I do not own Forgotten Realms... blah, blah, blah...
Dante's hands were shaking as he reached for a vial on the shelf. He paused, not willing to risk his spell components by dropping them. With an irritated growl he jumped off the chair he'd been standing on and wandered back over to the desk, resolving to practice that spell later.
The worst of the sickness had passed and, although he was still too weak to go outside, he wasn't bedridden anymore. The tiefling stared down at the pages of his spellbook in disgust. What was the point of studying his spells if he was forbidden to use them against his tormentors?
In his heart Dante knew that Asgwrn had posed this resistriction for good reasons. If he were to use magic against the others then they would only doubled their efforts and their forces, seeing him as an increased danger to the village. But... he just needed someone to lash out against and currently his father... his foster father... was the easiest target.
The mage slammed his book closed and replaced it in his bag. He could study at the church.
The Walless Church always gave Dante an arua of peace and quiet. The voices didn't seem to penerate the primeter of the temple, quieting his head and the urges that ran through his blood.
Smiling in satisfaction Dante settled on a bench, resting after the draining walk to the church. It was desterted, glowing in the golden light of the afternoon sun. Diahryn had gone to the forest to bury the offerings.
Taking a deep breath of the cool air the tiefling opened his spell book and began to study.
About half-an-hour later Dante became aware of someone else's presence. He looked up.
Standing on the edge of the church's boundary's was... something. Dante recognised it from one of his father's books that detailed beings from different planes. He was an archon.
He appeared to be a human. However two pairs of wings grew from his back, hued dusky purple. A glemming sword hung from his belt. His blonde hair was grown down his back and was held in a loose horsetail. Though he wore only a loose, white robe he seemed unaffected by the cold.
"Dante Shadowblade?"
Dante rose slightly from his bench,
"Yes?"
"My name is Triel. I am here to make a offer to you."
Dante's hands were shaking as he reached for a vial on the shelf. He paused, not willing to risk his spell components by dropping them. With an irritated growl he jumped off the chair he'd been standing on and wandered back over to the desk, resolving to practice that spell later.
The worst of the sickness had passed and, although he was still too weak to go outside, he wasn't bedridden anymore. The tiefling stared down at the pages of his spellbook in disgust. What was the point of studying his spells if he was forbidden to use them against his tormentors?
In his heart Dante knew that Asgwrn had posed this resistriction for good reasons. If he were to use magic against the others then they would only doubled their efforts and their forces, seeing him as an increased danger to the village. But... he just needed someone to lash out against and currently his father... his foster father... was the easiest target.
The mage slammed his book closed and replaced it in his bag. He could study at the church.
The Walless Church always gave Dante an arua of peace and quiet. The voices didn't seem to penerate the primeter of the temple, quieting his head and the urges that ran through his blood.
Smiling in satisfaction Dante settled on a bench, resting after the draining walk to the church. It was desterted, glowing in the golden light of the afternoon sun. Diahryn had gone to the forest to bury the offerings.
Taking a deep breath of the cool air the tiefling opened his spell book and began to study.
About half-an-hour later Dante became aware of someone else's presence. He looked up.
Standing on the edge of the church's boundary's was... something. Dante recognised it from one of his father's books that detailed beings from different planes. He was an archon.
He appeared to be a human. However two pairs of wings grew from his back, hued dusky purple. A glemming sword hung from his belt. His blonde hair was grown down his back and was held in a loose horsetail. Though he wore only a loose, white robe he seemed unaffected by the cold.
"Dante Shadowblade?"
Dante rose slightly from his bench,
"Yes?"
"My name is Triel. I am here to make a offer to you."