The First Scars

[Guest Valdar and Astralis]

First attempt at anything resembling a story. Thanks Zadown for adding another prespective. . .

____________________________________________________

 

1)Fog of Time

The light of the early morning highlighted the brooding features of the young man’s face. The pointed ears of his elvan origins were angled forward sharply in concentration. A deep crease on his forehead marred the fine features native to his race.

 

Dawn broke over the horizon, flooding the plains of flat farmland with light, and banishing the last shadows of night. Only in the dark forest homes of the northern elves, and in this one’s mind, did the light of day not shine.

 

Seven black pillars surrounded the altar, banishing the light day at noon.

The screaming faces of the sacrifice on the altar. So many. Of men, women, children.

The black knife, stained with the blood of how many? Thousands? Millions?

Hooded figures singing the unholy chant.

Slava, Slava, Diraus, sombe. Slava, slava, Diraus Sombe. . . . . .

No more!

 

“No More!” The elf cried, stumbling to his feet. The sun was approaching its apex. He rubbed his eyes. How many nights had he gone sleepless, fearing sleep-and the dreams it brought?

 

A shadow moved, and he whirled around to face the intruder, knife in hand and powers to bear. The clatter as a tray crashed to the floor seemed to stop time for an eternity.

Inch by painful inch, the knife was lowered. Thought by tormented thought, the spells cancelled. Heads appeared at the door, just as quickly disappearing. “Go.” He whispered hoarsely. The quivering servant squeaked something that sounded like an apology, and darted out of the room.

 

The master of the house spared the contents of the tray a bare glance before returning to his chair.

 

He was not hungry.

 

Rumours would be spreading outside again. That he had gone mad. That he had murdered someone and drunk his or her blood.

 

He had heard them all before.

 

The dreams had started what seemed to be an eternity ago. Nightmares stalking his sleep, shadows lurking in the corner when he awoke. What had he done to deserve this?

 

Two years since he had started his studies, and nine months to the day he had chosen his path. With this knowledge, he would one day walk the stars, free from the bonds of space and time. Like his teacher already did.

He rubbed his eyes, and glanced over the open tome before him. He had lost his page. Half-heartedly, he flicked a few pages in either direction, and then closed it.

 

Perhaps he WAS going mad. He knew from experience the void was not exactly the safest place for mortals. But yet you tried? he asked himself. Now look what you’ve done? You’ve driven yourself mad!

 

He shook his head, remembering his first lesson on chaos by his strange teacher and wondered if he was mad too.

 

Valdar discarded the thought and opened a portal to the impossible sky. Known by many names; the world that was not, the longest road, the lost paths. His teacher simply called it the Astral, others the void. The lines that connected the worlds of what is and what might be were still hidden to him. The dreamer said it would come one day, when “he saw what he saw” whatever that meant.

 

He stepped into the void, letting the portal close. Every spell, mortal and elvan he knew was brought to bear. The actual opening of the portal was something else. More powerful, more ancient. He waited.

 

”You should not be here.” the voice in his head was one known to him.

”All your spells are nothing here. A million things could kill you in less time it takes to blink an eye.” the dreamer informed him, slowly materializing.

 

The elf nodded. “Master, I have a question” seeing the curt nod, he explained his strange dreams. “Who knows what effects the void has on a mortal? Even one as powerful as you. Fragments of a lost life perhaps. Return to your world, youngling, learn more of your own world before seeking others.”

“Then where is the spire of damnation?” Valdar asked, the words seeming to form themselves. A place on the astral. Seek it not the dreamer replied shortly.

 

Come! Since you are here, I might as well teach you something more on the void”

Gladly, Valdar replied using mind speech instead. He was rewarded with a rare smile.

 

Time in the astral void meant nothing to the worlds it encompassed. A million years could pass in a heartbeat, or a second could last an eternity. Questions only yielded deeper mysteries, and frequently, Valdar’s queries were shrugged off as being “Too complicated.”

 

The elf stepped back to his own plane just before daybreak, exhausted.

Slumping into his well-worn chair, the dreams came again . . .

 

It was the same dream again. A red flash, and another scream dwindled into the distance. The dark hooded men were chanting again, and his own knife has sheathed in the flesh of yet another victim. The face on the long dead tree screaming for sacrifice.

 

The dream changed.

[Guest Valdar and Astralis]

Her face was that of ancient beauty, better suited to a temple wall than framed in flesh and blood. Her cold accusatory stare rent a hole in the soul of the dark priest as the seven pillars fell as one. Around him, the high priest knew the spell was being unmade. The unnatural shroud of darkness unravelled, and the light of the noon sun shone through. The great tree of the dead god shrivelled and wrapped. He stood alone in the blazing light.

 

“Tarsanis . . .” She called to him.

“What hath thee done, child?” The ancient face demanded of him. He moved unconsciously, calling on dark masters to aid him.

Nothing. No rush of power, no gathering presence.

“Have ye truly forgotten so much . . .” The power mused.

Already blinded in the blazing light, Tarsanis never saw the ground open up around him.

 

He fell forever.

 

Beneath the master’s room, servants turned in their beds, and pondered his sanity.

 

The sun rose, another day began. The elf-lord looked northward, to his homeland and sighed, wondering if the dreams would peruse him there also. The woman’s face was familiar, if only faintly so. Valdar gazed broodingly at his collection of books, half of which were crumbling with age.

 

He began to search. Priceless tomes of knowledge fell to the floor unnoticed, and more piled on chairs. A terrible burning desire for knowledge consumed his mind. He knew that face.

Fury of the old gods, the old powers, Lords of the Landbooks half read and thrown away from the shelves in his maddened frenzy.

 

The sun had long since vanished below the horizon, and yet another book was cast away in frustration.

 

The last book fell, and the house was silent.

 

In the master’s room, all was quiet save a single dying candle guttering on the table next to the well-worn chair.

The room was empty and silent as the first fearful servant entered the next day. There were some signs of a struggle, so it seemed, with books strewn all over the floor and an slash of dark liquid on the wall where an inkwell had been hurled. On the floor, several books had been sheared apart, as if a giant knife had cut across the floor.

[Guest Valdar and Astralis]

Half mad from his desire to know, and the culmination nearly three hundred sleepless nights, Valdar threw himself mindlessly forward in the void. Speed was his only ally, unskilled in the ways of the void as he was.

 

Relentlessly, he drove on, careless of his master’s warnings. The more he thought about it, the more he became convinced his dreams were that of a past life. He did not slow, or stop as he intuitively punched a hole in the void-and hurtled into the doorway before him, bracing as he did.

 

His impact on the tavern wall left his ears ringing, and a bloody streak where his nose had made his first solid contact with another world-much to the amusement of the patrons. He hastily took his leave of the situation and staggered out to the street. Looking about in confusion, he grabbed the arm of a passing fellow elf. “Pray, brother- where am I?”

It was only when the “elf” opened its mouth that Valdar realized his err. Sharp teeth lined the inside of its mouth, and it’s burning red eyes made him fall back in surprise and terror. “Out of my way, oaf” the creature hissed, in a barely legible tongue.

 

Retreating to an alley, he briefly considered the situation while he chanted a brief healing spell to heal his broken face.

Where have I come out now? he thought to himself. He looked up, seeking familiarity with the stars.

 

There was none. The flaming red night sky bore no resemblance to the familiar black of his home, and the entire sky seemed to rotate slowly over his head-nauseatingly. He hurriedly looked down. For some reason, he didn’t feel so well all of a sudden . . .

 

Why had he come here? He wondered. Of all places, this bleak city with it’s strange inhabitants seemed the least likely place to find the answer to his dreams.

 

The crunch of boots brought Valdar spinning around fearfully, half trying to weave a spell as the world spun dizzily around him, and he fell.

[Zadown]

The Dreamer ran along the lost paths, eyes the black and red of anger, a frown on his scarred face.

 

Stupid pupil! City of Sigil of all the places ... I don't want all that knowledge I spent ages to instill spilled out from his small brains by one blow from the club of some bored demon!

 

He appeared in the middle of the metropolis of the planes with a quick sidestep from the Astral, marking him as one of the more powerful beings even in here. He let his web of magically enchanted senses unfurl and looked-smelled-listened-sensed around the city, looking for his apperentice, a little nervous in this place where many of his enemies also dwelled...

 

Ah, there he is, injured and confused ... better off than he should be.

 

Deciding to walk the rest of the way, he got closer and closer to Valdar, boots crunching on the roads of Sigil. Turning from the last corner, he found his apprentice .. who tried to cast a spell and fell down.

 

The Dreamer sighed.

[Guest Valdar and Astralis]

The host of angels alighted on the tall ridgeline bordering the nameless plane, as the horde of demons and netherworldly beings rushed forward. It was dawn. The earth was trembling beneath their feet as the long awaited for trumpet blast was sounded. The single, pure note hung in the air for what seemed a long time. Then the heavenly beings stretched their wings of light, and swooped downward.

 

The first hell-spawned bow sang, a scream of hunger, for the blood of beings of the higher world. The first angel fell.

*

Swords afire with holy power, the heavenly host fell on the black horde, carving a path of destruction wherever they landed. The centre of the hoard issued forth a black cloud, as gargoyles and various airborne monstrosities took flight. The hour was noon.

*

The shadows grew long, and the battle raged on until the desert ran red with the mixed blood of hellspawn and angelic beings. The black horde seemed to have barley diminished in size, as the first flight of angels rose from the milling mass. Then another, bearing their wounded and dying as they fled the carnage.

 

The last dying rays of the sun were fast vanishing, as the last group disengaged the rear, and lifted off the ground. A lone archangel struggled to rise, caught as he was in a death duel with a dark lord. A black swarm engulfed him, but yet he fought on, aided by several lesser angels trying to save their captain. The horde crested the ridgeline, and spilled into the verdant plain beyond, and the crystal city.

Chaos had won the day again.

 

Presently, he regained consciousness in a darkened room. A slash of light showed it was day outside the drawn curtains. Feeling impossibly weak, Valdar’s eyes traced the dancing dust motes to the blank far wall. A musty smell permeated the room, and that of many, many unwashed bodies.

“Why?” a familiar voice demanded out of the darkness. He craned his neck to look, then dropped his head to the pillow again. “The dreams” he whispered. “I don’t know why I came, it was as if I KNEW I could find something here about my dreams . . . but I don’t even know where this place is!”

 

The dreamer seemed to consider this a long time from his seat in the shadow. “You should not try your powers here yet, Sigil is as dangerous as the Astral itself! More dangerous, in some ways! You are not even ready to enter one of the neutral planes yet, and you come HERE!” His tone softened a little. “I didn’t teach you all that about the void to have your head split by the first demon that comes along with a headache . . .”

 

“Sigil?” Valdar asked weakly. He recalled what he had been told about the city of Sigil. Known only as one of a thousand fairy tales in his home world, the city of doors was a hideous reality in the astral.

 

”Sigil is ruled by the lady Pain . . . she’s hard to miss, if you do see her. And impossible to mistake as someone else. It is the city of doors, a point where the multiverse meets. From Sigil, you can go to any of the planes if you know how. Any arch, or doorway- even a space between any two poles can be a doorway to another world, or even the void itself. The city itself is neutral ground, ruled neither by law or chaos, and the rule of the lady Pain is absolute. The many beings of the multiverse tend to converge there, or use it as a stop over. People with the power to navigate the void, like you and I rarely need to set foot in Sigil, and I don’t recommend you do anytime soon."

 

The shadowed figure in the corner nodded, and he realized he had spoken aloud. “Then why didn’t you listen to me? Look for your answers elsewhere.”

 

Closing his eyes again, Valdar sighed. “It’s something here . . . I know it. I’m already half mad from this.” He answered. A long pause. “So be it.” The shadowed figure rose. “If we meet again, perhaps you will be wiser. You know where to find me.” He spoke using normal speech. His voice was detached, and . . . resigned?

 

The door closed behind the dreamer. A loud sound like the footfalls of death himself.

 

Valdar shuddered.

[Guest Valdar and Astralis]

4) The book of prayers lost.

 

The wine could have come from any one of the dozen wineries in his realm, and the food, from any one of the well to do eating-houses in any given city. All Valdar had to do was close his eyes, and ignore the guttural speech of the several more unique creatures in the inn to think he was right back in his own town.

 

He sighed and opened his eyes. Those . . . Things in the corner were irritating, but there was no helping it. It was winter in his duchy now; he had been gone three months. The crown had probably elected another duke for his land by now, amid the inevitable stories of himself going mad. Valdar cared not.

 

The last thing he had read before fleeing his home was a small paragraph in The book of dammed which mentioned “The screaming tree on the Moobian plains” wherever that was. And a reference to a book called “The book of prayers lost”, which was what he had spent most of his time tearing his library apart for.

 

Where WAS that man? he wondered. The only reason Valdar was in this particular tavern was because he had arranged to meet one particularly shabby scoundrel who claimed to have a key to the Grand insquisitorium of Sigil- by reputation, the most extensive collection of books in the multiverse.

 

Getting into the library, as he found out, was not the easiest thing in the world- multiverse, in this case- to do. Not content with a simple life-long membership fee, membership to the library was exclusive to the high scholars of the attached university- a path that would take years too long.

 

A gentle nudge from the rear brought him back from his reverie to full alertness. As instructed, he loosened the hold on a small purse he had clutched in his right hand. He did not look behind. Probing fingers fondled the bag of coins, estimating the weight, and then tugged it away, pressing a small object into his palm in passing. “Witch oak alley, near the old drinking fountain,” a sibilant voice whispered into his ear.

 

Then the creature was gone. Valdar counted twenty heartbeats before paying up and leaving.

 

Shaking with excitement, he made his way back to the small room that had been his home for the past two months. He examined the small artefact the thief had pushed into his hands. It was a simple coin, worked on one side with the head of a forgotten emperor of a forgotten kingdom, the other, an open book on the other, blackened with age, it hardly looked like something that could open rifts between worlds, or from place to place on the multiverse . . . but such were the ways of Sigil. He picked up his leather script, and departed.

 

The street guards were unwary, and a simple spell lowered their awareness further, allowing him to slip past to the darkened alley. It really wasn’t necessary, but he was getting impatient.

 

The well was just up ahead. The alley was quiet. A gust of wind blew his cloak around his body, disturbing the leaves on the ground. His skin started to tingle as he stepped into the small square, and the air in front of him seemed to part, an opaque maelstrom of colour. Taking a deep breath, he stepped through.

[Guest Valdar and Astralis]

So, the thief had not lied after all . . . Valdar decided as he stepped out between two pillars under a huge dome. The cavernous library was brightly lit even at the late hour, though he could not see the source. Garish sculptures stared out of the walls, great beasts with ribbed wings and gaping maws of fangs. He suppressed an involuntary shiver. He wouldn’t be here for long in any case. He drew briefly on conventional magic for a moment, sending a searching word down the seemingly endless aisles of the library.

 

The resonance seemed to take many heartbeats to return to him. Already, the tension was building in him, and excitement also. This place was HUGE !! One could easily spend a lifetime beneath the vast dome, and not scratch the surface of the entire collection.

 

He hurried towards the source of the resonance, winding his way in between the bookshelves. Gradually, he became aware of a strange feeling of being watched or followed.

 

He stopped, and turned around, a growing sense of unease within him.

 

The halls were silent.

 

He tried to shrug off the feeling unsuccessfully, and pressed on.

 

At long last, he turned a corner to see the source of his spell’s resonance. Hands shaking, he ran his finger across the spines of the half rotting books on the case.

“The book of lost prayers, Zalja”

 

His finger stopped.

 

Without further ado, he unslung his script, and with unnecessary furtiveness, took the book off the shelf and put it into his bag.

 

*Thump*

 

Valdar whirled around at the sudden sound, which seemed to resound loudly in the still air. A book lay on the floor. Trying to slow his racing heart, he picked it up, preparing to put it back when he saw the cover.

On the dead gods

 

He hesitated a moment, then shoved it into his script with The book of lost prayers and started out again, back to the two pillars where he had opened the portal. He stopped a moment, frowning. His sense of direction must have been wrong, or he had overlooked the great door on his way in.

 

He moved on. Rounding another corner, he blinked in surprise as he saw the very same door. He turned around, and started in the opposite direction, turning around every few steps. The door remained in place. He took one last look at the door, fixing its position in his mind, and looked around a corner.

 

His heart sank. Looking all the world as if it had been in that exact same position the whole time, was the same door. He leaned back, to look back down the corridor he had just exited. The door stood impassively.

 

He decided to perform an experiment. Summoning his courage, he strode down purposefully to the door, a quill in his hand. In a few minutes, he would know if the door he had been seeing was-

 

He froze as the door opened before him, revealing a vast hallway. Another set of great doors stood at the end. He heard-or imagined the sounds of Sigil just outside those doors. He narrowed his eyes. This was a trap of some sort, he knew.

 

He drew on his powers, surrounding himself with a blazing halo of power; The dreamer’s voice speaking to him in a lecturing note at the back of his mind on their unique power.

 

He slowly advanced, warily eyeing the statues lining the walls, suddenly aware of their malevolence. Golems, if I recall correctly He thought to himself.

He could sense magic being worked around him now, and the beings of stone started shifting. Fiery red eyes opened, and giant wings flexed. He broke into a run.

 

With a resounding *crash* the first of the living statues landed before him, a giant sword breaking the stones of the hall. Valdar leaped over the obstruction, and brought his powers to bear on the next golem, crumbling it to dust with a flick of his will. Stone claws tore at his hair as a winged statue tried to crush his head, but died in his blazing aura. Two more died before he reached the end of the hallway, somehow convinced they would not follow him out into the streets. He ran Through the door, and was rewarded by a resounding crash from inside, as one of the golems was unable to stop in time.

 

Relief washed over him for a moment, before he realized he had been in the library for well over twelve hours, and it should be morning by now, but . . .

 

He looked up, into the face of the huge visage before him, eclipsing the sun as icy terror lanced into his heart.

 

There was no mistaking her for anyone else, and his teacher had been right. Black blades stood silhouetted against the morning sun, though her shadow was as black as night itself. The apparition, if that was what it was, stood thirty feet high, hovering just above the ground.

 

The lady Pain.

 

Two specks of light blazed from her face, and the last thought he had before pain ripped into his mind was perhaps he should have listened after all . . .

[Zadown]

I wonder why I bother with this - if he keeps on doing things like this, he'll be dead sooner or later, in one year or in a dozen years, a mere blink of an eye.

 

The Dreamer paused his extra thoughts to weave a few extra defensive spells to replace those the pursuers just dispelled. He could feel them probing at his considerable defences, probing and hammering and pounding, eating it spell by spell like a pack of bloodhounds. They were good at it. But he was a planewalker.

 

And now Lady Pain doesn't like me .. well, we weren't exactly the best friends even before this incident.

 

The planewalker glanced backwards to ensure that the comatose body of his pupil was still tagging along after him, shielded with a coruscating green field of protection. Behind the pair of them, the master and the pupil, was just the darkness of the Void .. but he could sense the pursuit, the strong auras of those behind them flaring like supernovas in the vision of his second sight. Angels of great power and cackling demons of lower hells - all the smaller fishes had already dropped out of the chase. Some of the greater angels and demons had dropped out too, right after they had crossed the border of Sigil, old conflicts flaring up too strongly for them to fly side by side after him. He would've laughed at them as they went against each other with claws and spells, but he was way too busy then...

 

At least he got some scars out of it. I should add one or two myself .. this is the closest to danger I've been since I killed the dream god.

 

As to underline his latest thought, an aura of power detached itself from the flock of the other pursuers and started to gain on him. He studied the patter and shape of it for a second or two, then a name and a vision unattached itself from the deeper pits of his memory and floated to the top.

 

Great, here comes Festion - I can't outrun him.

 

Changing direction and gathering the last possible speed he could, the Dreamer chose a new Lost Path and sped along it, trying to get to a certain spot before battling against the archangelic paragon of speed that was after him "for crimes against the ruler of Sigil, Lady of Pain".

 

This should be intresting...

[Guest Valdar and Astralis]

“Duty and honour” . . . The words drifted through his head as he faced the mighty doors with a grim determination. A massive (BOOM) reverberated through the starkly outlined black spire. Rising out a thousand feet from a barren, infertile landscape, the black spire of damnation was the shining hope for an end to this war between the forces of law and chaos.

 

The walls shook again.

 

The prison was dying, the tremors but a prophecy of what was to come. It was only a matter of time now . . .

 

Valdar watched on, all but a dream. As did Tarsanis.

 

There was no one else.

 

Where were they? The thought drifted through him, separate for a moment, before becoming one again.

 

Had he not sent the call before? Three times? A dozen?

 

Yet his master did not hear.

 

The seal at the centre of the door cracked, a waterfall of dust erupting from the centre.

 

He clutched his sword tighter.

 

**

 

Valdar’s eyes flickered slightly, and opened painfully. He stared blankly into the darkness for a moment, not remembering, then sat bolt upright as the enormity of what had happened set in-Or tried to. No sooner did he tense his muscles, a wave of pain racked his body, invoking an involuntary blood-curdling scream from his parched throat.

 

He collapsed back down, senseless.

 

Consciousness returned slowly again, and he became aware of a face above him. He also realized, with some alarm that he was tied down as he tried to move again.

 

The pain that lanced through him was not QUITE as severe as it was the first time, though he had to bite his tongue to keep himself from crying out so only a low moan escaped his lips.

 

“Are you awake?” A distinctly feminine voice enquired, shattering the silence.

 

Valdar froze for an instant, before realizing there was not a thing in the world he could do if the speaker was hostile.

 

“Where am I?” He asked.

“You shouldn’t be waking yet, not so quickly after a run in with Pain, why don’t you go back to sleep?” The voice suggested, as a cup pressed against his protesting lips. His vision faded again as the liquid dribbled down his ear.

 

**

“My lord Saldan!” He cried. “Your servant brings blood and offerings!!”

The last was shouted over the sound of inhuman chanting, a sound that tore at his soul. Not that any member of the choir was human. They had been once, though years of singing had changed them dramatically.

 

The deep hoods they wore veiled their faces in shadow, though occasionally one could see a flash of white or green inside. He paid no mind.

 

“My god, lord Saldan, Your servant brings blood!” he declaimed again.

 

As one, the seven hooded men let their knives fall into their victims, the screams merging into the song.

 

A bell tolled, ending another sacrifice. Cutting the bodies down from the pillars, the red hooded servants scurried forward to remove the bodies, and seven more sacrifices were brought forward.

 

For a third time, he woke, this time with muted pain, though without strength as well, finding himself too weak to lift even a finger.

 

He calmed his mind, allowing himself to be one with the air around him . . . one with the void. Energy began to flow into him, slowly at first, then getting faster and faster until the act of drawing became painful. His vision became crystal clear for a moment, before the brief rush of energy left him feeling drained and drawn. Still, he felt better than he had when he first woke.

 

He set about getting up. Every muscle still hurt, but he forced himself to sit up. Looking around, his delicate eyes could just make out his surroundings. He poked his head out of the tent and realized he was in a camp, of sorts. He counted twelve tents in the darkness, most of them in an advanced state of disrepair and decay.

 

He stepped out, looking left, and then right slowly. Nothing. Finally, he looked up to the black sky. Or perhaps it was an infinitely smooth dome.

 

Valdar could not tell.

 

A click caught his ear, and he turned. Nothing.

 

Moving towards the source of the sound, he noticed the tents had been empty for quite a while, as most of them were in an advanced state of decay. He passed the remains of three cook fires, dust covering the cold ash and rock.

 

At the end of the row of tents, he finally saw the first sign of habitation. A kettle on a cook fire, the embers still red and as if on cue, a movement in the darkness caught his eye, to be followed a few seconds later by a woman striding out of the darkness.

 

“I see you’re awake.” She greeted him, carrying an armload of wet clothing to the embers of the fire, which she stirred up with an oath.

“Good to see you on your feet though, When Festion came swooping in and dropped you into the pool, I thought you were lost for sure.”

 

Valdar frowned, trying to remember. The memory of the Dreamer’s touch lingered on, though he didn’t remember the rescue, and had but a faint recollection of his time after The Lady Pain’s shadow had passed over him.

“But where am I? And who are you?” he demanded.

 

He remembered something else.

“And did you find a leather script when I . . . fell?”

 

She stopped and looked at him, he blinked. She was an elf, he noticed for the first time. Or he was dwarf. Her ears twitched in an irritated manner.

 

“Why, it was my pleasure pulling you out of the pond my lord.” She replied, voice dripping in sarcasm.

 

She began to hang the clothes in her hands near the fire in silence for a few minutes. Finally, she spoke.

“And to answer your question, There WAS a satchel of some sort with you when you fell, you were holding on to it for dear life. I dried it and put it in my tent.”

 

A smile quirked her lips then.

“And my name is Shinaan Bitterbow.”

[Zadown]

The Dreamer laughed loudly, making the tiny and well-hidden pocket dimension reverberate from the force of the sound. Eyes shining like two golden moons, he let his head fall backwards and his body roar with laughter as he leaned on the crystal which marked the border between inside and the Void. Around him, errant shadows moved around the place, a shard of an ancient plane of darkness, one of his many hideouts in the wide multiversum.

 

The look on Festion's face when I hit him hard was almost worth all this trouble! I've never liked anything that is quicker than me on the Lost Paths. Too bad I had no time to retrieve my pupil, but Festion is in no shape to get him either, not for a few weeks at least. Three - zero on the scar department, stupid archangel, three - zero...

 

The Dreamer's laughter waned, but a big grin stayed on his face as he turned his magically augmented senses towards the far-away Sigil and everything between it and him. He felt/saw/heard planes (far-away pearls against black velvet) auras of a few errant travellers (bright blotches of color in the night, telling everything about the less careful creatures and telling only lies about those who knew how to mask themselves) and stranger things ... and things he was looking for. His grin turned into a grimace.

 

We are half a multiversum away and still they are after me. Valdar must've stolen something valuable ... or perhaps they were just bored, or irritated by my constant presence in these parts. Makes me almost wish I had some allies there in the Astral, and not just a few bound servants and a lot of enemies.

 

The golden eyes started to shift in color to darker hues and the planewalker probed the nothingness between planes with gentle spells, trying to see without being seen. The Void, usually a dangerous desert, was now boiling with activity, making it even more hazardous place to move. The hunt was on, and he was the main prize.

 

Time to run. I'll have to check on my pupil later, if I have the time.

 

With a long sidestep he exited the pocket dimension and started to run along the Lost Paths once again.

[Guest Valdar and Astralis]

"And so it was that the god Saldan the white, high god of law fell to the shadow. The planes of Arconia, Blakha, and Moobia trembled beneath the footfalls of gods and assorted deities as his own god kin hunted him down. The final battle of the god Saldan took place on the plane of Arconia, and where he was cast down and borne into the prison he created until a faithful servant tried to raise him from the depths using the Tree of Eternity before. . ."

 

Valdar squinted at the blurred text of “On the dead gods” He briefly chanted a spell to sharpen the text, but to no avail. His spells did not seem to work as they should in this place. He was trapped in a pocket universe of the Lady Pain’s making, who defined the laws of reality about him. So far, all attempts to sidestep into the Astral were met with failure, as did any attempt to tap the vast mana streams of the void. Conventional magic still worked, however . . . the minor mana streams were still his to command.

 

“Don’t even THINK about it! If you call down Pain’s attention on us, we’ll NEVER get out of here!” Shinnan shouted from outside the tent, as if reading his mind.

 

He grunted, and shut the book. She was right, of course- any major shifts in the mana stream they were tapping would immediately call the attention of the Lady Pain to themselves. Ever since the day they had surprised each other by revealing themselves to be mages, they had been secretly hoarding mana to break the bonds of the micro universe they were imprisoned in.

 

Every prison had a flaw, even one created by one of the most powerful beings in the multiverse. This prison, so Shinnan told him, had been willed into existence by the Lady Pain an eternity ago to keep those who would violate her domain, or otherwise cause threat to her city. Down the years, however, control of the reality that made up the prison was transferred to three Dominions, who held the prison world in existence by the sheer power of their thought. Though beings of awesome power, the Dominions were not undefeatable.

 

”Arrogant as the gods themselves, undeniably strong-they look down on just about every other class of angels. Bulky too, they don’t move as fast as the Angels, Archangels and Seraphim. Try not to get into a fistfight with one-they’re the shock troopers of the Angelic host. Their only weakness is to the use of Magic, and a slight weakness that is as well-it’s not as if they are actually WEAK to magic, they can use it perfectly well. Dominions seem to be prejudiced against the use of Magic, preferring to do battle at close range and in person.” Words of his teacher.

 

Their plan was simple. Undetected, they would secretly hoard mana, and strike out at one of the creatures hard enough for Valdar to tear a hole in the reality that enfolded them and into the void. Life for the past month had settle into a relatively frictionless sort of domesticity, with one of them channelling and storing the mana while the other was free to do as he or she wished in half day shifts.

 

“Two weeks more . . . “She said gently, and he looked away as he felt his anger rising again. The books had revealed next to NOTHING! “The book of lost prayers was half ruined from the fall into the pond, ink smeared into illegible multi coloured stain. The occational legible paragraph detailing briefly the exploits of Various gods and goddesses throughout the multiverse, and how they died, either from lack of faith, or their being killed by some other power. The short entry on the God Saldan had revealed nothing more than he was a god of law, one of the lesser gods of Balance. Amidst the ink smears, after many spells of coherency, the words “ . . . to the Spire of banishment, known to some as the Spire of Damnation, and bound there, for they could not slay him." and a small fragment of a prayer written after he had died, written in high script. He ran a calloused hand over the shrivelled page lightly.

 

“Hear me Saldan, your work does break,

Seals are weakening, the spire shakes,

Hear me Brethren, and swords to bring,

Evil reawakens, haste thee come!”

 

Haste thee come! A great gust of wind made his drooping eyes pop open, one hand reaching for his sword that was not there.

 

A brief flurry of wings, and the Dove vanished from his hand. The thirteenth so far. “Where WERE they?” he thought impatiently.

 

“Haste come thee, brethren . . .” He whispered.

 

The words twisted, to a dry rasp in a different Language and Valdar’s skin crawled.

 

“Haste, haste thee come . . . Haste, haste thee come . . .” , The black robed figures sang their unholy song

No

The huge black tree stared blankly at the sacrifice brought before it.

Not again.

A boy . . . no more than nine-tied to a pillar. The song climaxed, and the knives fell.

 

The scream shattered the silence of the dead camp.

[Zadown]

The Void was on fire, red and yellow and purple flames dancing in the nothing. The flames blocked his sight on all levels, and the Dreamer was frowning, trying to see through with his blood-red eyes.

 

I know you are there, Ignir. Come out and play with me, demon. You have tracked me for so long that I am starting to lose patience...

 

He felt something, had a blurry vision of the future where a single flame burned alone in the middle of the night, and with reflexes honed in hundreds of battles he side-stepped in a fraction of a second. Past him, coming from the opaque sheet of heat, roared a brilliant and deadly spark of hellfire.

 

The comet of fire brushed him lightly as it missed him, sending a jolt of pain and the shock created by the touch of hell coursing through his body.

 

His conscious mind shut down and he entered true battle trance.

[Guest Valdar and Astralis]

Time.

A terrible impatience gnawed on him as he dutifully checked the flows for the third time. Looking across the tent to Shinnan, he carefully examined her face for any sign of strain, but there was none. The weaving of the spell was far from complete, though he felt as though he had been weaving all day. Satisfied that he was not putting an unreasonable strain on his source, he proceeded to the next weaving, a combination of traditional Elvan spellcasting and the Archmagik he was learning.

 

The two sat in silence, and Valdar let out a long sigh as he completed the second weaving. He looked apologetically at Shinnan as he started the third, which would make good the trap. This was going to be the hardest on both of them.

 

*

Ka’al Looked up from the orb that previously held his attention, still showing his brethren chasing that rogue planewalker halfway round the multiverse.

 

Something was not right. The Dominion shifted its weight uneasily, and glanced at his two sleeping companions before submerging his mind into the pocket reality he held with his mind.

 

*

“It comes!” Shinnan whispered unnecessarily as the vast presence began to manifest itself physically. A breeze stirred the still air, and a dim glow came from outside the creaking tent.

 

He hastened his pace of work.

 

*

 

The air shimmered for a moment, and the hulking form of the oversized angel towered over the small collection of tents, seeking that which drew his attention.

 

*

 

The arrival of the Dominion triggered the first of the three complex spells. Threading it’s way through the angelic being as its awareness was distracted by the bending of reality into itself, the simple, though vastly magnified streams of magical essence sought the root of the thought that made it real, dodging through the holes of the half-heartedly constructed defences-into the meditating body of the Ka`al, Second of the keepers. The other two beings half-turned from the orb at frightening speed. But it was too late-the room exploded in light.

 

*

 

Ka’al felt the surge of Magical power flow through his mind, and almost laughed as they skirted the outer rims of his defences before he realized the stunning blow was not meant for him. Realizing the trap was sprung, the wings on his back flared to life, and his crystal sword, Lan’s Tara , seeker of justice, found his hand.

 

*

 

Valdar was pulling on the mana streams as fast as he could from their fast diminishing pool, as Shinnan moaned in pain opposite him.

”I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry” He muttered under his breath as his mind struggled to weave the flows together. The first stage was sprung, and he stopped for a moment as part of the field of magic about him was torn away, vanishing into the dark air of the pocket dimension. Without waiting for any sign of success or failure, he pulled at another errant flow, to complete the third weaving, which shifted, then stabilized, allowing the second wave of energy to be let loose. A “thump” told him his source had fainted from exhaustion-something confirmed by the sudden half of the mana flow.

 

*

 

“A DARKLORD!” Ka’al hissed between his teeth. The prisoners would pay for this, summoning a Darklord into his prison-mind. A black sword flashed, and the Dominion slipped into a battle trance to face his kind’s Arch-enemy. The dance began, swords flickering in the darkness, tentacles grappling.

 

*

 

Bracing his hands against the shaking ground, Valdar held back a cry as the illusion he had summoned was torn asunder to become reality in the dream of the keeper. The two gigantic forms now battled each other in truth. The third weaving should begin anytime . . .

 

*

 

A shadow in the gloom, and a rush of air was all the warning the two occupants of the tent had as the body of the Dominion crashed down upon them. Roaring in triumph, the Darklord plunged it’s black sword deep into the Dominion’s chest, drinking it’s soul as fire burst from the fiend’s very skin in exultation. Ichor flowed around Valdar as he struggled to push the head of the Dominion off him.

 

Spasms shook the dying angel, and Valdar found himself staring into a pair of large, silver-grey eyes. The Dominion’s eyes harboured a question, the only question he could ask as he lay dying in the prison of his own creation, too weak even to will himself out of it.

 

He wanted to explain, HOW he wanted to explain-that it was his fault that the angelic being was dying now instead of himself for “Crimes against the Lady Pain”, how he HAD to discover the source of his dreams before they drove him to destroy the land he held dear.

 

*

 

The light faded in the eyes of the Dominion-trapped, to the last in the nightmare that took flesh and blood in the combined minds of the three keepers. Valdar continued to stare, even as he felt fingers tugging at his collar, and he was free.

 

*

 

A sharp pain to his cheek broke him from his mindless gaze. He blinked, and looked up at Shinnan, who had slapped him.

“WAKE UP!!” She screamed into his face, gesturing franticly at the Darklord, coming out from it’s blood ecstasy following the death of the Dominion. In the distance, the eyes of the dead angel still seemed to be following him. She slapped him again, this time on the other cheek. He shook his head to clear the ringing sound in his ears.

 

The Darklord spoke, flames dancing where eyes should be. Yesss . . . puny souls, I shall take you back to my blood lord, and-

Whatever trance Valdar was in broke at that point, as the fiend, normally found in some of the lower hells, reached out for him. Still, in the background, he seemed to hear his teacher speaking . . .

 

. . .not like the Dreadlords, and other soul-thief’s. The Darklords don’t CONSUME souls, as you would normally expect from their genus. Faithful, to a fault, Darklords are one of the most powerful embodiments of the side of Evil-Law . . .

 

Chunks of dead soil flew about the pair as the black sword clove the earth to their right, and Shinnan dived under an outstretched claw, belt knife drawing corrosive blood. Stumbling to her feet, she pushed Valdar forward, in between two stone columns as he slowed to help her. Touching the stone on his way through, Valdar altered the minor mana field about them, and they collapsed on the Darklord as it lumbered through, shouldering aside the rubble.

 

Evil-Law

 

The thought ran through him. It was significant, somehow, though his line of thought was broken for a moment, by another eruption of earth, and a savage bellow from the beast.

 

“The pattern!” Shinnan called from somewhere to his left, how far in the gloom, he did not know. “It needs a pattern!”

 

”Of COURSE!” he bereted himself. In their mad flight, he had forgotten that creatures of Law were almost unbeatable, given a pattern. He suppressed a twinge of guilt. For some reason, his teacher had drilled that lesson in particularly hard.

 

“This way!” he shouted over the din, and veered hard to the right as the sword descended again. The Darklord slipped on the soft, dry sand, and slid to a stop fifty feet behind them. Shinnan turned back long enough to shout several words of command, draining the last of their mana as a scintillating web of lightning enveloped the fiend’s skin, scorching some of it’s exposed flesh.

 

*

 

Roaring in rage and pain, it’s words filled with death, and eternal un-rest, the Darklord clawed it’s way to it’s feet, and resumed the hunt.

 

Retracing their steps, the dim light of the fallen angel’s wings, not yet gone out, marked their destination like a beacon. Tiredness, however, was beginning to catch up with them, and the distance between them and the Darklord began to close once more.

 

Shinnan tripped in one of the rents caused by the Darklord’s sword, and was quickly hauled to her feet as Valdar tried to gather his will to manipulate the void space around them. The wreckage of the third weaving, though disrupted, had functioned to some degree. The pattern of the pocket dimension had been rent by the brief manifestation of a portal, though blocked by the fallen Dominion. There lay chance for escape.

 

Stumbling forward-both trying to keep Shinnan upright despite her protests, and focusing on the body of the Dominion. Trying to cut through the thinning fog to the void, from which he drew his power, he never noticed the shadow looming over him until Shinnan screamed, pulling him forward.

 

The fog vanished as a long claw reached out, and the pair leaped into the blazing rift, leaving the Darklord to catch empty air while they made their jump.

 

-Edit: last paragraph removed-i never was very satisfied with how I wrote it. It was meant to give a hint of what happens next, but I shall re-locate that in a different form.

 

Text removed:

  The last thing Valdar saw before his mind was blanked by the light of the passing, were the dead eyes of the Dominion, forever questioning-

[Guest Valdar and Astralis]

ooc: final cut. . .really. . .im finally comming back to writing

 

Lets begin anew, shall we?

 

From one battle to the next.

 

No sooner did the physical battle end, did the battle for survival begin anew. Primal energies tore at them, winds of creation tried to tear them apart, flowing down to new planes being created as old realities died. So was the circle of creation and destruction, death and life.

 

This was not the void he remembered, cold, dark, and somewhat pretty too look at. Not at all like the raging maelstrom that surrounded them presently.

 

Valdar’s fatigued mind tried to focus on the lessons taught what seemed an eternity ago, pulling the very substance of the realm into his body and bending it to his will. His skin felt . . . alive with tingling energy as the mana streams sucked them away from the now-collapsing pocket dimension.

 

Behind them, the thought that held the pocket dimension in tentative existance wavered, then failed spectacularly. Even in his dreadful concentration, Valdar could have sworn he heard the fading shrieks of the remaining two Angel-kin as their minds were ripped away into the tide of insanity. Beside him, Shinnan closed her eyes, and swallowed hard. The prison collapsed inward, even as the fabric of the thought was torn outward-a paradox best left pondered over another day. The perfect sphere of the “Shell” twisted itself into a nameless shape, before fading into the chaos. Inky black smudges smeared the howling maelstrom surrounding them momentarily, before dispersing into the elemental riptide. The essence of the prison boiled away into nothingness and then was gone.

 

There was no point lingering anymore. Already, great tears were appearing in the fabric of the void, from which a great number of winged creatures were entering the astral realm. The weaker beings were torn away even as they mindlessly entered the rift, blasted into oblivion and carried away to become part of the younger planes while the stronger one’s brushed aside the necessity for reality about them.

 

Even as Valdar focused his will to propel them away from the small army gathering at the site of their jump, one of the winged beings, be they angel or demon-kin, pointed their way. His heart sank-it had taken them nearly all their efforts to thwart the dominion, and dreadlord in turn-what chance did an elven mage, and an bare-novice planewalker have against the gathered might of Sigil?

 

”You’ll never take us alive! NEVER!”

 

Valdar jumped at Shinnan’s defiant cry, even as he felt her gather her will. A bolt of lightning connected her raised hand to the nearest demon momentarily, arcing from one being to the next until the small hoard was encased in sheet lightning.

 

The lightning died and the creatures laughed even as they spiraled deeper into the storm.

[Guest Valdar and Astralis]

Pain. It seemed ironic that the angelic beings were capable of producing as much pain as their demonic counterparts, but they did. Waves of torment racked Valdar’s mind, buffered only slightly by his half-completed sphere of psionic-reflection, only half of it accompanied by the cackling glee of beings dedicated to chaotic destruction.

 

Valdar’s mind tried to run away, to escape from his screaming body. Coherant thought was washed away, leaving the dregs of physical feeling and tormented emotions. Mentally reduced to the state of a child in pain, he reached out . . .and encountered another mind.

 

It was an ancient mind, recalling the birth of many planes. One dating back to when the foundations of mighty Sigil itself were being poured, and the final edict of the elder gods at the moment of it’s creation. What was it doing here?

 

The thread of connected thought snapped, and Valdar’s mind and body became one again, the torment doubling once, and again. And then abrubtly stopped. A shadow passed over the two escapees.

 

The mind connected again, for a moment. ”Run, foolish mortals."

 

***

 

The guardians of Sigil never saw the Astral Behemoth approach. The twenty league long beast smashed through their elaborate formations even as their cries of triumph turned into calls of warning, and finally shrieks of terror.

 

"Fly mortal, your path is yet long. I am Aelud`Kan. Remember me!”

 

Flaming blades cleaved into hardened scab-flesh, and icy shards shredded dead skin. Gaping wounds opened, and clouds of ichor leaked into the void. A massive maw opened, sucking a half-legion of Demons to their unenviable doom. Tentacles half the diameter of a world lashed out and cracked, snapping Angel-kin into expanding clouds of holy blood.

 

Throughout the debacle, massive parasites, feeding on the dead skin of the creature detached themselves to maul the fallen and injured, frenzied at the feast.

 

The survivors fled back to reality, trailing a cloud of blood that hung briefly in the torrent of mana.

 

Valdar only saw half of this, his mind trying to return to some semblance of sanity. Desperately, the elf tried to rebuild the battered protective shielding about himself and Shinnan. Only then did he realize.

 

Shinnan wasn’t by his side.

 

Wildly, Valdar turned this way and that, trying to locate his friend. Nothing. The raging light bleached out everything beyond a mile, and the Planewalker was at his limit.

 

He had been carried further away from the prison-dimension than originally thought, though distance accounted for little in this place. Jagged spheres of half finished worlds dotted the chaotic maelstrom.

’Perhaps Shinnan escaped into one’ he thought.

 

With the last ounce of his energy, Valdar twisted the fabric of the void to slam headlong into the nearest opaque mass. A moment of pain and his cheek felt wet grass under him before the world swirled into darkness.

 

The search would have to continue another day.

[Peredhil]

I had forgotten these gems.

 

When I first read Robert E. Howard's Kull the Conqueror, I had a 103 fever. Whenever I think of Kull, I have a bitter-sweet painful pleasure aura to tinging the edges of Howard's writing.

 

These posts give me some of that pleasure-pain feeling. They're so dark in places - and yet so compelling to read the next.

[Valdar and Astralis]

Valdar blushes to the eartips

I've not forgotten it, really!

It's just that I don't do writing, writing really does me. Threads lost are hard to re-grasp, and it's even harder when one has many threads. . .

[Merelas]

Merelas points, tapping is index finger on the scrolls before him...

 

This is good. This is good.

[Valdar and Astralis]

-Restarted 4/1/2004

 

And then he dreamed, dreams of the mad.

 

"Thank you! Thank you my lord!"

Weeping with joy, the Archangel cradled the empty spirit shroud against his chest. A torrent of newfound emotions rushed through his body, flickering wildly between terror, happiness, worry and joy under his master's steady smile.

 

He had been chosen. Out of ten million Archangels, he had been chosen to bear the highest honor possible in the ranks of the celestial host, the right to bear a soul. Only heralds, or hands of gods were given such privilege, bestowing power on its bearer sentience, and emotion to act in compassion instead of a blind sense of honour and justice. The gift had a price, however. No matter how indominatable the will it can be twisted into darkness, unleashing an avatar of cruelty and sadistic terror through which an evil god may touch the living world directly.

 

A long moment passed in silence while the Archangel wept before his master spoke kindly, "Do you know why I brought you back, Tarsanis?".

He shook his head mutely, knowing fear for the first time as he recalled his last moments, angelic body breaking under a stinking tide of souls condemned by the great judge to eternal damnation. Then mind slowly grasping the concept of freedom, a question rose.

 

"Master, why was there no help? The beacon was lit a week before the prison became unstable."

 

A shadow passed over Saldan's fair face, and Tarsanis faltered. No longer a mindless servant but a willing companion, old habits were hard to break.

 

"The watch was not kept, and there was none to be sent. The others had forsaken me, those who yet lived, and you are the last of my faithful."

 

Tarsanis gasped, wild horror rising up his chest. "Betrayal? The kin turned against you?"

The god nodded tiredly, and the Archangel felt hot anger for the first time, knuckles growing white in fury as the spirit shroud crumpled to dust under his grip.

 

"They will PAY!"

 

Saldan smiled wanly. "I can no longer touch the living world. The alliance is broken, and I am powerless."

 

"Then send me, lord. Let me raise thy standard, and crush these traitors!"

 

"All in due time, Tarsanis, all in due time. . . come, there is much yet to do."

 

Another wild surge of ecstatic adoration, and a very confused elf awoke under an uncertain sun.

 

***

 

Even the air felt unsure, and a mere breeze made reality shimmer. This world felt. . . fake. Incomplete, but already teeming with life. A simple stunning spell had very nearly torn the young magical field of this world, but more importantly, brought down dinner. Valdar had not risked unnatural fire, and lacking any knowlege of woodcraft, settled for tearing the bird of indiscernable origin apart with his teeth. If he got back to his world, he swore, he was going to learn to camp and cook. Leaving his body to the more mundane task of chewing tasteless meat, Valdar willed his mind beyond the walls of this reality and into the beckoning Astral.

 

Adapting quickly to the psionic mindscape of the Astral, Valdar returned to the site of last. . . night's? battle. Almost all physical evidence of the brawl had long since been washed away, but the cerebral smell of mortal blood in the ether led him away from the main battleground. Shinnan had been injured here. Quickly brushing away several aggresive scavangers, the trail led to a small cluster of half eaten Angel corpses, and ended.

 

He blinked, and backtracked a moment. After being separated, she had fled this way with injuries, turned and slain her pursuers, and then. . . vanished? The path she had taken was plain, and Valdar stood a moment at the end before a small movement in the physical caught his attention.

 

Fluttering in the breezeless void, was a single leaf which he tried to grasp before realizing his body was back on some nameless world.

 

At least she's not dead. . .but where did she go?

 

He turned, and returned to his body.

Edited March 29, 2004 by Valdar and Astralis

[Valdar and Astralis]

The uncertain world shimmered, and Valdar awoke just in time to see a huge tusk descending on his unprotected head. This blow he barley avoided in an unnatural burst of speed, ignoring the horrible tearing sensation in the surrounding reality. He blinked a moment in confusion and leaped backwards with the same graceful movements, trying to classify this creature. Boar tusks, angel wings, insectile. . .head? It came crashing at him again and this time Valdar formed and let fly a rune, which hissed through the air to burn spitefully on the creature's thick hide. Enraged, the thing lashed out with a previously unseen tail, catching the elf in the arm despite his speed.

 

. . .ok, scorpion stinger-and I'll need to take a look at this later

 

Was there any weapon this creature did NOT have? Valdar stared in astonishment as it unfurled two gigantic crab claws from under it's wings and snapped them angrily. With some regret, the elf readied his own defenses--as much as he did not wish to destroy this world, if this creature was from the void as he suspected, it would mereley grow in power if he stepped outside. Green runes slowly resolved out of the ether, slithering around the translucent sphere surrounding him and his hands began to glow with power. The monster came again like some multipurpose walking nightmare, and Valdar stepped inside it's reach to touch the creature while his runes broke away to stop the claws. Screeching in pain, the creature fell back at the burning fingers raking it's flesh, leaving only the bleeding wound to remind Valdar to sidestep before-

 

-The stinger smashed into the ground, throwing up a gout of earth as it did. Now he charged with a shout, green runes flashing yellow in an instant to flay the beast as the apprentice touched it again and again, this time wielding holy, and hellfire in either hand. Again, it fell back but on one side only, ignoring the hellfire and taking a chunk out of Valdar's shoulder.

 

And then, to his suprise, it pulled off the mandibled helmet, revealing a vaugeley human face, however vauge drooling maggots and decayed flesh made it.

 

Aha, a minor demon of some sort. . .or lost soul

 

A shrudder of forbedding ran through the elf's body, and he wondered why he thought that.

 

And then the thing spoke, like the last sigh of a collapsing corpse.

 

"YIELD, SLAVE."

 

"Who are you?"

 

"YOU ARE NOT ME, BUT YOU ARE MINE"

 

Well, that was enlightening

 

"LOOK CLOSELEY. YOU KNOW ME. I WAS YOU."

 

Valdar did, and a flood of half forgotten dreams flashed through his mind.

 

“Tarsanis. . . What hath thee done, child?”

 

The autumn leaves were falling in Dal`Morath, only not from Ti'Lauraene, the Mother Tree when Lauraeth stared down at the fallen angel amid the dancing shadows. Her once gentle face was now stern, and tired also. A great war had been fought, and the victors had returned to find their homes broken by an unholy scourge lain by a once-hero to the alliance, one long thought dead, but returned under the shadow.

 

And the longest shadow lay on the once fair lands of Laurae where the leader of the scourge and his army of dammned sought to return his master to the living world.

 

“What hath thee done, child?” The ancient face demanded of him. He moved unconsciously, calling on dark masters to aid him.

Nothing. No rush of power, no gathering presence.

“Have ye truly forgotten so much . . .”

Already blinded in the blazing light, the fallen Archangel never saw the ground open up around him.

 

He fell forever.

 

The mind flickered, and returned to the battle.

 

"Tarsanis?"

Edited March 29, 2004 by Valdar and Astralis