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Topic: **Noldaria*Final War**
Subject: Teros
Teros awoke the next day to see the face of a beautiful elven woman. Last night had been akward at best, and he knew the elves would think ill of them, but he could care less at this point. He shrugged off the tiredness that on him and prayed quickly in a patch of sunlight. When he was finished he exited the room and headed down the hall as he was supposed to.
Once again the splendor of the elven food was before him. He knew that this may very well be the last time that he would eat this good food, so he ate well. The conversation around him passed him, only knowing that the elves would no longer tolerate them, a dagger that could destroy the dark lord, and something about going back to his homeland. He smiled at this. The thought of the sweet sun on his skin, of meeting old friends, perhaps even of avenging his father and mothers death, filled his mind. However he knew that it would soon be time to move on, so he kept on eating the food before him, drinking only small amounts of the wine.
Finally they were to move down the road. He stayed silent, moving close to the front so he would be close to a fight if it happened, and so he could stay out of conversation in case any started. He was in his own world, and thats the way he liked it.
As his thoughts roamed from his homeland, he looked up to see a strange man. The massive man stood there, his face masked from Teros. Surely this massive man was a warrior. He was thinking random thoughts when the man spoke, introducing himself. He missed the name, but he didn't miss the name of the talking raven. 'Talking raven? Maybe a mage...' Seeing the kender circle him in awe, Teros stepped forward.
"I am Teros. It is good to meet you sir."
He gave a warm smile to the man as he looked up at him. The thought of this man suddenly stepping on him made the smile even bigger, and he almost laughed.
Posted on 2006-09-04 at 19:57:59.
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Topic: **Noldaria*Final War**
Subject: Elandor
Elandor left the elven city richer than he had ever been in his entire life. Not only was his wealth multiplied considerably, he was emotionally at a peak. A great joy had spread out from deep within his body that morning.
It started with being awakened by a beautiful elven lady. Not that the kender had any lustrous feelings towards the elven women. He simply admired their grace, their purity and their obvious natural perfection. He greeted the lady as courteously as possible with his messy hair and sleepy mind. His glasses were back on his nose quickly, eager to sharpen every detail of this elven wonder.
Then Elandor went with Vilyamar to prepare their leaves by one of the elven smiths. As the monk waited while the jewelry was completed Elandor went to get the tattoo he wanted. He was taken to an elven artist that burned the image of an ant deep into his skin, never to come off again. The adjusting of the ink burned a little but the pain was nothing compared to the agony of being forced to sit still, especially with so many interesting tools and equipment within reach. Still Elandor had vowed to himself to leave the elves a good impression of himself. So he managed to sit still during the process, thanked the artist for his marvelous job, handed back the vial of ink that had magically materialized into the kender’s pouches, and left for the main branch where he exploded into one big ball of energy.
Somewhat lower on the scale of hyperactivity Elandor arrived back at the smithy. He hung the leaf on a chain around his neck, picturing Blaxis’ face if he could see him now, looking all important and stuff. The old mage would have to take his words back!
His happiness was even pushed to greater heights by gaining the biggest gem at the table. It immediately disappeared into one of his pouches, in fear that somebody wanted to object.
His mind rattled on Tharanduil’s words though. He spoke his thoughts out loud:
“I don’t really understand why these elves would be so unwelcoming to us next time. Aren’t elves supposed to be closest to the earth? Shouldn’t they be closer to emotions as well then? I mean, emotions are earthly and natural, there’s no denying that. So why won’t they understand the doubts we all have. Is the bravest warrior the one that steps into danger proudly or the one that recognizes his own fears and deals with them first? Why would they.... what was I saying again? Oh well.”
****************
Elandor didn’t hear a single word the old man told them. His eyes were constantly on the even bigger man who was completely lugubriously mysterious. The kender peered deep under the wide-brimmed hat, into the orange eyes that burned there. It came as a stunning surprise that it was not the man himself but the raven that spoke. Elandor found that very odd, but extremely interesting as well. He looked up to the raven, took the goblin mask and replied:
“Orion the raven, can you ask Scourge if he would be interested in this mask? I’ve been carrying it around and it’s getting heavy. Besides, I think it looks better on him then on me. It came from a goblin that was as dark as his robes. And maybe you can ask them as well if he can remove that hood, because I can’t really see his face like this, can you see his face Mahou? Derak?”
Elandor continues investigating the man’s whole being, even walking around him if his reply takes a long time.
Posted on 2006-09-04 at 19:57:44.
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Topic: **Noldaria*Final War**
Subject: Scourge
August 9th/Sunday Morning
Just Outside Valnor Forest/Near the Northern Thollin Border
Celeval
The footfalls of the companions within the shade of the dense canopy of Valnor forest could be heard long before their figures exited from the embrace of the trees extended branches and came into view. With golden rays finding holes within the boughs, like water seeping through even the smallest cracks in a dam, did the sunlight illuminate the coterie of strangers Feng Gell was to meet, and accompany for the next leg of his journey.
Having traveled nearly a week with the man he knew as Soragrin, Feng Gell, more often referred to as Scourge had found himself walking a path shrouded in mystery, and darkened by a future even his communions with the Chieftain of the Gods, Erenall God of Judgement could not shed light upon. From the Northern Thollin Border did they travel, and with only the word of this stranger did Scourge carry his heavy steps southward.
It all started as a feeling deep within the pit of his stomach, one which when looked back upon could be deep founded intuition, or merely indigestion from his often undercooked meals. The game that night had the potential to be a tender morsel indeed, but far be it from Scourge to care what went into his gut, so long as it gave him the strength to carry out his oath. It was as though he had some spell cast upon him, for his mind and heart were set with a need to travel south towards Aldoris, and without a more pressing mission with which to draw his conviction, he left that same night towards the distant town.
Upon arriving in Aldoris Scourge was met by the same man with which he arrived this morn. The old, silver locked man inquired as to Scourge’s presence, and being unable to rightly answer, the deceivingly frail looking man took up his hand and read his palm as though it were a great text from the spiraling tower libraries of Medoras, the ancient city of splendor. The lines, etched into his palm from years of labor, lines embedded in his flesh since birth were no longer as they had always been. Instead they mapped out something only the elder could determine, and as he matched the reading upon the palm with the stars in the night sky, he told me of the reason of my arrival…
That had been days earlier. Now, standing here watching the group of people emerging before him, Soragrin at his side, and Orion, his raven familiar with feathers black as pitch perched atop his crystalline scythe blade, Scourge could not help but begin to ponder of the greater scheme of things. The ‘chance’ meeting of this Elder, his sacred quest bequeathed to him by Erenall himself, and the vision he did see in the night sky, all gave reason to believe that there was more than the doings of mortals at work.
Standing at nearly seven feet tall, Scourge could be considered imposing, his massively broad shoulders were natural; no armored pauldrons were to be blamed. His features were kept hidden from all prying eyes, the thick cloak wrapped tightly about his form ensured as much, and a cowl matched with a wide brimmed hat kept low would ensure that all anyone could view were his piercing orange eyes, aglow with intelligence, ablaze with determination.
Shadowing his features more so still was the hood which wrapped around the sides of his face, angular and chiseled. The fabric which he wore like a second skin was adorned with purple and blue filigree, interwoven amongst the strands of ebony velvet. This cloak did not flare out behind him, but remained close to his person, forming what could be best described as a drawn curtain around his figure, even masking whatever he might have been wearing for footwear.
First to acknowledge the presence of himself and his traveling companion was a creature the likes of which he had never witnessed. He was unsure as to whether the beast, feminine appearance should be used as a mount, or if some poor creature had received the unfortunate attraction of a charging goat while her attention was distracted. She as well as he and the others listened to the words Soragrin had to say, before deftly taking his leave of all present, disappearing into the forbidden realm of Valnor Forest.
The first to actually address him however was not the slurry of man and goat, but however was a man with some Elven blood running through his veins. A lick of his lips was masked by his black cowl as he thought about times past, when Elven flesh and goblets of their crimson wine were a delicacy amongst his people. Now however, serving a higher purpose, such desires were behind him… for the most part.
Tilting his scythe out to the side a ways, letting the elm wood base lean into the folds of his cloak, the suns rays illuminating his scythe to the point where it reflected a brightness equivalent to a Daylight effect. When the blinding flash had subsided, the raven fluttered its wings before looking at Vilyamar with an eerie pair of similar orange eyes.
“I am known in the north as the Scourge of the Vile, and in recent times been called the Fist of Erenall. The Elder has informed me of the task at hand, and I have been ordered by He himself to accompany you all.” The answer would have been a typical one, given the circumstances; however the being’s lips did not stir, and it was Orion, the raven which answered the monk’s inquiry. “I am Orion, the raven spoke, and my companion here may simply be referred to as; Scourge.”
Posted on 2006-09-04 at 19:57:27.
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Topic: **Noldaria*Final War**
Subject: Vilyamar
The monk sighed, crossing his arms. The anger that hung in the air permeated his being to his very soul, and it made him very uncomfortable. He turned from Riadros then, walked back to the hall, though the elf and kender followed. He did not look back at the elf, but did listen and follow him to their quarters for the night. Riadros left them then and the monk turned into his own room, shutting the door behind him. For about an hour he sat upon his bed, legs crossed and meditating. He opened his eyes then and sat unmoving, his mind cleared of all thoughts and sensation. For him, time slowed to a stop and the air about him seemed to flow in and out of his lungs on its own accord. He knew nothing more of the night, for he slept soundly until the elven maiden came at daybreak. He was waiting for her of course, for he left his rest before the dawn broke on the horizon and he stood at the window watching the fiery sun peek over the horizon. As he watched, his thoughts turned to his home once more and a mist almost fazed over the sun, but then again, perhaps it was just his imagination playing tricks upon his mind. “Aaye. Gather your things and meet out in the hall before the sun clears the horizon, you request shall be granted…” said the elf woman curtly, he beauty dimmed by a sadness that the monk felt when he looked upon the controlled rage that coursed through her soul. He turned upon her words and sighed as he picked up his pack and walked out to the hall. As soon as he and Elandor were prepared the elf took them to the smithy. A male awaited them there and as they approached he requested that they give him the leaves from Inenhalla’s tree. He used his magic to preserve them and as he was doing so Elandor was taken to have his tattoo done. Vilyamar watched as the leaves became rigid and hard, the colors on them changing with the magical enchantment. Upon one he saw a golden star and upon the other were 10 sapphires of a most excellent quality. The smith returned to him the one with the sapphires and the monk looked into each one, examining them before placing it in the leather pack in which he carried his few items. He knew not what he was examining the stones for, but perhaps he was searching them for an answer to one of the problems he had here. He did not despair here, for time was on his side in this and though the elves memories were sharp and they would not forget the crimes committed these past days by the humans, the monk felt positive that one day in the future the balance would be achieved once more. Elandor returned then, smiling widely at the tattoo magically engraved upon his skin. Vilyamar could only smile weakly back for he knew that the elves had done this out of a strained version of responsibility to their wishes. The monk put up his hood, hiding his face from the elves as he walked in, and he took his seat in silence.
He took a glance at Falienor and the others but he quickly looked away and began eating. Slowly he drew back his hood, for being rude was not wise at this time, and Falienor may have taken offence to one who hides himself while under their roof as a guest. Hunger was not a priority of the half-elf, but he ate his fill in silence nonetheless, knowing that there would not be such ample supplies upon the road. As the others entered, a scowl drew across the monk’s face. Mahou came in seemingly unaware of the tenseness that radiated from the elves. The other three humans came in silence and sat down at the table and began to eat. Then Tharanduil spoke. He spoke of the warning from the elves and then it was that despair crept into the monk’s mind, but even as he banished it from his emotions, it left a small scar, letting him know that never again will the elves be so inviting to outsiders of any heritage, least of all humans. He saw shock upon Mahou’s face and he supposed that he was the easiest prepared for such a decision besides the life-hating bard, as he knew best among them the emotional tendencies of an elf. “I’meiva natankuva” he muttered, not caring whether anyone heard him or not. He looked up to see seven jewels sitting upon the table, six white diamonds and one larger diamond. All were very valuable. Tharanduil continued to speak and he told them of their mission, should they choose to accept it and he gave them the paths they should tread to continue on their mission. To Vilyamar he gave the hilt of a dagger, its guard and grip ornately decorated. It was the holder of a blade yet to be forged and only with that blade could the dark one be vanquished. The half-elf took it reverently and placed it in the same pouch as his leaf. He also gathered his own diamond from the table. Referring to the larger crystal, he said, “Here Elandor, thou should take this, for thine pouches may hold more than our packs combined.” But truth be told, he alone knew that Elandor had the least chance of being consumed with a greed that could jeopardize the entire party’s safety. Soon, though they were on their way and the anger that flowed from within the elven capitol flowed out under the boughs of the forest, nearly suffocating the group. The monk walked continuously, following behind the others, making sure everyone kept up to speed, glancing harshly at those who began to lag behind him or slow them down. The shadows began to grow long and they all grew afraid of the consequences of remaining under these boughs. They quickened their pace. After the entire day’s journey they plunged from the forest, breathing easier now that the anger of the elves fell behind them. But upon the road before them stood two strangers, both imposing a fear and awe upon the party. The old man spoke and power radiated from his words and body, as did Tharanduil’s. the other was a being of immense size, much larger than even Derak. “Elder,” whispered Vilyamar under his breath, inaudible to the others. The old man told them of changes to the prophecy and very skimply introduced them to the being, who seemed to be their new companion. The monk just stood and watched the man go by them and disappear into the Valnon forest. He cared not for the man and believed that he would not cause them any harm, nor would this new companion. He believed few even knew of Tharanduil’s existence as an Elder, let alone his name. “No, Mahou, I do not think we should. If this is how the fates wish it, then so it shall be, but we all must be moving now, our time with light is short and I for one would like to distance myself from the anger of the elven nation before nightfall. Not all of their kind may be as restrained as those we saw today.” Said Vilyamar as Mahou questioned the intention of the beings. The half-elf turned to the large being that still stood with its scythe.
“And if you wish to join us, then you must at very least provide us the courtesy of your name.”
Posted on 2006-09-04 at 19:57:04.
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Topic: **Noldaria*Final War**
Subject: Mahuo
Mahou was rather quick to wake this morning, as Gemi nibbled at her silky hair. Batting at her companion Mahou pushed herself up out of bed. The door to her room opened letting in a lovely elf who promptly told her to gather her things and come for breakfast. The mannor of formality was a bit strange to Mahou still, and she for one would be glade to start their journy and earn some of the title they had been thrust into.
Gathering her things Mahou slipped her shirt on, then her breast plate. once finished, the overly spoiled Gemi was stuffed gently into the large backpack Mahou carried. If you keep growing like this Gemi, you'll have to walk from now on. Mahou thought to herself as she pushed the backpack over her shoulder. Gemi was big enough now that his head and front arms hung out of the bag, though not big or heavy enough to be a problem for Mahou to keep him in there. yet anyhow.
Mahou took a few extra moments to part her hair, putting two braids that ran down either side of her head back behind her curlled horns. once finished Mahou grabbed her bow and quiver and headed out to the hall. The air to the hall was not the same as the night before, and mahou slowed her joyfilled steps walking carefully to the table. Taking a little food for herself and Gemi, she munched as she listened to everyone. When Tharanduil mentioned the elfs wanting them to leave Mahou almost chocked on her bread. her eyes darted to the hollow faced elfs. a sudden empty feeling welled in the pit of her stumic and she suddenly found herself not hungry anymore.
Mahou pushed her plate forward and crossed her arms, carefull not to lean back to far and squish Gemi.
~*~at the end of the forest~*~
As they broke the edge of the forest Mahou paused turning to look at the glory of nature they where forbidened to enter ever again.
"This is a wonderful start to the journy." she mummbled to herself. "all that knowledge sacrificed now, leaving us with an empty loney road ahead." Mahou's words where muddled with her own feeling of saddness and fear. The walk through the forest left MAhou feeling drained and quit. she'd hardly spoken the whole time, and still now seemed as drawen in to herself as the woods before her had been.
Turning around Mahou looked at everyone, large redish eyes pearing at them all in turn, she breathed a heavy sigh. "Let us not waist any more time." she said in a rather accusing way as she walked past them. Mahou's hooves dug into the dirt as she saw the strangers before them. she crained her neck in almost aw as she looked over the large dark figgure. the rammbling of the other man seemed to push right in one ear and out the other. she caught only a brief bit of it, before she realized the silver haired man was disappearing into the forest.
Mahou opened her mouth to say something to the retreating man, but closed it again quickly. Turning back to the tall stranger she narrowed her eyes. Gemi gave a dissatified hiss from behind her. Pushing a long braid behind her shoulder mahou cleared her thoart as she looked to the others.
"Are we going to object to this?" She questioned lightly with a half smirk as she glanced over derak and teros. Her slender brow rose as she waited for an answer. this hardly mattered to her. she knew none of them enough to trust fully yet, what was one more. in the least they would need the extra muscel, and this being look as if he had a few to spare.
Posted on 2006-09-04 at 19:56:48.
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Topic: **Noldaria*Final War**
Subject: An Unhappy Departure
August 8th/Saturday EveningValnor Forest/Near the Northern Thollin Border
Celeval
The trees do not feel emotions like men. The fire of passion does not burn within them, nor does it consume their very being. They were as old as the mountains, and as constant as the sky. While tension crackled between the members of the party, and Derak stood upon its shoulders, shouting in rage, a soft whisper gently lifted from it’s great boughs. Though ages wisdom was locked within its massive trunk, the great Avelon could not comprehend such pettiness. It had accepted it’s being long ago. It understood its destiny, and respected that of those around it. Ferns, moss, and ivy clung to its twisting feet. Forests of smaller trees stood, embraced by its massive roots. Even the elves dwelt amidst its boughs. A balance had been woven, a system; delicate and perfect. Such beings, ablaze with fury, were not accepted by the pattern. They must not stay. On that breeze that rippled black waves across the canopy, the elves were reminded of this fact.
Closing the ivy laced, oak door behind him Vilyamar stepped onto the porch and stood beside Riadros. The night lapped his heated face, cool and serene.
“Fear not, cousin, this shall all be over soon.”
The elf said nothing. He stood resolute. His slender face shone pallor in the silver of the lanterns. His large eyes stared unblinking into the courtyard, where Derek’s husky voice began to rise. Though it could only be softly heard, the muscles in Riadros’ jaw knotted, and his hands had balled into fists at the sides of his robes. Following his gaze, Vilyamar discovered he could see the stars.
“They seem different now. After one knows something of what the future holds, they see things in a different perspective. Or perhaps it is just the height of these trees, forcing the stars closer…”
Riadros didn’t seem to hear. This was the first time the monk had ever seen him without a smile on his face.
“There is change in the air, Riadros. The humans know this, the kender knows, the satyr knows. Can you elves not sense it? This quest will change forever the face of this planet and its inhabitants, but for good or ill, we know not…Trust, do not speak against the human bard. His wounds are deep as you already know, and tomorrow morn, we are departing. I trust you and Falienor or Tharanduil or some others will get him and the others out as quickly as possible tomorrow. I sorely wished this had not come to pass, but humans do as humans are…”
Riadros turned suddenly, and looked at Vilyamar. For the second time this night, Vilyamar saw rage carved into the delicate features of the elves.
“Humans do as humans will.”
He repeated. His voice was cynical. Venomous. These elves were not like those that the monk was accustomed to. He was learning this every moment he spent with them. They were…extreme. Looking into their eyes, he had discovered, were like peering into deep wells. They rippled with both joy and sorrow. Wisdom and innocence lapped in them. So often, it seemed they could draw a veil over their thoughts. Their faces could harden into void masks. Unreadable. Yet anger, it seemed they could not hide…or chose not to, this night.
“You speak as if your veins are vacant of their blood. But when I look at you, I see human. Will you do as humans will? Or are you unable to say? Yes, half-elf. We can sense change, better than most.”
Sighing and facing the courtyard once more. Riadros paused. Derak’s shouts could no longer be heard. A gentle breeze tugged at his robes. His braids fluttered, rippling in the silver lantern light. When he spoke again, his voice was laced in ice.
“Had it not been for change, we would have never allowed human blood beneath our boughs. This week we have welcomed it. It was a mistake. One that will never be repeated. I shall personally see to that.”
As his words came to a close, the Hall door opened once more, flooding the courtyard in a golden light, and revealing that Derak and Teros were making their way back to the hall. Riadros stepped aside and let them pass. His face was no longer carven in anger. It was a hollow, stoic mask. The one who had opened the door was Elandor. He stood, a black silhouette against the inner hall. Holding the door open for the two humans that passed, he stared back towards the corner that Damien and Mahuo had settled in. Once Derak and Teros had passed, he closed the door, letting the darkness engulf them once more. Approaching Riadros, he piped up in his shrill, child voice, asking about whether or not he could get his leaf magically preserved, and adorned with a golden star, and if he could get an ant tattoo.
The now shadow-veiled figure of Riadros looked down at the little kender. Perhaps he smiled, perhaps he frowned. His voice was void of emotion.
“When yawning sun’s first rays touch our boughs, I will have someone awaken you, and anyone else who wishes to have the same done with their leaf.”
Speaking up, Vilyamar said
“Then I too shall have my leaf preserved.”
“Very well.”
Was all that Riadros said.
The door opened again and Damien and Mahuo walked past. No words were exchanged. When they had gone by, the elf said.
“I have rituals yet to be performed ere the moon sleeps. I will show you and the two inside where to sleep.”
So it was that Riadros let Teros and Derak finish their meal, before leading four of the six companions to a smaller, domed structure beside the Hall. The interior of the building was made up of a simple hallway. On either side, there were 5, wooden doors (totaling 10).
“We do not possess locks, for we bare trust for one another.”
His words were flat.
“I’m afraid you will have to do the same for a night.”
August 9th/Sunday Morning
Valnor Forest/Near the Northern Thollin Border
Celeval
Whether or not the night passed soundly depends on the individual. It did pass peacefully, however, and those who had been sleeping were awoken by a female elf that they had not yet met. Her hair was as golden as the sun whose light now poured into the courtyard, and her face was as pure as the dew on the flowers. Her beauty, however, surpassed even that of the stars who slept, tucked behind the pale blue blanket of the sky. Her greeting, however, was not as casual as what might have been the previous day. It was short and formal, and she gave them a short time to clean up and gather their belongings, before leading them to the Hall of Council wordlessly.
Entering the Hall, they found themselves greeted by the sweet, warm embrace of the scent of baked fruit, sweet breads, and juices. The tables had been rearranged to sit, sprawled and scattered as they had been the first time they had entered. On the far counter sat the food, far from as decorative as it had been the night before, and at one of the tables sat Falienor, Riadros, and a golden-haired elf baring an already drawn Katana. It lay on the wooden table before him, burning in the sunlight that flowed through the windows. Smiles did not grace their faces. Sitting at another table; one with six chairs, where Vilyamar and Elandor, munching away at a stack of bread and fruit they had piled themselves. Tharanduil stood, still in his night blue robes, several feet from the table at which their two companions sat. He studied the party, but no hint of his thoughts could be read.
**Both of you have gotten your leaves magically preserved, and adorned. The leaves are long, slender, and tapered. The top is a dark, rich green, while the bottom is a velvety gray. In the star/moonlight, the gray radiates silver. The very center of Elandor’s leaf is inlaid with gold, the shape of a star. The very center of Vilyamar’s leaf is adorned with 10 small sapphires. They are set in the design of a star, each is in each corner of that star. Also, Elandor, you will need to specify the tattoo you got, and where in the QA. The leaf alterations cost 20 gp, while the tattoo cost 15 sp. I have taken that out of your totals, at the bottom of your character sheets. (Everyone should keep track of their money)**
Gathering what food they please, the members sat at the table with Elandor and Vilyamar, as they were ushered to do so by Tharanduil. Once seated, he began to pace, slowly, contemplatively. When he spoke, his voice was rich and full, but filled with information alone. Not emotion.
“Interestingly enough, you have all decided to come to this hall. In doing so, you lead me to assume you will all be…heading out together. Or, perhaps you have come, simply to receive the reward I promised you.”
Approaching the table, and reaching within his robes, the Elder pulled out six white diamonds. As he spread them onto the burnished, wood of the table, they shimmered and danced in the new suns rays. It was as if he had plucked them from the sky the night before. Not giving an opportunity for comments, he took a step back, and continued to speak.
“You have completed your task, and you have been rewarded. The questions have been answered. This chapter is finished. I neither will, nor can force you to follow the path the Gods have set aside for you. It is the only way they have effected any life on Noldaria since the Wars that ended the Age of Twilight. Whether or not the effect is to be only a memory of the worlds only hope in six minds, as they watch the world collapse around them, that is for you to decide. I have done my part. I have found you, and I have enlightened you. The rest of the tale is your own. Do as you will.”
The old man hesitated a moment, letting his words find root. Tilting his shaggy, white head, he glanced at Falienor, before looking back to the party and continuing. His voice remained rich, yet empty simultaneously.
“No matter what your decision, the elves demand you to leave their forest. You will do so immediately upon finishing the meal they have provided you. You will be escorted down the Avelons trunk, and to the path. From there, you are to continue, until you leave Valnon Forest. If you stray from the path, or are caught under the forests eaves after the sun has set, you will be shot down.”
The final words fell from his lips in sorrowful drops. It was obvious that this was not his mind. He was relaying a message for the elves. Apparently, they had ended their fellowship with the party as a whole. When the Elder spoke again, his voice was strong, resolute.
“If you wish to save a doomed world, then you must head to the Ralnarian Desert, to the South. Remember what I have to tell you. The location of the four God Stones can only be found with an artifact located in the midst of Hajin Ra, known by some as the Land of Glass. Whether or not you have heard of it is of no consequence. Aside from those on the coast, every village in Ralnaria is found on the Siris river, which runs from North to South. Hajin Ra is located West of the Siris, in the barren and empty desert. Quasal is the village closest to Hajin Ra, so I suggest you find your way there, if you intend to find this artifact. First, however, you should follow the road that led you to this forest, until you come to its first branch left, to the east. There should be a sign that says Elderast, and an arrow pointing down that branch of the road. If you did not already know, Elderast is Thollin’s capital. From there, catch a windship that is heading to Ralnaria. It is likely that one would go to Kubal, the desert’s capital. Luckily enough, Quasal is not far north of there.”
Reaching into his robes once more, he pulls out a diamond the color of sapphire. Laying it on the table, he continues.
“Windships are for nobility and cargo. The prices are high. This should be more than enough to suffice. Once you reach Kubal, simply get a boatsman to take you north to Quasal. As for the “object” you are to find in Hajin Ra; It is a scroll. It alone possesses knowledge on the Stone’s locations. I have given another object to your party. This morning I handed it to Vilyamar, seeing as he was the first of the party to greet me. It is the handle of a dagger. The blade for such a weapon has not yet been forged, for it is to be crafted from the Light Stone itself. You must plunge the blade deep into the flesh of the New Dark Lord himself, in order to defeat him. But do not worry about that yet. We must take one challenge at a time.
The old man sighed, and sat down. Fatigue had left its shadow beneath his sparkling blue eyes. They were bloodshot now.
“Of course you can decide to collect your reward and forget about last night. In that case, follow whatever road feels best to you, and use it to flee from memory and guilt. That is all I have to say. As the elves have requested, finish, and leave. You are not yet hero’s, nor have you made the slightest attempt at returning their good graces. So it is that they will treat you like anyone else who enters Valnor.”
Needless to say, the rest of the meal was not the most enjoyable. Tharanduil left the Hall, followed by Falienor and Riadros. The three were replaced by five elves, robed in the customary gray and silver, baring gleaming katanas. They regarded the party through masks carven from ice. If spoken too, they did not respond.
Following the parties meal, the “guards” led them through the city which, in the daylight was very difficult to distinguish from the rest of the tree. Buildings seemed to be only twisted clusters of branches, or knots of the trunk itself. Of course there was still the courtyard. Its flower beds shimmered and danced, radiating like living rainbows. The great oak stood, like a lone sentinel, within its wall of white stone.
Leading them through the gates, the elves wasted no time in ushering them down the path that led down the tree. Once on ground level, they led them away from the living giant that was the home of the elves, and to the path that they had followed the day before.
“Follow it directly, and do not stray.”
Was all that they said. So it was that, with such parting words from the elves, the party walked away, following the trail under the grim eyes of the guards, who stood with their weapons drawn, until the party was out of sight.
The forest they trekked through was not the same that they had enjoyed the day before. Yes it looked the same, and perhaps to some of the humans it was more or less identical. But for Mahuo, and anyone else with an even remotely sensitive, or alert side, it was different. Birds did not sing; at least, not near the party. No squirrel or chipmunk could be seen, and not butterfly danced upon the breeze before them. Infact, the very flowers that had previously graced their path were now closed, and distant. The air was thick, almost malleable. They were being watched, but bye what? A tension hung, heavy, suffocating overhead. It was as if the very trees themselves might attack the party at any moment. Indeed the air was threatening.
The path remained that way, and the party saw no person nor animal the duration of the day. Unease began to run high, when the shadows began to grow, and no end of the forest was in sight. The party picked up their aching and weary feet, and hurried on, until they stumbled from beneath the boughs, which almost seemed to rake at them as they fled.
Outside of the forest there was still some time until dark. The sky clear and was washed lavender, and the hills before them were ablaze with the fire of evening. Scattered trees and groves cast stretched shadows across the land. Standing before the party, as if anticipating them, where two figures.
Both were tall, casting an imposing aura before them.
The first was an old man, or, appeared to be. He stood nearly six and a half feet tall, and despite his flowing, silver main, he stood straight, and emanated a strange power. He wore gray, flowing robes. His face was thin and proud, with high cheekbones, and a sloping forehead. His eyes shone a strange silver, and, though his face was shaven, he bore a trimmed, silver beard on his chin.
The other was perhaps far more mysterious, and definitely more imposing. He was certainly the tallest being any of them had ever seen, peaking near seven foot-a head taller than even Derak. Dark, purple and blue robes flowed from his broad shoulders to his feet. Not much more could be said for his appearance, however, as his face was entirely covered. It seemed that he wore a broad brimmed hat pulled low over his face, which was entirely wrapped in black cloth. Only a slit was visible, revealing two, strangely glowing, orange eyes. Over his right eye was a tattoo, a red Chevron around the side, a blue one broken on the inside, and underneath his eye was a tattoo of a bloody tear. The hood of his robe was pulled up, casting what could be seen of his wrapped face in shadow. Long, gnarled black hair, streaked with silver and blue flowed from the depths of the hoods shadows, and over his chest. Standing at his right side was an enormous scythe. Its base was formed from strange, twisting wood, and the blade seemed to be carven of a sparkling, bluish white crystal. Perched atop the blade was a black raven. It stood, unmoving, eyeing the party.
Stepping forward, the old man smiles a very knowing smile, and says.
”Greetings Travelers. We have waited long for you to emerge from Valnor. At last you have, in time to bear witness to change. Indeed the prophecies can change. You shall see that tonight. After the first are chosen, the others shall find them! I have helped by bringing one of the lost chosen to you. He may be the only one, he may not. Nonetheless, he will be accompanying you.”
Pausing a moment, the old man added
“Fear not, for I know as much as you do about your quest. Tharanduil has kept me most informed. Your new friend here also has the same knowledge as you. No more, no less.”
Regarding the party a moment, the old man laughed a deep, joyful laughter.
“Here I am, rambling on with you. I have places to go, people to see; you need to become acquainted with the person you just met. So, I have wasted enough time waiting for you.”
Brushing by the party, he began making his way into the dark eves of the Valnor Forest.
Shouting back, he said.
“We will meet again, but for now, farewell!”
If anything is said to him, he does not reply. He did not give time during his “ramble” to say anything to him. He is disappearing into the forest you are forbidden to enter.
(Sorry if the post is a bit dry. As most of you know, I’m a bit down on sleep, so…deal with it . Hopefully I didn’t say anything that doesn’t make sense in my fatigue.)
Posted on 2006-09-04 at 19:56:29.
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Topic: **Noldaria*Final War**
Subject: Teros
Teros nodded and slowly followed Derrak into the hall. As they entered Derrak gave the bard a harsh look, Teros just chuckled under his breathe without looking at him and went to his seat. He had no idea what was going on, or where everyone was, but it didn't matter much in his mind.
Deciding to enjoy himself for a little while he began eating and drinking. He didn't want to get drunk, but the drink was so good. He had to make an effort to stop, and was more then a little sad when he put it down and continued eating food until he was full. He sat there for a while in silence, thinking over what had happened over the past few hours. He took out the leaf that he had put in his pocket and looked it over. It didn't look very special, but it had become very close to him in the little time it had been with him. He smiled at the leaf and then put it away. He knew what he had to do, his life now had meaning beyond what he thought.
He then stood up and went to Raidros.
"So, what did I miss? Where are we going to sleep tonight?"
OOC:I have no idea where everyone is. Ok well I know where Mahou, Damien, and Derrak are, but where are the other two?
Posted on 2006-09-04 at 19:56:10.
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Topic: **Noldaria*Final War**
Subject: Mahuo/Damien
"Perhaps you are right Damien, we all march to our deaths. but better we march towards out deaths in the name of everyone else. then to sit here and let the evil take over hte world with out a fight." Mahou sucked in a breath contimplating what all has been said.
"Take the time you need to make up your mind Damien. no one can force you to take up this task, we can all only plead with you. i do not think the gods would of picked you if you didn't have some significant meaning to the group."
As the dark bard moved away mahou watched carefully. only time would tell if Damien would accept his chosen path, not a soul here could make him come. Mahou hoped the others would realize that everyone must deal with this in their own way. Kneeling down Mahou scooped up the large Gemi into her arms and trotted after Damien. Walking up behind him she watched him silently listening to his silent words.
"Perhaps a bit of both." Mahou said lightly after several moments of silence. "i think hope and ignorence can walk hand in hand. their families, their homes. their cultur. to them it is all worth fighting for. dispite the cost it might bring." Mahou sighed looking up at all the houses. "i don't think i've ever seen someone so misrable before. in the mists of all this hope and rejoice of a chance. what do you hope to come of it?"
Damien was silent a few moments, not turning to look at the satyr behind him. His cloak flapped slightly when he shifted about, catching upon a slow gust of wind. "I don't know what I hope to come of it." He said in a low voice. His beautiful tones had returned to him, the words seductive to the ears. "Everybody has hope, except for me. Why? I have nothing to hope for... This world has nothing for me. There is no pleasure, there is no happiness. Maybe... Maybe for this darkness to be lifted from my soul, for my release to be granted... Maybe...thats what I can hope for..."
Mahou raised a brow, adjusting Gemi under his arm. a soft squeak emited from the large beast as Mahou held him a bit to tight. "This world has so much to offer. if you are willing to open your eyes and accept all that is there." Gemi slipped from Mahou's arms plopping on the ground and scurried around her feet. light steps that dug into the dirt beneith them, carried her closer to Damien.
"you need to open your heart to the world around you damien. weed through the darkness, look around to all the glorious light about us. A life lives here in everything. even the trees speak of age old secrets. they all deserve a chance to thrive live and share. would you deny them that, and deny yourself the chance to find happyness." Mahou's voice shone with wonder as her eyes focused on the huge trees around them.
"As of yet, the world has done nothing but hurt me, Mahou. I feel no true reason to help save it, if I'm even capable of it. Teros and Derak, they don't want me in the group. Surely you can see that. Elandor... He can't focus on anything for any length of time. Vilyamar, that pompous ass, won't stop thinking himself so much higher than the rest of us. You can see it in the way he speaks to the elves. Then, there is you, the only one who seems to have any sense about them. How can we possibly hope to contend with such a great power?" Damien turned to look at Mahou once, briefly, before turning away and taking a step away from the satyr. "Why did you follow me out here, Mahou?"
Mahou bit her lip lightly and looked at damiens turned back. " i followed you because weather we like it or not, i feel our lives are connected now. and to me, that means as much as your actions effect my life, so do my actions affect yours. for good or bad damien. Yes the others in their own right have their problems, something we shall all have to deal with. You seem to have many lessons still left to learn. if after all these pain and sarrow you clam to have happened has taught you nothing." Mahou paused shaking her head. her voice seemed to waver in her words, the angelic tone that it ussualy carried felt stiff and a bit unsure.
"Some things are harder to deal with than others, Mahou. I would have never chosen to undertake such a quest had I known what it really was. That bastard Tharanduil deceived us. He deceived you, he deceived me, he deceived all of them back in the hall." Damien whirled around, pointing to back where they had come from. "I.... I don't know what to do, Mahou. Everybody wants me to act the way they think I should. Its not so easy. Some things get to people the way you wouldn't believe..."
Shutting his eyes, the bard turned away once more, placing his hands beneath his cloak so that Mahou could not see them at work. Secretly, he pulled forth one of his silver daggers, holding it in his slender hands, admiring it without looking. Pushing back his sleeve, he placed blade to the outside of his forearm, pressing it hard against his pale flesh. Drawing it across, he felt and heard the light tearing of skin. His blade was sharp, and cut smoothly. "Mahou," He began, turning around to face her. His arm dripped blood, a four-inch long cut running from the top of his wrist towards his elbow. His dagger was painted red. "I will accompany you, but only you. Not them. I don't like being manipulated. Thats why I abandoned my faith. Tharanduil can go," Damien spoke a rude word with a thin smile on his face. "I am going to do things my own way."
Mahou took a step back, her eyes fluttering to the hall where Damien pointed. for a brief moment she wanted to accept his words as truth, Shaking her head Mahou turned her deep aburn eyes back at the dark bard. her face took a look of worry as she saw Damien turn back toward her arm dripping with Blood. Mahou's eyes drated between the cut on his arm to damiens face. "Damien, what have you done." The words Damien spoke before seemed to have washed out of her mind, as she looked upon the pale face of the dark bard.
"The wound will heal, Mahou. It will heal on it's own. Proof of my turning." He smiled grimly at her shock. "Such wounds are miniscule to those in my soul and heart."
Mahou shook her head, moving forward her hand reached out grabbing the handle of the dagger as she tried to take it from him. at the same moment her other hand grabbed Damien's bleeding arm, just under the cut. Soft words sprung from her lips as she look in his eyes. the small cut began to heal (use of cure light wounds if it needs to be said).
"small or large Damien, means nothing. draw no blood of your own person it shows no meaning but your own weakness. let the evil draw your blood in battle and let that blood be proof of your your turning."
Damien snorted and wrenched his arm away, though he made no effort to reclaim the dagger. "You have your ways, I have mine. Do you seek my help, or do you want me to walk away?"
Mahou held the dagger in her hand, the crimson blood slide off the blade falling like rain dropps to the ground. Mahou's eyes focused on Damien. "Alright Damien, do what you will. i ask you to stay and help us all, and i ask that you let me help you as well."
Damien stared at her briefly before looking down to his cut. Reaching out, he dabbed his fingertips in the crimson, lifting them out and admiring them. "You are the only one in the group I admire, Mahou. You are the only one I respect." He looked to his dagger in her hands. "May I have my dagger back?" He asked, unusually polite. Reaching out the bloodied hand, he placed his fingertips against Mahou's neck, letting the blood soak into the soft white shirt. Slowly, he dragged his hand downwards, painting four stripes onto her neck, leading down to her breast. After a moment of looking at the streaks, he smiled slightly, though it was a sad smile. Without words, he extended his marred arm to her.
Mahou felt her breath catch as Damien ran his bloodied fingures across her neck. her eyes slightly fearful and slightly intreged dove into his with question. Rolling the dagger in her hands she pointed the hilt towards Damien and raised it silently holding it out to him. she couldn't predict what actions he would take next, but she had no reason as of yet to fear that he might hurt her.
Reaching forth a slender hand, Damien took the dagger by the blade, cleaning the blood away with his fingers before wiping it dry upon his cloak. Looking up, he smiled slightly to her before reaching out and clasping her shoulder. With a deft twist of his wrist, he deposited the dagger back where it originally was held. "What do you wish to do, Mahou? Tell me, and I will listen."
"I'm not so sure i have the answer to that now Damien." Mahou said taking a deep breath. "Only the passing of time shall help us all. the hour is late now, and i beleive that we both need rest. the morning brings our travels close." Mahou paused glancing back to the tavern where their group gathered. "i think it better we both go to our rooms now, if you accept our my plea for help, then i shall see you in the morning."
Damien listened to her words carefully, and watched the satyr walk away from him. She had influenced him, but was he able to will himself to fight the Dark Lord? Reaching up, he clutched his head, the blood remains smearing on his pace flesh. He didn't care. "Is it truly worth it?" He whispered to the night before following Mahou slowly, silently.
Mahou headed towards the hall, Gemi close at her feet. a stray hand reached up pulling the end of her shirt to smear wip clean the blood that damien had put on her. thoughts ran rampid through her brain as she headed to find a place to sleep for the night. what the mornaing would bring surely pressed heavly on her thoughts. would anything she said help damien...
Posted on 2006-09-04 at 19:55:54.
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Topic: **Noldaria*Final War**
Subject: Damien
The gods plan for me to die, Mahou.” Damien said sadly, lifting his head and staring to her from between dark strands of hair. His eyes met her’s, and he listened. She was the only one he respected, her having not lied to or deceived him yet, not aggravated him in some large way. Unlike everybody else in this damnable world... He thought bitterly, licking his dry lips. “Maybe we do all have more meaning now. Maybe there is more that we can do to stop the Dark Lord than there is that anybody else in this world can do.” With a sigh, he flitted his eyes one way, then the other before locking on the satyr’s once more.
“It does not change the fact that this is not the end I wanted.”
The bard watched her intently, his eyes finally focusing on something for perhaps the first time this eve. He was hungry, but did not eat. He was thirsty, but did not drink. He wanted to scream, but kept his voice in check. The least he could do was be polite to Mahou, for she had always done the same to himself.
From within his throat, he began to laugh lightly, wickedly. “The gods could not grant me the reward I so dearly seek. What is it? I’ll tell you, Mahou.” He shifted his position, pulling his legs closer to him and lifting his knees to hold them against his chest. His arms folded over the top of his knees, he rested his face upon them. “They have chosen me. They can’t take it back. I don’t want to be one of the Chosen, Mahou. I don’t want to do this.”
The words of the satyr had inflicted their wounds upon Damien’s mind and soul. Her voice was that of reason, in contrast to all the lies and deceit that had been forced upon him by those he was dealing with recently. He found it so difficult to believe that they had been elected to fight the Dark Lord, especially since he had not even dreamed of making an attempt at such an imposing task.
“We are fated to die by the hands of the Dark One...”
At that moment, the big lout Derak stomped in, staring down at Damien and making a declaration that he would pretend it had not happened. He speaks to me as though speaking to a pathetic dog. The big man then stood his chair upright once again, and began to eat.
Damien turned his gaze back to Mahou, who remained before him, still staring at him. His mouth a thin line, his gaze like that of stone. He looked deep into Mahou’s eyes, as if searching for answers. Apparently, he could not find the ones he sought, for he slowly pushed himself to his feet, shrugging to straighten out his cloak, reaching up a slender hand to move his hair away from his face.
“I’m going to go for a walk, Mahou. Perhaps...we will see if I am to return later... If not...then fare well, Mahou.” He spoke in low tones, his voice returned to its normal melodic chords as it once was, changing from the rasping, bitter voice he had so recently adopted.
Stepping around the satyr, Damien strode out the room. Passing Derak, he strongly considered reaching out and either snatching something from the table to hurl at the man, or even simply to pull his chair out from beneath him. However, he decided against it, though it was difficult and would have given him some amusement, however temporary it may have been.
Striding out the doors into the night with a flourish of his cloak, slightly revealing the rapier at his hip, Damien ignored those immediately around him - especially Vilyamar, whom he saw to be too arrogant and pompous for his liking. He walked through the cool air, looking at the sky above - particularly to his crimson star, amidst all the others illuminating the night sky as beacons of hope, hope which he could not bring himself to accept. He simply could not see what was so glorious about this forboding assignment that the others seemed to appreciate. All he saw was darkness.
*Damien will walk until he is able to see the elven homes*
Damien stopped his walking, stopped his movement altogether, and looked with admiration upon the homes the elves had established, be they constructed or grown. Their magnificance was dazzling, stunning, and drew the bard’s eyes to them with ease.
“So this is what they’re fighting for... To preserves what these people have established. They hold hope, even in the darkest of times.” He thought about his words for a moment. “That, or absolute ignorance.”
He studied the city carefully, watching with interest, though he still did not quite understand what was going to happen. Perhaps he just didn’t want to believe it. Everything to him was so dark. The people of the world, the world itself. He saw little reason to give himself to the cause of defending it...but... Something inside of him, something new, that he had not felt for the greater portion of his life, could not compel him to simply turn and walk away.
Standing, watching the homes of the elves, all that they had accomplished over the years, he stood, and he began to think...
Posted on 2006-09-04 at 19:55:32.
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Topic: **Noldaria*Final War**
Subject: Elandor
Elandor just sat back again observing the situation getting way out of hand. He didn’t like the way things were evolving, but he couldn’t deny the excitement it brought. It would really be something if those fighters would both take on Damien. Now that’s a sight Elandor would find interesting. Not favorable, but interesting nonetheless.
As Tharanduil walked out the door, as Teros and Derak had done before him, the silence was not as heavy as before. People started talking softly amongst each other again. Vilyamar too walked out the door. Elandor began to wonder what was so interesting outside. Four people had already left the food, the light and the music for the darkness.
“Maybe they’re admiring their own stars?” he thought. He considered walking out the door as well, to go check on his golden image in the heavens, when he felt a stinging sensation in his left hip. Curious what could cause such a feeling he bowed his head and lifted his shirt. His glasses almost fell from his nose in astonishment as he saw a shining object with three sharp points sticking from under his belt.
An elven fork!
Elandor shot back into an upright position on his chair. He scanned the plate in front of him. An elven knife lay near a half-cut apple. A wide smile appeared on the kender’s face as he saw the fork he had taken from the inn lying next to a big half-munched piece of bread. Somehow these two forks had exchanged themselves. He knew that certain objects did that around him, and it pleased him to see that elven things were no exception. If only WE were so similar in our behavior, he thought, thinking about what had just happened in the room.
Suddenly remembering something he stood from his chair and walked over to Riadros. He addressed the elf and repeated the question about the ant-tattoo. Strangely, Falienor hadn’t answered it. Elandor really couldn’t see why. Maybe this elf could help him.
Posted on 2006-09-04 at 19:55:10.
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Topic: **Noldaria*Final War**
Subject: Derak
Derak felt better after he got done yelling, it was therapeutic. He felt the wieght lift from his shoulders, Teros began to talk to Derak... "Your a good guy Derrak. It must have felt good to give him a piece of your mind, cause it sure felt good to give him a piece of mine. That man has gone beyond just being a pathetic loser, now he wants to surrender to The Dark Lord!" Derak replied with a slanted smile "You gave him a piece of your mind to eh....Thats good, I like you better all ready. You're not afraid to express yourself and thats good." Derak cocked his head back a bit and took in a breath of fresh air "ya kno' Teros...to me that guy's a dead man walking, im'a gonna wash my hands with the guy!" A serious look came across Derak's face and a stern voice filled the air as he said "but if he eva' decides to do anything to jepordize this mission or any of our teammates...im'a gonna lay down a wuppin on em'!" Derak walked over to Teros placeing his hand on his shoulder "come on man...no use wastin all that food in there for a bum like him, i'm going back inside"
Derak walks back into the room with a cocky stride of pride and honor. He looks at Damien down his nose and says along with hand motions forming his words "now...i'm gonna pretend like that never happened ok..." Derak says as if he's talking to a 3 year old. He picks his chair back up from the ground and continues eating as if nothing ever happened. He feels odd in the awkward silence of the room but he shrugs it off and begins to eat first at a slow rate which picks up as he get consumed in the eating frenzy. (Derak is mellowed out at this point and focused on eating. He pays no attention on Mahou's words which she intends on soothing the bard. However, if Derak feels threatened by the bard...who knows what he will do. But at this point even though he doesn't like Damien too much he's given his a second chance to avoid confrontation.)
Posted on 2006-09-04 at 19:54:49.
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Topic: **Noldaria*Final War**
Subject: Mahuo
Mahou's head tilted to one side as she approuched Damien after her story. long lengths of silky aburn hair danced around the curved horns upon her head. With a free hand she tucked the hair behind her ear and horns and looked damien over.
"I know that you have had problem in your past, to which you feel responsible." Mahou paused choosing her words carefully as she looked over the dark bard. "and you may feell that to pay for these issues you life is due. But it is apparent to everyone here, that the gods have a different plan for you. and even this which you have done in your past does not compare to what you are ment to do. you listen to me well Damien, weather you hold any love for the gods that run our lives or not. the fact of the matter is, what you do in this life now, directly effects us all. your life all our lives have more meaning then they ever did before. and if we all do not pull togeather to get this done, if one of us does not accept, i only fear that it shall mean the death of us all."
Mahou's eyes meet with damien's deep pools of rusted water drove into his as if looking for a pain she could not fix. "redeam yourself for what you have done, not with your own life, but with your actions. take up this task with all your heart, that heart i know you have, think not of yourself, but all the other lives that have been placed in our hands. and when this task is done, i have no doubt the gods shall give you the reward you deserve."
Mahou fell sielent her head still tilted, letting her horn bruss her shoulder as it curved back over and back behind her ears. No smile graced the tanned young womanly face as she looked still upon the dark bard. Even the ever cheerful gemi, who had plopped himself at her feet, seemed to hang his head low to the ground as the seriousness of Mahou washed over him. Mahou waited for some response from Damien and was determinded not to move untell they had resolved something. They could not all fight, they needed to unight if they wished to live though this all, if they wished to do what they where all ment to do.
Posted on 2006-09-04 at 19:54:30.
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Topic: **Noldaria*Final War**
Subject: Teros
Teros listened to Derrak, just nodding at first at his words. This was the first group he had traveled with. He was used to being alone, helping himself and those couldn't help themselves. Although this was a subject he didn't fully understand, he didn't need to. Damien had lost his will to live for reason, and there was no reason to go any lower. Without thinking he touched the scar on his cheek, running its length from the top conner of his cheeck down to about the middle.
"Ever.." he said in a whisper has he looked down. Suddenly he popped back into reality to hear Derrak screaming and pointing at the place were Damien was. Teros knew he was dead serious, but he couldn't help it, and soon he was laughing.
He missed a lot of what Derrak said, but stopped a little bit after he was done, still smiling broadly.
"Your a good guy Derrak. It must have felt good to give him a piece of your mind, cause it sure felt good to give him a piece of mine. That man has gone beyond just being a pathetic loser, now he wants to surrender to The Dark Lord!"
She shook his head, the smile fading at the simple thought of what Damien has said. That was low even for him! But he didn't think about it too long.
"I think we should return inside."
He looked up at Derrak as he spoke.
Posted on 2006-09-04 at 19:54:16.
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Topic: **Noldaria*Final War**
Subject: Mahuo
the evening rolled from the time they plucked their leaves. Mahou's aburn eye lifted to the sky several times to see the sparkling stars that marked their choicen roll. following the others to the feast room the night took on a mood of celibration. each taking the enjoyment in their own way.
Mahou watched as the kinder tried his hand at intertaining, her mind wondering as she slipped bits of food under the table to feed her faithful companion Gemi. it was not untell Derak confronted Demien that Mahou took her attention off the small kinder. bewildered eyes stayed fixed on the bard and the warrior as they talked. Mahou's hand lingered under the table fingures intertwining into the corse fur of Gemi's coat. As Darek moved of Mahou breathed a sigh, glade to see that he had resisted his earge to cause violince.
Picking up a piece of fruit Mahou poped it into her mouth, the thought of a story springing to mind mahou smiles. yes, i do owe these people a story she thought to herself as she moved to stand, but yet again her mind wavered as Teros moved across the room. it was only caught out of the corner of her eye, but by the time she turned to look, Teros had Damien in his grasp harsh words moved back and forth from them. this was surely no way to start this adventure. Mahou frowned as Teros moved past her following derak outside. Mahou curved her walk and moved in the direction of the dark bard. her eyes lingered on him for a long moment as Falienor moved forward and "helped" Damien to his feet. Mahou listened carefully to the elves words as he spoke to Damien. Mahou waited untell the kindly elf left Damiens side before she moved in close to him, a whisper on her lips.
"Do you fear the force of the wind, the slash of the rain? Go face them and fight them, be savage again. Go hungry and cold like the wolf, go wade like the crane. the palms of your hands will thicken, the skin of your cheek will tan, you'll grow ragged and weary and swarthy, but you'll walk like a man." Mahou muttered the short poem with a smile to damien. no judgement lingered in her eyes just then as she looked directly into his. she let her words sink in for a moment before turning and adressing the elfs.
"I promiesed a story the other night, one i did not give, i would love to take this time now to tell you something i have learned as a child." With a smile Mahou pulled a seat around to a clear area, and gently set herself upon it. clearin gher throat she waited for a bit of silence. When such was given she began in a light kind voice her little cute tail.
"In the grass a thousand little people pass.
And all about a myriad little eyes look out."
Mahou begain, being careful to keep her words slow and purposful, putting her belief of the words into her tone in hopes to make others to beleive her tale. Mahou's eyes darted around making eye contact with those watching her.
"For there are houses every side,
where the little folks abide,
where the little folks take tea
on a grass blade near a tree;
"Where they hold their Sabbath meetings,
pass each other, giving greatings
so remember when you pass through the grass;
little folks are everywhere.
"Walk quite softly, take great care
lest you hurt them unaware
lest the giant that is YOU
pull a house down with your shoe,
pull a house down, roof and all
killing children, great and small;
"So the wee eyes look at you
as you walk the meadows through;
So remember when you pass through the grass..."
Mahou trailed off a bit finishing her tale with a smile. it was short and simple, light hearted to lighten the mood in the room.
Hopping off the stool, Mahou looked around for Damien. *if he hasn't left she'll head over to him and offer to talk about the task at hand. noting that it is obvious he has reservations about thier fate.
Posted on 2006-09-04 at 19:53:54.
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Topic: **Noldaria*Final War**
Subject: Derak
Derak sat slumped over drowning in a slight anguish from the argument with Damien. Derak felt a presence behind him he assumed it was an elf but he used the polish flat of jilly to show him otherwise. It was Teros, his sword was enchanted, Derak’s was not. Derak slid the basterd sword into its resting spot on his back. Teros said something to Derak but it went in one ear and out the other, many thoughts shot through his mind all at once reflecting Teros’s words in his minds haste. He didn’t want to seem like a bully due to his size to his teammates but he couldn’t help but react the way he did to Damien. “ya kno’ people like that piss me off!” Derak said in his grunty voice breaking the awkward silence between the two.
“it seems like every crew I travel with there’s always a goddamn bad apple in with the bunch…jus’ trying to spoil it for the people who work hard. I outta bash his goddamn pale head in, and if I hadn’t walked out like I did, I woulda’!”
Derak slammed his iron ball of a fist down on a stone next to him in his fury “some people live life lookin’ at the past and not concentrating on the future…do you know why people do that?…’cause their weak, they can’t handle themselves now so the gotta look into the past and pick out every goddamn bad thing that’s gone wrong and say…look at me I’m mad because of this or because of that so people feel bad for ‘em, and so they can feel like a victim so they can get attention or something who knows?! That’s why he acts and dresses the way he does he needs attention…like I said in there before his momma musta not given him enough hugs or something! I know his kind, I can read him like a book, I can read him as well as a powerful wizard reads his spell book! I’ve traveled with many of his kind before but I’ve never worked with someone as pathetic as him, and I’ve work wit’ the losers of losers and the scoundrels of scoundrels and the grunts of grunts but he’s just a waste! ”
Derak shot up from his seat and turned around pointing his finger at the dining hall while also increasing the volume of his voice “you better keep him away from me or I’ll..or I’ll kick his goddamn teeth down his throat!”
Derak begins to shout louder as if he’s trying to talk to Damien from out in the courtyard “I SHOULDA LEFT YOU FOR DEAD YOU SAY?! YOU TALK LIKE YOU HATE LIFE OR SOMETHING LIKE YOU’RE SO GODDAMN PROSECUTED! IF I WAS A BARD I’D PLAY A GODDAMN VIOLIN AND PLAY YOUR ASS A SAD TUNE FOR THE NEXT TIME YOU WANNA TELL US A SAD STORY THE TUNE WILL GO ALONG GUD’ WIT’ IT! YOU KNOW, MAKE THINGS A LITTLE MORE DRAMTIC FOR YA, MAYBE TEROS WILL PASS OUT SOME GODDAMN RAGS SO PEOPLE CAN WIPE THE TEARS FROM THEIR EYES.” Derak’s volume decreased drastically and he said to Teros with a grin…there, now I feel better!
Posted on 2006-09-04 at 19:53:38.
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Topic: **Noldaria*Final War**
Subject: Teros
Teros took a step out side, and for a moment just accepted the cold night air. He didn't like the cold, but after what happened in their he didn't care how cold it was. But soon he began to look for Derrak. He saw him, sitting alone with his sword Jilly out. He moved forward, calmed down.
He stood behind Derrak, looking where he was looking. For a while he was silent, then he looked down at Jilly. It was a nice blade. Turning his head slowly he looked down at his own sword. Slowly his hand grasped the handle, and it drew it like it had been trained to do so many times before. He blade responded with its usual 'shing'. He watched the light glow off the blade for a while, looking it up and down in amazment. His hand went to the runes and he felt them up and down until his hand came back and he spoke the command word. Immediatly the blade responded with a soft red glow, the heat of the blade cut the air and felt good on Teros face. He spoke the command word again and sheathed his blade.
"Its a beautiful night is it not? It seems that the stars all sing in glory to us. How is it that some people don't see the glory in what we are destined to do?"
He was looking at the back of Derraks head. He waited to see if the big man would turn around, or if he had even noticed his presence. Of course he had, any warrior would have heard the sound of a blade being drawn immediatly. He must of known it was him as he approached, besides, no elf would harm us here. Not as long as we were content with our god assigned missions.
Posted on 2006-09-04 at 19:53:21.
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Topic: **Noldaria*Final War**
Subject: Vilyamar
“Tharanduil?…”
Vilyamar’s puzzlement showed on his face as he looked into the hard eyes of the Elder. Cold as ice they began to shift betrayed much but then again, telling little at the same time. Such age old wisdom was beyond the half-elf’s ability to read. He gave into the curiosity and followed the man’s gaze toward the confrontation that was occurring on the other side of the room. As he turned, he noticed all of the room fall silent to the last druid as they all, too, stared in both disbelief and contempt. Now they truly knew why they did not wish humans to come under their vale. Damien, in contempt of the entire hall and out of contempt for the gods, spewed his melancholy about the hall, poisoning the very airs of happiness. Suddenly, the monk was no longer angry for the disturbance, but now he was curious. Curiosity was a trait more akin to his Kender companion, but he felt that it pertained to something deeper than what was in someone else’s pockets.
Why?
Why was this dark bard so? What happened in his past that caused him to ride such dark emotional roads? What must we do to remove him from such paths?
Such questions must have run through the other’s minds as well, though they seemed not to be able to hold enough patience to wait out the situation. As Derak stormed from the hall, Teros, too, affronted the bard for his lack of stigmatism in light of their being chosen. The monk shook his head and folded his hands into the sleeves of his shirt. As Teros left the bard upon the floor, Falienor took his turn, nearly beheading the man right there on the very floor with his blade. Vilyamar’s eyes widened with surprise, seeing that even the elves had their limits in tolerance. He glanced about, seeing a few elves shift uneasily with their leader joining the ruckus, but many of them were about to do the same, with much less control. A silent sigh of relief escaped the half-elf as Tharanduil broke up the infighting, but now Vilyamar was worried and the anger started to return. These were his cousins, the elves. And none had the right to insult the proprietor’s honor or values, as Damien had just done, within their own house. As the other druids and elves filtered out of the hall, leaving the remainder of the party to themselves, the tension grew, and Riadros, their guide, quickly took an uneasy leave as well.
“I will wait outside.”
He said hastily
“You may take your time…When you feel tired, just come on out.”
Vilyamar bowed his head in thanks to the elf, and walked behind him to close to door, whispering, “Fear not, cousin, this shall all be over soon.”
Damien moved back to the table, his harsh words with Tharanduil finished. The monk took a deep breath, and turned to watch him. He said nothing, for nothing need have been said. As the bard’s gaze fell upon him, the monk’s face showed nothing but what he saw, torment and anguish from within the soul. The fuming would end, then they would only need to tread carefully as not to enrage the volatile bard once more. Slumped against the wall, the dark human left them, delving within himself to the dark shadows of his soul.
They all stood for some time, Vilyamar just staring at the bard. After some time, he spoke, though not to anyone in particular...
“Destiny calls, young ones, and now we must obey…”
With that he stepped out the door, closing it behind him. He turned to walk away, but there stood Riadros, watching the stars through the boughs of the trees. He did not turn when the shorter monk walked up beside him.
“They seem different now. After one knows something of what the future holds, they see things in a different perspective. Or perhaps it is just the height of these trees, forcing the stars closer…”
The monk looked over, but the elf seemed not to be listening to the poor attempt at small talk as they awaited the others.
“There is change in the air, Riadros. The humans know this, the kender knows, the satyr knows. Can you elves not sense it? This quest will change forever the face of this planet and its inhabitants, but for good or ill, we know not…Trust, do not speak against the human bard. His wounds are deep as you already know, and tomorrow morn, we are departing. I trust you and Falienor or Tharanduil or some others will get him and the others out as quickly as possible tomorrow. I sorely wished this had not come to pass, but humans do as humans are…”
Posted on 2006-09-04 at 19:53:03.
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Topic: **Noldaria*Final War**
Subject: Damien
“My outlook is my own. Who are you to judge me?” Damien muttered from his position on the floor, eyes blind of all emotion as he stared at the ceiling. The Gods had turned on him, removing all faith he once had in them. He had no reason to believe in them anymore. He had no reason to believe in anything anymore. The Dark Lord was rising up, and they were the only ones dubbed able to defeat him. But how? All it would take would be one burst of force from Gerugoth’s new body, and they would all be cast into the abyss.
The man Damien had begun to think of as ‘Deceiver’ reached down to take hold of the bard’s elbow, making to help him to his feet. Not willing to help somebody who was so intent on forcing him to face dark destruction, he did not get up on his own. He made the old man pull him upright. Then, Tharanduil spoke on of a lifetime of honour alongside the Gods. Such a prospect did not appeal to the bard in the slightest way. He hated the Gods for taking away his loved one, for making him this way.
“I do not seek honour. I seek relief from this anguish. Being placed alongside those whom I loath is not any form of reward I would ever wish to be the receiver of. I don’t want to be remembered. I don’t want anybody to speak the name Damien LeBlaque ever again. My intention was to speak the dark parts of history in verses of poem and song. Not once had I ever actually wanted to become a part of it, to be told by others.”
Almost immediately after speaking his mind, Tharanduil’s scolding almost brought laughter to Damien’s lips, though it was not out of joy. It was out of sick amusement. “A pack of heroes? Where did you ever assume that we would all be interested in this? You deceived us. You told us nothing of the Dark One reborn. You told us nothing of having to contend with the Dark One. I do not believe the words you speak to us. They do not reassure me, save that I will not spin forever at the hands of Gerugoth in the abyss.”
Damien began to listen once again to the man, seeing that he would not seem to close his mouth after any period of time. Inside him, his dislike of Tharanduil began to fester as he spoke of overthrowing his sorrow and despair. “You make it sound like an easy task. To discard the life I have lived in exchange for, what, a certain demise? What worth is there in that? To help some ‘joy’ live on? There is no worth in that to me, old man.”
The dark strands of Damien’s hair had scattered over his face, hanging limply in front of his eyes, which had finally focused, staring with contempt at Tharanduil. “Deceiver,” he hissed, scowling, the first expression shown in some time. “Do your own damn work. Leave me alone.”
Not feeling up to standing any more, the bard walked over and took a seat at the table, away from the others. He chose not to look at them, not to even glance in their direction. His hatred was blossoming for those around him, as he felt he was being forced into an end through which he had no hopes of pulling through. Leaning forward, he rested his elbow on the tabletop and placed his forehead into his palm, covering his eyes. He thought for a few moments, suddenly breaking out in frustration and knocking the dishes and foodstuffs set before him to the floor with a great clatter, sent flying by a sweep of his cloaked arm.
“Why should we be goaded into this?” He cried out, pushing himself to his feet and turning away with a flapping of his cloak. “I barely have any desire to aid this world as is. Why should I throw away my time and effort to defy the inevitable?”
Whirling about, he reached out his arm, pointing at Vilyamar, Elandor, and Mahou. “Don’t any of you say a damn word to me. I mean it.” He hissed at them, glaring at each and every one of them in turn. Turning away once more, he moved as far away from them as possible, slumping down against the wall, his leg bent slightly and his arm resting on top of it. His head was tilted downwards, his hair falling about his face.
Is it worth it, Damein?
“I know damn well that it isn’t. This isn’t my war, isn’t my problem.”
Are you certain?
"...."
Walk away, Damien LeBlaque.
The doubting of his own words came as absolute surprise to the bard, who, managing to hide his shock, felt the words Tharanduil spoke to them rise to the surface of his mind once more. Swearing loudly at the man, he kept his head low, thoughts beginning to dance across the shadows of his twisted, blackened mind.
(OOC: If anybody tries to speak to Damien, he will snatch up the nearest thing to him and hurl it at them.)
Posted on 2006-09-04 at 19:52:44.
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Topic: **Noldaria*Final War**
Subject: Warriors Consult
August 8th/Saturday Evening
Valnor Forest/Near the Northern Thollin Border
Celeval/Courtyard
Celeval's courtyard was an enormous clearing in the center of the city. The buildings lining it, (including the Hall of Council) made up a perfect circle, facing inward. Lining the perimeter stood pole lanterns. Their silver light splashed against the buildings, and danced on the faces of the flowerbeds that painted the courtyard. Though Celeval roosted within the very boughs of an Avelon, at the center of the courtyard grew another tree. It was the size and shape of a young oak, yet its bark seemed to gleam mystically in the silver light.
Polished, white stones had been set around the tree, enclosing it behind a smooth, three foot high wall. Sitting on this wall was Derak. Jerrily sat, unsheathed upon his thick lap. Its blade glimmered in the flickering, silver light of the lanterns. The big mans fingers were running lovingly up and down its flat. Before him, across the flat of the courtyard, the ledge on which Celval was situated came to an end. Beyond lay a sea of night.
The night was cool and clear, and still the stars shone as brightly as they had earlier. The North star shone more brightly than the others. The circle of vivid stars around it, still twinkled as brightly as when they had surfaced through the murky waters of the night sky, revealing destiny upon the party.
He hadn’t been there long when, in the distance, he saw and heard the Hall’s door swing open, and the shadowy figure of Teros storm out, into the courtyard.
The warrior stood their for a long moment, letting his eyes adjust to the night, before he started forward, searching for Derak.
Catching the gleam of the big man’s sword, Teros headed in his direction, and approached him...
Posted on 2006-09-04 at 19:52:29.
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Topic: **Noldaria*Final War**
Subject: Council
”The power of the Enemy is vast. Even now his dark fingers stretch forth from the shadows of Gildor. His is the power of one. For he sits on his dark throne, bending all in his realm to his will. Every breath taken in Gildor is by his leave. Every thought taken is only a reflection of his own. He as One mindset….”
“One Will….”
“Yes. Under the warped shadows of his twisted landscape, everything is his, entirely and wholly. If it exists without his knowledge, it exists without his consent.”
“One mind…One mind forged from the blackened steels of hate. Noldaria does not see its danger.”
“The eye that wanders the most, sees the least.”
“The blind eye sees the least…The veil of ignorance hangs over Noldaria. It does not see…”
“It needn’t see. His only threat fabricates this night.”
“Threat? Not a threat…It takes a pack of dogs to drag down the lion. One by one, it will devour them.”
“One mind.”
”Unity…”
August 8th/Saturday Evening
Valnor Forest/Near the Northern Thollin Border
Celeval/Hall of Council
It is true. The elves aren’t the hardiest of beings. Yet the feasts they throw are rivaled by none; so the party saw that night…Or would have seen, had the night remained as festive as some had planned.
The table was a mountainous landscape of roast meat, bread, gravy and fruit. The rivers that flowed across it were a rich gold, and a deep red. Not many travelers have experienced the splendors of elven feasts; but those who have would sit in local taverns weaving tales about how the elves provide food only for the guests. And that they, themselves nourish themselves on fellowhip.
So it seemed to the party that night. On their end of the table, the druids chatted merrily in their own, melodious tongue. Plates, adorned with fruit as dazzling as gems sat before them, yet they spoke, or heeded more hungrily than they ate. The elf-maiden sat on her stool, radiant as a goddess. The music she wove from her harp flowed through the great Hall, filling it with a beautiful serenity that was nearly tangible. Falienor and Tharanduil sat at the head, conversing cheerfully with one another, and whoever else that bothered to join in.
Elandor was one such person. Falienor had just taken a breath from a tale he had been sharing quietly with Tharanduil; and was taking a sip from his silver, white jeweled goblet, when the kender tugged at his sleeve.
“Excuse me, sir. Is there somewhere I can get a tattoo of an ant in this city? And I would like to have this leaf prepared so that I can keep it forever. It has a special meaning for me. But maybe that would be to expensive. That is, if you would do some magic-thing with it, but I’m not sure if that’s exactly what I’m seeking. Perhaps there is some smith that can make a piece of jewelry from it, with a golden star on it as well. Do you think that would be possible? I know you elves have a way of taking care of natural things. HEY Apples!”
Falienor finished his sip, set down the goblet, and was about to respond, when the kender’s attention shifted from him in a completely other direction…Apples
The overall attention of the room swayed to Elandor, as he used his trusty hoopak to levitate one of the apples. The elves cheered as the apple wove its way by their heads, before bobbing before Mahuo, and settling on her plate. The elves clapped merrily for the little kender, who found Falienor’s gentle hand upon his wrist, which was making its way towards one of his pouches, stowing a silver, jeweled fork.
The kender smiled innocently and replaced the fork.
Derak found himself enveloped in the utmost of joy. Discovering that, of all the people in Noldaria, HE had been selected by the Gods to be a hero instilled a feeling of pride and purpose in the big man that had previously been absent.
Overwhelmed by his joy, he began to converse with everyone around him. That is..between gulps of ale and mouthfuls of meat.
Damien on the other hand, sat uneating, staring at his empty plate as if sharing some angry secret with it. His shoulders slumped, and his hair hang about his face like a black waterfall streaming with crimson. His pale face was etched with misery. Why misery? Who knew. Perhaps even did not know. Nontheless, he was like stain on the party’s newfound robes of glory.
Perhaps it would not go as a big surprise, when Derak, previously joyous, shot to his feet, sending his chair on its back.
The room suddenly went silent. Even the flow of harp music froze.
“Leave you alone?! Leave you alone?!.....that spell musta done some brain damage ‘cause you showin’ me no respect. We coulda left your worthless ass with those Goblins. I carried you through the wilderness for days and you tell me to leave ya alone! I don’t kno’ what your problem is…maybe your mommy didn’t give you enough hugs as a little boy but if ya keep up this…..attitude…..your gonna get a attitude from me, and you ain’t gonna like it.”
Damien sat, staring with blind eyes, like some puppet cut from its strings. It was impossible to tell if Derak’s outburst had sunken in, or had been deflected by the bard’s hollow mind. The big man was quick to recover himself before the eyes of a watching room. Speaking softer, his voice was still sharpened by anger.
“hey man, we’ve all had it rough one point at another and we’ve all had to make sacrifices but we got some real world shit to deal with and all those problems that you mighta had you to need ta forget because we got some new responsibilities that we owe to the world”
Realizing the frivolity of such an argument, Derak cut short his final sentence, and stormed out of the Hall. Damien’s parting words were like darts, unphazing the big man. His heavy bootsteps echoed cacaphonically in the silent room. The door slammed, like the final blast from a breaking thunderstorm. Only the storm was not over. The air crackled in silent tension.
Desperate to save such a wonderful night from slipping away, Elandor leapt atop the table and sang a song to the tune of the harpists fingers. It was a cheery song, that could not be denied. Yet it fell on dead ears. This night was lost.
Both Tharanduil and Vilyamar were standing with the old mans fingers imbedded in the half-elf’s shoulder. Vilyamar, perhaps in attempt at an apologetic change of topic, tried to steer the Elder’s attention away from Damien. It was futile. The old man’s eyes were locked onto the bard. Infact, so too where the eyes of every elf. Falienor sat, regarding Damien. His fair, once joyful face was now chiseled in cold aloofness.
“All is lost.”
By now, even Vilyamar and the kender had given up, and studied the bard.
“It is futile to fight Gerugoth. What can three humans, a kender, a satyr, and a cross-breed of a human do against a reborn God? What hope do we have in this? Surrender would be a better choice.... Yes...surrender to Gerugoth... Perhaps then, we shall be spared from the ultimate suffering which he is sure to inflict upon us.”
Damien commenced to mumbling to himself. Despite the wall he had attempted set up around himself, it was obvious he was in a struggle. A struggle against himself.
Another struggle was taking place in that room. Teros had heard and watched enough of the bard for one night. Infact, he had reached the jagged edge of his patience with Damien. Derak, who Teros may have come to consider a friend had done nothing wrong to the bard. Yet here he sat, brooding in a cloak of self-woven misery. The sight sickened him. The words Damien had just spoke enraged him.
At last, the fire that burned within him grew too hot. Standing, and approaching the Bard, the dark man stood over him a moment, before lunging for his collar. Grabbing his shirt and yanking him to his feet, Teros forced Damien’s blank gray eyes to find his own.
“What is running through your mind bard?! Do you think it is chance that we have met?! You are a damn fool! Are you trying to escape your fate, your destiny?! You speak of surrender, well I will kill myself before I surrender, and I will kill you before you surrender. I have lost too much and gained too little to throw all my hard work away to some pathetic bard who lost his will to live. Look around you! We rejoice at us being chosen, yet you here are already giving up!"
Though his body had no will, his mouth seemed to. The bards lips parted dryly and he spoke in a voice
“The gods have forsaken me, Teros. Of course it is chance you had the misfortune to meet me in that tavern.”
A belligerent fury burned in Teros’ eyes. The veins in his dark arms pulsed. Throwing Damien to the ground and standing over him, the warrior sneered in disgust.
Still the bard went on, looking up at him from where he lay, crumpled on the floor, like some broken puppet, cursed to speak for eternity, and yet never know what it is like to move.
“You won’t throw it all away for me, so don’t. I don’t ask it of you. Not once have I asked anything of any of you, except to leave me be. You would be happier that way. Happiness is only temporary. It is poison to me, for once my happiness leaves me, I am even more depressed, being stripped of what joy was there for such a small amount of time. Can you understand this, Teros? That is why I am the way I am. I have no reason to be happy. We are fated to die, so why celebrate? It is a fool’s way of trying to make the best of the end to come.”
“Why is it that whenever we try to have a good time, whenever there is happiness you seem to ruin it!! I'm tired of you! End this speak of surrender or I will end your life!"
“Darkness will prevail. Such has shown itself to me throughout the course of my entire life.”
Before Teros could react, Falienor had stepped between them and stood baring down at the bard. His eyes burned with more fury than even the Desert Warrior. He held a katana inches from Damien’s sweaty throat. It gleamed with a thirst for the bard’s blood.
“Do not be so quick to think the Elves will grant a swift death to traders. Such words will NOT be uttered in this hall, or even this city, bard”
By now, the entire room was standing, watching. Tharanduil stepped beside Falienor and looked down at Damien. No fury burned in his ancient eyes, only the light of wisdom.
“Doubt does not carve a trader, Falienor. Pull back your sword for a moment.”
The elf’s eyes remained locked on the bard. They burned like blue fire. Hesitantly, he pulled the blade away, and stood erect, feet apart. His hands still clutched the curving, jeweled hilt. He would not hesitate to strike.
Kneeling beside Damien, Tharanduil licked his lips, and glanced about the room, before staring the bard in the pale face. When he spoke, it was in a voice much like that of a grandfather. Stern and knowing, yet soft and warm. Soothing
“You have a sad outlook on both life, And death, Damien. Were you taught nothing about the Gods as a child? Gerugoth fought so hard to destroy, stain, or even taint Noldaria, because it is all he can effect. He cannot touch you when you die. That is the duty of Erenall, who will judge the souls departed. The wicked are cast to Carithar, in his black pits. All else are welcomed to dwell in the land of the Gods.”
Gently wrapping his hand around the bards elbow, he helps (or forces) him to his feet. By now, Teros had stormed out of the hall, in search of Derak. Tharanduil continued
“All He can take is your life. Perhaps you do not understand death, and that is the cause of your sorrow and doubt. Or perhaps you have truly lived a life of torment. I will not judge. But the Gods have chosen you for a reason only they know. Perhaps it is to reward your life of pain, with an eternity of honor. For that is what you will all receive from the Gods. Do not think your quest will go unnoticed. Upon death, the heros of Alhanna will be welcomed by the Gods with open arms. They shall be granted a throne in the Hall of Stars, beside the Gods themselves. Loved ones shall be reunited, and an eternity of sacred honor shall ensue. He cannot harm you after death.”
Grabbing a random mug from the table, Tharanduil pauses to take a long drought, before continuing. He spoke now in a voice directed towards everyone.
“As for the struggles on this earth, they will be great. It very well may be hopeless, but you must still try. This…God incarnate has power you cannot imagine. It is beyond one mind to comprehend, or to even face.”
His voice hardened into a scold, directed at everyone.
“I look at this prophesized group, and I do Not see heros. As you are, No; you will never even stand before this..”Dark Lord”. You must first come together. Individually, you have no chance. Yet, perhaps you will come to learn the power of Unity, and what it can do.”
Turning to Damien once more, he finished.
“I do not blame you for your fear. I would blame you, however, could you not withstand it. Overcome your sorrow, throw down your fear. Your voice was a gift from the Gods, you shall see soon enough. Use it to help those your destiny is joined with. Remember the rewards you will receive. Remember those you may meet again, and fight for them. Fight so that a joy that cannot die, may live.”
Grabbing a purple grape from one of the many silver trays, He popped it in his mouth, before saying in a soft, almost weary voice
“It seems this feast has come to an end. Perhaps the little “outbreak” was not such a bad thing, however. Ponder over what I have said. Now, I must go. There is still much for me to do this night.”
With that, Tharanduil grabbed up his gnarled staff, and headed out the door. When it closed this time, however, the silence was not as brooding.
The Druids began, one by one, to follow the Elder’s example. They spoke quietly to one another, and nodded a farewell to the 4 party members that remained, before disappearing into the night. The elf maiden went with them, as did Falienor, who had resheathed his sword and strode swiftly towards the door. Reaching it, he haulted and faced the four. His eyes nolonger burned with fury. His face had become a stoic mask. His voice was edged in frost.
“Riadros will show you to your rooms, when you are ready. You may finish eating, or talk to one another, if it pleases you. I wish well this night.”
Turning, he too disappeared in the dark, leaving Elandor, Mahuo, Vilyamar, Damien, and an obviously uncomfortable Riadros. Sliding towards the doorway, the elf bowed stiffly in his dark green, druid robes.
“I will wait outside.”
He said hastily
“You may take your time…When you feel tired, just come on out.”
Posted on 2006-09-04 at 19:52:10.
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Topic: **Noldaria*Final War**
Subject: Damien
The threat that Teros made against Damien did little to intimidate the bard. He didn’t even tense up as the desert dweller grabbed his shirt and lifted him up, driving his sword hilt into Damein’s stomach. The thrust pushed the air from his lungs in a wheeze, but he did not react immediately. He stared into Teros’s eyes with a blank expression, his eyes lacking all emotion. He could have passed for a corpse, has he no need to draw breath, so lacking of expression and humanity was he.
“The gods have forsaken me, Teros. Of course it is chance you had the misfortune to meet me in that tavern.” Damien considered bringing up his knee to strike Teros in the groin to let him go. He was not intimidated, but prefered not being manhandled by others. The thought passed from his mind as Teros continued his banter.
He wouldn’t dare strike blow to me if I wished to surrender. He thoughts as he was thrown violently to the floor, stared down on with a disgusted look from the desert man.
“You won’t throw it all away for me, so don’t. I don’t ask it of you. Not once have I asked anything of any of you, except to leave me be. You would be happier that way.” He sneered, his eyes still blank. His voice lacked it’s usual melodic tone, rather, being one devoid of all emotion.
“Happiness is only temporary. It is poison to me, for once my happiness leaves me, I am even more depressed, being stripped of what joy was there for such a small amount of time. Can you understand this, Teros? That is why I am the way I am. I have no reason to be happy. We are fated to die, so why celebrate? It is a fool’s way of trying to make the best of the end to come.” Damien continued on, still looking at Teros. He made no effort to rise from the floor. He lay where he had been thrown, laying in a crumpled pile of body and cloak. The hilt of his rapier was visible to him, the sight being almost relieving to him.
I could kill them all while they sleep, and make my escape. Perhaps, just maybe, I can get away from them, be spared from the wrath of Gerugoth. No job, no matter what reward it promises, is worth spending an eternity of torment for dying at the hands of a God.
“Darkness will prevail. Such has shown itself to me throughout the course of my entire life.” He said, loud enough for any nearby to hear. He truly did not care what the others thought of him now. His life was coming to a close. His dark melancholy would probably have him killed at the hands of Teros or Derak soon enough, and if not them, then Gerugoth would send him spinning into the deepest recesses of hell.
At least, He thought to himself. I know what to expect once I get there.
(OOC: Yes, Teros, the part you question was spoken aloud. If, because of his sorrow, Teros or Derak attacks Damien upon re-entry, Damien will draw rapier and activate it, fighting back using any means to kill the man who attacks him.)
Posted on 2006-09-04 at 19:51:49.
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Topic: **Noldaria*Final War**
Subject: Teros
Teros was listening to Derraks question when the bard gave an answer back and in return Derrack yelled back at him. Teros did not see much of a point in yelling back, but the answer was a little cruel. Finally Derrak left, and Teros got up to pursue when the Kender began to sing. Thinking it rude to leave with such a nice performance he stayed and listened. Smiling and nodding his approval.
Finally he turned to the door once again. This time he heard the bard speak of surrender, thinking it hopeless that this little group could hope to take down a god. Enraged Teros slowly approached the bard and grabed the front of his shirt, lifthing him up to look him in the eyes. His hand shook slightly and his other hand moved uncertainly to his side, where his sword was. It gripped the shirt tightly, and through the shirt his knuckles could be felt pressing down into his flesh. The sword's hilt was pressed hard against Damien causing uncomfort. Teros's eyes were hard and certain, looking down into his eyes with a fierce anger.
"What is running through your mind bard?! Do you think it is chance that we have met?! You are a damn foo! Are you trying to escape your fate, your destiny?! You speak of surrender, well I will kill myself before I surrender, and I will kill you before you surrender. I have lost too much and gained too little to throw all my hard work away to some pathetic bard who lost his will to live. Look around you! We rejoice at us being choosen, yet you here are already giving up!"
Memories of him first meeting the bard flew back into his mind. He gave the man a disgusted look, like something a mean rich schoolgirl would give to a homeless begging man who was missing an arm and hadn't bathed in at least a year. His eyes burned with a passion like they hadn't before. He threw him down on the floor and looked down on him.
"Why is it that whenever we try to have a good time, whenever there is happiness you seem to ruin it!! I'm tired of you! End this speak of surrener or I will end your life!"
He turns to everyone else, calming down a bit as he looks over the group.
"Sorry for the intertuption. And uh..nice song Elandor.."
He nods to the Kender and gives a smile to everyone in general before leaving to talk Derrak into comming back in to enjoy what was left of the festivities.
OOC:You did say that you thought we should surrender out loud right? I know one part was all silenced and crap, but the other one said no part of being quite so I assumed I heard. If not I will edit it.
Posted on 2006-09-04 at 19:51:30.
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Topic: **Noldaria*Final War**
Subject: Damien
Derak’s sudden outbreak of anger was, in Damien’s twisted mind, not unreasonable whatsoever. He did not shudder, did not shake in fright of the hulking man, having risen so rapidly to his feet to begin yelling at him. No... He sat still, staring, his mind hollow. Derak’s words lashed him, stung his mind like white-hot needles driven into his brain.
“....just....errrr.” Derak’s final argument against Damien trailed off, leaving them both silent for the time being. The bard did not feel the will to speak back against the warrior. He barely even thought over these words as they drifted across the warped plains of his conscience. Each one was spoken from frustration, yet, held meaning deeper than most that Damien had ever had spoken to him.
Grey eyes stared blankly at the plate before him, not even lifting to see Elandor dancing and singing. The kender’s shrill voice was irritating to Damien, but he could care less at the current time.
A banished God...
How can we possibly hope to contend with such a mighty opponent?
Is this how fate is to unveil for us?
I cut the strings from my limbs, freeing myself from the great Puppet Master. Was it truly the best idea? Perhaps, had I left myself in the control of lifting fingers, I would earn salvation, redemption, rather than a journey straight to hell.
“You should have left me.” Damien suddenly spoke up, his voice monotone and devoid of all emotion. He said this loud enough for Derak to hear as the big man stormed out of the room. He spoke loud enough to be heard over the kender’s song, to be heard by everybody.
“You should not have wasted your time and effort to bring me here. You would have been better off, leaving me to die in the mud of the goblin camp. Why did you not?”
Damien shut his eyes tightly, tilting his head even further forward, limp. He did not rise to pursue Derak, nor to swat at Elandor. Right now, he would not have cared if the kender had lifted his favoured rapier from its sheath and ran about slashing at people. Perhaps he would get lucky, and Elandor would slip and impale himself. If he was even luckier, the kender would kill Damien with his own weapon. At least then, he would not be destroyed by the Dark Lord incarnate.
What are the odds that it would happen? Why get my hopes up...
“All is lost.” Damien’s voice rose from silence once again, still lacking any form of emotion or expression. “It is futile to fight Gerugoth. What can three humans, a kender, a satyr, and a cross-breed of a human do against a reborn God? What hope do we have in this? Surrender would be a better choice.... Yes...surrender to Gerugoth... Perhaps then, we shall be spared from the ultimate suffering which he is sure to inflict upon us.”
This prospect greatly appealed to the bard, who, though saw no point to his existence, would rather be slain by a knife in the back rather than total obliteration and an eternity of torment beyond life at the hands of a God.
“I would not hesitate to turn sides in this.” He whispered to himself, the words pleasing him, the most harmonious of all tones he had ever heard.
Perhaps I could even please the Dark One with an act of obedience to himself. What would be the best means of doing this, though?
Slowly, he opened his eyes, lifting his gaze to the door through which Derak had exited. The man would not be expecting Damien to leave after him, following him from the darkness of shadows...
No!
The corner of his mouth twitched.
I cannot do it. We cannot win, but I am not about to doom the world by removing two possible “saviours’’ from it’s ranks. I shall have to find another means of pleasing the Dark Lord...
Posted on 2006-09-04 at 19:51:14.
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Topic: **Noldaria*Final War**
Subject: Conversation
"Thank you, Aredhelrim, 'tis among the greatest of honors to sit amongst your people." Vilyamar said in return for the compliment. Suddenly, loud, human, voices reached his sensitive ears from across the table.
"Eh?" commented the monk as he turned his head to the confrontation at hand. Evidently, the bard had said something to Derak which had set the large man off. Vilyamar was about to stand and disperse the brewing conflict when he felt a hand upon his shoulder and saw Tharanduil standing there. He looked back to see Elandor handling the situation. The little one broke into song, with the elven maiden strumming along behind his words, giving them a little more meaning than they would originally have carried. Vilyamar looked up at Tharanduil once more and the stood, this time with no resistance.
"Thank you, Tharanduil, for preventing my rash actions. I am beginning to feel obligated for the brash encounters of the humans. Perhaps it is my heritage and because I feel akin to our hosts, I do not wish my compatriots to desecrate any part of their beatiful home. Though not in the slightest do I think that they would do so on purpose." Vilyamar said, is head bowed slightly in shame. "I shall better control myself after the present time, but now I must begin to ask of our mission. You mentioned the god-stones? and that we must collect three to be presented of the bane of the shadow. Where are these stones? How will we know when we have found them?"
(OOC: I took a slight liberty there. Sorta wished to kinda set it up for the giving of the item. Hope its ok, if not I can edit...)
Posted on 2006-09-04 at 19:50:39.
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Topic: **Noldaria*Final War**
Subject: Elandor
Elandor nearly fell from his chair as Derak suddenly burst out in a raging lecture directed at the silent bard. The anger in Derak's words died quickly, but the little kender noticed how the mood in the chamber had been terribly wounded.
Not wanting to see this joyful party go down so soon he stood on his chair and jumped on the table, landing between his plate and a bowl of grapes. He raised his hoopak high and let its bottom come down hard on the table, drawing everyone's attention.
"Please folks. Let's not let this small argument drown our appetite. I for one have definately not had enough of the merrymaking."
He addressed the elven woman behind the harp:
"Please lady! Let the notes roll from your fingers. I'll sing a song that us kender sing when we're down."
That last comment got himself thinking... when WAS the last time he ever heard any kender sing it? Were they EVER down? Shaking the thoughts from his head he sang his first words:
"Dear sister, there's no need to worry.
The road is still long
and we're not in a hurry.
My pouches are filled,
by the way how are yours?
Our backs are straight
like your hoopak of course.
So show me that smile as we stroll
down the path that we choose;
the most pleasant of all.
The horizons are broad,
excitement awaits!
We'll find many treasures
We'll challenge our fates.
So show me that smile as we stroll
down the path that we choose;
the most pleasant of all.
we're kender, dear sister
so wander with me!
Adventure awaits us
in grandiosity
So show me that smile as we stroll
down the path that we choose;
the most pleasant of all."
With those last words he bowed elegantly and jumped on his stool again.
"Right! Now I can use some of that elven wine you have there!"
Posted on 2006-09-04 at 19:50:21.
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