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Writer: Tobryck
Date Thu May 30 11:24:26 2024
To All RP IMM Religion Fatale
Subject 100 Days of Death: The Choices We Make
More.... More blood... More bodies.... Give me MORE!!!
This was the Dreadlord's demand to Tobryck, the murderous zealot sits in the
dungeon of Bloodlust and ponders his choices. Choices.... We All make
choices. This giant ogre made the choice to leave the path of barbarous
rage, leaving the god of war Raije in the process. He made the painful
choice to embark on a of life zealotry, astride a blackened steed. He went
forth and spread ruthless murder across the land, painting the roads red and
screaming at the top of his lungs in support of Fatale the god of murder.
Choices....
The choices we make affect the realm and so Tobryck has an idea that will
spread death across the land like no other. He smiles a wide grin and rides
out of the dungeon to carry out his mission, a mission of pain of death.
From Arkane to Icewall, Althainia to Tropica, and even to Shokono.... No
land was left dry. His wrath spread from sea to see, countless victims met
his spiked hammer. The ground wept with blood, the forests echoed with the
crack of bones. Broken skulls, twisted remains, sinew and crimson stained
the streets and paths across the land.
Choices...
The bodies.... 100 bodies.... Their corpses lay cold at Tobrycks' feet.
He smiles and laughs, his eyes widen, his body dripping with blood... He
knows what he must do. The god of death requires sacrifice, and the
ambition to pursue such things Each day for 100 days he drags his victims
through the river of blood that winds through Althainia. Their blood mixing
with the blood of death within the banks. Finally arriving at a secluded
spot in the ground. A spot where a monolith has been erected, a monolith of
darkness which radiates maleficence across the land. Tobryck raises scores
of blackened crosses and upon them nails the corpses of his victims. Bodies
in various states of decay, some burned beyond recognition, stand as symbols
to the darkness and the power of Fatale, the power of death. He continues
in this way for 100 days. Reaping across the land, screams of his victims
heard from town to town, fear spreads the world over. For the mark of death
is eternal and the pain is everlasting. He is the wrath, he is the death
which walks the earth.
Choices....
The vile crusader calls the dark pantheon together in this damp wet place
for a call to action, for the works of darkness are never done and our
instruments of death are never dry. A gathering of the Black Robes of the
Conclave, The Horde of Bloodlust, The Dark City of Verminasia, The Knights
of Shadow, and the City of Blood Abaddon sit in amazment of the arranged
sacrifices. They make a pact to continue their work towards hastening the
Infinite Night. Just then a figure of smoke, one of the avatars of Fatale,
rises behind Tobryck and the room fills with blood falling from the sky like
rain. The mist of blood in the air surrounds Tobryck and levitates him in
the air. A dagger is fashioned from the blood and is plunged in the ogre`s
neck. His blood sprays the gathered crowd as he falls to his knees. The
figure of smoke holds Tobryck between life and death and surrounds him in a
glow of darkness. Tobryck rises anew, as the shadow marks his forward with
the blood red crescent moon of Fatale and annoints him the Hand of Fatale,
and the Dark Queen Drakkara`s Sanguine Guard.
Choices.....
The giant ogre has made his choices.... And so the god of murder made his.
The Hand of Fatale, The Dark Queen`s Sanguine Guard, now has a seat at the
table of darkness. His task is simple.....
I expect that pile of bodies to grow more still....
..... Manical laughter echoes through the chamber...
Writer: Aethelwine
Date Thu May 30 13:26:13 2024
Writer: Aethelwine
Date Thu May 30 14:42:10 2024
Writer: Grackle
Date Thu May 30 21:49:10 2024
Writer: Jochi
Date Fri May 31 19:25:09 2024
To Abaddon All ( imm rp Croatoan Xenophon )
Subject An excerpt from the journal of Jochi Takahashi
It's been said Abaddon is a kingdom of death built of a foundation of
betrayal and lies. The former part is certainly true, however the latter
part is something I'm having more and more difficulty disagreeing with as
well. I look back at the many counts and countesses I've served in my
tenure in Abaddon and I can one think of one, perhaps two that I truly
respected. Some mean well and are utterly ineffective, others promote
division and use the honored office as a platform to promote their petty
behaviors. This would even include those related to me. For even my own
family has betrayed me in the past, yet I'm still to be under an obligation
to them for some reason. It is difficult to maintain service and honor to
those unworthy in every regard. Gone are the principles of higher evil and
we find ourselves deep within the muck of lower evil.
I look at our current situation in this Bloodwar we find ourselves embroiled
in and I see failure as the most likely outcome. I cannot even count myself
as surprised that these elder vampires of Belstrad and Caustus are
attempting to seize the Bloodlands given the weakness we project to the
world. We've changed courses in this conflict so many times, it's difficult
to keep up. We've even undermined our own allies in this conflict. And now
we have this vague plan from another elder countess that commits our forces
in a very vulnerable fashion, she will somehow weaken our foe, and just
ignore how vague this All is and go along? I've voiced my concerns to the
leadership, which I'm then reassured we have a backup plan to take the
queens and run away. At this point I feel as if I'm wasting my energies
trying to keep them from failing. What will be, shall be. Perhaps if I
survive All of this, there will be enough left to rebuild.
Writer: Penelopina
Date Sat Jun 1 15:59:30 2024
To All Aethelwine Azah Wintrine Nyxiva
Subject Mischief and Laughter!
{p'Well, I have work to do... Lots of work yes! I shall see you All very
soon! ' And with that, {pthe dark little pixie was off in a trail of
sparkling stardust.
{pPenny paused, glancing down at her blood orange tart, idly swallowing the
small bite she had already {ptaken. Then, with a shrug, continued. It
certainly didn't taste like poison, and even if it was, {pit was rude to
decline a gift. So she dutifully polished off the tart from Abaddon and
continued {pabout her day like normal.
{pIf she was feeling a bit of indigestion the next day, she chalked it up
mostly to feeling a bit {punder the weather. Perhaps a touch of the flu that
was going around. Her head did ache a little {pas well, her thoughts caught
in a fine mist, and so she decided to take the day off and do... {pSomething.
{pBlinking, Penny found herself a while later sitting on a tree stump in the
midst of the forest, {pa piece of parchment in hand, and a rough map drawn
out, marking the various landmarks and a {ppath from the Gates of Shalonesti,
through the vallenwoods, and around Thaxanos to the south.
{pWhy was she drawing a map? She had walked this path many times before, she
knew it by heart, {pyet her hands continue to add little landmarks and
details, and even the odd doodle of a tree {por two. Her artistic skill had
never been particularly good, but it felt... Right... To draw {pthis.
Humming to herself, Penny went about her work, drawing a map she didn't
need. She even {padded in colorful notes like "Elves here!" With a smiley
face.
{pShe had just dotted the eyes to her smiley face when she heard a purring
sound. Looking up, {pthe half-elven priestess spotted a fluffy white cat,
with startling blue eyes and an elven {pcollar around its neck, like a
necklace of ivy leaves. Someones pet, clearly.
{pA thought flittered through her mind: I must catch it{p. I can give it back
to its owner, {pshe realized with a bright smile. And then everyone would be
happy!
{pStuffing her half-finished maps into her haversack, Penny grinned, showing
off her white teeth, {pand crouched low, gave a little wiggle, and then took
off after the kitty, which gave a {pstartled mrow-yelp and darted into the
underbrush. Penny unhesitantly dove into the thistles {pafter it, trusting
her fur to keep her safe.
{pOnly she didn't have any fur.
Writer: Tillippillia
Date Sun Jun 2 21:55:17 2024
To All ( Kantilles Whiskey Imm RP )
Subject Whisper and Tears of the Lake
She sat upon the lakes edge, her feet tucked underneath her as she kept
her hands and white painted fingers folded together in her lap. Her eyes
were open as she silently prayed, peering about the expanse of the lake, the
luminosity of the waters lighting up her face. For many hours she kneeled
at the precipice of the Lake of Ethereal Tears. There were so many
questions. The heaviness of the air as it pulled in and out of her lungs,
thicker than air but lighter than fluid. Then there was the nature of the
lake itself, it smelled of such a somber essence. How had such a beautiful
place come to be so encumbered with sadness?
As she ruminated on these questions during her prayers her thoughts turned
to that of function. Clearly life can be sustained within the waters, as
the ikhthyes were proof of such. To what ends could this water be used for
Thalosia, or even better, the world at large. Deciding to take some samples
she traveled about the river, upstream and downstream, taking small vials of
the water and stopping them with a cork upon the vial, storing them away in
an orderly fashion. She hoped to learn more upon her apothecary table. For
now however, she sat in reverence and listened to the water. She would
likely spend quite some time here eking out the secrets of this phenomenon,
if at all. Ah well, some things are sometimes best left to mystery.
However, she felt in her core, that this was not one of them. This was a
place to be studied, blessed and to be used for the call of the Light.
Or its just some crazy river with a lake that cracked open in Thalosias
streets. I mean, stranger things have happened, right?
She laughed at her own outburst, and carried that laughter with her as she
left the banks of the lake to return to rest for the time being, always with
more questions than answers.
Writer: Nyxiva
Date Tue Jun 4 15:42:20 2024
To Aethelwine Azah Wintrine Penelopina ( Imm Devion Drakkara RP All )
Subject {uStray Thoughts of a Nyx
Sitting on a beach in a far off land, there is a Pixie. The sound of
fluttering wings and squeaky cackles can be heard seemingly at random, the
sounds rising up in small bubbles that burst with noise and then disappear.
The first wave to roll over her feet... Knocks her out of her footholes and
sprawls her along the tides wave, a flopping and flailing pixie sputtering
and coughing along the short journey that deposits her further up the beach.
She stands and looks around quickly, seeing no one, and quickly wipes at her
dress. She stretches out her luminous violet wings, the water dripping and
then spraying about as they dry quickly, and she flutters a few feet up.
She sighs, shoulders slumping, her attitude changing on a heartbeat, and she
lands just beyond the waters reach, walking slowly as though exhausted. She
finds her little perch, the closest thing she could find to resemble a
hoopak, and she flies up to sit on it, legs swaying and head resting on her
knuckles as she looks out over the waters. She asks the trees, "Why does
nothing feel right anymore? ", another deep pixie-sized sigh escaping her
lips as she pouts on the makeshift hoopak.
A short time later a turtle crawls onto the beach, which catches her eye,
and she is suddenly upbeat and darts from the perch to hover over the
turtle, poking its shell at first and then pouting at the hardness, then
testing her luck by trying to poke its cheek, pouting again at the feeling
of it. She lets out an exaggerated sigh, slumping again and slowly flying
to sit on her perch, once more looking out over the waves at nothing and
everything.
Several thoughts cross her mind, the first being why is so suddenly
interested in trees? She never disliked trees, but she never really thought
about them before either. She gives a little shrug, tossing it up to the
fact she had spoken with someone about trees earlier in the day and that she
was just finding excuses for not studying the tenets again.
Not two minutes later she lets out another heavy sigh, still seated on the
makeshift hoopak but now facing the other direction, and she pulls out the
scroll with the tenets written on them. She was trying to study the second
one today, but who cares about other kingdoms and clans? She is in the Fray
on her own. Her allies fight her as much as her enemies, no one caring
about anything out here. The Fray was like a bad joke, unless you
worshipped Raije or Fatale. Those two groups are well represented by
actions. The rest? Hypocrites. And for her to realize it and them not to,
well... How sad is that?
She shakes her head, one little hand moving to rub at her tiny temple and
she lets out a mighty huff of frustration. Why did she keep having so many
of these thoughts?! A week ago she didn't care about trees or why people
say one thing but do another. A week ago she knew her path was to gain
power, remove the worlds real enemy, and then maintain a proper order on the
world. Today though? Trees and a desire to leave the Fray.
With another little huff and pout, she tucks the tenets back in her pack,
mumbling about tapestries and Umbra, and then she stands on the stick (it
really is a pathetic looking try at a hoopak), and flies up and off... The
best cure for when her mood swings like this is always a nice tease and
poke. The thought bringing her quickly back to her excited self, trees
forgotten as her mind can think of only one thing: cheeks. The God's have
mercy on the first thing she finds, for there is no safe place to hide in a
world with Nyx.
Writer: Tash'a
Date Thu Jun 6 02:05:35 2024
To Philyra Mariana Imshael Ka'vanth Ka'tath Sha'katas All Drakkara Fatale
Subject Crypt Walking
Sepulcher of the Exiled
The demonic whisper of the Queen followed her down, down into unfathomable
hellish depths.
'Your ambitions will persist for eternity now. '
From that black pit pulsing with fiery promise, black claws had reached up.
Digging themselves into every part of her until it could grasp the burning
augur of the soul and the body it needed to sustain itself.
Tash'a Ka'vanth became more in that moment even as mortality sloughed away
in favor of the demon. For a being that had spent uncounted years walking
the demi-plane of Shadow, digging artist's hands into corpses and ripping
through the Veil to instill the undead with new purpose, it was not so
strange even if it offered new insights into the exquisite realm of agony
and death.
Spiders crept and skittered, crawling along her robe, the walls, the floor
and the crypts while shadowy manifestations moved within the deeper wells of
darkness. The creatures didn't have eyes as many thought of but they 'saw',
they knew, they sensed. Beings of the demi-plane.
These remains, buried in the earth, were kin and kith as the saying went and
her murky black eyes viewed them both as they were and as they had been as
she looked along their 'resting' places.
Long elegant fingers reached out and power wisped along her palm. The bones
stirred to it, clacking softly while dust lifted and cloyed in the chill
air. Her robe, the drift of her white hair, each thoughtful step brought an
element of life to this place that it hadn't seen in hundreds of years. The
irony brought on a tight smile that knew no place in her eyes.
She could *feel* the vengeful writhing of spirits that might never know any
rest. She could sense the betrayal they felt, the abandonment and thwarted
vengeance that coiled like a snake in their unsettled states. She had grown
with it, felt it alongside All of her brethren, the ousted and repressed
wild elves and even the occasional shalonesti from who they All had
descended at one time or another.
These were the true accursed sons and daughters, and there was still
untapped potential in that.
Mariana, she thought to herself as she approached a body that had been
carefully preserved beneath a black sheet lined with necromantic spellrunes,
might have been intrigued.
Drakkara's brutal demon, one of the most malevolent to ever rake Algoron,
had shaped and prepared her student well for this fate. Another irony that
brought a wicked smile to Tash'a. Her mentor had cradled immense
aspirations along with Jormungander's 'Storm' but if she had had a mind for
the fate of the Goddess' dark elven race, there had been little discussion on
it that she could recollect.
It was too late for that now, Tash'a lamented momentarily, her fingers
playing over the black silken drape. It wasn't time for this yet either.
Yet another project that would bridge the Veil unto varied promise.
Not enough of their kind, dark elves, the Exiled, the banished and forgotten
of the elven race, knew their origin or embraced the fate they had been
consigned to but that could change.
Writer: Asrar
Date Thu Jun 6 22:34:58 2024
To All ( Imm rp Fatale )
Subject Asrar...a mother?
Asrar waits as the moon dips low on the horizon. The time between night
and morning when the kingdom is the quietest, and the shadows the deepest.
Stepping into them like mist she moves silently through the village coming
to the house she had scouted months before. Asrar watches the sleeping
village carefully, looking for the slightest of movements as she peers into
the cottage's window. It is a humble looking home. The table is bare of
ornament, the hearth looking functional but with little frills. Herbs and
flowers of All kinds hanging from rods suspended from the bare rafters. The
furniture is of simple make, wood with down cushions and handmade quilts
folded over the backs. The bed in one corner thick, and comfortable
looking. Asrar slips through the window, her feet making no sound as they
touch the wood floors. The fire in the hearth stoked for the night, its
coals orange in the darkness but give off no light. She makes her way to
the corner, the shadows around her engulfing her in an embrace as she pulls
her kukri from its sheath in the middle of her back. Without sound, she
draws it across the man's through, his eyes popping open in both surprise
and terror as he realizes what is happening.
Asrar wipes the blood from her kukri on the comforter as she stands,
walking over to the cradle and the undisturbed babe inside. Tucking the
blankets around it, she slips her hands around it, pulling it from the
cradle and to her chest. With just a small sound, and a wrinkling of its
little forehead, it goes back to sleep in her arms.
Asrar slips from the house as the sky just begins to lighten in the east,
her new babe in her arms. She is to be a mother.
Writer: Lenore
Date Thu Jun 13 17:49:04 2024
To All RP IMM Religion Fatale
Subject A Prayer for the Sire of the Void
Lenore knelt in prayer in the inner sanctum of the Temple of Rage and
Vengeance tucked nearby the hill dwarf village. The air was thick with the
scent of burning incense, and the flickering torchlight cast long, ominous
shadows against the warm stone walls. She knelt before the altar, her
porcelain skin stark against the dark surroundings. Her long, flowing fiery
red hair braided into three thick cords that form a singular braid that
trails down her back, crowned by a circlet woven from fresh wildflowers.
Lenore closed her sapphire eyes and began to pray, the words slipping from
her lips in a reverent whisper.
"Sire of the Void, in Your infinite wisdom, You have shown me the serpent's
eternal dance, the ouroboros that devours its own tail. Just as the serpent
completes its cycle, so too is death an inevitable end for us all. Grant me
the strength to embrace this truth, to wield the power of finality with
grace and purpose. May Your eternal night guide us, and may we find balance
in the certainty of our demise."
As she finished her prayer, an ominous rumbling filled the air, the sound of
storm clouds gathering in the distance. She opened her eyes, a deep sense
of foreboding washing over her. The air around her seemed to vibrate with a
newfound intensity, and the torches flickered more violently, casting
strange, dancing shadows on the stone walls. The ground beneath her feet
trembled slightly with each rumble of thunder, adding to the sense of
impending doom. Lenore rose from her knees and made her way to the entrance
of the temple. Stepping outside, she was greeted by the sight of two
imposing statues flanking the entrance. To her left stood Gildwulf Zoran,
the Hand of Rage, his rugged face and muscular form embodying fierce
strength and malice. To her right was Kizar, the Hand of Vengeance, his
maniacal grin and weapon-laden form exuding a terrifying readiness to exact
vengeance.
The sky above had been fair moments ago, but now it was darkening with storm
clouds. Between the statues, Lenore looked up at the sky, the charged
atmosphere pressing down on her. Lightning flashed, illuminating the clouds
and casting a stark, eerie light over the temple grounds. The storm's
sudden appearance and intensity were unnatural, only amplifying the sense of
foreboding.
She admired the violent beauty of the storm, its raw energy a reflection of
the power and inevitability of death she had invoked in her prayer. The
storm demonstrated a raw display of power and destruction that the serpent
had shown her in her dream, a beautiful symbol of the Dreadlords
destructiveness. She walked back to the sanctum to gather her notes for her
meeting with the Novitiate Miete-Khamaseen. Lenore intended to share the
image of the ouroborus.
Writer: Nyxiva
Date Thu Jun 13 17:53:07 2024
To All ( Imm Drakkara Sebatis Devion Religion )
Subject {uA Win With No Victory
The moonlilies blossom red as a tiny pixie tosses her final stake, her
foe falling amongst them as his life faded away. She hovers over their
body, huffing and puffing from All the tricks she tried to use to win this
one. Her second victory, to which she quietly offers to the Night Mother as
an offering of her intent, just as she did the first. She wipes the end of
her dagger, inspecting it for small flaws and seeing none. With a quick
brushing of her dress and little flop of her fingers through her hair, she
is off to the next battle.
Later that night, in the cozy confines of her borrowed domain, the little
pixie grins and giggles as she reenacts the fight. Laying on her back and
kicking a foot out, throwing a little air punch, and making little squeaky
grunts and 'oofs' and 'take that'. She eventually tires herself again, arms
splayed out to her sides and more panting for breaths. She gives a big grin
to the ceiling, then passes out as only a pixie can.
A minute later she wakes up, refreshed and ready for another fight. Her
arms again punching and feet kicking at invisible foes, and more cheering
and squeaky cackles ringing through the area. This fight ends much quicker
than the last, and the wee pixie is again a mess of panting. Her head turns
from her dramatic exhaustion and her eyes alight on the scroll the
Darkfinder gave her. The Tenets. What she should have been studying for
the last hour, if only she hadn't had so many battles to fight. She sighs,
rolling over slowly as though she weighed as much as an ogre, and she begins
to read the fourth tenet again.
"Dark magic is the purest form of Power. Strive for it always, protect it
jealously, and preserve it at All costs, for the power of the Black Moon is
poised to reshape Algoron."
Little shivers run down her spine, and she reads it again, her face inching
closer and closer until her eyes nearly cross as she reads each letter.
Again and again, she reads it, flopped on her tummy, knees bent and feet
idly swishing back and forth in the air. She knows it doesn't mean exactly
as it reads, but to her, it is enough to keep her spark of desire fresh, the
need for more power. After every fight she reads this tenet, every fight
she twists it to mean her personal power, that which was teased in her ear
only a few months ago.
Another shiver and she stops reading, this recent study session one of her
better at around 3 minutes. With a proud beaming smile she stands up, hops
a few times, then resumes her endless battle with her shadow. The sounds of
epic battle, grunts, stomps, flops, and banter, All echo through the area
for the next few hours, broken up by short bits of silence and the
occasional reading of that fourth tenet.
Once the night falls and the battles won, the pixie looks up toward a moon
she cannot yet see, maybe never will see, and offers another prayer of
dedicating her recent real victory in the field. The silence remains, but
she thinks it a test. She needs to seek more victories, more wealth, more
of everything. Yes. That was what her gnome friend had said. The little
whisper of what comes after her goal. It is only natural she should seek
everything, for who better to guard the world once she frees it of Chaos
than her?
Writer: Penelopina
Date Sat Jun 15 15:51:08 2024
To All Althainia Derigimus
Subject Crystal Vision!
{pPenelopina Starflower Sha'aryas was not normally one for hunts. Tracking
down a poor, {pdefenseless animal and killing it did not sit well with her for
obvious reasons. She {punderstood some had to eat, but it was particularly
cruel for those who hunted for {psport or for trophies.
{pThankfully, the Regent quickly assured her that this was not a hunt like
that, it was {pa chance to view an ancient emissary of the woodlands. And
that even if it died, it {pwas reincarnated, and a new King of the Forest
would emerge a short while later in {pmuch the same way. It was less of a
hunt and more of a rare chance to view a miracle.
{pMany hunting parties had burst out of the gates once the horn was sounded
and the sun {pbegan to set on the horizon. Penny went with them, caught up in
the excitement, but {pquickly lost her way in the woods of Haon Daran. No
druid like her friend Fae-Fae, {pshe was not well-suited to the woodlands of
the world despite her partial elven {pheritage. She was separated from the
others, but pressed on despite herself. If {pthere was some sort of mystical
elk in the woods that only appear in the moonlight of {pKantilles, she wanted
to bear witness to it.
{pFor the longest time, she thrashed and crashed her way through the brush and
amidst {pthe trees like a clumsy bear, catching only glimpses of the white elk
amidst the trees.
{pBut eventually, her persistence was rewarded.
{pCatching up to the Regent Agapitos, a classical vision of knighthood atop of
an empyreal warhorse, {pand the newcomer Privateer, the black-winged ariel
Koraki, Penny reached a clera by the river, {pdeep in the dark forest. And
there, down by the edge of the water... Was a tall, proud looking elk,
{pseemingly fashioned out of shimmering diamonds.
{pThe creature before her was truly massive, larger than a typical bull elk.
Its whole body {pshimmered with facets, made from a hard crystalline material.
Like it was made entirely of {pdiamonds. Its rack was easily the most
impressive part of it, containing dozens of points, {pintricately interwoven.
This was no natural-born beast of the lands, but a truly divine {pcreature.
{pOne of a kind. Unique. Special.
{pOne of her companions stepped forward with some mushrooms, even if Penny
idly wondered if {pthe elk, so like the creatures of the Crystal Fields, would
consume geodes or gemstones in {pplace of such a thing. But either way, the
elk seemed pleased by the offering, and approached {pcloser.
{pWith great hesitation, Penny offered out her hand, palm up. Approaching
closer still, {pshe saw the elks eyes were not just a single clear color, but
myriad many. Hints of red, yellow, {pgreen, blue, or violet, flickering so
fast they were gone before she could process them. As she {pgazed into the
elks eyes, it was like her vision was overcome by color...
There was a flash of white.
{pA moment later, Penny blinked her eyes, rubbing her hands to try and clear
her vision. It {pcleared just in time for her to see the crystalline elk
bounding away and vanishing into {pstardust.
{pBut the vision she had shared would stay with her forever.
Writer: Rahma
Date Wed Jun 19 11:16:32 2024
To All New_Thalos ( immortal roleplay Siccara )
Subject Grow your gardens: Transforming Tears
The white cavern weeped with sorrow; drips of tears seeping from the white
rock. A sort of miserable melancholy hung over the miraculous celestial lake,
drowning out what should be a pleasant, if strange, underground oasis in the
Desert Jewel. To and from the lake flowed a frustrated coulee of raging white
water that beat against the underground walls. Where the waters came from, or
where they were going was impossible to say. They seemed trapped and bottled
up. It was a strange garden, but gardens are often art, and this felt like
art expressed from the very heart of Nadrik.
"Grow your gardens."
The gnomish Sultan at the head of their party looked over the lake and
admitted, "I have been here a few times, but its sorrowful presence..." His
thoughts reflected those of the wild haired half elven druid as she leaned on
her staff and looked over the sad oasis. She came down here only enough to
confirm that the market and city were not sinking further. The trips had a
great solemness to them, it was like visiting a glowing crypt.
"...well, it can only be reasoned that such sorrow could mean that at one
time, or at least it is capable, of being joyful as well." The Sultan
concluded with his typical gnomish pluck. It was the right attitude to have.
These sorts of doldrums and sorrow seemed an expression of shock at the
injustice of the world. Bad things could happen to good people. One could
make no mistakes, and still come up short due to no fault of one's own. It
was right to be frustrated, angry, and sad in those moments.
The druid lamented a little as she upended her sanctified decanter depicting
the water cycle of the world, and poured out the holy water that remained.
There was a pang of her own sorrow, that water her missing paladin husband
Thasgerd had blessed for her to help cleanse the River of Blood, and keep
Brambles watered. Yet, as the clear water splashed onto the too white sand
and plants of the ground she stood, maybe the blessing Austinian's most
ribald, goofball idiot of a paladin was exactly what this glum place needed.
Into the silver vessel she scooped up the white water of the lake. There was
plenty to be sad about in the world, so there was nothing wrong with being
sad. Emotions are not wrong, they are one's feelings about what is happening.
One's behaviors, well, those could be harmful. That always was where folks
went awry.
They decided to test the white waters against the Chaos taint in the bath
house. Not unlike the cleansing of the Church of Tropica, here again the
druid and her companions were on their hand and knees - at least until gnomish
ingenuity invented some sort of magic-tech scrubber - scrubbing away with the
transplanted white waters. Growing Gardens, scrubbing floors, life happened
and in the end one has to clean up the messes and keep growing. In time, and
a great deal of elbow grease, the bath house, Raml, pixies with overdeveloped
senses of vengeance, strange underground glowing manifestations of celestial
sorrow, and the world itself would grow, cheer, and enjoy life again.
She just had to make sure the Sultan didn't blow them All up in the process.
Writer: Penelopina
Date Wed Jun 19 22:03:57 2024
To All New_Thalos
Subject Waters of Purification!
{pThe gnomes would say that hindsight was twenty-twenty, while the elves
remarked the past was clearer {pthan the future. In All cases it meant you
could only understand something better with time. Like {pthe vision the elk
had shown her.
{pNow, standing outside of the Thalosian fissure, it was All start of falling
into place, All the {ppieces coming together. The blood river, the ethereal
fissure, the crystal elk, her vision, this {pcleansing of chaos. Parts of a
greater whole that suddenly seemed so much more clear to her.
{pHumming to herself, Penny knelt down by the Lake of Ethereal Tears, gently
tracing her fingers {pthrough the silvery-white waters. So pure, so clear.
{pAs always when she came here, she felt a sort of melancholy settle around
her. A happy sort of {psadness, like sunshine after the rain, or a bright
smile after a good cry. It reminded her of {pher goddess, so warm and loving,
yet so sad as well. Unconsciously, she rested a hand over the {pempyrean
teardrop brooch pinned to her dress. Was it also somehow related? Perhaps
so.
{pGently flicking her fingers to dislodge the purifying waters, Penny scooped
up some in her silver {pchalice, being mindful not to spill it. Offering a
prayer of thanks to the Lake and to the Light, {pshe departed the way she had
arrived.
{pMaking her way down the road back to Thalosia, she stopped by the bath
house, noting again the {pdevastation and destruction that Chaos had left in
its wake.
{pObvious signs of struggle and violence are littered throughout the
surroundings. The walls {pwere scorched and pitted by fire and acid. And
while the bath house waters seemed clean, they {pseemed largely tepid, lacking
any real warmth. Once a bustling part of the desert community, {pnow only a
handful of nymphs and bathers were to be found here. After the attack, some
feared {pthe taint of Chaos so badly they had resorted to bathing in the
Ishtar river instead.
{pMost undesirable.
{pDipping her fingers into her silver chalice, Penny again whispered a prayer,
asking for a {pblessing upon the waters as she sprinkled little droplets of
the purifier waters into the {pbaths, moving from one spot to another, then
giving time if someone had to move out of the {pway or she herself was
intruding. This she continued while murmuring her blessings.
{p"Heavenly Mother, bless this space. Bless each brick, each panel, each drop
of water. Bless All of the hands and hearts which have built and restore
this place as we give much gratitude for their gifts. Bless who have given
their treasures to make this place possible. {p"
{pHer prayers finished, she gently emptied out her chalice of any remaining
waters, letting {pit mingle in the bath house. On the walls, in the air.
{pAnd tomorrow, she would do it again. Until it was healed.
{pAfter that, well... If her vision was anything to go by, maybe it was time
to go for {pblessing something bigger!
Writer: Emmyth
Date Thu Jun 20 11:40:19 2024
To All Imm Rp Xenophon
Subject The Countess's Impostered Warning
Emmyth was enjoying the serene beauty of the Garden of Abaddon with her
friend Maccus when a peculiar sight caught her eye. Near the entrance,
there was movement, and as she looked up, Emmyth found herself staring at...
Herself. But it wasn't her. This person was an exact replica, mirroring
her gestures, and seemingly impersonating the countess. Maccus, deep in
conversation, didn't notice the doppelgnger and soon departed.
Curious and slightly amused, Emmyth approached the imposter, mistaking her
for another friend, Eevellynn. "Hello," she greeted, only to be echoed
with a "Hello, Eeve." Annoyed by the mimicry and realizing this wasn't
Eevellynn, Emmyth inquired, "What brings you to Abaddon?"
The conversation that ensued was the strangest Emmyth had ever had. The
imposter, looking intently at Emmyth, said, "Your soured blood."
Confused, Emmyth wondered if they were referring to the renowned wine of
Abaddon. But the imposter clarified, "Your blood, which makes curdled milk
smell sweet."
"You are here for my blood?" Emmyth asked, her voice a mix of disbelief
and intrigue.
"Someone wishes, but not I," the imposter replied cryptically.
Emmyth was no stranger to threats against her life, but this felt different.
"Interesting. Who wishes me dead now? I dare say this is nothing new,"
she probed.
"Not dead, never claimed that," the imposter countered, leaving Emmyth to
ponder their true intentions.
As Emmyth ran her hand over her lap, watching the second Emmyth, the
imposter continued, "You shall be taken, your soured blood purified with
holy water and replaced within you."
The Countess laughed off the notion, thinking perhaps they mistook her for a
gifted one. But the imposter's calm voice carried a message, "You shall
become one with the Light of Nadrik."
"I only do as commanded. "You will, find your at the New Ofcol inn," the
imposter instructed before Emmyth could digest the confusing words.
The Countess's patience waned as she struggled to connect the dots between
the inn and her need to visit. The game was growing tiresome. With a cold
stare, she dismissed the imposter, "Oh great news, then I command you to
leave Abaddon before you get yourself killed or worse... Some folks here
love a good torture party."
The imposter, undeterred, reached back, preparing to slap Emmyth for her
disrespect. But as the Countess called for Abaddon's Guards, the imposter
fled, leaving a chilling warning, "You have been warned."
The city was scoured, but the imposter was like a shadow, gone without a
trace. Count Vershae insisted that Countess Emmyth stay locked within the
council chambers while he investigated the New Ofcol inn, only to return
empty-handed.
As night fell, they both ventured out, searching to no avail. With nothing
to be found, they returned to Abaddon, focusing on the war preparations,
allowing the bizarre encounter to slip into the recesses of their minds.
Writer: Thuken
Date Thu Jun 20 18:18:19 2024
Writer: Gozzle
Date Fri Jun 21 19:47:26 2024
Writer: Ryger
Date Sun Jun 23 17:27:24 2024
To All ( Imm RP )
Subject To Begin Anew
Ryger awoke suddenly from a dream. With a pounding heart and shaky
nerves, Ryger looked down at his desk in the Overlords office of Greystoke
Manor. Sweaty palms push against the oak as he reflects on the fleeting
dream.
The Dream: A dark cloud swirls and thunders as it takes shape in the sky
above the mountains of Thaxanos. Ryger looks from his desk out the window
at swirls of purple, black and red as the cloud approaches from the north.
''Ryger'' A faint whisper echos as the swirl descends from the mountains.
''Ryger'' The voice calls again, but this time the whisper grows into a
thunderous boom. As the cloud approaches the Manor, the voice continues to
call his name until it hovers right above the great hall of the Slayers.
A sudden jolt pulls Ryger up through the stone window and out above the
world, drawing him closer and closer until the cloud swallows him up. Ryger
finds himself alone floating in a void of pitch black. The voice that kept
calling to him now feels familiar, and as the dream slides further away from
reality, the familiarity in the voice grows stronger and stronger. ''Now
you remember Ryger. Let go of the world behind. The veil of Algoron no
longer hides me from you. Remember who I am. Seek me out. Learn my
teachings and bring my blessings to your world. ''
The whisper begins to fade as the void slowly releases Ryger back into his
chair. As the dream fades, the familiarity begins to slip, leaving Ryger
staring at his desk with a fading echo saying ''remember me''
Over the next few days, Ryger acted unusual around the manor, leaving his
men to notice that something was off. The Underlord Altacas kept inquiring
into the Overlords lack of attention to the matters at hand and stated that
he seemed detached from the world. Ryger, who was still shaken up by the
dream, decided that it was best to step down as Overlord and take some time
away from the manor.
Sensing that the dream was of worldly importance and that his former life no
longer had the same meaning as it once did, Ryger chartered a ship to
Shokono to study the ways of the samurai once again. The dream still stings
his mind like an unnerving splinter as the question still lingers, ''Who am
I supposed to remember? Where do I begin my search? '' Ryger sails back to
Arkane in search of a wise man or woman. Perhaps someone will help point
him in the right direction.
Writer: Xinirrais
Date Thu Jun 27 21:49:48 2024
Writer: Azu'veton
Date Fri Jun 28 14:12:37 2024
To All Abaddon Slayers ( IMM RP Religion Fatale )
Subject Betrayal and Vengeance
"The dracolich has been slain"
Azu'veton reflected on this as it deflected the various lightning spells
that he was impervious too. He looked around to the group of mortals of the
Dark Pantheon. He saw unity... He also smelled betrayal.
As word came in about the city of Abaddon being waylaid with streets of
blood and kidnapped shop keeps, he did not stay around for celebration. He
spread his wings and flew back to the kingdom. He saw for himself the
carnage and destruction of the Bloodlands, of the Dreadlord's kingdom.
Heresay of who attacked is being spread to point to the manor, but who
informed them? The Blue wyrm toiled over this as he murdered countless of
mortals to spill blood for Fatale. He remembered a particular loner that
was too low in training to be effective but was around during the invasion
of the temple.
Wintrine
He growled this name out loud when it was discovered that shortly after this
battle, the loner joined the Manor. He only pondered that possibility as
the wyrm laid back to rest after the battle. The battle has been won but
there is a mystery to be reflected on.
As he dozed off to sleep, Azu'veton pictured the Queens of Abaddon. He
pondered the sacrifice that will be needed to restore the full might of
Abaddon. He imagined a sacrifice of his own blood to aid in the rebuilding
of Abaddon.
Writer: Ryger
Date Fri Jun 28 22:00:25 2024
To All Piknim Telthian ( IMM RP Religion )
Subject The Search For Wisdom
Ryger began his search north of Arkane in the evil city of Verminasia.
Ryger had heard by the locals villagers around Arkane that the witch Piknim
had vast amounts of collected knowled and access to ancient tomes of great
wisdom and power. The witch was skeptical of Ryger due to his recent
departure of Greystoke. Piknim asked Ryger to seek out the blessing of the
Dark Lord of Shadow Telthian.
Ryer sailed back to Althania no further to the truth and with full awarness
of what lay ahead of him seeking the Dark Lord of Shadow. Ryger then
ventured to New Thalos before sending a messanger to the keep of Shadow,
which lay in the desert to the south of the jewel. To Ryger's surprise,
Telthian agreed to meet with the ex Overlord.
His curiosity was peeked. "Why do you seek my blessing? I am aware that we
are both well aquainted" Ryger responded, "I'm on a new path, one of
discovery. I do not know my place in the world, but I seek wisdom from all
walks of life, and I was directed to the witch Piknim who only agreed to
speak with me should you grant your blessing." The Dark Lord found this
very interesting and asked, "To what wisdom do you seek?" Ryger responded
by sharing his previos dream of the voice he heard, and how he felt called
to serve something greater than himself. Telthian appeared amused and
agreed to grant his blessing.
A note was then given to Rgyer which read,
"Darkfinder,
The former Highlord came to me with a curious inquiry. As I see no harm in
it, I give my blessing to offer what wisdom or guidance you or your
subordinates might in his quest.
Of course, if he proves duplicitous I encourage you to turn him into a frog,
place him in a glass cloche, and make him into a paperweight for the writing
desk within the Grand Chamber.
TS.
PS. Adding a bit of moss or rocks for additional decor or 'creature
comforts' is optional."
Note in hand, Ryger set course again for Arkane to meet with the witch.
Writer: Waak
Date Sat Jun 29 19:44:27 2024
To Althainia Dolund'ir All Imm RP
Subject Starting at the Mansion
Waak stood at the center of Crown Street with the largest smile on his
face. He gently placed the AGL Championship Belt over his shoulder as he
waved to the crowd of onlookers. After a long glance north towards the
castle fortress and the archers perched upon the walls and westward towards
the palace lined with gold and fancy riches, Waak walked south into his new
home.
And there he stood in the foyer of his new grand mansion. The floor beneath
his feet, an intricate pattern of ash and teak wood inlay, the walls done in
teak paneling. Tall windows of stained glass surrounded him. Taking it all
in, Waak walked slowly up the immense curing staircase to the master
bedroom. It was impressive. The floor was covered with the softest Elvish
carpets, and a massive curtained bed sit against the east wall and an
elegant golden bathtub rested near the foot of the bed. Ill have to throw
that out first Waak said with a grin. To the north, Waak opened the balcony
doors and walked through to stand upon his large balcony that overlooked the
city.
Waak smiled and looked over across at the archers perched on the castle
walls. With snarky grunt, Waak reached down and put his hands down the back
of his pants and cupped his puckering backside. With another grunt, he had
quite the handful of dung. Waak smiled as he slowly rolled the dung in his
hands into a perfectly shaped ball. After bringing the dung up to his nose
and inhaling deeply, fully appreciating the aroma, Waak threw the ball as
hard as he could across the street at one of the archers with flawless aim.
It was time to get to work! Waak quickly and happily strode down the stairs
and skipped through the living room and into the kitchen. A quick search
through the massive pantry with endless shelves proved a success, he found
exactly what he was looking for.. A strong looking pickaxe and a shovel
perfect for tunneling.
"Dolund'ir, here I come!"
Writer: Aturi
Date Sun Jun 30 13:49:06 2024
Writer: Altacas
Date Tue Jul 2 09:50:10 2024
To Slayers Abaddon Xinirrais All ( Cayenna Rhelic Xenophon Raije IMM RP Bloodwars )
Subject The dust settles (1)
The hour was late and the moon had begun it's descent to meet the edge of
the world and chase the sun into the sky. Altacas mindlessly rotated the
flask of verbane-laced blood in his hands as he stared out over the swamps
towards Abaddon, the city of the dead. He was lost in thought, making
effort to burn the faces of those Greystoke had lost in the attack on the
Royal Crypt within the city into his memory. He considered ways to
celebrate the victory, to celebrate those who lost their lives, and those
who suffered wound, even if slight, in the attack. Altacas felt blood
dripping down his brow, he carefully placed the flask in his pack, and wiped
away the small stream of crimson with his hand. The great slash above his
eye would surely scar and he would have it no other way, he would take the
events of the attack with him through life and he was proud of that.
Heavy footsteps drew him from his thoughts and he looked towards the source
of the sound. Akher, a follower of Greystoke's militia approached the
Overlord. His armor was polished, as always, and his expression kind. He
stopped a few steps before the Overlord and saluted Altacas, Altacas
returned the salute and followed it with a subtle nod towards the human.
With that, Akher turned and retraced his footsteps on the portcullis,
leaving the Overlord to thought.
"The loss of life will be celebrated as those who returned successful are,
it must be. " He said to no one. He was glad that Lord Jahrial Shrike,
Follower Edith Abergadi, Daburds Wormstrum, and Baru Darktooth returned
safely to the Manor. Sir Brandt, who paid the ultimate price would need to
be remembered throughout time too. Altacas turned away from the swamp and
walked along the top of the portcullis towards the entrance of Greystoke
Manor. Above him, the stars sparkled and blinked, and the moon, for just a
moment, was obstructed and it's brightness faded briefly. Altacas, lost in
thought did not notice that his shadow departed him for a mere moment as he
entered the Manor and made his way to the Holy Room.
Writer: Malkavia
Date Tue Jul 2 12:19:30 2024
Writer: Malkavia
Date Tue Jul 2 12:22:31 2024
Writer: Lenore
Date Tue Jul 2 22:24:09 2024
To All ( IMM Fatale RP )
Subject The Ritual
In the dimming twilight, the Temple of Rage and Vengeance loomed like a
spectral relic of bygone eras. As Lenore prepared for the evening's ritual,
the flickering candlelight cast an eerie glow, illuminating ancient frescoes
depicting dark deities and celestial conflicts. The air was laden with the
heady scent of incense, a blend of myrrh and frankincense that spiraled in
thick curls of smoke, shrouding the temple in a mystical haze.
Maris, her young acolyte, stepped forward with a reverent yet nervous gait,
cradling the freshly harvested heart of a fallen foe. The metallic scent of
blood mingled with the incense, creating a sharp contrast that underscored
the solemnity of their dark rites. As she placed the offering upon the
stone altar, the sound of dripping blood punctuated the silence each drop a
macabre melody. "Deacon Styria, I bring this sacrifice to please the Sire
of the Void, ' Maris announced, her voice a mixture of awe and fear. She
stood back, her hands stained with the lifeblood of her sacrifice, hazel
eyes wide with the gravity of her act. Her robes were disheveled. The
acolyte had entered a feud, murdered and was victorious. The once mouse of
an acolyte was now the lion. Maris stood proud of her offering to Fatale.
Lenore stifled a smile, radiating pride in Maris for her fresh murder. The
coppery scent of the offering filled Lenore's with excitement.
Lenore nodded solemnly, her face illuminated by candlelight that threw her
elongated shadow against the cold stone walls. "This offering may please
Fatale, bringer of death and master of destinies your destiny is undecided,"
she intoned. "Your path to glory will be paved with blood, darkness, and
divine wrath. Embrace this truth, for it shall forge you into a dagger that
will murder the sun. Gifts of thirst, I free you from the curse of saeity.
Maris, you are bound for greatness, but you must remain hungry for more.
You deserve more yet. I have faith in your hunger."
Writer: Tathmyr
Date Wed Jul 3 14:17:22 2024
To All Abaddon ( Fatale Imm RP )
Subject For God and Guild
He moved quickly as he dodged and hid from city guards in the city
streets of Althainia. The attack, something he always played over and over
in his mind to see where he made error and where he might improve. A wide
smile overtaking his lips and making his emerald eyes twinkle as he pulled
the dark hood over his head, hiding his features.. Finding a shadowed
corner between buildings he leaned against the flat surface and let his mind
wander
.. . The conversation bounced off the bookshelves that lined the walls of
the room and meshed sweetly with the soft hiss of the fire from the torches
that were hung in varied array amongst the bookshelves. An elf and the High
Priest of Arkane were lost in their conversation which gave him the edge and
element of surprise. He stood just outside of the High Priest of Arkane's
Chambers as he referenced the written description he had received from the
guild. He noted the plain face, slender build, long silver hair, and blue
skin. The blue skin looked as though it had metic pieces that shone
brighter in the torch-light. Folding the parchment up and placing it in a
pocket he moved forward. His soft-soled leather boots barely made a sound
as he stepped closer, entering the room. Tathmyr lunged at his target, the
black-bladed sword and dagger striking true as the elf's robe mopped up the
blood from the wounds. Striking out once more with his dagger and twisting
the blade before removing it. He let the man fall to the floor as he
hurried out of the temple and into the streets of the city. He slunk into
an alleyway and said a soft prayer to Fatale, asking to be carried away from
that place . ..
Writer: Lenore
Date Thu Jul 4 19:40:37 2024
To All ( IMM RP FATALE )
Subject A Memory of Blood I of II
Later, as Lenore sat alone on the aged wooden pew that served as her
makeshift office, her thoughts wandered back to a dark visit where a voice
from the void had given her specific instructions. The air around her was
thick with the mingling aromas of spices-cinnamon, cardamom, cumineach scent
vying for attention. Freshly baked bread and roasting meats added a savory
note, making mouths water. Vendors called out in melodic voices, their
accents adding a musical rhythm to the marketplace. They beckoned passersby
with promises of the finest dates, rare spices, and handcrafted jewelry.
Shoppers, clad in flowing robes of light cotton, moved through the crowded
aisles, their sandals kicking up small clouds of dust. Women wore hijabs
adorned with delicate patterns, their faces partially veiled, revealing only
expressive eyes that flickered with curiosity and intent. Men sported
keffiyehs, their loose garments allowing for movement and comfort in the
sweltering heat.
Beneath the shade of a large, weathered tent, a storyteller captivated a
small crowd with tales of heroism and magic, his expressive gestures casting
shadows that danced along the fabric walls. Children, their faces sticky
with honeyed treats, listened wide-eyed, their imaginations ignited.
Musicians played traditional instruments: the ouds melancholic tunes, the
rhythmic beat of the darbuka, and the soft twinkle of hand cymbals. Their
music wove through the market, adding an auditory layer to the vibrant
atmosphere.
In one corner, a falconer showcased his birds, their sharp eyes and majestic
feathers drawing admirers. The falcons, symbols of status and hunting
prowess, stood proudly on their perches, their presence a nod to the
region's rich heritage.
As the sun began to set, the market's colors shifted with the fading light,
lanterns and torches being lit to continue the commerce and camaraderie into
the night. The golden glow bathed the market in a warm hue, creating an
inviting and almost magical ambiance, where the stories and trades of the
day blended seamlessly into the evenings activities.
The noise of the busy market had filled Lenore with peacefully distracting
background noise. The hustle and bustle of life in the Desert Jewel to
which she had so reluctantly become accustomed provided a rhythmic backdrop
to her musings. The dry, arid air was hot everything here was hot.
Suddenly, the noise of the market and the scents of spices and fresh-baked
bread came out of focus.
The metallic taste of iron inexplicably filled her mouth. A viscid warmth
pooled over her tongue. Her palate was flooded with a spring of fresh
blood. She brought her hand to her porcelain pale face, a vibrant smear of
crimson painting the back of her hand. The first voice she heard was
Rahmas. The Samaritan, healer, physician. Rahma had been present, her
expression etched with concern. "Can you breathe? What troubles you? What
hurts?" She asked, her voice filled with a soothing calm that clashed with
the chaos unfurling within Lenore. Lenore had scanned the market around,
the merchants and people moving about completely unfazed. Her senses were
overwhelmed by a divine presence, and she struggled to maintain composure.
She was struck by the contrast of a sudden sense of cold, the space around
her suddenly no longer arid and steamy. The taste of blood had become
overpowering, prompting an involuntary cough that splattered scarlet onto
her pale hands. Amidst her physical reaction, a divine whisper cut through
the turmoil, "Who do you serve? To whom do you belong?"
Writer: Lenore
Date Thu Jul 4 19:52:43 2024
To All ( IMM RP FATALE )
Subject A Memory of Blood II of II
Gasping for air, Lenore had responded with a fervor born of newfound
conviction, "I serve the Lord of Oblivion. I belong to the Lord Fatale."
Her declaration echoed through the crowded room, marking her spiritual
rebirth under the watchful eyes of both Rahma and the divine.
Rahma had responded with a gentle irreverence, Yes, well, I'd rather He'd
not murder you right this moment. Her words clashed with Lenores fury, but
the divine voice continued, "And so you shall, Deacon, and the Count will be
your guide and mentor as you grow in your usefulness to me..."
Rahma, ever helpful, had suggested, "Let me escort you to the hospital. You
are not well." But Lenore had already been drawn deep into the folds of
her divine mission, her physical ailments momentarily secondary to her call
to murderous and rageful inspirations.
Lenore felt fingers rake over her skin, drawing goosebumps to the surface.
"This city and its hypocrisy... I detest it. You will expose it for what
it is. A Sultan with an aura of blood... Will he continue to deny our due
all while profiting upon the backs of those who Serve?"
A final electric sensation ran down Lenores spine, making her knees weak as
they trembled - and suddenly it vanished, leaving her stained with blood and
her skin flushed before the Samaritan. Lenore shivered, thick goosebumps
dimpling her arms. She shook her head just before her knees began to
buckle. She reached out and grabbed Rahma's offered arm. "I-I am fine.
Very okay. I'm sorry, what were you saying?"
The priestess' face flushed and an involuntary whimper escaped her as the
daze suddenly lifted. Rahma held firmly to Lenore, yet with a gentle grip
used to offering comfortable support. She took out a clean linen
handkerchief and offered it to wipe Lenores lips of the blood. Lenore
accepted the linen handkerchief but tucked it away. "I'll clean myself up
later." Rahma asked, looking at Lenore for injury and illness, "So what
was that about anyway? Lenore shook her head politely at the Samaritan. I
will keep my directions in the silence of my heart, but I am grateful for
your concern. Lenore smiled fakely, looking over Rahma. Very suddenly,
she felt a surge of relief as though her response had pleased the Dreadlord.
Now, sitting alone, the mingling aromas of the market still faintly in the
air, Lenore felt the weight of her commitment. She whispered to herself, "I
will do as |
