Registered Member #24916
Joined: 2:58:00 pm GMT 01/23/19
Posts: 610
My, what a day it had been. A simple walk to see a forest sister turned into witnessing the destruction of a hidden grove and the apparent redemption of another sister branded traitor. It was a confusing scene to say the least, but the outcome was pleasing... but not as pleasing as what came next. A hand approached the evoker and Seryn, informing them of an attack on their false kin. An excellent chance to show himself, he thought, and eagerly joined in.
His first real battle was... chaotic. It was pure chaos, but such should not deter a sorcerer, should it. No, he thrived. There were enemies? Blast them. His kin struggling with another? Place an aimed barrage. They almost won too, had not one of those slippery snails concealed himself before the death blow. And it was a death blow... one the traitor turned back against him in a quick, lethal blow across his back. Death was quick and... nearly painless, but there was a moment of intense pain as he fell to the ground.
What came next was.. a blessing in disguise. He did not know why himself and Seryn had woken up in the abyss, or why his sister was even worried. The place was filled with a hatred stronger than their own. Wrath predating even their race. The evoker thrived. This place had everything he needed! Power, sorrow, hatred, anger, anguish... but also idea's.
As they spoke, and another demon, one his sister apparently once knew, approached them. He was a rather frustrating fellow, but a lot of things came to mind as they spoke. The temptations of the abyss were almost getting to him.. Perhaps he was going mad in this place intended for torment? Perhaps his sister was right in that he needs to be careful with dealing with this place? Either way, they did manage to escape and go home. Defeated, but more motivated than ever.
There were so many matters to experiment with. These.... visions of... sexual desire, that he saw in demons in the abyss call forth. Could this ability be duplicated? If so, can he call forth beings of pure wrath? And their traitor kin? How would they best deal with them? Well, that will be revealed soon enough. He would like be killed for his failure in the assault anyway, so there isn't really much to loose. The evoker will follow in Syann's shadow, and use magic like their eternal ruler did.
But first, another experiment. The demon in the abyss had given him a ring to call forth the abyss. It was a strange little artifact, and will certainly be useful. Extremely so, in fact. He had already experimented with powerful summoning, but was never too pleased with the creatures brought forth. This time, he knew exactly what to look for. The magic of the ring could only bring forth a creature of limited power, but what if he followed the trail the ring left? What if he could draw with his own powers, and merely use the ring as a compass on where to draw from?
The experiment was conducted at the back gates into Greenvale. Elarion entered under the cloak of invisibility, and drew forth the most powerful creature he could manage. Chaos ensued as a large, red skinned beast with a giant skull for a head, and massive burning wings appeared. The guards were quick to react, and while two rangers fell instantly to the demon, with their souls hopefully ripped from them and devoured by the abyss, one of Greenvale's finest took the beast down. Disappointing, but not unwelcome. He now knows the strength of these... honor guards, and the strength of the abyss. It was high time to get out of there, but not before stopping by the trolls he had destroyed on his way inside. Their bodies charred, but mostly intact.
He made a bit of a fireworks show as he mangled and shredded the bodies with his magic, not caring that anyone heard. This was to be a message after all, and once the guards have gathered and rushed into the little grove, only a message was waiting for them, written in blood and guts.
The night was hotter than a furnace, the moon shone full and in its pale glow the coast, illuminated by slivers of light filtering through canopies so thick that it was a wonder any light at all dappled through, glittered like tiny stars. The building on the edge of the Ridgeshield Dock, the one that belonged to Poisonwood, was pounding with activity. The din seized the Huntmaster before he arrived, filling him with dread. From his usual perch atop a large, twisted oak overlooking the coast, he could make out countless tiny figures milling about on a winding quay, loading and unloading cargo from tethered warships. Other, smaller vessels were being untethered and pushed away, presumably, thought the Huntmaster, to make space for one or two additional warships. A clamour and a bright glow, broken up by the shadows of patrolling Arbens, flooded out from the doorway of the dock house. The individual who had exited the building flailed their arms in dramatic and awkward circles, shouting to draw attention to themselves. The Huntmaster could not make out the words, not initially, but whatever was spoken was enough to dissolve all sound on the dock in a long, drawn-out discord. The sweating dockhands parted to the side, the sailors dropped their ropes and scampered to the sterns of their respective warships, and even the Arbens ceased to patrol and grouped together by the walls and posts. The Hells is going on, thought the Huntmaster, blinking to dispel the illusion of a busy dock suddenly transformed into a silent graveyard, but the illusion prevailed. Squinting, he saw the eyes of a young sailor, wide with fear. He noticed the hard, determined glances of Arbens, ready for anything. He heard the growing whispering and growling, louder than the fading droning of cicadas. "The dark ones," spoke the whispers, "the dark ones are coming." And that's when he saw it, saw the black ship with the black sails, flying a black flag. The black flag of Mora'chel.
It was a small ship, barely larger than a boat, and it carried less than a dozen sailors. Probably a cargo ship, or some rich adventurer's means of transportation from the Underdark to the surface. It didn't matter. What mattered was that Poisonwood had apparently established a direct sea route to Mora'chel. The last thing this war needed was drow!
Poisonwood had ambitiously marked the Fey Council and Queen Yu'syu as their first objective in the war. Renneleth marked those docks. They needed to burn.
Registered Member #25343
Joined: 8:54:42 pm GMT 08/30/19
Posts: 125
The Message
In light of the recent attack on the poisoned harbour by two enshrouded figures, Arakhor and Cathalya recovered the flag and the message left by the trespassers. Word of the incursion is passed on to the Hands of Syann, who may strengthen the port's defences because of it, while fey and druid exchange glances and decide to return so inspirational statement to the city of Elisara, it bearing the emblem of the Greenvale elves.
They could not agree more with the bold line and so, and in an ironic twist, they infiltrate the now alert and fortified bastion. After the first two attacks, their defenders are quick to respond to any potential threats, but they can be subtle and silent. Eswyn, who they find as they approach the city, joins them. All three use the vines that grew from the blood of their fallen comrades to climb unto the northern wall, overpowering a few sentinels, if bloodshed is not their objective – far from it. They scurry about, trying to pass unnoticed, but a moment is all they need.
Eswyn returns to the shadows to scout while the other two drag the bodies of the few fallen protectors and the flag near the long-maimed memorial. They plant them beside it, sending the message back.
Registered Member #408
Joined: 2:50:36 am GMT 01/20/05
Posts: 1509
A tense meeting deep within the caverns took place underneath of the Lumenshire. Two former brothers in arms met once again and discussed a deal. Byr'an quickly sets to his message to the Lady of Syann.
Your Grace, The Kralshaman of Hellshire as agreed to an audience with you. Let us discuss the terms of an alliance with his clan. Though he stand reluctant on such a notion. Should he decline your terms, The Bonesaw will stand with you. Please allow him passage into your woods unyielded for this audience unharmed, with the aid of earth elementals he would seek to collapse the caverns you seek should he not return.
Registered Member #1009
Joined: 7:04:13 am GMT 03/26/07
Posts: 539
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The Two altars of the Shire. The Altar of Man and the Altar of Beast. Byran claimed they were older than even Zhentarus and Andarus. Altars to two gods. Information shared by Seryn. Not surprising but none the less it dispelled some of the mystery around the altars. Though it did not clear up the insidious presence that had invaded the chamber.
While two agents of the Poisonwood were visiting, one like Seryn and an elf who claimed to speak for the Enclave, the chamber became quite active and a presence invaded the space. It asked if we were man or beast. Many responded beast. It quickly pushed all to kill. An overriding drive to kill all around. Barely was I able to fight off its powers, and those who were not strong enough were driven into a frenzy. Fortunately they were quickly put down, and as the blood splashed across the floor and flowed into the Lava, the driving compulsion dissipated. What stood in its place for but a few moments gave every cause for fear. The offers of peace and alliance fell on uninterested ears, there would be only war with the Poisonwood. Such was made clear to the two messengers.
The altars had power, and even as Byran arrived and plead the cause of joining with the Poisonwood, the truth of their desire for the place was revealed. They would come for it and no matter what the Clan did, they would be in the way. The Poisonwood had proven long ago that they were not worthy of trust and would never allow a gathering of orc bloods to control such a powerful font of energy. Byran pleaded that he at least speak with the Lady. In the end despite hours of refusal on the alliance, an offer of a meeting was accepted. Though there was much to be done. The Lady of the Poisonwoods could not be trusted, and this meeting was almost guaranteed to show that. None the less it had to be done. Byran wasn't wrong about the diplomatic situation. Though he taunted the clan about it, they were truly lacking in allies in the north. At least those who were of a goodly nature.
Enough to muster the courage to dare trespass into Poisonwood, and once there, brave the Grotto of the Damned? Enough to pay with blood and spirit to yield open the Gate to the Abyss, and once there, traverse that gods-forsaken realm in search of the monstrosity that holds a certain key. Enough to use that key to open a portal to the Fugue Plane, and once there, to wander an endless expanse without any sense of direction?
How much sacrifice is a soul worth?
Enough to invade the sanctity of the Court of Final Judgement, and once there, to plead with one of Kelemvor's exarchs? Enough to defy a verdict given by the Lord of the Dead, and once defied, to be bold enough to present an alternative sentence? Enough to sacrifice a portion of your soul, and when that is not sufficient, to dare suggest that your friends and allies sacrifice theirs as well?
How much risk is a soul worth?
Enough to risk resurrecting a woman who dons Thayvian colours, and once resurrected, to risk that she will renege on a promise she did not even give? Enough to risk that the resurrected woman will be indifferent to the war in the South or that once she is reunited with her countrymen, she will, like them, throw her lot with Poisonwood? Enough to risk your own life, and once that is squandered, to gamble with the lives of a thousand others?
Under any other circumstances, to the Huntmaster, Kauna's soul is worth nothing!
Registered Member #25343
Joined: 8:54:42 pm GMT 08/30/19
Posts: 125
The Whisper
When she was alive, Seryn could never understand how most would turn a blind eye to the evil acts the so-called ‘good peoples of Thain’ would commit to preserve their style of life. In their maddened struggle, they would defend tyrant and monster just to fight those they disliked. Those that were different. They would commit the same atrocities as their enemies, but they would not see it. They would justify it in the name of the ‘greater good’. Embrace ignorance for it. Refuse to see the truth. But the changeling would help them see.
Before the dream that saw Seryn disappear into the personalities she had created for her 'skins', she had limited her talents to a number of forms and shapes that she had grown fond of. She had not really exploited her potential. But Arakhor would. The dryad could never hope to ‘act’ or improvise as Rita and Deayn could, but she did not have to. She would wield the truth and leave the lies to those that had tongues as sharp as the weapons they used in battle, like Spyder. And she would simply do what she did best. She would become a child of man. Of the mountain. A false kin. A half-ling.
She would infiltrate all the major settlements, one by one, and try to ignite the fears and hopes already present in their inhabitants. She could not suddenly turn or convert friend and foe closer or further to her cause, but she could try to prey on the hope and negativity their minds courted as it was. Even if just a little. She would remind them of everything that they tried, oh so desperately not to see. And the youth would not even have to toil to spill the oil first. The island had already seen to that. The bleeding aspects of the heart, the tension between Hamley and the Iron City, the rift golem, the return of the Blood Guard, the attacks on Dragon’s Watch, the conquest of the void and the eruption of flame. The memories of the Kinswar and of the dark fey intrusion. All the threads were there. They just needed a little push.
And the fey would try to give it. It would take a long time, this being but a seed she would do her best to plant, but she could already imagine the change in opinions if she was successful. Even if she could only get to those easiest to manipulate.
From the Iron City..
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..to Hamley..
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..Dragon’s Watch..
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..Steinkreis..
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..Feywood..
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..Greenvale..
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..and Sandburrow..
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..she would offer that ‘little push’. If only she could do as she pictured in her mind. Remind all those that held onto lies that reality was not white or black. Of course, only those most affected by the island's crises might truly give in to fear and spread so dark take on the events. Those that already harboured the deepest anger. The most susceptible. Even then, it might not take root for long. And if it did, it would do little. It would be a start, but no one could say that the Poisonwood was just misunderstood. They might have transcended Uultak and Syann, but the atrocities they had committed – and that they would commit, all to preserve the precious life that had been born in the rotten forest – were too numerous and vile to justify its expansion. Like Seryn had preached during her brief time on Thain, there was too much anger. They were slaves to decisions that few cared to remember. And even fewer cared to understand. Sons and daughters to ancient disputes that had festered into mindless hatred, all of them.
But fighting was their answer to the past. To ignorance. To a never-ending schism. And they would not give up.
Registered Member #24041
Joined: 4:19:01 am GMT 01/24/17
Posts: 2213
In the dark of night, on the day of the Feywood council's visit, the bodies of the fallen Poisonwood soldiers who fought in Greenvale begin to decompose. It is not a slow process, and indeed one might mark the passing of their bodies in minutes rather than even hours. But wherever they fall, small seeds took root. These seeds grew into vines, and where they fell the thickest, on the wall of the city itself, the vines soon grew to cover a large section of the wall...
... the following day, the Lady of Poisonwood appears with a small retinue at the northern wall of the City. With strange magic, calling on the power of the poison itself, and the curse that lies within it, the lady commanded the vines, and, empowered by her spell, they crawled into the very stones of Greenvale's mighty fortifications. With a violent gesture of her hands, the lady commanded them to tear- and they did. The wall was ripped apart in places, sending showers of rubble down into the city, as Poisonwood troops began to advance.
Dwent's protege, that is who you are. You are the embodiment of all that I am not, and with your every breath you seek to emulate a man who has brought more suffering to my people than the combined Kinsarmy. I look at you, and I see the image of the greatest enemy I have ever fought and will ever fight. I should loathe you with every fibre of my being, and I do. Simply standing next to you, the blood in my veins boils and churns like a furnace, and my soul aches for vengeance, for justice, for violence, for something! Anything! And yet, instead of obliging the hundred voices that scream for redress - my own, those of my allies and those that have died to your swords and your fires - I defy it all and plunge into the very Beyond to scour for your lost soul. Why is this? Why did you have to die atop the Builder's Wall, fighting side by side with my brothers and sisters, and honour-bind me to be beholden to your sacrifice? Why is it that when I have honoured that sacrificed and done my duty to extract your soul from your deserved punishment, instead of banishing you from my sight, I ask you to stay? Is it because I am mad? Is it because I have forsaken all virtue? Yes. And yes. But I also do it out of necessity. I do it because I have no alternative. I do it because I need you. I learned my greatest lesson in my near-four hundred years during the Feywars: not only are military alliances imperative in the art of war, but they must also be fit for purpose before it is too late.
You told me to...
"Appear vulnerable when you are strong, and strong when you are vulnerable. Deceit is your greatest weapon."
You told me to...
"Know my enemy like I know myself; to know how they think before they act. Perspicacity affords greater clarity than any looking glass."
You told me to...
"Remember my own wisdom. The hunter is patient, the prey is not. Make my enemy behave in predictable patterns. Attack them or defend against them with what they expect; it is what they are able to discern and it is what will confirm their expectations. It will settle them into predictable patterns of response, occupying their minds while I wait for the extraordinary moment: that which they cannot anticipate."
You told me to...
"Move as swiftly as the hurricane and as closely-formed as a dense forest when that extraordinary moment arrives. Attack with the wrath of a thousand fires, but be as composed as the mountain."
Above all, you told me to...
"Ensure that I have enough manpower to commit to my extraordinary moment. The outcome of the war will hinge on it. It is the ultimate prerequisite for victory: numbers. Ghosts do not win wars."
Thus I leave the battlefield to muster my alliance; I leave while my brothers and sisters look to me the most. I feel their eyes upon me, arrows of judgment piercing through my skin, and I hear their unspoken words: "You leave us in our darkest hour, Huntmaster. In your stead, you leave a Thayan to coordinate our deaths!" I turn around and look behind my shoulder, and I see the corpses of my slain kinsmen reach out toward me with crooked fingers, intent to drag me to the Beyond along with them. "If you will not stay with us," the ghosts cry in a wailing chorus, "you will not leave us, either." Yet I must leave. I must leave my ailing people, my ailing city and my ailing Queen to hearken the wisdom of a woman whose own countrymen perpetrate crimes against the South, their flag billowing side by side with the flag of Poisonwood. I disgrace myself with my departure, and I disgrace myself further with this letter I pen to my brother-in-arms:
Renneleth Margaladhon wrote ...
Kellendill,
For reasons I cannot divulge in this letter, I leave City of Elisara to attend to urgent affairs elsewhere. You are now the acting commander of our defenses. I will repeat here the words I told you when we stood on the battlements: you are the most honourable brother I know, and I am certain the Seldarine and our Lord Correllon will favour you with wise counsel and prodigious guidance. But we must heed the mistakes of the past; we must recognise that alone, isolated, we will perish against Poisonwood's overwhelming host. I leave in my stead the Thayan Commander Kauna, who has been returned from the dead. She is to be accommodated as a military advisor to yourself. Albeit everything you represent will bid you object to my behest, I remind you that we must draw upon every strategic advantage lest we decisively lose this war. Kauna is cunning and clever, she is a near-unequalled combatant, and most importantly, she represents the potential of a contingent of Thayan Knights that will greatly bolster our army. This is an advantage we cannot squander -- we must not squander it.
I will return at the very earliest opportunity. Until such a time, as always, may the Seldarine watch over you.
Registered Member #1273
Joined: 2:56:54 pm GMT 03/23/08
Posts: 536
A small group of volunteers is hard at work in the Library of the School of Magic, moving the books via a portal, to the safety of the Temporary Field Station in Hamley.
As la Meyuul herself put it to one who later agreed to volunteer, "We may be able to help save Greenvale - if the elves ask for our help. Meanwhile, me must save our library - if we don't then soon. we shall have no school at all!"
[ The Island of Thain ]
Poisonwar
