So if you get tired of waiting for new posts (considering the new posting limit I have to work through) you can click one of those links to read ahead.
As the main character for the majority of the story is my Rogue, I think some of you may enjoy it. Some parts have been added by other players, and I will mark those sections.
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Part 1.
In the darkness of an alley in Neriak's Foreign Quarter, a shadowed figure crouched, waiting and watching. Emerald eyes shrouded by the inky silk mask it wore were the only hint of color in the blackness. Far above the subterranean caverns, the night sky began to fade into the grey of dawn, and the city began to fall into a restless waking slumber. Even the rumbling voices and quarrels of the Trolls and Ogres abated for a time, leaving the shadow in the alley cloaked in silence.
A door creaked open nearby, and a young man walked out of the bar, smoothing his white hair back as he angled his scabbard more comfortably on his belt. His black cloak was embroidered with the insignia of a minor Noble House, and he walked down towards the Commons of Neriak confidently, his head held high. He took no notice of the alley as he began to pass it, and he did not see the shadow stretching towards him.
In a heartbeat the young noble was swallowed by the darkness, only the softest thump of his leather boot against the cobbles giving sign that anything was amiss.
The dark shrouded form bent around the noble, cinching the garrote tighter around his throat, ignoring his clawing panicked hands flailing back to try to grab it. Hooking a leg around the noble's thighs, the shadow pinned him tightly to silence any noise from his struggles. Tighter and tighter the cord wound, cutting into the Teir`Dal's skin as he fought for breath and life. The killing shadow bent lower, lips brushing the dying man's ear through the silken mask. "It is not wise to speak ill of House S`Therik," whispered the woman's voice, husky as a lover's.
The noble's thrashing stilled, a deep shudder tearing through him at the words, and the last of his strength left him. The shadow held him tight for a few minutes longer before unwinding the garrote from his neck. With a slim blade she finished the cord's work, severing his throat down deep to his spine. Lifting the bottom of her mask, she pressed flushed red lips to his neck, tasting the blood running sluggishly down his chest. She shivered slightly as she sat back up, letting out a slow breath. Quickly she dug into his pouches, and pulled out his House emblem. Dipping her gloved hand into a small pouch at her belt, she smeared a black mark across the engraved metal disk, and dropped it back on the dead man's chest.
Carefully cleaning her glove on the edge of the man's cloak, she tucked her blade and garrote back into hidden pockets. She slipped deeper into the shadows, and moved down into the depths of the city unseen by the guards, a smile lifting her lips under her mask.
Tzanntiel Bloodthorne of House S`Therik
Deadly Shadow of the Ebon Mask
"Oh she wants to conquer the world completely,
But first she'll conquer me discreetly.
The female of the species is more deadly than the male." - Space.
Tzanntiel stirred in the darkness of her chambers, knowing it was deep into the day when most in Neriak sought their rest. She shifted languidly between her silken sheets, sighing softly in satisfaction and pleasure as she tried to decide what had woken her.
Clump. Clump. Clump. Soft and slow and steady. A footstep she knew well, armoured boots walking the corridors of the old manse.
Wriggling silently out of her warm sheets, Tzann pressed a finger to the sleepy lips of the handsome young servant who shared her bed. His eyes fluttered open for a moment before he rolled over, burying his face in the pillows. Tzann smirked, slipping into her silk robe as she padded to her door. The footsteps in the hall receded, passing off to the left of her door. She opened the door a crack, the well oiled hinges making no sound.
Peering out into the dark hallway she saw the man's back, walking slowly away. His dark armour gleamed dully, and one gauntleted hand rested on the hilt of his long blade in its scabbard. Tzann watched him silently, weighing his tired gait in her memories. As a child she never remembered hearing his step. He had always moved with the silent grace of a panther, but now his heavy armour dragged his shoulders down when he thought no one was watching. He reached the end of the hall and turned towards the stairway, pausing. Tzann frowned as she studied his profile; the deep lines on his face, the faint yellowing of once-silver hair drawn back in a traditional short tail at the nape of his neck.
Slipping the door closed, Tzanntiel stepped across her room silently, gazing out the small window at the quiet courtyard below. Age comes ungracefully to Vazkiel S`Therik, she thought to herself as she watched the skeletal guards slowly crossing the grounds. She knew her mother was looking much the same, her body gaunt from long centuries of practicing the Necromantic arts, though she was currently heavy with a child who was due to be born in about five months. The sixth, and Tzanntiel figured last, child of Sikaethia's Matronship.
A soft sigh escaped her as she thought of the young noble in the alley. What use defending her House while she watched its strength aging away in her father and mother. If no one else could step forward to lead House S`Therik, its fate was inevitable. She could not assassinate everyone who would move against them. Neither did she feel that she would make a suitable Matron to the House. She was more at home in the shadows, helping the House from the darkness, and in the underbelly of the city, rather than sitting at the Council of Nobles, and in the drawing rooms of the Empire. Thinking over the variety of her siblings and cousins, aunts and uncles, she could think of only one who could run the House as well as Matron Sikaethia. Her older brother, Khasirath.
But Khasirath was gone. Just after the last meeting of the Violent Harvest he had vanished, and no one had found any trace of him. Tzanntiel refused to believe that he was dead, but she could also not explain why he was gone. Honorable to a fault, he would never have abandoned his duties to his House. Not one of her contacts anywhere on Norrath or Luclin had heard rumor of him, or whatever plot had taken him in the ten years since he'd been seen.
Leaving her plaything to sleep, Tzanntiel walked back to the door, and listened a moment to be certain her father hadn't returned to the hall before she slipped out and walked down the hall to another door like her own. It was unlocked, and Tzann let herself in and closed the door behind her. This room was far plainer than her own suite, and she saw her sister kneeling on the bare floor under the window, meditating. Sighing she sat down beside Vhalshae and waited for the younger woman to come out of it.
After a while Vhalshae lifted her head, turning endless black eyes on her sister. "You've been thinking about him again," she said quietly.
Tzann frowned and nodded. It always unnerved her when the young Prophetess seemed to be able to read her mind. "Have you seen anything, Vhal? I've had no luck at all."
Vhalshae looked out the window again, thoughtfully. "I know he is alive, Tzann. But not free. It is very hard to understand what I've seen. The dreams are very dark, very troubled."
"If he's alive then we have to try to find him. Please tell me everything you can remember," Tzanntiel said.
The young Prophetess looked back at her sister, seeming to shrink into herself as she thought about what she had seen. "Normally I would have another from the Spires to help scribe the vision, to help me translate. I am not certain if I can explain it all to you well enough."
Tzann closed her eyes as she tried hard to control her temper. "Do your best, Vhalshae. Anything you can tell me is more than I have now."
Breathing slowly and deeply, Vhalshae drifted back into meditation, speaking softly and hollowly as she let the vision flow back into her. "Cold stone is his bed and bier, deep within the halls of those who fight and serve Hate in the same breathless breath. Blood and Hate are all he knows now. He remains true, trapped as in ice, or amber."
Shaking off a sudden chill, Tzanntiel sat quietly, thinking on the strange words. Vhalshae slowly returned to herself and stood up, walking over to her narrow bed stiffly. "It's the best I've been able to see," she said quietly. "I need to rest now."
Tzanntiel walked back to her room slowly, slipping back into her warm bed. Her plaything tucked an arm around her waist as she lay on her side, thinking and planning. There was a lot of work to do, and she feared there was not much time left to do it.
Weeks stretched into months as Tzanntiel searched for answers, following the riddle of her sister's vision. She had not left Neriak much since Khasirath's disappearance, but now she traveled across the whole of Norrath, looking for clues, gathering information, and laying her plans. Many of her guesses proved wrong as she explored old ruins and cities for signs of her brother.
Finally she came to Faydwer, the one land on Norrath where she was least welcome. There was almost nowhere in this mystic land for a Teir`Dal to find shelter or assistance. But Tzanntiel had a few contacts; informants of looser morals than most, and those rare few who had come to owe her favors whether they wished to or not. She crossed the dark forests in secrecy, careful to avoid the many light elves who patrolled these lands to destroy those such as herself.
Passing through the eldest parts of the Faydark, she came to a pass in the hills, and crossed through into a narrow valley that housed an ancient castle. She moved slowly through the dark graveyard and secret passages into the castle itself. The smell of death was heavy in this place, and even heavier was the musky scent of the undead. The lesser vampires and other creatures out in the grounds did not frighten her; but here, within the castle walls, she knew that if she was discovered, she would be quickly overwhelmed by their numbers.
"Father guide my hate," she prayed deep within her thoughts as she wandered the dusty catacombs. The shrill piping of gypsy flutes and the dull thump of drums carried through the stone ceiling above her, and she slowed her step again, placing each foot cautiously on the dry and broken flagstones.
The passages twisted on and on, and she concentrated hard to be sure she checked every inch of them. Turning down into a short dead end she suddenly smelled something odd. Something alive, but only barely so. Crouching down she closed her eyes, drawing in a deeper breath. Her head turned this way and that as she tried to discern where the faint odor was coming from. Turning to the left she opened her eyes, and saw that some stones at the base of the wall were disturbed.
Looking back down the corridors she made sure that none of the castle's creatures were nearby, then she went to the stones and searched them. They loosely covered a burial niche, a commoner's crypt that housed a body that clearly was not dead. Tzanntiel touched the pale and greyed indigo wrist that she glimpsed through the stones. A jolt went through her as she recognized the thin parallel scars across the wrist, and the bracer that lay on the ground nearby, obviously clawed away by the beasts so that they could feed. A number of their bites marred his skin, unhealed, but bloodless.
With surprising strength, Tzanntiel pushed away more of the stones, and looked in at her brother. He looked like he was sleeping, but he was so still that she feared she was too late after all. She saw the strange wide collar around his neck, and slid her fingers along it. She felt no hinges, no clasps, only the smooth metal and the strange bumps and carvings of symbols and runes. His lance lay across his chest, his other hand resting over it.
Tzanntiel stepped back into the shadows at the end of the corridor. She slipped the emblem of House S`Therik from her pouch and held it tight in her palm, concentrating on her cousin Tevesh. Focussing on her memory of the baldheaded Teir`Dal warrior, imagining the sound of his voice, willing him to hear her. She felt a slight dizziness as her thoughts reached him.
"Tzann?" came his confused thought.
Frowning in concentration, Tzanntiel replied in thought alone, "Tevesh, if our House means anything to you, you must do as I ask, now and without speaking to anyone. Go to the great ice bridge in Thurgadin and wait for me, you will understand very soon."
"Th'rg'din?" her cousin asked in his usual broken speech.
"There's no time for questions. Go now, and contact me when you are there!" she thought fiercely, focussing all of the urgency she felt into the words. Carefully she returned her House sigil to her pouch and settled back into hiding to wait, her emerald eyes focussed on Khasirath's deathly still form.
How long will it take him, she wondered. An hour, maybe two, depending on where he was, maybe less if she was lucky and he had been in Shadow Haven, or somewhere else near to the Nexus of Luclin. Trying not to worry about it, Tzann found a comfortable place to rest in hiding, and watched the lesser vampires who occasionally wandered the crypts. Bent and twisted, they were more beast than man, unlike the true vampires, who possessed a keen intellect and were far more dangerous.
Usually the creatures would walk down the larger main passage, hardly even looking down into the little dead end where Khasirath was buried and Tzanntiel was hidden. She tried to time their crossings, to see if there was an actual patrol. Knowing when to expect them would be helpful for what she had planned. But she could discern no pattern. Apparently the vampires wandered freely, searching for prey and intruders in a haphazard fashion.
She had been watching for perhaps forty minutes when another vampire crawled down the main corridor. But this one paused, swinging its head to look down the dead end with blazing red, bestial eyes. On its hands and feet it scuttled closer, sniffing at the air. Tzanntiel shifted her grip on her weapons and waited, still as the wall behind her. The vampire stopped at the pile of stones, lowering its head to smell them.
Tzanntiel narrowed her eyes as she watched, wondering if it could smell her on the stones, or if it realized that they had been moved. She crouched a bit as she prepared to fight the thing, if it should discover her.
The vampire crawled in closer to the niche, turning its back to Tzanntiel as it snatched at Khasirath's wrist, lifting it up to its fearsome mouth. Tzann's stomach turned at the growling and sucking noises as the thing fed on her brother's slowly moving blood. In silence she ground her teeth, fighting to control the building rage, wanting nothing more than to destroy the thing for laying its filthy claws on her brother. But she couldn't be certain of a silent death, and the danger of a fight drawing more of the creatures was too great.
So she hid and she watched, and she banked her rage, feeling it burn and twist inside her. Someday she would return, and repay them. Every disgusting sound of the creature's feeding she absorbed, committing it to memory, stoking the hate within. It seemed to go on for a very long time before the vampire finally dropped Khasirath's arm to the stones and wandered back into the dark crypts.
Two more times a vampire walked down the main corridor before Tzanntiel heard Tevesh's thoughts again, saying that he was at the bridge. She crept back to Khasirath's side, ignoring the fresh holes in his flesh as she picked up his bracer and strapped it loosely onto his wrist, then she looked through his pouches. It didn't take long for her to find what she needed, a small vial that was made not of clay, or even glass, it looked like it was made entirely of ice, and inside it was a liquid the deep blue of a glacier's heart.
Carefully she lifted Khas' head, and cracked open the vial. Through her gloves she could feel the cold of the liquid as she poured it into her brother's mouth, careful not to spill a single drop. His lips went white as the potion pooled inside his mouth. She dropped the vial and gripped the little bit of his neck that she could reach above the collar, massaging and squeezing it carefully. He did not react at all. "By Hate you must swallow," she hissed angrily, squeezing harder. Slowly the cold draught slipped past his throat and suddenly Khasirath disappeared in a sparkling swirl of frost.
Tzanntiel quickly slipped back into hiding, looking through the small niche to be sure none of her brother's things had been left behind. Once she was certain, she walked back out of the catacombs, hurrying as fast as stealth would allow towards the pass to the forest.
Tevesh paced along the ice bridge in Thurgadin, cursing under his breath at the cold, and the ugly Coldain, and his crazy cousin for dragging him halfway across the world for no good reason. She hadn't even answered when he told her he was here. Maybe it was just a joke at his expense. His armour clanked quietly as he turned again, back towards the gates out of the city.
Suddenly an odd wind picked up, whistling under the bridge and around Tevesh. He narrowed his eyes, hissing another venomous curse. But as the wind died he saw something in front of him on the bridge. A body. Stepping closer he recognized it. Khasirath, first son of his House, the golden boy who was supposedly 'destined' to be his ruler one day. He looked dead, and there was no sign of Tzanntiel anywhere.
Tevesh crouched down beside Khasirath's still form and picked him up, surprised at how light he felt. Standing straight Tevesh looked up and down the bridge. No Tzanntiel, in fact, no one at all in sight. He shrugged to himself and walked to the edge of the bridge, leaning over to look down into the frozen jagged caverns far below, where it was rumored the Dain kept all manner of deadly creatures to dispose of captured enemies.
Looking back at Khasirath's stony grey face, Tevesh raised an eyebrow. No one would ever find a body down there....
Tzanntiel ran across the Faydark forests this time, using speed rather than stealth to avoid the guards. In the larger of the Faydarks she loped parallel to the narrow paths until she came to the Combine Spires. The Scion passed her a fragment without question. The Combine refused to become involved in the various politics of Norrath, and they kept their Spires open to everyone who wanted to use them.
Settling in the shadow of one of the immense spires of stone, Tzann tried to contact Tevesh again, closing her eyes as she sent out her thoughts towards him.
"Tevesh?" she sent.
"Yea', 'im h're," came his annoyed reply.
"Good, good. Bring him to the Nexus, quickly. I will meet you there. I'm waiting on the Spires right now," Tzann told him, careful even in this form of communication to leave as many details sketchy as she could.
"Al'ight," Tevesh growled.
It wasn't much longer before Luclin came into alignment with the Spires of Faydwer, and their magic enfolded Tzanntiel, carrying her away to the Nexus, deep within Luclin. There she had to wait, knowing Tevesh would have to carry Khasirath out of Thurgadin through the snow fields to the Spires of Velious where he too would be transported. She wandered around the platform, losing herself in the busy crowds that always passed through the Nexus, in a hurry to get to this place or that.
After a time, people began appearing on the platform, surrounded by the cold smell of snow. Tzann pressed forward, and found Tevesh carrying Khasirath in his arms. She tossed a spare cloak over her brother's body, letting out a sigh of relief that Tevesh had done what she wanted.
The bald warrior looked down at her, glowering, but Tzann just smiled back. "I can never thank you enough, cousin. Follow me, it won't take long."
Tevesh grumbled, but nodded, and followed her to Shadow Haven, to a small house which Tzanntiel had been renting. She unlocked the door, and had Tevesh put Khasirath's cold body on the bed.
As he turned back around, Tzanntiel slid her arms around him, ignoring the chill of his armour. Leaning up she nuzzled his chin. "Thank you, Tev. You're wonderful."
Tevesh chuckled deeply, slipping his arms around her, squeezing her tight. "I be s're ye w'll f'nd a w'y te m'ke it upta me," he growled, one of his hands sliding over her rump as he bent his head down to run his lips across her throat.
Tzanntiel purred deeply as she pressed into her cousin. He didn't notice the whispering voice from a shadowed corner near the bed. His arms went limp around Tzann as magic tendrils snaked lazily around him.
Tzann looked up into Tevesh's blank eyes, a wry smirk on her lips. She reached up and traced his lip with a fingertip. "Sorry, cousin. It's best this way," she whispered.
A Teir`Dal woman wearing elegant sapphire robes stepped out of the shadows behind Tevesh, watching Tzanntiel with an unreadable gaze. An ornate scimitar was sheathed at her belt and in her hand was a staff topped with the black head of a cobra. Its tongue flicked out now and again, its hood twisting as it looked around the room. The woman stroked a fingertip across its scaled brow as if to soothe it.
Stiffly Tevesh turned to face the woman. Her sapphire eyes looked into his with a touch of distaste. "You did not see Tzanntiel or Khasirath today. Nor did you see me, and you did not come to this building. You did not go anywhere out of the ordinary, or see anyone unusual. You decided to go out for a night of drinking, which you will do once you leave this place. You will thoroughly enjoy yourself, but remember very little."
Tevesh blinked slowly, his face slack, his whole body limp as he swayed slightly.
"Do you understand me, Tevesh S`Therik?" the woman asked sharply.
"Yes," he muttered, as if asleep.
"Very good. Now go and do what I told you, and remember nothing," the woman pointed towards the door, and Tevesh wandered out slowly without looking at Tzanntiel or anything else.
Tzanntiel turned to the woman, letting out a soft sigh. "Thank you, Kassy."
Kassy turned away from Tzanntiel, and walked to the bed. She pulled the cloak away to look down into Khasirath's face. Gently she ran her fingertips along his cold cheek. "Just take good care of him, Tzanntiel. That will be thanks enough."
Tzann nodded, watching Kassy's back. "I have to ask you not to try and follow us. It will be dangerous until I have freed him."
Frowning, Kassy turned around, her eyes dark. "I could help you find a way, though. I know quite a bit more about magic than you do."
Sighing, Tzann nodded, "I know you do, but it is far too dangerous. I have much better chances of keeping him alive alone."
Kassy turned her back on Tzanntiel again, looking back at Khasirath. "Fine. But if you fail, pray to your dark god that I never see you again." With a whispered incantation, the Enchantress vanished.
Tzanntiel closed her eyes for a long moment, steadying herself. Then she went and locked and trapped her doors and windows, double checking that all the windows were well covered. Somehow she felt the worst was yet to come.
Re: Visions of Darkness Rising
(Originally posted by Kassy Na`Verdis)
Several days before Shadowhaven
Kassy yawned as she walked through the dark streets of the human city. In the time that had passed since the day when the Violent Harvest had set the land ablaze with the flames of Hate the city had rebuilt what was destroyed, reinforced what was not. The Tier'Dal had never fully forgiven herself for being away from her home when the axe had fallen, but she'd had little choice in the matter.
Silently she passed closed stalls in the merchant district, darkened tents, and quieted homes. Luclin was reaching her zenith when she arrived at the simple wooden door of her two story home. With a word and a gesture she released the wizard lock that held the door fast. Though there were none in the city of Qeynos who would dare to enter the home of a powerful magic user, let alone a dark elf, there were reasons for keeping it secure. More than once she'd overheard young boys daring eachother to sneak in and return with some trophy of the Tier'Dal's. She'd chuckled, but started using the magical seal anyway, more for the safty of the local children than that of her things.
As she pushed the door inward, the bottom caught on something. Parchment scraped against the stone floor with a quiet crackling. Kass bent, yawning again, and lifted the folded letter, closing the door with a soft nudge from her foot as she rose. The parchment was unaddressed, in fact entirely unmarked, which was odd. With less than a thought globes of light appeared in the four corners of the room, soft blues and pale yellows illuminating the room fully but without the harshness of daylight or the flicker of candles. Studying the exterior in light proved no more useful than in darkness. She cracked the wax seal and unfolded the letter.
For an instant time stood still. Kassy didnt blink, didnt breath. She only stared at the image drawn upon the parchment. After a moment she noticed the writing below the precise drawing. Her silver brows furrowed slightly as she read the note again. Then she nodded and dropped the parchment to her work table.
When the sun rose the enchantress' house was once again wizard locked and empty. On the table in the living room lay a single piece of parchment, a sword of thorns emblazened upon it in red ink.
Kassy Na'Verdis
Phantasmist
Brell Serilis
Yes I have my snake. No, you cant touch it.
The first thing Tzanntiel decided to do was to take stock of Khasirath's condition. Carefully she took off his pouches and pack, and stored his things away in a trunk. The leather was dry and worn, cracking if she was anything less than gentle with it. Taking off his armor she saw it was in even worse shape. The straps of the armour were badly cracked and split, and insects had gotten inside and eaten away the padding, leaving scraps and filth everywhere. She stripped the remnants of the padding from the armour and wiped it down before putting it away in the trunk.
Carefully she cleaned Khasirath's body. Despite the years without motion, he was only moderately stiffened, and there was no bruising along his back, though he did seem to have lost some weight and muscle. She looked more closely at the bites on his wrist. They did not bleed, but they did not seem to be healing on their own. After she cleaned his arm she bent down, and licked across the punctures from the vampires' fangs. His skin had turned a sallow slate grey, his normally vivid blood-red markings faded to a dusky grey-rose color. Only the sword like sigil across his nose and brow retained it's true crimson hue.
His nails and hair had continued to slowly grow. His nails had been trapped within his gloves and boots, curving to match their shape and digging back into his skin. Tzann pared them away bit by bit with a sharp knife, returning them to their proper shape. His hair had been braided back, as he always did when he was going out hunting. It had grown out, bunching up wildly, and filthy from the dust and the bugs. His goatee was in a similar chaotic state. It took Tzann hours to comb and wash his hair, but she did it all carefully and methodically, focussing on each task to the exclusion of everything else. She trimmed his hair and goatee neatly, and tied his hair back in a black ribbon.
The only thing she left on her brother was the hematite symbol of Innoruuk that marked him as an Initiate of the Spires. It hung beneath the wide dull gold collar that she could not remove. Closer inspection of the collar had verified her earlier probing. There was absolutely no seam, no hinge, no lock or any other clue of how it was put on, or how it could come off. She got some thin parchment and took impressions from the collar, rubbing over the paper with a stub of charcoal. She also copied all the symbols and strange runes on more paper, disposing of any copy that had errors and starting over fresh.
She left Khasirath on her bed, covered in soft blankets, and doubled the traps on the apartment before she went out into the city to seek information and to call in a few favors.
Walking through Shadow Haven, Tzanntiel felt like she was being watched. Perhaps Kassy won't give up so easily, she thought. She wandered through the city slowly, stopping through a number of shops, and looking through the wares of the street vendors as she tried to catch sight of whomever was following her. But nothing in the varied crowds caught her eye. There was no one she recognized, and she didn't find any strangers following her either. So she continued on to the library more directly, figuring it was only paranoia.
To get to the library one must cross a strange bridge of twisted stone that had been shaped hundreds of years ago by underground streams. There were no handrails on this bridge, no ropes or nets to protect a person from a bad fall. It was always rather quiet in this corner of the city, and she saw no one around. Tzanntiel started to cross the bridge without worry, agile as a cat.
Halfway across the thin bridge someone grabbed her arm. She turned around sharply, ready to fight. But she stopped when she recognized the Teir`Dal man's face.
"Forlourne," she whispered, looking up into the Shadow Knight's wolfish red eyes.
He smiled as he drew her closer, rubbing his cheek against her hair as he drew in a deep breath. "Tzanntiel. You've been to Mistmoore! I'm very surprised at you. You know the Dark Lord doesn't like those of us who aren't bound to him snooping around his castle."
Tzanntiel shivered as she slid her arms around Forlourne's waist, hiding her face against his chest. "I know, I know. But I had no choice."
Forlourne stroked the back of Tzann's neck gently. "And somehow I sense that no matter how I ask you, you are not going to explain why," he said with a sigh. "There are days I almost regret taking you, childe. Almost," he chuckled deeply.
Tzanntiel squeezed him tight, her heart beating faster. "I swear they never knew I was there. And I should not have to go back any time soon."
He grinned as he lifted her chin with one finger, forcing her to look up into his eyes. "Very well, my childe. For now you escape your punishment. But watch your back, I sense trouble shadowing your path."
She nodded quickly, staring deeply into his eyes, feeling lost in the power within him. "Thank you, Forlourne. I promise I will be careful, master," she whispered softly.
Forlourne chuckled deeply, smoothing back her hair. He lifted his arm, pulling back his sleeve to expose his wrist. "Here, Tzann. You look like you could use the extra strength. Drink."
Closing her eyes, Tzanntiel tried for a moment to resist. But the smoothness of his skin against her lips, and the scent of his flesh took the choice away from her. She took hold of Forlourne's wrist, feeling her fangs extending as she bit into his skin, the heat of his blood rushing into her mouth. It was so much more intense than the thin blood of that noble in Neriak. Drinking deeply she felt the power of the older vampire's blood rushing through her whole body. A shudder ripped through her as she remembered the lesser vampire bending over her brother's arm the same way. But no! She was not the same as that beast. Struggling for control of her hunger, she pulled away, licking over the two small wounds as she felt them closing and healing.
Forlourne leaned closer, catching her lips with his own, growling deeply as he tasted his own blood on her mouth. "Very good pet," he whispered. "Go on your way now, I won't be far."
Tzanntiel turned away from him slowly, and walked down the bridge towards the library. When she paused to look back, Forlourne had disappeared. She drew a deep breath, and went on into the great stone building.
After passing through the front hall where the Monks did their training, she climbed the great arching staircases and went into the grand library. Some of the librarians frowned down at her as she browsed the shelves, ignoring their sneers. She didn't touch any of the books, in truth she wasn't even reading the titles. When no one was looking she slipped a black trillium flower into one of the vases between the shelves, then left as quietly as she had come.
Re: Visions of Darkness Rising
(Originally posted by Zirrix T`Rhennic)
General Zirrix stood in his war room, deep in the bowls of T’Rhennic Keep, and looked over the various troop dispositions. From the outposts in Faydwer, to the agents on Luclin. From the shipyards of Danak, to the patrols in Velious. The mark of the Empire was virtually everywhere. The only places that there was no Dark Elven presence is where they did not wish one to be. His was one of the oldest and strongest Great Houses of the Empire. As time went on, more and more he had been forced into taking a place of command within the Imperial Council. He had become more of a nobleman and less a soldier. The rest of the time he was tied down with the demands of being on the General Staff of the Indigo Brotherhood. He was called a hero by his people and elder leader of Neriak by their Imperial Majesties. Yet still, the battles between the mortals raged on. It was victory on some days and stalemates on others. But through it all, the Dark Prince was pleased with the hate the conflicts produced. Likewise, the God Rallos Zek, whom Zirrix revered, was pleased that the strong fought against each other and the weakling inferiors were crushed into dust. Each century more and more of the Respected Race were born into the world. In time, perhaps not his lifetime but in time, they would rend everything asunder in hate, death and war. Lifting his head proudly, the aged Warrior saw in his mind’s eye the banner of the Empire and House T’Rhennic, sweeping across flame and carnage filled landscapes. Destroying everything and exterminating all races not born Teir’dal, cleansing the way for the Children of Neriak to fulfill their destiny of vengeance and victory. Looking at the maps, his deep green eyes containing a smoldering fire of anticipation, the General began to think how long it had been since he had been in personal combat.
A brief flicker of emotion flashed across his stoic visage, as he remembered the days of glory and honor with his comrades in the legendary Violent Harvest. Looking off to the corner of the room he saw the exquisite set of enchanted Teir’dal plate armor. It had been fashioned for him by a fellow member of the Harvest. Above it was his twin long swords, both magical and holding an awesome power. Ever since a brief while back, when he had felt a slight spark of power emanating from his guild badge, something in him had seemed to stir. The sensation of energy had faded from the insignia, but he could not seem to dismiss the feeling of awakening. Walking over to stand before the swords, Zirrix nodded to himself slowly and made a decision. Speaking softly in a low threatening tone he said, “It has been too long the Lightcrawler subraces have breeded like the vermin they are. It is time now for a loyal soldier of the Empire to ride forth and cull them”. Calling to his aide, he began to don his armor and give a series of commands. He did not know where he would begin or when he would stop. But, as he gripped his weapons, he felt his heart beat yet again with the anticipation of battle and victory. As he left the Keep, Zirrix was heard by the House Guards to whisper, “Cull them…cull them all”.
Re: Visions of Darkness Rising
(Originally posted by Shaede Wavecaller)
Shaede turned from the fallen and broken castle in the middle of the Lands of Dread. Calling on her magic her image shimmered and quickly faded. She knew that this was only a precautionary measure as some of the creatures here had senses they relied on more then sight, but it gave her some protection against the majority of them.
She moved through the differing areas of Kunark making her way to the place she now calls home. Home... The word sparked strong emotions within her as she recalled the last few years.
After the disbanding of the Harvest she wandered. Afraid to return to Neriak after the issues that she had with House T`Rhennic and the failed coup of Daiunus. She shuddered at that thought, she was instrumental in the removal of Khasirath. She had located the collar, she had assisted in the locating of it, she had lured Khasirath into the trap that took him and placed him out of time.
Her mind trailed back from those unpleasant thoughts and back on where she had been. How many years did she live in Grobb? How many years did she lash out against the denizens of Guk, trying to empty herself of the rage and hatred she felt for herself. Innoruuk blessed her with hatred unquenchable, but she was cursed with the fact that it centered mainly at herself.
She sighed softly, from Grobb she moved back into the foreign quarter of Neriak. Afraid to travel much deeper then the commons for fear of being identified, she made her home there and hid from her past. That lasted for another four, maybe five years until she stumbled into Tzlar in the spires. She had backed into him while he was speaking with someone. Wearing common robes of an initiate and no house symbol the words from Tzlar where brief and venomous and she ran from there quickly. Shortly after that she ran from Neriak.
Shaede barely noticed as the lands changed into a deep and primordial forest. She took only brief breaks to get her bearings and maintain her invisibility. Huge insects and animals wandered past her, the magic hiding her from them. She continued on, her mind returning to the past.
After Neriak she spent about a year wandering the lands, trying to find someplace she could hide and be welcome. She tried Luclin, most of the cities there opened their arms to people but it did not feel right, hiding amongst potential enemies and worse yet, the lightborne. She eventually decided on Kunark. Wandering the jungles and deserts she finally found the one place where no one would look for her.
The fallen city appeared before her. She made her way through the twisting corridors that lead into the city. She drew upon the power of her magic and called forth a companion. The elemental came as she called, her new master. She belonged to her pact and she was more the pet then the elemental was hers.
She watched in fascination as the magical fire of the creature burned away the ghostly defenders of the city. Her heart raced as the creature attacked the magical defenders, left here by the former residents, continued their duties long after their creators passed on. Clearing her way to the stables she fought the filthy creatures that where comprised of pools of magical fluids. Arriving at the spot she sought she stepped into the stall she called home now.
Her things where carefully hidden and she checked through them as she pulled them from their hiding place. With a thought the elemental made it's way into the fire pit she had made for it. "Watch me my master, let none take me in my sleep." Summoning forth some food and water she ate, her blue eyes dancing in the light of the elemental. After eating she called forth her blanket and laid down.
The feral Tier'Dal had many dreams that night.
None of them pleasant.
That evening, Tzanntiel sat in a private drinking room at one of the bars in Shadow Haven. One of the proprietors opened the door, bowing his head as he showed in her guest. Tzanntiel smiled wide as the young man joined her at the small table. He blushed as he bowed his head in greeting, setting the black trillium on the tabletop between them. The young Combine was one of the acolytes who worked at the library, and had access to all of the various restricted sections as part of his work.
She had chosen him carefully, a few years ago, when she decided to make a base of operations for herself on Luclin. He was awkward and very shy with women, and quite devoted to his studies. She teased and seduced him, and eventually had him addicted to her blood as well. Such a servant was very loyal, eager to take any risk to please their master. She had ordered him a glass of wine before he arrived, and added some of her blood to the glass. It wouldn't do to have such a nervous young man knowing what she was.
As they sat and drank, Tzanntiel passed him a copy of the rubbings and sketches she had taken from the collar. She told him all she knew of its effects, and explained that she only needed to know how to open it.
The acolyte frowned as he looked over the pages. "I... I've never seen anything like this. But I'll do everything to find out how to do it. I promise." His eyes shone with fierce devotion as he looked up at Tzanntiel.
Tzann smiled warmly at him, brushing her fingertips across his wrist. "I know you can do it. Leave me a message here when you have some information."
She walked out of the bar, and watched from the safety of the shadows as the acolyte hurried back towards the library. Once the street was quiet, she walked back to her rented house, to check on her brother. She couldn't keep him at that house for long. Someone may have seen him being brought in, and come poking around. Moving frequently was her best option at this point, though it complicated things.
The little house in Shadow Haven was a flurry of activity. A handful of servants from House S`Therik were there cleaning and packing and moving bundles of Tzanntiel's belongings to a new apartment in a nicer quarter of town. Tzanntiel sat on the empty bed, watching them hurry in and out the door. Three large trunks sat beside her, already packed and strapped and well locked.
About midway through the work Tzanntiel felt a weight settle onto the bed beside her. She turned and smiled as a rough voice said, "I am here, Mistress."
Tzanntiel nodded to one of the servants who was passing by the bedroom door. With a quick bow they closed the door then hurried off to continue their work.
"Very good, you may reveal yourself," she said. Immediately a human in heavy black armour appeared, sitting on the bed next to her, his head lowered slightly though he stared into her eyes, his black eyes full of unveiled hunger and danger. A claymore was sheathed across his back, the hilt angled over his shoulder.
Tzanntiel purred as she climbed into the large man's lap, straddling his hips as she leaned into him. His arms wrapped around her possessively. Tzanntiel smiled as she said, "I'm so glad you are here. You and your brother are the only ones I can trust with this."
The man hardly seemed to be listening as he pressed his lips to her neck, crushing her against his chest with a deep growl. He nipped and kissed along her throat to her lips, and Tzanntiel wound her fingers into his wild hair, scratching at the back of his neck teasingly as she kissed him. "Are you hungry, my pet?" she whispered.
With another rough growl, the Shadow Knight nodded, squeezing his eyes closed as he held her. Tzanntiel leaned back her head and drew one of her nails across her own neck, thick blood welling up in the path of the talon-like nail. The Knight immediately pressed his lips to the cut, holding Tzanntiel tightly as he drank her blood. Tzanntiel's eyes drifted closed as she purred deeply.
After a few minutes, Tzanntiel pushed the big man's head away from her throat. He looked up at Tzann, his eyes glazed with the sensations her blood gave him. Tzann traced a fingertip along his stubbly jaw, smiling at him. "Such a good pet," she purred, half-teasing, half-fondly, "I need you to take these three trunks for me. Don't let anyone touch them, and never let them be opened. I know you and your brother can keep them safe, you are the toughest Knights in the caverns, right?"
He chuckled deeply as he gave Tzann another fierce bear-hug, nodding. "Of course, Mistress. No one will touch your things."
Tzann leaned closer, her lips brushing against his. Her tongue flicked out, tracing the edge of his lower lip. "Good," she whispered to him. "I would be so disappointed if you failed me."
The fierce man's hands trembled against Tzann's back as he shook his head hard. "No, no, no! I would never fail you. Never! Your things will be left alone or my brother and I will die to defend them."
Looking up into his dark eyes, Tzanntiel gave him an impish grin. "I don't want you two dead. Live, so that you might enjoy your rewards when I come to recover those boxes." She kissed him again deeply, basking in the demanding roughness of his mouth. Her hands caressed his stubbled cheeks, and slid over the hard metal of his breastplate as his own hands explored her back and legs with bruising strength.
She teased him a few minutes more, then sat back again. "You should hurry now. It'll be best to take them one at a time, so you can fight if need be."
Though he clearly did not want to leave, the Knight nodded his head, rubbing her shoulder with all the gentleness he could muster as she stood up. "Of course, Mistress Bloodthorne."
He took the first of the trunks, and whispered a few eldrich words. The shadows of the room rushed to him, binding to his form like a second skin before he vanished completely from sight, trunk and all. Tzanntiel smiled with delight, staring at the place he had been standing. "Fantastic," she whispered as she crossed the room and opened the bedroom door. She felt the slightest of drafts as the magic-shrouded Knight walked past her.
Tzanntiel walked through the house, watching the servants do their work. She smiled as she thought about the Knight and his brother. They were two of the Lieutenants of the Shadow Knight Guildmaster in the hidden city within Echo Caverns. An outpost populated by criminals and madmen. How she loved it! The Knight brothers had been an exceptional find, and she truly believed her things would be safe with them. If not, the Rogue's Guildmaster would be watching their back. He had been harder to win over, a cold and calculating man of incredible skill. But Tzanntiel was never one to accept no when there was something she wanted.
The first trunk the Knight had taken contained some of Tzanntiel's spare gear, extra things she liked to keep caches of for emergencies. The third held all of Khasirath's gear and armour. It was the second trunk that was most important. Within it her brother was wrapped in blankets and furs, curled up like a babe in its mother's womb. The trunk was well designed, with concealed gnomeish valved air holes that would keep water out of the trunk yet allow fresh air in. It was further enchanted by one of Tzanntiel's talented friends to be surprisingly durable, practically armoured, while it actually reduced the weight of what was contained within. The locks on each trunk Tzanntiel had tested and trapped herself. Anyone trying to open those boxes would have quite a challenge.
Within an hour, all three trunks had disappeared under the cover of the house being emptied. Tzanntiel went to her new apartment for the evening, and spent the time making fresh copies of her sketches of the collar's designs.
Re: Visions of Darkness Rising
(Originally posted by Daiunus Daarkenvalor)
Daiunus stood on the balcony of the Grange, overlooking Neriak's bustling streets. Although the Grange was almost empty now, only the former Thresher and 4 of his 10 disciples now lived in the once grand building, he still felt as if it was his only home. He had hoped many of the former inhabitants would return to the building once he had paid the unpaid taxes to the city, and reopened its doors, but that had not been the case. All he had knocking on his doors were fools, sellswords and children, none of which he wanted to grace the halls of Innoruuk's chosen.
He stood, overlooking the city, remembering days of past glory, and of the commanders of the Harvest, his beloved Reaper, the man he came to betray as the days ended within the Harvest. This man was Khasirath, a great leader, but who had lost his lust for the Culling, and after months of watching his best friend and liege waste away, decided to take action, and try to save Innoruuk's might. It had failed, the Harvest stopped, and the Grange emptied. He regretted what had been done, what he had to do in those days, but now, he had heard some disturbing news. For he had not killed the Reaper, he had arranged, with the help of Shaede, a mage of the Harvest, to have the Reaper incapacitated and "stored" in the bowels of Castle Mistmoore.
Now the Reaper was missing, his contacts within the mighty citadel had told him. He remembered the recesses of the Castle where he had arranged Khasirath to be held, a place he believed no harm would come of the Reaper, and he could figure out how to return the fire to his friend's sword. Now, it had come undone, he did not know if he was known to be involved in this horrible act, but if it was, his life was forfeit. He could not help but smile, his fate was sealed, but more importantly, Khasirath was back, and if anything would refuel his liege's fire, it would be knowledge of the treason committed. The Thresher returned inside the Grange, looking to one of his disciples who he had found within Neriak, " Open the doors Espion, we will have visitors soon." He smiled again, knowing in a strange way, he had done the will of Innoruuk, to return the god's chosen commander to the cause.
Daiunus Darkenvalor
Former Thresher of the Harvest
Traitor to his Liege
Re: Visions of Darkness Rising
(Originally posted by Creapiing)
The Breagan D'Aerthe secretly compiled information and controlled events in a way that no one would ever guess that they were contrived. Stacks of reports were sent via messenger after messenger, in a way so that one would not recognize the next. Creapiing's heart still longed for the family she had been forced to leave behind, but she knew that she had been given no choice.
Today, a report with an urgent red seal enscribed with a dragon holding a sword in the midst of a spiral stood on top of the stack. She slowly broke open the seal, turned ashen as she read the words within, and then sat back to consider...
Re: Visions of Darkness Rising
(Originally posted by Cearyn)
From the beginnings of her childhood, Cearyn was drawn to a part of Neriak that few approached. It was no secret that the child had visions, dreams of what was to come, feelings of the people around her. She had been claimed by the priesthood of Innoruuk from an early day. But that was not to be her destiny.
The undeniable pull had led her first, if mistakenly, to the rogue guild. With a few swift actions and a message delivered, her fate was sealed, denying her the path of a cleric forever. Though she would now never learn the powerful magic that was to be hers, the visions would remain with her forever.
In those early days, she was content with the choice she had made, though it had angered her mother. She was constantly reminded of what a powerful priestess she could have been, and began to stay away for excessive lengths of time. As she grew older, the visions and the feelings grew stronger. In time, she learned that it was not the rogue hall that called to her, but the dragon above. It called to her, and the strength of it frightened her, and she approached, for the first time.
For a few moments, she stared up at the dragon, as if seeing it through new eyes for the first time, but her attention was soon drawn to the blood-stained stones at its feet. She noted that whatever blood was spilled here was done many seasons before. Another feeling came over her, filling her with the knowledge that it was somehow wrong to be armed here, and she slipped her dagger from her waist and slipped it into her pack along with her helm.
Almost instantly, she regretted that decision, as she felt the hair on the back of her neck rising. Someone was approaching. “Calm child, he is not threat. Heed his words.” Only rarely did her visions come with so clear a message, and that it came so now was comforting.
“You know what this place is, don’t you?” She asked, kneeling, running her hand reverently along the blood soaked stones.
“Aye, I was here… for most of it.” The voice behind her spoke softly.
The next few days Tzanntiel spent traveling. The acolyte had left a message for her, and when she met with him again, he admitted that he'd been unable to find any information about the collar. Apparently it was created after the Combine had left Norrath, and he couldn't find any record of the particular system of runes and symbols it was marked with. Though she was disappointed, Tzann reassured and forgave him, and encouraged him to keep looking while she was away.
Returning to Norrath, she made contact with some of her informants in Neriak, passing copies of the sketches and information to one at the library and one at the Tower of the Spurned. She left a set with Vhalshae as well, telling her only that they were on the right course. In Freeport, at the Hogcaller's Inn, she met with an ally who had access to the libraries of Erud. She sent him off with his own bundle of parchments. Another woman that she met at the Tiger's Roar in Highpass Hold carried copies to Skyshrine, to consult with the great dragons of Veeshan. She told each of these contacts only that the item was a collar, and that she needed to know how to open it. None questioned her further, understanding that they did not need to know more than that. Neither did they ask about compensation. They had all worked with Tzanntiel before, and knew she would make it more than worth their while, one way or another.
Tzanntiel rolled up another set of sketches and tied it with a ribbon. This set she'd have to carry quite a bit farther. She settled her pack across her shoulders and snuck out of the pass, heading west towards the Karanas, and the Combine Spires. From the Nexus she took the Spires to Kunark, in the 'lost valley' of the Dreadlands. A while ago on a hunt there she had seen the woman she wanted to speak to. And her contacts had confirmed that she was apparently living in the wilds out there somewhere.
Carefully she wandered the dry and dangerous area around the castle of Karnor, watching people hunting the monstrous creatures that stalked about seeking prey. On the third day she found the one she was looking for. Tzanntiel stayed hidden and watched the Teir`Dal woman killing the Drachnids, accompanied only by her earth elemental. The Magician harvested the silks of the ones she killed, leaving the rest to rot. For hours Tzanntiel shadowed her, waiting until she filled her packs. Though she threw her spells with ruthless efficiency, Tzanntiel could see no sign of the passion the woman used to be known for. It was like watching a deadly machine, one that fought out of habit, not heart. Finally the Magician started to wander away, and Tzanntiel hurried to follow her, careful to stay silent and unseen.
As she followed through the wilds of Kunark, Tzanntiel studied the woman she had known so well long ago. Her green robes were in poor repair, and she paid no notice to the burrs that snagged in the hems as she walked through the underbrush. Her white hair was a wildly tangled mane, and she seemed hardly aware of where she was, or what she was doing. Her unhurried pace carried her to a columned ruin deep within the jungle. Tzanntiel recognized the place at once, the ruins of the great Iksar City of Torsis, more often called the City of Mist. It was the home of ghosts and golems, and apparently one Teir`Dal hermit.
Tzanntiel followed her mark into the ruined stables, where she was surprised to see that one of the stalls had been converted into a meager home. A sewn together mattress of sackcloth was stuffed with old straw, and a circle of charred stones made something of a fire pit. The woman put her packs in a corner then turned towards her earth elemental and dismissed it. In its place she summoned a fire elemental that floated to rest over the circle of stones, turning in place as it prepared to guard its mistress. Soon the Magician fell into a restless slumber, wrapped up in a summoned blanket.
Crouched in the corner of the stall, Tzanntiel waited until she was sure that her old friend would not awaken. Watching the elemental closely she opened her pack, and pulled out a few things. As she expected, the elemental turned to watch her, but did not attack. As long as she did not try to harm the Magician, the elemental would let her do whatever she wanted.
Smirking, Tzanntiel filled the small basket she had brought with a bottle of Eternal Night Black Wine, some exotic fruits from Luclin and Norrath, a small wheel of cheese, and a napkin filled with savory meat pastries. Creeping closer, she placed the basket beside the crude bed, near the woman's head. Then Tzanntiel found a comfortable place to rest and hide and wait. The whisperings of wandering Iksar ghosts almost lulled her into a kind of sleep of her own.
Re: Visions of Darkness Rising
(Originally posted by Cearyn)
“Is there some pact that prevents you from telling me?” Cearyn asked, when the figure offered no further information. Quietly, she added, “This place… I used to think it was the Rogue hall beneath that drew me to it.”
“Nay, but I am sad to speak of the loss of my brethren,” The man looked longingly towards the proud Dragon overlooking them.
“The blood, it wasn’t shed in battle.” Cearyn stated, sure of that fact. She turned to look at her companion for the first time.
“Nay, there was to be no fighting at the Dragon of Hate,” The man spoke reverently.
“I didn’t think so. It feels somehow wrong to carry a blade here.” Cearyn allowed his name for the dragon to play in her mind. It felt right. It sounded right.
Somehow, here, now, she felt it right to share things with this stranger that she had never shared with another. “Ever since I was a young child, I’ve felt something here. It pulls to me. Calling me.”
For a few moments, the dark figures stood in reverent silence, staring up at dragon. It was Cearyn that broke the silence. “The Dragon… The Dragon of Hate. It has seen many sacred ceremonies hasn’t it?”
Her companion nodded solemnly, not speaking.
“Will it ever see another?” Cearyn whispered, afraid that the answer might be no.
When he responded, “I hope.” It was as if a thousand weights were lifted from her shoulders.
“There is much that I would ask, if not for the memories of your loss.” Cearyn continued to stare at the Dragon, taking in every curve, every mark. Burning its image forever into her memories. “But there is one answer I must know. What great thing was it that existed here?”
Cearyn was growing used to his answers, offering them in only a few short words, never more than exactly what was asked. “The Violent Harvest.”
Re: Visions of Darkness Rising
(Originally posted by Lyri)
The night was cool, the misty shade of the huge trees pervading everywhere. It was rare that the forests of Faydark were silent, but tonight they were. The people of Kelethin lay sleeping in their beds among the trees, the guards by the lifts drowsing at their posts. It was a quiet night.
Until a scream rent the air, far from the guards or cities. A young high elf noble had been returning from a tryst forbidden by his parents, and had met the silent black killer that had begun to haunt the forest at night. His scream was cut short as his throat was torn out, though his weakening struggles continued. The dark wolf stared at him, savoring his pain and blood with a supernatural intelligence and hatred. Slowly, the high elf lay dead on the forest floor, his blood spread all about him in a grisly scene.
The wolf, a pleased smile spread on the crimson-smeared muzzle, reached out with a forepaw that suddenly became a slender hand and ripped the young noble's signet ring from him. Backing away on hind feet, the killer stared with crystal blue elven eyes. She smiled as she turned and formed a mystical portal of nature's own magic, retreating to the forest of the Tier'dal.
The wood elf, strange sight among the dark elves, passed by unmolested by the dragoons and general at the enterance of Neriak. Slipping through the dark city full of the night's life, she found her way deeper into the caverns.
Plunging her way past a concealing waterfall, she padded to her small cavern. Still dripping with the cold river water, she knelt in front of a small altar-stone hewn from the floor. Bloodstains are numerous on the artifact, caked bits of the dried fluid filling in the engraven symbols on the granite. With a reverent bow to the tiny altar, the light-born elf carefully placed the signet ring on the altar. Bowing her head, averting her eyes in piety, her voice whispered prayers to the god of the Tier'dal.
Several hours had past, and the wood elf's voice was cracked beyond nearly all bearing. Still knelt in front of the small altar, she fell silent. There had been no words, no sudden revelations, only a face. It was enough. Lyri straightened and stared at the empty altar slab before whispering a reverent prayer of thanks before turning to leave.
Hours passed while the woman slept, but eventually she rolled over, opening her light blue eyes slowly. She saw the basket, and blinked at it in confusion for a moment before turning to glare at her elemental. She sat up, looking around the stall carefully.
Tzanntiel couldn't help but smile in her hiding place, "Good morning, Shaede," she said.
Shaede frowned, turning her head toward the voice without seeing anything. "Who is there?" she asked.
"It's just Tzann," she replied.
"Tzann," Shaede said softly, as if she did not recognize the name at first. "Oh, Tzann. I saw you the other day," she muttered softly to herself.
Without bothering to correct her that 'the other day' was more like two months ago, Tzanntiel chuckled, "Is it all right if I come out now, or will Sparky over there get upset?"
Shaede looked up at her fire elemental with a wry smirk, "It's all right."
Tzanntiel walked out of her hiding place, and sat beside Shaede's bed, next to the basket. Shaede looked confused, as if part of her mind was still asleep. She picked up the bottle of wine and looked at the wax seal around the cork.
"Untampered with, I promise," Tzann chuckled.
Shaede almost blushed as she smiled, "If you wanted me dead I'm sure you would have done it already."
Tzanntiel nodded with an impish grin, "So true. But I don't want you dead."
Nodding, Shaede rolled the wine bottle between her palms slowly. "It's been a long time. Why are you here, Tzann?"
Tzanntiel sighed, wrinkling her nose as if she didn't want to get to business just yet. She pulled the rolled up parchments from her pack and held them out towards the Magician. "I need your help, Shaede."
Setting the bottle down, Shaede took the bundle of papers. She slipped off the ribbon and unrolled them. She looked through the pages one at a time slowly, the color draining out of her face. As she stared at the last sheet, Tzann could see she wasn't even breathing.
"Shaede," Tzanntiel said a bit sharply.
Shaede looked up suddenly, drawing in a deep breath. Worry verging on panic was clearly written on her face. "Where did you get these?" Shaede whispered.
"I made them," Tzanntiel said plainly, sitting back.
Shaede's eyes returned to the papers, flicking back and forth as she looked at them, "I ... I've seen this before. In some books I was researching. You made them, from what?"
Tzanntiel sighed softly, not liking this openness in her old friend, the poor attempts at subterfuge. She'd never seen such a state of panic in her before. "From the collar," she answered.
"Where did you find it?" Shaede asked.
Tzanntiel chuckled dryly as she watched Shaede, unwilling to give away much at this point. "Well, I guess technically I found it in Mistmoore, but I don't know how it got there."
Nodding quickly, Shaede flipped through the pack of papers, her hands trembling. "It was created long ago.... Not as old as the Combine, mind you...."
Tzanntiel nodded, watching Shaede's face closely.
Shaede continued, trying to control the quavering in her voice, "There was an artificer of rather exceptional powers long ago. He had a slave, a woman, that he wanted to keep forever. He created the collar for her. It was supposed to ... sort of lock her away from time. Powerful temporal magics, you understand. Theoretically she would never age...."
"Or only age very slowly," Tzanntiel added, her tone clearly a statement rather than a question.
Shaede looked up at her, her lips moving soundlessly for a few moments. "Well ... well, perhaps. It's all theoretical you see."
"I just need to know how to open it," Tzanntiel said suddenly, stopping Shaede again.
Shaking her head, Shaede said, "I don't know how. There was nothing in the books about it."
Closing her eyes, Tzanntiel tried to calm the rising anger she felt. Shaede seemed so on edge she was afraid that pressing for more details might make her run, or worse, attack. The years of solitude had clearly changed the Magician greatly. "Ok. Well, what about those books. They may be useful to me. Do you remember any titles? Where you found them, anything?"
Shaede set the parchments on the bed, and picked up one of her packs. Almost guiltily she reached in and pulled out a few books. "Here. I don't know how much good they will do, but I don't need them anymore."
Blinking, Tzanntiel accepted the books and slid them into her own pack carefully. "Thank you, Shaede. I need all the help I can get," she said quietly.
Shaede picked at her fingernails, avoiding Tzanntiel's eyes. "It's been activated, then?"
"Yes, it has," Tzann answered.
"It's on a person?" Shaede asked, even more quietly.
Tzanntiel clenched her jaw a moment, not wanting to answer, weighing the possibility that honesty might just gain her more information. The two of them had been very close, long ago. It had been one of the few relationships Tzann had ever had that wasn't at least partially for business, where she had simply let herself enjoy what they shared without trying to gain advantages or learn weaknesses. She knew that Shaede was very different around her than anyone else. It was probably as close to revealing her true self as any Teir`Dal came. Finally Tzann answered, "Yes, it is, Shaede."
Shaede closed her eyes for a moment, drawing a deep shaking breath, "And you and I both know the person that it is on, right?"
Tzanntiel nodded as she looked towards the Magician's fire elemental, making sure that it had not moved. "Yes," she finally said aloud.
"Have you told anyone else about this?" Shaede asked.
Tzanntiel schooled her expression carefully, "I have others working on this, yes. None know as many details as I do, but there are enough that know."
Shaede's eyes widened slightly. "You haven't told any of the Harvest, have you?"
"No, I haven't," Tzann said. It was mostly true. Tevesh wouldn't remember knowing, and Kassy had been declared anathema after her short stint as a member, which more or less meant she'd never been a member.
Shaede sighed, her shoulders sagging as she relaxed. Her pale blue eyes were reddened and glassy as she looked back up into Tzanntiel's face. "Why do you need the collar opened, Tzann?"
Tzanntiel found she could not look away from Shaede's eyes, amazed at the deep pain shining from them. "I need him back, Shaede. My House needs him. I miss him," she added quietly.
Shaede lowered her head, her hands covering her face for a long moment of silence. "What have we done?" Tzanntiel thought she heard her mumble.
The dusty old stables were quiet for a long while, Tzann watching Shaede closely while the Magician was wrapped in her private torment. Tzann licked her lips, knowing there was more, wondering how to get to that information.
Quietly Tzann spoke, breaking the silence, "His heart beats once, perhaps twice in a day. He breathes less often than that. The beasts in Mistmoore had found where he was hidden, they were feeding from him. I don't know if the collar protected him from that, or if he's in even greater danger now."
Slowly Shaede lowered her hands away from her face, looking up at Tzanntiel as she spoke. She was transfixed by each word, flinching slightly at the details. Her breathing was slow and shallow, as if she wished she could simply stop breathing.
Tzanntiel pressed on, speaking slowly, letting her worry carry on the soft words, "He is pale and cold, he's lost weight and muscle. He looks like a dying man, Shaede. I need to help him."
Shaede's hands trembled as they twisted in her skirt like a pair of doves trying to strangle one another. She looked up into Tzann's eyes, then dropped her gaze, staring into her lap. Seeing her hands, she stilled them, pressing her palms against her thighs. She drew a deep breath and let it out in a quavering sigh. Turning to look at her fire elemental, she dismissed it with a soft word. Tzanntiel watched silently as it dispersed into the ether.
"I was the one who had the collar found, Tzanntiel. I lured him to the place where it was put around his neck," her voice was cold, lifeless. At the admission Tzanntiel felt white hot rage uncoil in her chest, flooding through her body, screaming for revenge. Closing her eyes tightly she reined it back, grinding her teeth as she brought the bloodlust under control. Only when she felt the stillness again did Tzann open her eyes.
Shaede lifted Tzanntiel's hands, placing them around her own throat. Over Tzanntiel's arms she looked deep into her eyes. "Hate forgive me, Tzanntiel. I did that to him. Kill me, end it."
Tzanntiel's eyes narrowed as she felt her arms tense, sharply aware of the softness of Shaede's throat in her hands, feeling the racing pulse under her thumbs where they crossed over the Mage's windpipe, ready to curl in and crush the fragile flesh. A moan like a growl broke from Tzann's lips as she dropped her head onto her arms, her hands still locked on Shaede's throat, holding but not squeezing. "I cannot Shaede. It is not my place to punish you or to forgive you. I only want to free my brother. He can decide what should be done. He is the one who has suffered."
Closing her eyes, Shaede sunk down out of Tzanntiel's hands, collapsing onto the bed. Sobs shook her shoulders, her fingers coiling into her hair as she held her own head as if to keep her skull from bursting. "How many times have I died? How many times have I taken my own life, only to return?" she moaned.
Tzanntiel sat back on her heels, staring at her hands. When she answered her voice was soft but dull, "It only means the Father is not done with you, Shaede. You have more to do here."
Shaede shook harder with her crying, "Why wouldn't you do it, Tzann? I want to die."
"It wouldn't do any good. The Father would just bring you back again. It wouldn't bring you peace. And the only other thing I could offer you...." Tzanntiel stopped, shocked at herself for what she had almost blurted out. "Well, let's just say it would be even worse."
Shaede didn't seem to have noticed Tzann's odd hesitation. "We did it to save the Harvest. Your brother had lost his focus, but he never would have stepped down. He was too duty-bound. But we didn't save it, did we? It's all gone now." She almost choked on her words as she sobbed.
Tzann chuckled dryly, "That's why I knew he wasn't dead, Shaede. His sense of duty. I knew he would have come back." She sighed, watching her friend cry. "I don't think anything could have saved the Harvest. You said 'I helped' and 'we did it'. Who else was involved?"
She stiffened, her sobbing tapering off. "I ... I can't say, Tzann. It will be up to them to step forward, when the time comes."
Tzanntiel sighed deeply. She could tell pressing further wouldn't get her anywhere. Silently she watched Shaede, lost in her thoughts and her unanswered questions.
Curled up like a child on the rough mattress, Shaede was lost in her thoughts as well. But hers would not remain silent. Once she had admitted what she had done, everything else that ached in her heart wanted to be spoken as well. "After the Harvest was gone, I had nothing. I went down to Grobb and Guk, lost myself in the stink and the frogs and the bugs for ... I don't know how long. Months? Years? I tried to return to Neriak, but I couldn't return to my House. I lived in the Foreign Quarter, like a commoner, an orphan. Eventually I did the wrong thing again, and I ran. Came here to hide with the other dead things."
Sighing, Tzanntiel reached out, cupping Shaede's cheek. The lines of worry and pain on her face made Shaede look older than her years. Tzann frowned, "But you aren't dead, Shaede."
Silent tears crept down Shaede's cheeks as she looked up at Tzanntiel. "I feel dead. I want to be dead." She covered Tzann's hand with her own, pressing it tighter to her cheek. "What did you mean before, the other thing you could offer me?"
Tzanntiel pulled her hand back, crossing her arms over her stomach and almost hugging herself. She tried to laugh, but it sounded hollow. "Eternal life?" she said, shrugging.
Shaede shook her head slowly, "I don't understand."
Tzanntiel closed her eyes a moment, her fingertips brushing the hilts of her weapons on her belt. "I was turned, Shaede. I am a vampire." She looked into the Mage's eyes, expecting to see revulsion, hate. It was the vampires who had brought such awful destruction to Neriak and to the Violent Harvest long ago. Tzanntiel had been changed shortly before that time, and she was not bound to the Mistmoore vampires who had been behind the Blood Harvest. Such a paltry fact wouldn't matter to many; a vampire was a vampire, something to be destroyed.
It was with amazement that Tzann realized that Shaede was not angry, or disgusted. The Mage's eyes grew wide, her lips trembling as a flush spread over her pale cheeks. "Oh, Tzann. I ... I remember what that was like. I had let Mythral turn me."
Tzanntiel blinked. When the Blood Harvest had fallen over Neriak, she had fled, hiding out until all was said and done. She had missed many things during that time. "But, you're not a vampire now, Shaede. How?"
Shaede shook her head. "I don't really understand it. Mythral did something, freed those of us he'd turned. A ritual, or something."
Sitting back, Tzanntiel watched Shaede quietly. Somehow the Mage always surprised her. She realized no matter how well she thought she knew a person, there was always more to learn.
"So that's why you are so worried about Khasirath. That you might have to turn him to save him," Shaede said.
Sighing, Tzann nodded. "Yes, Shaede. He wouldn't understand if I did. I doubt he'd ever forgive me."
Shaede nodded, then tilted her head slightly as she watched her friend. "Tzann, are you hungry?" she asked, stretching out her arm towards the Rogue.
Tzanntiel blinked as she looked down at the Mage's thin wrist. Such an offer from one who wasn't already bound to her completely amazed her. "No. No, I'm fine."
Shaede lowered her eyes, laying her hand back on the bed. "I miss that, Tzann. I want to feel it again. I want to be your thrall, so you can command me and make me help you fix all this. Make me something useful again, give me a purpose. I'd do anything you wanted."
Tzann couldn't help but smile a bit, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "I've missed you, Shaede," she whispered.
Shaede smiled as well, a small sad smile. She only nodded in answer, lowering her eyes.
Tzann climbed over Shaede, curling up against her back and holding her gently. She closed her eyes as she nuzzled against the back of Shaede's neck. As her hand stroked along the Mage's side, she could feel how thin her friend had become. Her fingers traced the arcs of her ribs, the smooth curve of her hip bone. Tzann purred softly.
Shaede turned over in the circle of the younger woman's arms, nestling her head under Tzann's chin. Her hand trembled as it wrapped around Tzann's waist, holding her tightly.
Tzann reached up, stroking Shaede's face, brushing her hair behind her ear. "Are you sure this is what you want, beautiful?"
Shaede nodded without looking up. "Please," she whispered, running her hand slowly up Tzanntiel's back.
Sliding down on the bed, Tzann tilted Shaede's face up to meet hers, catching her lips in a long, deep kiss. She moaned softly at the quivering openness Shaede gave her, and caressed her body through her old green robes. Her kisses trailed down Shaede's cheek, then her throat, teasingly running the tip of her tongue down the soft warm skin.
Gasping softly, Shaede tilted her head back, exposing the length of her neck to Tzann. Her heart was pounding in anticipation, waiting to feel Tzanntiel's fangs and the indescribable sensations they would bring.
Tzann grinned as she teased Shaede, slowly pushing her over onto her back. Tzann's hands rested on the bed to either side of Shaede's head as she bent down over her, kissing her throat, her body half-covering Shaede's. Shaede whimpered, holding onto Tzann's shoulders. "Please," she whispered again.
Tzann bit into Shaede's throat quickly, closing her eyes as the rich blood flowed over her tongue. Shaede moaned deeply, writhing underneath her, her hands closing tightly on Tzann's shoulders. After only a few heartbeats, Tzann pulled away, licking the small wound to close it. She did not want to take much with Shaede in such a weakened state.
Shaede whimpered softly, holding even tighter to Tzann. She didn't want it to end. She wanted to feel more. But all she could do was whisper 'please' again and again.
Tzanntiel smiled as she leaned back enough to bring her hand to her own throat, cutting into the skin with her nail just as she had with the Knight in Shadow Haven. Cradling Shaede's head she brought her lips to the cut, and mumbled for her to drink.
Shaede's tongue flicked out and tasted the blood, and then she found herself drinking deeply, the power and heat of it filling her. She felt she couldn't stop herself. She didn't want to stop herself. Waves of sanguine darkness surrounded and engulfed her.
When Tzanntiel finally pulled away Shaede whimpered, her hands trembling. Tzann could already feel that Shaede's arms were stronger from the gift of the blood. Grinning, she stroked Shaede's hair, purring softly to herself. It had been a day of deeply mixed blessings, pain and pleasure, answers and new questions. But for now, the pleasures that lay before her had her full attention. The search could wait another day ... or two. She smiled as she bent down to kiss Shaede's flushed lips again.
When Tzanntiel left Kunark, Shaede went with her. They traveled to Shadow Haven and Tzann helped settle Shaede into her new apartment. She stopped in at the merchants and restaurants that she frequented, and told the owners to provide Shaede with whatever she might want and put it on Tzanntiel's tabs and credits. Back at the apartment she offered the Mage a pouch of coins, telling her to have her robes repaired.
Shaede blushed, "I shouldn't take your money, Tzann. The robe isn't important."
Grinning, Tzann pressed the pouch into her hand. "You have to take it, Shaede. I can't have you wandering around looking like I beat you. You deserve better, pet."
Shaede lowered her eyes, blushing even more. She tucked the pouch away. "If you insist," she mumbled.
Tzann went into her bedroom, Shaede following a bit uncertainly. Shaede watched as Tzanntiel knelt down and started checking her pack.
"Are you leaving so soon?" Shaede asked, frowning.
Tzann looked back over her shoulder and nodded. "I have to. Got to check in with some folks, see what they've found for me."
Shaede sighed deeply. "I'll miss you. I don't know what I'll do here alone."
Tzann chuckled, standing back up. "Just relax, enjoy some good meals, good shows. You need to take good care of yourself and regain your strength. If you want to help, you can go poke around the library, see what you can learn about temporal magics similar to that collar."
Trying to smile, Shaede nodded. "If that is what you want."
Tzann leaned in to kiss her, purring softly. "It would mean a lot to me, pet."
Shaede could feel herself blushing again, her heart racing. "Ok, Tzann. I'll do my best."
Grinning, Tzanntiel took her pack out to the main room, and grabbed her cloak. Pinning it around her shoulders, she smiled at Shaede. "I'll be dropping in every few days. Don't worry."
Blowing Shaede a kiss, Tzann walked out into the streets of Shadow Haven. She wandered down by the reflecting pool, slipping into the shadows of the crowds as she walked into a carpenter's shop. Like a ghost she passed through the secret tunnels to Echo Caverns. She remained invisible as she walked through another hidden door that looked like a cave-in. Soon the narrow tunnel opened into a cavern, the outpost of Rogues and Dark Art practitioners.
Carefully she crept into the main hall, then into the rooms where her Shadow Knight thralls lived. One brother sat in the main room, tending to his weapons and armour. The other was no doubt on duty. Tzanntiel did not reveal herself to the man, she simply wandered through the small rooms until she found her trunks, and checked them over to be sure they had remained unopened. A smile lifted her lips as she saw the subtle tell-traps she had set were undisturbed. These tiny traps were harmless, and therefore nearly undetectable. But the traps would be destroyed if the trunks were opened without first disarming them.
Her spirits lightened as Tzanntiel returned to Shadow Haven, and then the Nexus. She had a lot of journeying before her, and she was eager to get on with it.
Traveling to Freeport, she met up with the man she had sent to the library of Erud. He had found one small reference to the collar in a book of artificers, but it was not very detailed. As they sat and drank at the Hogcaller's Inn, Tzann let him read through the books Shaede had given her. He verified what Shaede had told her, that there was nothing about opening the collar in the tomes. When they parted, Tzann told him to contact her if he found any new information.
Tzanntiel went to Highpass next, but the woman she had met there before had not yet returned from Skyshrine. She rented a room at the Tiger's Roar, and enjoyed the music of the resident Bard in the common room. As the night grew late she invited him to her room for a more private performance.
A knock at her door awakened Tzanntiel around noon the next day. One of the serving wenches explained through the door that she had a visitor. Sitting up in the plain bed, Tzann told her to send them in.
A few minutes later the door opened, and Tzann smiled at the Human Wizardess as she walked in. "I hope your travels went well," she said.
Pulling off her cloak, the woman sat down on the edge of the bed, and nodded. "It wasn't bad. I'm sorry if I kept you waiting here."
"This is a pleasant enough place to spend the night, don't fret about it. Why don't you tell me what you have learned?" Tzann said with a wide smile, stretching out under the blankets.
"Well, the Brood of Veeshan certainly had no hand in making this particular item. The runes are not theirs, or even similar. But they did recognize the basic theorems behind them. Powerful temporal magics, designed to be permanent. Not an easy thing to break," she replied.
Tzanntiel nodded, a slight frown creasing her brow. "Not easy, but possible?"
The Wizardess nodded, "It should be, but they were not sure exactly how to go about it. They say it is similar to the wards that used to bind the outcast Kerafyrm. But those particular wards were bound to the four Warder dragons who guarded the Tomb. So once the Warders were slain, the wards were weakened enough for Kerafyrm to break free. In this case the spell is more directly tied into the materials of the collar. But to destroy the collar while it is on someone would most likely harm, or possibly kill them."
Tzanntiel rubbed her face for a moment, thinking hard. "Not good," she muttered.
"They further theorized that there may be some way to weaken either the collar or the magics within it enough to open it temporarily. But without the item to study directly, they could not divine the best way to do so," she added.
Tzanntiel looked up into the woman's eyes with a slight smile. "Well, that's hopeful news. If I can't get any further on my own, perhaps I can bring it to them. I would have to earn their respect first of course, but I'm more than willing to if it comes to that."
Smiling the Wizardess nodded. "Indeed. I wish I could have found more for you."
Tzann reached out and ran her hand down the woman's back slowly. "Don't worry about it. You've helped a lot, especially by keeping my hopes up."
The Wizardess smiled a little as she rested a hand on Tzann's leg through the blankets. "I wish I could stay, but I have to get back to my duties."
Tzann squeezed her shoulder lightly. "I understand. Take care, and let me know if you learn anything new."
"I promise I will," she said as she stood up. She began an incantation and moments later had disappeared into the portal she created. Tzann blew her a kiss, then sighed. She had hoped for better news than she had gotten, but at least it wasn't as bad as it could have been.
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