Time to introduce yet ANOTHER element to the story (For those of you
keeping track that makes four different threads in this pattern). This one
wont last long however... By the way, next chapter is the first Dungeon
Crawl/ True Action Section. If I misspelled the monster name later in the
chapter, don't worry, I'm aware of it and it will be fixed soon.
****************************************
Maier knew she was in way over her head when the strange creature took control of the wagon. The Horses seemed scared of whatever it was, and before the night was over they had broken free of the reigns, running off into the night. This forced the creature to use its magic to propel the wagon forwards, always towards Gilleston. The other prisoners were to out of it to notice the bandages beneath the robes; too involved in their own little slave minds. She decided to make an attempt to talk to this new caretaker.
"I asked 'who are you'! It is impolite to ignore others."
"It's impolite for a slave to talk to others as if they are an equal."
The voice struck Maier as unusual, it was dry and low, making her think the robed man was sick.
"I'm not a slave. Those Rogues you dispatched back there captured me when I tried to defend an Orc servant of my husbands. I swear to you I am of High birth."
The robed person stood still, the horseless wagon stopping with it.
"High birth?"
"Indeed, I carry no mark of the slaves' brand, nor have any of my relatives."
"We are all slaves to something oh High-born one. Sometimes, as in this case, we are slaves of fate."
At this the robed creature started to walk forward again in his ungainly, crippled pace, magically dragging the slave wagon with it.
"I don't believe in fate, I don't like the idea of something controlling our dreams and ambitions."
The robed creature kept walking on, sharing a secret smile only with itself. Il'Laquar was right when she announced that fate would provide the materials he would need to finally put her plans into motion. All Shereth had to do now was go to a special temple in Gilleston, one converted for Nerull's purposes; and find the ancient Dwarven Rune that was hidden there. Dwarven Magic was one of the most powerful in its primal form, consisting of merely nothing but a symbol. The symbol Shereth searched for would allow him to commit an exchange: one soul for another, ripping one from the dead and imbuing it with life stolen from the other. Only those of the purest blood could be sacrificed for the magic to work; those who still had magic flowing freely through their veins.
"My name is Maier, what is yours?"
"My name wa. is Shereth Torianos"
"What are you to do with me?"
"We shall see. Once we get to Gilleston I will sell these slaves to any who would be interested. I will also subject you to a test to make sure your claims are true. If not, I will find one of the darkest pits in the city and cast you down into it to starve for talking out of place."
There was no joviality in Shereth's voice, and Maier thought for a moment that joy had no place in his speech anymore.
"You sound sick."
"Sickness passes, oh High-born one. My ailment will last me for eternity as long as I grasp to this shell of life. Now sleep young one, for this wagon will not last the entire journey and we must be at Gilleston before the celebration of the Scythe."
"Why?"
Shereth's voice took on a harder tone. He knew he could not hide this knowledge from her once he got into the city.
"Because it is when the priests of Nerull are at their weakest and it is the proper time for magic related to death. The full moon will stay out for an entire day, draining the world of its life, giving life to the darkness. It is the best time for sacrifices."
"Sacrifices of what?"
"Of the innocent. Now sleep child, nothing more can be gained by talking other then several lashes from a whip."
Maier tried to stay awake and ponder the answers given to her questions, but the lids of her eyes suddenly became heavy, and before long she slept soundly, unable to hear Shereth laugh as they left the Seraphim Forest and Gilleston Port came into sight.
****************************************************************
"So this is the famed Seraphim Forest, home of the Angel Bough Tree. You know Striosis, I heard that the Angel Bough can cure the venom secreted by demons?"
Sethor ignored Relevon's inane comments and continued riding his horse closer to the forest. So much for interesting, Striosis never talked; and Sethor imagined he never would even if Relevon decided to shut up for more than a minute.
"So Bard, have you heard any interesting stories about this forest?"
Sethor rolled his eyes. If Relevon wasn't talking he was asking Sethor to tell a story, or sing a song, or perform something on his broken lyre.
"Not now, perhaps later Relevon."
"Always later, never now. Ah well, anyways Striosis, as I was saying.."
Once the trio entered the forest, light became a commodity. Striosis seemed to have no problem finding his way, however Sethor and Relevon did not have quite the same luck.
"Damn Angel Boughs. The leaves absorb all the light coming into the forest and leave little for those traveling within it. Now, where did my sun sticks go?"
Sethor could hear Relevon rummaging around with his bag, pushing aside the various objects that had settled there over time. The darkness was starting to make him nervous, and he never could get used to everything being so quiet.
"Ah, here we go, now lets get this little sucker lit."
Sethor could hear the snap that signified that activation of the sunstick, and a harsh golden light illuminated the area in front of him.
"Well that's an interesting tree."
Sethor looked in the direction Relevon was pointing. Sitting at the edge of the now illuminated glade was a tree with a trunk several hands wide that dwarfed the surrounding trees. The trunk reached high above the Angel Bough branches, rising beyond the line of sight.
Relevon's eyes went wide.
"Can we leave now?"
"Whats wrong?"
"That" Relevon pointed again. "Can we leave now?"
Sethor could see several objects flitting about the branches. They were the size of a ball, and as the light penetrated further into the canopy, Sethor realized they were human heads. Long, thick, greasy tendrils that resembled hair ran from the top of their heads, and sharp fangs glinted in the darkness.
"Stay and fight. They will follow if we leave and it gives them a chance to coordinate an attack." Muttered Striosis. Sethor looked at him critically, and then nodded.
The Vargouilles swooped down, hovered in the air examining the new prey, and went in for the strike.
Maier knew she was in way over her head when the strange creature took control of the wagon. The Horses seemed scared of whatever it was, and before the night was over they had broken free of the reigns, running off into the night. This forced the creature to use its magic to propel the wagon forwards, always towards Gilleston. The other prisoners were to out of it to notice the bandages beneath the robes; too involved in their own little slave minds. She decided to make an attempt to talk to this new caretaker.
"I asked 'who are you'! It is impolite to ignore others."
"It's impolite for a slave to talk to others as if they are an equal."
The voice struck Maier as unusual, it was dry and low, making her think the robed man was sick.
"I'm not a slave. Those Rogues you dispatched back there captured me when I tried to defend an Orc servant of my husbands. I swear to you I am of High birth."
The robed person stood still, the horseless wagon stopping with it.
"High birth?"
"Indeed, I carry no mark of the slaves' brand, nor have any of my relatives."
"We are all slaves to something oh High-born one. Sometimes, as in this case, we are slaves of fate."
At this the robed creature started to walk forward again in his ungainly, crippled pace, magically dragging the slave wagon with it.
"I don't believe in fate, I don't like the idea of something controlling our dreams and ambitions."
The robed creature kept walking on, sharing a secret smile only with itself. Il'Laquar was right when she announced that fate would provide the materials he would need to finally put her plans into motion. All Shereth had to do now was go to a special temple in Gilleston, one converted for Nerull's purposes; and find the ancient Dwarven Rune that was hidden there. Dwarven Magic was one of the most powerful in its primal form, consisting of merely nothing but a symbol. The symbol Shereth searched for would allow him to commit an exchange: one soul for another, ripping one from the dead and imbuing it with life stolen from the other. Only those of the purest blood could be sacrificed for the magic to work; those who still had magic flowing freely through their veins.
"My name is Maier, what is yours?"
"My name wa. is Shereth Torianos"
"What are you to do with me?"
"We shall see. Once we get to Gilleston I will sell these slaves to any who would be interested. I will also subject you to a test to make sure your claims are true. If not, I will find one of the darkest pits in the city and cast you down into it to starve for talking out of place."
There was no joviality in Shereth's voice, and Maier thought for a moment that joy had no place in his speech anymore.
"You sound sick."
"Sickness passes, oh High-born one. My ailment will last me for eternity as long as I grasp to this shell of life. Now sleep young one, for this wagon will not last the entire journey and we must be at Gilleston before the celebration of the Scythe."
"Why?"
Shereth's voice took on a harder tone. He knew he could not hide this knowledge from her once he got into the city.
"Because it is when the priests of Nerull are at their weakest and it is the proper time for magic related to death. The full moon will stay out for an entire day, draining the world of its life, giving life to the darkness. It is the best time for sacrifices."
"Sacrifices of what?"
"Of the innocent. Now sleep child, nothing more can be gained by talking other then several lashes from a whip."
Maier tried to stay awake and ponder the answers given to her questions, but the lids of her eyes suddenly became heavy, and before long she slept soundly, unable to hear Shereth laugh as they left the Seraphim Forest and Gilleston Port came into sight.
****************************************************************
"So this is the famed Seraphim Forest, home of the Angel Bough Tree. You know Striosis, I heard that the Angel Bough can cure the venom secreted by demons?"
Sethor ignored Relevon's inane comments and continued riding his horse closer to the forest. So much for interesting, Striosis never talked; and Sethor imagined he never would even if Relevon decided to shut up for more than a minute.
"So Bard, have you heard any interesting stories about this forest?"
Sethor rolled his eyes. If Relevon wasn't talking he was asking Sethor to tell a story, or sing a song, or perform something on his broken lyre.
"Not now, perhaps later Relevon."
"Always later, never now. Ah well, anyways Striosis, as I was saying.."
Once the trio entered the forest, light became a commodity. Striosis seemed to have no problem finding his way, however Sethor and Relevon did not have quite the same luck.
"Damn Angel Boughs. The leaves absorb all the light coming into the forest and leave little for those traveling within it. Now, where did my sun sticks go?"
Sethor could hear Relevon rummaging around with his bag, pushing aside the various objects that had settled there over time. The darkness was starting to make him nervous, and he never could get used to everything being so quiet.
"Ah, here we go, now lets get this little sucker lit."
Sethor could hear the snap that signified that activation of the sunstick, and a harsh golden light illuminated the area in front of him.
"Well that's an interesting tree."
Sethor looked in the direction Relevon was pointing. Sitting at the edge of the now illuminated glade was a tree with a trunk several hands wide that dwarfed the surrounding trees. The trunk reached high above the Angel Bough branches, rising beyond the line of sight.
Relevon's eyes went wide.
"Can we leave now?"
"Whats wrong?"
"That" Relevon pointed again. "Can we leave now?"
Sethor could see several objects flitting about the branches. They were the size of a ball, and as the light penetrated further into the canopy, Sethor realized they were human heads. Long, thick, greasy tendrils that resembled hair ran from the top of their heads, and sharp fangs glinted in the darkness.
"Stay and fight. They will follow if we leave and it gives them a chance to coordinate an attack." Muttered Striosis. Sethor looked at him critically, and then nodded.
The Vargouilles swooped down, hovered in the air examining the new prey, and went in for the strike.