In a time of technology and modernization, the world of magic has
grown dim. Yet, there is still an island where magic prevails and
technology fails. Where anything machine-made fades instantly to dust and
creatures of both myth and legend roam the plains. Dubbed Fauxchat by most,
this island is torn between shadow and light, between chaos and order. One
side, those who respect order and are generally known as 'Beings of the
Standard', fight the harsh 'Beings of the Unbound', who only wish to kill
and destroy anything that does not comply with their wishes.
The strange lilting of a flute echoes over the hillsides of Fauxchat. The mist of dawn hangs heavily in the air, making the notes sound strangely clear on this dismal morning. The sun struggles to make its way up into the sky and beat back the army of night, throwing the moon to the other side of the world. Hordes of dead, the flesh falling from their decaying bones run over the hillside, controlled by an unknown Unbound spirit, causing them to be 'zombies' or the Unbound dead. Suddenly haunting screams emitted from of some of the dead who, at the sound of the flute's notes, were being hurled back into Death. Yet others still waited on the other side of the hill to try to finish the attack on a frightened village that their companions had started. One man, a Standard Mage, stands against the creatures of the dead, who advanced on the poor townspeople. His name is Jicael Wyverly. Tall and lithe of figure he is known for his speed and agility, not his feats of strength. His specialty is sword fighting, and he is quite at home with a sharp blade. His visage is pale in complexion, like one who spent too many of his days indoors. Vivid gray eyes stare out through dark ebony locks, which often cover his features. His eyes often seem to shift and move, grays swirling within grays, as if they were like waves on a turbulent sea.
This mage's trade is necromancy, and he is the only Standard Mage of his kind. Using his Standard magic to control and send the Unbound dead back beyond the Three Gates of Death. On his person one will usually find items of great importance to him: a long jeweled sword spelled against those who are dead, a strange obsidian flute and a small emerald mirror. His dress is somewhat formal; in tradition with medieval times he wears a black surcoat inscribed with silver keys and music notes. To complement the coat, he sports dark gray breeches.
"Second wave," He whispered to himself, feeling apprehensive as usual. He held his obsidian flute in his hand, ready to sound the notes that would send more of the dead to follow their comrades.
"And morrrre to come," with a slight growl on 'more' the confident gray wolf, named Wolvve, moved forward, ready to defend Jicael if any dead got too close. Wolvve is an ancient Standard magic spirit who serves Jicael as a guide and a friend. He looks like any other creature of the forest. His pelt is ebony in coloration, with under shades of dark gray and other ghostly hues running through it. At the end of his tail, the coloration fades to a silvery hue. Around his visage and forepaws is a slightly different color. It is streaked a dark red brown, causing him not just to be a creature of grays. He always sports a collar made of Standard magic, which also allows him to speak clearly and recite his own spells.
Wrinkling his nose at the stench of decaying flesh, Jicael lifted the flute to his lips and took a deep breath through his mouth. He blew out a strong and deep tone, focusing on the mass of rushing zombies before him. He began to trill it, which stopped the running dead in their tracks and caused them to cover their ears. However, they were already under the flute's spell and their fragmented souls were sent back into death and past the Third Gate, where they could not return. Jicael looked up expectantly for the next wave of the army of the dead, yet they did not come. He could feel their presence just over the hillside. Suddenly, he felt their spirits slip away, back into death. Whatever Unbound spirit that had been holding them had loosed his grip.
"Wolvve, did you feel that?" Jicael asked suspiciously while he gazed up at the hillside.
"Yes, I did." Wolvve's muzzle lifted to the air, scenting it for a few minutes. He turned a sad glassy eye on Jicael. "The Unbound spirrrrit has gone into Death as well." The dog huffed as though he were trying to get the scent of the dead out of his nostrils.
"Very well, we must pursue, or else it may come back to harm these villagers when we are not around." He nodded as if confirming his decision and cast a protective circle around his body, so no magic or person could get in or out. He then sat cross-legged as he began to breath in rhythm, slower and slower his breaths became and his heartbeat became sluggish. Jicael could feel his soul tear away from his body and pass the barrier into death. He still held his flute in his hand, ready in case the spirit predicted his movements.
"What took you so long?" called a voice behind Jicael causing him to jump. It was Wolvve. Jicael frowned and looked down on the wolf-like spirit.
"I can't help it if you can cross the barrier in your own body, while I have to send only my spirit." He then looked around at the topography of the First Plain of Death. The First Plain was mainly forest; jungle flora sprouted from every corner, yet there were singing voices that carried you further into the foliage. Like the Sirens of Greek mythology, these entities (whatever they may be) carried the souls of the dead on their enchanting voices. Jicael resisted the pull of the song and walked calmly into the forest, trusting his sense of Unbound magic and the skill of Wolvve's nose to help him find the spirit.
However there were other dangers than the voices in the First Plain. Roots of hungry jungle trees lashed up at them, catching the wolf's and Jicael's limbs in their steel-like grip. Wolvve ripped at them with his teeth scraping the bark from the alive and angry spirits. These were the wood nymphs that guarded the realm of Death from outsiders. However higher- level spirits and necromancers had no problems with the deadly trees. Jicael calmly recited a spell to calm the tree-spirits and their roots released them.
"You could have done that soonerrrr," growled an angry Wolvve, licking at a small scratch on his paw. He barked a couple words of a spell and the wound healed over.
"You know as well as I do that you can't recite the spell 'til the nymphs have you in their grasp. It was inevitable," replied the collected Jicael, unfazed by the flora which had tried to kill him.
The duo continued farther into Death. They came to the first gate where the voices emanated from. Lifting his flute to his lips once more, Jicael played a high and slow tune wavering between three notes. The voices silenced themselves for a moment, and a small doorway opened before the pair. Along with it came the sound of rushing water. Jicael and Wolvve stepped through the gate and into the Second Plain.
Jicael looked down as he felt the pull of the current on his legs. The Second Plain of Death was composed entirely of water. Where the First Plain had the 'Sirens' to aid the dead further into death, here the current did that job. Swirling below his feet, he could see the less corporeal souls of the dead drifting along with the current. Jicael began to move forward, again with confidence. He had done this many times. Suddenly, he sensed something. He looked to Wolvve and the spirit immediately raised his muzzle to the air. Wolvve turned back to Jicael and nodded. This was the spirit they were looking for.
"This was too easy..." Jicael muttered and looked around for the Unbound creature. Jicael unsheathed his sword and put his flute away. The sword glowed with the marks of Standard magic that were inscribed on it. A sword would be a better weapon against a spirit of this kind.
Suddenly, the lurking Unbound creature lunged out of the water behind Jicael, startling Wolvve. The creature shrieked a battle cry through its misshapen mouth. "I am Verin, fear me and die!" Jicael shifted back through the water and lifted his blade to block the blow of Verin's own blade-like arms. He didn't flinch as the steel met the flaming shadowy flesh of the Unbound creature and sparks flew. Steam erupted around Verin as the creature's anger grew, causing a mist to spread over the waters of the Second Plain. A little behind Jicael, Wolvve howled. His howl was inundated with magic, causing Verin to seize up for a moment. Jicael lunged with his sword, but the strong Unbound spirit freed himself from Wolvve's spell and blocked Jicael's blade. Jicael again went back in with his sword, using his speed to dodge the sluggish being. This time his blow rang true, and his sword met flesh. The one known as Verin cried out in pain and fell beneath the waters of the Second Plain. The current held Verin in its grasp and carried him through the Second Gate and into the Third Plain, which none escaped. Jicael sheathed his sword and looked around. The brave necromancer had not a scratch on him. Wolvve barked a few last curses to Verin as he floated away and then looked back to Jicael with a sly grin. "Well anotherrrr day, anotherrrr spirrrrit defeated..." "Yes and there will always be another tomorrow. Let's get out of here and go back home." Jicael sloshed through the current of the Second Plain and passed through the First Gate.
The strange lilting of a flute echoes over the hillsides of Fauxchat. The mist of dawn hangs heavily in the air, making the notes sound strangely clear on this dismal morning. The sun struggles to make its way up into the sky and beat back the army of night, throwing the moon to the other side of the world. Hordes of dead, the flesh falling from their decaying bones run over the hillside, controlled by an unknown Unbound spirit, causing them to be 'zombies' or the Unbound dead. Suddenly haunting screams emitted from of some of the dead who, at the sound of the flute's notes, were being hurled back into Death. Yet others still waited on the other side of the hill to try to finish the attack on a frightened village that their companions had started. One man, a Standard Mage, stands against the creatures of the dead, who advanced on the poor townspeople. His name is Jicael Wyverly. Tall and lithe of figure he is known for his speed and agility, not his feats of strength. His specialty is sword fighting, and he is quite at home with a sharp blade. His visage is pale in complexion, like one who spent too many of his days indoors. Vivid gray eyes stare out through dark ebony locks, which often cover his features. His eyes often seem to shift and move, grays swirling within grays, as if they were like waves on a turbulent sea.
This mage's trade is necromancy, and he is the only Standard Mage of his kind. Using his Standard magic to control and send the Unbound dead back beyond the Three Gates of Death. On his person one will usually find items of great importance to him: a long jeweled sword spelled against those who are dead, a strange obsidian flute and a small emerald mirror. His dress is somewhat formal; in tradition with medieval times he wears a black surcoat inscribed with silver keys and music notes. To complement the coat, he sports dark gray breeches.
"Second wave," He whispered to himself, feeling apprehensive as usual. He held his obsidian flute in his hand, ready to sound the notes that would send more of the dead to follow their comrades.
"And morrrre to come," with a slight growl on 'more' the confident gray wolf, named Wolvve, moved forward, ready to defend Jicael if any dead got too close. Wolvve is an ancient Standard magic spirit who serves Jicael as a guide and a friend. He looks like any other creature of the forest. His pelt is ebony in coloration, with under shades of dark gray and other ghostly hues running through it. At the end of his tail, the coloration fades to a silvery hue. Around his visage and forepaws is a slightly different color. It is streaked a dark red brown, causing him not just to be a creature of grays. He always sports a collar made of Standard magic, which also allows him to speak clearly and recite his own spells.
Wrinkling his nose at the stench of decaying flesh, Jicael lifted the flute to his lips and took a deep breath through his mouth. He blew out a strong and deep tone, focusing on the mass of rushing zombies before him. He began to trill it, which stopped the running dead in their tracks and caused them to cover their ears. However, they were already under the flute's spell and their fragmented souls were sent back into death and past the Third Gate, where they could not return. Jicael looked up expectantly for the next wave of the army of the dead, yet they did not come. He could feel their presence just over the hillside. Suddenly, he felt their spirits slip away, back into death. Whatever Unbound spirit that had been holding them had loosed his grip.
"Wolvve, did you feel that?" Jicael asked suspiciously while he gazed up at the hillside.
"Yes, I did." Wolvve's muzzle lifted to the air, scenting it for a few minutes. He turned a sad glassy eye on Jicael. "The Unbound spirrrrit has gone into Death as well." The dog huffed as though he were trying to get the scent of the dead out of his nostrils.
"Very well, we must pursue, or else it may come back to harm these villagers when we are not around." He nodded as if confirming his decision and cast a protective circle around his body, so no magic or person could get in or out. He then sat cross-legged as he began to breath in rhythm, slower and slower his breaths became and his heartbeat became sluggish. Jicael could feel his soul tear away from his body and pass the barrier into death. He still held his flute in his hand, ready in case the spirit predicted his movements.
"What took you so long?" called a voice behind Jicael causing him to jump. It was Wolvve. Jicael frowned and looked down on the wolf-like spirit.
"I can't help it if you can cross the barrier in your own body, while I have to send only my spirit." He then looked around at the topography of the First Plain of Death. The First Plain was mainly forest; jungle flora sprouted from every corner, yet there were singing voices that carried you further into the foliage. Like the Sirens of Greek mythology, these entities (whatever they may be) carried the souls of the dead on their enchanting voices. Jicael resisted the pull of the song and walked calmly into the forest, trusting his sense of Unbound magic and the skill of Wolvve's nose to help him find the spirit.
However there were other dangers than the voices in the First Plain. Roots of hungry jungle trees lashed up at them, catching the wolf's and Jicael's limbs in their steel-like grip. Wolvve ripped at them with his teeth scraping the bark from the alive and angry spirits. These were the wood nymphs that guarded the realm of Death from outsiders. However higher- level spirits and necromancers had no problems with the deadly trees. Jicael calmly recited a spell to calm the tree-spirits and their roots released them.
"You could have done that soonerrrr," growled an angry Wolvve, licking at a small scratch on his paw. He barked a couple words of a spell and the wound healed over.
"You know as well as I do that you can't recite the spell 'til the nymphs have you in their grasp. It was inevitable," replied the collected Jicael, unfazed by the flora which had tried to kill him.
The duo continued farther into Death. They came to the first gate where the voices emanated from. Lifting his flute to his lips once more, Jicael played a high and slow tune wavering between three notes. The voices silenced themselves for a moment, and a small doorway opened before the pair. Along with it came the sound of rushing water. Jicael and Wolvve stepped through the gate and into the Second Plain.
Jicael looked down as he felt the pull of the current on his legs. The Second Plain of Death was composed entirely of water. Where the First Plain had the 'Sirens' to aid the dead further into death, here the current did that job. Swirling below his feet, he could see the less corporeal souls of the dead drifting along with the current. Jicael began to move forward, again with confidence. He had done this many times. Suddenly, he sensed something. He looked to Wolvve and the spirit immediately raised his muzzle to the air. Wolvve turned back to Jicael and nodded. This was the spirit they were looking for.
"This was too easy..." Jicael muttered and looked around for the Unbound creature. Jicael unsheathed his sword and put his flute away. The sword glowed with the marks of Standard magic that were inscribed on it. A sword would be a better weapon against a spirit of this kind.
Suddenly, the lurking Unbound creature lunged out of the water behind Jicael, startling Wolvve. The creature shrieked a battle cry through its misshapen mouth. "I am Verin, fear me and die!" Jicael shifted back through the water and lifted his blade to block the blow of Verin's own blade-like arms. He didn't flinch as the steel met the flaming shadowy flesh of the Unbound creature and sparks flew. Steam erupted around Verin as the creature's anger grew, causing a mist to spread over the waters of the Second Plain. A little behind Jicael, Wolvve howled. His howl was inundated with magic, causing Verin to seize up for a moment. Jicael lunged with his sword, but the strong Unbound spirit freed himself from Wolvve's spell and blocked Jicael's blade. Jicael again went back in with his sword, using his speed to dodge the sluggish being. This time his blow rang true, and his sword met flesh. The one known as Verin cried out in pain and fell beneath the waters of the Second Plain. The current held Verin in its grasp and carried him through the Second Gate and into the Third Plain, which none escaped. Jicael sheathed his sword and looked around. The brave necromancer had not a scratch on him. Wolvve barked a few last curses to Verin as he floated away and then looked back to Jicael with a sly grin. "Well anotherrrr day, anotherrrr spirrrrit defeated..." "Yes and there will always be another tomorrow. Let's get out of here and go back home." Jicael sloshed through the current of the Second Plain and passed through the First Gate.