Feist
01-25-16, 06:37 PM
It was hard to tell, this far deep into the Red Forest, that cleansing was on its way. The moonlight couldn’t pierce the thick foliage, and it was only her lantern that illuminated the path ahead. The night was cold and quiet, the air as still as death. The flame from her lamp flickered over the broken brush that marked the thin road, danced across red leaves and thick dark branches.
There was glittering ahead. The light was bouncing off something as she approached on horseback, the tall stallion she rode slowing even before she’d tugged the reigns. They hadn’t been moving fast. The forest was deadly, and the whispered words of her dark Lord had warned her that she need not be hasty. She had all the time in the world. After all, what she sought had long been forgotten.
Figures melted onto the road like ice bobbing upwards in dark water. They were elven, at least at one time. Their faces were grey, but different from hers. Where her skin was the dark dusk of Alerar, theirs was the touch of undeath. They all wore robes tattered enough to tell of their age here in the wilderness, but thick enough to obscure if they may have armor on or not. At first she thought there were three, but soon the flame revealed two more followed behind.
She knew the sigils they wore on their robes, the old symbols that lined the cuffs and hem. Xem’Zund. The threat of Podë was so fresh, Valintra had nearly forgotten that in shadows of Raiaera, Xem’Zund still had those who worshipped him as the dark god he’d appeared as.
“Halt, good brothers!” she called out, flashing a smile and holding her lantern closer so that they might see her face. “We are family here, and I cause you no grief.”
To her dismay, however, their grey faces never broke from their burning stares. The road stayed blocked, and the one who led the pack reached under the cush edge of his black robe. A hand with thin fingers, webbed with blue veins, pulled a knife. The shape was familiar, one the Drow knew from her studies. The Ardents of Xem’Zund were preparing a sacrifice.
The lantern in her hand went sailing, crashing to the path. Oil spattered the dry leaves that covered the trail and caught, though not as spectacularly as she’d hoped. Now with only dim light and a weak flame between them, Valintra jumped from her steed and let her daggers find her hands.
“I said,” she hissed. “I cause you no grief, but if you do not find yourselves another path, I will have no choice.”
There was glittering ahead. The light was bouncing off something as she approached on horseback, the tall stallion she rode slowing even before she’d tugged the reigns. They hadn’t been moving fast. The forest was deadly, and the whispered words of her dark Lord had warned her that she need not be hasty. She had all the time in the world. After all, what she sought had long been forgotten.
Figures melted onto the road like ice bobbing upwards in dark water. They were elven, at least at one time. Their faces were grey, but different from hers. Where her skin was the dark dusk of Alerar, theirs was the touch of undeath. They all wore robes tattered enough to tell of their age here in the wilderness, but thick enough to obscure if they may have armor on or not. At first she thought there were three, but soon the flame revealed two more followed behind.
She knew the sigils they wore on their robes, the old symbols that lined the cuffs and hem. Xem’Zund. The threat of Podë was so fresh, Valintra had nearly forgotten that in shadows of Raiaera, Xem’Zund still had those who worshipped him as the dark god he’d appeared as.
“Halt, good brothers!” she called out, flashing a smile and holding her lantern closer so that they might see her face. “We are family here, and I cause you no grief.”
To her dismay, however, their grey faces never broke from their burning stares. The road stayed blocked, and the one who led the pack reached under the cush edge of his black robe. A hand with thin fingers, webbed with blue veins, pulled a knife. The shape was familiar, one the Drow knew from her studies. The Ardents of Xem’Zund were preparing a sacrifice.
The lantern in her hand went sailing, crashing to the path. Oil spattered the dry leaves that covered the trail and caught, though not as spectacularly as she’d hoped. Now with only dim light and a weak flame between them, Valintra jumped from her steed and let her daggers find her hands.
“I said,” she hissed. “I cause you no grief, but if you do not find yourselves another path, I will have no choice.”