You do not have to be strong to be victorious. You do not have to be intelligent to overcome a trial. You do not have to be wiser than the ancients to find your way. Simply be yourself. You are what you are, and that is what's meant to be. You are what you are, and that is what's meant to be. A fierce storm raged over the torn plains of what was once known as the Dreadlands, the unsilenced wind howling with the fury of a rather angry banshee. Lighting bolted forth from the sky, threatening to strike those below. "Give it up, lizard! Your secrets will soon belong to my master! We know everything about you, your family, and dare I say.. your curses!" A frail-looking human bound in simple leathers struggled to be heard over the roaring tempest, his face covered by a hood, the symbol of a sun adorning the back of it. A robed figure stood in silence, watching the amassed army through the darkness of its robe's hood. Breathing heavily, the human wiped the rain from his eyes, though it did him no good, as the torrential waters bombarded the small band of Qeynosians mercilessly. He noted the silence coming from the robed figure, tossing his bow aside.. it was useless in the wild winds. A smirk formed on his lips, and again he yelled over the powerful winds. "Scared, are you? A shot through the heart should do the trick, eh? Heard you have some sort of crystal there keeping you alive! I'll bet a necromancer's heart such as yours will fetch a very large amount, hmm? Men, attack! Finish him off!" The platoon charged forward, swords and spears darting forward in hopes of finding a target in the robed figure. They found their mark... and went straight through. The men looked on in surprise, some swinging through the figure once again. The commander blinked in disbelief, his mouth hanging agape in a stupefied manner, unaware of the figure emerging from the darkness behind him. "You are correct. Unfortunately for you, my heart does not have to be connected to my body, but I doubt any of you will survive to tell that tale. Your little band has been bothering me for many, many years, and my clan has grown somewhat tired of it." The commander's look of dumbounditity turned into one of horror, as he slowly turned around to face the same figure as before. He looked over his shoulder, and back at the figure in front of him... once, twice... three times, slowly mouthing the words 'But... how...?' The robed figure suddenly lashed forward, grasping the man's leathers underneath his arms, lifting him high above him with an unnatural strength. The commander was helpless, staring into the blackened pit of the robe, an overwhelming sense of dread and fear washing over him as he felt his very strength leave him. "Let us see just how loyal your men are, hmm?" By now, the rest of the platoon had noticed what was going on, half surrounding the speared-through figure, and the rest advancing towards the figure and the commander. Unable to blink or move his head away from that dark pit, the human began to stutter helplessly. "Y-you have n-no i-i-idea of our uns.. unsw..." He took a deep breath, and shouted into the face of the evil before him, "YOU DO NOT KNOW THE MEANING OF UNDYING LOYALTY!" The human began to choke and spatter, blood mixed with bile dribbling down his throat. The figure lowered him down to face level, as the commander's skin began to turn a sickly yellow. "Do not tell me that I do not know what loyalty is..." Coughing and gasping for breath as his lungs began to decay rapidly, the human merely smirked, sputtering out two words before the liquefied remains of his lungs expelled forth from his maw onto the ground below... 'Shadow Guard.' The figure carelessly dropped the body on the ground, stepping over its rapidly decaying form, advancing towards the army. "That was years ago, longer than I choose to remember. I was betrayed.... by you." The figure pointed a gloved finger at one of the spearmen, a somewhat young boy with rust-colored hair. Chains began to erupt from the ground below him, spinning him wildly into the air, and pinning him to the ground merely inches in front of the figure. The platoon gasped, holding their weapons at the ready, but fearful if any harm should come to the boy, therefore remaining at a distance. "Ah, Neudak, it has been -quite- some time, hasn't it, you little traitorous worm." Uttering a single word that rang forth with such dark power as to cause the platoon to sink to their knees, a blinding light, followed by the sound of shattering, erupted from the boy. In its place was a grotesque, misshapen Iksar male. His scales were black as night, each one ending in a long point. A disformed limb hung on his left side, withered down to the bone, encased only in the frail coverings of skin and scale. His abdominal cavity had withered away all the way back to his spine, and his chest was sunken and withered as well. His malformed right leg was twisted in such a manner, as if someone grabbed his leg when he was a hatchling, broke it inward, and twisted it towards the inside. His face was terribly misshapen; his left eye socket emptied, having been dragged backwards to his ear-hole, a large horn jutted out from his snout, which had a rotted look to it, the extended nasal cavities quite visible, as if one were peering at a scale-covered skull. The right side of his face had a melted look to it, seeming as if he were made of wax, and someone held a flame to it. His two horns were twisted outward and forward, shaping the contours of his face. The only three normalities of this abomination were his right arm, left leg, and tail. "Ah, the face of Betrayal, at last. How long has it been since you last destroyed my clan's way of life, hmm?" The abomination sneered, a guttural sound erupting from his throat. "Too long, by my books. You forget, I am a part of the same clan, too!" "Then you have forgotten that you were exiled for causing this upon us all, hmm? Changing into that Tier'Dal female, coercing my brother to murder his mate, angering the ancestors, and sealing our fate for all eternity. You have thought this a victory for far too long, but look at what has become of you now, you monster!" The creature roared, ripping free f its bonds, and swinging at the figure, clawed hand connecting with flesh and bone, shredding the simple, black robe that adorned the figure. The hood fell back, revealing... a cadaver. Howling in rage and frustration, the malformed Iksar, threw the body aside, glaring around angrily with empty sockets. "You always were a coward, Likkorak! A COWARD! It cost you your position in that so-called guild of inferior soft-skins, and their demise! And while I assaulted it from the inside, you could only sit back and watch!" "And that is where you are wrong. Gone, they are not, and every one of them is living. You failed again, Neudak, to bring about your destruction of us." The abomination whirled around to face another male Iksar. His bright-green scales stood out amongst the raging torrent around them, the whites of his eyes a pinkish color, his yellow irisis boring into the deep sockets of the creature's in front of him. "That is right, you are wrong. It is easy to enchant many cadavers, controlling them all at once individually, and cast illusions over them." The creature remained still, its hoarse and crackling voice spilling out over the wild winds, "So... you protect soft-skins now? I would have thought better of you, Yellow-Eye." "Indeed, Neudak... No-Eye. You have ruined the name of Zeth'Arkiss for the last time. The Blackshade clan will never fall to traitors such as yourself." A sickening cackle erupted from the maw of the beast as it lumbered forward, approaching the other Iksar. "You forget... I have your curse, I CANNOT die, nor can YOU stop me!" To be continued...
I'm still a little confused as to who the main character of this story is going to turn out to be. Granted I'm 90% convinced as to who it is but I'm sure that in the next installment to the story that I'll have a better grasp on teh story. In the mean time I am enjoying your tale and eagerly anticipate your next post.
Atop the surrounding cliffs, a figure in plate-mail armor watched in silence. Occasional flashes of lightning would reveal the figure to be an Iksar female. Her scales were a mahogany color, rivulets of blue flowing in-between her scarred and burnt-looking scales, almost as if someone trailed ink through them. Her blood-red eyes narrowed slightly at the scene below, crouching down to better hide her form. "Hmm... cousin Neudak, eh? I've got my own score to settle with him... the one who murdered my brother." Drawing a rather large greatsword from behind her, she began the process of traversing down the twisting paths to the plains below with a grace unnatural of an Iksar. As she approached the figures, she absent-mindedly ran her thumb across a symbol carved into the pommel... it was that of two slash marks crossing diagonally over the symbol of the Sebilisian empire... five fangs, for the five original tribes that were integrated into Venril Sathir's opposing army. The abomination glanced over his shoulder, sneering slightly. "Ah, the Last Hope returns... Rescah does mean Hope, does it not? A shame about your parents.... it happened so long ago, and you were not even hatched yet." The words coming forth from her maw were so filled with spite, yet so unnervingly calm and emotionless at the same time as she replied, "You were aptly named, Bad Eye... you were hatched blind and deformed. A shame you resorted to such actions, thinking you could get away with your deeds." Neudak sneered, a rather grotesque action upon his face. He raised his good arm to the sky, almost asking to be struck by the pillars of lightening searing the clouds above them. "Five down... two to go. I wonder how this will end, hmm? Two undying individuals, fighting to the end of existence itself..." Narrowing her gaze slightly, Rescah spoke in that same tone of hers, "Two?" "You very well know that you can be slain by normal means, eh, vampire? Oh, right, not quite a vampire, are you? Never to see the light of day? Obtaining your father's bloodlust? May as well -have- turned you into a vampire. Now leave those with actual power to deal their dues..." The Iksaress narrowed her eyes as Neudak turned his back towards her. The humans could not even register what happened next, as she leapt forward with surprising speed and agility, swinging her sword with such a great force that the torrent around her was swept away. Metal struck scale, and her blade sunk deep into his flesh... but there was no response from the assailed. Struggling, Rescah pulled and tugged on her sword, trying to release it from its lodgings in Neudak's back. Black scale and flesh began to creep over the wound, sliding up the blade, creating what seemed to be a make-shift arm, yanking the sword away from the Shadowknight. Rescah could only stare as the sword came swinging at her in retaliation....
A voice rang out in the mountains of Kunark, following the inevitable destruction down below. Spells and arrows flew like falling birds, striking multitudes of targets below, most of them undead. Amongst the fallen were many humans dressed in the same garb, and one female Iksar. An ominous black aura, whose dark power could be felt all across Kunark that day, was the center of attention, a large, black abomination assailing the one cloaked in the darkness. The source of the voice was a tall, blonde Koada'Dal male, wrapped in a red cloak, which flowed in the breeze of the calming storm like silk. Agony and remorse were plain upon his fair face, and his voice still rang louder to the tune of a song someone taught him long ago... Axes flash, broadswords swing Shining armors’ piercing ring Horses run with polished shield Fight those bastiges ‘til they yield Midnight mare, blood red roan Fight to keep this land your own Sound the horn and call the cry How many of them can we make die? Follow orders as you’re told Make their yellow blood run cold Fight until you die or drop A force like ours is hard to stop Close your mind to stress and pain Fight ‘til you’re no longer sane Let not one darn cur pass by How many of them can we make die? Guard your women and children well Send these bastiges back to Hell We’ll teach them the ways of war And they won’t come here anymore Use your shield and use your head Fight ‘til everyone is dead Raise the flag up to the sky How many of them can we make die? Dawn has broke, the time has come Move your feet to the marching drum We’ll win the war and pay the toll Fight as one in heart and soul Midnight mare and blood red roan Fight to keep this land your own Sound the horn and call the cry How many of them can we make die? Axes flash, broadswords swing Shining armors’ piercing ring Horses run with polished shield Fight those bastiges ‘til they yield Midnight mare and blood red roan Fight to keep this land your own Sound the horn and call the cry How many of them can we make die? How many of them can we make die? How many of them can we make die? (Bastiges and darn are their normal words in the song, forums won't let us use those words March of Cambreadth by Heather Alexander)
In a darkened room somewhere in Freeport, a male ratonga lay in his bed. Patches of his ginger-colored fur were missing from his face, and what remaining fur lay there had turned white with old age. He lay unmoving, eyes closed, still as stone, the only movement being his rattled breathing. The door to that darkened room opened slowly, shedding light into the interior, glinting off of the ratonga's right arm, it having a clockwork design to it. His right eye opened slowly, revealing that he was blind, his left eye covered in a patch. A twitch, and a whirr, and he began to speak in a broken, mechanical voice, one worn down by time, and aided by the clockwork mechanism attatched to his throat. "Nalees? Ish that yous?" A smaller female ratonga slowly walked in, her healthy tan fur reflecting the light behind her. Her eyes softened in pity and sorrow as she observed the ancient ratonga in front of her. She slowly walked towards him, her red robe dragging along behind her. The ancient one slowly raised his left arm towards her, shaking terribly, and she grasped it gently in her small hands. Though he was ancient, he still possessed a flicker of the strength he once had as what those would call a street fighter. She spoke softly and quietly, but loud enough so that the ratonga before her would be able to hear. "Yes, fathers?" A rather intense cough later, he began to speak again. "Nalees... yous were.. very youngs when yous firsht joineds the Shadow Guards.. do yous remember thems?" Slowly Nalee nods, her eyes flickering slightly in the dim light at the memories. She was very young, only about seven or eight years old when she took on the oath. She was your typical innocent, adorable youth, always curious about everything. "Yes, fathers, I remembers." A rattled chuckle escapes his lips as he begins to speak again. "Silensh ish deadlys, Nalees... ash shomeones onesh told mes... it will eithers conshume yous, ors.. yous can fight its..." His coughing and wheezing grew worse as he spoke, and continued on, despite the protests of his daughter. "Nalees, I have liveds far longersh than any other tongash I knews... my times ish soons... but hear thish... my final lessons... whether or nots the odds are againsht yous... whether a hundreds oppressivesh men shtands in your waysh... yous must... must..." The ratonga struggled to finish his sentence, wheezing them out as the life slowly drained from his ancient eyes, looking at his daughter with love... and those words were: " ...alwaysh... fight for what.. yous believe ins..... sho says Kesk..." Tinted in blood-red chainmail, Nalee hid in the brush, blending in with the autumn foilage as she observed the struggle between the humans, the abomination, and the one she once called 'Uncle.' Her fingers slid around her blades, tightening their grip upon the pommel, her father's words ringing slowly in her ear. Long ago, she took an oath, and though the guild whose ideals were built upon evil with honor had long since vanished, those ideals still remained. She swore to assist and protect any Shadow Guardian in need... and though the scars had vanished from each one's initiation ceremony, there was always that bond. She knew what she had to do... she had to fight for what she believed in... fight to save the green Iksar.
Dawn has broke, the time has come Move your feet to the marching drum We’ll win the war and pay the toll Fight as one in heart and soul The bright sunlight of the afternoon poured through the small slits that served as windows in a Qeynosian prison cell, coming to rest on a dirt-covered figure. Her eyes opened slowly, glittering a deep midnight blue, slitted pupils darting around the area. The Kerran slowly sat up, scratching her plainly-visible ribs, bits of once black-and-white striped fur falling off. Rising carefully, she slid up to one of the window slits and peered out into the courtyard below, the gallows just finishing its construction. The Kerran half-smiled at the scene. "What a beautiful day to die..." Her attention was turned elsewhere as the sound of heavy platemail boots rang across the prison corridor. Four heavily-armored guards approached her cell, one speaking in a loud and demanding voice. "Prisoner, turn around, and place your hands upon the wall." "After all these years, you still consider me a threat. How touching." The Kerran smirked and did as she was told, quickly being shackled and led out of the cell. One of the guards, another Kerran, leaned in and slowly whispered into her ear, "You know, you would have been freed a long time ago had you not done as I asked." "Asking me for marriage, then starving me, beating me, ****** me, stealing my cub away, and then asking me again? That's not quite the way to go about it, you know." Silence ensued as they traveled on through the dark prison, only to be interrupted by the metal gates of the stronghold creaking open, and the roar of the crowd that erupted forth. Insults, rocks, and rotted food were mercilessly thrown at the Kerran, but she made no reaction. A sharp jab from a stick caused her to trip up the stairs to the noose, but she quickly recovered. "The accused assassin Eshovia, slayer of one thousand of our citizens, is to be hung on the hour. The accused has one last chance to declare loyalty to our Queen Antonia Bayle, and turn from her life of despair." After a few more shouts and insults, the crowd quieted down as the Kerran smiled. "I am not a murderer. Murders involve emotion, perhaps revenge. I am a hunter. I stalk my prey, then strike. Some of the slain have simply gotten in my way, and became an obstacle that needed to be overcome. And as for the loyalty... I do not need to repeat who that belongs to, do I? The symbol I carved into my prey surely said it all." Eshovia grinned as the noose was carefully tied around her neck, her eyes darting precariously to a hooded black leopard Kerran male in the crowd, winking at him. He nodded slowly, turning away and vanishing into the crowd as they began their jeers and throwing of objects again. The executioner glanced at the giant clocktower, and as the bells began to ring twelve, the lever was pulled, and she fell. Nobody saw the arrow flying through the air, slicing through the thick rope as if it were paper. Nobody saw that black Kerran perched atop a tree. And nobody saw where the female Kerran fell to as the rope snapped... she simply vanished. "You've learned well, my son."
I was stained, with a role In a day, and on my own And as you walked into my life You showed what needed to be shown And I always knew what was right Just didn't know that I might Peel away and choose to see With such a different sight And, I will never see the sky the same way And, I will learn to say goodbye to yesterday And, I will never cease to fly, if held down And, I will always reach too high, 'cause I've seen 'Cause I've seen twilight. All sound seemed to be sucked away into a vaccuum of space as her own sword was driven through her chest, shoving her backwards as the hilt collided with her flesh. Rescah stood there, eyes wide, mouth slightly agape, slowly losing consciousness as her own weapon began to draw the very life from her. She sank to her knees, unable to hear her cousin's triumphant laughter, unable to hear her own great-uncles cry of rage. Tunnel vision approached as she collapsed onto her side, her scaled head absorbing the coolness of the drenched earth beneath her. A wary thought slept through what was left of her conscious mindset... Hope.... hope is.... gone.... Her vision turned white as she heard a soft voice call her name, pulling her closer to the light. It grew impossibly brighter, nearly blinding the Iksaress until she appeared into a white area of nothingness. The voice, now much louder, came from behind, causing Rescah to slowly turn around. She faced a large, muscular male, his scales a deep brown, several scars adorning his body, which was clad in dented and gashed platemail. His red eyes seemed to glare downward at her, but showed compassion. Another female, her scales a deep cobalt, which was accented with green markings. Her green eyes smiled along with her maw upon seeing Rescah. And.... her brother. A smaller, almost frail-looking male, brown and green stripes covering his body, and a massive frill upon his head, which flickered occasionally. His green eyes never focused upon one object, but they softened and rested upon Rescah when she came into their gaze. "Anubo.... brother... is.. are they...?" Anubo smiled, nodding. He was never one to speak due to his own curse of a massive speech impediment. Without it, he would have had a voice to rival the greatest bards. The other two nodded as well, the female speaking in a kindly manner. "Rescah... we are your parents. I know it is odd to see us like this... Anubo had near the same reaction. Hmm... we have another visitor, it seems... glad you could join us, Zethak." Rescah froze at the name. That name brought back terrible memories, terrible visions. She slowly glanced to her left, seeing the familiar, muscular frame crouched down. His jet-black scales never reflected the light, they always seemed to absorb them. He stroked the spikes that adorned his chin, glancing up with blackened eyes. As he spoke, his voice seemed to resonate deep within her soul. "It seems my brother is in trouble... and my grandaughter was foolish once again. You have never controlled your temper, have you... an exact replica of your father, there. It is what had him hanged in the first place." To that remark, the large, brown male growled deeply, only to be silenced by his mate's cobalt hand upon his shoulder. For a while, there was silence, until the former Grandmaster rose and spoke, that voice slicing through Rescah's soul once again. "And yet, I am honored to have witnessed your growth. To have taught you what I could. Though you were always headstrong and stubborn, you knew what was right. And helping your great-uncle was indeed the right thing. There may not be any hope for the Zeth'Arkiss clan anymore, to regrow and repopulate... however... the Blackshade clan will never fall in spirit." Rescah was stunned. Her grandfather never praised her before, always shunning her every time she made a mistake. There was more silence as his words sunk in, then those blood-red eyes of hers narrowed suddenly, a defiant, unheard voice towards her grandfather coming from her maw. "The Blackshade clan will never die. One still exists, and though he may be alone, he still exists. Likkorak may be one of the greatest necromancers the world will ever see, obtaining soul shards of each dragon that dared to reside within Veeshan's Peak, bringing new studies into the worlds of Norrath, albeit subtly, and never credited for them. He even obtained the fully-powered remains of the long-deceased demi-goddess of insanity! Though he never flaunted his power, or showed his full extent... well, nobody knows what exactly he -can- do. But, if I have anything at this point, I have faith. And sometimes I wish you would have more faith put into your clan, your family... the one you cursed. The one that made your son a bloodthirsty warrior whose rage was unstoppable until he met my mother... the one that bonded us closer because of our curses... made something of it other than negativity. And you, grandfather, suffered the most, did you not? You deteriorated each and every day, your nerves screaming to no end, or no mercy. And yet you willingly took us in.. one who could not bear the touch of the sun, consuming the blood of the fallen... and a so-called 'faulty' heir whose only impairment was his speech. So tell me why, if you hate us so much... why do everything for us?" Zethak strode forth quickly, coming within a foot of his granddaughter, staring her down, as she stared back defiantly. Narrowing his eyes, he spoke, "It is because you are my family. I hated myself as much as I hated doing this to all of you. Family is all that we have, all that we have to save us from going insane from our ailments, protect us from those who would shun us, teach each other to look past our weaknesses. And as much as he never shows it, your great-uncle needs you now. You -are- the Last Hope, after all." With a smile he never showed in all of Rescah's known life, he vanished into the blinding white. A force seemed to be pulling her back, the tunnel vision erupting again, then... nothing but blackness, and silence.
A very terrified and uncomfortable female Fae made her way into the thickest, most desolate section of the Darklight Woods, her arms wrapped around her purple leathers in a protective manner. Her ripped wings could barely carry her over the ground as she traveled, dodging the thorny brush ahead of her as best she could. A sliver or two of moonlight was the only light she had, reflecting off of her purple eyes as she went. The quite violet Fae known to some as the 'Faemous Tree,' to a select few others, she went by her true name: Syban Treebane. Whenever the underbrush crackled in the distance, she let out a small, stifled shriek. The wind rustling the dead leaves made her glance about her in all directions warily. It was very obvious she did not like coming to that part of the woods, but why would a Fae travel in Tier'Dal territory, anyways? The deeper she traveled, the colder it got, and the more desolate things began to become. Trees twisted into terrible shapes, giant thorns protruding from the ground, and sooner or later, everything was covered in ice. Shivering, Syban wrapped her cloak tighter around herself, the black and blue dyes had become faded over time. Despite the terror that possibly awaited her, she had to do this. A twisted, gargled moan sent a shiver up her spine. The sound was familiar, yet it was very different than she had remembered. The innate Fae curiosity provided her with the drive to delve further into the death-trap, the moan turning into a vicious snarl, then ceasing as she entered a large clearing. In the middle of the clearing was a large wolf's den, with spires of thorns and ice surrounding the area. Everything was twisted into horrible shapes, and some of the unfrozen flora was even moving slightly. The grass stood like blades on the ground, the once-beautiful flowers now twisted and made void of life, even the trees looked like monsters from a distance. Syban could only stare in disbelief at her surroundings... it was so different than the peaceful clearing she once knew so long ago. Stepping carefully through the bladed grass, wincing once or twice when the ever-frozen weeds began to rip through her leather armor, she folded her wings behind her and slowly made her way to the entrance of the cave. Taking one last look around her, she reached out with a shaking hand to brace herself upon the cave, kneeling down slowly to peer into the consuming darkness. From within the blackness, she could hear heavy, pained breathing. Raising a hand, a small spark erupted from her shaking fingers to try and shed some light, but she was stopped by a loud growl, and a black form erupted forth from the den, ramming into Syban and throwing her backwards towards the deadly thorns. Crying out, the Fae flared her wings, digging her feet into the ground, and stopping just short of being skewered by a frozen blade. Letting out a breath she had been holding for so long, she glanced over to the creature before her. All she could see was blackness, highlighted by a pair of glowing blue orbs. The beast snarled, opened its jagged maw, and sent a powerful blast of frost towards the Fae. Syban leapt out of the way before the blast could finish the job the earlier tackle failed to do, her hands sparking in an attempt to attack, but she could not find the will to do so. The creature lashed out again at a frightening speed, striking again and again at the Fae in an utter attempt to kill. Normal people who would have encountered this creature would have been dismembered by now, but Syban had encountered this beast many, many times before, and knew its strategy. Leaping upwards in the air, she flew for a brief moment over the creature, withdrew her scimitar, and swung, parrying the blow coming from behind. Before the beast could recover, she struck with the flat side of her blade, causing the blackness to reel backwards, stunned. Withdrawing her sword, she pointed with her left hand at the multitude of thorns in the area. Slowly, they quivered and broke off from their original holds, flying towards Syban and surrounding her in a protective coat. Shaking what seemed to be its head to recover, the beast let loose a low growl, opened its maw, and let loose another freezing tempest, only to be countered by one of the Fae's own cold conjurations. The frozen winds howled around them, the connection of the spells forming a deadly tornado, throwing both combatants back. Recovering quickly, Syban raised her hand to the sky, hoping that there was just enough room in the canopy of the forest for this to work. The beast got to its feet, and began charging forwards at frightening speeds towards the Fae. In a sudden swift movement, the Fae brought her hand down, pointing at the beast, and for a split second, nothing happened. Just as the creature was about to bear down on Syban, a bolt of lightning erupted from the sky above, striking the blackened beast down. It yelped, being blown away by the force of nature that struck it, yet still managed to stagger to its feet and try its death-charge again. Syban raised both hands to the sky, muttering a few druidic words, and a silent prayer that this would work. The sky above lit up like fire, causing enough of a distraction for the beast that it looked upwards. The heat and the light grew brighter and brighter, until a massive ball of fire crashed through the forest canopy, engulfing the beast in a force unlike any other. Shrieking, the beast fell to the ground, unable to move. Syban, panting heavily out of fear, remained in her position for a few moments, until it became obvious that the creature was not going to move. Slowly, she saw it changing shape, almost struggling to do so. She saw humanoid features appear; arms, legs, a body, and wings. She approached the figure slowly, raising a hand and engulfing it in a small flame to shed some light. The figure before her was an exact copy of Syban; same features, same height, yet somewhat different wings, and very blue instead of purple. "...So... the Infaemous Wolf is dying..." Syban said silently, almost as if she didn't want to be heard. The blue Arasai looked upwards at the Fae, attempting a glare, but failing. In a tired, wispy voice, the Arasai spoke. "...I'll bet you're... glad to see this..." Syban's eyes saddened as she shook her head slowly. "No, dear sister... despite everything you have done to me... this is breaking my heart.." "Then... I am glad.. it is..... is..." the Arasai trailed off for a few moments, before her face twisted into something the Fae had never witnessed in their lifetimes... sadness. Syban slowly knelt beside her twin sister, watching the tears come down her face, knowing she could do nothing to stop them. The Arasai let out a few, stifled sobs of pure remorse before she spoke again. "Syban... I am.... so sorry for what.. I did.... the Hate... oh, the Hate... it poisoned me... consumed me... I thought it would make me powerful... and here I am.... dying.... how long has it been since I smiled... laughed... felt the joy and happiness that was torn away from me..? ...Never... not once... yet.. I wanted to..." Syban placed a gentle hand upon the arm of her sister as she listened to her continue, her own tears falling down her face. "I was... jealous... jealous of what you had... and that only fueled my Hate... but do not blame yourself... never blame yourself... this was neither your fault.. nor mine... had those damned Tier'Dal not come... ripping our spirit buds apart... our curses would have never... arisen... your unstable treant form.... my twisted druidic power.... nothing... Wardens... are supposed to protect nature... and look at what I've done... what I've wrought... Syban... by the Gods, what have I done..." Syban drew up her sister in her arms, crading her head against her shoulder, and together they cried, years of their own suffering coming together in an outburst that seemed to last for eternity. The Arasai began to speak again, but her voice had become raspier, having lost quite a bit of strength to speak. "Syban... I have... nothing to give you... nothing to show you... that I... am so sorry... the torment... abuse... the fights... nothing... yet... I am so glad... so glad... my last moments... were with you....." The Arasai's body felt heavier as she exhaled for the last time, what almost seemed to be a smile resting upon her lips, speaking no more. Syban held her sister close, tightening her grip as if to prevent the natural cycle of life from occuring, but not even the most powerful druid can do that. For it is a Warden's way to ensure the balance of nature, using the protection of nature to ensure that the cycle continues, and nothing sacred is harmed, and on some occasions, using the absolute Fury of raw nature to deal with those who would see otherwise. One year later, a frozen tree standing above a wolf's den had sprouted in a distant clearing, remaining frozen even throughout the changing of the seasons, a single word etched into the cold bark. Kheri.
In eternal darkness, light does fall Death and darkness unto them all When, behold, there is a gleam Hope has returned, it would seem. In dark's greatest hour, it is weak For more power it does seek Intense turmoil, hatred, strife Will take more than one life For it is in our nature to succumb to fights Yet it takes discipline to make it all right. For in dark's greatest hour, there will always be light. OOC::: Whoops... this is indeed Shebara, just my other account! Seems I need to re-log in to my main one... doh.
An ancient Sarnak stood among the plains, watching the battle unfold before him, his purple eyes flickering with an arcane light. His cerulean robes fluttered defiantly in the wind, yet he kept a firm grip on his large staff, a giant, multi-faceted sapphire residing on top. Rivulets of red seemed to seep off of his deep blue scales, highlighting several scars along his visible body. "This would be a good opportunity for revenge, eh, ancient one?" The voice coming from behind the Sarnak had a melodic, soft tone, yet it was harsh and rugged, as if it had seen many dark things. The Sarnak turned his head to rest on the Koada'Dal in the red cloak, raising an eyeridge. "Revenge? I would have never thought a fair-skinned elf would think of such things." "You know what I have been through, Sidrak. More than anything you have endured." Sidrak shrugged, raising a hand to examine his claws, snapping his fingers and watching a spark of fire erupt from them. "Despite the necromancer's ill-will and very foul attitude, he has suffered greatly in his very long-lived life. He has lost so much, it changed him. Imagine a family... two brothers, a father, a mother. Living their lives in peace and harmony, unbothered and undaunted by their poor status in Iksar society. Then, one day, finding out that you are too physically weak to be of any use to your father, he leaves. Likkorak was hatched with a poor heart, therefore, he could never be the strong warrior that his father was, or the Swift-tail in training that his brother was becoming. But still, his mother had faith in him. Faith that kept him going, ignoring what whispers were heard around him." The Koada'Dal scoffed, turning his head to the side, his bright blue eyes flashing. "What does faith have to do with anything about that old windbag of a lizard?" "Your hatred runs deep, Inoso. The dark ones have touched you, after all. Faith is many things, whether it be words of encouragement, assistance in the simplest of tasks, and simply believing in one's self. Faith is essentially the driving force of this world. If people were faithless, I highly doubt we would be standing here today. People would become hollow shells, never believing they could accomplish anything, and eventually, they would wither and die. Likkorak held so strongly onto this faith that his mother bestowed upon him, that he made several personal vows to better himself and his family." "Now, imagine if one day, the source of that faith was suddenly ripped from your very existence. Likkorak was hatched in Torsis, and when he was very young, the white mist fell upon the city. His brother led them to a passageway out, but his mother became caught in the panicking masses, forever joining them in their unending torment. Zethak, Likkorak's brother, took him far from the city, traveling through the Emerald Jungle and all of its dangers, and finally entering the boundaries of Cabilis, a few days later. It was there that they started their new life." The elf glanced back at Sidrak, sighing a bit. "So what if he suffered when he was young? I know that in his time in Cabilis, he became a powerful necromancer, studying under Kotiz, and eventually Atrebe themselves. I'd call that success." The Sarnak chuckled, a rattling sound as smoke escaped through his nostrils. "One would think, yes. Until he met another. She was a harlot of sorts named Sithia, flirting with males and grabbing their attention enough to make off with their coinpurses. With the status of his robes, she could tell that he was apparently a prominent member of society, which was the opposite. He was still on the poor side of the spectrum. The young Likkorak would fall for her charms, and eventually began to court her. Her plan was to become his mate, so she could join the higher social status, and thoroughly take every advantage of it. She never truly loved him, but he believed that he was falling in love with her." Inoso began to laugh, a sound though pleasant in nature, rang deep of scorn. "What a foolish lizard, loving someone who could never love you back." "Pot calling the kettle black." The elf shut up immediately, looking down at the ground for several moments before Sidrak began to speak again. "She would try, and try, and try even more to get him to further their relationship, for that would ensure her status gain. Likkorak, however, was very wise, and knew such things could not happen before the mating ceremony, despite what feelings he had for her. He eventually became more absorbed in his work, drawing more time further and further away from her, and she became furious. One evening, she traveled down to his laboratory, with a simple plan in mind. She would threaten him by wounding herself lightly, threatening to do no harm if he did not meet her demands. As she opened the door, a horrific sight beheld her. It was her brother and her father, laying splayed open on dissection tables. They had died the previous week in the Cabilisian war. Likkorak did not know what he had done, for he was that absorbed in his work. She grabbed a nearby scalpel, and slew herself that night, in front of Likkorak's eyes. He had now lost two things most precious to him." Inoso glanced back up, adjusting the strap on his lute that was slung over his shoulder, sitting down on the soft grass, saying nothing as he listened. "He could not bring himself to revive her, for he had promised himself not to defile the bodies of those close to him. He buried her that evening, his heart having another empty void to fill... but the worst was yet to come. The following night, Zethak betrayed his entire family by falling in love with a Tier'Dal enchantress, after rescuing her and nursing her injuries the previous month. She used her power to coerce him into slaying his mate, Ganaki, a fledgling shaman. The spirits of their ancestors roared and howled with such rage, one could hear it for miles. They placed a curse on his entire lineage, those born of the Zeth'Arkiss blood. The curses varied with each family member, Zethak bearing the worst of it, constantly rotting from the inside out. He was in constant pain, but his Swift-tail training proved to assist him. The following day, he was relieved of duty as one of the Grandmasters at the Court of Pain, but Zethak escaped into the wilderness before the Court could execute him, bringing more shame upon his family name. Zethak's son, Mudak, a mere hatchling at the time, would come to possess an unquenchable rage that could flare up at any moment in time, causing havoc wherever he went. And Likkorak would receive eternal undeath... doomed to survive as a living, fully-intelligent skeleton for the rest of his days. However, soon after, Likkorak defied even that with his ingenuity. He enchanted the skin and flesh of Sithia's father and brother, carving out and removing their insides to wear as suits that bore his own identity. But, it would rot away eventually, and he had to continue to find new sources of skins." "He absolutely refused to slay any Iksar, so he would go into the local graveyards and find fresh corpses to use, always returning the bones to their rightful grave, and uttering a ceremony to put their spirits at ease. Even then, he had a good heart. He continued with his research, developing his power, and researching into his curse. He believed that through science, he could defy forces far greater than his own power. After the wars, he began to travel the world, and eventually the planes, in his quest. Little was told of his time there, but many notes of his cover lost lands such as the moon, Luclin, and the Plane of Knowledge. And then, the Rending. Likkorak lost his entire race to it, as they drifted far away out of reach of normal means. No more contact with them, and for the longest time, he thought he lost his brother, his last surviving family member. Another hole in his heart. Zethak, however, would reappear later, with two broodlings, Rescah and Anubo... Likkorak's grand-niece and grand-nephew. Likkorak left them to the charge and training of Zethak, their grandfather, rarely visiting them and becoming involved. If they were lost, who knows what would happen? And so, the years went by, Likkorak living in near total seclusion. Until the Guard." Inoso's eyes snapped upwards at him, the name ringing all-too-familiar in his ears. "What about Shadow Guard? What reason would he have for joining them?" "A good question, indeed. What reason would an Iksar traditionalist, who despised Tier'Dal greatly, have for joining the Shadow Guard, a Tier'Dal-run guild? Simple... their goals were the same. Instead of fighting against them, he would work with them, achieving their goals and utilizing their forces and power to achieve his. The Shadow Guard was one of the largest blights upon the lands, as in the past, they single-handedly took over the island of Odus for a long while. None could enter, none could leave, and nothing could stop them, until they eventually got what they came for and vanished. Not to mention many, many other dark deeds, it seemed like a perfect match for him. Despite the many clashings he would have with the leadership, he eventually rose in their ranks, proving that he was falling to the path of what most label as evil. He had lost his true self by then, using his power to do nearly whatever he wished. However, a large dent was about to be put upon his life yet again... as the news of the demise of his brother reached him. Zethak had gone and confronted the Tier'Dal that forever shamed his family name, and in dealing the death blow to her, he was slain as well. His mentor, and last true family member, was gone." "By then, his heart had become so blackened, that his death did not affect him much. And onward he continued, rising to the esteemed rank of Councilor within the Guard. Though his aim was set to be higher than that, it was never to be. And so he continued to exist and experiment, increasing his power immensely, gathering powerful relics. His power grew to the point of slaying the entire Ring of Scale, along with Trakanon, stealing shards of their souls for later use. Nobody knows if he has even touched those souls yet, as he could do terrible things with them. His ancient enemies destroyed, his family's enemy as well, he was finally content in life. Until Neudak arrived. Neudak was Ganaki's sister's son. He was hatched with a severe physical impairment, and despite his mother's best efforts to raise him well, he became full of hatred. When the curse beset the family, he turned into a true monster, slaying his mother and his village, and hunting down the last remnants of his family. His first victim, and only victim to date, was Anubo. Anubo had become a powerful shaman by then, using his power over spirits to assist wherever he could. He was a very quiet male, and somewhat shy, having a curse of severely impeded speech. Sadly, he fell quickly to the boiling hatred of Neudak. Neudak despised his monstrous form immensely, and vowed to continue his work. Which is where we are today... watching perhaps the final battle of all this mess." Inoso blinked, standing up rather quickly. "Wait, what? You're trailing off again... where does Likkorak come into this? Why did he suddenly start caring so much as to what happened to his last family member, Rescah? You'd better not be playing your games again, old scale..." He held a hand over the hilt of an axe. The wizard chuckled, looking over his shoulder again. "Troubador, you are very questioning of Likkorak's story, now. Are you truly so interested? Or, are you going to keep to the vows of Shadow Guard, and assist a member when they require it?" Inoso fell silent, simply nodding. He swung his lute over to his chest, fingers at the ready. "For the Guard."
