Guest Kasmandre Posted June 24, 2002 Report Posted June 24, 2002 ooc: This story started its life as an rp on the Archmage boards. Unfortunately, like many things there, it dwindled and died. I've decided to start it myself as a single-writer story. For anyone keeping track, this story begins where the epilogue leaves off. It also takes place concurrently with "Shadows of the Mind". ic: Terra. The very word conjures up images of vast plains and high towers. Of gods and Archmagi. Of heroic deeds and horrible atrocities. And every image in every dreamer's mind is different. For Terra is not the name of one world, but many. But let us focus on just one of these for the time being, a land also known as Diventeth. The land known as Diventeth has long been recognized by many as a point of spiritual convergence, a point where energies meet and clash with one another, where Good and Evil have fought on many an occasion, for the highest of stakes. And in Diventeth, in a wasteland known as Kimreddeth, on a mountain known as the Blighted Mount, the battle has been fought anew, and with far-reaching results. On the highest peak of this mountain, two figures survey these results. One appears to be an old man, leaning on his companion for support, but appearances can be deceiving. He is actually a member of a race known as Light Powers, servants of Aeternal Light, and blessed with abilities just below those of the gods. The other is dressed as a warrior, in heavy leather armor, and with two light blades sheathed on his back. For now, we'll let him be just that. They stare into a pit that should not be. Inside there is a blackness, an emptiness, so deep and all-consuming that it seems to have an life all its own. After an interminable moment, the warrior speaks. "What is that?" The Power closed his eyes and replied sadly, "That, is the Void, the space outside Existence. In destroying the Nexus and the Dark Gate, we punched a hole through the fabric of Being and opened the way to...to this." "What can be done?" "We must fight it. But to do so..." the Power then stood on his own behalf and took a step away from the warrior, and raised his hands in the air. "There are things I will need to prepare against the quest to come, you will have to greet them." "Greet who?" "You'll see." And with no further conversation, the Power appeared to grow misty and insubstantial. All around the peak, a mist grew. And through the mist, there seemed to be visions of places far away, of valleys and plains, of cities and wilderness. And in a way they were there, because the mist was a type of portal, reaching to other worlds, other Terras, and calling to those who had been chosen for this task. -------------- Kasmandre Initiate of the Pen Resident of the Old North Tower
Guest Kasmandre Posted June 25, 2002 Report Posted June 25, 2002 Waiting is always the worst part. Sitting in the dank foreroom, a man dressed in a long dark robe and fingerring a scythe made of bone had time to think this thought for the millionth time before the booming voice in the ampetheatre interrupted his thoughts. "And now, ladies and gentlemen, the moment that you have all been waiting for... the MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIN EVENT!!!!" A torent of cheers answered this simple statement. The audience, already warmed up by earlier bloodletting, was nearly manic with anticipation. "At the north end of the arena, weighing in at an amazing three hundred and ten pounds of pure muscle, the Almighty Smasher, Gorth!!!" Another wave of cheers rocked the ampetheatre as the man stood, readying himself for his own entrance. "And at the south end of the arena, weighing in at one hundred and seventy pounds, the undefeated gladiator champion...Lord Death!!!!" And the loudest cheers yet resounded as the door of the foreroom opened and the man stepped out, no longer feeling like a man, no longer feeling like a slave. He was now Death and the man across the arena was waiting for him. Gorth was an amazing physical specimen, standing at six foot four and covered with muscle. Death mused that three hundred ten must be an understated measurement as he noted his opponent's weapons and armour. Gorth was dressed in what appeared to be tattered leather but Death knew from experience that it hid strong chain mail, an addition that had become necessary after Death began slaughtering opponents within seconds. As for weapons, Gorth weilded two massive battle axes, undoubtably expertly forged. This was going to be too easy. Death threw back his arms, letting the robe fall open, reavealing only a pair of tight black trousers and matching light boots. With a voice too large for his five foot eight inch frame he bellowed, "Come, fool! Can you release me from this tedious life?" Gorth was apparently the excitable type. At the sound of Death's voice, he thrust himself forward charging with all his might. Death held his ground, only moving at the last moment. With a single fluid motion, Death thrust the blunt end of his scythe upward, landing a heavy blow before Gorth was within range to use his axes. Suprised by the sudden attack, Gorth staggered backward, blood leaking from his broken nose. Death didn't let up the attack. With a series of quick, economical strikes, he disarmed the slower Gorth and knocked him onto his back. Death swug his blade around, placing it against Gorth's neck. He paused for a moment, waiting for the cheers before finishing this. But there were no cheers. All there was was a confused murmur from the crowd. Death looked up and noticed something. A thick mist had begun forming all around him, hiding his surroundings. And then, something became visable through the haze: a mountain peak with a single figure upon it. More curious than anything else, the man known far and wide as Lord Death took one step and disappeared forever from the world he had known.
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