The door to the town's record keeper opened with their usual squeal. The candle light sputtered, sending shadows long the blackened timbers of the walls. The man sitting by the roughly chiseled table did not look up, painstakingly tracing charcoal sketch lines with the quill held in slightly quivering hand. Ignoring the footsteps of the visitor, the former ranger stuck the tip of his tongue out, adding another careful line to the illumination of the page.
"I'll be with you shortly."
A heavy thud sent vibrations over the surface of the table, dangerously tilting the inkwell. The clerk stiffled the curse that started forming on his lips, recognizing the sound from previous dealings. Gold in leather bag, and quite a few coins of it. He raised his eyes, taking in the armored figure in front of him. He lingered for a moment on the hilt of the sword visible under the stranger's cloak, noticing with an experienced glance the newly replaced binding in grip position for single-handed use of the sword. A portrusion over shield arm shoulder announced the bowstave hidden underneath, and a worn out patch on the cloak spoke of numerous times when the bow was carried strung. A leather strap crossing the... woman's... chest bore the weight of the shield, currently almost hidden behind her back. Her face was hidden by the full helmet on the head, carrying the familiar design of the town's smithy. She did not raise the visier.
"Skyhawk's rebellion."
The man thought for a few moments, bringing his brows together in a frown. He glances at the money bag on his table, then noded.
"I wasn't doing *this* job back then," he quirked his lips in a semi-smile, patting his stiffened leg stretched to the side of the table, "but I do have records of the previous person holding the office. It was around... what, ten years ago? Fifteen?"
He stoped to watch the woman for reaction, noticing for the first time her small stature. While it was not unlikely for human females to be of such size, something in her posture spoke elf... Or at least half-elf. Being asked about an obscure border incident involving mostly elves, the man was hardly pressed to take an educated guess at the identity of the visitor. Lacking a response, he turned to the self-made bookshelf, brushing his fingers against the intricate carvings adoring it. He still felt proud of them, but he would have bet his entire record collection against lousiest foreign coin that the woman would not appreciate his mentioning their artistic quality.
"Hmm... Record of... a bit later... let's see... Ah, yes, it should be here"
Pulling out the hefty tome, he reverently turned the pages, augmenting his memory with brief scans of the passages carried by them. After several tried, he found the correct entry.
"Hmm... Not much about it. In fact, I don't think much about it is overally known."
He looked up at the woman again, waiting for any sign of conversational involvement. Quite unsurprisingly, she merely noded. Feeling rather put out by her attitude, he moved the book slightly forward, presenting the miniscule scribbles of his predecessor. She took one glance downward, then looked back at him wordlessly though the slits in the thrice-bedamned visier. His long unused senses twitched, making him glance at his window, with one shutter left open for the light. The previously white-clouded sky was darkening, filling with dark gray. Looking back at the silent woman, he looked quickly down, deciphering the writing with long practiced ease.
"It's a rather skimpy piece about a village commonly known as Sky Hawk... uhm, I did not quite figure out his shorthand for pronounciation... 'Skeyaok'?"
It could have been but a breath, but his hearing still was as keen as when it had saved his life on many an occasion back in the days. The words rang clear in his head, as he quickly made a mental note to write them on the marigin of the page he was reading along with the mention of the person who uttered them, "New Way." Barely refraining himself from looking up to study the woman again, he masked his reaction by droning on, "Apparently a place created by elves who gave vassalage to the local duke, trying to fit into the increasing human domain. Raided, razed, inhabitants massacred. Three found living, none survived a year. The duke did not press the matter, for whatever reason it does not say, and it never repeated with any other place. Of course, there were none with such an exclusively elven populance."
His futher explanation was interrupted by a question stated in a voice carefully devoid of inflection, speaking much to a man of his age about the storm of emotions going through the woman... As if on clue, the sky lit with a distant lightning, bringing the smell of incoming rain through the open door and window.
"How much for that page?"
He frowned in confusion until realisation downed.
"Those are irreplacable records! They are priceless!"
A gauntleted hand reached to the main belt under her cloak, revealing several bulging bags attached to it. She pulled at one, tearing the leather straps with a swift gesture and throwing it at the table. The wood thudded again under the impact, the bag parting, spilling much of its precious content across the table. With one look at the gems intermixed with gold, the man tore out the page from the book, handling it excitedly to the helmeted figure.
"If anybody asks?"
"Never heard of such a thing, Milady!"
She nodded curtly, turning with a sweep of the cloak. The wide shield hanging over her pack missed the edge of the table by inches, settling down as its momentum dispersed. The man swiftly gathered the newly acquired wealth back in the pouch they spilled from, keeping his eyes on the retreating back. When the door thunked closed, he lurched to his bookshelf, placing the desecrated record volume back in its place. Slowly, he moved to the window, closing the open shutter, then locked the door. He stood by the door a few moments, listening carefully. Hearing no suspicious movements, he walked back to the table, picking up the two bags. He droped the smaller one in the chest by his bed, then walked up to his books again with the strange gait his lame leg only allowed. Putting his shoulder to the meticulously carved side of the bookstand, he pushed, revealing an enclosure filled with carefully wrapped packages. Putting down the gem pouch alongside of them, he smiled. Secrecy was only as good as the valuables that bought it, and who knew if there would not happen somebody who would pay more to learn. Pay much more, he thought, recalling the effortless way the woman walked despite all the gear donned, and the strange ambiance he felt in her presence. Shaking his head, he moved the bookshelf again, picking another volume on the way. He recalled a record of a number of free elves being killed, wonder of wonders, by wolves, that began more or less just after the Skyhawk incident. It was a far bet, but he learned long ago to trust his instincts. Lighting one of the precious candles he sat down to reading, after a moment retrieving one of the carefully packed copies of records from behind his cabinet.
The rain fell in sheats, its smell mixing with the faint presence of herb aromas lingering after his visitor.
Shadows of the past
Moderator: Lords of The Realm
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Sally Adams
- Dasarian Hero
- Posts: 383
- Joined: Mon Jul 21, 2003 11:03 pm
((As not to bother those who are not interested, I decided to use this thread for all Salia stories 
Many thanks to Depheant, who is probably suffering now from severe case of sleep deprivation. It's his own fault
))
The undergrowth near the cave's entrance parted as a lone wolf trotted in view. Slowing down, it hesitated for a split second, then without pause transformed into a female form in mid-step. She walked into the gloom of the cave with steps of hurried purpose.
"Scars?"
The call was answered by a low growl from further up the cave. A similarly malicious sound would most likely send anybody else arming themselves in a hurry, but it did not seem to phase the woman.
"Scars, it's me!"
The growl continued, with undertones of uncertainty detectable by anybody who knew what to listen to. The woman shaked her head once, then walked further into the lair. Seeming more irritated than affraid, she turned a corner, coming face to face with a large animal postured in fighting position, the long, yellow canines bared in a snarl. The mared fur of the dire wolf bristled, showing its aggrevation at the intrusion.
"Scars!"
She reached forward, either oblivious to the danger or simply dismissing it. The wolf's teeth parted, only to snap shut when her hand patted his muzzle.
"It's all right, it's all right."
She moved closer, scratching behind the animal's ears. Its tensed body slowly relaxed, finally resting in a hunch at her side.
"Drunk some of that water, didn't you?"
The wolf looked at her, whining with undertones of confusion.
"I know... It's not your fault. Next time don't drink anything that tastes that funny"
The wolf tilted its head to the side, looking at her with uncanny intelligence. The woman shrugged.
"Some new trick of Varana. They were at it for a while now, I think. Will probably keep trying, too"
The wolf's teeth were revealed again, in a silent grin full of malicious mischief. The woman sighed, like a mother wondering at the insistence of her children to act their age.
"Yes, all right, we will go see if any of them are around"
She rose to her feet, looking down sternly.
"Be more careful about what you drink... or eat, will you?"
The massive head of the dire wolf droped in appologetic gesture. The woman chuckled, or rather made a sound like a chuckle with no humor in the expression whatsoever. She looked around, then started walking toward the exit of the cave. As before, her body changed to that of the wolf's in mid-step. The dire wolf following, she gained speed as they emerged into sunlight.
The hunt was on.
Many thanks to Depheant, who is probably suffering now from severe case of sleep deprivation. It's his own fault
))The undergrowth near the cave's entrance parted as a lone wolf trotted in view. Slowing down, it hesitated for a split second, then without pause transformed into a female form in mid-step. She walked into the gloom of the cave with steps of hurried purpose.
"Scars?"
The call was answered by a low growl from further up the cave. A similarly malicious sound would most likely send anybody else arming themselves in a hurry, but it did not seem to phase the woman.
"Scars, it's me!"
The growl continued, with undertones of uncertainty detectable by anybody who knew what to listen to. The woman shaked her head once, then walked further into the lair. Seeming more irritated than affraid, she turned a corner, coming face to face with a large animal postured in fighting position, the long, yellow canines bared in a snarl. The mared fur of the dire wolf bristled, showing its aggrevation at the intrusion.
"Scars!"
She reached forward, either oblivious to the danger or simply dismissing it. The wolf's teeth parted, only to snap shut when her hand patted his muzzle.
"It's all right, it's all right."
She moved closer, scratching behind the animal's ears. Its tensed body slowly relaxed, finally resting in a hunch at her side.
"Drunk some of that water, didn't you?"
The wolf looked at her, whining with undertones of confusion.
"I know... It's not your fault. Next time don't drink anything that tastes that funny"
The wolf tilted its head to the side, looking at her with uncanny intelligence. The woman shrugged.
"Some new trick of Varana. They were at it for a while now, I think. Will probably keep trying, too"
The wolf's teeth were revealed again, in a silent grin full of malicious mischief. The woman sighed, like a mother wondering at the insistence of her children to act their age.
"Yes, all right, we will go see if any of them are around"
She rose to her feet, looking down sternly.
"Be more careful about what you drink... or eat, will you?"
The massive head of the dire wolf droped in appologetic gesture. The woman chuckled, or rather made a sound like a chuckle with no humor in the expression whatsoever. She looked around, then started walking toward the exit of the cave. As before, her body changed to that of the wolf's in mid-step. The dire wolf following, she gained speed as they emerged into sunlight.
The hunt was on.
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Sally Adams
- Dasarian Hero
- Posts: 383
- Joined: Mon Jul 21, 2003 11:03 pm
The two farmers sitting in the inn presented a strange sight during the harvest season. The fact that a hefty coin bag stood between them made the scene even more surreal. While it was not uncommon to meet an obscenely rich adventurer in the town, the farmers ususally were hard press to produce any significant amount of coinage.
"Funny, him running off like that. Almost fell on the way, and him being an elf and all"
The other man merely nodded in agreement, taking another swing from his ale pitcher.
"Didn't look as if he were going to hunt the beasts, either. More like running, I'd say"
The other farmer looked philosophically into the murky depths of his mug, deciding it was time to contribute to the conversation.
"Yeah"
The talkative of the two took advantage of the elaborate summary of his drinking partner's feelings, lowering the liquid content of his own stein. Putting it down with the traditional thunk, the resumed the conversation.
"I'm not surprised, though. Those wounds..."
The memory of the body the two found in the fields was enough to interrupt even him. At first it looked like a young human, but the partially recognizable features of the face and the single pointy ear found near the main part of the corpse identified the dead as an elf. It was much easier to determine his gender, although still not a pleasant task. The corpse was completly mutilated, and with experience born living in such dangerous times the farmers were able to judge that it was harried largely before the elf died. A hastily called ranger only confirmed the horrible suspicion.
"Can't see a wolf that would tear a man apart like that. And he was an elf, too. I thought they went along with animals and all"
The farmer recalled the ranger's challenge for anybody to read tracks among the mass of torn up and goried ground the body lied at. However, he did manage to find some pawmarks further away from the site. Speaking with utter conviction, he claimed that an unusualy large wolf guided the dead elf into what looked to be a trap, where a smaller individual... The farmer shruddered at the memory. He had seen a lot of carnage, courtesy of the war and fighting between different factions within Daris itself, but it was strangely disturbing to think that an animal would...
He took another swing out of his mug, washing the sudden bile in his mouth. The body was not so much lying as strewn about the ground, various parts of it torn away from the torso. Combined with the idea that the elf was alive through most of it, it made the outcome of a resurrection attempt not that surprising.
"Guess that's why his soul... what did the woman say? Would not return to the body or something? I wouldn't want to return to remember that, either..."
The two raised their pitchers in a toast to the late elf, looking at the empty vessels gloomly. The idea that something mauled an experienced, from the look of things, adventurer did not bode well for those whose livelihood lay in being able to work the fields each day.
"Funny.. now to think, maybe he did run off to hunt the thing after all. Mumbled something about a hawk in the sky or something..."
The two looked at the money the elf who run off left in his hurry, calculating the gain versus required expenses. After a brief silent pause, the verbal one declared their decision.
"Lass! Another round of Hunar here"
"Funny, him running off like that. Almost fell on the way, and him being an elf and all"
The other man merely nodded in agreement, taking another swing from his ale pitcher.
"Didn't look as if he were going to hunt the beasts, either. More like running, I'd say"
The other farmer looked philosophically into the murky depths of his mug, deciding it was time to contribute to the conversation.
"Yeah"
The talkative of the two took advantage of the elaborate summary of his drinking partner's feelings, lowering the liquid content of his own stein. Putting it down with the traditional thunk, the resumed the conversation.
"I'm not surprised, though. Those wounds..."
The memory of the body the two found in the fields was enough to interrupt even him. At first it looked like a young human, but the partially recognizable features of the face and the single pointy ear found near the main part of the corpse identified the dead as an elf. It was much easier to determine his gender, although still not a pleasant task. The corpse was completly mutilated, and with experience born living in such dangerous times the farmers were able to judge that it was harried largely before the elf died. A hastily called ranger only confirmed the horrible suspicion.
"Can't see a wolf that would tear a man apart like that. And he was an elf, too. I thought they went along with animals and all"
The farmer recalled the ranger's challenge for anybody to read tracks among the mass of torn up and goried ground the body lied at. However, he did manage to find some pawmarks further away from the site. Speaking with utter conviction, he claimed that an unusualy large wolf guided the dead elf into what looked to be a trap, where a smaller individual... The farmer shruddered at the memory. He had seen a lot of carnage, courtesy of the war and fighting between different factions within Daris itself, but it was strangely disturbing to think that an animal would...
He took another swing out of his mug, washing the sudden bile in his mouth. The body was not so much lying as strewn about the ground, various parts of it torn away from the torso. Combined with the idea that the elf was alive through most of it, it made the outcome of a resurrection attempt not that surprising.
"Guess that's why his soul... what did the woman say? Would not return to the body or something? I wouldn't want to return to remember that, either..."
The two raised their pitchers in a toast to the late elf, looking at the empty vessels gloomly. The idea that something mauled an experienced, from the look of things, adventurer did not bode well for those whose livelihood lay in being able to work the fields each day.
"Funny.. now to think, maybe he did run off to hunt the thing after all. Mumbled something about a hawk in the sky or something..."
The two looked at the money the elf who run off left in his hurry, calculating the gain versus required expenses. After a brief silent pause, the verbal one declared their decision.
"Lass! Another round of Hunar here"
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Sally Adams
- Dasarian Hero
- Posts: 383
- Joined: Mon Jul 21, 2003 11:03 pm
The clearing on the outskirts of the forest was clearly artificial. If the semi-circular shape, opening to a now-overgrown expanse of what must have been fields weren't a hint enough, the lone remains of a chimney stack bespoke of a settlement of some wealth. The large and flat mounds, scattered about, suggested populance of slightly over fifty, quite a number for such a remote area. A larger, more defined mound halfway to the fields looked out of place for a building, but without a marker it was anybody's guess what its former function had been.
The two large shapes moved with surprising lack of sound through the undergrowth on the outskirts of the clearing. The wolves were too large to be of their usual forest kin, and even the smaller of them was the size of a well-grown pony. The male stoped short of coming out into the open, the other paying no notice to it as she strode into the sunlight of the late afternoon. The wolf's mane still carried splotches of blood from the last Varanite patrol they encountered, although so far behind the line of current Varana advance, it was only a chance that brought them into contact. As she strode into the clearing, the wolf's body melted, forming the shape of an elven woman. Walking toward the center of the clearing, she gazed about warily, occasionally looking toward the edge of the forest, where the diminutive movement of brushes ensured of her companion's constant search for nearby threats. Walking toward the middle of the former village, she took place with her back against the remains of the dead tree, the shadow cast by it sharpening the scars covering her face. With one more quick look around the area, out of habit rather than necessity as the wolf prowled the edge of the clearing, she settled down, closing her eyes.
The images emerged from her memory almost instantenously, as if attracted the place. Ever since meeting the man... or whomever he was... in the temple under the caves occupied by Varana, she could find no rest. It was only a matter of time, after she closed her eyes to rest, before the memories would flow her mind again... every time sharper. Salia shivered as the scenes played in her mind, even more vivid than they had been when it was all happening. It was as if the numbness she had felt being part of it had been supressed along with the memories... and now she could find it no more. It was all the more painful to witness with clear mind, and she clenched her fists, silently cursing the man that had summoned the images back.
And the sounds. As much as she tried now, the sounds would always come back to fill her ears. The sound so unlike the ocean waves, yet this time of fire. The occasional scream voicing the terror, disbelieving shock of lost immortality, and foremost, the agony of betrayal. And, worst of all, the last sounds from those dearest to her the most... Her body started to tremble as she tried to push the memories away, her fingers digging deep into the ash-enriched soil. As hard as she fought, tried to think of something else, it was of no use. Summoned back in the temple, then strengthened by the becursed spell that Tia'ith cast on her, they were overtaking her mind. She tried to focus thinking about the man, but the thoughts slipped. It was as if she were unable to concentrate, the waves of recollection shattering her attempts at logical cogitation with increasing urgency as she tried to hold them back. She could hear vaguely the alarmed approach of her companion, his low, questioning growl, but it was coming as if through a dense haze, and she felt herself slipping back into fire, screams, and the parade of faces leaning over her body, the faces she knew so well...
The remains of the chimney exploded with rain of shattered stonework as the lightning struck, the loud crash of the thunder jerking Salia's body. She opened her eyes, turning her head to the side as a chips of a flying rock stung deep at her face. Scars was growling, hidden behind the trunk of the tree from the assault as more debris fell against the worn-out leather of her clothing. She stood up, another lightning striking a tree at the edge of the forest, and reached up to feel the cut in her cheek. She felt several raindrops fall on the skin of the back of her hand, and a moment later the moisture of flowing blood was mingling on her face with the outpour of rain coming from the sky. Looking toward the solitary mound in the fields, she ignored the continuing lightning while the storm raged.
Yes, the faces... So many of them, yet so few relevant now. She stood by the dead tree, the gusts of rain flowing freely down her body despite the thick leather of her clothing. Most of them changed now, their expressions no longer sharing the glimmer of triumph in their gaze. Some, mostly the early ones, she recalled now as twisted in shocked surprise. The later ones... she wrapped in the feeling of dark satisfaction, shivering as the cold rain drove her body heat away. Particularly the last one, of the group she tracked down to Daris, was rather differently looking. No longer leering, his pointed ears flushed with excitement at her helplessness. The tables have turned.
She regreted the fury that had made her forget all her plans of getting information about the others from the elf as she gave chase to him. That was the danger of wolf form - everything was too simplified for any elaborate plan to survive assuming that form. Still, it had its good sides - not least of all the ability of sleep that she found so fascinating...
She engrosed in consideration of her other body, ignoring the receding storm. After a while, her shape twisted again, and the two wolves trotted off back into the forest. As the slow, gentle change of her thoughts took place, she chuckled humorlessly in the confines of her imagination. It was ridiculous trying to find peace here, but it was not in vain. The memories would still haunt her mind, but she knew there was a way to turn them to strengthen the resolve that drove her ever since. The elf's companions where still somewhere in, or about, Daris, and would have hard time to bypass the Varanite blockade...
In the now empty clearing, a few of the remaining stones that marked the chimney stack slid down, leaving the burned trunk as a lone reminder of the past events.
The two large shapes moved with surprising lack of sound through the undergrowth on the outskirts of the clearing. The wolves were too large to be of their usual forest kin, and even the smaller of them was the size of a well-grown pony. The male stoped short of coming out into the open, the other paying no notice to it as she strode into the sunlight of the late afternoon. The wolf's mane still carried splotches of blood from the last Varanite patrol they encountered, although so far behind the line of current Varana advance, it was only a chance that brought them into contact. As she strode into the clearing, the wolf's body melted, forming the shape of an elven woman. Walking toward the center of the clearing, she gazed about warily, occasionally looking toward the edge of the forest, where the diminutive movement of brushes ensured of her companion's constant search for nearby threats. Walking toward the middle of the former village, she took place with her back against the remains of the dead tree, the shadow cast by it sharpening the scars covering her face. With one more quick look around the area, out of habit rather than necessity as the wolf prowled the edge of the clearing, she settled down, closing her eyes.
The images emerged from her memory almost instantenously, as if attracted the place. Ever since meeting the man... or whomever he was... in the temple under the caves occupied by Varana, she could find no rest. It was only a matter of time, after she closed her eyes to rest, before the memories would flow her mind again... every time sharper. Salia shivered as the scenes played in her mind, even more vivid than they had been when it was all happening. It was as if the numbness she had felt being part of it had been supressed along with the memories... and now she could find it no more. It was all the more painful to witness with clear mind, and she clenched her fists, silently cursing the man that had summoned the images back.
And the sounds. As much as she tried now, the sounds would always come back to fill her ears. The sound so unlike the ocean waves, yet this time of fire. The occasional scream voicing the terror, disbelieving shock of lost immortality, and foremost, the agony of betrayal. And, worst of all, the last sounds from those dearest to her the most... Her body started to tremble as she tried to push the memories away, her fingers digging deep into the ash-enriched soil. As hard as she fought, tried to think of something else, it was of no use. Summoned back in the temple, then strengthened by the becursed spell that Tia'ith cast on her, they were overtaking her mind. She tried to focus thinking about the man, but the thoughts slipped. It was as if she were unable to concentrate, the waves of recollection shattering her attempts at logical cogitation with increasing urgency as she tried to hold them back. She could hear vaguely the alarmed approach of her companion, his low, questioning growl, but it was coming as if through a dense haze, and she felt herself slipping back into fire, screams, and the parade of faces leaning over her body, the faces she knew so well...
The remains of the chimney exploded with rain of shattered stonework as the lightning struck, the loud crash of the thunder jerking Salia's body. She opened her eyes, turning her head to the side as a chips of a flying rock stung deep at her face. Scars was growling, hidden behind the trunk of the tree from the assault as more debris fell against the worn-out leather of her clothing. She stood up, another lightning striking a tree at the edge of the forest, and reached up to feel the cut in her cheek. She felt several raindrops fall on the skin of the back of her hand, and a moment later the moisture of flowing blood was mingling on her face with the outpour of rain coming from the sky. Looking toward the solitary mound in the fields, she ignored the continuing lightning while the storm raged.
Yes, the faces... So many of them, yet so few relevant now. She stood by the dead tree, the gusts of rain flowing freely down her body despite the thick leather of her clothing. Most of them changed now, their expressions no longer sharing the glimmer of triumph in their gaze. Some, mostly the early ones, she recalled now as twisted in shocked surprise. The later ones... she wrapped in the feeling of dark satisfaction, shivering as the cold rain drove her body heat away. Particularly the last one, of the group she tracked down to Daris, was rather differently looking. No longer leering, his pointed ears flushed with excitement at her helplessness. The tables have turned.
She regreted the fury that had made her forget all her plans of getting information about the others from the elf as she gave chase to him. That was the danger of wolf form - everything was too simplified for any elaborate plan to survive assuming that form. Still, it had its good sides - not least of all the ability of sleep that she found so fascinating...
She engrosed in consideration of her other body, ignoring the receding storm. After a while, her shape twisted again, and the two wolves trotted off back into the forest. As the slow, gentle change of her thoughts took place, she chuckled humorlessly in the confines of her imagination. It was ridiculous trying to find peace here, but it was not in vain. The memories would still haunt her mind, but she knew there was a way to turn them to strengthen the resolve that drove her ever since. The elf's companions where still somewhere in, or about, Daris, and would have hard time to bypass the Varanite blockade...
In the now empty clearing, a few of the remaining stones that marked the chimney stack slid down, leaving the burned trunk as a lone reminder of the past events.
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Sally Adams
- Dasarian Hero
- Posts: 383
- Joined: Mon Jul 21, 2003 11:03 pm
The blissful darkness was disrupted by sounds. She tried to ignore them, yet their persistance shattered the stasis. After - ages? seconds? - the sounds were recogized as voices. They seemed to flow through her, jerking her body with each sentence. After some time, she realized the feelings were, in fact, those of her body being roughly handles. The darkness erupted in a blinding flash as the memory of similar hands stirred in her mind. New impulses runing through her body informed that, despite complete lack of vision, her eyes were open. She tried to raise her hands, then even to clench them, yet instead all she felt was dull throb in the left side of her chest...
The recollection assaulted her with greater viciousness than the event itself. The arc of the Claw scythe, coming toward her body. The hopeless certainty that her shield was too far to deflect the blow. The sound of the blade's point effortlessly piercing through her armor, the crushing of the barkskin, finally the intrusion into her own body...
The instinctive sharp intake of breath her mind demanded was left unfulfilled, and her fleeting consciousness focused on the strange lack of responses from her own body. The subtle signals the living took for granted were strangely disquieting in their absence. It was just dull pulsing, flashing in front of her eyes to the rythm of the pressure in her ears. The only feeling was the source of the pulsing...
Suddenly she felt the same vertigo she experienced only once in Skyhawk, when what she took for sounds of young men's training in arms suddenly erupted all over the town in fury of an ongoing battle. The dull pounding in her chest similarly became something more disturbing, and with strange clarity she knew, then, that it was the feeling of her blood pumping out of her body, pierced by the Claw's weapon.
Her body was moved again, several dulled sensations just registering with her mind. For a moment she was back in the town again, feeling the harsh pressure of hands meaning to hurt. She tried to roll away frantically, the lack of vision adding to her distress, but her body would not move. Instead, the rythmic pounding increased, as if...
The cold certainty returned. She was dying. The voices returned, sounding far off yet still intelligible enough for her mind to try to focus on the words. They were a small distraction from the rythmic pulsing that seemed to fill her sightless world, but they proved enough of an anchor to keep her emergent from the dark stuppor. This time, when she imagined she felt the pressure of others' touch on her skin, even her damaged body could not refuse the sheer power of will that surged through it.
The two soldiers jerked back as what they took for but a warm corpse convulsed in their grasp. The legplates they tried to remove clattered back on the ground as they took a second glance at the half-severed torso of the elven woman.
"Well, I'll be... She's still alive?"
The shorter of the two looked at the wound with professional interest. Despite his lowly rank, he survived enough bloodshed to quickly establish several facts. The deep hole in the woman's side seemed to run quite deep. She might not have died yet, mostly through sheer luck - or misfortune, depending how one looked at it - of no damage to her heart, but it was a killing blow none the less. The fact that she still seemed to be partially conscious was of little consequence considering the circumstances. Still, her movements were distressing, and they *did* want to remove at least some of the more valuable armor before the Claws return from their pursuit of the few that managed to escape the woman's fate and claim the spoils for themselves.
The decision was quick, and a moment later a wide-bladed dagger was already in the man's hand. He leaned toward the dying woman, looking speculatively at the bared throat visible under the skewed helmet. His intended efficient stroke turned into hasty fumbling of the blade as a quiet voice spoke behind his back.
"The emperor's orders were quite clear. All survivors should be given aid to accertain that they *will* survive*
The two looters turned, blanching at the robed man standing behind them even more than at the savage smiles of the claw soldiers behind him. The symbols of Dahak adoring the priest's robes were of little comfort. Nor was the man's quiet voice filling the uneasy silence.
"I shall remember this moment should there be a lack of proper sacrifices to celebrate this glorious victory"
His eyes took on the features of both of the terrified levies, then turned toward the woman lying in the pool of blood. His face convulted in a grotesque smile.
"Such... will to live. It shall be most pleasing an offering"
His hand gestured at the Claw, two of them moving forward, manhandling a man dressed in torn and bloodied clothing along with them. Without turning his head, the priest ordered.
"You know what to do. You know the penalty for failiure. Do not fail, Dasarian."
The man's split lips uttered an incantation, the last words the woman heard before succumbing to the darkness yet again.
---
Salia opened her eyes cautiously, looking about the stable floor covered by the Varanites' captives. The cleric who tended to all the wounded was slumped in the corner, too weary to continue his watch over his charges. A glance at the baricaded door ensured her about the lack of guard within the structure itself, although the light of campfires visible through the uneven timber wall suggested that the entrance was well guarded indeed. The solid stone of the enclosed cave was enough of a certainly for the guards as far as any other direction was concerned. She pressed her elbows in the sheep dung under the fresh straw thinly spread over the ground, pushing her torso upward. Her vision blurred, but she stubbornly continued the motion, painfully raising her hands. A moment later the power she so cautiously summoned during one of her brief moments of consciousness surged through her body. She raised her hand, putting the forearm in her mouth just in time to stiffle the coming cry by biting on the flesh. The pain in her arm was nothing compared to the feeling of sliding ribs and moving flesh that filled her left side. After the first agonizing moment it became bearable, then slowly faded as her will slipped the leash from the regeneration process she inhibited this far. Exhausted, she fell back, letting herself drift into the uneasy rest with full certainty of awakening as soon as the process was complete.
It seemed to take no more than three hours, as some of the campfires still burned brighter than the usual dullness of morning fire. As she gazed about for any change in the surroundings, her hand moved to explore her left side for the first time. The result was what she expected - the tenderness on the freshly regrown ribs and the thickness of a scar marking the length of her side. The fingers rose higher, exploring the disfigurations covering her face. For some strange reason the regeneration would mend the most gruesome of internal injuries, yet leave their rather bodily insignificant marks only partially repaired...
Her hand droped, the reality of the situation taking precedence. The wrist of her right hand was manacled, the metal feeling strange to the touch. The light seeping through the cracks in the timbers of the front wall was enough to show her the magical sigils carved into the restraints.
She scoffed none too quietly. She was hardly using magic - the protective wards so carefully carved into the metal brace were mere decorations as far as her abilities were concerned. Pressing her arm against the foulness of the floor, her body changed its texture, momentarily dulling in stone gray before covering with bark. She reached out... The sprouts came almost instantly. With a gingerly nudge of its development, she moved the most promissing between the ridges in her transformed body, sliding under the manacle. The power surged through her body again, as the green growth lengthened, maturing in a manner of seconds, the pressure of its thickening only slightly alleviated by the change to her body. Gritting her teeth, she increased the flow of power, directing some of it at renewing the protective layers overlapping her vulnerable flesh.
The distinct sound of breaking metal was not too loud, as the free-bursting trunk of the young tree muted the vibrations. Quickly stalling its growth, Salia changed the nature of the power channeled into the wood. In a matter of moments, she was holding a servicable cudgel in hand, with a band of broken metal grown into its handle. Looking around, she quickly accessed the rest of the wounded prisoners. Marking those she thought would be able to help, she settled back to rest again, hiding the length of the club with her body. Time was short, and even with what little rest she would manage she knew she would pay dearly for pushing her barely healed body so hard at later time...
Several hours into the night there was little outside to illuminate makeshift barn's interior. A pair of guards shining their lantern into the cave did not even bother themselves with checking the chains of all the prisoners - considering the nature of the wounds of most, they would be hard pressed to run through the camp in front of the cavern. They did stop by the cleric, making certain the man was sufficiently secured, laughing harshly at his exhaustion when the sharp tugs at the chains failed to raise him from his restless slumber.
Salia waited another hour before moving toward the most promising of the group, a wizard with wound dressings covering his entire torso. The limp right hand sported similar manacle as hers had had, but this time her control over the process of breaking the metal was much greater, as the subtle points of growing another plant in most effective shape became clear from her own experience. Maintaining both the stone and bark cover over the man's arm, she had even time for a brief thought about how few people realized the sheer power of living things over inert matter... The metal snapped, immediately engulfed by the enlarging growth of the sapling. As before, she stilled the nurturing, stiffening the trunk to serve as another makeshift weapon.
The man was conscious in a matter of minutes. Not a cleric herself, she could, nevertheless, match them in healing power when the need arose... although with far greater effort on her behalf. The wizard was seriously wounded, as the exhausted cleric's abilities were hard pressed to keep so many people's wounds healed enough to give them a chance of surviving another night...
Salia had no such problem. She noticed another wounded cleric, and was capable of healing that man sufficiently to bring him to usefullness. Her last effort was chanelling the same regeneration ability into both of the clerics before she retired for another hour of uneasy rest, letting them work on the wounded as they saw fit. Without any clear plan, she had nothing to tell them.
She almost missed the passing of the hour, only the many nights spent in the forest in her other body waking her at the necessary time. Looking around, she noticed both of the clerics swaying from exhaustion, a number of cautiously moving heads speaking of the effort they put into healing as many wounded as possible. A glance at the entrance assured her of enough time for consideration of a plan... but she could come with none that would allow them a chance of escaping. Her jaws clenched at the hated feeling of helplessness, a feeling she detested ever since...
The trembling of the ground startled her into hasty glances about. The ceiling seemed to hold, but the back of the cave was slowly sliding down, as if the entire mountain was submerging. With a jerk the motion stoped, a moment later followed by a sudden drop of the floor in the back. Several of the prisoners cried out, sliding into the darkness below. Their shouts were mirrored by the arisen cries from beyond the timber wall, and bursts of flames spoke of the campfires being restoked by the awaken Varanites.
A shadow form emerged from the sudden opening in the ground, beconing at the inprisoned Dasarians. After a moment, it was joined by one of the people who fell into the opening, gesturing with increasing urgency.
"Tunnels down there! We can escape!"
The sudden surge of bodies was quickly haltered by several voices. After another moment of confused calls, the only one remaining was belonging to a middle-aged human, recently assisted by the clerics. Despite the short time passed, the man seemed in control of himself sufficient to establish his leadership and issue several orders hastening the clearing of the cave from wounded and already healed alike. Nobody stoped to argue, although a few stoped as the sounds of appraching footsteps from behind the wooden wall rebounded from the stone walls. The mage Salia helped looked up from tearing the chains with flame-covered hands, his eyes narrowing at the shadows of the men beyond.
She steped in front of the wizard, shaking her head vigorously. Looking at the still-sitting impromptu leader, she jerked her head toward the opening in the ground with a finger on her lips. The soldier - most likely a nobleman, judging from his posture - seemed ready to argue, but as the sound of dragged timbers came from behind the sturdy wooden door, rose to his feet, assisting another wounded led away into the dark. The mage glanced at Salia, then shrugged, helping one of the exhausted clerics toward the back. Standing over the slide in the floor, he looked at her quizzically.
It was Salia's time to shrug, then focus her attention on the entrance to the cave. The timbers the guards used to barricade the door were moved away, and any moment the Varanites would come in to discover the escaping prisoners. Her mind did not dwelve on the matter for too long - the solution was rather clear...
The ground trembled again, this time the motion seeming to come from under the Varana camp. A loose rock droped into the cave, followed by another. Salia could feel her control slipping, as much from her exhaustion as from the effort required to chanelling her power into the ground itself. Clenching her jaw, she imagined the shifting lines in the ground, as the rock moved. Swaying on her feet, she listened with dark satisfaction at the sound of scuffling from behind the timber wall that the unknown sheep hearder used to turn the cave into a safe place to keep his flock in. The warning cries of the Varanites were loud now, but even they could not break through the loud rumbling that almost deafened Salia. Without releasing her control over the forces she summoned, she took several quick steps back. The mage looked at the straining timbers of the entrance, then ducked into the opening below, jumping down the pile of rocks marking its descent. Salia followed, stumbling as another tremor moved a stone from under her feet. Falling on her hands, she felt the power shifting, flowing beyond her grasp. A sharp snap from the entrance proceeded the sound of a landslide, as the timbers gave way to the shifted weight of the mountain's face bearing down on them... Falling down into the dark unknown, the elf grunted in satisfaction. Whether the escape attempt succeeded or not, at least she managed to *do* something.
Large arms rose toward her, clawed hands closing gently over her body. The creature bore her hastily away as rocks tumbled down the dark tunnel from the filling cave overhead, following a number of its kind all bearing similar burden. Salia looked at the beast's face, its features slowly melting as the exhaustion of the night overcame her will. Despite the savage features she managed to see, the lack of hostility she could sense in the creature somehow stilled her usual distrust.
Before the sounds of the landslide faded into the darkness that overcame her vision, she tried to snicker with sudden dazed amusement.
She escaped Varana... carried by an unknown creature bedamned gods only knew where...
The recollection assaulted her with greater viciousness than the event itself. The arc of the Claw scythe, coming toward her body. The hopeless certainty that her shield was too far to deflect the blow. The sound of the blade's point effortlessly piercing through her armor, the crushing of the barkskin, finally the intrusion into her own body...
The instinctive sharp intake of breath her mind demanded was left unfulfilled, and her fleeting consciousness focused on the strange lack of responses from her own body. The subtle signals the living took for granted were strangely disquieting in their absence. It was just dull pulsing, flashing in front of her eyes to the rythm of the pressure in her ears. The only feeling was the source of the pulsing...
Suddenly she felt the same vertigo she experienced only once in Skyhawk, when what she took for sounds of young men's training in arms suddenly erupted all over the town in fury of an ongoing battle. The dull pounding in her chest similarly became something more disturbing, and with strange clarity she knew, then, that it was the feeling of her blood pumping out of her body, pierced by the Claw's weapon.
Her body was moved again, several dulled sensations just registering with her mind. For a moment she was back in the town again, feeling the harsh pressure of hands meaning to hurt. She tried to roll away frantically, the lack of vision adding to her distress, but her body would not move. Instead, the rythmic pounding increased, as if...
The cold certainty returned. She was dying. The voices returned, sounding far off yet still intelligible enough for her mind to try to focus on the words. They were a small distraction from the rythmic pulsing that seemed to fill her sightless world, but they proved enough of an anchor to keep her emergent from the dark stuppor. This time, when she imagined she felt the pressure of others' touch on her skin, even her damaged body could not refuse the sheer power of will that surged through it.
The two soldiers jerked back as what they took for but a warm corpse convulsed in their grasp. The legplates they tried to remove clattered back on the ground as they took a second glance at the half-severed torso of the elven woman.
"Well, I'll be... She's still alive?"
The shorter of the two looked at the wound with professional interest. Despite his lowly rank, he survived enough bloodshed to quickly establish several facts. The deep hole in the woman's side seemed to run quite deep. She might not have died yet, mostly through sheer luck - or misfortune, depending how one looked at it - of no damage to her heart, but it was a killing blow none the less. The fact that she still seemed to be partially conscious was of little consequence considering the circumstances. Still, her movements were distressing, and they *did* want to remove at least some of the more valuable armor before the Claws return from their pursuit of the few that managed to escape the woman's fate and claim the spoils for themselves.
The decision was quick, and a moment later a wide-bladed dagger was already in the man's hand. He leaned toward the dying woman, looking speculatively at the bared throat visible under the skewed helmet. His intended efficient stroke turned into hasty fumbling of the blade as a quiet voice spoke behind his back.
"The emperor's orders were quite clear. All survivors should be given aid to accertain that they *will* survive*
The two looters turned, blanching at the robed man standing behind them even more than at the savage smiles of the claw soldiers behind him. The symbols of Dahak adoring the priest's robes were of little comfort. Nor was the man's quiet voice filling the uneasy silence.
"I shall remember this moment should there be a lack of proper sacrifices to celebrate this glorious victory"
His eyes took on the features of both of the terrified levies, then turned toward the woman lying in the pool of blood. His face convulted in a grotesque smile.
"Such... will to live. It shall be most pleasing an offering"
His hand gestured at the Claw, two of them moving forward, manhandling a man dressed in torn and bloodied clothing along with them. Without turning his head, the priest ordered.
"You know what to do. You know the penalty for failiure. Do not fail, Dasarian."
The man's split lips uttered an incantation, the last words the woman heard before succumbing to the darkness yet again.
---
Salia opened her eyes cautiously, looking about the stable floor covered by the Varanites' captives. The cleric who tended to all the wounded was slumped in the corner, too weary to continue his watch over his charges. A glance at the baricaded door ensured her about the lack of guard within the structure itself, although the light of campfires visible through the uneven timber wall suggested that the entrance was well guarded indeed. The solid stone of the enclosed cave was enough of a certainly for the guards as far as any other direction was concerned. She pressed her elbows in the sheep dung under the fresh straw thinly spread over the ground, pushing her torso upward. Her vision blurred, but she stubbornly continued the motion, painfully raising her hands. A moment later the power she so cautiously summoned during one of her brief moments of consciousness surged through her body. She raised her hand, putting the forearm in her mouth just in time to stiffle the coming cry by biting on the flesh. The pain in her arm was nothing compared to the feeling of sliding ribs and moving flesh that filled her left side. After the first agonizing moment it became bearable, then slowly faded as her will slipped the leash from the regeneration process she inhibited this far. Exhausted, she fell back, letting herself drift into the uneasy rest with full certainty of awakening as soon as the process was complete.
It seemed to take no more than three hours, as some of the campfires still burned brighter than the usual dullness of morning fire. As she gazed about for any change in the surroundings, her hand moved to explore her left side for the first time. The result was what she expected - the tenderness on the freshly regrown ribs and the thickness of a scar marking the length of her side. The fingers rose higher, exploring the disfigurations covering her face. For some strange reason the regeneration would mend the most gruesome of internal injuries, yet leave their rather bodily insignificant marks only partially repaired...
Her hand droped, the reality of the situation taking precedence. The wrist of her right hand was manacled, the metal feeling strange to the touch. The light seeping through the cracks in the timbers of the front wall was enough to show her the magical sigils carved into the restraints.
She scoffed none too quietly. She was hardly using magic - the protective wards so carefully carved into the metal brace were mere decorations as far as her abilities were concerned. Pressing her arm against the foulness of the floor, her body changed its texture, momentarily dulling in stone gray before covering with bark. She reached out... The sprouts came almost instantly. With a gingerly nudge of its development, she moved the most promissing between the ridges in her transformed body, sliding under the manacle. The power surged through her body again, as the green growth lengthened, maturing in a manner of seconds, the pressure of its thickening only slightly alleviated by the change to her body. Gritting her teeth, she increased the flow of power, directing some of it at renewing the protective layers overlapping her vulnerable flesh.
The distinct sound of breaking metal was not too loud, as the free-bursting trunk of the young tree muted the vibrations. Quickly stalling its growth, Salia changed the nature of the power channeled into the wood. In a matter of moments, she was holding a servicable cudgel in hand, with a band of broken metal grown into its handle. Looking around, she quickly accessed the rest of the wounded prisoners. Marking those she thought would be able to help, she settled back to rest again, hiding the length of the club with her body. Time was short, and even with what little rest she would manage she knew she would pay dearly for pushing her barely healed body so hard at later time...
Several hours into the night there was little outside to illuminate makeshift barn's interior. A pair of guards shining their lantern into the cave did not even bother themselves with checking the chains of all the prisoners - considering the nature of the wounds of most, they would be hard pressed to run through the camp in front of the cavern. They did stop by the cleric, making certain the man was sufficiently secured, laughing harshly at his exhaustion when the sharp tugs at the chains failed to raise him from his restless slumber.
Salia waited another hour before moving toward the most promising of the group, a wizard with wound dressings covering his entire torso. The limp right hand sported similar manacle as hers had had, but this time her control over the process of breaking the metal was much greater, as the subtle points of growing another plant in most effective shape became clear from her own experience. Maintaining both the stone and bark cover over the man's arm, she had even time for a brief thought about how few people realized the sheer power of living things over inert matter... The metal snapped, immediately engulfed by the enlarging growth of the sapling. As before, she stilled the nurturing, stiffening the trunk to serve as another makeshift weapon.
The man was conscious in a matter of minutes. Not a cleric herself, she could, nevertheless, match them in healing power when the need arose... although with far greater effort on her behalf. The wizard was seriously wounded, as the exhausted cleric's abilities were hard pressed to keep so many people's wounds healed enough to give them a chance of surviving another night...
Salia had no such problem. She noticed another wounded cleric, and was capable of healing that man sufficiently to bring him to usefullness. Her last effort was chanelling the same regeneration ability into both of the clerics before she retired for another hour of uneasy rest, letting them work on the wounded as they saw fit. Without any clear plan, she had nothing to tell them.
She almost missed the passing of the hour, only the many nights spent in the forest in her other body waking her at the necessary time. Looking around, she noticed both of the clerics swaying from exhaustion, a number of cautiously moving heads speaking of the effort they put into healing as many wounded as possible. A glance at the entrance assured her of enough time for consideration of a plan... but she could come with none that would allow them a chance of escaping. Her jaws clenched at the hated feeling of helplessness, a feeling she detested ever since...
The trembling of the ground startled her into hasty glances about. The ceiling seemed to hold, but the back of the cave was slowly sliding down, as if the entire mountain was submerging. With a jerk the motion stoped, a moment later followed by a sudden drop of the floor in the back. Several of the prisoners cried out, sliding into the darkness below. Their shouts were mirrored by the arisen cries from beyond the timber wall, and bursts of flames spoke of the campfires being restoked by the awaken Varanites.
A shadow form emerged from the sudden opening in the ground, beconing at the inprisoned Dasarians. After a moment, it was joined by one of the people who fell into the opening, gesturing with increasing urgency.
"Tunnels down there! We can escape!"
The sudden surge of bodies was quickly haltered by several voices. After another moment of confused calls, the only one remaining was belonging to a middle-aged human, recently assisted by the clerics. Despite the short time passed, the man seemed in control of himself sufficient to establish his leadership and issue several orders hastening the clearing of the cave from wounded and already healed alike. Nobody stoped to argue, although a few stoped as the sounds of appraching footsteps from behind the wooden wall rebounded from the stone walls. The mage Salia helped looked up from tearing the chains with flame-covered hands, his eyes narrowing at the shadows of the men beyond.
She steped in front of the wizard, shaking her head vigorously. Looking at the still-sitting impromptu leader, she jerked her head toward the opening in the ground with a finger on her lips. The soldier - most likely a nobleman, judging from his posture - seemed ready to argue, but as the sound of dragged timbers came from behind the sturdy wooden door, rose to his feet, assisting another wounded led away into the dark. The mage glanced at Salia, then shrugged, helping one of the exhausted clerics toward the back. Standing over the slide in the floor, he looked at her quizzically.
It was Salia's time to shrug, then focus her attention on the entrance to the cave. The timbers the guards used to barricade the door were moved away, and any moment the Varanites would come in to discover the escaping prisoners. Her mind did not dwelve on the matter for too long - the solution was rather clear...
The ground trembled again, this time the motion seeming to come from under the Varana camp. A loose rock droped into the cave, followed by another. Salia could feel her control slipping, as much from her exhaustion as from the effort required to chanelling her power into the ground itself. Clenching her jaw, she imagined the shifting lines in the ground, as the rock moved. Swaying on her feet, she listened with dark satisfaction at the sound of scuffling from behind the timber wall that the unknown sheep hearder used to turn the cave into a safe place to keep his flock in. The warning cries of the Varanites were loud now, but even they could not break through the loud rumbling that almost deafened Salia. Without releasing her control over the forces she summoned, she took several quick steps back. The mage looked at the straining timbers of the entrance, then ducked into the opening below, jumping down the pile of rocks marking its descent. Salia followed, stumbling as another tremor moved a stone from under her feet. Falling on her hands, she felt the power shifting, flowing beyond her grasp. A sharp snap from the entrance proceeded the sound of a landslide, as the timbers gave way to the shifted weight of the mountain's face bearing down on them... Falling down into the dark unknown, the elf grunted in satisfaction. Whether the escape attempt succeeded or not, at least she managed to *do* something.
Large arms rose toward her, clawed hands closing gently over her body. The creature bore her hastily away as rocks tumbled down the dark tunnel from the filling cave overhead, following a number of its kind all bearing similar burden. Salia looked at the beast's face, its features slowly melting as the exhaustion of the night overcame her will. Despite the savage features she managed to see, the lack of hostility she could sense in the creature somehow stilled her usual distrust.
Before the sounds of the landslide faded into the darkness that overcame her vision, she tried to snicker with sudden dazed amusement.
She escaped Varana... carried by an unknown creature bedamned gods only knew where...
-
Sally Adams
- Dasarian Hero
- Posts: 383
- Joined: Mon Jul 21, 2003 11:03 pm
The exit was gone, with the solid rock not even marred by a hint of its previous existence, as if the tunnels the creatures led them through were but a dream. She walked to the bared stone, pressing her hands flat against it. She drew on the power, sending another call surging into the bowels of the mountain before slumping exhaustedly on the ground. Leaning against the mountainside, she sat in silence, as much waiting as recupating from the strain the control of the forces had just placed on her body.
Most likely they would not come. On many occasions before she had tried to call on the creatures, all with the same outcome. They had had, in many instances she heard recalled, rescued Dasarians from Varana bondage, but for some unfathomable reason refused what meager attempts at communication were initiated. Only one of the shifters would respond to her own queries, and it was in a dismissive way that left her with yet more questions to ask. If they were uninterested in the surface dwellers, why help them in the first place?
She hardly had a need for self-deception. She was not seeking the creatures to thank them for their assistance - something that was so easily forgotten during the hasty escape they made possible. No, it was the thought of such powerfull ally that drove her to seek contact with the creatures. And if not help, then at least understanding of their motives - the display of their capabilities left her highly distraught after the silent refusal to establish reasons behind their actions...
There was another reason to her presence in the mountains rather than the camp or within the confines of the city. The camp was becoming increasingly chaotic, with physical arguments and thievery becoming daily occurences as people recovered from the initial shock of the defeat. On top of the things, Peribo's stubborn refusal to release the much needed equipment to those who might, with it, make the shoddy circumstances of camp life more bearable was increasingly grating at Salia's own sense of propriety. Her hands clenched as she recalled the tenfold profit marigin the never-too-be-enough-damned gnome established on her wares. It was all the more infuriating that people seemed to accept such balant opportunism without a second thought. The gnome should, she felt, at least lend out the equipment given that most of those who did return with no posessions lost them by godsdamned defending, among others, the said trader.
She gazed down the hill, letting her mind lose while quieting down. Were it not for the idiotic laws the few Redboots that came back to camp to rest before moving on another patrol still tried to enforce, the gnome would have little to say about her posessions if Salia had any say. Still, there was a reason she had suffered the indignities of Daris for so long, and she was not going to let her temper waste all that time by assaulting Peribo... for now.
Her thoughts drifted toward the issue of the clones, and once again she could feel her anger flaring up. How soon can all of them forget? She did not expect much from the ever-changing humans, but the elfs seemed to also be affected by the swift forgetfullness that characterized the more uncouth race. Nobody bothered to check if any of the people tricking into the camp were who they claimed - and it was such an easy thing to do, too. A mage or fighter to deal a swift and relatively painless blow, a cleric to bring the person to life, and clear certainty that Varana was not planting roots for another treason further down the road. Instead, they seemed to be content at pretending the Varanites would lose interest in them because of a single victory...
Taking several deep breaths, she glanced at her hands, noticing the cuts in skin where her fingernails dug into the, for once, unprotected skin. Recently she kept forgetting about fralities of her body, spending most of the time either trying to circumvent in her other form the Varanite patrols swamping the forest or covered by bark. She could feel the tug of the wolfshape even now... and the certainty of dangers hidden in using it too often. On the upside, it allowed her to channel some of the anger directly at the Varanites, and solve the increasing difficulties in obtaining food anywhere around the camp area. There were few animals alive... just a day ago she saw one of the new urchins hunting down what seemed the last squirrel within a walking distance from the camp. The foodstocks in the city were droping down rapidly as well, despite most of the refugees attempt at self-suficiency. It was but a matter of time before famine bring disease on both the camp and the city by which walls it was located...
The creatures were not coming. She hoped to persuade them to at least reveal some way of getting back into the farmlands - she doubted the Varanites would take enough time to destroy the fields, particularly since few people realized how much effort it took until they tried... and she would bet by now they had. Most likely they simply put torch to the fields and barns, but.. She knew the farmers were not given to trust even the adventurers that had populated Daris, and they had quite a quantity stashed away from prying eyes - a fact she was quick to learn if simply by seizing a few at the camp and ensuring the rummors were true. With a way of getting to the farmlands undetected, they had a chance of recovering the supplies and stall the onset of hunger in the camp... If only for but a few days.
All assuming the enigma from below would even bother responding to her calls.
She had come to Daris with a simple thing on her mind. How did she get involved in all this madness?
Most likely they would not come. On many occasions before she had tried to call on the creatures, all with the same outcome. They had had, in many instances she heard recalled, rescued Dasarians from Varana bondage, but for some unfathomable reason refused what meager attempts at communication were initiated. Only one of the shifters would respond to her own queries, and it was in a dismissive way that left her with yet more questions to ask. If they were uninterested in the surface dwellers, why help them in the first place?
She hardly had a need for self-deception. She was not seeking the creatures to thank them for their assistance - something that was so easily forgotten during the hasty escape they made possible. No, it was the thought of such powerfull ally that drove her to seek contact with the creatures. And if not help, then at least understanding of their motives - the display of their capabilities left her highly distraught after the silent refusal to establish reasons behind their actions...
There was another reason to her presence in the mountains rather than the camp or within the confines of the city. The camp was becoming increasingly chaotic, with physical arguments and thievery becoming daily occurences as people recovered from the initial shock of the defeat. On top of the things, Peribo's stubborn refusal to release the much needed equipment to those who might, with it, make the shoddy circumstances of camp life more bearable was increasingly grating at Salia's own sense of propriety. Her hands clenched as she recalled the tenfold profit marigin the never-too-be-enough-damned gnome established on her wares. It was all the more infuriating that people seemed to accept such balant opportunism without a second thought. The gnome should, she felt, at least lend out the equipment given that most of those who did return with no posessions lost them by godsdamned defending, among others, the said trader.
She gazed down the hill, letting her mind lose while quieting down. Were it not for the idiotic laws the few Redboots that came back to camp to rest before moving on another patrol still tried to enforce, the gnome would have little to say about her posessions if Salia had any say. Still, there was a reason she had suffered the indignities of Daris for so long, and she was not going to let her temper waste all that time by assaulting Peribo... for now.
Her thoughts drifted toward the issue of the clones, and once again she could feel her anger flaring up. How soon can all of them forget? She did not expect much from the ever-changing humans, but the elfs seemed to also be affected by the swift forgetfullness that characterized the more uncouth race. Nobody bothered to check if any of the people tricking into the camp were who they claimed - and it was such an easy thing to do, too. A mage or fighter to deal a swift and relatively painless blow, a cleric to bring the person to life, and clear certainty that Varana was not planting roots for another treason further down the road. Instead, they seemed to be content at pretending the Varanites would lose interest in them because of a single victory...
Taking several deep breaths, she glanced at her hands, noticing the cuts in skin where her fingernails dug into the, for once, unprotected skin. Recently she kept forgetting about fralities of her body, spending most of the time either trying to circumvent in her other form the Varanite patrols swamping the forest or covered by bark. She could feel the tug of the wolfshape even now... and the certainty of dangers hidden in using it too often. On the upside, it allowed her to channel some of the anger directly at the Varanites, and solve the increasing difficulties in obtaining food anywhere around the camp area. There were few animals alive... just a day ago she saw one of the new urchins hunting down what seemed the last squirrel within a walking distance from the camp. The foodstocks in the city were droping down rapidly as well, despite most of the refugees attempt at self-suficiency. It was but a matter of time before famine bring disease on both the camp and the city by which walls it was located...
The creatures were not coming. She hoped to persuade them to at least reveal some way of getting back into the farmlands - she doubted the Varanites would take enough time to destroy the fields, particularly since few people realized how much effort it took until they tried... and she would bet by now they had. Most likely they simply put torch to the fields and barns, but.. She knew the farmers were not given to trust even the adventurers that had populated Daris, and they had quite a quantity stashed away from prying eyes - a fact she was quick to learn if simply by seizing a few at the camp and ensuring the rummors were true. With a way of getting to the farmlands undetected, they had a chance of recovering the supplies and stall the onset of hunger in the camp... If only for but a few days.
All assuming the enigma from below would even bother responding to her calls.
She had come to Daris with a simple thing on her mind. How did she get involved in all this madness?
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Sally Adams
- Dasarian Hero
- Posts: 383
- Joined: Mon Jul 21, 2003 11:03 pm
A small crowd of peasants looked down into the dueling pit with morbid fascination, as the bodies gathered there seemed to move with the swarm of insects crawling over them. The ground was black from the quivering mass, the chitinous sounds clearly head on the embarkment.
"If they think they can do without arrowheads, fine," Salia grumbled darkly. The stout oposition to her suggestion of using the cleanly-picked bones to craft the much-needed items left her angry at people's thick-headedness... not that she was in a good mood even before that. The village looked, smelled, and *felt* just like Skyhawk. It was enough to foul even her usually less the cheerful demeanor. She knew she was reacting to the grim reality of the disturbingly familiar surroundings, but it placated her little. The strain of trying to exert the least degree of control over the creatures busily removing flesh from the bodies was a strangely welcome thing.
A cry of surprise sounded among the spectators, as a flayed arm moved, pushing a body with the half-caved in chest upwards. The innards of the corpse, covered with a horde of insects, fell on the ground. She heard somebody in the crowd vomit at the sight.
Losening her control over the swarm below, she focused on the undead. The blinding flash of lightning struck down at the moving remains, peeling off what little remained of its flesh before breaking the bones. Loud popping, only momentarily overcame by the thunder, filled the air as the carpaces of insects moving over the body burst under the pressure of the boiling liquids inside them.
"About time to clear this place, too. Too many undead"
The young elf sitting near looked at her with green eyes, all the more set off by her paled skin,
"You, like, sound as if you approved.. or something"
Salia idly wondered about the girl's persistence, vaguely appreciating her stubborness to face the horrors of recent events head on. Deciding that alone demanded an explanation, she proceeded to voice her thoughts,
"Hardly. Yet it takes a very willfull person to animate their own body after death, even if it's through sheer hate of all the living."
She gestured at the half-covered corpses,
"None of them could have been resurected, for the simple reason they went through too much to return to their bodies. Yet some still seek revenge, even if it appears in such misguided form."
She glanced down, the frown on the girl's face clearly stating her lack of understanding.
"Think of it this way - that person whose body we just saw went through the same torturous ordeal as the rest. Yet this individual channeled all their hate and managed to break the laws of nature itself. That has to be admired. It's the testament of strength of spirit"
Another corpse arose among the feeding frenzy, immediately fallen by shaft of lightning,
"Not that I'd think twice about destroying them"
The wind shifted, bringing the smell of rotting flesh, burned meat, and boiled bugs to the crest of the hill. The girl jolted, turned, and retched.
Salia hoped the young elf would be spared opportunities to learn to ignore it.
---
Sitting on the embankment, she looked down at the grass which growth she hurried to cover the scar on the ground left by the insects and her fiery method of disposing of their sated bodies. The recent days were a flurry of disconnected scenes: taking care of the corpses, rebuilding structures, spurring the growth in the fields... All of that intermingled with the frequent forages into the forest or caves, to scavenge weapons and armor for those in need off the still warm bodies of their enemies. The Varanite encampment, hidden on one of the islands to the east, worried her, but for now she was hard pressed to venture again to check on it. So long after the fateful battle, she finally allowed her weariness to overcome her, settling against a small trunk of a tree. Closing her eyes, she tried to clear her mind of the madness that they witnessed. For a moment, she thought she heard the same disembodied voice that accosted her near the town's gates, but even that faded into a restless dream...
She saw Skyhawk again.
"If they think they can do without arrowheads, fine," Salia grumbled darkly. The stout oposition to her suggestion of using the cleanly-picked bones to craft the much-needed items left her angry at people's thick-headedness... not that she was in a good mood even before that. The village looked, smelled, and *felt* just like Skyhawk. It was enough to foul even her usually less the cheerful demeanor. She knew she was reacting to the grim reality of the disturbingly familiar surroundings, but it placated her little. The strain of trying to exert the least degree of control over the creatures busily removing flesh from the bodies was a strangely welcome thing.
A cry of surprise sounded among the spectators, as a flayed arm moved, pushing a body with the half-caved in chest upwards. The innards of the corpse, covered with a horde of insects, fell on the ground. She heard somebody in the crowd vomit at the sight.
Losening her control over the swarm below, she focused on the undead. The blinding flash of lightning struck down at the moving remains, peeling off what little remained of its flesh before breaking the bones. Loud popping, only momentarily overcame by the thunder, filled the air as the carpaces of insects moving over the body burst under the pressure of the boiling liquids inside them.
"About time to clear this place, too. Too many undead"
The young elf sitting near looked at her with green eyes, all the more set off by her paled skin,
"You, like, sound as if you approved.. or something"
Salia idly wondered about the girl's persistence, vaguely appreciating her stubborness to face the horrors of recent events head on. Deciding that alone demanded an explanation, she proceeded to voice her thoughts,
"Hardly. Yet it takes a very willfull person to animate their own body after death, even if it's through sheer hate of all the living."
She gestured at the half-covered corpses,
"None of them could have been resurected, for the simple reason they went through too much to return to their bodies. Yet some still seek revenge, even if it appears in such misguided form."
She glanced down, the frown on the girl's face clearly stating her lack of understanding.
"Think of it this way - that person whose body we just saw went through the same torturous ordeal as the rest. Yet this individual channeled all their hate and managed to break the laws of nature itself. That has to be admired. It's the testament of strength of spirit"
Another corpse arose among the feeding frenzy, immediately fallen by shaft of lightning,
"Not that I'd think twice about destroying them"
The wind shifted, bringing the smell of rotting flesh, burned meat, and boiled bugs to the crest of the hill. The girl jolted, turned, and retched.
Salia hoped the young elf would be spared opportunities to learn to ignore it.
---
Sitting on the embankment, she looked down at the grass which growth she hurried to cover the scar on the ground left by the insects and her fiery method of disposing of their sated bodies. The recent days were a flurry of disconnected scenes: taking care of the corpses, rebuilding structures, spurring the growth in the fields... All of that intermingled with the frequent forages into the forest or caves, to scavenge weapons and armor for those in need off the still warm bodies of their enemies. The Varanite encampment, hidden on one of the islands to the east, worried her, but for now she was hard pressed to venture again to check on it. So long after the fateful battle, she finally allowed her weariness to overcome her, settling against a small trunk of a tree. Closing her eyes, she tried to clear her mind of the madness that they witnessed. For a moment, she thought she heard the same disembodied voice that accosted her near the town's gates, but even that faded into a restless dream...
She saw Skyhawk again.