Impression that I get...

[Dissinger]

Closed. Thread between me and Cydnar Yrene. Any and all bunnying preapproved.

The rumors had been vague at first. In time they had grown more and more distinct, more brutal. Someone was destroying the land, laying rips into it that seemed to test something, power, limits, ability, perhaps all or none of these. The first tear in the ground had been found, and mistaken for merely a crack from one of the earthquakes that would occasionally hit the area.

Then the largest of these tears occurred seven days later.

They had no idea what to call such a visible sign of destruction. It was far larger than the others, but the fact it looked much like the first of these world wounds, was the disturbing fact. It reeked of magic, leaving a visible aura of power and dread to those who studied the scar. The destruction visited by such a casual act could not be forgotten. Especially with how sudden this particular scar had shown up. One day the patrol had been heading around the edges of the city, the next they were jumping a fifteen foot wide scar.

What concerned them wasn't the fact that it had occurred, but that it had occurred so fast. If it was tearing the ground in such a way, which meant it could probably do so just as fast to the poor city, which was still being rebuilt into the Fae's home from the last great quake. They looked to each other for answers, answers they could not possibly conceive of.

And there were also the rumors that the killings that had surrounded Talmhaidh had migrated, with travelers between Donnalaich and Talmhaidh reported missing.

It created an environment of fear, the perfect cloud from under which hid a Demon in man's skin.


~*~

"Where are you hiding?"

The words hung in the air, while the soft clink of chains echoed through the trees. Sitting in a squat crouch sat a beast of a man. The coat covered clothing torn, dirty, and covered in gore. The once white shirt was now a mottle brown, not unlike a scab, a rather annoying scab that the wearer wished to remove at his earliest convenience. Sitting in the trees his boots still held the telltale holes that marked their need to be replaced.

Still steel grey eyes stared out at the jungles in a mute silence. Even from here he could sense the life surrounding him, from the Fae patrols to the smaller creatures of the jungle. Dark brown hair clung to his head under the humid heat of the morning. Not even mid day the steam could be seen rising from pockets of water from the occasional rain. It was for this purpose that he wore the wide brimmed leather hat, which served to also obscure his face. No need to worry people if he didn't have to.

He knew that one of his old trinkets was here, and if he was patient, he could get it back.

He just hated waiting. It had been months since his expedition to Raiarae that had produced the obsidian dagger Malice. Spite was still missing, as were all five of his lung poppers, the satchel that carried all his equipment in life, amongst so many other possessions. Could he truly hope to get his most powerful toy back so easily? If it wasn’t for the fact he practically begged his sister to give him back Ebony and Ivory, he would still be fooling around with twin steel daggers. Horribly crafted ones at that, hardly balanced for throwing truth be told.

Looking out from under the canopy, he observed the tear in the ground, looking for a clue to who made it, and more importantly, who had taken his gods be damned amulet.

[Cydnar]

A brief reflection, no character should be without a good introduction!


In the dark he rests awaiting the next cataclysm, awaiting the next mistake on the surface of Althanas. He waits to scour the earth, to consume the regret, grief and solitude stricken on those foolish wielders of magic, those selfish sons of the gods.


-The Journey of the World Eater, Book One


The teachings of the Royal House of Yrene have often confused me. Metaphors and semantics are two aspects of language I am not familiar or comfortable with, and it is often with passing acceptance that I do not come to understand the teachings that others amongst my kin fervently recite, fervently follow. You could forgive me for this transgression, if I did not think such teaching were meaningless distractions from the simple and irrevocable truth of the matter. We are servants and disciples and we are responsible for the fabric of reality we have come to know as Althanas, or Fralarr, in the tongue of the underdark.

As a boy I spent many hours, days and weeks in closed thought at the beauty of our city, at how the stars of our world were not suns and daughters of the universe, but mere crystals glimmering in the twilight. Between the temple chambers and sky bridges, you could see a vast blanket of azure sparkling and reflecting the swathe of torchlight that settled beneath it. Our home was a work of art, as much as the statues or the buildings we carved from the rock, and far more than anything creating in the city of Donnalaich far above on the surface. Was it any wonder, then, that I lost my way in those thoughts? Distracted by the beauty and vanity of the world around us, questions of doubt filled my mind about the purpose of our existence, the purpose of the gift given to me by Yrene. Who was I, this vessel of creation, a shadowed heart dwelling in the shadows, the power to command and to rebuild the earth at his fingertips?

If you were to look at me now there would be no hint at those early days spent pining for something else, for a different hand. The ceremonial and functional garb of the Serpent’s Tongue are my emblazoned emblem, the hues of purple and blue about my person marking me eternal a son of the noble house and a wielder of the Arc Light. I conjured a small sphere of quartz into my palm and spun it gently in the air. This is my destiny, I wonder now if I can change it, carve myself a new path like the Templet Sons carve new worlds and terrain where the old has been scoured away.

I never imagined I would leave my home, less still could I have imagined dwelling in Donnalaich amongst the Fae and the dragons. These people are not as selfish or as reckless as the humans to the East, in Corone and Salvar, but their grasp of the magical arts still drives some of their number to abandonment and damnation. It is not without saying, that a day does not go by without some structure in this crystal landscape falling, cracking, or splintering. Even now I know the North Tower of the Fae lord Contra threatens to topple down onto the market square at it’s feet, unless I tend to it personally. I would help him, but part of me expects him to suffer for the greed and vanity shown through constructing such a structure. If I did not know any better, or any worse, it was clearly a show of might and presence in the city, and it should be he who suffers the consequences of his actions.

With a hum and chant of an arcane word I send the last sphere across the room to join it’s brothers and sisters in a oratory choir of movement. Six orbs spin and hum and vibrate around a larger sphere on a tall cast iron pedestal, they are my family, truly. Even over the din of the city streets and the constant glittering and tinkling that comes from the crystal density here, I can be satisfied in my work and I smile at the prospect of completing another piece of art. Crafts are one small boon of this life, I can put smiles on the faces of less fortunate folk through the expression of my own inner woe, unhappiness, and desire to reveal myself. Part of me wonders if Lord Contra would quite understand the prospect.

Back in the darkness of our city I felt duty bound to my family, to my liege, and to the house and the trappings of the position I was entitled. Here in the sun, amongst the free radicals, I have started to succumb to the egotistical ways of the surface. I can see the arrogance of the high elf, the malice of the drow, the indifference of the human, see all of those things reflected in me. It is comforting. Fortunate, I suppose, that I have nothing to bind myself to the lands, I am free to leave without connection.

[Dissinger]

It had taken him a few days to see a pattern of sorts. The depth being slightly deeper on some days, and on others the enigmatic scars appearing in the land were truly deep. None held the depth of the third one, as it seemed that was a true test of power. It had taken Seth to figure out the pattern, mainly because he was unable to discern the purpose of these scars, that was, until he continued to train and fight with his chains.

Each chain had cut into the trees chipping away at the bark, some were shallow, others deeper, as he got used to the lengths he would play with. It wasn't until he truly cut into the tree deep all the way to the trunk itself that he realized it. Those scars weren't some side effect of corrupted magic, nor were they the site of some arcane ritual.

Those scars were testing sites.

Once the purpose was figured it, it didn't take long to realize the pattern. It was an odd one to be sure, but in the end Seth had almost figured it out night one when evading the guards. Whoever was doing this was picking spots that only one patrol could respond to, and always an hour after it had left. It made reactions easy to gauge, and escape entirely possible. From that point forward it was merely following the circle, until he found the next test point, nearly a week later.

And here he was, sitting high up in a tree, watching the spot while he carefully counted down the time, until he saw the figure. At the very least it gave him something to do, while at the most, it meant finding his trinket. Watching the grove carefully he narrowed his eyes, taking everything in slowly, hoping to not miss a single detail.

It was around his third passing that the crack of his tree being struck was heard, and it began to fall swiftly. Jumping to the next tree he cursed before that tree too, was struck. Finally he leapt, twisting in the air as gracefully as possible, before he hit the ground with a dull thud. Taking the moment to get a gauge for his surroundings he saw the figure, or rather heard it, even as the sounds of trees falling in the area echoed. The trunks of these trees had formed a boundary of sorts for the engagement, even as the figure stepped out into the moonlight, wearing full plate that glistened in the night.

Silent alarms went off in the rowdy rogue’s mind, even when he saw the spear drop so the tip almost pointed at the ground.

"That's some nice armor you got there friend, what do you hope it'll accomplish?" Seth growled out, giving a baleful eye to the figure, before he saw the oddest thing. The figure, rather than responding, only raised a single hand from the shaft of his spear, and gestured Seth to come forward.

The intent was clear.

"Fair enough, don't want to talk. I guess we'll exchange pleasantries once we're all warmed up!" With those words the chains unraveled from about his waist. The chain flew through the air until it snapped against the shaft of the spear, and with a tug began to draw the armored warrior to him. The rogue couldn't help but call out, "That armor is just an eggshell about your body, and I'm going to make an omelet of your innards!"

That was, until the spear wielder pulled back and returned, "Old hat Dahlios, you need a better opener!" Seth wasn't used to a game of tug of war, and the strength the spear wielder showed was extraordinary. Pulled the one time Lavinian thief towards him, the butt of the shaft hit him squarely in the chest knocking the ghoul off his vertical base, before the spear tip was plunged straight through the ghoul's stomach. "Perhaps you'll learn in the afterlife, give my regards to hell..."

Seth gripped the spear even as he saw the man begin to move his gauntlet clad hands in strange ways. No words were spoken as they gestured, before the finger pointed at the spear, made almost entirely of metal, a fact that frustrated the Demon to no ends. The hairs on the back of his neck stood straight up, as energy began to crackle about the area, and Seth recognized the gestures as magical somatic components, usually used in magic so archaic it was lost to time.

And he learned why it was made of metal, when the lightning bolt struck the spear and traveled straight into his body. With a groan his body shook with spasms, and a scream pierced the night. The gauntlet clad hand then firmly gripped the spear, and roughly pulled it out of the Lavinian. Leaving him there for a second he snorted before the voice spoke once more, "Leave this place Dahlios, your time to face me hasn't come yet. Next time, I'll hit you with a large enough bolt to incinerate you."

It was around this time, when Seth blacked out.

[Cydnar]

Once more I am disturbed, a small man enters behind me and patiently waits for me to see him. I catch him out of the corner of my eye and pretend to continue work on the pedestal as if still alone. I wonder sometimes what people must think of me, the strange hermit who weaves crystals from nothingness, and charges double for the pleasure. I get little custom, enough to satisfy my need to remain occupied. I catch myself dreaming of being able to carve with a chisel and mitre sometimes, to work with my material with a greater sense of achievement, beyond a wave of the wand and a few muttered words of power.

‘Yes?’ I ask, pausing dramatically with arm and wand poised in the air as if I was about to strike. He flinches, I smile. ‘Can I help you?’

I observe his stuttering and nervous twitches with indifference. I am used to it, I am feigned no more by their xenophobia. I, am beyond their painful reckonings. ‘Yes, I-I am looking for someone to construct two crystal pillars. I was told, b-by someone that you are one to ask for; if the timing of such an endeavour is…crucial.’ I assume he means that he wants it done quickly, the sort of quickly that actually meant today, there and then, here and now.

‘Where do you reside halfling?’

‘In the lower district, the mansion with the cavalcade fountains, Isgraig.’ I nod to pretend I know of it, in truth, they all look alike. Crystalline fortresses defending against an unseen and non-existent outer force. All I do know is I will be working with Fae crystal, a resilient and awkward base material. It is natural quartz, and is more resistant to my tinkering than anything born of the World Eater.

‘Two columns you say, of what height and width?’ With a flick of the wrist I conjure the orbs back to life, slowly allowing them to spiral around the central polished sphere. They hum lightly, the telekinesis holding them upright beginning to be a distraction in our dealings.

The halfling made an effort to show me how wide, and guessed at eight feet in height. Simple enough for a day’s work, made simpler still as he produces a small leather purse full of gold. ‘It will cost 15 gold pieces, for the labour and time, and I’ll require some sort of tea. Crystal I can conjure, and miracles beyond that in another life, but water, tea, chamomile preferably, that is beyond my abilities.’ I pause, giving him time to think it over in his little confused mind. ‘Do you consider this to be an apt offer?’

He scuttles backwards in a flurry of nods and smiles, and drops a sheet of paper on the floor as he runs off out into the morning air. Something made me consider why people came to see me, to ask for my hand in their work when they treated me with such disdain and hatred; were they scared of me? I look at myself in the polished surface of the workshop wall…the more I thought about it, the more likelier it seemed that was the case. The Serpent’s Tongue emblazoned on my robes, the dark hue, my usual demeanour…cold, calculated, as underbracing as the night air. Juxtaposition between helpfully quaint shop keeper and battle hardened avatar wouldn’t likely help my case.

‘Still’ I motioned to myself, glancing out of the small opening in the purple quartz that served as a window. ‘A workman’s work is never done…’ I wished it was, sometimes, but there was much to be said for the calming afterglow of creation. I would return later that day to my true home, to be amongst my people, where the light of the amethyst casts a more welcoming glow than that of the fiery star in the sky. With a stoop I picked up the man’s discarded instructions and glanced them over with a stern glance of focus, it was written in common, fortunately, and competently enough for me to be able to make out a rough set of directions. Tucking them into my pouch I made a mental note of where to go. Today, as glorious as the sun shone in a cascading web of rainbow light across the city, would not be worthy of any remembrance, mundane lives after all, had mundane happenings.

I stepped out into the street, watched the passers by cast me a cautionary glance and joined the long stream down the stalagmite lined hill into the lower district of Donnalaich.


---

The crystalline shard floated gently beyond the tree line, the sun’s radiance striking it and giving it life. I pushed against it’s delicate form harder still, ensuring it travelled out of it’s cover and into the open air of the clearing beyond. Flora and fauna here too found itself struggling for life, for a glimpse of the warm embrace of Sol. As I went about my duties, gently teasing crackles of blue ether from the ground, the ever growing sense of foreboding danger kept growing, and growing and growing. The Master had sensed a deep disturbance here, and I began to concur with his suspicions.

‘Cydnar, my friend, can you sense something?’ My companion’s words were heeded by a halt in my progress, a cladding of the earth with heavy footfalls. For him to ask, I only concluded he too sensed the growing presence beyond the trees, where the rocks and the soil turned from sodden peat to a sprawling meadow of spring blossoms and alkaline shaded flowers. ‘I fear we have found what the Master sent us to cleanse.’

I turned my to look over my shoulder and nodded, not giving it too much effort, lest my grip on the crystal weaken and the progress made thus far squandered. A long time ago I had been taught the technique of controlling my gaeas, my conjured soul, but even after two centuries, channelling thought into even the smallest of fragments took a great solace and calm from me. ‘I will investigate further, Brother Niall,’ my reply was not long, but said all that was needed to be said. The heavy tones of the Ancient tongue echoed through the trunks and the evergreen branches, alerting anyone nearby to our presence.

Only a few short hours ago I had been disturbed in my work on an elegant piece of architecture for a halfling fellow in the lower district of Donnalaich. The day had started with merriment and mellow tones of happiness, the sort of hazy heat induced stupor that easily could befall an unwary man. I trudged wearily down t he cart road to my destination, feelings of xenophobia accompanying me all the way. Only an hour later I received the calling from below, in the shape of a purple orb of light appearing before me and singing of danger and a need for me to return to the temple.

It did not take long to arrive here, but Niall and Tempus, our geomancer and superior brother in the order of the Hummel were easily tired and weary of whatever lay ahead of us. They did not need to communicate their discomfort to me, it was clear they were uneasy. It was clear something was ahead of us, hiding in the foliage and scowering down or through leaves at us. I pushed the crystal further, a faint hum accompanying the minute movements of my fingers.

‘Brother Tempus, the crystal is taking much recoil from the magic embedded in the ground. I can see a tear in the earth, a rend in the substance of this land. Te energy flows into the crystalline heart from left and right.’

‘What does that tell us Cydnar?’

‘What that tells us, is we are dealing with a scar, not an impact site. The rocks there,’ we broke out into the true daylight behind the crystal, standing in a row on the grass verge. ‘They do now sing of their former glory, but of lives faded. Look.’ I pointed down at the disfigurement, tracing the long line with my fingertip.

‘What in Yrene’s name caused such a catastrophe, and causes it still?’

‘I do not know Tempus, but I fear we shall soon find out.’ I tried to express sympathy in my words, but only urged my own insecurities into existence. I settled my hand onto the hilt of Freya, the sword at my side, and peered into the trees on the far side of the clearing.

‘What manner of beast did this?’ My voice carried up into the tree line, not shouted, but spoken harshly.

This was my purpose. Even as I pulled the crystal shard back into my hand and felt satisfaction in it’s cold form pressing against my palm with a cold kiss I could truly begin to appreciate the simple actions we committed ourselves to.

[Dissinger]

There was too much he didn't know. The man knew of him, or perhaps knew him directly, that much was clear. The use of a spear was expert, comparable to the thief's own use of daggers. This meant he couldn't afford to play with the chains anymore, as he simply was not good enough to last long with them. The fact he was being pushed to daggers didn't sit well with the thief.

Then again, ever since he got the things he had tried to make the most out of them. Perhaps that was the problem. He was trying to adapt, when he was already strong enough. The daggers on his hips hadn't bled a target in quite some time, and he was starting to wonder if he even remembered how to wield them. He had used his knives only briefly in gods knew how long ago.

How had he fallen to such a state? That his knives, the trademark weapons of the Lavinian, could have been forgotten? Had he been like a child, fascinated by a new toy only to ignore the one that had served faithfully in years? Had he truly lost touch with who he was in such a short span of time? He had only been awake for MONTHS and already he had discarded his knives as inferior to his new toys of strength and power.

He didn't want to think about it.

Sitting in a tree hiding deep within the forest he began to puzzle out his opponent. The armor was stronger than steel. That much was sure, the fluid motions of the spear had cemented in the ghoul's mind just how skilled he was. That left only one last thing...

The name.

He didn't want to think about who could possibly be so knowledgeable. He had even denied the existence of the possibility until after the fight. Yet the proof was as undeniable as it was numerous. The man not only knew what his name was, he knew how Seth fought. That alone spoke of a familiarity a bounty hunter could not begin to fathom. This person had to have trained Seth, which was impossible since Justin had died in Scara Brae years ago, due to a fluke victory by Seth. The only other option, other than his long dead mentor, was someone who had observed Seth for months on end, seeing how he fought, and formulated his attacks.

Sarah Dahlios, the one time fragment of Seth's soul, had that kind of knowledge, but she couldn't wield a spear to save her life. Even still she was obsessed with having nothing to do with the Lavinian Demon, preferring her life of solitude with Kid, her adoptive daughter. To have Sarah strike up and suddenly start attacking and trying to kill Seth again, was far from feasible.

That left one other, and the thought terrified him.

Moving on through the forest he could only hope to find the next testing spot, so he could try out the theory. If he was right, he was in for a world of hurt, but at least had a chance at victory. No matter how small that chance was, at least it was a chance.

He'd have to take what he could get.

[Cydnar]

No answer came, at least not from the lips of a mortal man. In the distance, birds sprung up from the treetops like a wedding blessing, scattering their plumes to the winds as if they had been disturbed. It was clear that something moved beyond the tree line, but there was no reason to be suspicious, or raise alarm to my companions.

“Brothers, whatever caused this cataclysm may yet remain in this forest. We should be on vigilant over watch to ensure we are not taken by surprise.” With a flick of my wrist I took to tidying my hair behind my ears, unrestricted vision essential for the working of artistry.

“A wise and noble suggestion Cydnar,” they both chimed together in deadpanned unison. “We shall tend to the scar and remain here for some time, in case there is a return to the scene of the crime by the criminal.”

The sun beating down on our backs gave us a sense of heavenly euphoria. It was a sickly sensation, one we were not used to, but I could not help but help welcomed by its grace. Drawing on its power I conjure two small orbs and embed them into the deepest part of the scar with a deft push of my thoughts onto their small crystalline presence. Clods of earth fly up in their wake, falling down onto the holes to bury the quartz in alabaster tombs of charred soil. With each fragment created by my hand, Niall twinned it with throbbing earth. Geomancy and crystalline harmony combined to stitch slowly the wound on Althanas’s skin.

Addressing his robes and straightening his hauberk, Brother Tempus stood on the verge with his boots removed and his hair flowing freely in the wind. As we worked, he recited the World Eater Cantor, the ancient verses that served as Humellian fables and prayers. Our work would take many an hour, but we would not waver.

We could not.

We should not.

We will not.

With each fold of the wrist and utterance of arcane words, I thought about the flock that scattered, keeping a suspicious glance on the tree line opposite…I felt afraid.

Alone.

Threatened.