This is actually a story from an old EQ character of mine. I thought some of you might get a kick out of it. I will relate what I can recall of my passage to my current state. It must be kept in mind however my recollections are fragmented, largely do to this malady inflicted upon me.It has stayed with me since my birth into this naked night time world of the Dead. My life has in essence been consumed with studies among the Dead. Service to the Dark Creator, service to this ancient malignant empire. There is not a time I can recall well that I haven't been haunting these unhallowed halls in the Lodge of the Dead. Born with this malady cleaving into my breast, stealing my hope as well as my breath, I was released into the harsh purifying care of the Dead. It mattered little to the Matron and Patron of my house, if I survived or not. If I did crumple under the weight of this affliction I could still yet serve as a risen vengeful undead soldier of the Father. My house did not wish to endure the chain of a sickly child. It was only the proclaimation of the High Priestess that saved me from the sword. She swore vehemently my malady was in actuality a blessing, a mark from Innoruuk. With great displeasure my parents agreed to spare my worthless life, giving up their responsibilty for me and commending me to the hands of the Dead. My mentor these years has been one, Xantoryn, a vicious and cruel Teir'dal even for our stripe. His spider like fingers, his voice as cold and harsh as his nature, are forever about me. He lurks near the evanescent flame of my life, watching, waiting. I can not recollect all the lessons he has imparted to me. They are fearful flitting shadows that sometimes well up in my mind, a haunting agony that causes me to fear and respect him at the same time. What will become of me? I know not. I clinge piteously to life. This malady that gripes me from time to time ever stokes the fire of rage with in me, for it is a constant reminder to me, I fear death. I do whatever it is that I must to continue, and can not for the life of me, tell you why. These maledict magics I have mastered can ease the pain for a brief time. It is sure sublime ecstacy when I draw the living spirit from another. My pained breath, my fever, the grip of this thing on me, is abated. I loathe this affliction, this constant reminder of my will to live and my fear of death. Some perhaps have the luxury of health to fancy themselves brave, fearless. I have watched my prey flee the reaping power of my magic as I rended their succulent essence from them. In those last moments there is no bravery, no anger, the sole emotion is blazing desperate fear. **************************************************** Two weeks of my life are lost. I can not account for them. I returned to myself after slaying a wandering halfling to appease the slicing affliction that possesses me. Held almost in a gentle embrace, I then let him drop from my arms with a dull distant thud on the wet nektulos ground, an empty husk devoid of anything. The throbbing in my head subsided, my breath came with wonderous ease. The blackened pregnant skies gave birth to thunder, and the rain began. I listened to it, standing there, non plussed, wondering where I had been, what I had done. The wind cut through the trees shrieking wordless, not of death, but of life, under this night sky. I would live, and I would prey. I turned my face up to the midnight sky letting the cold rain strike my face. It was at once pleasing as it was discomforting, an odd mixture, much like this thing I called life. Among the vengeful dead, the hungry wolves and bears of this black fey wood I felt at home. Instinctively I began to make my way back to Neriak, Corporal J'Rais, on forest patrol, nodded to me as he brushed by. I returned his nod in like manner, words were un necessary. Dread filled me as I passed through the silent halls of the Dead. How would I account for this time, my deeds, to my Master? I froze, as if by thought, Xantoryn, appeared. He studied me quietly, stepping closer to drink in my every feature. Without a word he suddenly whirled away from me and left me standing there, mute with fear. My thoughts turned to sleep, with the pain temporarily at bay, rest soft and sacred was what I needed. In my quiet small room and study, I retired. So comes the night, its obsidian light, to carry me away. Perhaps I will dream, perhaps lost fragments will return within me. All these memories, dreams and terrors, what is conjured delusion, what is fact? I have no answers, only that my will to live, is yet still stronger than my need to die........ Part II I found myself in the hopelessly drab and mudane East Commanlands, seeking prey on which to further develope my skills with practical application in the field. My surroundings were only bearable because I had chosen to make the venture in the velvet embrace of the night. Still to my displeasure daydwellers scurried about me, sometimes halting to view me with a curious pensive gaze from a distance. I stoicly ignored their cautious interest, much annoyed and uncomfortable at the attention. As I rested from the recent brutalization I had inflicted upon an unfortunate kill, bone slave nearby, a voice drifted over me. "Tunare's light be upon ye, Sister." The tone and the quality was rich, smooth, masculine. I stood bolt upright dropping my grimoire upon the earth in my haste to arise. How dare this imbecile direct rhetoric at me! "Sister?" I hissed in a soft sibiliant manner. I trembled slightly as I felt outrage welling up from within me. "Your *****, she can do nothing for me." The Koada'dal's handsome cool features immediately flushed as indignation and insult stung him deeply. With a resolute sigh he calmed himself, bringing his anger under control. "Your words, as well as your impotent rage, can not touch the most Holy Mother." The empty headed flat confidence of the Priest struck a cord in me, only serving to further draw out my growing smoldering hate. "Imbecile" I snapped. The anger rose, lapping up within, filling me until I overflowed. The searing pain of the wicked malady pierced my breast sending me to my knees ,eyes squeezed shut, desperately gripping the front of my robe as I coughed, wracking spasms tearing through me. "You are your own worst enemy, Shadow Sister" The Dal continued. "If only your wounds could be healed, perhaps you would see more clearly." I stood slowly smoothing my soft ebon robe with a whisper. Producing a fine delicate cloth from my robe I wiped my blood flecked indigo lips purposefully. "You can not heal these wounds, Fool. The most proficient and honored of the Dead can effect nothing for me." He shook his head, then rubbed his strong chin. "Actually I had in mind the wounds your Father placed upon you, with the lot of your creation. Nothing is beyond the Holy Mother..." The rage and indignation suddenly exploded within in me, with a hoarse hateful shriek I lashed out at him. He intercepted my viciously aimed blow with his strong grip. His clear blue gaze locked with mine, then suddenly he softened, releasing me. He bent low before me offering one side of his face. "Go ahead" he insisted. I pressed my lips in a hard line then smote him solidly across the side of his face with the back of my hand. He righted, still poised, yet unmoved or disturbed by my assault. "Feel better?" I whirled away averting my eyes down to my tome, I quickly snatched it up. I heard him kneel behind me, he began to rummage through his travel pack. I cast quick surreptious glances to him as he produced a small wooden bowl. Placing it upon the earth he then filled it with clear water and a pinch of herbs from his belt pouch. He picked it up, proffering it to me. "Here" he said quietly. "Drink this" A sneer curled across my dark lips as I dropped my grimoire yet again to smack the small cup from his hand with a scathing blow from my arm. "You seek to poison, ME?" I raged hotly. "I am not so simple as that, Dal" He recoiled briefly suprised at my outburst. "It is a herb that can ease the pain in your chest, well known among Druids and most Healers alike." I felt an odd uneasiness spread over me as the temptation took hold. "Relieve the pain?" I whispered, half to myself, half to him. He nodded sharply. "Make another" I drawled. His face flushed, he was momentarily offended by my command but quickly recovered. "Aye, I shall make another." Purposefully he walked over retrieving the same bowl from the ground, rinsing it out, then setting it before me, he repeated his concoction. He held it out to me, his clear blue eyes watching me intently.I rose the cup to my lips and could not master myself to drink it, surely it was poison. He watched as I brought the cup down from my lips quietly. He remained silent. "Let me attempt something for you." He began tenatively. "I can try to heal this thing that seems incurable. The worst I can do is fail" Conflicting emotions raged in me as I studied him warily. "The magic of the Mother won't change you or 'corrupt' you" he continued sensing my unease. With a rush of hope and half of desperation, I nodded to him. He began to invoke his magic when abruptly he halted and swore. " Holy Mother how can that be?!" he exclaimed his eyes wide, his face a mask of shock. I was immediately alarmed at his demeanor. What was this fool rambling about? What had so dumb struck him? "You.." he ventured. "Yes?" I insisted. "You.." "Out with it Daftling!" I snapped. "You do not have a soul..." his words were soft, confused, anguished. Icy fear crawled up my spine to settle at the nape of my neck. I ceased breathing as the full implications of what he stated rang through me. It couldn't be so, such a thing was impossible. I sought desperately to deny it, to push the awakening horror from my mind, but the truth of it was undeniable. I broke, delirious. "You LIE!" I shrieked. Completely overwhelmed, at a loss, he stepped away from me. Suddenly something horrid and abhorent began to spread across his face. Pity. Warm tears spilled down his face as he silently gathered his things. "Don't you..." I sought to continue my rage, my voice cracked, I dropped to my knees in the baneful embrace of my mark. The painful coughing racked my frame, as I heard him quietly retreating. "Pity me.." my breath rattled in my chest as I hungrily attempted to gulp in air. I twisted my black gloved hands down digging hard into the earth. I can not describe accurately the icy mantle of sorrow that alighted upon me. When I was sure he was well out sight, utterly gone from me, I bowed my head slowly and wept... ***************************************************************************************** I wandered for an indeterminate period of time. My fragile sanity was at this point, most surely broken. I alternated between periods of weeping and quietly muttering to myself trying to pierce or dispel the awakening horror within. Venturing through the rising cold night mist of the black fey wood I sometimes whimpered in fear and sorrow, other times I rambled incoherently in my aimless wandering. To grasp the staggering implications of what the Dal had said seemed impossible to me, however, over the hours, I gradually began to accept my twisted lot. What of me now? I was truly utterly lost. Answers, though if they could be provided, would be known by Xantoryn. Why had he not spoken to me of this before if it was so? I would go to my malignant Master and I would question him to dispel the lies of the Dal from my heart. The Dal's explanation could answer the matter of my fragmented memories and thoughts. Without further delay I made my way for the Lodge of the Dead. Approaching Xantoryn quietly in his study I attempted to master myself to pose the question to him. How could I? Considering the source of the revelation, and his already obvious intent not to inform me. I decided rest was the answer. I had been addled and unbalanced by a most clever foe. I would regroup and approach the entire thing a new. The simple Priest, his machinations would fail on me. In my quiet room and study I desperately sought sleep to come. No amount of will or reason could undo my tumultuous mind. Dancing fears whirled about my head, their sinister intent unresistable by my weakened mind. The dark heavy door to my room creaked open. Chills raced down my arms as I knew there could be only one such visitor. Xanthoryn's black robes rustled and hissed softly over the floor as he stalked towards my bed. I gathered all my will and control, dearly hoping to feign sleep properly. I could feel his gloomy maledict stare as he watched me. I screamed within, dread and agony filling me as the back of his hand, lighter than the breath, brushed my cheek with curious affection. I repeated the mantra over and over within me, willing him to go. For what seemed an eternity he hovered over me. Finally, gratefully he left, softly my door clicked shut. When it had closed I recognized, I had not been breathing. Morning came, I had slept a moment, if at all. As much as the fear of my mentor filled me I could not resist the urge to question him. Proceeding to his study I marched in, my heart hammering in my chest, surely it would explode. I clasped one hand to my chest and I spoke. "Master, I have recently had the most horrid accusation leveled at me. One Fool, had the lack of wit and imagination to accuse me of having not a soul." Xantoryn dropped a piece of fine parchment to his desk, standing and turning to face me. His face was a stern mask, filled with something beneath. Something that made me want to flee, perhaps to scream, but all I was capable of was mute silence. "Who said such a thing?" He raised an eyebrow intensely curious in my reply. "When I was hunting in the East Commonlands, an imbecile of a Koada'Dal.." His eyes widened as he stalked over to me, his rage evident in his demeanor. "Who gave YOU permission to fraternize with the slandering brood of the ***** Tunare?" I was terrified. I stammered unsure of how to reply. "It was unintentional, I assure you it will not happen again Master, the matter of this accusation.." "Girl..., Girl, Silence!!" His face twitched as his voice rose with each word, I knew surely he would strike me. I sprawled out on my back, my ears ringing loudly. "Who gave you permission to fraternize with the slandering brood!!!" he cried at the top of his lungs. He gestured at me with somatic intent, hissing commands to place magic upon me. I arched up off the floor wailing in agony as his magic tore deep into me, punishing every fiber of my being. "Who gave you permission?!!" he cried as his magics smote me again. He raked papers and all the gathered goods of his desk on to the floor, beset with a frothing rage. He turned upon me again, grabbing handfuls of my hair, he twisted my head up to meet his dreadful gaze. "You are the PROPERTY of the Lodge, Do you understand me??!" He shook me with violent abandon. "Do you understand me!" I gasped, moaning lowly, afraid to say or do anything. "Worthless abandoned stupid insolent , Wretch!" He spat his hot breath over me like a careless lover's seed. "You are an EXPERIMENT!" he released my head with a callous shove. "How much greater could the aims of the Father be served if our souls rested in his hands, but our immortal shells stayed here, ever vigilant, doing his work?" He ran his long boney fingers through his white silver hair with frustration. He whirled on me yet again. "You are my study, my work, my deed, my EXPERIMENT. You will not ruin all I have strived for! Whatever this cursed spark of will that is left in ye must die!!" he proclaimed with rising fury. "**mods 4 teh win!!1!** ye!!" His magics tore into me ,cleaving what of my essence there yet still was. "**mods 4 teh win!!1!** ye!!!" "**mods 4 teh win!!1!** ye!!!" Darkness............................ Loyal Member of the Dead "Skinless the dark shall scream, hoarse Her symphonies Like a Siren weaving song, from the lilt of choirs choking Where the vengeful dead belong..." Message Edited by Mephala on 12-11-2004 02:22 AM
nice story good job writing it when u first said that she didnt have a soul i was expecting something not as bad like the koadadal could not cast a spell on her because of a magic shield or something or she found out that she was secretly an avatar or a gods mortal form but okay nice story
Thank you. What I posted is actually the rough draft. I wish I still had the final draft, however it was lost when I had a hard disk failure some time ago. The heart of that character was the exploration of the egyptian concept of Ba' and Ka' or some might say soul and spirit. I thought it would be interesting to have a necromancer who needed the magic to actually live. The spirit drains, life taps and what have you or she would suffer greatly. What she did not know was she was indeed dead and brought back to life with only one of the spiritual essences within her. To me necromancer is a wonderful RP opportunity to explore all those great mysteries that plague and awe us all our lives. I took the concept of Ba' Ka' and infused it into this piece which another Teir'Dal necromancer of mine wrote: An Annotated Grimoire: Today has brought new understanding. I have always grasped the idea of the division of soul into Xi and Ci, but now it has reached a higher clarity. Xi. Xi I recognise as that force or part of the spirit that is eternal. The sloping right arm of the rune alludes to the meaning of 'celestial spirit'. This is the spirit of mind and thought, reason. When one dies and goes forth into the arms of the Dark Father this is the essence that makes the journey. It returns as many times as it must to learn great lessons, and will advance until complete. It is patient, wary and balanced. It is the soul seat of our clarity, and should be the guiding force of the being. Ci. Ci is not eternal like Xi and returns to ash and dirt when the Xi dies. Of course when the body dies both depart, Xi to the great unknown and Ci to oblivion. Ci is the seat of passion and force. It is impatient. It chiefly serves to fuel the emotion. Ci is largely irrational. It has an awareness of its mortality and because of such is often in opposition to Xi. It is concerned with being and absorbing as much as it can within its limitations. It is called the Ash spirit. Ci can be a useful tool but more often than not it unbalances and weakens the individual. The synergetic relationship: The manner in which the two runes can interlock suggests Xi as guiding Ci. That is the intended working. If one were to sit and observe a Wolf running Xi would be the fore legs and certainly the mind and eyes, while Ci would be the hind part, the rear legs, that which can lend driving force. Xi/Ci and the siphoning of thier essence: Xi: Can not be bound to by leaching, the eternal essence shrugs off such magic. It can be directly drawn however, with much effort. Some Ci is extracted as well, but the largest portion from a direct seizing of spirit energy in one shot is from the pool of Xi. Xi is identified as celestial energy so in order to correctly tap into it the somatic component of a spell casting must be done in a clockwise manner. Ci: The ash spirit is best drawn upon with a death bond between the Necromancer and the victim. Xi however is NOT leached like some Ci is taken when it is directly tapped. Xi in this fashion is superior to Ci. It is not difficult to tap into the fire of the ash spirit and use this part of the soul to fuel ones magic, or recovery. Ci is world energy, dirt or material bound. When leaching Ci from a victim the somatic component of the spell casting should be counter closewise. Xi/Ci and skeletal slave conjuration: Most of the time when a slave is created it is from the Ash spirit or imbued with Ci. Binding Ci to such a being that must serve creates an extremely violent and hateful slave. It knows it can not do as it pleases, it is in a horrid shell and must obey the will of a master. Still to be called up from the land to exist, for even such a purpose as this is better than nothing to Ci I suppose. The more powerful Necromancer calls forward and binds Xi. This is accomplished many times by a 'soul trap' or binding the essence to some enchanted object. This works best when the object was known or part of the person to be called. The danger with such being is that sometimes a Xi being can start to recall memories of their very last incarnation. They are much more intelligent, and cunning than the Ci. Eventhough bound to serve, it is possible one could create the demise of their master. Xi/Ci as to be used personally by the Necromancer: Xi: This is not complicated, the eternal soul essence must guide and direct the necromancer. The necromancer is obligated to meditate upon the Xi, to locate its missing puzzle piece in this incarnation. Ci: Ci can lend the power to the necromancers will, strong desire to her goal, fire to her hate. Ci must be sublimated. If the Ci essence and its nature is allowed to rule and guide the soul, what usually happens it a fast track of indulgence, and destruction to annihilation. We are united in His unhallowed grace, To rule through blood is to rule in truth- Even from the grave we shall conquer... *Stamped with the House Seal of V'Drin* Message Edited by Mephala on 12-14-2004 03:28 PM
