The body lay motionless in the dusty, forgotten room, the inhabitants unknowing; kept that way under extensive work by the figure inside.
Widil laid there, his eyes moving rapidly, as if searching for something under his gently closed lids. His left arm was strung over his eyes to block out any light, his right arm held in the same careless position as the afternoon earlier when he had thrown himself on the rotting age-too-old-to-be-known bed. The bed had held to his pressing weight, but not without its cries of stress.
The moon now held itself in the sky; not that any of the inhabitants of the Greater Faydark would see this, though. The thick evergreen canopy of trees covered the endless valley of the forest; the thick fog wound around every tree and figure that populated the endless stretch of nature. All of these are the certain qualities of this Faydark that kept it quiet even with the city of Kelethin's high population. It was quiet in the Greater Faydark, too quiet for a place where so many Shadows now lay hidden. Still, not one of the light-followers noticed the unnatural calmness of the day before they would die.
The motionless body in the forgotten hut was stirring. Widil violently flung himself from the rough bed to his feet. He stood for only a quick moment before crouching, resting himself on the heels of each foot. He grabbed quickly for the axe that lay beneath him and the long sword that lay to his side. Each blade was held tightly in Widil's white-knuckled, pressing hands. The devoted follower of the Shadow's eyes strained as they glared, searching the area before him. Before long, his eyes and tense body eased. Both hands, gripping their weapons, soon relaxed and fell to his side. Standing now, his body gave off the same tired burn he has felt for as long as his corrupted mind could remember.
He blinked now, as if to rid himself of the threatening exhaustion, but still he didn't waste time. The Shadow within this room had an important meeting tonight over the events to take place at sunrise. Moving swiftly, Widil left the hut, pressing hard against the stubborn door. The hinges gave way with a painful screech of old age as the heavy door clasped in Widil's hand moved, opening the way for him. Into the night Widil strode, his jet-black plated armor glistening darkly in the mist. His deep black cloak flapping wildly behind him, the soft wind brushed through Widil's dark hair like a caress.
Widil closed his eyes lazily and opened them again to look out from the highest platform by far throughout Kelethin. Sighing deeply and with a face of disgust, his eyes scanned city. Widil walked to the nearest ledge, a sheer drop-off to the ground far below. The mist, as usual, was too thick to see; it covered the area below him thoroughly, making the trees seem the fingers of nature grasping out from the vapor. Widil's boots clunked against the wood floor, but he tried to keep his paces near silent. Directing his attention to the ground he knew was there below him somewhere, Widil glanced around carefully for patrolling guards or drunken fools who may have caught a glimpse of the him striding about, carrying the signs of the Shadow within his very soul. Without a second thought, Widil leapt from his spot. The only sign of him was a slight swoosh of air and a black blur.
He landed softly, a light thud the only mark of his passing. Widil's eyes peered around the foggy trees surrounding him before he shook himself off and started out into the dense forest. His pace was soft and slow, keeping his steps silent as if stalking prey. He kept his mind attached to where he now headed, through the dark night.
Mlaar stood motionless in a clearing of trees awaiting his visitor. He sighed impatiently, as if the one he waited for was running late. He had no time for this nonsense. Yet Mlaar still waited for the man. His master would be displeased if he missed the meeting with the bard.
"Where are you, fool? My army awaits my orders and we are close to the great Battle of Kelethin."
Soft words rose from behind the man. Mlarr was unable locate the speaker, the words swirling around his head.
"I am here milord. What is it you wish?"
"Where are you, infidel?" Mlaar barked out the order in a stern voice.
"I am here, milord. Where else?" Widil walked forward toward Mlaar, facing him. Widil's face held the same emotionless look as usual. He looked deep into Mlaar's eyes.
"Our battle is nearing, bard. I need to know the news of our subject and of our preparations." Mlaar spoke impatiently.
"Milord, the orcs of the Crushbone Clan are ready for the signal and Felwithe is taken care of. As far as I have been able to find out, Kelethin is unprepared as expected, milord."
"And of our subject?"
"The Half-Elf is the same as the last report, milord."
"Good, good bard. You have done well. Now I must go; there is still much to be done before the siege is followed through. May Innoruuk rule Norrath. Power of Hate, bard." Mlaar brought his left hand up and firmly placed it upon his right breast and bowed slightly to Widil.
"Power of Hate, milord." Widil repeated Mlaar's actions, bowing lower than Mlaar had.
Widil backed away from the clearing slowly, before long the thick fog engulfed him. Mlaar left his sight within moments. Not even the thin outline of his body was visible to Widil's trained sight. A few brief minutes later Widil was back at the base of Kelethin awaiting the large wooden lift to lower itself to him. The guards paid no mind to the bard and he was soon lifted to the city high above the forest floor. Widil headed back to the deserted, rotting hut where the rest of his things rested in a beat-up trunk. He would need them all for the events planned in a short while.
* * *
Tunare paced within her plain, forest life wandering around her. The very life of the earth grew with every step of her feet and of every touch of her hands. She spoke softly.
"How are my children of the forest surviving? Well, I hope." Tunare waved a hand through the air in front of her. It changed, blurring, then cleared. It now showed a window-type view of the Greater Faydark.
The Mother of Life looked through the great shades of green of many treetops shown through the window of nature. Her face held a smile, quickly replaced with a questioning look.
"What is this force that taints the land of my children?"
Tunare looked deeper into the forest. She spotted the disturbance easily enough. Countless numbers of dark figures marched through the ocean of her forest. She spoke loudly as if talking to the forces of nature surrounding her.
"My children! How dare you threaten my children! You all shall pay the price for trespassing upon my land! You shall all suffer my wraith!"
Tunare waved her hand again, and her view focused on the grand city in the treetops of Kelethin. She knew she had to warn her children of the plague of beings that walked through their land. A dark shadow crept over her plane, surrounding the inhabitants, swallowing them in darkness. Tunare knew now her own lands were plagued with this newfound darkness.
A hand wrapped itself around Tunare's arm and held it tightly as a dark, bone-chilling voice filled the air.
"You shall not interfere with these planes, milady."
Tunare breathed deeply and raised her voice.
"Innoruuk! You have broken the rule of the gods. You have trespassed upon another god's plane! You shall be banished by all others for this!"
"The others can do nothing about me if they must grovel before my feet! Now, milady, do as I say or your plane will be poisoned by the wraith of the Shadow. Obey me and all will be left as it was."
Tunare's mind raced, thinking of alternatives. Finally, she lowered her head, letting her window to the Faydark close. It disappeared in a puff of air, hope for her children gone with it.
* * *
Kelethin was ghostlike in the forest air, the everlasting mist blurring its outline. Kelethin itself held little light, not even enough to pick up the faint outlines of thousands upon thousands of figures surrounding the city. No swords were drawn, no sign was given, but the figures radiated an easy win already. The sun rose slowly, tinting the sky a deep blood red.
So the much-awaited morning of the falling of Kelethin had come, and every dark force of Norrath that could be used as a weapon stood in the Greater Faydark now, to lead the Shadow to victory.
Widil laid there, his eyes moving rapidly, as if searching for something under his gently closed lids. His left arm was strung over his eyes to block out any light, his right arm held in the same careless position as the afternoon earlier when he had thrown himself on the rotting age-too-old-to-be-known bed. The bed had held to his pressing weight, but not without its cries of stress.
The moon now held itself in the sky; not that any of the inhabitants of the Greater Faydark would see this, though. The thick evergreen canopy of trees covered the endless valley of the forest; the thick fog wound around every tree and figure that populated the endless stretch of nature. All of these are the certain qualities of this Faydark that kept it quiet even with the city of Kelethin's high population. It was quiet in the Greater Faydark, too quiet for a place where so many Shadows now lay hidden. Still, not one of the light-followers noticed the unnatural calmness of the day before they would die.
The motionless body in the forgotten hut was stirring. Widil violently flung himself from the rough bed to his feet. He stood for only a quick moment before crouching, resting himself on the heels of each foot. He grabbed quickly for the axe that lay beneath him and the long sword that lay to his side. Each blade was held tightly in Widil's white-knuckled, pressing hands. The devoted follower of the Shadow's eyes strained as they glared, searching the area before him. Before long, his eyes and tense body eased. Both hands, gripping their weapons, soon relaxed and fell to his side. Standing now, his body gave off the same tired burn he has felt for as long as his corrupted mind could remember.
He blinked now, as if to rid himself of the threatening exhaustion, but still he didn't waste time. The Shadow within this room had an important meeting tonight over the events to take place at sunrise. Moving swiftly, Widil left the hut, pressing hard against the stubborn door. The hinges gave way with a painful screech of old age as the heavy door clasped in Widil's hand moved, opening the way for him. Into the night Widil strode, his jet-black plated armor glistening darkly in the mist. His deep black cloak flapping wildly behind him, the soft wind brushed through Widil's dark hair like a caress.
Widil closed his eyes lazily and opened them again to look out from the highest platform by far throughout Kelethin. Sighing deeply and with a face of disgust, his eyes scanned city. Widil walked to the nearest ledge, a sheer drop-off to the ground far below. The mist, as usual, was too thick to see; it covered the area below him thoroughly, making the trees seem the fingers of nature grasping out from the vapor. Widil's boots clunked against the wood floor, but he tried to keep his paces near silent. Directing his attention to the ground he knew was there below him somewhere, Widil glanced around carefully for patrolling guards or drunken fools who may have caught a glimpse of the him striding about, carrying the signs of the Shadow within his very soul. Without a second thought, Widil leapt from his spot. The only sign of him was a slight swoosh of air and a black blur.
He landed softly, a light thud the only mark of his passing. Widil's eyes peered around the foggy trees surrounding him before he shook himself off and started out into the dense forest. His pace was soft and slow, keeping his steps silent as if stalking prey. He kept his mind attached to where he now headed, through the dark night.
Mlaar stood motionless in a clearing of trees awaiting his visitor. He sighed impatiently, as if the one he waited for was running late. He had no time for this nonsense. Yet Mlaar still waited for the man. His master would be displeased if he missed the meeting with the bard.
"Where are you, fool? My army awaits my orders and we are close to the great Battle of Kelethin."
Soft words rose from behind the man. Mlarr was unable locate the speaker, the words swirling around his head.
"I am here milord. What is it you wish?"
"Where are you, infidel?" Mlaar barked out the order in a stern voice.
"I am here, milord. Where else?" Widil walked forward toward Mlaar, facing him. Widil's face held the same emotionless look as usual. He looked deep into Mlaar's eyes.
"Our battle is nearing, bard. I need to know the news of our subject and of our preparations." Mlaar spoke impatiently.
"Milord, the orcs of the Crushbone Clan are ready for the signal and Felwithe is taken care of. As far as I have been able to find out, Kelethin is unprepared as expected, milord."
"And of our subject?"
"The Half-Elf is the same as the last report, milord."
"Good, good bard. You have done well. Now I must go; there is still much to be done before the siege is followed through. May Innoruuk rule Norrath. Power of Hate, bard." Mlaar brought his left hand up and firmly placed it upon his right breast and bowed slightly to Widil.
"Power of Hate, milord." Widil repeated Mlaar's actions, bowing lower than Mlaar had.
Widil backed away from the clearing slowly, before long the thick fog engulfed him. Mlaar left his sight within moments. Not even the thin outline of his body was visible to Widil's trained sight. A few brief minutes later Widil was back at the base of Kelethin awaiting the large wooden lift to lower itself to him. The guards paid no mind to the bard and he was soon lifted to the city high above the forest floor. Widil headed back to the deserted, rotting hut where the rest of his things rested in a beat-up trunk. He would need them all for the events planned in a short while.
* * *
Tunare paced within her plain, forest life wandering around her. The very life of the earth grew with every step of her feet and of every touch of her hands. She spoke softly.
"How are my children of the forest surviving? Well, I hope." Tunare waved a hand through the air in front of her. It changed, blurring, then cleared. It now showed a window-type view of the Greater Faydark.
The Mother of Life looked through the great shades of green of many treetops shown through the window of nature. Her face held a smile, quickly replaced with a questioning look.
"What is this force that taints the land of my children?"
Tunare looked deeper into the forest. She spotted the disturbance easily enough. Countless numbers of dark figures marched through the ocean of her forest. She spoke loudly as if talking to the forces of nature surrounding her.
"My children! How dare you threaten my children! You all shall pay the price for trespassing upon my land! You shall all suffer my wraith!"
Tunare waved her hand again, and her view focused on the grand city in the treetops of Kelethin. She knew she had to warn her children of the plague of beings that walked through their land. A dark shadow crept over her plane, surrounding the inhabitants, swallowing them in darkness. Tunare knew now her own lands were plagued with this newfound darkness.
A hand wrapped itself around Tunare's arm and held it tightly as a dark, bone-chilling voice filled the air.
"You shall not interfere with these planes, milady."
Tunare breathed deeply and raised her voice.
"Innoruuk! You have broken the rule of the gods. You have trespassed upon another god's plane! You shall be banished by all others for this!"
"The others can do nothing about me if they must grovel before my feet! Now, milady, do as I say or your plane will be poisoned by the wraith of the Shadow. Obey me and all will be left as it was."
Tunare's mind raced, thinking of alternatives. Finally, she lowered her head, letting her window to the Faydark close. It disappeared in a puff of air, hope for her children gone with it.
* * *
Kelethin was ghostlike in the forest air, the everlasting mist blurring its outline. Kelethin itself held little light, not even enough to pick up the faint outlines of thousands upon thousands of figures surrounding the city. No swords were drawn, no sign was given, but the figures radiated an easy win already. The sun rose slowly, tinting the sky a deep blood red.
So the much-awaited morning of the falling of Kelethin had come, and every dark force of Norrath that could be used as a weapon stood in the Greater Faydark now, to lead the Shadow to victory.