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Post by Jadey/Ala/Oria on Apr 21, 2006 11:18:00 GMT -5
The Way of Mists, part 1
In distant corners of Azeroth, they waited. Fleeting rumors had reached them, always shifting and changing as the truth was sought. A deception so clever all rendered by the hands of this one called the Keystone. And yet, what bitter hand in turn shaped him? What falseness of life that wore the finery of a house lost to disrepair?
What of this one called Lady Hallistra?
Upon the battlements of Menethil, the lethal shadowed flower waited. None could pierce the hidden figure's vigil. Briads of indigo, leathers of the gray morn, blade hidden in grave dust. Nothing of him shone beyond the luminous eyes, fierce in there cold calculation.
Within the forest of Feralas, the pale poet moved with alert eyes searching rocky ledges and thick foliage. Moonlight drifting through the canopy burnished his hair silver as that of the gray hyena by his side. Spear in hand, he followed paths to the crest of a cliff, watching the shore and bay towards Feathermoon stronghold.
Lost in the jungles, the wayward leaf moved in slow paths, no shifting of the trees above giving way the prowling cat. The two hunted as wild and untamed as the world around them, yet ever watchful, they wound their way to the height of trollish ruins, waiting for word.
To each the falcon gave cry, the message delivered from the hand of Lord Clearchus. In a touching of stones, they whispered swift words. A gathering was called.
The misfits had a mission.
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Post by Jadey/Ala/Oria on Apr 21, 2006 11:17:43 GMT -5
The Secret Demand, part 4
Of parties and wars...the hunt begins...
The celebrations continued, yet Oria could not take it anymore. Songs and dance had held her spinning and happy. She looked upon the gathering of friends new and old, sought to speak with the pub keeper Seamus, even made entreaties to the intrepid reporters of the ABC.
It was going well...until the attack. While the judges remained outside, discussing the costumes, the light shown from the sky. Flames of green power roses with a shriek as the Infernal attacked the gathered. The target was clear.
Only the night before had Oria truly met and spoke with this warlock called Dinvalis. Through him, he wielded a power of responsibility. One taken seriously to turn back corruption..to smite it through raw power. It seemed his mark was well known.
His falling amid the many guests brought a sudden end to the frivolty. Spells and weapons were brought to bear as others sought to reclaim the warlock from death's domain. And from the edges of the gathering, she saw it.
The world stopped in that moment...the brown robes. As they stood quietly, not moving, they backed away and melted into shadows one by one. She could not see their faces or catch scents with so many about. Taking her staff, she followed.
And there on the steps, where now she stood again, she met Celdia. The druid lover of Nephizul. The one that aided in her torture. The one still roaming her nightmares. And the words...the command...of Clearchus rang in her thoughts. Kill them all on sight. Decreed by the Herzog of Kenafin.
Now she stood on those same steps again, the simple garments of the party long since left behind. Dragonscale and mail covered every inch of her. Donning a helm that left only a slit forher eyes, she prepared to mount the war sabre by her side.
"Oria, what's wrong?" The voice was edged, the warrior's keen eyes on her stance. Zeklor had hunted with Oria before, knew something had spurred the wild. She had fidgeted and turned her eyes wary throughout the evening.
The mailed gauntlet tighted on the reigns of the sabre, her back as steel. "I am not of the cities, Zeklor. The hunt...the wild...the will of Lord Clearchus. Those are me. Not this place. Not any longer." The words warred in her mind, the haze of coming battle and need to hunt a red tide rising.
He reached to lay a hand on her shoulder, sensing the feralness. "I know, Oria. These cities war with our people. You will go. If you have need, call. My blades are yours."
Leaping upon the back of the cat, she nodded. Fierce glowing eyes met his as she took out a letter, sealed with the Herzog Clearchus' signet. Trepidation filled Zeklor...such missives meant one thing. She was seeking a hunt. Alone.
"Oria..."
She slitted her eyes, a soft growl in her helm. "Too long I have held my anger. Too long have I bowed and waited, accepted the chains on what must be done. No more. We are a hunted people. My blood cannot allow that. All others may accept it...not I. I shall be in touch. In the name of the Herzog...I do what I must."
Into the night she bounded. Calling swiftly to Lioro, the great white owl swooped to her arm. And to it, she entrusted letters to the misfits.
Eyes steeled, it was time to end this game.
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Post by Jadey/Ala/Oria on Apr 21, 2006 11:17:18 GMT -5
The Secret Demand, part 3
The nightmare begins... plans and movements... The ball nears...
They met in the quiet of night. The lady in her black leathers, worn with rips and old mends. The gentleman in his simple nondescript fare, just another face among the crowd.
Yet as they spoke of things passing, the truth of their identities was not of simple folk. Czarvich considered what Valeth spoke, every word a crucial piece to the game surrounding him yet again. He had made a bold move in revealing himself. Perhaps...too grand.
And now, the White Hand was loosed from the gates of Brill's lady of terror. As he gave final orders to the elven shadowmaster, the one question he feared was why...why was this fiend loosed? And would she seek him?
Returning to the shadows to continue his work, the Keystone once again was lost from the world.
---//*\\---
Valeth returned to her constant writing of letters. With each missive, she was closer to the answers. The questions left to her by the keystone wound about her thoughts.
Long the hours passed into the night as page upon page filled. When last she laid aside the quill, the constant quandry remained.
"None of this will matter. Something has to be done...some actions taken. If only you were here father, I think your advice would be sound."
The peeking of dawn's light softened the night sky as Valeth stepped out into the air. The crispness was falling away to the warmth of spring. A new dawning...but for which, for whom?
"Perhaps it is time to meet, cousins."
A movement caught her eye as a familiar messenger moved below. Eyes slitting, she left the balcony to the street below.
Darkly hooded, the figure leaned closer. One of the spies with some urgent thing. "There is a gathering soon. An event. Whispers say...it is time to move and pay homage to the Old Ones. Blood for the altar. A sacrifice."
Taking the speaker by the elbow, she hissed him into quiet. "This way. We have plans to make...or are others in the works? What lunacy---"
The speaker neared her ear, whispering the words that struck fear into all that knew of such things.
Her eyes filled with fear, but the voice was awe-touched. "What a sight...indeed..."
---//*\\---
Smiling, Oria settled in the vault with Celah. They spoke gaily, dressed in simple things, digging through their chests of clothing.
"I have no idea what to wear. Though I do have a few stunning pieces I have gatherer over time."
Celah grinned, feeding bit of fish to her simaese Ish'nu. "Oh! I have mine all set! A captain indeed. Blues and this hat, with such long plumes! Though they tickled my nose and made me sneeze while making it."
The priestess wrinkled her brow watching the huntress unpack suits of mail armor. It was lovely, but armor? "Why ever are you going to wear armor to a costume ball?"
Eyes warring in happiness and worry met Celah's. "The world has been too quiet of late when it comes to our enemies. I sometimes feel as if eyes are watching. And that dwarven lass. The green flame that flickered in her eyes. The warnings she spoke. I just...I feel a need to be prepared."
Casting down her eyes to the lovely robes and dress, Oria sighed wistfully. A hand laid on hers, a blessing of peace flowing from it. "Don't trouble yourself with what could happen. Just know that if anything did, we would all stand and fight together. That's what friends do. So! What pretty gown will you wear?"
They laughed and smiled, trying everything they own on. But a shadow remained upon Oria.
Something did not seem quite right.
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Post by Jadey/Ala/Oria on Apr 21, 2006 11:16:54 GMT -5
The Secret Demand, part 2
The missus must be answered...
Eyes closed, she waited patiently within the dry air of the hut. The simple home was heavily laden with the scent of burnt spices. Mats and feathers, masks and dreamcatchers, all the things of Tchan were worn and leeched of bright color. All except the robes. Yet even these blood soaked things were fraying. Everything about him was ancient. His age was a comfort to Alabaster.
Sitting on his basket, she mused over all that had come, all that passed. Hallistra had great demands. Her displeasure had been wrought with a sweet smile and sharp tongue. For too long Alabaster had been kept in Brill, tending a house, learning the protocols of the Banshee Queen. But both knew, she was a killer.
A gruff snort met her ears as the old shaman entered.
"Ya nevah cease ta amaze me, sistah. Dat mah basket ya breakin' wit ya bony--"
She smiled. A real, warm smile. It stopped his blustering as sharply as if Heviosso had touched him. Alabaster was happy...and something more. That smile spoke of many things. His blood began to burn with the dream of war.
"Brotherr, I havee missed you soo. I havee been awayy seekingg visionss in my ownn simplee ways. And in the travelingg of the deadd...the listeningg of that eternall whisperingg...I havee foundd new answerss for the futuree."
He settled before her, bones creaking softly as her own did. Tongueing a chip in his tusk, he nodded. "'Bout time ya havin' visions, sistah. Tell meh."
Her eyes opened slowly, the gleaming of elven eyes. His grin widened in surprise and hunger. She had been successful in regaining the vision again of the Alliance. Malikyte's eye and that of another unknown. And that vision meant a path. So much death and retribution would be theirs. Absently, they both rubbed twinned cuts on the hands.
"Theree is a groupp within the Alliancee. A coven of faithhfull. They seekk some powerr thatt shall grantt us a pathh to the vengeancee we desire so desperatelyy. They are movingg, faster so now. I havee soughtt the wisdomm of one that wouldd holdd their livess upon the pikess of ourr hate. And finallyy the moment has comee for ourr unleashingg."
He pulled forth shells and skulls gathered from the kills of the troll seers. From each Tchan took spices and weeds, things to burn. Stuffing them in the hooka, repaired time and again in humorous fights between them, he prepared the seer's path.
"Who des dat need killin'?"
"Wee teachh thiss covenn a lessonn. Theeirr keystonee is their witchdoctorr. Andd wee huntt anotherr. I shalll showw you, brotherr. Sleep...sleepp and see thiss dreamm."
With a prayer to the loa, fire leapt to his hand, burning the concotion. Taking slow even puffs, his eyes glazed. The smoke took longer to work on Alabaster, but they had found a way by adding dream dust to the mixture.
And soon, they journeyed. The image was there...of a circle of brown robed figures... of a lady rogue... all of them needed hunting... and lessons in pain...
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Post by Jadey/Ala/Oria on Apr 21, 2006 11:16:29 GMT -5
The Secret Demand, part 1 ~Written by Valeth~
A hunt of another kind...
Pacing in slow small circles, Valeth picked at the seems of her armor with a blade. The quandry was not an easy one to traverse. Each side offered benefits veiling terrible retribution in ways unbound by simple things as pain and death. Furrowing her brow, she sought some method of escape while completing what they demanded.
Her life had become letters. Through a network of folk, random heralds, paid goblins, she sent out these words or had others pen them. She would not reveal herself as the Keystone had. Being seen and found had led to issues for the order. Every act had to be scurtinized. Every life considered before his unholy altar.
She would not lose what remained of her soul for the simplicity of tidy answers to pressing problems. At least, not before resolving the standing orders left by her family's honor to the black rook.
The thinking strayed her eyes again to th parchment and inks. "No, I must wait. What I have sent will be reviewed and replied to. Patience, Valeth. For now though..." She sighed watching the blood pool around one night black satchel. It was a crudely made thing from the leathered hide of felbeasts.
The dead one had sent a message in her own way. Reaching out, she flicked open the to peer within. The organ was nothing she could place, pale and strange in the wane candle light. Her breath faster, deeper, she knew what must be done. Taking hold of the flesh, she squeezed. The blood oozed through the thin cuts and marks, etchings of a letter.
Eyes moving quickly over the symbols, her shaking hand stilled. "Something has been stolen. What could Alabaster be seeking? Follow the human woman...the one called...Ilysar."
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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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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 11:15:13 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 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 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 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 11:09:27 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 11:07:43 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 11:06:54 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 11:05:43 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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