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Post by Archivist~Alabaster on Feb 15, 2006 14:36:06 GMT -5
Title: Hunt for the Lost Authors: many, each author is listed for each section Faction: Alliance Type: Adventure, Horror, Action, Some Violence
Oria It begins again...
With a swinging arc of sword, Oria dispatched the trolls one by one onot the earth. Their cries were in tongues she did not understand, yet she was not listening so. Not too far away, Janlith moved with stealthed grace, blade ending the lives of naga along the Cape of Stranglethorn. He may have hated the jungle, but she enjoyed his closer company.
They spoke through the stone of things. She tried yet again to seek his approval of a picnic, a single moment of rest in the endless warring she had been in. And yet, nothing she tried worked. The coven was far to prevalent in Janlith's mind. She could understand, but damn how she wished for a true break. Even the somewhat vacation she left to some time ago...was not one at all. Everything came to her no matter how she tried to hide.
Biting her lip, she though on Thenra's advice. Try and try, lure slowly, perhaps even mageweave garments, and when it did not work, bash him over the head or use ale. Seems I need a case of wine and a simple blanket thrown over me at this point. And yet, he would still run. I'm tired of hunting... Can't he see? Bah...
So she turned their conversation to the one thing he gnawed upon as she. The question of the coven.
"Where do you think they have fled to?"
Janlith mused. "They were once in Desolace. By now, they have considered it watched and no longer safe. So I doubt we will find them in Darkshire, Duskwood, or Desolace. Truth be told, I believe they seek Arathi."
She quirked a brow at her stone. "Arathi? Why ever so?"
"Not watched at all, many places to hide in the mountains, quick leavetaking to water, the roads to the wetlands and Hillsbrad, the flights to Menethil and onward."
Oria considered all he spoke of and then a thought touched her. "You may be right. But for a different reason." He quirked a brow in interest. "Lord Clearchus remarked that pirates attacked Menethil harbor the last eve."
"Pirates?!?! When? Where! Did we lose any?"
"None were lost but their own. But it makes sense."
He grinned at the stone. "And why is that?"
She thought of some things recently found, making her usual leaping connections. "So we are sent to a house that according to Agent Corsica has Defias activity. We find a chest of brown robes. We are given a satchel of Defias investigations. And then you find a smaller chest with a book of Defias information in it, two coven rings, and a warded letter. Perhaps the coven or a member in them has connections with the Defias?"
Janlith's thoughts turned over her words. "And from our journeys commanded in Westfall, we know the Defias are not only thieves and brigands but smugglers of the seas, pirates."
"Exactly, and they attacked a newly declared protectorate."
The shadowmaster shook his head. "By that seems unlike their quiet and stealth."
A chill filled Oria for a moment. "What if they have had to change. By now they must have found the forgery. And Hallistra must wish their heads and hearts for it. And...Ilysar has gone missing."
Janlith's look darkened. "What do you mean? The letter you spoke of?"
"The very same. I gave it to Lord Clearchus, yet in it Ilysar feared the coven watched her. It could have been another, Atalon feels the same. Yet she mentioned them in the letter."
"And why would the coven steal folk again. You would think they learned their lesson."
Ori tilted her head. "Perhaps they knew Silvergrace held a secret of the items, and now seek one who publically told me she knew of one. They could be desperate. They could have members breaking away doing their own work after the failure of gaining the last items. Who is to say...but I do think she is in trouble. Atalon of New Moon believes it as well. And where the fel is Nasir?!"
She looked around quickly in the off chance...
Janlith growled, a sens eof rage burning through him and the stone. Oria looked to it, worrying she had caused his distress, but it was not so. "Czarvich?"
"Yes..." His voice was a bestial thing, something she understood all too well. "I want to take him, to lay bare his life on my blade."
The huntress thought upon this. The coven lord had helped her, in some ways was friend, yet in so many more enemy. "When the time comes, I wish to see you take him."
Janlith quirked a brow. "You do not wish to aid?"
Taking a breath, she shook her head. "There are times I wish his blood more than any. Yet, I would have you take the killing blow. It is a difficult thing to describe."
"Try, my leaf."
"I seek him as a hunter. His scent and blood, his life to be sighted and taken. It would be as a gift to you, in a hunter's way...of hearts...if that makes sense?"
The grin was felt through the stone. "That it does, leaf. Then we make a deal. If one finds him, the kill is gifted. And one of us the killing stroke in that gift."
Smiling, it was the closest thing she had, to showing him without his running of how she felt. "Deal."
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Post by Archivist~Alabaster on Feb 15, 2006 14:37:28 GMT -5
Business as Usual Muirin, Sable Coven
Blank smile. Vacant stare. High Inquisitor Whitemane stared at the girl in front of her with distaste. She hadn't decided if she was dealing with a lackwit or a puppet.
Either way, unpleasant. Unsettling.
She found herself wishing to be elsewhere. She more than suspected Czarvich had thought of this beforehand, sent the girl to achieve this affect.
The girl, a mere chit of a warlock, wasn't even looking towards the Inquisitor. Her soft, out-of-focus eyes wandered to the spell orb on Whitemane's desk, no doubt attracted by the softly swirling purple spell-light within. She stood in the shadow of her voidwalker, cuffs on her thin wrists a match for those worn by the demonic entity. She had yet to say a single word, or do anything but nod a few times and smile vaguely, her eyes wandering here and there about Whitemane's office.
Whitemane found herself wondering with no little unease the cause for that empty, slack look on the girl's face.
Mindblasted? Overcome by demonic energy? Czarvich's puppet? Something. Talk now. Don't think about it, don't fall for that ploy. Business at hand. Attend. The Inquisitor gathered her thoughts, straightening her shoulders and standing up to her fullest height.
"Muirin, is it?" She said imperiously. "You've come for the books, I take it."
As before when the introductions had been given, it was the voidwalker that spoke. The girl continued to eye the spell orb, nodding and smiling like an idiot.
"Yesssss. The bookssss. To mark the job commmmpleted."
Whitemane waved her hand in a vaguely dismissive gesture. She refused to acknowledge the voidwalker and addressed her comments at that blank stare. How she loathed the Coven for making her treat with idiots and demons. She would gladly kill the girl and the blue cloud of noxious gas here and now if she could.
But there was still gain to be sought. Mograine wanted his information.
"Yes," Whitemane said, pursing her lips. "we have acquired the agent. Her training is good. So far she has said nothing."
The voidwalker stretched and made a strange hissing, sighing noise.
"Sssshe will break. Of allllll thingsssss it is the dark ssshheee fearssss. Darknessssss and undeattttthhh."
"She says nothing of Kenafin, although we know her connections to that house remain. Nothing of that foolish warrior Knierston or his order. Nor of the Phoenix Dawning, although that is a lesser concern."
The girl smiled and nodded cheerfully, as if Whitemane had made an inane comment about the weather half-listened to. The Inquisitor gritted her teeth.
"It issss Clearchussss you sssseeeek." The voidwalker stated. "Weee ssseeek hisss fall assss welll. Thissss isss to the benefit of youurrr order and ourssss."
The Inquisitor spat. Hatred. Anger. The Sable Coven thought they shared these feelings towards Kenafin with the Scarlet Crusade. They knew nothing. Words did not go far enough.
"His house shall fall," she hissed. "Beginning with his allies."
The voidwalker made a low chuckling sound. "That issss wellll."
The girl shivered suddenly and looked up at Whitemane, for one brief moment looking lucid.
"Stone by stone," she pronounced clearly. "Stone by stone we dismantle. All the pretty stones." Muirin smiled and then the vague look came over her face again and she nodded, eyes wandering back to the spell orb.
Whitemane was losing patience. There were secrets to discover about Kenafin and she stood here listening to the words of a lackwit and a demon. She picked up a small pile of dusty tomes on her desk and held them out to the girl.
"The books for your master," the Inquisitor said brusquely. "No more and no less than what we agreed upon." Muirin stepped forward and clutched the books protectively to her chest, looking just past Whitemane's shoulder at something only interesting to her.
"He will be pleassssssed," The voidwalker hissed. Muirin bobbed a bow towards the High Inquisitor and then they turned together and left Whitemane's office. Not even a farewell.
Whitemane watched them go, teeth clenched hard. Anger made the vein in her temple tick stacatto. Losing the books had been a steep price. The agent had to be worth the trouble or there would be hell to pay. And the transaction with the Covenites left her wanting to smash everything in her office, as she was sure Czarvich had counted upon.
Gathering her robe in her clenched fists to give herself the freedom to hurry, Whitemane stormed out of her office. She headed for the basement, cloak trailing behind her. Crusaders, recognizing the look on their High Inquisitor's face, scattered to get out of her way. Whitemane made her way down to Interrogator Vishas' domain in a royal fury.
Her voice was clear and audible from the main hall as she demanded:
"You! Tell me what I wish to know at once!"
A moment later a thin, high scream that hardly sounded human came skirling up from the basement, raising goosebumps on the arms of any who heard it. The scream subsided into a choked sob, and then silence descended.
The silence was infinitely more disturbing.
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Post by Archivist~Alabaster on Feb 15, 2006 14:38:09 GMT -5
Unravelling the Web, Part 1 ~written by Ilysar~
Lescovar was dead.
Ilysar looked down at his body and that of his S1:7 spy for a moment. A residual snarl twisted her features as she bent and cleaned her knives briskly on Lescovar's cloak. The mix of poison and blood filled the Stormwind Keep gardens with a sickly sweet odor.
This part of the Keep had fallen heavily quiet after the brief and unbalanced struggle. No guards had yet come on their hourly patrol. She stood and surveyed the scene they would find.
Lescovar hadn't pleaded for his life, although he'd been startled to see her. He lay face down, green robes stained dark with his life blood, beside the black-clad S1:7 double agent. In his hand was still clutched the gold he'd offered her to let him live.
"You're S1:7," he'd said, blinking in stupid shock at her when she'd drawn her blades on him. "You were hired by me."
"Not any longer," Ilysar had replied, letting the viciousness take over, not thinking about the task she had to do but only the result.
"We have no quarrel," he'd said, holding out a fistful of gold to her. "I don't even know you."
"Atalon Knierston," she had hissed, and smiled grimly without humor as the realization dawned on his face. She'd nodded in vindictive triumph. "I come for vengeance. My own."
The struggle had been brief; Lescovar was not a fighter.
And now, that part was over.
She made a mental note to send Alin word of thanks for the information regarding who had hired S1:7 to kill Atalon, and thought he would appreciate the news that Lescovar had been dealt with swiftly. Crouching low, she clung to the shadows and made her way out of the Keep.
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Post by Jadey/Ala/Oria on Feb 21, 2006 11:02:02 GMT -5
Unravelling the Web, part 2 ~written by Ilysar~
In her room at the inn in South Shore, Ilysar sat at the small writing desk beside the bed. Carefully, she drew a heavy dark line through the name Lescovar, written at the top of her short list.
Quill pen still clutched in her hand she looked at the small stack of parchment she'd bought and wondered if she should write Atalon a letter. Her hand hesitated on the top sheet, just shy of picking it up.
It had been many long days since she'd seen him. He rested at Ravenholdt Manor still, recovering from the horrible wound in his shoulder. The society there had taken him in without question as a favor to her, although not without a price. Lord Jorach, when he'd looked from the jagged wound Atalon bore to her knives, started to observed drily: "We only hurt the ones we lo-" He broke off with a raised eyebrow when she'd put a hand on the hilt of her sword.
As far as she knew, he still rested there, under the care of the Ravenholdt physician. She hadn't been back to visit him after the last time she'd come with Maya, Lythandar and Dreary.
Guilt. You coward, she thought, anger at herself as vicious as it had been turned against Lescovar. Alin had entreated her to care for Atalon but she had not been able to bring herself back. Not after that conversation with Maya. Not after she'd nearly killed him simply because she'd been ordered to do so.
She drew another line through Lescovar's name so fiercely she ripped the parchment and blotted the ink across the paper.
The sound of hoofbeats outside her window made Ilysar instinctively crane her head to see who passed out of idle curiosity. A knight dressed in the colors of the Scarlet Crusade passed slowly on horseback in front of the mailbox, sending a casual glance up at the inn before turning to shout an epithet at a guard. Ilysar stared at his back as he went, frowning in thought.
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Post by Jadey/Ala/Oria on Feb 21, 2006 11:03:55 GMT -5
Unravelling the Web, part 3 ~written by Ilysar~
Stormwind, city of plots and scheming. Always crowded, always dangerous.
Ilysar knew she was being followed.
The awareness came in that particularly vulnerable feeling that crawled between her shoulderblades, a slight shiver down her spine, some primitive survival instinct alerting her to the pressure of another's gaze on her actions.
She could never see who it was, of course, which meant they were good, probably professional. Every trick she knew revealed nothing behind her but the forms of people hurrying to and fro on their own business. That which paced her carefully could be any one of them, or all of them.
For two days she'd changed her routes and altered her routines, hoping to shake what pursued her, but the feeling of being shadowed by a cool and relentless entity persisted.
At last she wrote notes to those she trusted in some way or another. Warnings to look to their own, should something occur. One to Alin. One to Oria, fast becoming a friend to someone who did not make friends easily. And one...improbably...to Maya Nordomi. If she didn't exactly trust the strange elf, she could at least warn her that danger might be approaching from a direction unseen.
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Post by Jadey/Ala/Oria on Feb 21, 2006 11:05:43 GMT -5
Unravelling the Web, part 4 ~written by Ilysar~
The journey back to South Shore she undertook in the dark, riding without a torch down the path that was scarcely more than a pig trail in some places. Despite the fact she still had business to attend to in Stormwind, losing whatever had been dogging her steps was more important. So she urged her horse to a canter and trusted him not to break a leg falling into a gopher hole. Stout mountain stock that he was, she had faith in his sure-footedness. The cold night air stung her lips and cheeks and made her eyes water.
She had received two letters that morning. One was from Atalon - foolish knight - speaking of single-handedly invading Stromgarde to recover something of his Order. His letter ended with a strange claim that if he should fall, she would be the last...she wasn't sure what it meant, but it sounded like a farewell. She suspected by the time she had received the letter he had been gone some days, but when the sun rose she would be on her way to Stromgarde to give what aid she could.
The other letter was from Oria, asking after her safety and promising her help if needed. Both letters Ilysar had safely tucked into an inner pocket of her cloak, treasuring them for different reasons.
She thought about her situation. She still was not sure who followed her, although she had a fairly good guess. Lescovar's position had hinted at some connection beyond Stormwind, some ties to another faction. She had only recently put the two together and thought about his connection to the Scarlet Crusade agent in the Church of Light.
It was intelligence the Inquisitor of Kenafin might have had. But she suspected there were far more pressing matters on his hands than following the movements of the Scarlet Crusade.
Then again, she could be wrong. It could be something else entirely.
It was a relief to see South Shore loom into view out of the darkness, torch lights from the inn and the guards' lanterns a bright beacon for her to follow. She dismounted in front of the inn wearily, patting her horse's damp neck and murmuring words of praise to him as she tied the reins to the hitching post. When the stable girl appeared Ilysar tipped her a silver and asked her to take special care of the weary beast. The girl gave her a cheerful wink.
Ilysar made her way up to her room, rubbing her wind-stung eyes and smothering a yawn. Outside her room she paused, hesitating. The door was ajar and already she sensed that something was amiss. Drawing her daggers she pushed the door open slowly. The room was dark, lit by the faint torchlight coming in from the windows. She could see that her desk had been thoroughly searched, papers strewn about, the few items she'd left here scattered and broken on the floor.
She was backing out of the room when a dark figure filled her vision, rising between her and the light from the window. She sensed movement behind her and flinched. They made no noise, other than small sounds of exertion. Something heavy crashed down on her head and all thoughts were extinguished by a swift and total darkness.
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Post by Jadey/Ala/Oria on Feb 21, 2006 11:06:54 GMT -5
Unravelling the Web, part 5 ~written by Ilysar~
Waking, she found herself in a nightmare. She was in darkness, and it smelled of death.
Years of sunlight and freedom fell away from her as if they had never occured and the nearly-forgotten terrors of the cold dark moist on her skin and the taste of the crypt on her tongue and the back of her throat threatened to rob her of her reason. There was no light at all but her frantically questing fingers found rough hewn stone, damp and chill. She was on her knees, feeling the ground around her, scrabbling at the stone as if she might find some passage into daylight again.
Her fingers brushed against something that gave and knocked hollowly against the stone, softer than wood. Curiousity fueled by fear impelled her to reach out again and feel the length of it, dusty with age but smooth as...bone.
Bone. Her fingers picked it up, felt the resistance. Bones. She could feel the joints at the elbow give a little as she lifted what she knew to be an arm and felt the old finger bones, curled into a lose fist, made sharp and spare with decay and age.
She could hear a high keening wail coming from somewhere nearby and realized she was making the sound. She retreated to her corner and curled up against the wall, knees to her chin, choking off her cries. She sank her teeth into the tender flesh of her wrist, hoping the pain would cut through the fear into sanity.
It did. It was a crypt, she thought, closing her eyes so that darkness would be a conscious choice. She was locked in with the darkness and the bones and the dead, barefoot and weaponless.
Ilysar climbed to her feet after a time, taking deep breaths. She kept her eyes closed. By touch alone she made an exploration of the space she was in, discovering iron torch holders, wall crypts that rattled with old bones when she accidentally brushed against them, and a few bones on the floor that had fallen from their places.
And the rats. Oh Light, the rats. She could hear them, squeaking and scurrying about all around her, disturbed by this new motion in the dark. She had to stop her mouth with her hands to keep from screaming when one scurried across her bare feet, and then she stood frozen in the dark for a long time, unable to move forward or back.
She made the slow circuit around the crypt once, following the wall. She found the heavy iron ring of a door handle and the old rusted hinges, but it was of course locked. She gave up after a few sharp yanks on the iron ring yeilded nothing. After that she sat down again and tried to figure out where she was.
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Post by Jadey/Ala/Oria on Feb 21, 2006 11:07:43 GMT -5
Unravelling the Web, part 6 ~written by Alabaster~
Darkness and death, it was the way of the Forsaken. Nothing could hide from their eternal vision given time. Nothing could move them if they wished it. To be as the dead was not a cultivated ability to make the grandest actor swoon in envy, it was simply being.
So there she stood, watching, careful, as death itself. Her leg was tripped on by the girl as she moved. The fingers of her hands tracing the wall overhead. Her face was a mockery of self-control, a painters palette of fear and desperation. As she clawed upon the door, hoping perhaps age had worn away its strength, Alabaster simply mused. Would she be this way if still living? If she could, she would have cackled.
In life, she would have pleaded, screamed and given herself to despair. Perhaps this one should be named Emily? This wisp of a lady clothed in thin cloth and mud. Dust and ash from the long rotten flesh of the dead clung to her body, soon to make her cough. Such terrors the living should fear in breathing in the dead and damned. It was a constant study of hers.
The girl cried and moaned, trying to stop her cascading thoughts. The warlock knew them well once. And in that knowing, only made the woman's life worse. A move foot. A chance tumbling of her hand against her as she fitfully slept when darkness fell on her mind. And the rats. They sensed and feared Alabaster, rushing from her...to the only area left. The girl's.
In time, oh yes, she would know what she demanded. The Crusade would have their precious information as well.
Nothing more than good business.
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Post by Jadey/Ala/Oria on Feb 21, 2006 11:09:27 GMT -5
Unravelling the Web, part 7 ~written by Ilysar~
Time passed, she thought. She marked it by counting her heartbeats and breaths, by humming to herself the song she used to use to time the rotation of the guards when picking locks in Tyr's Hand, casually gathering information on the Scarlet Crusade. White coral bells upon a slender stalk... Fragments of the song her sister used to sing to the horses to calm them, in another world long ago.
In the Undercity, the Forsaken jailers had been the enemy. Here it was the darkness itself. She could imagine it a thinking entity, watching her passively. When she fell in and out of unsettled sleep, she dreamt she could hear it whispering, could feel it reaching out to touch her with cold fingers. Thinking on this she shook her head violently, denying the idea. It was madness.
Perhaps days passed. Perhaps it was only hours she spent cold and hungry shivering in the corner. When at last she heard the crypt door unlock and creak open on heavy hinges it startled her so badly she hit her head against the wall behind her. The sudden smell of fresh air and the brightness of torchlights made her squint and blink watery eyes, arm raised protectively.
Then there were figures all around her, dark against the torch light. She was pulled to her feet by rough hands.
"You have been summoned by Lord Mograine," a man's voice told her brusquely. The name confirmed what she had already guessed: the Scarlet Crusade. She was half dragged, half escorted into the warmth of the Monastary, eyes blinking rapidly at the change in lighting. Even the torchlight on the walls hurt her eyes.
She was delivered to a luxuriously decorated room, set with a table bearing a small feast. The smell of roast and warm bread made her mouth water and her stomach growl disconsolately.
"Ilysar Sable, m'lord," a guard said, and they let go of her and backed out of the room. Ilysar looked around, wondering in which corner danger hid.
Lord Mograine was sitting at the head of the table, and he rose to greet her, smiling cordially. He was dressed in the livery of the Crusade, all in red. It suited him. Ilysar was suddenly conscious of how dirty and small she looked, barefoot and covered with the dust and cobwebs of the crypt.
"Lady Ilysar," he said warmly, coming forward to clasp her hand as if they were at a social gathering and she were not a prisoner. "I've heard so much about you and only recently discovered you were in the Monastery. If I'd only known where they had put you I would have had you out sooner. No place for a lady to be." He shook his head sadly. Mograine looked nearly contrite, Ilysar thought with some bemusement, looking down at her dirty hand enclosed in his. She pulled her hand away.
"Please," he said, gesturing to the table. "You must be hungry. Take your sup, and we can talk." He pulled a chair out for her and sat, nodding at her in reassurance when she hesitated, suspicious. She cast a look over her shoulder at the closed door, locked no doubt, and gingerly sat down.
Noting the direction of her look, Mograine said: "A small precaution only. I don't want us to be overheard." He smiled pleasantly at her and gestured for her to help herself.
Excercising self restraint, Ilysar broke a warm roll in half and managed not to gulp it down without chewing it first. As she ate, Mograine poured her a cup of wine, and spoke familiarly as if they'd known each other previously.
"I'm glad you're here," he said. "We've heard some disturbing news from Stormwind about the actions of our foes. I think you can shed some light on the problem." He paused to look at her. "People get the wrong idea about our Crusade, but really I believe you share many of our goals, Ms. Sable. I would appreciate it tremendously if you'd aid us by telling me a few things."
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Post by Jadey/Ala/Oria on Feb 21, 2006 11:12:22 GMT -5
Unravelling the Web, part 8 ~written by Ilysar~
Ilysar took a long swallow of wine, and felt it warm her, driving away the cold that lingered in her fingers and toes. She scuffed her bare feet in the carpet and looked at Mograine.
"And those things are?" She asked, voice rusty and rough with disuse. She felt as though she were dreaming.
Mograine smiled. "I want to know why Kenafin is in Menethil. I want to know what Clearchus gave to the Sable Coven. I also want to know the whereabouts of the Kenafin Inquisitor and the warrior Atalon Knierston." He paused, pouring her more wine, eyes intent on her face. "Questions with simple answers."
For just a moment, Ilysar wanted to tell him. It would be such a relief to have no secrets. She felt her cheeks flush with the warmth of the wine and the food.
"I'm sorry," she said clearly, and was shocked to discover she -was- sorry. "I don't know these things. And if I did, I wouldn't tell you."
Mograine frowned, sitting back.
"A pity," he said. "Still, I admire your loyalty even if it is misplaced. I hope, however, that I will be able to show you why our Crusade is a righteous one, and that you will in time consider our cause worthwhile."
Ilysar blinked at him. "Why?"
"Because," he replied, "we want you working for us. Why else would we bring you here?" He smiled, steepling his hands. Ilysar smiled grimly.
"I suppose Lescovar had nothing to do with it," she asked, raising her eyebrows. Mograine chuckled as if she'd made a joke.
"That brought you to our attention, " he said, "but it was high time Lescovar was removed. In point of fact, you did us a favor. He had grown inflated with his own importance and was overstepping his boundaries. We owe you our thanks." Mograine nodded graciously.
Ilysar was confused. She felt unbalanced and unsure of the game being played here. She had expected anything but this...cordiality. She was an agent, not a tactician. Chess left her puzzled, unable to see beyond the next move. The magnitude of the game here was beyond her scope, and she knew it. Think, she told herself. What would Oria or Nasir do in a situation such as this? Or Alin? Even Thenra, fierce lady of Kenafin? Her hand shook holding the wine glass. Mograine noticed and reached out to steady it, setting it down for her.
"You must be tired," he said. "I'll have someone escort you to your room. Take your rest, we can talk again tomorrow. In the meantime, think on what I've said. The information I want is simple. We can discuss this as friends." He smiled and stood, pulling her chair out for her once more as she stood.
He opened the door and called out to the nearest guards. They bowed to Mograine and took her arms firmly but gently at the elbows.
"I will see you tomorrow," Mograine said to her, closing the door as she was escorted out.
Ilysar was taken down long hallways, through the maze of the Monastary. She wished she knew the layout better. She thought they were headed towards the barracks but she could not be sure.
A voice stopped them as they crossed a courtyard; the guards stopped and turned. A woman was coming towards them, surrounded by a small contigent of heavily armored guards. She wore a small pillbox hat and was dressed in Crusade finery. Her face was cold and her eyes glittered. She walked over to them and stared down at Ilysar. The woman was quite tall.
"High Inquisitor," one of the guards murmured, bowing. Ilysar nodded to herself. This then would be Whitemane.
"So this is the thing they bring me," Whitemane said, voice little more than a hiss, staring at Ilysar with fierce hatred. "You kill one of our own and he treats you to supper." She reached out and slapped Ilysar across the face, a blow that made her cheek burn and her head ring.
"I don't know what he's promised you, but you'll get none of it," Whitemane said, perfect mouth curling to deliver an ugly epithet. "Take her to the Chamber of Atonement."
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Post by Jadey/Ala/Oria on Feb 21, 2006 11:13:48 GMT -5
Unravelling the Web, part 9 ~written by Alabaster~
As the door remained open, the jailors stepped back from the dark as a mortal terror clutched their throats. Long had the scarlet hued dealt with magics and torture. Yet to see the whipping tendrils of the felhunter seek from the dark, they faltered as one. They looked chalky to Alabaster's eyes as Fzuu moved by her side.
She frail. The hunter layers of sinew and muscle holding within the undying hunger for sorcery. The guards did not know who to fear more. The situation could not be more strange to have her smiling and kind compared to the burning and consuming of their flesh they were used to. The tender loving of that mawed creature.
Without their regard, she moved among them, seeking the chambers of Mograine. The remains of a dinner laid upon a table, nibbled and sipped. Fineries surrounded her, carefully maintained and cultivated by the man who enjoyed such comforts. Settling into the lord's chair, she waited.
Answer from the girl for the Herzogin. And a payment of this one's contempt...for the Baron. Lifting his goblet, sipping delicately as he entered, the warlock grinned. "Ahh you andd I..still havee businesss."
As the lady was dealt with in chambers, Mograine would pay his own...atonement.
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Post by Jadey/Ala/Oria on Feb 25, 2006 11:55:08 GMT -5
The War of Scarlet, Part 2
And so the heroes reclaim their friend... A greater question comes...
The travel by flight was one frought with concern. Better to seek the distance of the monestary by mount and careful hunting. Perhaps they could have handled any war parties waiting for them near Southshore, but something in Oria's words was wise to Clearchus. She was a hunter. And this was a hunt.
Lanterns followed the lord as he gave strict orders for the watch. Salutes and quick compliance followed with a warm sense of welcome. The old dwarf had long watched this hall faltering with the constant challenges an open port could bring. He had to admit...he liked this human lord of the Silver Hand.
"Aye, Herzog, yer' will be done." With a barking of orders that would make the stoutest give attention, he went about protecting the homestead for Kenafin.
Eyes steeled, Lord Clearchus met those of Atalon. The warrior clenched the hilts of his weapons, ground his teeth. An ache was in his eyes that had to be answered. Laying a strong hand on Atalon's shoulder, he sought to give him hope. "Ilysar is a strong woman. We will find and save her from their clutches.
Oria knelt, fingers digging in the earth as Adrisal and Zeklor neared. The hunter prepared, feet digging into for a sprint, eyes slitted, voice a growl of the cat. Adrisal had heard of this, calling upon the beast. With a nod, she turned to each of her new family, giving prayer to Elune for their strength and safety. Zeklor took forth his blades, hefting and choosing what best would protect them all.
As Clearchus and Atalon joined them, Oria gave run. Her breath was slow, even, voice a snarl of the cheetah. "We are a pack. Stay together." Adrisal giggled as her feet sprung with a speed she had not felt before.
Dangers lurked through the land, raptors and gnolls, beasts and men. With the gleaming of swords and faith, the flight of bowshot, the calling of Elune, they made their way through the lands. Rests were quick, short things. No fires were set, only the travel fare they brought with them. Lord Clearchus spoke to them of the dark they would face, the way of the lands they passed. Such a history in his blood and thoughts. Yet as the elves looked to Atalon, they could see a similar burning in his eyes. Humans could feel so keenly, so quickly.
Through the lands of Silverpine, forests and lands turned to ashen horrors. Wogren gave cry in the night. Beasts seemed ravaged things. The world was nothing but a grave of itself. Adrisal covered her mouth in fear of it, calling softly to Elune. Atalon seemed pained, thinking upon some past. Zeklor neared them all, eyes and blades wary for danger. And Lord Clearchus stood ready to take upon himself the cleansing of the dark.
"Onward with caution. In the Light, we prevail my friends." They each met the resolve and strength in his eyes.
As the roads wound, Oria gave a snarled hiss. Pulling free the wicked curved blade of her sword, she kept Corelua close. "Something unnatural and terrible. We will near a dark place. The throne of this evil."
Atalon swallowed hard, eyes peircing the mists before them to the horror of the twisted and crumbled fortress, the remains of a once grand city. "Yes, do keep close. Yes, Lordaeron." In naming it, the monstrocity appeared before them. Rising from the mist, bone white touched with the destruction of wars and plague, the once bright star of the land mocked their living hearts.
Adrisal gasped, moving back to Zeklor. "That must be the most horrible place on Azeroth."
Lord Clearchus gave pryaed to the Light, filling them with peace of fear, strength of will, fury of the battlehearted. "Certainly one of the most tragic. We are near official Kenafin lands now. One day...We shall cleanse these lands."
With wide sad eyes, Adrisal looked to Clearchus. "This was your ancestors home?" He nodded to the girl, eyes a hard thing, memory in them.
Moving the group past the dark towers, Oria knelt again near the thin wagon marks of a road. "Here is the road we found. It will take us to a place of worship changed most foul."
Quietly they gathered, rushing across the land at the speed of the great cats. Atalon nodded. "...very foul indeed."
The gleaming of lantern was shuttered, leaving them in darkness as they neared. Lord Clearchus spoke softly in the dark, the keeper of the light in this moment. "Full of zealots and hypocrites."
The elven eyes of their companions shown in the rising dark, giving them perfect vision within it. Oria continued to lead them through until the bent and twisted trees and fluttering banners of the Scarlet Crusade surrounded them.
With a shiver, Adrisal rubbed her arms. "The land is wounded..."
Oria nodded to the druid. "And something more. I found something within most disturbing."
Clearchus nodded. "Do tell."
"They use plagued flesh. Holding them for some reason."
With a bitter scoff, Atalon sighed. "More good news..."
But the way of speaking was done as they pulled weapons to hand. Scarlet Crusaders moved through the woodland, nearing with shouts of alarm. One by one, the group dispatched their pleas, finding more humans than forsaken scourge hanging from the trees. With careful rushed steps, they pressed the attack into the gleaming marble of the monestary entrance. Once a grand keep and cathedral of the esteemed order, now it had become as corrupt as the dead of the land.
With a final slash of sword, Lord Clearchus wiped clean his blade. "So...If I recall from Mograine's tour, the questioners were..." His sword of gleaming light raised to point towards an archway lost in darkness. "That way. Though it has been some time since I was last here."
Corelua growled a challenge that echoed through the hall as Oria gathered what arrows were not spent. "Then in we go. May Elune guide us."
Adrisal called upon the blessing of Elune to each, standing near Zeklor who protected her side. "I don't think Elune would come here....but still...I hope she's watching."
And from between them, Atalon walked closer to the dark hall. His bloodshot eyes sought to pierce the shadow as dread filled him with a need to know. Softly he whispered, "Ilysar, where are you?" Yet with each step, his blood boiled, mind raced. Raising his sword, charging into the dark, he screamed her name.
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Post by Jadey/Ala/Oria on Apr 21, 2006 11:15:13 GMT -5
The War of Scarlet, part 3
Finding Ilysar...the path onward...
The progress of the lord of Light and his compatriots seared deeply into Alabaster's shadows. It began with screams. Some human for his lost Ilysar. Then they changed into the clash of blade into flesh. The roar of a hunting cat. The cries of prayers both dark and light.
She remained near, watching the inquistors work to their last moments. The flaying of flesh with boning knives. Messy though painful. The burning of acids and salves upon the revealed muscle. Debilitating for a time. Yet nothing would change the pained cries to whimpers of a broken spirit.
The deaths of those beyond stirred the working humans. Raising his head, the lead in this bloody deed made some command to the others. The battles drew closer. With all the attention focused on the antichamber, the warlock made her move.
Softly, with the greatest of care, she neared the ear of Ilysar. The human woman's eyes were closed tightly, voice a raw thing. Speaking without layng breath upon the woman, she spoke in hushed whispers, things only shadows knew. It was not what was said so much as in how. Now, she whimpered. Softly. As a rabbit in the bonecrushing grip of the python's maw. Only a matter of time.
It was then the holy Light shone. The power and harmonics of ritual in the room faltered to the paladin's art. Hissing, she held her stone, disappearing in the final collapsing of shadows. Too close...too close...
Atalon rushed to the side of the table. Blood and gore from instruments slimed the top, leaving his Ilysar in chills. She shook, body bound to the worn wood, implements driven through hands, flesh marred in grotesque ways.
On and on, the woman whispered. "No nothing. I know nothing." Zeklor and Oria continued to clear the rooms near as Adrisal and Clearchus rushed to Atalon's aid. The warrior cradled her head closely, haunted eyes turning to the paladin and druid.
Lord Clearchus raised his sword, intent upon the mechanisms. With a slight turn of head, he caught the druid's eyes. "Adrisal, your healing is much more gentle than mine. Can you aid her?"
Gulping hard, she neared the lady terribly worn and called upon the ways of earth in. Words of Darnassian spilled from her lips as she called upon healing the soothed as calm waters. Color and strength slowly returned to her as Clearchus broke free the pinnings.
Eyes opening blindly, Ilysar croaked a plea. "I didn't tell .... I didn't say anything...." Over and over she spoke, fearful the whispering nightmare would return. It was the sound of rats, the preying of their hunger, the endless droning of the dead. She flailed at her ear a moment as Atalon softly took her hands.
"Ilysar, are you alright? Don't worry, your safe." As she spoke her mantra so too did the warrior. Oria returned as Zeklor continued his swath of retribution through the masses of Scarlets and their captive dead.
Adrisal neared slowly, holding out water and mushy bread. "Here...drink this...eat slowly. It will help."
With a grim look to Oria, Lord Clearchus knew they would need to travel soon. Nodding the hunter called upon the way of cheetah again, to aid them.
"Can she be moved, Adrisal? We must not remain here."
The druid nodded a growing confidence in her eyes. "I think so....try to avoid fighting if you can help it though."
Atalon whispered declarations of retribution and care to Ilysar as he helped her rise from the horrors of torture. "They will pay. Every single one of them. Why did they take you?"
Voice growing stronger yet still so weak, Ilysar turned her swollen face from one to the other. "I killed one of their own. Lescovar. He knew you, Atalon. It was he that hired SI:7."
Atalon nodded, giving her support. "He knew me because he was once a knight..."
Her eyes cracked to shards, lips curling. "He's nothing now..." Shivering, she heard the soft play of rats in walls. "So many rats...."
Finding what they could, they dressed Ilysar, making their way out as Zeklor had left. Bodies laid in corridors, their ends swift. The scent of blood and twisted forms only sickened her.
Atalon looked to Clearchus. "South Shore would be watched, Menelith, if you don't mind."
The paladin lord nodded, eyes as steel. "Menethil it is. The city and port are held by our house. You are welcome to stay in safety."
As they travelled, Adrisal provided what aid she could. Oria kept the pace quick, watching the lands carefully. And yet despite the pain and movement, she knew she had to speak.
"Lord Clearchus. There is no love lost for house Kenafin here. They asked me ....they asked...they asked many things about Kenafin."
His eyes older than his age met hers in concern. "I'm sorry about that Ilysar."
"Look to your own. All I know...is that they sought information. They asked about books...or mentioned it offhand. I do not know why..."
Clearchus nodded, a promise to the woman. "I'll come back for Mograine...Let's get somewhere more secure." during the journey, they learned more of the terrors by Undercity. Lord Clearchus' loses and wars with the dead. Ilysar's old homestead and terrors. The rise and fall of Atalon's line. So much horror and devestation in a land. As they left to Menethil, with a silent look back towards the dark spires of Lordaeron, Lord Clearchus made a vow.
"The war begins now."
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Post by Jadey/Ala/Oria on Apr 21, 2006 11:15:35 GMT -5
Knitting Circles, part 1 ~Written by Malleson~
Rumors and tales of the Sable Coven...the day after...
Bottles were opened, glasses filled as the ladies gathered in the solarium for their knitting and fine work. They twittered and chatted as a flight of birds, filling the sun dappled room with a prattle that always set Malleson's nerves on edge. And yet, it was one of the best places in Azeroth for information.
Wives, mistresses, daughters...these were the information gathering spies of the age. If only SI:7 truly knew that. Smiling politely, the lady took her usual spot next to Lady Phyllis Ridgewell, wife of the lead lord in the Houde of Nobles.
"My word, can you believe snow roses could look so grand? Not a pale blossom among the first growth. This year shall be prosperous I tell you."
The purse lipped Margarite tilted her head this way and that reminding Malleson of some child making faces. "Oh you always say that Phyllis. But in truth, I think the progress of the realm is better marked by the work of Archon. Have you heard what they have accomplished towards the war effort? Astounding that order has been."
Small remarks and the patter of gloved hands clapping gave an extra point to the weasel-faced woman for her keen thoughts. Phyllis was not amused. The tart took her steam from the beginning of a grand movement of her own husband's authority. It was known he was a florishing lord of the Silver Hand, not of Archon. The bring up such...bold moves.
On and on the hens gossiped as they sipped wine and progressed slowly in their needlework. It seemed like the perfect time to give the Lady Phyllis something new to add to her husband's arsenal. And perhaps to learn more...of the night's discussion.
It was not rare that Malleson spoke, but all the ladies knew her tales were interesting. Always filled with intrigue and dark matters mystical, she left them swooning and in better moods to please their husbands from the mysteries in their minds. Which of course lead to more pillow talk and subsequent gossiping to her own ear.
"Phyllis, my dear, I sought the meeting of that letter you showed me." Gasps of course followed with a flurry of questions. The lady turned a rare smile upon Malleson for directing the attentions back to her.
"Well, I knew if any were to seek that tale to tell us this morn, it would be you my dark rose. Why, when Beaumont passed it to my hand, I knew we must know more...if only for his sake. Men sometimes need strong women to show them the truth of things."
Malleson smiled and nodded, sipping the expensive merlot. "Of course. The gathering was in the..." she held her eyes to each for added drama, "...Slaughtered Lamb." The gasps were worth gold. "A gathering called by a shadow caster of bright eyes and hair the color of warm gold woodlands. His mind was keen, and when he looked upon you to speak, it seemed you were the entire world." She lied of course. But truth was not needed, just their attentions. "He spoke of a dark terror that has frightened children and swept through the land as quiet as a sneak thief in the night."
Leaning on the edge of their stools and chairs, she pulled them closer, luring them to her voice. Languid eyes of soft caramel, she looked to each of them, this lady of Perenolde's ancient grace.
"The Sable Coven."
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Post by Jadey/Ala/Oria on Apr 21, 2006 11:16:04 GMT -5
Knitting Circles, part 2 ~Written by Malleson~
The clandestine meetings...
A tipping of scales. That was needed more than ever at this moment of moments. Somehow everything had to change. Perhaps time alone would lead the others astray. Perhaps some great battlefront or war.
Whatever it was, it had to be done.
The gathered folk in the Slaughtered Lamb spoke openly a name that should not be. The Sable Coven was on every lip. Perhaps only for the return of Lady Thenra Gla'Nath. But Malleson believed otherwise, as did all of the brown cloth. The Keystone was ever displeased.
A warlock had sent out the letters, posted the scrolls, demanding a discussion of this nefarious group. Many gathered, faces she had seen about Stormwind. They did not hunch or hide, simply chatted openly of the covert coven of some ill repute.
The human led the discussion, this Nathaynil. He was young, bright-eyed, sincere in his belief the mystery of the coven was tatamount to some convergence of evil in the world. Perhaps true, but it was never known what the keystone desired. Truthfully, Malleson cared not. As long as the way and will of the old ones brought a breaking of her infernal pact, she would accept no alternative. It was a course blood bound her too.
Sitting amongst them, nattering her thoughts and turning away others was as a fine dance. The artform of words simply divine. And there she learned delicious things.
The coven was feared. The return of Lady Thenra and the movement of Clearchus and his order to Menethil calmed these fears somewhat. And the simplicity of pretty faces drove away any doubt ever held.
Eyes moving to those of the tavern keeper, the lady of Perenolde nodded. She had a meeting still to keep. The coven certainly would be forgotten. Such fools these folk were...
---//*\\---
Pulling low her hood, Malleson entered the dank chambers deeply within the Cathedral of Stormwind. Ancient rules of stone and faith had built an edifice perfect for secretive gatherings. Torchlight flickered as the lady made her slow way in the wending of halls.
"Stop." It was the same voice. Feminine yet not. The quality was difficult for her to place, muffled yet keen.
The lady did so stop. Moment moved past as she was watched, weighed, considered. She almost thought the order no longer required her until a package was slid to her from shadows.
"Deliver those. In the name of the Keystone."
"May we find the way back."
And then there was nothing. Leaning with care, she took up the satchel. Within were letters, simply bound by single black ribbons. And beyond where the shadows laid...she could swear she saw blood.
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