear coursing up and down their bodies. Veterans all of them were, but that... They remained in their position until a whorl of flame and wind caught them up and tore their bodies into pieces, limbs aflame and being tossed in all directions. The man laughed deeply, then strode through the gore and viscera to step into the building itself.
He dregged up from his memory something Nils had taught him. How to bind the energies of the world into place, if for a short time, and let them unravel themselves after that time was up. He warned that it could be dangerous, as too much unleashed too quickly could be... disasterous. Not only to himself, but to the people and objects around him. It would be dangerous. That garoyle-mask laughed once again, dark and sinister. Someone came out of the main conference room, a spear held upward at an angle. A twist of his head, then a crunching sound. The spear pierced his torso and made him catch his breath.
For a space of seconds the two men gazed at one another. The man with the spear gasped, a brief moment of recognition at the eyes that hid behind the silver and iron mask. And then his face was melted by a venemously green burst of flames. The spear would be ripped free, a hand placed against the slow seep of blood that drizzled from his side. A long breath, and then he set about his work. It would be quick enough, considering. Nils (yes, even Nils) would have called this foolhardy and reckless.
He called it cleansing the province of it's dastards and sins.
Ten minutes after the silver-faced gargoyle burnt the bodies of the guards protecting the meetinghouse, nine after having been stabbed in the side. And four after a hasty command of twenty came to investigate, and find the place empty... The true conflagration occured.
For it was here, then, that the release had come. Fire and Air and Earth that had been bound by strands of Spirit had come apart, bursting into the real world with a sickening fury and roar of anger. A great ring-blossom of fire rose into the air, pieces of the Meeting House spraying in it's heady wake. Fragments and splinters scattered into the night, the debris returning to earth as small flaming comets, doing even more damage to the buildings that surrounded the Council-hall. All the guardsmen inside died, leaving only body parts and bits of weaponry to identify them.
Of the one who caused the conflagration... There was naught but mocking laughter, and the promise of more destruction...
One should always be drunk. That's all that matters... But with what? With wine, with poetry, or with virtue, as you chose. But get drunk. - Charles Baudelaire
-
Vanidor - Member
- Posts: 909
- Joined: Tue Dec 10, 2002 5:00 am
- Location: Under the desert sky.
by Elfling » Mon Oct 02, 2006 12:22 am
Dong.
There were no bells to ring in Myrken. Cathedrals of the size that came with bells needed people to fill them and faith was low in a province that the gods had cursed. It didn't stop the lace-shrouded figure from flinching as if one had sounded the hour.
Silver Lake had never been poisoned with the island supporting such a massive structure. No stained glass had tainted inward rays of sunlight to the color of blood. No children had disappeared into the doors of perverse faith to never be seen again.
No life had been breathed into its sand.
Dong.
No owls beat against Warded walls, here. The forest never cried tears of blood while hungering for life in spite of Mephisto's attempts. The landscape of Myrken had its own plagues, but they did not match the ones left behind. No, it had been the people of Myrken that had sent the healer fleeing time and again.
Their pain was overwhelming. To victims and neighbors alike, it was a harsh agony; there were very few that could not claim a knowledge of one hurt, maimed or killed. For Lamai, that agony beat against her skull night and day till she felt as if she would go mad from it. A collective agony pounded at weary defenses.
Dong.
The worst part about everything was that Ariane was Right. The desire for acknowledgement was a driving force behind the desire to help. She wanted the appreciation that came with helping. She wanted nothing more than to be thanked for everything she gave.
How much had she sacrificed in her short life? Her faith had been willingly shattered in exchange for the blood of innocents. That had only been the beginning of her curse. The Paladin had warned her of the consequences of breaking her vow.
Dong.
Tag had died protecting her--murdered by his own twin.
Dong.
David had died--killed by Lamai's own hand. With a broken vow, she sank a perverted Cathedral beneath the surface of a dark lake. The precious knife given to her by the Paladin had cut into the stomach of her lover. Her own, blood-stained hands had yanked the beating heart of the Cathedral from his body.
Only a handful were witness. Only a handful knew.
Dong.
Death had come with life. Rachael, a child of Warren blood, breathed her first as her Mother breathed her last. Her father had suffered death at the hand of his twin. They had threatened to steal her away, those remaining Warren bloods. A remade Mother's love kept her hidden from the world. A remade Mother's terror refused to acknowledge she even existed outside the world where a little girl grew up.
Dong.
For innocents, she gave her purity to Sen Sin Kai. Wings of pitched refused to be hidden, displaying her sin for all to see. Forgiveness was offered only the once; her sin was forever etched into wings that would never again claim the purity of fallen snow.
Dong.
The Lady had given her a home--until Mephisto. Oh, but how could Ariane fully understand the duress that had led into the frustrated threat of a friend? The woman had already proven her inability to be reasoned with.
Further frustration came with the uncontrollable craving to have the approval of one dear to Quincy's heart. Quincy, the abrasive janitor-turned-hero that Lamai had loved like a sister. She had only wanted to protect. To shelter. There was no real way to explain her fear; Ariane would eat her soul alive if she bared it!
Dong.
Altias--No, that was a place she couldn't think of. That pain was a forcefully forgotten thing. He was dead. A corpse, as Michael Renne had so eloquently put it. Antoher victim of her curse. How she had tried to warn him!
Dong.
It was the sudden wash of pain that finally drew Lamai out of the past that she constantly relived. As she stood on the outskirts of Myrken Town, her head lifted as if doing so would allow her the sight that would match the sudden wrongness that grabbed at her senses. Yet, the blindfold continued to hide eyesockets that had been burned by holy fire to stop the never-ending stream of gold.
Fire was a familiar feeling. Even tainted with insanity as it was, she was able to recognize it. The phoenix had often succumbed to its temper in her youth. Yet, the power behind *this* fire whispered its truth.
"No," Lamai begged whatever gods were willing to listen to a forgotten servant. Bishop had said he was back from the Underdark. Bishop had mentioned new friends--friends made without choice. There had been mention of insanity.
No one knew of a quiet moment at the lake's side. No one knew of another vow given.
Dong.
She would not break this one.
Dong.
A bitter thought rose to the forefront of her mind as she began to run. Would Ariane accuse her of wanting recognition again? Did it matter what Ariane accused her of?
As she neared the place she felt the source of the wrongness centered at, a hand grabbed hold of her. Moments before the meeting house exploded, unidentified arms wrapped around her. The sound of the explosion destroyed any knowledge of a voice. The lack of proper sight prevented the identification of a face--and a vow prevented a look at a mind that would identify it.
The maniacal laughter brought forth a scream of terror as the one who had protected her began to crumple. Having taken the brunt of the explosion, the now dead dragged the little body of the healer down with him. She hadn't the strength to fight him. She hadn't the strength to disbelieve what her senses told her.
"Kerrak! No!" came the horrified cry moments before the overwhelming death of so many at once struck an unprotected mind. Under the weight of one killed by shrapnel, Lamai fell unconcious. A trickle of gold stained her face just above her mouth.
There were no bells to ring in Myrken. Cathedrals of the size that came with bells needed people to fill them and faith was low in a province that the gods had cursed. It didn't stop the lace-shrouded figure from flinching as if one had sounded the hour.
Silver Lake had never been poisoned with the island supporting such a massive structure. No stained glass had tainted inward rays of sunlight to the color of blood. No children had disappeared into the doors of perverse faith to never be seen again.
No life had been breathed into its sand.
Dong.
No owls beat against Warded walls, here. The forest never cried tears of blood while hungering for life in spite of Mephisto's attempts. The landscape of Myrken had its own plagues, but they did not match the ones left behind. No, it had been the people of Myrken that had sent the healer fleeing time and again.
Their pain was overwhelming. To victims and neighbors alike, it was a harsh agony; there were very few that could not claim a knowledge of one hurt, maimed or killed. For Lamai, that agony beat against her skull night and day till she felt as if she would go mad from it. A collective agony pounded at weary defenses.
Dong.
The worst part about everything was that Ariane was Right. The desire for acknowledgement was a driving force behind the desire to help. She wanted the appreciation that came with helping. She wanted nothing more than to be thanked for everything she gave.
How much had she sacrificed in her short life? Her faith had been willingly shattered in exchange for the blood of innocents. That had only been the beginning of her curse. The Paladin had warned her of the consequences of breaking her vow.
Dong.
Tag had died protecting her--murdered by his own twin.
Dong.
David had died--killed by Lamai's own hand. With a broken vow, she sank a perverted Cathedral beneath the surface of a dark lake. The precious knife given to her by the Paladin had cut into the stomach of her lover. Her own, blood-stained hands had yanked the beating heart of the Cathedral from his body.
Only a handful were witness. Only a handful knew.
Dong.
Death had come with life. Rachael, a child of Warren blood, breathed her first as her Mother breathed her last. Her father had suffered death at the hand of his twin. They had threatened to steal her away, those remaining Warren bloods. A remade Mother's love kept her hidden from the world. A remade Mother's terror refused to acknowledge she even existed outside the world where a little girl grew up.
Dong.
For innocents, she gave her purity to Sen Sin Kai. Wings of pitched refused to be hidden, displaying her sin for all to see. Forgiveness was offered only the once; her sin was forever etched into wings that would never again claim the purity of fallen snow.
Dong.
The Lady had given her a home--until Mephisto. Oh, but how could Ariane fully understand the duress that had led into the frustrated threat of a friend? The woman had already proven her inability to be reasoned with.
Further frustration came with the uncontrollable craving to have the approval of one dear to Quincy's heart. Quincy, the abrasive janitor-turned-hero that Lamai had loved like a sister. She had only wanted to protect. To shelter. There was no real way to explain her fear; Ariane would eat her soul alive if she bared it!
Dong.
Altias--No, that was a place she couldn't think of. That pain was a forcefully forgotten thing. He was dead. A corpse, as Michael Renne had so eloquently put it. Antoher victim of her curse. How she had tried to warn him!
Dong.
It was the sudden wash of pain that finally drew Lamai out of the past that she constantly relived. As she stood on the outskirts of Myrken Town, her head lifted as if doing so would allow her the sight that would match the sudden wrongness that grabbed at her senses. Yet, the blindfold continued to hide eyesockets that had been burned by holy fire to stop the never-ending stream of gold.
Fire was a familiar feeling. Even tainted with insanity as it was, she was able to recognize it. The phoenix had often succumbed to its temper in her youth. Yet, the power behind *this* fire whispered its truth.
"No," Lamai begged whatever gods were willing to listen to a forgotten servant. Bishop had said he was back from the Underdark. Bishop had mentioned new friends--friends made without choice. There had been mention of insanity.
No one knew of a quiet moment at the lake's side. No one knew of another vow given.
Dong.
She would not break this one.
Dong.
A bitter thought rose to the forefront of her mind as she began to run. Would Ariane accuse her of wanting recognition again? Did it matter what Ariane accused her of?
As she neared the place she felt the source of the wrongness centered at, a hand grabbed hold of her. Moments before the meeting house exploded, unidentified arms wrapped around her. The sound of the explosion destroyed any knowledge of a voice. The lack of proper sight prevented the identification of a face--and a vow prevented a look at a mind that would identify it.
The maniacal laughter brought forth a scream of terror as the one who had protected her began to crumple. Having taken the brunt of the explosion, the now dead dragged the little body of the healer down with him. She hadn't the strength to fight him. She hadn't the strength to disbelieve what her senses told her.
"Kerrak! No!" came the horrified cry moments before the overwhelming death of so many at once struck an unprotected mind. Under the weight of one killed by shrapnel, Lamai fell unconcious. A trickle of gold stained her face just above her mouth.
~Without the mask, where will you hide?
Can't find yourself, lost in your lie~
- Evanescence
Can't find yourself, lost in your lie~
- Evanescence
- Elfling
- Member
- Posts: 198
- Joined: Mon Dec 09, 2002 12:39 pm
by Lamai » Mon Oct 02, 2006 12:26 am
Dong.
There were no bells to ring in Myrken. Cathedrals of the size that came with bells needed people to fill them and faith was low in a province that the gods had cursed. It didn't stop the lace-shrouded figure from flinching as if one had sounded the hour.
Silver Lake had never been poisoned with the island supporting such a massive structure. No stained glass had tainted inward rays of sunlight to the color of blood. No children had disappeared into the doors of perverse faith to never be seen again.
No life had been breathed into its sand.
Dong.
No owls beat against Warded walls, here. The forest never cried tears of blood while hungering for life in spite of Mephisto's attempts. The landscape of Myrken had its own plagues, but they did not match the ones left behind. No, it had been the people of Myrken that had sent the healer fleeing time and again.
Their pain was overwhelming. To victims and neighbors alike, it was a harsh agony; there were very few that could not claim a knowledge of one hurt, maimed or killed. For Lamai, that agony beat against her skull night and day till she felt as if she would go mad from it. A collective agony pounded at weary defenses.
Dong.
The worst part about everything was that Ariane was Right. The desire for acknowledgement was a driving force behind the desire to help. She wanted the appreciation that came with helping. She wanted nothing more than to be thanked for everything she gave.
How much had she sacrificed in her short life? Her faith had been willingly shattered in exchange for the blood of innocents. That had only been the beginning of her curse. The Paladin had warned her of the consequences of breaking her vow.
Dong.
Tag had died protecting her--murdered by his own twin.
Dong.
David had died--killed by Lamai's own hand. With a broken vow, she sank a perverted Cathedral beneath the surface of a dark lake. The precious knife given to her by the Paladin had cut into the stomach of her lover. Her own, blood-stained hands had yanked the beating heart of the Cathedral from his body.
Only a handful were witness. Only a handful knew.
Dong.
Death had come with life. Rachael, a child of Warren blood, breathed her first as her Mother breathed her last. Her father had suffered death at the hand of his twin. They had threatened to steal her away, those remaining Warren bloods. A remade Mother's love kept her hidden from the world. A remade Mother's terror refused to acknowledge she even existed outside the world where a little girl grew up.
Dong.
For innocents, she gave her purity to Sen Sin Kai. Wings of pitched refused to be hidden, displaying her sin for all to see. Forgiveness was offered only the once; her sin was forever etched into wings that would never again claim the purity of fallen snow.
Dong.
The Lady had given her a home--until Mephisto. Oh, but how could Ariane fully understand the duress that had led into the frustrated threat of a friend? The woman had already proven her inability to be reasoned with.
Further frustration came with the uncontrollable craving to have the approval of one dear to Quincy's heart. Quincy, the abrasive janitor-turned-hero that Lamai had loved like a sister. She had only wanted to protect. To shelter. There was no real way to explain her fear; Ariane would eat her soul alive if she bared it!
Dong.
Altias--No, that was a place she couldn't think of. That pain was a forcefully forgotten thing. He was dead. A corpse, as Michael Renne had so eloquently put it. Antoher victim of her curse. How she had tried to warn him!
Dong.
It was the sudden wash of pain that finally drew Lamai out of the past that she constantly relived. As she stood on the outskirts of Myrken Town, her head lifted as if doing so would allow her the sight that would match the sudden wrongness that grabbed at her senses. Yet, the blindfold continued to hide eyesockets that had been burned by holy fire to stop the never-ending stream of gold.
Fire was a familiar feeling. Even tainted with insanity as it was, she was able to recognize it. The phoenix had often succumbed to its temper in her youth. Yet, the power behind *this* fire whispered its truth.
"No," Lamai begged whatever gods were willing to listen to a forgotten servant. Bishop had said he was back from the Underdark. Bishop had mentioned new friends--friends made without choice. There had been mention of insanity.
No one knew of a quiet moment at the lake's side. No one knew of another vow given.
Dong.
She would not break this one.
Dong.
A bitter thought rose to the forefront of her mind as she began to run. Would Ariane accuse her of wanting recognition again? Did it matter what Ariane accused her of?
As she neared the place she felt the source of the wrongness centered at, a hand grabbed hold of her. Moments before the meeting house exploded, unidentified arms wrapped around her. The sound of the explosion destroyed any knowledge of a voice. The lack of proper sight prevented the identification of a face--and a vow prevented a look at a mind that would identify it.
The maniacal laughter brought forth a scream of terror as the one who had protected her began to crumple. Having taken the brunt of the explosion, the now dead dragged the little body of the healer down with him. She hadn't the strength to fight him. She hadn't the strength to disbelieve what her senses told her.
"Kerrak! No!" came the horrified cry moments before the overwhelming death of so many at once struck an unprotected mind. Under the weight of one killed by shrapnel, Lamai fell unconcious. A trickle of gold stained her face just above her mouth.
There were no bells to ring in Myrken. Cathedrals of the size that came with bells needed people to fill them and faith was low in a province that the gods had cursed. It didn't stop the lace-shrouded figure from flinching as if one had sounded the hour.
Silver Lake had never been poisoned with the island supporting such a massive structure. No stained glass had tainted inward rays of sunlight to the color of blood. No children had disappeared into the doors of perverse faith to never be seen again.
No life had been breathed into its sand.
Dong.
No owls beat against Warded walls, here. The forest never cried tears of blood while hungering for life in spite of Mephisto's attempts. The landscape of Myrken had its own plagues, but they did not match the ones left behind. No, it had been the people of Myrken that had sent the healer fleeing time and again.
Their pain was overwhelming. To victims and neighbors alike, it was a harsh agony; there were very few that could not claim a knowledge of one hurt, maimed or killed. For Lamai, that agony beat against her skull night and day till she felt as if she would go mad from it. A collective agony pounded at weary defenses.
Dong.
The worst part about everything was that Ariane was Right. The desire for acknowledgement was a driving force behind the desire to help. She wanted the appreciation that came with helping. She wanted nothing more than to be thanked for everything she gave.
How much had she sacrificed in her short life? Her faith had been willingly shattered in exchange for the blood of innocents. That had only been the beginning of her curse. The Paladin had warned her of the consequences of breaking her vow.
Dong.
Tag had died protecting her--murdered by his own twin.
Dong.
David had died--killed by Lamai's own hand. With a broken vow, she sank a perverted Cathedral beneath the surface of a dark lake. The precious knife given to her by the Paladin had cut into the stomach of her lover. Her own, blood-stained hands had yanked the beating heart of the Cathedral from his body.
Only a handful were witness. Only a handful knew.
Dong.
Death had come with life. Rachael, a child of Warren blood, breathed her first as her Mother breathed her last. Her father had suffered death at the hand of his twin. They had threatened to steal her away, those remaining Warren bloods. A remade Mother's love kept her hidden from the world. A remade Mother's terror refused to acknowledge she even existed outside the world where a little girl grew up.
Dong.
For innocents, she gave her purity to Sen Sin Kai. Wings of pitched refused to be hidden, displaying her sin for all to see. Forgiveness was offered only the once; her sin was forever etched into wings that would never again claim the purity of fallen snow.
Dong.
The Lady had given her a home--until Mephisto. Oh, but how could Ariane fully understand the duress that had led into the frustrated threat of a friend? The woman had already proven her inability to be reasoned with.
Further frustration came with the uncontrollable craving to have the approval of one dear to Quincy's heart. Quincy, the abrasive janitor-turned-hero that Lamai had loved like a sister. She had only wanted to protect. To shelter. There was no real way to explain her fear; Ariane would eat her soul alive if she bared it!
Dong.
Altias--No, that was a place she couldn't think of. That pain was a forcefully forgotten thing. He was dead. A corpse, as Michael Renne had so eloquently put it. Antoher victim of her curse. How she had tried to warn him!
Dong.
It was the sudden wash of pain that finally drew Lamai out of the past that she constantly relived. As she stood on the outskirts of Myrken Town, her head lifted as if doing so would allow her the sight that would match the sudden wrongness that grabbed at her senses. Yet, the blindfold continued to hide eyesockets that had been burned by holy fire to stop the never-ending stream of gold.
Fire was a familiar feeling. Even tainted with insanity as it was, she was able to recognize it. The phoenix had often succumbed to its temper in her youth. Yet, the power behind *this* fire whispered its truth.
"No," Lamai begged whatever gods were willing to listen to a forgotten servant. Bishop had said he was back from the Underdark. Bishop had mentioned new friends--friends made without choice. There had been mention of insanity.
No one knew of a quiet moment at the lake's side. No one knew of another vow given.
Dong.
She would not break this one.
Dong.
A bitter thought rose to the forefront of her mind as she began to run. Would Ariane accuse her of wanting recognition again? Did it matter what Ariane accused her of?
As she neared the place she felt the source of the wrongness centered at, a hand grabbed hold of her. Moments before the meeting house exploded, unidentified arms wrapped around her. The sound of the explosion destroyed any knowledge of a voice. The lack of proper sight prevented the identification of a face--and a vow prevented a look at a mind that would identify it.
The maniacal laughter brought forth a scream of terror as the one who had protected her began to crumple. Having taken the brunt of the explosion, the now dead dragged the little body of the healer down with him. She hadn't the strength to fight him. She hadn't the strength to disbelieve what her senses told her.
"Kerrak! No!" came the horrified cry moments before the overwhelming death of so many at once struck an unprotected mind. Under the weight of one killed by shrapnel, Lamai fell unconcious. A trickle of gold stained her face just above her mouth.
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Lamai - Member
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- Joined: Sun Oct 01, 2006 11:34 pm
It is time.
by Rattrap » Mon Oct 02, 2006 12:48 pm
Janis Williams wasn't around to see the Meetinghouse explode. She wasn't even awake, though the commotion that resulted had her up and moving without much delay. A certain amount of confusion, but not much delay. She left dressed in her Order of Straka uniform entirely by convenience and didn't pay it much thought. Her concerns were more pressed to what the hell was going on.
It didn't take the Corporal long to find out. She stood in mild awe at the reckage and the carnage - like many others did. Her stillness was brief, though her shock wasn't. Even though she knew something like this could happen. That someone could do this. Janis didn't need to think twice about that.
Or what needed to be done now. This event had shown the danger, clear as day, to Myrken Wood and its people. Yet another one, but this one had a recognizable face. Even if it was so often hidden behind a mask. Janis turned away from the destruction to prepare herself.
Kerrak al'Nerun had to die.
It didn't take the Corporal long to find out. She stood in mild awe at the reckage and the carnage - like many others did. Her stillness was brief, though her shock wasn't. Even though she knew something like this could happen. That someone could do this. Janis didn't need to think twice about that.
Or what needed to be done now. This event had shown the danger, clear as day, to Myrken Wood and its people. Yet another one, but this one had a recognizable face. Even if it was so often hidden behind a mask. Janis turned away from the destruction to prepare herself.
Kerrak al'Nerun had to die.
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Rattrap - Member
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- Location: Oregon
by channe » Mon Oct 02, 2006 1:00 pm
Helstone's coat, discarded over a chair, stinks of dead flames --
-- his eyes are red-rimmed from smoke --
-- the whole outfit might not be salvageable, really, as he'd been part of the crew attempting to douse the last of the flames.
And now, as morning dawned, he was writing, and trying his best not to think of the tax-files that have been turned to ash, or the chances and trust that accompanied them.
****
To Captain Aeryn Karolinger, Brotherhood of Janeiro, and his lieutenant, Maxwell Bishop; to General Eriks DeMord Sleipner, Councilor of Security and Militia commander; and to Giscard Guillaume, acting Governor, Myrken Wood Judiciary Council:
You know very well that the burning of the meetinghouse was no freak accident.
I have spoken with the former Councillor al'Nerun's fellow-channelers. They refuse to face their creation; they have left us to deal with the situation alone. I would gladly avoid a recurrence of what happened in Orvere in our fair city of Myrkentown, and I think most of you would agree, yes?
Therefore, you must kill him. I am reliably informed that he will die like any other man, despite his -- talents. Make it happen.
Believe me when I say that this will be a mercy.
Sincerely,
Coriolanus Helstone
Councilor of Administrative Sanctions, Myrken Wood Judiciary Council.
****
And another. Quick, succinct, and to the point, with no needless formality.
Roschen,
Let's stop this charade, yes?
Helstone
-- his eyes are red-rimmed from smoke --
-- the whole outfit might not be salvageable, really, as he'd been part of the crew attempting to douse the last of the flames.
And now, as morning dawned, he was writing, and trying his best not to think of the tax-files that have been turned to ash, or the chances and trust that accompanied them.
****
To Captain Aeryn Karolinger, Brotherhood of Janeiro, and his lieutenant, Maxwell Bishop; to General Eriks DeMord Sleipner, Councilor of Security and Militia commander; and to Giscard Guillaume, acting Governor, Myrken Wood Judiciary Council:
You know very well that the burning of the meetinghouse was no freak accident.
I have spoken with the former Councillor al'Nerun's fellow-channelers. They refuse to face their creation; they have left us to deal with the situation alone. I would gladly avoid a recurrence of what happened in Orvere in our fair city of Myrkentown, and I think most of you would agree, yes?
Therefore, you must kill him. I am reliably informed that he will die like any other man, despite his -- talents. Make it happen.
Believe me when I say that this will be a mercy.
Sincerely,
Coriolanus Helstone
Councilor of Administrative Sanctions, Myrken Wood Judiciary Council.
****
And another. Quick, succinct, and to the point, with no needless formality.
Roschen,
Let's stop this charade, yes?
Helstone
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channe - Member
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- Joined: Sat Aug 14, 2004 4:00 am
- Location: the city of magical thinking.
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