Oneiroscope on 27/10/2003 at 09:31
Okey Dokey! :cheeky: Here it comes, I'll just do a little introductory bit and do the show a little later. Timing is everything.:ebil:
Oneiroscope on 27/10/2003 at 09:57
The darkness of the crypt was banished by the flame of a candle. The candle was of human fat, and discolored with age. The Hammer Haunts near the door hissed and cackled. A zombie on the floor, once a proud stout matron of the Bagmoor family, but who's face was now a mass of mold and dripping foulness, groaned in pain as the light stabbed the one decayed orb that remained in its socket. Guille lay sprawled at the entrance of the Stone's chamber. Leaf held the candle in one atrophied hand for a moment then set it on the floor.
"Flame..." The voice of the Stone came forth. "Flame and woe..."
Leaf circled the candle silently, keeping his eyeless gaze fixed on the candle flame. Tiny sparks of spectral purple and hellish red began to leap from the flame and swarm in the air.
The lich knew full well that what it was about to do had its heavy price. Pain beyond what any mortal wizard could endure without madness. But to him... To a dead thing? It had already known far worse terrors. Even its mortal death was now only a fond memory. Fond because it had delivered him to the Stone.
He remembered when the Stone's children had emerged from their beds. He remembered when the Hammers had burst through the door. He remembered the manfool priest, screaming in terror when he saw what greeted them. He remembered the great doors slamming shut, the sound of the lock. The looks on the faces of the Hammers, and on the face of Guille.
He remembered the gnawing fear when he found that try as they might with all thier considerable necromantic might, neither Leaf or Guille could control these particular zombies. He remembered the terrible battle that had ensued, Pagans and Hammers, side by side, against the Skollus Stone's loyal children.
The screams as the Hammers went down, one by one, their blessed Hammers useless against the damned. Then, the battle over, the zombies had left Guille and Leaf to die slowly. The thirst. The hunger. The fear. The countless hours in the growing darkness, surrounded by the living dead. The candle finally guttering out. This candle. Then, in the black pit after his heart had finally shuddered to a stop. Then came the voice.
"Flame and woe..."
Acorn on 27/10/2003 at 12:07
Kestril hung from the Ent's grasp, even though technically his feet did touch the ground. He was exhausted, there was no point for the tree beast's restraining him. He wouldn't have been able to escape if he tried. That last angry defiant kick had taken everything out of him, and he had gained only a sore toe for all his effort.
The Pagan's, whom he recognized by their clothing and the cadence of their mutterings, gathered nearer and milled about angrily testing their weapons and gesturing threateningly until a woman with a pitcher of water arrived and gave them a few orders. The Pagan guards dispersed back to their posts still mumbling threats against the intruder.
The woman walked up to the thief and looked him over, not as a woman would or as a combatant even, but more like a veterinarian would look over an injured horse about to be treated for its injuries.
"I am Fern" she said looking into his eyes, "..and this is the house of Orwell. You look tired, but I cannot order the Ent to release you. Only Milady can do that." She offered Kestril some water from the pitcher and he drank, choking a bit.
"Thank you for the drink Miss Fern." he replied but recoiled when she offered him an apple from her pocket, "No, uh... I've already eaten... unless you have some bread or.. or a bit of meat?" he looked up hopefully.
"I'll fetch some." she replied smiling kindly, and turned to go and hesitated as another, more finely garbed woman approached from the direction of the Horse stables, striding with an authoritarian purpose. The noblewoman -- Kestril now recognized her as the sorceress who destroyed the old Hammer church -- gestured with her hand that Fern was to leave them in private conference and Fern bowed and proceeded on into the house on her errand.
Acorn looked the man up and down as he did the same. Black, all black clothing ripped and bloodied as from a fight. Cloak with hood. Not quite the rainy season to need that sort of coverage. Blackjack hanging from his belt, bow and arrows of all sorts including rope of all things. Pack full to overflowing with.. was that a string of pearls peeping out from one of its pockets? The man grinned sheepishly.
"I was expecting a sorcerer, or a Hammerite at least." she said.
"Sorry to disappoint." Kestril coughed.
"Tell me, what were you doing exactly on my lands? Sight seeing perhaps? Hiking cross country? Is there a dress that goes with that jewelry collection?"
"Look lady I didn't take it from you." He replied a bit irritated at being brow beaten over unconnected circumstances. "I just happened to... stop by the church... to rest up a bit, after aaaaay little treasure hunting trip in the mountains....."
Acorn's eyebrows drew together in a mistrustful scowl, "And the animals?"
"Animals?" he asked innocently.
"Hah!" she replied. "Though I do not own them, there are sites in these mountains that are very sacred to the people's of the earth. They are not to be tampered with...."
*I can answer your questions more easily than this gibbering baboon your ladyship* a disembodied voice hissed unctuously from Kestril's pack.
"who are you calling baboon you disembodied brain that never was!" Kestril fired back angrily.
Acorn motioned and said a word. A blue glow surrounded the pack and it opened of its own accord. The Eye floated out on a pillow of sparkling fairy fire to bob between her and the obvious thief.
"The Eye of the Trickster." Acorn breathed astounded by such a find, "where did you find it?"
*He crawled out from under the slideable altar entrance to the small Hammer catacomb that has fissured enough to open onto the old Pagan ritual centers of this part of the Maw. He was nosing around in there and-*
"She meant where did I find you, you crystallized jerk!" Kestril blushed at having his business told so completely right in front of himself.
*He has acquired certain artifacts as well. Items of power to the people who worship the power of the earth, formed by the Trickster himself in ages past and then lost in the cataclysm.*
Acorn waved her hand again and three items floated free of the pack lightening it quite a bit. A large purple gem bladed knife. Its multifaceted blade scintillating in the morning light. A hideous mask of a horned face fringed with hair, the ancient totem used long ago in unremembered religious rites; and a leaf shaped stone covered in ancient writings, with a hole through the center of it.
*These are items of great power, created by the Trickster to thwart the ancient enemy.*
"The Builder?" Acorn asked, grasping the large knife by its simple bone hilt.
*One even more ancient than that. One who possesses true power. One who could destroy even me!*
"Your ladyship!!" cried a guard approaching at a run.
"Yes?" Acorn turned to see him puffing to a halt.
"We finders Pineneedle asleep under a bush with a bump on his head!"
"He says somebody hiters him from behind."
Suddenly Acorn recalled Uncle Frob's words from that night. He thought he had noticed somebody skulking about. Obviously that somebody had gotten past the vampire and onto the Mansion grounds.
"Clover." she addressed the winded guard, "Take this thief to a cell on the lower level and get him cleaned up. Then have someone bring his weapons and all these items to my chamber and send out a patrol to scout the area. I will be back with you to oversee the search in a minute." She snatched the Eye out of the air. "We'll find the spy, whoever they may be." She added, motioning for the Ent to drop the thief before whirling to walk back into the Mansion and secure her prize in a hidden vault.
Oneiroscope on 27/10/2003 at 21:28
As the group began to break up, Garrett watched from an upstairs window and thought. He considered intercepting the thief’s loot first, before it could be hidden away in the Lady’s chambers. But it was apparent that she intended to escort the treasures all the way. Taking on magic wielding Pagans had long since lost its rather limited appeal. Losing one eye was enough . Instead, he decided to wait near the woman’s bedroom, he was sure he knew where it was already. A scouting orb artfully placed in a nice shadowy spot should allow him to witness where the artifacts were placed, and give him an idea of how it was to be guarded. Then he could talk to the thief. It was liable to still be dark in the manor’s dungeon. It usually was. Garrett would have to hide out there until twilight fell again. No sense pulling off a major heist in the middle of the day.
Garrett sped through the manor, arriving at the bedchamber long before the Pagans. The door was locked, unfortunately, and much too sophisticated to pick. Have to do it the hard way. At a breakneck pace, he ran to the large windows that illuminated the staircase with the growing morning light. He opened the window, and swung outside. Making his way carefully along the narrow ledge outside, he soon found the bedroom window. It was also locked. Damn! He was running out of time! Hoping the small orb would go unnoticed by placing it in the corner of the window sill on the ledge, Garrett pulled himself up onto the roof and activated the Scouting Orb. Hey, maybe he’d get lucky and the Lady would decide to have a bath. Ah, the great Master Thief Garrett. He had stolen from a god. He had saved the world from a madman. He was now reduced to little more than a rather skilled peeping tom.
He watched as the Lady and her guard entered the room. She was talking, but all Garrett could hear from his perch was vague sounds. While the guard turned his back, the Lady crossed to her desk and reached into the drawer. A large oil painting of the Trickster slid open, revealing a stout metal vault. But rather than approach, the woman went to the other side of the room. She disappeared from sight! Garrett’s mind filled with curses. What had she done? Disabled a trap? What? Acorn reappeared and approached the vault door. A small silver key was in her hand. She inserted it in a lockbox inset in the wall to the right of the vault door. A small panel slid open, revealing numbered buttons. Here Garrett grinned broadly. His view of the buttons was uninterrupted as she pushed five different numbers. Nine, Six, Three, Seven, Five.
“I should write that down.” He said softly to himself.
The guard handed over the artifacts and the Eye. The Lady placed them in the vault, then closed the door. She turned the key in the lockbox again, then turned away as the panel closed. She said something to the guard, who then turned his back again. Acorn disappeared from view once more, to Garrett's consternation, then reappeared, went to the desk, and the painting slid closed again. The Lady talked to the guard for a while, then left. The guard sat down at the desk as the door closed.
Well, I guess I need the keys on her belt for a start. Garrett mused. But first, down to the dungeon for a little conversation. He felt sure the thief would be open to... negotiation. Garrett wanted to know more about those artifacts. Imagine the Hammers leaving the Eye unguarded! What kind of morons... Well, he knew what kind. Fanatics. And people too smart for their own good. Garrett did not relish coming into contact with the Eye again. The last time had been bad enough. He hoped this Acorn had enough sense to watch the graveyard. Garrett knew the Eye. No matter how chummy it liked to pretend it was, soon the dead would walk at Orwell Manor.
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Lord Bagmoor watched Father Vraden and one of his Hammers enter the Secured Area. The Hammer was carrying several blue vials. Holy water? What on earth is that old fool up to now? The Lord disliked Vraden intensely. His Father had thought a great deal of the man, but then his father had been a backward old fool in his own right. Lucious Bagmoor, however was no fool. He knew what was most important in life. Amusement and pleasure. All else was boring tripe. Currently he found the machines of the Mechanists highly amusing.
He had heard the tales from the City. Machines that catered to one’s every whim. Now that Father Karras was dead, the Mechanists were more keen than ever to ammass the support of the noble families. A Priestess, Selena Sarcens, had been courting his favor by epistle for some months now. She promised so much! Servants, Robots, all manner of machine he could ever ask for.
Lucious felt somewhat smug. Yes when Father Karras had lived, a back country clan like the Bagmoors was beneath notice. But now that the Mechanist found themselves beset on all sides, they were more than happy to treat Lord Bagmoor as if he were the Baron himself.
But for now, Vraden still lived. Still, after all these years. Since his childhood the old priest had terrified him. So severe. So uncompromising. And he had eyes which, though faded and watery now, still could peel Lucious’s heart like an onion. Something would have to be done. He was a Lord after all. A Lord should not cower from a mere priest. He decided to pursue… tactful inquiries as to the… alternate types of services a Lord might procure to rid himself of certain thorny problems. He had used such services before. If he had not, a hundred bastard grandchildren would be encamped next to the moat. His son, Drivid, had never possessed any sense in such matters whatsoever.
The doors of the Secured Area opened once more, and Father Vraden and his Hammer exited the unadorned stone building. The old man looked even more dejected than had been increasingly usual of late. The Hammer just looked confused. Lord Bagmoor sneered at them from the safety of his window. Old fool! Crazy old fool! You won't trouble me for much longer! I promise you!
Acorn on 28/10/2003 at 02:08
Wrapped in shadow, Garrett waited in an alcove as the servant passed carrying the dirty food tray back from the prisoner's cell. He scrutinized her skirts but she had no key on her person. Huh. He waited until she was mounting the stair steps, and then took another peak around the corner. These weren't the most alert staff he had ever faced. But the trailsmen weren't you're common bulldogs, and more suited to running a hunting lodge than acting as jailor for the disturbers of public order.
A heavy snore echoed down the corridor.
"Wow!" Garrett thought to himself, "This guy might not be the best thief there was, but he was certainly quite a sack-time artist..." More snores echoed through the underground detention area that was mostly cellar in this country estate. He crept forward and rounded a corner to find four adjacent barred cells dug into the wall, locked but unguarded. Scratch that. A "snoring" man, the thief now dressed in blue shirt and brown britches, was opening his cell door with a key and creeping stealthily out. Then turning to reset the lock; All the while making those horrible noises that sounded more like a bear growling through a hollow log than anything else.
Garret approached stealthily and laid his hand on the man's shoulder, "Nicked!" He whispered harshly into his ear from behind causing the other thief to stiffen and raise his hands in surrender.
The man turned slowly and raised his eyebrows in surprise gasping, "Garre-!"
"Ssssshh!" Garrett hissed putting his hand over the man's mouth, come on. I've got a proposition for you..." Their exit was but a whisper of cloth as they navigated the small labyrinth of shelves and boxes to a back cellar window.
-----------
Later,
Acorn sat at dinner leafing through the pages of a dusty and ragged book. Several other ancient texts were arranged on either side of her plate, left over from her studies during the entire day. She sipped again from her golden wine goblet and made another note on a side sheet of paper with a feather pen.
I hate studying the ancient language. she thought, Why does everything have to rhyme all the time?
"There was nothing at all in the written histories about the artifacts. The Trickster must have created them and then told noone!" Acorn complained to the air tossing another book to the side and raising a small cloud of dust, "So now I have to brush up on my runes and hope that the writing on the leaf stone will give some clue as to the purpose and use of these items. I don't think I can trust the Eye... after its recent history."
The air was suddenly disturbed behind her and she shivered and turned to look. A window across the dining room from her stood open to the night. Perhaps a servant had decided that she needed some air... Acorn thought back to the missing intruder, still not found, and shivered again. She rang a small bell and a servant appeared out of the shadows.
Unnerving how she could do that so quickly...
"Fern, tell me, How does Levent?"
"He lies unconscious, as the dead. Sometimes he cries out. I believe he is going through the withdrawals, but I do not know if he will recover himself. There seems to be... something else wrong with him."
"But what.." Acorn mumbled not expecting an answer.
"I need you to do something for me Fern." Acorn faced the maiden, "I need you to track down Uncle Frobert, and ask him to come to the house. Tell him it is important."
she smiled at the woman's widened eyes. "Don't fear Frob. He has a sort of agreement with the family. You are perfectly safe... but just incase, take this note with you." Acorn scribbled something on a piece of paper and handed it to Fern. "There's a girl, chin up." She patted the stammering servant's shoulder as she propelled her toward the door, "I know you can accomplish this task where the others could not. I'm counting on you." She winked and shut the door behind the other woman then sighed looking at the books and picked up a history on Bagmoor Keep.
Oneiroscope on 28/10/2003 at 03:17
Frob examined the note. Fern stood rigid as a maypole, watching him with huge, frightened eyes. "So she thought I needed reminding, eh?" He chuckled, hoping to relax the girl, but failing miserably. He had to admit, she had reason for alarm. He could smell her blood. It was so sweet....
Frob harrumphed loudly. "Well yes of course. Let us go to the house and see what it is milady desires of us, shall we?" He smiled, careful to keep his lips together so as not to send the girl into a dead faint.
"Sir, if you please..." The girl was shaking.
"What is it, child? You have no need to fear me." As long as you are employed here at any rate.
"Are you truly a vampire, sir?" The words came out in a rush. "You are immortal?"
"Yes, girl. I was born more than three hundred years ago. I was made a vampire when, after quite a few to many rounds of beer, I attempted to prove my courage and my lack of common sense by visiting the castle of one Count Orlock. You see, being an educated lad I thought the villagers were rather silly in their claims concerning that gentleman." Frob smiled, this time forgetting to hide his fangs. "They weren't."
Fern blanched. Then looked him in the eye. "But...you will never... die? So it was worth it?"
Frob watched her carefully. She was serious. "Indeed." He intoned. "Let us proceed."
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Acorn watched as one of the servants made his way around the dining hall, lighting the slim white candles on the chandeliers, then hauling them up by the chain and then securing the chains to the brass cleats affixed to the walls. It had been a long day. She had not slept in what seemed to be ages.
The books stubbornly refused to yeild any useful information. Bagmoor Keep had been built on the site of some ancient structure. At first only a wooden palisade, argued over for centuries by warlord after warlord. In olden times it had been known as the Stone Ground, evidently due to the large quantities of flint in the area. The Bagmoor family had captured the place some six hundred years ago. They kept hold of it mainly because the Bagmoors were the first warlords to force the local farmers to build stone walls. There was nothing more of value.
She knew that she must have rings under her eyes, that her hair was probably more reminiscent of a haystack than anything else. All she wanted was to have a light supper of broth and bread and retreat to the safety of her bedroom with firm orders not to be disturbed until as late in the day tomorrow as possible. Her food would be here momentarily. Until then she would watch young Bramble light the candles against the coming night.
Her eyes were so very tired. She nearly saw double. The flame on the instrument Bramble was using seemed to dance away from him. Acorn yawned and rubbed her eyes. She looked again. The boy stood stock still, staring up at the chandelier. Acorn felt an increasing dread as she too, looked up. The flames of all the candles were dancing in circles around the chandelier. Like a swarm of lightning bugs. Disembodied flames. Then, without warning, all the flames sped from the room and through the open door, scorching Lily as she opened the door to bring in Acorn’s supper. The tray crashed to the floor, chicken broth splashing everywhere. Lily shrieked. Her eyebrows were gone.
With a curse, Acorn sprang to her feet.
“What devilry is this? What sorcery is worked against my house?” He voice trembled with fury. She raced through the door, past the weeping Lily, and chased the flames into the kitchen. There she found chaos. The cook, a lean old man of perhaps seventy years, lay dead on the blue and green tiles. His white smock and face were a charred ruin. The huge oven lay open, but no fire crackled within. In the center of the room, near the ceiling, a huge ball of flame bobbed and spun. Acorn screamed in rage, grabbed a pot full of water from the sink, and flung it at the flame. By sheer coincidence, the fireball happened to move to the left and the water missed its target. Then the door to the courtyard opened, and a guard, alerted by the screams, was consumed as the fireball zoomed out the door. No flame remained on the smoldering guard, the heat had simply cooked him where he stood. The corpse flopped over with only a bubbling sigh.
“No!” Acorn’s screech was high and grating. “NO!” She rushed out into the courtyard and saw hell.
It seemed every flame in the manor must have been drawn here. The fireball was truly massive. The circumference was easily greater than the height of three men. Smaller fireballs, candle, and torch flames joined the maelstrom continually. It was too bright to look at for long. The air was saturated with the smell of fire. Burnt fabric, wood, hair…flesh.
Acorn wasted no time allowing her shock to overcome her. Immediately she reached out with her magical senses. Some dark spell was at work here. Something familiar. She flashed on the old church, when she had burst in and half-sensed a spell. This…This was Earth Magic! A Pagan was doing this! But why? Whatever the reason, whoever it was, they had made a grave mistake in attacking her home. Her HOME. Acorn began chanting, summoning up a Water Elemental to do battle with what she believed was only a gargantuan Fire Elemental. But wait…something was changing.
The orb of fire began to deform. Acorn saw arms, legs, a head, beginning to form from the living fire! She continues her chant, straining with the effort of concentration. Would it be enough? Now a giant, a humanoid shape taller than an Ent, stood in the courtyard. It roared, its voice that of the bonfire, of the volcano. Windows burst in the manor. Everywhere her servants and guards ran screaming. She heard the three Ents coming around the manor, roaring their rage.
The giant of fire took two gigantic strides and scooped up a fleeing guard. The man was burned to death almost instantly. The giant tossed the smoking corpse aside as a man might a pebble that had been stuck in his boot. Again it chased down a screaming servant, this time a young girl. Her shrieks were cut mercifully short. Finally, the spell was complete! Acorn waved her hands and a Water Elemental appeared before her, floating in the air. She pointed at the giant. The sphere of water hurtled at the flames. There was a loud splash, a burst of superheated steam. The giant was lessened, but still huge. Acorn felt her stomach drop.
The giant turned to face her. She could see a skull-like, eyeless face in the flames.
“Brings me the Eye, you will. Bringsies me the Eye or DEATH for all that you loveses!” With that, one massive arm struck at the manor. Wood , it’s moisture heated instantly to far beyond boiling, exploded into thousands of deadly darts that brought down a handful of Acorn’s people. Now a gaping hole revealed the library. Acorn saw a shadowy figure disappear cursing into the shadows behind a bookcase.
“Surrenders the Eye! You haves been warned!” Then the figure burst, an explosion that sent Acorn flying and set fire to the manor, the trees, and even the grass. The beast was gone.
Acorn looked around at her poor servants and guards, as the Ents finally appeared. Moaning and sobbing mixed with the crackling of flames and the growling of the Ents. Servants ran this way and that, trying to put out the fire, tend the wounded, see to the dead. Acorn’s face was wet with tears. She became aware that she was keening softly. She blinked several times. Wiped her eyes on her now ragged sleeve. Clenched her teeth. Then stood and began to give orders.
Many miles away, the candle guttered out much as it had fifty years ago. Leaf, a portion of his fetid flesh now at his feet in a small pile of greasy black ash, dropped to the ground to join the restless dead and bask in the healing twilight of the Skollus Stone. Guille rose from his rest, and began his work anew.
Acorn on 28/10/2003 at 05:02
The magnificent Mansion her family had inhabited for nearly a thousand years, was gutted. Acorn stood in the rubble and ash, rage and sorrow warring within her and neither gaining any ground over the other. The dead had been buried and she had sent the rest of the servants on to her mother's far and much safer lands. The torch lights of the sad caravan could still be seen as it crossed over the ridge far to the west.
"Bring you the Eye...?", she snarled, the hardness in her voice breaking into a sob.
"You can't do that, you know.." Garrett spoke softly from behind her.
She whirled about, locking eyes with the coweled stranger at last.
"Who are you?!" Acorn demanded glaring at the nearly invisible, and slightly singed, figure and building up a blast of blue fairy fire in her clenched fist.
"Garrett, Lady Acorn. I came to rob you." Garrett replied from the depths of his hood putting up a hand to forestall the attack, "but this sort of episode really cuts a chunk out of my business... Anyway, I thought maybe you'd be willing to make a deal about now." he turned his gaze out over the rubble seeming to lament the loss of all that lovely swag and kicked a bent and ruined goblet aside. "I suppose you could kill me..." he added. There seemed to be a smirk in his voice, even in the face of his possible destruction.
Bugging out her eyes at the nerve of this guy, Acorn dropped her hand bonelessly to her side and turned away. What's the point, she thought, after all of this death... and all my stuff is gone anyway...
"I have the Eye. And the Artifacts." Garrett said matter of factly.
He already knows all of it, she thought. "Well then, What do you suggest we do?" Acorn asked raising an eyebrow at Garrett as the other thief approached from the direction of the ruined kitchen, arms loaded with scrounged edibles that had escaped the fire.
"First? Pay a visit to some friends of mine, you've heard of them by now. The Keepers."
Acorn stared wide eyed at him again.
"I assume you still have your notes on the ancient pagan runes?" He continued remembering the peak he had stolen of the paper she was inscribing as he had bogarted the vault key from her belt and then repelled out the window on a hidden rope attached to the wooden sill during her long studies.
Acorn nodded baffled by this man's skill, "But, what of this DEAL you wish to broker with me..?" she interjected.
"Need a hand dear niece?" Frob interrupted from out of the darkness, startling even Garrett.
"Not at the moment, thank you Uncle Frobert." Acorn smiled, "but are you up for some traveling? And you Fern, but perhaps you should journey to the great wood after the others. I can't ask you to risk your life with the rest of us; we shall be in constant peril....."
Oneiroscope on 28/10/2003 at 06:18
Fern seemed to spasm, her eyes shot wide open. Poor girl, thought Acorn, it's all so much to absorb. She was always fearful to begin with.
"No milady!" Fern made a choking sound. "I mean...please, mistress...I want to..." here her voice cracked and she blurted out the rest "I want to stay by your side, mistress." then the certainty seemed to drain from her. " I know...things...something.. I can help you...I...uhhh." The girl grabbed at her head, just as Levent had. Acorn's eyes narrowed. Fern was being attacked by whatever had silenced Levent! Perhaps she did know something of import after all! Acorn raised her hands to perform a divination, she needed to block this attack before Fern was comatose next to Lev.
"I wouldn't do that, if I were you." Came a muffled whisper from within Garrett's pack. Garrett looked as suprised as Acorn. Then his eyes became slits.
"Listen to me." He said, "don't trust the Eye. I know you think it's allied with the Woodsie or whatever, but it has its own agenda. Have you seen your family graveyard lately? I have. You'll find, if you listen, that your ancestors are a bit... lively." He paused to let that sink in. "As a matter of fact, if we don't get the Eye somewhere safe soon, all your dead trailsmen and servants will be returning to pay a visit."
Acorn's mouth worked silently. She felt a fool. Standing there gaping like some fish drowning on dry land.
"Let the Eye speak, Garrett. I understand what you are saying, but it knows much that we do not." She extended her hand.
Garrett shrugged. "Very well, as long as your eyes are open." He brought out the Eye, wrapped in the same black silk the thief had kept it in.
Acorn nodded, and took the Eye. "Speak" she told it.
"The thief Garrett is right, of course, but I cannot stop the dead from rising in my presence. The enemy, though, the enemy is far worse than you imagine me to be. It is devious and cunning, ancient and immortal. It has planned to murder the world since the moment of its birth. I told you that the artifacts were made by the Trickster to destroy it. But even the Trickster failed to do this. However, using the artifacts it may be possible to cause the enemy to sleep once again."
Acorn looked to Frob, who seemed uncharacteristically silent. Fern was simply staring into nothingness.
"If you had touched the girl with magic, it would have served to further fuel that which assaults her. That much I can say for certain."
"But how do you know this?" Acorn asked suspiciously.
"It is the nature of the enemy to use the power which is directed against it for its own advantage."
"I don't know what to believe," Acorn said. "The only lead I have is Bagmoor Keep."
"Do NOT go there, milady." said Garrett, his face tense. "That Levent revealed himself to you is very much cause for doubt. A Keeper is trained to breath his last before he will compromise the order."
Acorn was suprised to hear the certainty in Garrett's words. As if he knew such a thing for a plain fact.
"But why does this enemy want the Eye?" She asked.
"I do not know, human. But it WILL HAVE IT!" Fern roared. Acorn was bowled over as Fern tackled her squarely in the stomach. The Eye tumbled from her hand and landed softly on the blackened grass. Garrett swore and drew his sword. Frob hissed and launched himself at the berserk girl. The vampire's breath was knocked out when Fern seemed to idly swat him away. In a blink, Fern had the Eye and was running for the treeline.
"Stop her! Shoot her!" Acorn screamed, then clamped her hand over her mouth when she realized what she had said. Her trailsmen took her at her word however, and arrows flew. Acorn watched dumbstruck as the girl dodged left and right, arrows thunking into the ground to either side, then ran on into the darkness.
Oneiroscope on 28/10/2003 at 07:23
Father Vraden gazed into the oubliette and pulled the chain from around his neck. It was made of simple steel links, but those links ran though the head of a key to hell on earth. It was simply that. A large, and verdigris stained bronze key. It was the only thing that would open the crypt. The doors were proof against any spell, and against any physical force. Vraden had spent the last fifty years ensuring that.
At first he had cast ward after ward after ward on the doors, bolstering the Precursor magic that already protected them,. Then he had buried them, using the old Lords men to shovel tons of dirt over the entrance. He had soaked the ground in noxious chemicals and holy water so many times over the years that no force but perhaps the Builder himself could find a way to free the Skollus Stone. Human or the foul humanoids of the Trickster woul be entirely overcome and sickened with every spadeful. The undead would burst into flames if they even attempted to set foot inside the Secured Area. At least those undead not controlled by the Stone. The Skollus Stone’s undead were impervious to the blessings of the Builder. But it could not reach outside the crypt to animate the dead. The mere fact that the Bagmoors that had died since he had sealed the crypt had rested peacefully even though their graves were directly over the crypt bore this out.
The walls that surrounded the mound of earth were five feet thick, and likewise warded by his spells. The key to the Secured Area had its own hiding place. A place only his successor would discover. But they key to the crypt must never be found. He could not destroy it. It was protected by the magic of the Precursers, as were the doors. But he could see that no tjief could ever divine its location. Here, in the depths of the forgotten dungeon of the Keep, where only giant spiders and evil memories could witness, the oubliette was perhaps the safest place in the Keep.
Besides himself, only the Lord of the Keep, that worthless walking pile of filth Lucious, knew of the dungeons. The entrance was secret. Secret because of what Harden Bagmoor, the present Lord’s great grandfather, had done in this place. Harden had been a monster, by anyone’s definition. Torture, physical and mental, had been an inexhaustible appetite in the man. The surrounding villages still told dark tales by candle light, about when Harden had come and taken all the young girls in the village. Or when Harden had come and taken every man who had happened to be wearing a hat. Or when Harden had finally died, and the villages had rejoiced. Only to find that still, every so often, someone disappeared without explanation. It was whispered that the dead Lord had taken his pastime to the grave. That still, in the fens beyond the Keep, he wandered and searched for new victims. For these reasons, Vraden felt sure the key would be safe. Lucious would make sure of it.
Vraden clutched at his chest. He knew that somehow Lucious was having him slowly poisoned to death. What of it? So much the better. Finally he would be able to rest. He had done all that could be done. His notes and journals would inform his replacement. Let a younger man take up the Hammer of righteousness against the Thing. Darius Vraden had striven enough.
Vraden let the key drop and heard a splash as it hit water. The moat had slowly been leaking into the dungeon for decades. Vraden smiled at the thought that someday the Keep might collapse in on Harden’s darkest secret. He devoutly hoped it happened in that maggot Lucious’s lifetime and that the foul toad was killed. The splash brought another sound from the ramp that had served as the torture chamber’s garbage chute. Countless bodies, some still with life, had slid down that chute to rot in the chamber below. It seemed at least one body still had life.
It was too far away from the Stone to be one of that kind. No, it was only the tortured spirit of one of Harden’s many victims that animated the thing. Vraden wished he could stop the thing’s suffering, but another pain in his chest told him there was no time. He swallowed another invisibility potion, so that the hordes of spiders would not notice his passing, and started toward the secret door. He wanted to be near his Hammers when the poison finished its work. Perhaps as a spirit, he could ease their suffering. Perhaps he could help them escape the Stone’s torment. Perhaps. Hope filled him as he passed the hissing arachnids.
{OOC: Jeeze, I really am overeager today, aren't I? If you want, I can delete this post and repost it later. I missed your first dibbs!:o}
Acorn on 28/10/2003 at 08:41
{Leave it, dibbs only counts for when you're directing the same characters or in the same surroundings as someone else}
The big black Orwell Warhorse carried Garrett forward at full charge, but the swift girl had disappeared into the forest as completely as a Polar bear disappears in a blizzard. No unusual sounds came to him as he reigned in the snorting mount and wheeled it about among the trees.
"gAh! Maybe we can find her if we spread out in a search pattern.." he suggested.
"Maybe... But perhaps I can find her through another method." Acorn replied riding up on Sneaksey with angry Frob and his snorting, eye rolling mount and Kestril on his shaggy pony following after a minute with the pack horses.
She produced some bamboo panpipes from the folds of her cloak and played a snatch of haunting melody, then gestured as a chiming ball of light approached bobbing this way and that through the trees and lighting its way.
She enclosed it with her hands and whispered gently down into it, then released it to wend away into the forest. After ten minutes of Acorn deflecting the questioning complaints of the restless group, Garrett stiffened in his saddle.
"Something's coming this way." He said.
"Good ear my boy." Frob replied. "I believe those are ape beasts. Or ape men. They're rather intelligent for simple animals as I recall. Smell awefully bad though."
"They are friends, and though they smell bad, their sense of smell is great." Acorn replied.
"Yeah, I remember ape beasts." Garrett frowned, not liking the penniless creatures or their little toy blowguns.
Simian noises and mutterings could be heard crashing in the brush now and within moments two small male ape beasts could be seen rocking from side to side in their queer hobbyhorse gate as they made their way toward the mounted party..
"Bah! Human's!" One hissed.
"Stinksey!" The other agreed.
"Folks, may I introduce Chimchim and Mr. Bananas." Acorn waved her hand from one to the other. "The brownish one being Chimchim and the handsome black with white markings is Mr. Bananas. I used to play with them as a child."
"Why-" Kestril started to ask but thought better of it.
"Charmed." Garrett replied sarcastically. The two apes merely ignored these words and continued with the monkey noises.
"Nutseys! What want you?!" Chimchim finally addressed Acorn.
"Ah, haha, that's Acorn, remember Chimchim? Say it with me.. Aaaay Corn." Acorn flustered at the missuse of her name.
"Chimchim no like CORN!!!" Chimchim screeched back stubbornly.
"Bananas no like either." Mr. Bananas muttered. "Sticksey in teethsey."
"Can we get on with this?" Garrett complained becoming impatient with the useless diatribe. One of the ape beasts farted loudly and both creatures laughed sniffing at it.
"Ok, Guys guys!" Acorn called their attention to herself again, "We needses you to finders someone. You remember? Like in the games we played?"
"The game!" The beasts both proclaimed happily. "Yes! The Game!" "Hiders and Finders!"
"Yes,yes, hiders and finders. Someone. A girl hiders and we can't finders her." Acorn continued, "But if you finders her for us. Well, We will give you many plumsies!"
"Plumseys!" "Give to me!" "Nooooo! To MEE!" "No! No! You eaters them!"
The ape beasts were beginning to fight so Acorn handed them a plum each from her saddle bag which they quickly devoured.
"More plumseys when we have girlsey." She pronounced holding her empty hands up.
"Agh." Chimchim growled.
"Follow!" Mr. Bananas commanded throwing his plum pit away and weaving his way into the forest, sniffing this way and that.
They followed the ape beasts through the forest and fens of Goldstein woods. By Garrett and Kestril's compasses, the general direction Fern and her pursuers seemed to be traveling was always east, toward the city.
"You know. This Bagmoor Keep that keeps coming up. The girl may be heading strait for this place with the Eye." Frob commented.
"Do you think we should try to position ourselves ahead of her?" Kestril asked.
"Maybe we should split up" Acorn replied.
