Jungle Law Enforcerer Registered Member #1180
Joined: 7:46:29 am GMT 10/05/07
Posts: 1292
The Feywood North
Elith spent the first day exploring the canyons and the clearings of the northern Feywood, everything was silent, the spring warming up the temperature, blossoms starting to sprout on the darkened branches of the trees in the woods.
In the north-west he found remains of a camp but the tents were old and tattered. Peeking inside he found two dead bodies; from the skeletons he would have guessed their human nature: neither gems nor gold on them, likely the two have been murdered and robbed a long time ago, at least some months passed already.
He searched them, never too sure, as something useful could still be held by the dead. In fact that happenned more often than naught.
Unforunately this time was not the case: nothing of use on the two dead bodies.
He walked out of the tattered tent and watched the scenery, an abandoned camp at the bottom of a tall steep. The place would have been pleasant if not for the very likley gruesome story. Elith sighed and moved on, while the forest preserved the remains of the two.
The old elf kept looking and searching for anything that could point him towards any Order activity but, instead, as he walked, he was amazed by the variety of the forest: how the canyons subsided for patches of trees and large clearings, and how the ground was mostly wet and muddy; the snows melted not long ago and the shadows of the trees hadn't allowed the ground to dry completely.
He walked aimlessy around hoping to find something but, alas, nothing seemed to denote any activity.
When the light in the forest began to dim he made his way back to the Stronghold. Surely he could have spent the night outside and face almost everything that stalked the forest at night, either gnolls of vicious preadators but, why bother? The hammock and the warmth of his bed chamber were definately more appealing after a day spent in a frustrated search.
The Feywood South and the Southern Trail
The night subsided and made space for a new day, he dressed and walked southward, first in the small thicket of forest, often stalked by cougars, and in there he shrouded himself in invisibility to peek around.
His attention was brought to a lsmall cave lighted by a very large Crystal, there shadows were kept at bay: within there were no signs of passage nor occupants. He quickly moved out, the crystal made him feel slightly uneasy, too bright for him, he felt not worthy to stay any longer than the time that was necessary.
As he walked out Elith inhaled deeply the fresh air of the forest, relieved that the oppressing feeling of unowrthiness was left behind, sometimes the Light and its brightness were simply too much for him to bear: he actually felt very confortable in his light shades of grey.
The old sorcerer wandered around for awhile, looking for any sign of passage or wanderers but, despite few obvious tracks, which he followed for some time and led to his former place, making him realize that he had been following himself, he found nothing else.
Elith cursed for fair bit is own stupidity.
Angry, even if late afternoon he pressed south and moved through the southern Feywood, which was haunted by night and filled by raged animals during the day.
The crazed creatures met something even more furious that evening.
The old sorcerer lowered his hand, as a charging bear had been stopped by black tentacles that wrapped and strangled it; the old elf watched the crazy attacking creature die.
At times kicking the dog helped.
It was dusk when he met the southern ranger, he offered the sorcerer a place to rest and Elith accepted; once inside, in exchange of some potions, he bought his staying for the night.
The following day he kept looking around, searching for anything, but yet found nothing, the Elf searched through the natural cliffs in the south, but aside for crazed boars and deers, and even one brave and particulary furious rabbit, he found nothing.
Elith was tapping his fingers on his staff unsure if someone would take cover within the Rift caves, he stood there, still, looking at the entrance of the cave network.
Maing his decision he entered, it was as good as any other places.
Shrouded once more in invisibility he explored the caves, leaving its inhabitans alone, at this stage he had no interest in sealing the rift. Once he reached the rift stone he saw the shadows appear and let them be, free to roam within the cave. The elf was once more surprised at the strenght of the connection and the thinness of the barrier between the planes on the Island. Soon enough I should comply to the task Queen Yu'syu set me on, but I won't let those of the Order strike Feywood, while weak. Probably, is not even that, despite all my saying, I am starting to believe that it's far more personal.
This he thought, then he turned away and left to reach the Stronghold, leaving the shadows wandering around the dimly lighted cave. In no time he reached the elven settlement and, entering, nodded to the druids who kept guard; they stood still, acknowledging the old elf arrival without giving any response.
Their attitude is unnerving.
The West Trail
The next day he rose early and walked out of the Stronghold to travel west. He threaded carefully, avoiding the wolves and spying in the recesses around of the trail, but it had been hard. The wolves were many and always vigilant, more than once they smelled his scent in the air and growled in his general direction.
His invisibility spell helped and allowed him to move more freely, unfortunately his freedom did not bring any more success to his search.
He, on a side note, had the chance to see some of the ways of the wolves and enjoyed what he saw.
The hunting, the cuddles of the puppies and he even witnessed a young pair of wolves battling each other, wether for game or for real reasons he could not understand.
He felt relieved when the two interrupted the fight and smelled the air, he felt less relieved when they turned toward him and, even less, when he realized that his invisibility wore off.
He chanted quickly and a thick layer of grease appeared beneath the creatures then, shrouded himself once more, left hastily.
Wild life lost its fascination with a fingersnap.
Discouraged he returned among the elves shortly after dusk; he retreated to his chamber and read until late, his thoughts often distracting him.
These elves do not seem need any aid watsoever and my researches seemed fruitless. I wonder if simply finding that the report had been read had been enough to discourage the Order Members to organize an attack to the Elven Stronghold..
The thought made him grin.
Perhaps so, but the hope to have one or even both of those torturers in my grasp stirs the blood in my veins. Tomorrow will be another day and not all of the woods had been searched. I better have some rest.
Shutting the book, he changes his cloths and slowly slips in reverie, chanting softly in the dim lighted chamber.
Jungle Law Enforcerer Registered Member #1180
Joined: 7:46:29 am GMT 10/05/07
Posts: 1292
Feywood East, Gerdamish Moor and Geradish Swamp
Elith came out early from his reverie and after getting dressed he stepped out from the council building, where he took up his residence. The cold and damp air filled the forest, only few elves walked, rather stalked, around the Stronghold at that time between the day and the night. The old elf inhaled and exhaled deeply, the cold air stinged his lungs and his throat, refreshing nonetheless.
The Sorcerer's attention was caught hearing one of the guards stationed in the north cursing and calling for aid, he set forth and as quickly as he could he walked to the northern guard, curious of what might have shaken the elf detachment.
What he saw disgusted him: the half dog and half human, commonly known as Gnolls, were coming in numbers with ladders to cross the deep chasm that separated the Stronghold proper from the rest of the forest. More elves were arriving too, ready to fend off the attackers, elven longbows were superiors and the archers' skills incredible, byt seemingly was not enough, the sheer superiority of the number of the Gnolls and their archers with their crude bows were forcing the elves to take cover.
Elith, invisible and warded, watched the developing battle, intrigued. It was then the druids arrived.
They begin to chant and Elith could feel a strange presence stirring, it was the Weave, but wasn't at the same time, it was there, but at the same time it wasn't; even if the sorcerer tried to concentrate on it, he could not manage to grasp the meaning or the entity of the so-called "Source". The time he was astray, trying to follow up the patterns of the Source, the druids finished their chants and nature acted on their behalf.
The ground shook, the trees bent and the grass became razor sharp, anything around the gnolls was getting at them, from the west even the wolves arrived ready to flank them. The lucky ones among the Gnolls fell to the ground and died quickly, stabbed by the grass baldes, others got pushed in the chasm by the moving trees, while others teared apart by the wolves.
Few tried to escape running, but the elven archers were ruthless and merciless; they came out from their cover and began once more to fire their arrows. The eary silence that followed was self-explanatory. Elith blinked, the trees were now still, the ground wasn't shaking anymore and the grass was gently weaving with the wind, the wolves gone along with the gnolls bodies.
The elves on their part were not cheering nor happy to have fend off the attack, they seemed glad that none of them had been badly injured or dead; but, other than that, their faces said nothing, most of them simply gazed the field of the battle in silence.
Shortly after some scouts were sent to the Feywood east to explore for any other forces and report back or, in the eventuality of finding any survivors, finish them.
Elith joined the scouts heading out, it was, after all, the last part of the forest he needed to search. Doing it with some company seemed far more ineresting than going alone.
Pity that he was wrong. The elves did not talk to him nor to each other, they merely stalked around, looking for survivors or encampemnt. The old sorcerer mood was souring fast and it reached the breaking point when the scouts after exploring the closer eastern parth of the eastern Feywood simply turned back to leave.
When Elith asked for the reason of the decision, the answer was incomprehensible, but it couldn't be otherwise, the nature of balance is not obvious nor easily understood, by outsiders.
Grumpily, he bid farewell to the scouts and kept looking for signs of any encampment or den for any of Syann's Order, but nothing was to be found around. He pushed forth and travelled northerly entering in the depth of the Gnolls territory, the Moors.
In the Moors, even if in thinner numbers, he spotted patrols and some tainted hounds tightly kept on the hunters' leash; nasty creatures, both. He walked far and wide, but did not see anything of the like of a tent, or a cave or any trace of anything that could prove the passage of some members or a group of Syann's Assassins.
As it turned out he discovered none of it, instead, travelling further north the elf found a path which lead stationary settlement of Gnolls, within the Gerdamish Swamps, with farming and sailing knowledge.
He was taken aback, he found incredible how those savage creatures could learn something and don't forget about it.
There were many creatures in the village and the the idea of a bullrush and blind attack wasn't a good one. Instead, he lured one of the gate keepers far from the doors and the others then, whispering a spell of death, teared its soul apart from the body. Searching the limp body he found the key to the main locked door, he smiled.
Perhaps he did not find what he wanted but, perhaps, something that could win the elves over his side.
Hearing rushing footsteps and gnarls coming his way the old sorcerer looked up and saw the Gnolls running toward him; he grinned, shrouded himself in invisibility and disappeared from sight.
Jungle Law Enforcerer Registered Member #1180
Joined: 7:46:29 am GMT 10/05/07
Posts: 1292
//OOC Language Advise.
Elith sealed the letter to Nelie and handed it to Bence along with a small bag filled with gold coins; he then nodded and walked out from the Trade, leaving behind his back the noises of the kitchens and the friendly chat of the patrons.
Cozyness and friendly acquaintances were everything in the Trade.
Walking out he felt the warm night air on his skin and, for a change, he didn't have to listen to the latest gossip: there weren't any adventurers or mercenaries wasting their time by the fire under the tree spot. The calm and the peace were pleasant and even the guards were enjoying it, everything seemed to be quiet. A good change, at least, once in awhile.
The stars were high and bright in the cloudless night; they were shining and easily visible even if the torches and the fire were lit, Elith smiled for a moment enjoying the scenery before starting his trek southward. He walked on his own, invisible and warded, toward his destination, Poisonwood.
The Sorcerer lied in the letter but when he was on his personal agenda he rather not be tracked, it was his vengeance and nobody else's, he did not want help nor comprehension, he wanted annihilation and death for the ones who almost destroyed him.
So he walked, his rage building up one step after the other.
He arrived in Hammersong at the breaking of dawn; he stopped there for the morning, he ate something and rested only for a short time: just enough to let the body regain the small strenght he needed to proceed. It was late afternoon when he began the descent of the mountain, on the southern slopes. He made himself invisible and casted few protection spells after leaving the Song, thus to go unnoticed among the goblins and the ogre patrols. He then sneaked inside the Cobblewall Inn and through the passage in its basemant reached the Poisonwood. It was the first time he ventured back after he escaped.
He knew of the patrols, spellsingers and scouts lurking and sneaking around the forest; for extra caution he casted the True Seeing spell: nothing would surprise him. Carefully he avoided the wildlife and the guards at the entrance of the tainted city, he could not believe what he was doing, going back in the place that held him captive; he was going to stir the bear in his own cave.
Elith grinned and squeezed through the main gate, no druids on the post, their communion with the land made them able to pierce any concealment, either magical or mundane.
Walking slowly but steadily in the canyon he tracked back his escaping route and arrived in the settlement where he saw the ordinary life of the elves.
He breathed deeply, calming down. If he tried something, he would be overwhelmed, chained and put back in the torture chamber, was that what he wanted? Hell no. As a silent shadow he stalked forward, towards the barracks, the entrance hidden behind a waterfall, silently he entered.
The smell of sweat and damp assailed him along with the memories of the time when he walked in, with Eswyn, Dan and the other members of Syann's Order at his side escorting him to the Lady, to face judgement.
He shivered and was brought back to his senses when he heard one of the Poisonwood clerics beginning to chant something; before even realizing what the elf was saying, Elith darted forward and ran behind a corner. Just in time. Feeling the Weave he recognized the resonance of the spell, it was a seeing one, his trick would have been given away and he'd be facing a whole room of warriors, magicians and clerics. Simply uncalled for.
He peeked around silently as he visited the cells hoping to find the two Gis'ranta he was looking for; he thought about checking the roosters, but thinking about it Elith decided against it: names meant nothing to him.
He was about to walk away when he glimpsed and recognized one of the two torturers, the elf was walking in his direction, istinctively the old sorcerer backed away, few steps and he felt the stone wall behind him; he was trapped once more. The memories of the tortures, of the screams, of the cuts, of the beatings, of the emptyness of the punishment; the sick look in the eyes of the torturers and the joy they had in inflicting him the pain crushed on him. All the feelings entangled and seethed in his soul and mind, almost overcoming the lithe elf who, only with a great effort, resisted the urge to drop his staff, bend on his knees and crawl up at the feet of the wall sobbing and asking for mercy. The old elf was shaking like a leaf in the wind when he regained some of his composure: to his memory nothing had ever frightened him so much like the time he spent in the "leisuring" company of the Poisonwood Elves. Elith was at the end of the corridor when the Gis'ranta turned left in the main barrack's room, probably to head out without paying any attention to him. It was only in that moment that the old elf remembered he was invisible and had gone unnoticed.
Slowly, ever so slowly Elith began to follow the Torturer, he peeked in the main barracks room and saw the elf walking out; he was offered a chance and he would not waste it; the fear was subsiding and was making room to a rage which was almost bestial. The old sorcerer dashed behind him, his invisibility was still holding while the cleric seeing spell faded a long time ago. Outside he saw the elf walking away, it was night, and the feeble light in the settlement made at first hard to recognize the features of his prey, but after the first moments he began to stalk.
The torturer arrived home, a massive Tree Stump with a door, the prey walked in; the door was not locked. Elith peeked inside and saw an elven woman, also clad in green and balck leathers welcoming his prey, she had no weapons, but her colours were screaming, she was of the Order. Elith focused for a moment and refreshed his invisibility spell, mumbled something to enforce his spirit and tightened the grip on his staff, then opened the door quietly.
The two were hugging and locked in a tender embrace, they did not pay attention to the muffled sound coming from the door; the wind, perhaps. She opened her eyes, too late to do anything, and saw an old man appearing from nothingness, she tried to speak but instead she heard a word, whispered in her ears, and she fell limp, lifeless, in the arms of her husband. Her eyes shifted from joy, to fear, to opaque glass in just few moments. The torturer at first thought that her wife was playing and shook her a bit, still standing, then he realized something was wrong and placed her on the ground and tried to reanimate her. Behind him, Elith carefully approached the figure and slammed his staff on the elf's nape, knocking him uncounscious.
-It won't be this easy and painless for you; I am going Thayan on your ass-
Jungle Law Enforcerer Registered Member #1180
Joined: 7:46:29 am GMT 10/05/07
Posts: 1292
// OOC it gets graphic. I tried to keep it clean, if too much PM for edits.
The woods were quiet except for the rustles of foliage in the bushes and the wicked laughter of the evil feys which lived in the forest. Beetles skittered while spellsingers and scouts moved silently in the background.
Elith was there, walking southward in the dim light of dusk filtering among the ancient trees, his hands clean but ruined for the scrubbing, something dirty was there but had been carefully cleaned.
He did not kill the Gisran'tha, he let him keep his tongue and one of his eyes, so he could see and tell what happenned to him.
There wasn't screaming, the whole thing had been done in brutal silence: a silence heavier than any scream or plea for mercy.
The sorcerer was no surgeon nor healer, he did not know where to cut or hit to make the pain greater, nor he cared much for it, he wanted the torturer to feel the sensation of weakness, complete and utter helpesness: the total dependence to the whims of someone else decisions, fate at its maximum degree, no choice was possible on his side, only chance.
As he walked Elith went through the recent events.
The Gisran'tha wasn't scared, he kept his temper and showed no fear, he thought I would kill him and, I know, he recognized me. He saw the scar and his eyes gleamed, as if smililing; he wanted speak threats and words of defiance; but then he saw the corpse of her wife, naked.
I let him imagine.
By the look he gave me and muffled sounds he made I believe I hit the right spot. The cloth in his mouth made it impossible, but I beleieve he wanted to curse me too, probably, for what I might have done to her wife after she died.
I can still see his eyes glaring at me, in silent fury. That time I was smiling.
The torture of the mind, on that, we were even now.
Then, it began, the pain.
I cut, beat and burned. He passed out and I kept going, he would wake up and pass out intermittently. I hadn't the time he was granted with me, I couldn't stop to make his wounds heal properly, a rough patch up every now and then. To each cut a burnt followed, stopping the emorragy and, sometimes, the burns would come on their own, without the necessity of closing a previous wound.
Then, when I saw it, the fear, the feeling of helpesness dawning, he understood his complete dependence to the whim of someone else, I took a step back and watched the gruesome result of the work, I could hear the elf breathing, even if almost imperceptibly.
I saw it, in his eyes, he felt it.
Elith shivered as he pictured once more the mutilated body of the Gisran'tha, fairy dust could heal only so much, cut off arts weren't going to grow back, unless special treatment applied; knowing the rules of the Poisonwood, that was very unlikely granted.
The old sorcerer kept walking for awhile unsteady on his legs, invisible.
When he entered the ancient city of Elisara the clean air almost overcame him as the old elf shook his head. He needed to do something good, the rune of hope in his pouch was getting heavy, making him wonder if his actions carried him too far.
Hope, not cruelty should guide me but... now he knows what he did, and won't forget.
Looking the high tower of Queen Yu'syu a thought crosses the elf mind.
Jungle Law Enforcerer Registered Member #1180
Joined: 7:46:29 am GMT 10/05/07
Posts: 1292
A side tale: He who seeks shall find.
As night settled in Elith walked to the Green Stag, his throat asking for some mead. The streets of Elisara's city were quiet, a slow and enthralling melody filled tha air and made the old sorcerer smile, lighting his heart.
He walked past the flowing river and the massive trees, only then he reached the gardens of the ancient elven city: the earie lights mixed with the stars' made them even more beautiful; on the western hill the Tower of the Magical Academy was looming and dimly litted over the walls while a smaller, yet more luminous construction stood next to it, The Green Stag Inn. Elith walked upward on the hill and stepped in the Inn where music was played and patrons talking but, even if so, there was a feeling of of austerity lingering in the air, uncommon and unlikely to be found in any other inn of the Island.
The old elf was grateful for the peace of the place and, as he seated, ordered a pint of ale, the cheap one, then he simply stood there, seated while thinking and evasdropping the nearby conversations.
From one of the tables he heard the patrons speaking of a patrols of guards who disappeared after chasing the hags along the cliffs of the South Coast, near Mara's Point. Elith had his interest picked, thus he stood up and walked to the table to ask for details, as many as possible. He learned that the people were part of a group of silk exporters and, while arriving with their caravan, they noticed the guards chasing something toward the cliffs.
The sorcerer thanked them and walked out, perhaps he found a mean to balance his actions, the tortures he inflicted were taking their toll on the old elf nerves. He walked out in the lights of the gardens and found few kown adventurers on their way to the Green Stag: Thimns, Bard and Archer, Saevah who, from what he remembered, had some potential as a Sorceress and Lochlan, a known Shadow Walker. Quick words were spoken and the band of adventurers travelled through the canyons and the cliffs of Mara's Point, following tracks in the grass and on the rocks among the cliffs and a trail of dead bodies of Skraggs, as it seemed the witches weren't such a threat to the Elves.
Following the traces and the bodies the small warband arrived at the cave entrance of the Witches Covent, there a pool of elven blood seemed to have been spilled, worried the group entered the darkness of the caverns.
They weren't ready to face the scene they stumbled on: one of the elves was stabbing furiously to death another, likely one of his companions, then, when the screams stopped, without even wincing, he turned around and left the dead body there, walking deeper in the cave.
The adventurers followed the armored elf and shortly after were ambushed by a large number of Sea Hags and the armored Greenvale elf.
Elith fell back and tried to dominate the elf mind, in order to understand what was happenning. Lochlan jumped from shadow to shadow dancing around the creatures and attacking the more isolated ones while Thimns and Saevah were making pin cushions of the others.
The elf warrior didn't reveal much, the hold that the Sea witches had was strong; only few vital informations were given before the patrolling elf turned against the sorcerer and had to be put to the ground. The elves were used as pets, fighters and mating stock, their will had been broken and their mind filled with curses of loyalty: apparently the hags and the witches had a weak spot for them.
Progressing carefully in the caves they reached a large room where they confronted another large group of Hags, this time two will-broken Greenvale rangers were shooting their arrows against the group, the two were in the relatively safety behind metallic bars which were dividing the cave room. The rangers were immobilized early in the battle; the combined efforts of the party focused to deal as quickly as possible with the Hags, in order to dispel the curses that were plaguing the elves.
The plan was good but poorly executed when Elith, out of frustration, unleashed a powerful death spell on to everything in the area, ripping apart indiscriminately the souls of anything alive; his companions covered their ears and survived, the others weren't as fast or lucky.
The silence of the cave was interrupted only by the echo of splashing waves when a groan came from one of the rangers.
Despite everything Elith was, after all, a lucky elf.
Elith moved closer and was about to speak to the elf behind the bars when one hag came out from the darkness screaming; she jumped on the greviously wounded elf cut his throat. Then, facing the rescue party laughed maniacally yelling.
-If We can't have them, nobody will!-
That did it.
Elith felt the weave in his blood resonating with his surroundings, he wasn't seeing anything anymore, he yelled something to Thimns, Lochlan and Saevah and dashed throught the corridors seeking vengeance.
The frail sorcerer pushed forward a step after the other, not caring for the curses of the hags, he wasn't even sure how many he was facing, he walked through and past them some went down corroded by acid, some burnt fire, some encased in ice, some blasted by raw magical energy, some others consumed by the power of unlife, while spme other were stripped of their souls.
He walked and destroyed in a frenzy, at his side, firing arrows was Thimns, in front of them, behind the enemy lines there was Lochlan, setting traps and cutting the retreat of any hags; while Saevah skillfully finished everything that seemed to pose a threat to the group.
The group fought and killed, Elith's resonance with the weave seemed endless, such as the stamina of Thimns and the skills of Saevah and Lochlan. Deeper they went, nothing withstanding their fury and determination. They reached the deepest room of the cave where they found two elves, uncouscious and severly wounded.
Few long breaths let the old sorcerer to relax and focus on the bodies; they were breathing but their minds were still overwhlmed by the witches curses. While Lochlan and Saevah kept watch on the entrance, Elith and Thimns dispelled the curses from the two uncounscious elves. Questions were asked and grieve answers were given when the sorrowful group made his way back out from the cave and to Greenvale.
At the gates of the Ancient city of Elisara the group disbanded, Thimns, Saevah and Lochlan headed north, looking for a ride with the Carovan, while Elith walked with the elves warriors in the city where he rested for few days before leaving it once more to head towards the Qui Vive Monastery on the Grey Mountains.
Jungle Law Enforcerer Registered Member #1180
Joined: 7:46:29 am GMT 10/05/07
Posts: 1292
A side tale: Road to the Abyss
Walking, he headed southward to Greenvale, where he arrived in the darkest hour of the night, he nodded to the guards and entered the city, shortly after disappearing.
Planar travelling was never pleasant, at least not for him, the wobblying sensations he felt on his knees when his feet touched solid ground always made him clench hard on his staff, reminding him that while his blood was strong and the resonance he felt with the weave was getting stronger every passing day, his limbs necessitate some attention.
When Elith appeared in the lesser plane he quickly looked around and spotted a dark corner, smiled and drew a pentagram of protection, then step in, careful not to step over the lines. Once inside he fickered his hand and lit a stone and threw it away. When it would stop glowing, a day would have passed.
The rift between the Abyss and the Island was thin enough to let the passage only in few places on either plane, if someone would have come from the Prime they would appear close.
So, he waited.
Scutum and Drake Jarlson appeared after some time after the second stone had been lit.
The group travelled deep in the lower plane, avoiding battles when possible and slaying on the Hordes of the Abyss getting ready to be shipped and fight against the Legions of Hell.
Details shimmer with the heat of the depths of the Plane and froze in its cold and bitterness, a long trip although shorter than one might think, yet every step was one of pain and distress, getting closer to Ramir’s Demontongue fortress was every time harsher, the desire to flee evergrowing. When the group entered and faced the human, there were no pleasantries exchanged, Ramir knew why the old elf was there, standing in front of him. The celestial crystal in one of his waist bag made him guess in the right direction.
The fight was brutal and short: spells were fired, souls were shredded and bodies collapsed; Elith himself felt the fatigue and strain of the fight. He was forced to crawl behind a dark corner and, breathing hard, was unable to move; he looked behind the corner and saw Scutum dead in the middle of the Room, Tanarri feasting on his body, entrails scattered everywhere around him, no sign of Drake, probably hiding somewhere, perhaps in the Shadows, he couldn’t tell. Then, the noise of steps, getting closer and louder after each passing moment, he dared not to look and only felt the effect of the spell.
A matter of seconds and he felt his guts turning inside out, litterally.
With his last perception he saw his intestines sprawled on the floor.
Las thing he knew was the need to throw up.
Elith woke up and saw the face of Drake, he blinked a couple of times and then sat, hoping for some rest. Instead the scout pulled him up and slammed a scroll on his chest.
-I haven’t brought you back to idle, Gate this thing, it’s our only hope.-
Elith was baffled at the human’s words and still feeling a bitter taste in his mouth he screened the scroll and and made a mental note.
No, not a Balor, something else.
With few hand gestures he created a protection for his mind then, holding the scroll with one hand, while with the other pointed his staff in front of him he uttered the incantation: an enormous white slaad appeared and charged Ramir, the Balor and their minions.
To no avail the demons casted and attacked the massive figure, it was relentless and merciless, it destroyed all of them, the creature from the Chaos Plane did what its summoner was thinking.
Bring Anger, Vengeance and Havoc to the creatures.
When Ramir got squashed to a puddle of bones and meat Elith felt good, as much as when he saw Drake flanking and stabbing the remaining demons: the old elf wounded pride was healing.
With the fall of Demontongue and his Balor Lord the fight was won in minutes, all of which Elith spent invisible throwing fairy dust on the Hulking White Slaad, call it cowardice, but the elf still felt the acidic taste of puke in his mouth. The sorcerer and the scout reassembled Scutum entrails, or at least what was left of them, and with a scroll of Resurrection they brought the Tormite soul back to his body, funnily, from Celestia to the Abyss.
The three of them rested for awhile before venturing deeper in the fortress, they weren’t in the mood for idle talk after being so close to a complete defeat and annihilation. Two were thinking of their combat flaws: Scutum was shaking his head cursing his weakness to the weave while Elith relied too much on it, paying the price of his old age and recklessness; the third, Drake, in silence too, his eyes shifting in the room, very likely thanking his good star.
When they moved from the room filled with corpses they descended in the darkness of the deeper levels of the fortress; there weren’t demons lurking about but the group felt a growing feeling of oppresssion and despair.
Few hours of tunnels later they arrived in front of a metal door, from which seemed to originate the feeling of pain and oppression; the old sorcerer gritted his teeth, as he knew he was getting closer to what the Queen wanted him to learn and eventually put an end to. He leaned on his staff and placed an hand on the metallic door, then, whispering, he spoke words of evil in a tongue now long forgotten.
With a clanking and an unceriomonial screeching sound, the door opened.
Elith leaned heavily on his staff as he felt waves of evil energy coming out from the dimly lit cave just revealed and, as soon as the sorcerer regained a bit of composure, his eyes focused on the empty space just revealed, its emptyness left the old elf baffled.
The walls were of raw natural and damp stone, from the ceiling came down salactites while in the middle of a ring of sickening icy waters there were five statues, each one turned to face huge, and dimly lit, boulders.
Statues, stones and nothing else.
What in Hell am I supposed to do with this…? I was expecting…HIM..
A soft growl is let out by the old elf, he would need more researches, more time and yet another battle, the souls of the Abyss chosen ones would be put back in their places; it was only a matter of time. He wanted to end it now but, as it was, the old elf had no idea on how to do so.
His little crusade had been a waste, or almost.
He learned how to reach the deeper sanctum of the Beast which after all, couldn’t be considered a complete failure, a step forward in the larger picture, but a frustrated attempt at present.
Without any option left, the group ascended through the River Styx and reached one of the few rifts in place and, focusing on the Island, Drake and Scutum appeared on Thain.
Elith looked back toward the desolation of the Abyss and shook his head,
Queen Yu’syu won’t be pleased about this, I wonder if Gorrath escaped altogether
With that thought he travelled through the rift leaving the Lower Plane behind his back.
* * *
Elith walked to the Trade and Tackel and, before leaving once again to the Grey Mountains, he walked in the common room and penned a letter to the Queen of Greenvale informing her about his findings: the emptyness of Gorrath’s lair.
It could be only a circumstance but, in any case, she ought to be informed.
Before handing the letter to his fey familiar Sker, Elith applied a nail eating curse on the scroll, should it be intercepted and read, then let the fey be on its way, swftly and invisible.
The old elf stretched and walked outside, hoping to relax in the warm evening.
His expectations got frustrated when a fight broke up, as he watched it uncaring he did not fully understand the reason of the fight, but he did not care much about it either; spending time with the orks made him accostumed to face violence without questioning the reason of it, if there were fights their reasons often came after, if any.
It took some time for the duel to be over and luckily nobody died.
Few words exchanged among the adventurers made him decide that he had enough of other people, thus he walked northerly heading back up on the Grey Mountains, his plans for Orks payback still required his attention.
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After coming back from his short trip south, Elith spent few weeks at the Trade and Tackel, hoping for Nelie to pass and give her the informations gathered in order to set in motion the plan. He waited without much luck, thus after awhile he left note that he would be heading south, Greenvale and the Tainted Wood his destiantions, close places, reasons afar.
The caravan travelled slowly, but he was in no hurry. The first day it reached the base of Hammersong Mountain where the Kobolds tried to raid the caravan but the guards and few well placed spells dispersed the lizard folk.
The second day the Caravan climbed up the mountain and took refuge in the Hammersong Pass, close to the 'Song entrance; for a change the giants keep to themselves and didn't attack the travellers, nor tried to play the "squash the caravan with boulders" game, it had been a good chance of breathing the air of the mountain and feel the warmth of the fire at night, as the wind blew on the higher peaks.
The third day, it had to be very slow going, the mountain path going down from the Pass was steep and extra caution had to be used to avoid the draught animals to fall off the cliffs. By the end of the third day the Cobblewall Inn was in sight, the Carovan pushed a little further and set camp there; the warmer night seemed to be enjoyed by most of the travellers.
The fourth day, began early as the Carovan wanted to reach the outpost before sunset, as it was widely known of the presence of the Razorfangs cannibals roaming the roads at night, they were right, in fact the carovan reached the outpost in the late afternoon and Elith hurried his way to Greenvale: the cannibals were something he avoided everytime he could.
It was well after sunset of the fourth day when the old sorcerer entered his room in the Visiting House of Greenvale.
As soon as he entered the room he casted few light spells to restore the flames of the candles and a familiar -Ca-Caw!- greeted him. Craven, is free raven pet arrived to greet him. It flied on his shoulder and peaked affectionately the elf's ear. Elith saved this one from the larger Bane crows and, after finding it, he tended to its wounds and fed it until he could fly again when he finally freed it in Greenvale; a place from which Craven never flew away, keeping company to the Sorcerer all the times he spent there.
Elith smiled as the raven flew on a large bookcase resting on the wall.
-I have a little treat for you-
Opening one of the leather pouches he took out the frozen head of a Bagnorn Ork; the raven inclined its head unsure, while Elith slowly melted the ice around the head. As soon as the ice melted the raven, realized the nature of the treat, darted towards it, aiming straight for the eyes, beginning its banquet from its favourite part. Elith was still holding the head, so he carefully put it down on a bolt of cloth, to avoid large blood stains, then let the raven enjoy its gift.
Turned his back to Craven the Sorcerer called his familiar, Sker, who immediately appeared.
-Master, did you call?- -Yes, as I need something, to be done.-
After a short pause he continued,
-I need you to be my eyes and hears at the Watch, I need you to keep an eye on the Assassin Station and gather all the rumors you can find about the Order operations there: the jobs, the carriers, the hitmen. Try to be silent and listen to everything, gather informations and most importantly, don't get killed.-
The Fey nods slowly.
-That I will do, as it is my specialty and you asked. Though I wonder why can't you do it on your own.-
Elith seemed to space out for a moment, then answered Sker with his rasping and coarse voice reduced to a hissing. -I found one, now I need to find the other two-
The fey nodded slowly and pat the old elf on the shoulder,
-I'll be safer than them, Master.-
Then the fey smiled and without saying anything else he flew away from the window, disappearing shortly after.
Elith took a book from the bookcase: "The Art of the Weave in Netheril" and began to read, sitting confortably on an armchair. The silence which fell in the room was interrupted only by the pecking noise of Craven stripping the meat form the dead ork's face and the occasional crispy sound of a turned page.
Jungle Law Enforcerer Registered Member #1180
Joined: 7:46:29 am GMT 10/05/07
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//OOC WARNNG It gets graphic, I tried to keep it clean, if too much PM for edits.
The Last Torturer Blessing.
Much time had passed since the farewell between the Pixie and the Sorcerer, yet no news were delivered nor the connection he shared with Sker was severed so far.
Elith assumed everything was fine, or at least his familiar alive.
He spent much time on the edges of the Poisonwood, spying and studying paths, caves and routines; it wasn't much time before he discovered a secret passage crossing ancient caves, filled with Undead and remnants of the past which lead in the very Temple of the wicked Settlement.
It wasn't much time after that he started to stalk the Temple and found one more of the Order, the Gis'ranta who, during the Sorcerer captivity, healed the slightest part of his essence and the most severe of his cuts.
Out of pity? Of course not. Elith remembered vivdly the pleased face of the elven mistress every day after her cures were given: she smiled and enjoyed the pain inflicted, as if she was nourishing from his screams and the pain he suffered.
For a moment the old Elf became blind with rage; then he blinked and saw everything clear again, his spell did not faltered. The room wasn't big, a small window on the far wall, from which filtrated the dim light of the forest, a carved bed on the right wall and cabinet in front of the bed, on the left wall.
The cleric was in her room, alone, kneeling in front of an altar beneath the window, dimly glowing.
She was offering her back to the door and Elith could see the black hair glowing in the light of the sun, the hands raised to the ceiling offering something placed on the altar, her voice asking for something in return in a tongue completely different from either elven or common. Covered by the voice Elith sneaked in, approached her from behind and grabbed her hair, then, slighlty inclining her head backward slit her throat, from ear to ear.
The Gis'ranta died quietly, the joy of her ecstasy instantly turned in a low growl and a gurgles of blood when the Grim Reaper took over her.
Elith was pleased at his work and, after one last look, he turned around, whispered a spell of invisbility and quickly moved away making sure to avoid the Gis'ranta's druids; those had a deep connection to the land which would reveal all hidden creatures whatever the nature of the concealment: no spell could prevent that.
Perhaps he wasn't careful enough or the body was found earlier than he anticipated, fact is that one of the Druids caught a glimpse of him and raised the alarm; istantly a group of warriors and scouts rallied around her and moved fast trying to capture the old Elf.
Elith took out a wand and issued a command, istantly a pool of grease formed at the feet of the Gis'ranta, he had the advantage of the Weave, one that he would use at its maximum. While the Toxic Elves were struggling to their feet, the old Sorcerer muttered in a rapid succession an incantation of speed and one of protection, then, evocating yet another pool of grease, dashed in the caves leading to the Moribound Bog.
Despite his incantations, the druids and the group of warriors quickly got back on their feet and gave chase, gaining on the old fugitive; turning his head Elith could see the light of the torches, glowing brighter behind every corner, and could hear the clattering sound of armors and footsteps rapidly approaching.
In a moment the hunter became the prey.
Despite the Gisran'ta were faster, Elith had many tricks in his sleeve to delay them, he landed guarding spells that woud require time to be broken and few false set up for confrontations, all of this made the Gis'ranta wary and made them proceed slower, giving the Sorceror the time, even if at a fast pace, to reach the exit of the caves.
By the time he was out of the caves he looked east and saw the sky brightening, turning his head he noticed the Ghostly Doors of the faded Greenvale Outpost; without a second thought he jumped in as the first beam of light came out from the horizon.
Once inside Elith grinned: the doors disappeared in the day light and would leave the chasing party with only a bunch of tracks disappearing to nothingness.
Jungle Law Enforcerer Registered Member #1180
Joined: 7:46:29 am GMT 10/05/07
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The End?
Clashes of magic and swords were filling the northern part of the Poisonwood, it wasn’t another Orc raid, there were many elves fighting against a single one, the weave swirled him as he channelled and casted, drops of sweat on his forehead.
Useless! It’s not working. How is it possible?
The sorcerer glared at the Captain of the patrol, his torturer, the nail ripper and flesh burner.
He was the last one, a failure was not among the possibilities, not when so close, but so far everything he tried did not have any effect on him, not the raw power of the elements; spells of unlife and death simply bounced off him and devoured the scouts at his side; the conjured monsters and guardians sent to kill him were slain despite their efforts; the tricks the sorcerer played to the torturer’s mind were resisted, the blasts of raw energy extracted from the weave disappeared as if they were sucked in the Gis’ranta body.
In the end they had to fight hand to hand, magical protective layers on the sorcerer and studded leather on the poisoned elf. They hit and parried, the warrior obviously superior in the dance of the sword.
Elith attempted to strike the elf knee, the staff almost broke when the swordsman parried highing his armoured shin and cleaved to cut both of the the sorcerer’s arms. Elith had to let go of the staff and jump back; the staff laid on the ground, midway between the two of them.
The old elf was panting, the tainted one was grinning.
They rushed again towards each other, one holding his sword with both hands over his right shoulder, ready to swing and bring death on to the other, who was slightly blurring as he moved. The swing did not start, Elith grabbed the elven wrists and unleashed fire and acid, directly on the warrior skin.
Both Gis’ranta’s hands fell on the ground, the wrists consumed by fire and acid, his eyes rolled backward as he passed out.
With the silence of the forest, broken only by the soft noise from the underbush animals and the occasional lamentation of the wounded Gis’ranta Scouts, the old elf attention was caught by a simple silver ring at the finger of the body. It emitted a soft magical pulse; with a small effort he focused his mind and caught waves of abjurative magic.
So that’s why.
The sorcercor chuckled softly.
He gazed around, the forest was silent, the other scouts were scattered around heavily wounded, some bleeding, some trying to leave, as quietly as possible, scurring on the ground.
The elf sighed, when the frenzy of the battle faded away he started to feel again the cruelty of his actions, nevertheless he spoke. -Ar Katim Wozera!-
With a rapid gesture of the hands arrows of flame were conjured, one per each Order Member, then, spreading the palm open they flew towards they targets and consumed them in fire.
There is no peace nor forgiveness for the Order.
The old elf cracked his knuckles as he watched the limp and charred body at his feet. He kicked it one last time. Hard to die, you bastard.
He picked up his staff and set out of the Tainted Woods, with his vengeance done, there was no reason for him to linger around the wretched place any longer nor any more. Now that the score is settled, is perhaps time to fiddle with any new plans your Lady might have, hopefully Sker will have news on that front.
Jungle Law Enforcerer Registered Member #1180
Joined: 7:46:29 am GMT 10/05/07
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Picking up a cold trail.
At dawn, Elith opened his eyes and scanned his surroundings, recognizing the fireplace in front of him, the tree over him, and the Trade and Tackel at his right. The hired doorguard watched him with a judgy look, the old elf smiled back and slowly stood up, with many cracking sounds. Luckily the night had been warm, so his joints were doing alright, still, remebering the happennings of the night before, he made a mental note, even if a tale is good, a confortable bed is better. Elith looked around hoping to see Sker, unfortunately to no avail. The fey kept hidden around the guards, it knew that its features would only grant him troubles. Elith turned around and watched the sun as it raised, thinking. Finally he managed to restore his own power to the fullest and, while, surely, the loss of his guardian, Uraag Ktaarag, was an hard blow, it was compensated by the knowledge gathered on abjurative magic. To that, it must be added that hearing rumors of the existance of an ancient elven artifact, made him search it almost everywhere, caves, abyssal depths, desert ruins, snow covered mountains, infested houses, bandits' and undeads' lairs, both above ground and deep beneath the ground, in Underdark. Even though the search did not allow him to find what he was looking for, all the travelling made him familiar with some of the dark roads running beneath the Island, engaging often battle with the Drows - in Sarch'el, Narch'el and, even, in the dark corners of Morarch'el - with the Duergars, with the Illithids and, even, against the dreaded Beholders. Funnily enough, though, in the end, what he seeked had already been found by an adventuring merchant, a human, by the name of Razon, who recognized the item as something of high value and power but could not make any sense of it. Examining the artifact, a black leather belt with tiny low relieves depicting scenes of battles, Elith felt something familiar with it. The feeling, dismissed at first, found its reason one night, when the sorcerer recognized the belt in a tome titled: "Elven creations from the Spine of the World" written by a notorious scholar, Timothy Warkliin. In the tome, details of the low relieves were drawn for pages, showing the scenes of elven mages and fighters, alongside armored dwarves, battling against orcs. Reading the description, Elith learned that the belt was one of the (many) creations of the Archmage Larren, realized before the destruction of the Severed Hand. The infused elven magic of the belt resonated strongly with Elith's own magical power, thus the old elf liked to believe that the nature of his own magic was linked to the one of the belt. Of course, he was wrong, he knew it, but the thought of a connection to something that was created in his ancestral home offered him a feeling of belonging that he thought was long lost. Thinking about belonging, instinctively, the old elf touched the rune of hope pending at his neck, Elisara's rune, and smiled, his face enjoying the first sun rays. He had something to do, and he knew it, but waiting few minutes wouldn't be a hindrance.
[ The Island of Thain ]
Greenwood Chronicles