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Author Topic: An Adventure In Black - Chapter III  (Read 11870 times)
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Serpentfang
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« Reply #30 on: August 17, 2012, 10:17:25 PM »

Jarrox followed the squishies far behind, not wanting to ask for their help, but not willing to risk getting lost either. They arrived at a huge stone building, its door answered by a wrinkly squishie much like the one leading them. At the archmage's behest, the second wrinkly squishie bought out a metal key, which he used to open the huge doors leading to the library. The psyrpent stared open-mouthed at the vast collection of written lore within its halls. He had seen one like this before, back at home where the scribes of his people write and store knowledge for future psyrpents to peruse. It's sad that most squishie libraries do not have scrolls in his native psyrpent glyphs. Perhaps this library would have some of it.

He searched the dusty shelves for some lore with the familiar glyphs on it, but found nothing. Typical and disappointing. Psyrpents would not share what they know with races they don't trust. He was hoping to find something that can help him increase his psychic power to the point of being able to kill with nothing but a stare. Instead he was treated to dozens of books pertaining to cooking, recipes, dwarven beard maintenance and forging metalwork. He was thumbing through a book about herb usages when a particular tome dropped from one of the shelves. Jarrox picked it up and read the title: Women's Monthly Cycle and How to Prepare for it. What's that? Only the broodmothers of his race experience some sort of changes when they're about to lay their eggs; the other females do not. The psyrpent smiled. So they DO lay eggs afterall! Do they taste good?

He opened the book and the first page depicted a graphic image of a woman in her period, with an enlarged image of the affected part. At the first glance Jarrox's face contorted into a pained, nauseated, gassy, tortured, deformed look, like the one he had when he accidentally bit the bone of a spoiled beef leg and broke a tooth followed by a crippling stomach ache that forced him to throw up, screeched out a sound capable of breaking glass and the innocence of an unsullied mind alike, and shoved the book into whatever crevasse he could find on the shelves. The image... Was best left unspoken.
« Last Edit: August 17, 2012, 10:29:58 PM by Serpentfang » Logged

Gilith
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« Reply #31 on: August 29, 2012, 12:22:13 PM »

Gilith who was now moving his arm to test for the seriousness of the injury found to his disbelief that it was in incredibly better shape than before. He touched the afflicted area and found once again to his surprise that it hurt far less than it had moments prior to getting healed by the old lady.

He wondered at these strange events. But he could not place a reason for it. That is until he saw his employer. She had said something about a magical healing. Hmm I wonder. Could she have helped me? he thought to himself.

He guessed that it was most likely so.

When they approached the library he tried hard to ignore all of the commotion they were causing but he was doomed to fail as there was to much noise to possibly ignore. He flinched at every loud sound and especially at the gnomes tinkering and the lizard things unholy screeching.

He was so unsettled by the events that with his hand on his sword he stood guard by the door to stop any would be intruders from investigating into the noises to much.
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Aye, I've my fair share of scars. Perhaps a bit too many to be honest, decent sign of a careless man. But those don't bother me, they heal, and even if they don't heal right I've always found a way to deal with 'em. The ones I can see at least, the others...the ones inside. They aren't so easy to forget about, they don't heal like the others do. They might heal in a day, a week, a year. Or maybe some like mine, won't ever heal at all. There's no getting past these scars, you can't treat it, you can't cover it up, and you can't find a way around it. But, there comes a day, when you learn to live it, and you stop living in the past, so you can do what your able for the future.

Gilith
Alýr (Rayne)
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« Reply #32 on: August 31, 2012, 09:55:51 AM »

"Perhaps the library will have answers" was all the archmage had said to the flurry of questions that arose following presentation of all he'd discovered. He collected up the parchments and headed toward the library. Night was growing in Cemphiria, and the walk to the Cemphirian Library was aided by glowing orbs of light that arose like pale stars from the will of the indigo-eyed elf.

Tenvin Jolith could hear the shuffle of her robes as she walked, could feel the wind of her movement. She was a few steps behind him, and yet it always felt like she was a few steps ahead. Regardless where he seemed to be going, regardless where he was, since the time he had been a young student at Ximax, even when she was absent, he had always felt that the strange elfless was a few steps ahead, guiding him through nights like this one when gloom seemed to crowd the horizon and omen, to shadow the air.

They reached the library, and a few words with the librarian granted the group entrance into the grand halls of the Cemphirian Library.

The group passed through rows and rows of books. Cemphiria was one of Santharia's oldest cities, and one of the more prestigious--particularly in the opinion of Cemphirians. Over its history, it had amassed many, many books--and somewhere in the massive collection of unordered tomes, Tenvin suspected, was some information regarding the box and its host of accessories. Perhaps the journal of Selma Ocridge might be found among these dusky tomes, or the ancient accounts of the elder elves and the fragments.

Up the group climbed, through the stairwells into the upper echelons of one of the library's towers. An avid reader and frequent visitor to libraries in Xaramon and Vardynn, the Archmage had some vague idea where to look for the information they desired. They stepped from the stone stairwell through a metal door and into a large room whose center was filled with tables and whose circular wall was spoked with book shelves. Along the walls, old glass windows let in dim moonlight. The windows were open.

"If there are any documents regarding the box..." said the archmage as he settled his parchments on one of the wooden tables, "... they will be there. I seem to recall this section here might have had something about items from the fall of Fá'áv'cál'âr." He headed directly to one section and began to check the works there. "Was it this... no, not that one. Perhaps this one he--"

The archmage was cut off suddenly, and to look at him, he seemed all but frozen in place. His hand, gingerly reaching out and touching one of the volumes on the shelves, was still. His eyes looked placidly upon the tome, and even the folds of his robes stood unmoving. He was positively motionless. Suddenly there was the loud bang of the metal door through which they had entered slamming shut. And locking.

From somewhere in the recesses of the library came a hideous laugh--though not one altogether unfamiliar. "Hahaha... too simple," came a voice as slick and black as oil, and appearing out of the darkness between two book stacks appeared a familiar form: the shade hung about him like a brother, and his curly black hair could not hide the protruding horns. His degage manner spoke to his confidence and ego.

"A simple trapping spell; an archmage of earth has a lot of earth ounia," explained Defalgren as he gazed insouciantly at his fingernails, which could have been mistaken for talons. "When a trap set upon a simple book makes the immobile properties of earth suddenly still the host, earth mages are certainly the most defenseless." He looked to his trapped audience, then glanced briefly at the archmage. "Our mages coupled it with a confusion spell, just to help make it last. With an archmage's will, you can never be too careful. Hahaha. I would say it'll be at least half an hour before he'll be able to shuffle off the effects. Plenty of time to dispatch this sorry little group."

The demonic figure's eyes narrowed, and a satisfied grin teased the corner of his lips. There was almost something sadistically hungry in his eyes as he looked at the indigo-eyed elfess and her companions. "I'll leave you to your fate. But don't worry. I'll be back to pull the box and gems off your dead corpses. Hahaha!"

At that, Defalgren seemed to fade away, and suddenly out of the shadows between every stack of books appeared a form that looked like a shade slowly manifesting into form. Shapeless bodies became solid, muscular torsos. The vague adumbration of limbs became powerful arms tapering into blades. Indistinct heads slowly showed hideously vacant faces with bloodthirsty eyes.

Then all at once, as though of the same mind, the shadow-beasts rushed upon their prey.

[Please read OOC]
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Roy Tmofl
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« Reply #33 on: September 01, 2012, 09:51:44 AM »

Roy looked up from his writing and sprinkling only a small amount of a very fine powdery sand over his writting. He made sure that it would not smear when he closed the book. he did not however close his book as he saw some strange event happen. Or rather the lack of an event. The Archmage upon touching the book he was looking for froze instantly. Strange. What was so special about the book that the mere cover left him unable to move? Roy if he lived long enough to look back on this situation would not be able to stop himself from feeling like an idiot.

The demonic person they had been running from appeared. For the first time in a long while Roy smiled. for the first time in perhaps his life he was happy to be wrong He had assumed they would attack them in the night while they were sleeping or in the morning when they were unprepared. But now? Of all the times now was the worst. They were fully armed and on edge. So! Roy thought himself. The darkness finally comes out of the shadow! A poor choice of words to be sure. The demon finished his lecture on magic. Which Roy stored in his mind for use later if ever the need should arise. roy while a fool for being distracted did see the monsters attack coming slightly before it impaled him.

As soon as the demon was done talking Roy knew that he had simply intended to distract or intimidate them.

He dove from his chair to the left as an attacker would least expect him to use the least comon dominant side of the body for direction. A shadowy blade sailed through the area where Roy's heart would have been only moments before. In anger it impaled the table where his book lie.

How dare they even come close to endangering his book! Roy was infuriated. He had worked for years to collect all of the information he had in that book.

Roy who was leaning on his staf now caused it to flare with light. Not enough to blind his allies and slow enough so that they wouild be able to adjust to it but when he was done he looked at a very strange and well illuminated shadow creature. It once again slashed at him wih ts horrible dark blade/hand.

Roy backed up into the book shelves not knowing what to do. Did he strike a physical blow? Disrupt its carr'al? Shoot fire at it!? He didn't know but he would soon find out.

Roy pulled out one of his very rare material components that he only used seldom. A powdered burning stone. He had done a lot of things to his reagents. Most of what he did involved changing their shape, size, and form to be better used in different situations.

He pulled out a handful of the rare and powerful material and threw it towards the unholy creature charging at him. As if my magic it flew through the air at extreme speeds and even though it created a swirling cone shape it still smacked into the monster with extreme accuracy.

The creature was pushed back only a little. But just as Roy wanted it was covered head to toe in a very powerful reagent.

As the creature once again neared Roy it tried to plunge its blade into him. It lifted its strange immaterial arm backwards to hack down on him but got no further. For he was glowing red. Roy in feirce concentration with his free hand held outwards manipulated the fire ounia near him with expert skill.

He increased the influence of fire ounia within the burning stones carr'all as well as its properties of heat. It was a simple matter yet the heat was very intense. Roy did not however use energy on protecting himself from it.

The shadow creature began to glow in various parts until some it started to crumble off of it. Bits and peices fell from it as it grew brighter and became hotter. The parts that fell off fell like soft immaterial ashes into the floor where they could not be distinguished from the other natural shadows which occupied the area.

The shadow creatures advance was halted as his body beagan to vibrate with the effort of maintaining its physical form. Until finally it stopped. It was not defeated but there were large parts of it missing and a few holes could be seen inside of it.

Roy backed up now with fast steps until he hit the book shelf that was behind him. A few books fell from the shelves and onto the floor with a thud.

The shadow creature finally regaining its bearings started to drift towards Roy. Roy looked up at the creature. He was a little in pain from the massive amount of heat that had radiated off of the beast and was slightly off balance from running backwards into a bookshelf. This might have struck fear into the hearts of others.

But Roy's eyes were wide with a sort of excited glance. They could be killed! I may not have the time to do that again but I think I may be able to finish this one off. Thought Roy to himself.

The shadow creature was certainly slowed. His blade like hand hung meakly at his side and to say that he crawled towards Roy at a snails pace was to be generous. However he was coming.

Roy leaned heavily on his staff. Without it he would have barely been able to move. Roy turned his right side to the creature and used his left hand for balance on the bookshelf.

The shadow creature now almost upon him was struck by a strangely mighty staff blow. Roy struck with his staff and as he did so he increased the properties of animation in the burning stone on the top of the staff to give it a slightly increased amount of force. As the staff's light flared through the creatures body the rest of it turned into the same immaterial ash that simply melded back into the shadow.

Roy fell against the book shelf and rubbed his hand across his face which was very hot and a little red. Nothing that wouldn't heal over night.

Roy might have decreased the influence of the fire ounia in his carr'all a little or if he didn't feel like affecing himself emotionally he would have decreased the properties of heat within the ounia of his carr'all. But as it was. He had no time to do so. 

For Roy was attacked by another of the foul creatures who seemed quite dificult to kill.

This shadow creature was at its maximum fighting strength and charged at Roy with terrifying speeds. It lunged at him with a bladed hand and Roy only just managed to escape its unholy piercing. Roy ducked low to avoid another one of its attacks. This time he fell to the floor in order to avoid being slashed through the chest. The demon rasied its blade and plunged it down the floor. Rollling to the left and away from the book case Roy sat up and while his free hand supported him from falling over his other hand flew into the air above his head with his fingers bent and pointing towards the ceiling.

The shadow creature would have followed Roy once more but he was unable to. Roy had dumped the contents from one of his puches onto the floor where the creature now stood. Using the fire ounia found in the sulphers carr'all he called forth a great and massive fire. The shadow creature's arms and back arched backwards in a silent display of pain.

The fire rose higher and became slighter hotter. Parts of blue could now be seen it. Finally the shadow creature dissolved into immaterial shadow and fell back into whatever shadow was nearest it.

Roy remained on the floor panting and shacking. It took a considerable amount of energy to cast those spells but at least the demons were dead. Roy's flesh was now less red and burnt than before. He had now protected himself from the flames by lowering the properties of heat within his own carr'all's fire ounia. This also fixed his burnt face. Or at least for now.

When finally Roy was able to stand he pulled himself up using the table where he left his book on demonology. He closed it and then holding the book in his hand he made his way over to his staff careful to avoid any conflicts the others were engaged in.
« Last Edit: September 07, 2012, 06:19:55 AM by Roy Tmofl » Logged

Stupidity is also a gift from God, but one musn't misuse it.

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Deklitch Hardin
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« Reply #34 on: September 02, 2012, 11:50:32 PM »

Dek watched as the archmage became motionless and the appearance of the demon creatures in the library, they seemed to be formed out of the very shadows to Dek, and his mind shrank from that. Thinking about magic always made his head hurt. He looked around the group, before fixing his eyes on Rayne. The archmage may have been lost, but Dek wouldn't allow that to happen to Rayne as well. Gazing on the elfess, Dek had very strong emotions, he wanted to protect her, he wanted to make sure that she would be alright, he would rather have himself be hurt or killed than have anything happen to her.

A sudden pain down his left side ripped his attention off the indigo-eyed elfess. One of the shadow demons had moved up unseen by the young compendiumist on him and had sliced him with its blade. Dek's reflexes came to the fore at that point and he dodged back out of range of another strike from the creature, narrowly avoiding both it and a nearby table. Dek dodged and weaved, narrowly avoiding several blows by the creature as it tried to skewer him. Dek fumbled for the knife he should have had at his belt. A knife wasn't much, but even a knife was better than nothing, especially when faced with a creature that was trying to kill him. Then he remembered, especially when the . He didn't have the knife on him. He figured back at the inn that a weapon wouldn't be needed on a simple trip to the library, and so he had left it in the room to which he had been assigned. Dek cursed himself under his breath and reached for something. It turned out to be a book, Septimus Smallpiece's Book of Bawdy Verse, to be precise, and he held it in front of him. It probably saved Dek's life as the shadow-demon's blade-hands got stuck in it.

Dek let go of the book and stumbled backwards. He stumbled into a table that had a series of small containers on it. He picked the first one up, hefted it and tossed it at the creature which was once again approaching Dek, its blood thirsty eyes fixated on Dek. Dek was terrified, but he didn't get to be a researcher of the compendium, and a member of the Black Butterfly Rovers without having some street smarts, or the ability to act in the face of terror. Dek continued to throw things at the demon-creature, and then his hand gripped a quill. His dexterity and eyesight were still good despite his injury and Dek flung it at the creature without a second thought. Amazingly the creature wasn't able to stop it, and even more amazingly it too the creature in the eye. The creature howled and then vanished into smoke, and Dek, grinned despite himself. To no-one in particular, he said, "I guess that goes to prove that the quill is mightier than the blade."

Dek looked around the group of his companions, and hoped that none of them would need medical attention. Dek then nearly collapsed where he stood, bracing against one of the wooden tables for support. He pressed his hand against the slice on his side, recovering his energy... and his wits.
« Last Edit: September 04, 2012, 09:35:21 AM by Alýr (Rayne) » Logged

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Termat Geirskun
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« Reply #35 on: September 03, 2012, 07:18:50 AM »

Termat threw himself flat on the floor beside his trunk as an arm-blade whistled through the air with superhuman speed and wedged deep in the wood, only to be torn free with a flick of the attacker’s wrist. The brief moment of respite was all he needed, however, and when the shadowy figure came at him again he had rolled to his feet, putting two peds and a trunk between him and the demon, his hand leaping with a new-discovered instinct to a blade that wasn’t there. It sat in his trunk - terribly close, but oh so very far away.

The feeling of your average man of means when he is confronted with the fears of the majority are rather more insouciant than those of that majority. A comfortable living is oil poured on troubled waters to threats of hunger or shortage. Be that as it may, Termat was scared now - a wash of choking panic, a flash of blinding terror, and the thing was upon him.

It was fast, very fast, and Termat only avoided it by half-diving, half-falling to one side. As he moved away, he pulled his coat off in a fluid movement and bought a half-blink’s respite by flinging it in the creature’s face.  The bladed arms tore into it - Termat winced a bit at this - but the moment was enough to grab his sword.

Now he was fighting in earnest, and for his very life. As the strikes came, he relied on his natural reactions and strength to block, but the unwearying beast seemed to grow faster and stronger. After only a few exchanges, Termat pinned everything on one last, forlorn hope.

The blade sang through the air, straight for the side of the shadowy torso that dared attack them in a library.

The arm-sword sped in a humming, deadly arc.

The cutlass and the demonic blade moved in their own, independent, and yet dreadfully contingent paths.

Termat’s cutlass bit, and the force of the collision with the flesh formed of shadow made him stumble. The blade-flesh, on its lethal course, had blocked it, and as the hilt shook it dropped from suddenly numb fingers.

Termat stood against the bookcase. His back was against the end of a shelf, and the two wicked blades stood before his face. This is where I die, then, he thought. Thus ended Termat Geirskun, a dandy who thought to play with demons. A Ravenport socialite who thought he could kill a fiend with small talk and cravat-pins. And in that moment, before his death, it all seemed so ridiculous that he laughed.

That laughter stirred something in the beast. Though now it was but a mindless drone, yet in times gone by it had been a man, and before that a boy. The laughter brought memories, and it paused as it regained some individuality for the first time in countless centuries. It began to remember laughter - the laughter of other children, cruel and mocking; the laughter of other men, deep and scornful; the laughter of women, high, spurning and dripping with disdain; his own laughter, as he stood in a empty village, blood to his elbows, gore on his face, and the demon standing by to collect his debt.

The flat of the arm-blade descended with a sickening crunch on the young man’s head, and a swift stream of blood began to stain his cravat as he slumped to the floor.

He would not kill this one now. This one he would take for himself. He would enjoy stripping the shin from his flesh, and the flesh from his bones, grain by grain. He would enjoy punishing him for his laughter.
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Gilith
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« Reply #36 on: September 03, 2012, 01:55:01 PM »

Gilith drew his sword as soon as he spotted the foul creature who had wounded him he took a step forward. His fingers gripped the handle of his sword tightly. He took slow and deliberate steps towards the demonic man. He was almost upon him when the first shadow creature appeared.

Gilith shouted a curse and defended against a blow which had been sent in his direction. All of the sudden there was a bright light which flashed and illuminated the room. Gilith's eyes watered a little and he blinked to clear the moisture away. He could now see the entire room and it seemed that most if not all were engaged in conflict. Gilith could not see where the demon that had just attacked him went. But he could see that there were still plenty to kill. One of them had its back to him. Or so he thought. It didn't have a noticeable front or back to it. But it leaned forward slightly and it blade hands were held outwards away from Gilith.

Gilith jumped forward with his sword in hand and gave out a roar as tried to hack down his enemy. As it turned out the creatures back wasn't really to him. Or if it was it didn't matter. It's blades flew up in an X and stopped his sword dead in it's tracks. Gilith seeing what was coming next punched the creature with his injured arm. His face contorted in pain and his wound began to bleed a little but the deadly stab the creature had been prepared to execute was stopped and its strange fleshy darkness was thrown backwards at least a ped.

But it was on top of him in a matter of moments. Gilith fended off the creature for a couple of seconds until all of the sudden a strange object hit him in the face. His head was thrown to the side and as annoying as that was it saved his life. He shouted another curse as a black blade whistled by where his head had been only moments before. Then just as it slashed to the side and stabbed downward Gilith ducked and moved to the right. He would have moved backwards a little more but a raging fire was suddenly upon him. He was startled and moved to the side. But not as startled as the shadow creature who was even a little more burnt than Gilith was from the fire. As it raced back Gilith took this time to impale it with his sword. It went through the creature with very little resistance and then for good measure he bashed it with his sword until he could see nothing of it

Gilith grabbed his arm and put pressure on his wound. It hurt but the bleeding needed to be stopped. When it was he once again hugged his arm to his side.

The last few moments had been chaos to say the least. Everywhere he looked there was a fight or a wound or something trying to kill him! Fire and light flared missiles shot throughout the room. He couldn't find his employer and he did not know if the archmage was even alive.

He did see however the young man Termat suffer a grievous head wound at the hands of one of these beasts.

Gilith charged at the creature and hacked it with his sword. It was stricken to the side. While it was off balance Gilith hack downward at it with his blade. It was bent over now. Flipping his sword in a full circle going backwards he slashed through its head. Finally the creature fell back into the shadows.

Gilith leaned down next to the young man and took out some of his bandages. He gently put one around his head and even added a store of yahrle and miyu to it. If he complained Gilith did not hear it nor would he have heeded it if he had.
« Last Edit: September 04, 2012, 02:39:20 AM by Gilith » Logged

Aye, I've my fair share of scars. Perhaps a bit too many to be honest, decent sign of a careless man. But those don't bother me, they heal, and even if they don't heal right I've always found a way to deal with 'em. The ones I can see at least, the others...the ones inside. They aren't so easy to forget about, they don't heal like the others do. They might heal in a day, a week, a year. Or maybe some like mine, won't ever heal at all. There's no getting past these scars, you can't treat it, you can't cover it up, and you can't find a way around it. But, there comes a day, when you learn to live it, and you stop living in the past, so you can do what your able for the future.

Gilith
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« Reply #37 on: September 04, 2012, 11:54:23 PM »

While the archmage was talking, looking for certain books that might help, Irid wandered down one of the isles. She was looking idly at some titles, not entirely sure how much help she could be, when two things happened. The first was that the archmage stopped talking in the middle of his sentence, the second was that the door to their room banged shut, locking the group inside. From where Irid was standing, both the archmage and the door were hidden from view. She leaned out slightly, to look into the center of the room - the mage was on the other side, his hand extended towards the shelf and standing completely, unnaturally still.

This sight was the last conscious one for Irid. As soon as an as yet invisible presence laughed, she fell into her wolf consciousness, an effect that Defalgren seemed to trigger every time he was near.

She crouched low where she was, feeling that she was hidden enough. Her golden eyes observed the center of the circular room, where most people were gathered. She did not understand what Defalgren was saying, she could only hear the tone of his voice, which was unpleasant in the extreme - like it covered her in oozing mud, slick and slippery and inescapable. When the demon disappeared, she blinked. Enemies did not generally disappear into thin air. However, there was no time to think - if thinking was the correct word - as a movement in the corner of her eyes made her instinctively turn and throw her weight to the side. Just in time, as an arm ending in a blade landed quite near, obviously aimed for her back.

Taking a step or two back to stay out of reach of the bladed arms, she stayed crouched, growling at the threatening presence from the back of her throat. It was a warning growl - stay away or be attacked. As the shadowy form lunged again, she twisted out of the way and bit into its arm as it passed by. She tried to get a good grip, but before she could do so the other arm descended, and she had to let go and move out of the way of the sharp blade. She backed down again, until she was standing against a bookshelf. The shadow warrior, apparently convinced that he now had her at his mercy, approached slowly. However, he opened his arms to descend both his blades into her body, since she was not brandishing a weapon that he needed to block. It was the opening she needed to attack again. From her crouching position, her leg muscles worked and launched her into a deadly embrace with the shadow, with her teeth closing around its throat and biting down to crush its windpipe.

There was really no reason to assume that the thing even had lungs, let alone that crushing its windpipe would produce any effect. But she was an elf with a wolfish consciousness, fighting a warrior created from shadows. Logic had very little to do with any of it. Whether the thing really did have a windpipe and could now not get enough air into its lungs, or whether it was actions that would kill a human being that also killed these shadow warriors, eventually her teeth snapped shut and the shadow turned translucent and disappeared. She turned quickly to face any other shadow, but could not find an immediate enemy. Breathing heavily, she surveyed the room, instinctively grouping the people in it as either "pack" or "enemy". Since there was no immediate threat to herself, she took a moment to decide which of her pack was most in need of protection.
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Stat rosa pristina nomine, nomina nuda tenemus.
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Tak
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« Reply #38 on: September 06, 2012, 03:52:51 AM »

Tak was lost in his thoughts when the archmage was talking.  He couldn’t for the life of him figure out what this gem was.  His obsessive tendencies kicking in – Tak pocketed the gem, climbed off the table, and went in search for a particular set of books on unique and rare stones.  Tak had most of them memorized but it never hurt to double check.  As he looked through the lower texts – he almost paused to read an anthology on topography but pulled it half way out to mark where it was for later – he heard a laugh, eerily similar to the one he had heard in the forest where he first met his companions. 

Tak peeked out of his aisle and saw that man talking about books and traps.  He didn’t listen to too much of it as he ran over to his equipment and grabbed a few beakers and pouches.  Tak didn’t know who – or what – this man was, but he meant trouble.  Tak went back into the aisle to grab the book on topography when the demonic man said, ”I'll be back to pull the box and gems off your dead corpses.”  Tak looked back in the direction of his companions, how did he know about the gems… Tak half-finished his thought when he saw the shadow in across the aisle from him thicken.  He stood there for a moment, watching the beast form.  It was quite the sight – a body forming out of dark vapors, bladed limbs and all.  His excitement soon fled when he saw the thing charge at him.

“Oh dear,” Tak said – watching the beast leap onto the table he had been working on – smashing the vials he had left on the table.  Tak winced when it stepped on a particularly expensive and hard to calibrate light refractor.  The beast didn’t actually seem to notice Tak – or didn’t consider him a threat (being the size of a child had that effect on you).  He set the topography book down and pulled a pouch of Sparkfire from one of his many pockets.  He did a quick calculation in his head judging the distance from him to the beast – pinched a chunk of his fuse off.  In one fluid, practiced movement Tak light the fuse with his spark gloves and launched the explosive straight at the beasts face – where it hit with a dull thud then fell to the table.  The creature turned to Tak, took half a stride, then the sparkfire exploded – sending the beast toppling off the table toward Tak. 

His moment of victory soon turned to panic as he saw the creature scramble toward him – one leg missing it clawed toward him on its blades.   Tak didn't have time to ready another explosive so he did the only thing he could do, he turned and ran pushing through the books screaming into the next aisle.  Out of the corner of his eye he saw Irid pounce onto one of the beasts.  He didn’t stop – into the next aisle he careened into Gilith.  Not stopping to apologize – he went through another set of books.  The aisle was clear – but across the way he spotted two more of the beasts.  Hoping they did not see him Tak worked to combine some of the ingredients he had saved.  He looked up for a moment and saw one of the creatures stalking toward him, still on the other side of the table but its dead eyes affixed on the gnome.
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"There’s Nothing Worth Doing That Isn’t Worth Overdoing" - Tak "The Magnificent"
Alýr (Rayne)
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« Reply #39 on: September 27, 2012, 09:49:31 PM »

As the last of the shadow creatures fell back into the darkness from which it had sprung, a silence descended over the room. The air was musky from the dust stirred by the battle that had just past, but there was still something teeming. The air felt heavy and foreboding. Something was coming.

Out from the shadows, a beast arose. It was compact and dark, its body half-shrouded: a demon, no doubt, but one more powerful than they had yet faced. The mages in the group no doubt felt the power of its will, deep and forceful as thunder, though it did not speak. Rather, its presence seem to rumble through the hearts of every member of the group, so that even those with no magical inclination felt its power like a tremble through the heart.

It moved forward, though its form seemed insubstantial, inexplicable, ineffable. There was a glint of something sharp and black—like a scythe that seemed possible of even cutting down rays of light.

Deklitch stared at the beast with horror, clutching his wounded side. Then he glanced to his companions, and to the face of the dark-haired elf who was his friend. There was no wind in the room, but there seemed to be a breeze about her—something kind and soft that moved through the folds of her cloak and pressed back tendrils of her hair. About her face was that soft glow that most all elves had, but in her seemed uniquely enigmatic, lovely, and wise.

The boy’s eyes took comfort from the appearance of the elf, and he looked back filled with an unwavering desire to protect her and the others. He glanced to where a shadowy blade had impaled a table near Roy’s book, and with great dexterity, pulled it out. He clutched it in his hands and took a brace step forward, like a lingra prepared to pounce.

The creature seemed to breath through the shadows of the room. Its deathly-red eyes fell upon the young acrobat and narrowed, and it was as though the nightmare of the beast had exhaled terror into the room—but the boy stood strong. ‘I must protect her. I must protect all of them,’ he thought.

And perhaps it was bravery that spring from fear that propelled him, but he rushed forward. And there seemed to be a gasp, the heart in the throat, and a tenebrous dread that followed in the wake of Deklitch’s footsteps for those who looked upon him.

Whether or not the creature had haunches, it seemed to spring forward. It was all blur and blackness—and one blade that at first seemed to match the one held by the young acrobat. But as the velocity of each of them—Deklitch and the demon—increased, the demon’s blade grew, and in a flash it became apparent that, at the speed they both were going, Deklitch would surely be speared upon the dark blade.

There are moments that happen in the blink of an eye, exiguous moments that surge through one heartbeat and are gone.

All at once, at the point where Deklitch and the demon should have met, at the point where death should have come surely and swiftly to the Erpheronian, the indigo-eyed elf seemed to appear, moving swiftly as a silent wind. For those who saw her, her face showed little fear and no hesitation, and her eyes shimmered with magic. She lifted her hand to the demon, and at once there was a brilliant light where all three bodies—the demon, the boy, and the elfess—seemed to collide. It filled the room blindingly, a powerful magic that surged even into the darkest recesses of the room, as though a refulgent white star had suddenly kindled.

When the light withdrew, the demon was gone, vanquished by the power of the elfess. Deklitch was on the floor, bewildered but unharmed. And where was the elfess? All that remained of her were the robes she wore—with a hole in them where the demon’s blade had passed through her body. In the folds of tattered cloth lay a small paper bird.

Deklitch looked upon the robes, then touched them with trembling hands, then coming to clutch them desperately. He felt the tear where the demon’s blade had passed. Suddenly his breathing became as ragged as the tear in the cloth, and his heart raced with wordless sorrow that blinded him with tears.

Alýr was gone.
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Irid alMenie
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« Reply #40 on: November 08, 2012, 08:44:39 PM »

Something was happening. The warriors were gone, but the air was charged enough that it put the wolf's hair on end. She was pressed against a bookshelf, unsure of the situation and therefore cautious about her actions. When something did happen, it all went so fast that there was hardly a chance to react. A shadow, more powerful than the ones before, emerged. The aura of terror that emanated from it had her shrink back further - in her current state of mind, instinct was more important than reason or bravery, and instinct told her not to attack, to stay in a place where it would not see her.

Not all in the room, however, were governed by such instincts. One in particular, though she smelled the fear on him, charged the shadowy form regardless, heedless of his own danger. And then, suddenly, their leader had placed herself between the boy and the danger, and immediately after both leader and menace disappeared, leaving only the clothes she had been wearing. The atmosphere lightened, at least in regards to the vanished demon's influence. The disappearance of Alyr left a different oppression, a melancholy that pervaded the heart. Sensitive as she currently was to the mood in the room, she needed comfort as much as the people around her.

Stealing forward - quite different from her usual self-confident gait - she sat close to the crying boy, hoping to comfort him. She did not really make a sound, except for the little whine that escaped her throat. If she had been in her right mind, she might have tried to take control of the situation, but as it was she was in no position to help anyone.
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Stat rosa pristina nomine, nomina nuda tenemus.
Irid al'Menie
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« Reply #41 on: November 12, 2012, 08:55:59 PM »

Termat could not have said for how long he lay insensible, but as the intense blackness of total unconsciousness faded to a disorientated grey he caught flashes of noise and even, occasionally, a glimpse of movement or colour. All sensations seemed to come almost from another world; sounds were dulled, as if from a long way off, and each impression stubbornly refused to be fitted into a unified whole. The result was a series of disjointed noises, sometimes almost speech, and then an agonising flash of bright light. Even hovering of the edge of consciousness, Termat half-flinched away from it, and when the thrills of pain that sent through his skull had subsided, he found he could open his eyes, at last, and look around.

The young man - Deklit? No... Deklitch - was crouched by a pile of cloth, holding a bunch in his hand. One of the elves - Termat could not for the life of him remember her name - was crouched by his side, almost condolingly. There were no demons anywhere to be seen, but their group seemed to be in a state of near-universal shock. The young man...the elf...where was the other elf? Rayne? Alýr? He cast his eyes about, but they saw no sign of her until they alighted on that same pile of cloth. It was hued, he remembered, like her robes. And the young redhead grieved over them and the elf comforted him.

Gritting his teeth against the dizziness that swept up his body like a breaking wave, Termat forced himself to his feet. He felt blood on his face, saw it on his clothes, and realised he wore only a waistcoat over his crumpled shirt and bloodstained cravat. Noticing his shredded jacket on the floor, the details of his brief combat began to come back to him. Fighting not to reel, he stepped over to where the first two grievers were crouched, and, dumbly, joined them.

He saw a small paper bird amidst the folds of the robes. Wondering if someone would stop him, he wiped his hands and reached for it.
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Roy Tmofl
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« Reply #42 on: November 29, 2012, 07:45:46 AM »

"Wits about you friends. We wander around in this darkness blind. Let us travel somewhere safer where we are less lickely to be in danger. For truly we can gain nothing by staying here and perhaps we can even find out what happened to Alyre else where." Said Roy calmly and without emotion. Which raises the question of why he had even bothered to use the word friend at all.

As Roy spoke he quickly gathered his things and his staff which was still illuminate with a pale light. When he was finished speaking he started breathing very hard. The fight had taken alot out out of him but he was still estatic that he would be able to add new information into his book of demonology.

When he had finally gathered his things he made his way to the door and opened it. His light died out as the cold air and even paler moons light swept across the room. He held the door open for his allies and looked up as if in after thought and said to the group. "Oh, and somebody grab the archmage."
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Stupidity is also a gift from God, but one musn't misuse it.

Pope John Paul II

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