The N'Asti Cronicles

[Cerberus]

It was her conceitedness that led to her downfall.

Lone walked through the town, unawares of her presence... until he felt an odd breeze... as if someone walked past him. Focusing his eyes, he noticed the slim blur as someone hid in front of him, in plain sight. Appearing in front of him, the dark skinned witch smiled gleefully. "I greet you," she said... mockingly.

Lone froze in shock. Fortunately the soldiers there reacted faster than he, chasing after Shyntana. Taking the opportunity, Lone buffed himself for battle, and chased after her too.

She eluded the soldiers...but not Lone. Lone went to the one place he was sure he could find her.

The Temple of Anu.

Once there, Lone ran in the door, and caught a glimpse of her before she hid inside the temple. "I know you're here..." He said, cautiously checking around each pillar, scanning the room for threats.

He reacted as he heard her chanting on the other side of the room, smiling, he drew his hammer and rushed at her.

Halfway across the room, he froze as time seemed to lurch forward... a number of spells blasting from her fingertips at what seemed to be one time, simultaneously. Blinking he saw himself with the grapple of a giant green hand. He growled to himself. He hated that spell.

Looking up at the witch, she had a smile on her face, as if she now had Lone precisely where she wanted.

Not here... not now... Anu save me! From within the grasp of the hand Lone noticed that... he could move... he was not constricted as tightly as he once had been. Tugging his hands free of the grip, he smiled up at the witch approaching him.

She looked at him, stopping, confused.

He rose his arms in the air, and chanted his own spells. Before she could respond, a bright light blasted from the heavens, hammering down on Shyntana, unbalancing her. While she dazed, Lone called several blasts of light, each one forcing her to her knees.

Seeing her weakened, Lone concentrated his mind for one more powerful strike. Opening his soul to the gods, he channeled his power for all he was worth, and a chain of molten light, blessed with fire, poured onto Shyntana.

With barely a scream, Shyntana's charred body fell to the ground, and the hand disappeared from around Lone, allowing him to move.

Lone walked up and inspected the body, ensuring she was dead. "You will not have my temple. It belongs to Anu."

With that, Lone turned, leaving the Temple, and the charred remains of her body behind.

[Redder]

A Necromancer walks through the village and straight up to Lone as if ignoring everything and everyone else around him. He had been scrying the fortold event and from afar had witnessed the power of the god's wrath being brought down on the drow by the mightiest of priests in the land.

The Necromancer looks directly at Lone and states:

"You will show me the body".

Confused in the moment and with protest from several of his friends, Lone directs the Necromancer to the Temple of Anu. Isha pulls Lone aside when they get there and the Necromancer is left looking over the charred remains of the drow - alone. He studies his book for a moment and then performs and incantation removing the soul from the body which lies on the floor.

He turns slowly to the others and simply states:

"It is done."

Lone rushes over almost in a panic: "What have you done!?!?"

Redder Zaxerian merely looks up and answers Lone is a soft and gentle voice:

"I have removed her soul from the body, she may no longer be revived."

He turns and gracefully walks to the door taking his leave.

As Lone and Isha watch the Necromancer go, arguing over the encounter and wondering just what a Necromancer would be up to, they couldn't help but notice a small silver vial he places in his pocket.

[Phyr'vyrae]

"GRRRRRRRRAAAAA!!!!!!!!! that stupid witch died to a surface MALE!!" *shakes her fist* " but not only that, I now learn she did not perform the ritual in the temple correctly, with her gone he can claim control over it again. I -WILL NOT- lose a temple." *turns and look directly at Feng* "This faction has lost many, and I see little work to discourage such thoughts. It is time for us to stop playing with these fools, we must strike hard and quickly, let them know we will not tolerate attacks on our members." Phyr'vyrae normally spoke rather harshly, but her tone now was unlike anything they had ever heard before.

"Feng!" her voice could have cut through steel "send whom ever to gather information on this 'Lone', I want to know everything about him, about those he works with, those he loves, those that love him, you have 36 hours." *turns looking at the rest of them "for the time being no one hunts alone, two or more no exceptions. Anyone that is not paying for our services is a target, man woman and child, but -DO NOT- kill Lone" *picks up a skull in one hand and look directly into its empty eye sockets* "death for him is to quick, to painless, we shall break him in ways he never though possible" *the skull shatter as she clenches her hand* Her whole demanor told them this was not a rant of rage. Her voice left no room to be questioned.

[Cerberus]

((oh for the love of mike... ;P))

[Muletang]

*smiles to himself at Phyr's words*

I warned that one day this would happen

*taps the side of his head*

Fight smart.

*shrugs and points to himself*

I'll follow him myself. I have one in town who may know more about his associations.

*a look of anger laps at his face*

We have been embarrassed by the actions of one under your supervision. Do not force us into this situation again.

*turns and walks out*

[Redder]

As the Necromancer walks gracefully along the road towards Dasar, the words spoken unto him - ring over and over within his mind.

“Life and Death are both rhythm and transformation between energy and form, that out of life comes death, out of death comes life, out of the young comes the old and out of the old comes the young, out of waking comes sleep and out of sleep comes waking. Existence is both a Process and a Goal that finds its justification in its own evolution and self-transcendence. As such, it is not a pre-established plan, but a Seed of Becoming, containing within all possibilities to be realized without. With each generation the priests and priestesses of the gods write the new Tablets of Destiny that keep their god’s visions, wisdom and mysteries alive. The gods are the source, the priests and priestesses are their chosen voices, whom inspired by their beliefs convert their god’s vision into deeds of a life lived to the fullest to the benefit or destruction of all creation.”

He fumbles at the silver vial in his pocket while these thoughts cloud his mind, wondering if the foretold destiny should be held true, or if he should just toss the vial into the river so that this destiny may become forgotten lore forever….

[Redder]

While the Necromancer continues his path towards Dasar, he reaches the forest just west of Oraans crossing. A form appears in front of him - a ghostly visage speaks:

I am not at all what I seem to be.
You are blind to the truth within me.
I am really your worst enemy,
I am the evil guised as a saintly entity.

I posses eyes of innocence, a warm smile,
a seducing gaze and alluring style,
a trusting disposition leaving you in denial,
of the realization: that I am so truly vile.

You propose to know what is behind my eyes,
You try to see through my clever disguise,
while I try and hide behind a mask of lies,
yet my mortal compassion slowly dies.

I've gazed into the mirror at my reflection,
and tried to grasp the merest connection,
between myself and a warm affection,
but there is nothing left of that recollection.

My soul for which you have dismissed,
as my dreams have now ceased to exist,
The darkness I could not resist,
No memories left to reminisce.

The lies have been told, I am forever lost,
all innocence and morals have been tossed,
and I can't get them back at any cost,
the border has already been crossed.

I've sacrificed all I've ever sought for,
forever lost behind the locked door,
never turning to look back once more,
to the redemption of my forgotten lore.

Serenity here I know I will find,
and my soul will once again unwind,
and uncover my eyes that once were blind,
to the darkness that imbues within my mind.

I have surrendered to the eternal sleep
where I have taken myself in so deep.
In the shadows of the night I stealthily creep
with the kindred, looking for souls to reap.

I unleash my wrath upon your life this night,
a weak soul without the slightest chance to fight,
your suffering thrilling me to the greatest heights,
while I embrace your death, as my given right…

The Necromancer runs deep into the forest, but it is too late…

Redder Zaxerian is dead!

[Phyr'vyrae]

*Phyr sat on the hill watching Den and Lone rush about trying to find her*
I don't think he'll give my words much thought. As much as he tries to be the good little priest his hate continues to get the better of him. Anger, fear, vengance, sounds more like a Nergal priest to me *chuckles* Arrogant to, after all he did try to kill me... the fool, for that your friend shall implode in front of his very eyes. *sadistic laughter*

[Phyr'vyrae]

"If you see this 'Lone', taunt him, call him a murderer, fuel the anger that burns inside of him now. Strike only long enough to wound him then head back to the shadows." *chuckles* "Priest of Anu upholder of law and order" *wicked smirk* "there will be chaos within and without. Let us see how long you can hide your temper from those around you."

[Redder]

The Dalgehty Gates of the Underdark creak open as two score of slave warriors brandishing spears march up to it’s entrance. The Druagar stand aside to allow the formation to enter the passage and march towards the tunnels that lead to the surface. As the last gateway is neared, a chained and bound form is thrown towards the gate and poked with the spears. The form groans with each stab until a priestess of the House of Vhaeraun appears, surrounded by a further two score of slave warriors.

“You have failed, Ardugon, your efforts to deceive us with changing your form has been your downfall. From this day forth you are banished from the Underdark as to step foot within these walls will surely result in your death. Do not return to our brethren for you are now an enemy to the drow noble houses. Consider yourself lucky that we allow you to live for you are too weak to be of worth as a sacrifice.”

The shattered and twisted form was unbound and thrown through the last gate, blood ran swiftly from its body to the floor as the Druagar looked on and smiled grievously. After many hours of lying on the floor the form begins to move, its features are almost like a female drow, yet its feet and hands are claw-like in appearance. It slowly drags itself to a small pool of water in the corner and drinks from the brackish stew before once again remaining motionless in the shadows.

Two days pass before the form once again moves, its strength is somewhat failing, yet its eyes glow with the sparkle of energy that keeps to Druagar wary of its presence. One Druagar priest becomes curious as to what the form is and walked up to have a closer look. The forms’ eyes glow a fiery red as a few words escaped the deformed toothed mouth, there is a flash of light, a scream which echoes through the caverns and a crunching noise as if the body of the priest was being devoured…

Many days come to pass.

Just west of Oraans Crossing, an old sorcerer scrounges around the ruins littered throughout the forest. Many relics can be found buried within these ancient walls and tombs for which those whom have obtained the lore needed to be able to identify and use such items have made much gold in their trade. He stumbles on a male carcass rotting on the leafy floor of the forest and proceeds to search the body for anything of worth, finding nothing more than a small Silver Vial. Ykroon pockets the vial and heads back towards the village in hope that a few gold pieces may be obtained from its sale…

[Redder]

Throughout space and time and rhythm and rhyme,
Dream of a dream unto the ebony night sublime,
For now it hath come for this demon’s time,
From the depths below crawling out from the grime.

Dream your dreams of places and people here,
Dream of places and dreams that lesser fear,
Dream places too far and places far too near,
Shed your arrogance with just one lonely tear.

For listening intently to the magic she hears,
From the priests all praying to their god so dear,
Yet keeping their eyes intently to their rear,
For they suspect this night, a demon to appear.

She quells her thirst from words of the Psalter,
a song in her mind that changes and alters,
her rhythm refines as blood flows on the altar,
and of the gods whose meaning begins to falter…

Ykroon makes his way west along the road between Dasar and Daris as the Silver Vial he has begins to glow with an unearthly color. His mind becoming foggy as the trip takes its toil and fatigue seeps through his body and soul. He knows he must rest soon, but the road is known to be a dangerous place with which to settle alone, so he continues until he reaches an old ruin, now known as Dragonwatch. Every muscle in his body aches and the last few steps towards the entrance to the old ruin seemed more of an eternity, his myopic sight of his destination seemingly further and further away with each step…

[Redder]

For miles and miles of pain,
For steps taken within a spell,
Forever have fallen like rain,
Forever he has fallen to hell.

He fell to the ocean of sadness,
He fell to the sea of despair,
He fell to the time of ageless,
For which there was none to care.

Out there at the edge of reality,
Out there in the sea of regret,
Out there in the sea so misty,
Forever to pay his debt.

Kyroon had now discovered,
He sailed out of life into death,
Demons taunted him shoreward,
As he took his last mortal breath.

He watched as they laughed with affection,
He drank from their botas of wine,
Auditioned their dreams and donations,
Of what will they would leave for mankind.

He laughed with the blackest of malice,
He scoffed at their foolish demise,
He chuckled at the wanting of status,
Yet he bitterly withered and died.

But reality teaches us lessons,
Reality isn't so blind,
Reality has no illusions,
Reality knew all the time.

To the end of the rainbow he sailed,
To the end of the earth he did trek,
At the end he found the beginning,
The beginning, of what we call death.

At the beginning of death there was darkness,
A dark, thick as blood of the stone,
Even death cannot live in this darkness,
Even death finds himself all alone.

In the endless space of endless time,
In the voidless end of nothing,
In the place between rhythm and rhyme,
Warned the wordless voice of tiding.

Never an end to the blackness,
Not a flicker to be left alive,
Emptiness that none could weather,
Nothing could ever survive.

A million traps upon the pathway,
An endless blizzard of despair,
The well of bottomless rejection,
And now his soul, is lying there.

In the blackness of his dead heart,
Nothing you do can unchain him,
His life and soul hath now depart,
Nothing left but his malice grin.

His disease indiscrimately sows,
Sows its bitter seed of destruction,
In the remotest recluse of your soul,
Nothing will bring him redemption.

As he sits within the inferno,
As he knew he always would,
He dwells within his wallow,
And burns you down like dry wood.

Within his bitter meditation,
He bids you heed the lore,
It is but a fair reminder,
Of what hath come before.

He sings a sonnetized fair warning,
There is always room for more,
more victims of the meeting,
of that dark and frozen gore.

And just at the brink of utopia,
The dark turns out the light,
The light at the end of the tunnel,
The light at the end of night.

And there at the moment of clarity,
There it will all fade away,
Forever the dream is a nightmare,
Forever the night dims the day.

Ykroon lies on the ground just near the entrance to the old ruins, his body contorts and twists in the pain as his feet become hooves, his hands become claws and his body stretches in all directions. The demons have a hold of him now as he slowly becomes one himself. The small silver vial radiates a deep energy as if calling out to those whom follow the darker arts.

Just behind the old ruins, an alter glows with a radiance seen throughout the misty night while evil calls upon more evil. The power emanates with an eerie sound that echoes around the old ruins and has the Brute Squad guards standing at alert.

Slowly Ykroon stands – he is no longer in control…

[Peregrinus]

((Hope you don't mind if I throw myself on here...))

The unearthly sense fills Dragonwatch and the surrounding lands. A young sorcerer paces the walls and looks down towards the alter, not knowing that nearby a mortal soul is being twisted. The power emanating from the alter is ancient and evil. The sorcerer does not even attempt to touch the power in the realm of magic he calls "the weave" instead he paces the walls, quietly enchanting them against this magic, knowing that at best, it will allow him to sleep without being awoken by the alter's presence, and that the alter would soon have to be purified, an act which would require the aid of the gods, something not within his power.

Slowly the dread lessened within the castle ruins, the Brutes grew less tense, and the sorcerer returned to his tent and his love.

[Redder]

Yet....

In the distance just behind DragonWatch within the woods comes an eerie glow:



Something does not seem right at DragonWatch and it seems to be moving...

[Ohio41]

Leopold stumbled through the woods, the smoke beginning to takes its toll on his little lungs. Crouching low he sprinted towards the Stronghold. What the hell was going on!

"Damn it!"