NationStates Jolt Archive

“Vicidon, tell me the reason why you began running a section in the Pit.”

The question was directly towards the dark robed mage, who was preoccupied with investigating the nature of a ruined statue. His gloved hands moved over the rock, feeling for the ebb and flow of magic within it, detecting what purpose it once served. The mage did not reply, but allowed his friend to state his observations. It was politely and respectfully given, as was expected and given without threat or ulterior motive. It was a colleague speaking to another.

“I hear you repeat your irritations about the other section owners, and I agree with you full heartedly over what you say daily. They only want profit from the entire affair, to better themselves over the other owners. It too, irritates me no end. I consistently have to fend off both verbal and actual attacks to our section. Almost all are crude, and nothing to bother over, but doing so costs me valuable time. Time I could be spent bettering myself. I know that you have to spend an equal amount of time on the Art, and on the common rabble of the Pit. So what do we profit from it? We have not won the tournament in months, your strategies confuse me. Please, reveal to me what your intent is in the Pit, because it certainly is not fame or fortune, or sadistic pleasure. I know you better than that; we are not concerned with such trivial things. So please, enlighten me of your plans so that I may understand and assist.”

Silence within the grove now. The refined gentleman who spoke the words towards the dark mage was equally dark in his appearance. He waited for a response from the mage, a mage who had relied on him for most of his life, and a mage who had also assisted him all of his life. They relied on one another, a rare thing for those who walked such a dark path in life. They both shared trust and honour to one another, and neither would betray the other. They travelled and worked together because it was extremely convenient to do so, and such a partnership provided one with easy sleep and protection. The trust had been tested many a time, by bribe, by politic interest and power swings, but the trust never shook or crumbled for a moment. They were loyal to one another, completely and wholly. Betrayal never entered the other’s mind.

The dark mage had finished caressing the decadent marble statue, and stood up to full height. His robes shifted around himself, adjusted to his new position without a sound. Moonlight shone down upon the two figures from the night sky, the rare opening in the canopy providing soft light to the dialogue between the two. Vicidon looked up to the moon as he spoke, his eyes absorbing the delicate beauty of it.

“My apologies Rilizar. I should have revealed them to you sooner to alleviate your troubles. First however, detect for observers. It would not do for others to hear our words. Prevent the other ears from hearing.”

A few arcane gestures from Rilizar and near inaudible mutterings of the mystical language of magic resulted in both minds being more comfortable with the conversation. All were prevented from hearing the words, or observing them through physical or arcane eyes. All one would see or hear would be the same area of forest without evidence of their presence. There was no need to say that it was done, for both detected the presence of the protection in effect. Vicidon continued, his voice soft and soothing. Rarely did he speak with harshness or extremities of noise in his voice, his voice was controlled and calm. Control was vital to a mage of any sort.
The explanation took a short while, several minutes which revealed the elaborate plans and the history of those plans to Rilizar. Rilizar listened attentively, reflecting that now what actions he had observed his colleague make, now made complete sense to him. He smiled in pleasure as he heard the full arc of the plan, and what was required to continue.

Although they treated one another as equals, Vicidon was the more intelligent of the two whereas Rilizar was more skilled with manipulating people and carrying out various parts of the plan and more practical elements of them. Rilizar was less conspicuous, and could move freely and without the restraints the arch mage would have. Rilizar was extremely flexible in what situation he could deal with, whereas Vicidon relied on Rilizar’s flexibility and his own strength in the arcane to approach a problem. Together, there was little they could not accomplish. And Rilizar realised what was required of him now.

“It shall be done with skill and care. I shall gather the new subjects you require, and deliver them to you swiftly. Expect them to arrive within a few days. I will have to use some of our funds to do so Archmage.”

“I would expect nothing less Runeblade. Take what you require, and remain covert. It would not do for such events to lead back to us. It would just complicate things. Might I suggest the device I was assisting you with two day ago?”

“I was thinking of using that very object Archmage.”

The two smiled in satisfaction, and then proceeded to fade into the night upon invisible wings. The grand plan was in effect, the pieces in movement. Already the Runeblade, Rilizar, was searching for able candidates for the task. He would find them travelling within the forest the next morning…

---


The forest of Grey Teeth was called such not due to the vast wolf population within the said forest, but due to the bandit group which had famously made it’s hideout within the area. The Grey Teeth were a mixed group of brigands, mostly human but with the occasional hulking orc or ogre who were bound together by a mighty warrior of half-orc origin. The name of the group came from the unnaturally large grey fangs the leader had, and was called Grey Tooth due to it.

The forest no longer had the bandits within it, and was rather peaceful. It had no threat within it any more, as it was now protected by the various druids and warriors who lived within and nearby the forest. One occasionally saw a small hut of someone living within the forest, peacefully and humbly.

One point of interest which the forest had was of rumour that there was a great statue within the depths of the wood. It was confirmed by a few of the woodsmen of the forest, although few had sought the thing out of which the rumour spoke. It spoke of a dark statue which moved from place to place within the forest, a shadowy thing which inspired fear into those who looked upon it. Only visible at night, and once every three day, it was a thing which few people wanted to do with.

And tonight, was one of those nights. The statue stood to the east of the forest, malignant and dreadful. It did not rise above the forest canopy, nor was it completely visible to all those within the forest. But one could feel its throbbing presence, the power which it had upon the wood. All those who travelled through the forest this night, either drawn by the rumours of the place or for another purpose were drawn towards the darkness…slowly but surely…

Trealt hefted his sledge and set out down the road again. It was quite a bit later than he normally travelled, but thems the breaks when you nap in the middle of the day.

Earlier in the day, as he was walking, a vicious storm appeared and opened the deluge of the gods. Treatl had sought out shelter and by chance had found the cave. Seeing that cave was warm and dry he decided to take a nap. When he awoke, the skies had cleared, but night had fallen.

As he travelled, his sledge in the right, his bag in the left, he began whistling an old song, the musical part of the ballad of the Fallen, a ballad full of romance, betrayal, greed and war.

As he entered the woods, he felt an odd feeling to the north and decided to investigate.

In a clearing, one of the few places the moon shone down into the thick forest, stood a person you would not expect to be in such a place.

He was an elf, that was obvious by the pointed ears, the black hair and emerald eyes, the tall and slender form, standing with inhuman grace and poise. What was also obvious was his occupation. His silver robes, ghostly in the moonlight, and long, black staff topped with a strangely pulsating gem, marked him clearly as a practitioner of the Art. The large grey falcon perched on his shoulder was clearly a familiar, even to the eyes of laymen. Its eerily wise eyes kept a constant lookout.

However, there were several incongruencies about this mage's appearance. For one, although it is hard to tell with elves, he seemed subtly to be very young, for an elf, that is.

He also did not seem like the usual person to trod these forested paths, he seemed like a city dweller, not the grizzled warriors, the fanatical druids.

He stood with one ear cocked, seemingly listening, for minute upon minute. Then, when it seemed he had stood for an eternity, he abruptly raised his staff, and started off in an arrow-straight line, the leaves parting in front of him.

Aurian, I can sense it. We are close, the statue is near. Soon we will see what all the fuss is about. A fitting first adventure for a newly, graduated mage of the Collegiate, eh? His lips did not move, and yet the falcon rolled his eyes, and responded, also in telepathy, Aramil, most likely those myths from the Library are completely false. Why go galavanting off so far from Caladonn, when many perfectly good occupations were offered to you, suitable to a wizard of your not insignificant aptitude?

We've been through this before. I've told you, I have a feeling something is going to happen. There is an aura of magic about that statue, I can sense it. He continued, raising his staff higher, the gem at its top glowing brighter. Still not enough for human eyes to go by, it was sufficient for an elf's vision.

He trod silently through the forest, always nearer the destination.

Serek pushed the branch aside and stepped into the small clearing. A stream ran through it, filled with blurred reflections of the forest. The moon was shining above the trees, and Serek looked up at it for a second, confirming that it was indeed full. He paused for a moment, listening to the nocturnal sounds of the forest. The stream gurgled over the scattering of rocks like a baby with a new toy. Beyond that, he could hear the sounds of life. Owls cried to one another as they hunted their elusive prey on the forest floor. Rodents skittered through the leaves, intent on avoiding the ghostly predators above while still finding enough food for their litters. A little way away he could hear a solitary hedgehog as it snuffled through the grass in search of insects. It was peaceful here, but he could not be distracted from his mission.

Another night, he promised himself. Whenever he had a night off, he would come out here and sit by the stream, just thinking and listening to the sounds around him. That was something the old druid had taught him as soon as he became his apprentice.

"There is beauty to be found wherever there is life, even if you do not see it at first."

That is what the old man had said, through his long, white beard. Serek had not realised it before, but now he revelled in it. Then, flicking his brown hair out of his eyes, he began his search. Luneflower, thats what he had been sent to find. A small, blue flower that could be found in the forests in those parts. Rather than opening with the sun and closing with the moon, it slowly opened as the moon waxed, and closed again as it waned, becoming fully open on the night of the full moon. Not only was it frequently used as symbolic of life, it was also an ingredient in several powerful potions. The petals, for instance, were a powerful antidote for many poisons, and the stem was used to help women in childbirth. The roots, although having little in the way of magical properties, could be made into a refreshing drink.

There was, of course, no differentiation in power between full moon and no moon, but the pale blue flowers were far easier to find when they were fully open. Serek's task was to fill the little leather pouch at his side with moonflowers, but he had been instructed to leave the roots so that they could grow again. That was part of the druid's way. Although nature could be used, it was never to be used up. There was to be balance.

A splash of blue caught Serek's eye. Crouching down, he inspected the small clump of flowers growing on the riverbank, looking for the distinctive anthers of the moonflower. Seeing that they were what he was looking for, he drew the sickle from his belt. It wasn't gold, rather a functional, strong iron sickle. Golden ones were for show only. Moving with practiced expertise, he neatly sliced through the stems just above the ground and placed the cut flowers into his pouch. Then, detaching a small bottle from his backpack and uncorking it, he let a few drops of silver liquid fall onto the earth around the stems. It disappeared into the ground with a hiss. The potion would cause the flowers to grow again rapidly. By daybreak, there would be no evidence that they had ever been cut. Like his master had said, balance.

Suddenly he heard something, only there was no sound. He felt it, but there was nothing touching him but air. He could taste it on the wind, and smell it. Something, something deep within the woods, called out to him with a siren voice that no mortal could resist. He turned to the east and picked his way carefully through the foliage to find it. He moved almost silently, using his control over the trees around him to move their leaves to hide him from view. He was not sure of the reason for his stealth, but it felt necessary.

OOC: Unfortunately, I'm going away for a week. I'll be back afterwards to continue with this. Thanks.

((Okay, able to get onto the forums once more, sorry for the absence))

Conor stalked silently through the trees, not hard for a Ranger of Elven descent. Ever since his Exile he had found a new home in the forests and other wilderness of the world, only venturing into towns and cities when it was needed. Even with his new home, dreams of his homeland and the incident that caused his exile still haunted his mind. Conor usually wandered with a set task to get the days going by, which could be so simple as finding the next source of clean water or as difficult as tracking band of thieves to gain a reward.

On this night, his task was to seek out a dark figure that radiated fear rumored to wander the forest. Conor felt a strange urge to quickly find this supposed 'moving statue' that would drive fear into the hearts of those who found it. He ignored the urge to begin sprinting through the forest and moved as stealthly as possible through the forest.

The ranger paused, his eyes on a broken twig with a green leaf bent back. He reached out a touch the branch and examined it quickly before looking to the ground below it to find a number of crushed, dry leaves. Conor crouched and listened quietly and cautiously, peering through the trees. The broken twig and crushed leaves were a sign of somebody's passing through here recently, and it certainly wasn't large enough to be the moving statue he sought. He judged the distance between the broken twig and the crushed leaves. No, it no animal... He thought, now pulling his bow over his shoulder and notching an arrow.

It was always better to be ready for an unexpected visitor in the night, especially in a forest where a dark statue roamed the shadows. With an arrow pulled taught and ready, Conor moved on, making slow movements while his eyes scanned the area ahead of him. He stepped on roots and patches of moss to decrease the amount of sound made as he continued through the forest.

Aramil strode silently through the forest, carefully avoiding foliage that could reveal his path. Suddenly, he stopped short. A trail of crushed leaves and twigs, on a path similar to his, lay in front of him. Immediately, he raised a transparent shield of magical energy, resistant to enemy attacks. He then sent out a probing field, concentrating to find other intelligent life. He passed over many animals, before finally coming to something else, nearby. Using his elven gracee, he moved up behind the person. Even with his vision, he could not discern anything about them, until a flaming sphere flared up in his hand.

"Drop your weapons and turn around, or a stint in Baator will be pleasant compared to this." With a magical and probably malignant statue nearby, he wasn't taking any chances.

((Wonder what happened to Raridon...))

Conor stopped abruptly. He had thought he sensed some sort of motion, but had dismissed it as the rustling of leaves caused by the passing of a slight breeze.

The ranger chuckled slightly but did not lower his bow. "It is no easy task to sneak upon an Elven ranger," he said calmly. "I'd hope my attacker is Elven, it'd be insulting otherwise..."

Conor turned slowly, lowering his bow slightly as he did so. He blinked slightly, adjusting his eyes in the glare of the flaming sphere. He quickly sized up the Elf before him. Probaly has some spell around him, or he wouldn't have approached so closely.... Conor held the arrow taught in his bow, but held the bow lower to the ground as he waited for a response from his attacker.

OOC: I don't know.

IC: Aramil smiled. "I apologise for that, but my stealth was necessary. I cannot take too many chances in a dangerous area."

Luckily my stealth spell worked, he thought, as the flaming sphere vanished.

"Hello. I am Aramil, Mage of the Third Degree, graduate of the Collegiate Arcane of Caladonn. Who do I have the pleasure of speaking to?"

Voices ahead, carried on the night breeze. The words were indistinctive at this distance, but the noise was clearly that of speech. Serek strained to hear over the nocturnal noises, but it was no use. If he wished to discover more of this night-time rendezvous, he would have to get closer.

As he crept forwards, he wondered who the voices could belong to. Outlaws? Bandits? Tales were great in number of the men who had once patrolled the woods, robbing travellers and leaving them to die. Occasionally a village would be raided, livestock and goods stolen and all those who tried to resist killed. Of course, those evil men had been purged from the forest long ago, but they could have returned.

Perhaps woodsmen, out late to finish a piece of work. Maybe they were in search of a missing child. It had been known to happen.

His mind wandered still further, as minds often do, and he blushed as he considered the possibility of coming upon lovers who had decided to make the most of the full moon. Still, his curiosity defeated his preemptive embarassment and he decided to continue. Increasing the power of his spell, he walked closer still, then flinched as a twig snapped underfoot with a dry crack.

"Hello. I am Aramil, Mage of the Third Degree, graduate of the Collegiate Arcane of Caladonn. Who do I have the pleasure of speaking to?"

"I am Conor O Feargaill," the ranger hesitated, unsure of whether or not he wanted to continue with the introduction, when a crack sounded through the trees. That was no breeze... Conor lifted his bow once more and aimed in the direction the noise had emerged from. He did not know why, but he had a sense of unease ever since he had entered the forest, and it only grew when he had learned of this 'moving statue' that radiated fear.

"Come out in full view!" Conor stated loudly enough into the low hanging branches that blocked his view.

Discovered. By who, Serek did not know. Thoughts whipped crazily through his brain. Should he flee? Attack? Remain hidden, and hope that they thought him a creature of the forest. He had mere moments to decide.

Mixing two plans quickly, he stepped out into the open, just beyond the treeline. Should he be forced to make a sudden exit, he could use the plant life to cover his escape.

Facing him was a tall man, yet something about him seemed... wrong. Serek had never seen an elf before, and he assumed that the figure was a man of some other village, far away. He also noticed with a start the bow pointing at him, the string drawn back and an arrow pointed neatly at his heart. With him was another man, one who resembled the one with the bow. This other must have been the one to whom the archer was talking. This one had no weapon drawn, but a cursory examination revealed his power. A magician!

Serek began to speak, hoping that it would buy him some time.

"Greetings, gentlemen. Please lower your bow, I mean you no harm. I am but a simple apprentice, out for a night-time stroll."

As he spoke, his senses stretched outwards looking for something he could use. He could feel life around him, pulsing, breathing. He could use this in the event of combat. The branches around him could be used both as clubs and as shields. Suddenly he was forced to struggle to keep his face impassive as he noticed the roots criss-crossing below the soil. However, he still hoped that this could be resolved peacefully.

Aramil sensed the distrust in the elf. "I am honored to meet you, Conor," he said with another bow. However, he straightened like a taught string upon hearing the twig crack. He also had a flame in his hand, ready to fling, when the man approached.

As he spoke, Aramil withdrew a large, jet-black gem from his robes. When the man was finished, the gem suddenly turned a deep red. "He lies!" Aramil cried, the flame in his hand flaring. "Who are you really?" he asked suspiciously.

Bump

As if things couldn't get any worse. The silent companion was a magician, and one who was apparently displeased with Serek's answer. Still, if he could detect lies, perhaps it would be best to tell the entire truth.

"It is almost exactly as I said. I was sent out to collect moonflowers for my master, and I simply felt compelled to come this way. It was very strange, but I couldn't resist."

((This is going to be hard to continue on without Raridon, as he had the plot planned out, unless we move it in a direction of our own...))

Conor nodded. "I understand well enough, I suppose. Something dark wonders between these trees." The ranger lowered his bow and glanced around him at the surrounding branches and leaves. "I was here in search of this "moving statue" that is rumored to roam this forest. I first heard the tale in a nearby inn, a couple of woodsmen there were quite shaken as they told their story of a dark statue that sent a bolt of fear straight to their hearts..."

He thought a moment. "What about you, Aramil, why are wondering this night?"

OOC: Yes, I'll TG him to see if he just forgot about this.

IC: Aramil's fire flicked back into his hand. "Well, that is not a harmful lie." his expression softened, and in response to Conor's query, he said, "I too have heard about the statue, in my studies in the Collegiate Arcane of Caladonn. I am pursuing instances of magical constructs, and thought this might be interesting."

OOC: Great news! I've heard from Raridon that he's coming back to this. :)

"If my awakening senses do decieve me, I would think the Runeblade Rilizar is responcible for this limiting simulacrum of my potent spirit. If the one who shackled me is not the Runeblade, prepare your soul to be wrenched from it's frame."

"Your awakening senses do not deceive you potent spirit. It is I, the Runeblade Rilizar, who call upon your service. You are the only one who can perform the task set by me."

"So, it is you. My rage will be abated for the moment, until you provide me your explanation for this current dwelling I reside in. An ancient crumbling visage of a mortal knight, formed from inpure rock and crafted by woefully inexperienced and imperfect mortal hands! This form is cold, lumbering and impotent. I can do little with this inoperative construction!"

"I understand that such a form has inhibited a considerable range of your talents, and that you hold contempt for such a situation. But be still, listen and be patient. For remember that it is I, Rilizar, the Runeblade whom has never used your dominant spirit wrongly? Be still, patient and listen I say, and hear the full account of what I ask of you to do before you shun it."

A pause to consider the request.

"This form may constrain my glorious power and ability, but it does not reduce my willingness to hear your intent Runeblade. Speak then, I am still, patient and listening to your half-elven tongue."

Rilizar explained the purpose before the spirit. It listened attentively, not shifting from the position which the human stoneworker had crafted him in. His mighty hammer was still planted upon the floor, his face still with a noble expression and dignity that the hero once had. Rilizar looked upon the statue as he did so, respecting the spirit's flawless argument. The statue was poorly constructed, and poorly kept. Left to the elements and the wearing of time, it was a far cry from the regular forms of much more expensive and rare materials of this world and others. It had no enchantments upon it, save the ones which allowed the spirit to inhabit it and cause motion. It was a poor excuse to house the power that was the ancient spirit.

"Very well Rilizar. I grudgingly accept this task, for I know that the Archmage's animus is intelligent and always well placed with progress. You will have the specimens you both require so you can both proceed to the next act, and I may can return to a slumber which looks forward to a more familiar, and more potent form."

Rilizar bowed before the statue in gratitude, and spoke words of magic to take him away. Spectral hands closed around him, and his black cloaked form dissipated from the forest.

The statue was now alone in the darkened wood, waiting for the warriors to come to him. He remained as it would have done if observed normally, motionless and set in a position of honour. Stood upon his circle of stone, with the pool of water around him, he waited and lured those in the woods forward with instinct and impulse which grew stronger and stronger with each passing moment. Words trickled through the woods from the statue...urging them to come forward, to answer the summon.

Serek jumped at the noise. He looked around him to see what it could be. It sounded as if it was right behind him, slightly to the left. He whirled around to confront this hidden menace, despite the watchful gaze of the archer and the wizard.

Nothing. The leaves stirred in the night breeze, yet that was the only movement, the only sound. He padded across the dark grass, but inside he knew that he would find nothing.

Yet the siren song bored deep into him, reverberating through every part of his body. He felt electrified, surges of power rushed through him, yet at the same time he felt a powerful urge to submit. Whatever lay beyond the trees was calling him with a voice that he could not hope to resist. Forgoing all caution, he ran lightly over the ground towards it, leaping over treacherous roots. Looking behind him, he called back to the others.

"Its coming from over here!"

Conor followed, though at a slower pace than the human, and carried his bow at ready. Too many things to seem to wonder the forest this night for comfort...

The urging, but haunting, song that flowed through the trees did not help the already hair raising mood of the dark forest. All we need now is a zombie horde and this dark hour would be perfect... Conor followed the human.

You know, that man never did give his name... This had better not be some sort of ambush he's leading us into... That's all I'd need.

Aramil had a few fleeting doubts about Serek, but he felt the call also, and hastened after the other two.