littlek on 11/1/2005 at 00:39
Quote Posted by Oneiroscope
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ACORN AND LITTLEK!!
A year ago I baked you two a magical cake that turned into whatever flavor you liked best in the world, and some spiked punch. This year I will modify the punch to become whatever booze you like best in the world.
So blow out your set of candles (only as many appear as you want to appear), and dig in!
Yummy....chocolate and a merlot! What dessert would go with a martini? Thanks you Oneiroscope.
littlek on 11/1/2005 at 02:02
Nat hung silently, barely conscious high above the lab where Harden had left him. Even Harden had outdone himself in what he did to Nat. All Nat remembered was Hardens insane cackle over his ingenuity in the recent transformations and pain that he exacted on Nat. Nat now hovered powerless as his body bloated, contorted and metamorphosed into the chimera he was now developing into in the hard cocoon that encased him. He dreamed about his Fern and the childish joy they found in each other even while cavorting over Harden’s vile habitat. He even thought he heard Heather’s voice call to him. Nat tried to call out but his mouth seemed different. His tongue was unable to form words. Instead a frail hiss escaped his now scaly lips. A long forked tongue peeked out between long knife-like teeth. Gone was the child-like effeminate face of Nat. In its place was the face of a fierce dragon. One that this dark world has never seen before. Nat was Harden’s final ultimate creation. Harden’s poison now seeped into Nat’s mind. Changing it to an unthinking destroyer of all the light and good that was left in the world. And destroyer of any evil that threatened Harden, his master. When Nat was unleashed, even the hounds would cower and hide. Nat fought with every thread of his being. He could not stop the transformation of his body but he tried with all his might in what he saw his mind being transformed into. And what he saw terrified him. So Nat concentrated on the two beings that meant the most to him, Heather and Fern. Hoping that they could bring him back from the terrible madness that was taking over his mind.
Oneiroscope on 11/1/2005 at 05:23
{OOC: Yay! \o/ :D littlek's back!}
Follow the vampire, Orson. I must reach Acorn soon. I am needed.
Fern's mind was a whirlwind of panic. She had heard those words, deep in her thoughts, just as she had in the tower when the Stone had spoken its unheeded warning to Guille.
"Very well, Lord Frobert. I will accompany you." Keeper Orson said at last, eliciting an almost rueful smile from Frob.
Numb realization chilled Fern's dead flesh. The Keeper believed the voice to be that of Oneiros! The Stone wanted the wizard to return. For what fell purpose she could not imagine. Fern wanted more than anything to cry out a desperate warning to Frob and Orson. But denied the invitation of her sire the best she could do was stand there goggle-eyed and gasping like a fish drowning on land.
"But I must retain the gem," the Keeper continued. "I have sworn to protect Oneiros, and though I have failed him once I shall not do so again."
The vampire Lord nodded easily. "Of course. I only wish for my niece to have him at her... side... as soon as possible. It is time this adventure was ended, and the wizard is our best hope. Let us depart now, while the night is in it's infancy. Before dawn we will find my niece."
Orson shook his head. "My mount is exhausted. She will not make half a mile. And yours, grand as he is, will not last long with three riders."
Frob laughed. "Orson, you forget the nature of your allies. Fern and I have no need to ride. We will keep up with you on this stallion quite easily." Frob's face grew dark. "We do, however... have need of your horse."
Frob's voice was so dire, and his eyes alight with such a flame of hunger, that there could be no mistaking his meaning. Fern's heart shuddered, even as her own hunger rose up in joy at the thought. Her love of horses made the thought of killing the poor mare repugnant. She would rather dine on a hundred rats. And yet... she thirsted so... She gazed longingly at the mare, all thought of the Stone yeilding to the thought of fresh hot blood in her mouth. She sobbed silently.
Keeper Orson seemed reluctant. "I ask you to spare the nag, Lord Frobert. She served me as well as she could, and balked little despite ill use by Harden's hand. Many times she could have thrown me rather than cross through nettles but did not, many times she could have fought me and did not. I would not see her repayed so poorly for a life of labor."
Hope surged through Fern, but died again almost instantly.
"Orson, your compassion is commendable. But I can assure a quick and easy demise to this animal, can you say the same for her chances otherwise? Remember that starving refugees, Hounds, and zombies now roam this valley along with its not inconsiderable natural threats." Frob untied the white stallion and led it to Orson, handing the lead to the Keeper then waiting with outstretched hand as he had for the gem.
"My progeny and I MUST feed, Keeper. We have a long night ahead and it is too long since last we supped."
Orson's face was grim, but he handed the lead to the vampire.
"Fear not, Orson." Frob said almost kindly. "You do not have to witness this, in fact we would prefer you didn't. Go. Head due south, but stay off the road. We will catch up with you before long."
The Keeper nodded, then mounted the white steed. Fern watched him as he departed, wanting again to shout her warning. The Minder could not read her thoughts, not while she labored under Thrall. He disappeared into the woods.
Fern realized then, when Orson had left without comment at her obvious impairment, that the Keeper had known what Frob would do to her. None would object, not Acorn, not Kestril, perhaps not even Levent. After all, she had betrayed them before. The horror of her predicament, sank even deeper. How could she warn them that the wizard was their doom? How?
The scent of blood banished all thought.
"Fern." Frob's voice was thick with blood. "Feed."
With fresh bloody tears in her eyes, Fern obeyed her sire with relish.
littlek on 13/1/2005 at 02:57
I’mmmm BaaAack! It feels good. Let me know if this interferes with any plans for Fern.
Fern stared into the glazed eyes of the mare whose vacant gaze seemed to bore into her dark soul. The mares’ life blood could have fed many vampires rather than just two and now she and Frob sat like two beasts that had eaten too much. But who knew when their next meal would be and so she relished in the sustenance that was freely offered. Fern averted her eyes. She could no longer face the shame the mare’s eyes reflected. What has she become? What had Frob turned her into? She hated him and her heart grew even blacker than it was before. He meant to destroy her she knew that. And he was fooled by the stone just as that old keeper was. Oneiros speaking through the gem. Fools. She will survive whatever Frob has in mind for her. The stone will see to that. Then she will throw off this spell and destroy Frob, her creator. Bah! He has no idea what she is capable of. What the stone has tweaked in her. Fern licked her lips clean of the blood, stared into the dead eyes of the mare and felt nothing. No remorse. Only a dark determination to survive. Whatever the cost. Then she heard it, deep in her mind a familiar voice began to surface and she reeled at its presence.
“My little Fern, I see you have returned to me, my pet. Watch for me. Learn for me. Destroy for me. You will be rewarded. You will have your revenge.”
Fern smiled inwardly noticing Frob’s hard stare. Of all the beings, Frob must not suspect that she had returned to the stone.
Nat felt like he was suffocating. He had grown so much in size that the cocoon had become too tight. He began to squirm violently in order to free himself of its constraints. He flexed his arms outward and felt the cocoon stretch and resist then begin to give until a small crack formed along his left side. The effort left him exhausted and this feeling of being powerless enraged Nat. Frustrated, he let out a loud roar that even the cocoon could not muffle. Nat gave another violent twist and the cocoon cracked a little more but still imprisoned him. But not so tightly. Nat felt incredible anger over come him. It was a feeling that he never felt before and one that he could not control. Had anyone been nearby, he would have ripped them into pieces. He gritted his teeth but forced himself to relax. It was difficult to control this rage he felt but at least he had a little more room in which to wriggle. He was different. He felt it. Even the way he thought was different. He felt angry, violent, evil, and the only glee he felt was when his thoughts turned to sadistic bloodlust. He wanted to rip someone apart and smear their blood over his face. He wanted to smell, feel, and taste the warm salty liquidy tissue. He wanted this so badly that he sensed when he started killing he would not be able to stop until there was no one else to kill. Then he would return to maim those he had slain and fling their entrails about. Then he would feast on thier hearts. He was anxious to start the bloodletting. If only he could free himself. He strained against the rigid sides and ignored that small part in his mind where the Nat that Fern and Heather knew had silently retreated to hide from this new terrible entity that had consumed him. As long as he could remain hidden from this monster, Nat felt he had a chance to survive. But first he must explore and search for its weakness. He must not fail or he would be lost forever. And the fate of the world depended on him.
Oneiroscope on 13/1/2005 at 04:34
{OOC: Actually that works just fine. :D I hadn't really made up my mind about it one way or another, but it makes sense this way. Though I think Levent might have something to say about it...}
Levent awoke in pain. His body was healing itself, but it was still a mess. Physical pain, however, was not what ailed him. He had felt the very moment Fern had returned to the Thing. Her emotions before hand told that his Dame's reversion had happened under terrible duress. What could have caused such feelings was unknown to him. But he had to find her. He had to save her. Or destroy her.
Levent's eyes opened. He was wedged under a low and broad outcropping of rock. Unhealthy looking bushes, shocked terribly by the unusual weather, concealed the opening from all but a direct frontal view.
The undead Hounds were nearby, he was sure. They might not have followed him through the Master Portal during daylight, but now the sun was gone.
The vampire stretched out his senses. He heard only the sounds of the forest. Somewhere nearby a small mammal was digging furiously for a beetle. An owl soared by silently, though Levent's unnatural hearing could discern the tiny creaks of its wings and the whispers of the thermal it rode caressing its feathers.
The rodent, a mouse of some kind perhaps, ceased digging instantly and its tiny breaths stilled in panic. The owl passed away into the night. A footstep compressed a fallen leaf so softly that even Levent was unsure for a moment if it had actually happened. But the rodent had not resumed its hunt for the beetle, and so told Levent that indeed a Hound was here.
Could they smell him? Would he stand a chance against them? Even before his exposure to the hateful sun he had gone too long without feeding, especially with his wounds in the underground passages. He would be weak as a day old kitten. And these were not living Hounds. They would have the terrible power of the Stone added to that granted them by Harden.
And here he was, helpless. His sanctuary would not last. And yet, he must find a way. The Stone was gaining too much ground too quickly, he felt. If Fern had fallen again it could only mean that she believed its victory inevitable, or even just. She knew what it wanted.
Levent's heart ached in his chest. She had chosen, this time, with eyes wide open. There might well be no saving her, now. Perhaps she had fallen for all time.
The Stone had done this. The Stone, embodiment of hate and the dark. Incarnate of the doom that trailed all that lived. The Stone had stolen Fern's soul. A little girl with so much yet to see and do. She should have grown up. She should have grown old and loved and grieved and danced.
Levent's teeth gritted unconsciously. His eyes blazed with fury, shining forth from his hiding place as the eyes of a cat in moonlight. Something shifted in the forest. A shadow parted from the others and glided toward him, stopping as if uncertain of what it saw. In need of encouragement.
"Come, dog. Here is Levent."
The Hound sped forward, stretching its terrible jaws and holding its twinned blades wide. When it came close enough, Levent surged from his hiding place. He did not roar. His rage was beyond that. Without a sound he struck the dead Hound's head from its shoulders and sped away into the forest without pause.
Levent did not know where the Portal had taken him, but he felt Fern and Frob and that was the only direction he needed.
Behind him, the other undead Hounds took up the chase.
Acorn on 13/1/2005 at 05:43
Garrett stirred and groaned, attempting to flex his muscles, touch his aching head. His arms moved barely an inch. Bound.
Spiders! The thief breathed in sharply, his back arching in attempt to loosen the cocoon. No, not spiders. That was a long time ago, or maybe just a week. Garrett relaxed again rolling his head to the right, away from the bump.
He cracked an eyelid open, it was night time and the thief smelled the musty and fresh plant scents that were always quite abundant in any forest. There was a camp fire in front of him and a man in black crouching before it, adding a dry piece of log to the crackling flames.
"I see you're up... finally." The fellow said dryly.
"Youhhh... hit me." Garrett groaned with a wince and adjusted his head on the pebbly ground again.
"YOU tried to kill ME." the man replied. "...and Lady Acorn." he nodded his head to the right, indicating someone out of the thief's line of sight. "I was barely able to stop you, only you seem to have taken ill since we last met. Your skills have diminished, Garrett." The keeper winced as well, a gloved hand rising to press the side of his abdomen, and Garrett noticed for the first time the bandages wrapped around the other man's torso. "...but not by much." Kestril added.
"The witch." replied the thief under his breath. "She's bewitched you."
"What's happened to you man?!" Kestril suddenly jumped to his feet and was across the campsite, his hand lifting Garretts chin roughly so that he could look the thief in the eyes. "Has the Enemy gotten into Your head too?"
"No." Garrett whispered, "but she got into yours. The Keeper told me."
"What Keeper?!" Kestril demanded.
Garrett coughed dryly and shook his head out of the other's grip. He needed water but thought there was little use asking for it from these two. "I thought you guys all knew each other." He studied the other man. The Keeper certainly seemed lucid, and even to know the thief personnally though Garrett couldn't place a name on the increasingly familiar face... all Keepers knew of Garrett. "His message is in one of my cloak pockets if you're up for a little light reading." The thief continued, "Maybe it will jog some memories loose..."
Kestril rose wincing briefly pressing the white sash tightly bound around his waste. He strode over to the thief's pack and collection of weapons draped over by the folds of the worn dark cloak, snatched the garment up and rifled through the pockets, finally finding the pocket that contained a single roll of parchment in its hidden fold. Kestril dropped the rumpled cloak and stepped back to the fireside turning the paper toward the flames.
"What is this?" He asked in wonder reading the flowing hand of someone who was apparently contracting Garrett to do a hit on Acorn and himself.
"KEEPER Hardin?!" The Keeper looked back up and stared in disbelief at Garrett's shadowed face, "What in the Holy Halls of the Builder is going on here?"
"You tell me, "brother"." Garrett replied his voice full of waryness and mistrust.
"Garrett, Don't you know who I am? Don't you remember us? Our quest?" Kestril crossed to kneel at the thief's side and clutched at the front of Garrett's borrowed silk tunic.
"No! I don't remember anything." Garrett shot back accusingly, "Nothing until after you and the pagan tried to... to ... kill me at.. the Tower." The pain in his skull was back stronger than before. Clouded images flashed in his mind, casing the stone fortress, spiders, an old man dragging him away and confinement somewhere dark, and he couldn't move. The thief curled forward ridgedly in the grass and growled at the pain through gritted teeth. "Spiders." He whispered.
littlek on 14/1/2005 at 00:26
Harden sighed. It felt good to breathe deeply into healthy lungs that actually worked. He glanced down at his hands. Skin. Pink and pliant as a babies butt. He hated the long term affects of being immortally undead. But he had no doubt that he would conquer the silly problem of decay. Harden rubbed the skin of his hand then he caressed his face. What? He rubbed his chin and a sly smile formed over pliant lips. A stubble! He was growing a beard. “Harden you are golden.” He said smugly to himself and walked away from the door that Orson had run through.
Blood coursed through his veins. Red blood. Rich with oxygen that fed organs that worked. Well they were not actually his organs. Rather they were the organs he had dissected from all those screaming brats he took such pains to capture. But it was worth it. He was now complete and beautiful. He paused at the new mirror he had uncovered and gazed at his reflection. Even his hair was thick, dark and luxuriant and cascaded playfully down his back. A fine red silk ribbon secured it. He pawed at his pony tail and turned his head back and forth the pony tail flipped back and forth. The ribbon looked effeminate but he didn’t care. He had nothing to prove to anyone. Except to that damn thief who stole his horse. Now that annoyed him more than Orson not falling for his trap. No one stole from him and lived. He turned from the mirror and entered his lab. He walked to the far wall and unhooked a lever and slowly an object began to lower from the ceiling. When it was eye level to Harden, he stopped its decent. He turned the oblong cocoon and noticed the crack. Part of a leathery wing peeked out.
“I see you are anxious to get out and play.” Harden said playfully as he caressed the encasement lightly with his fingers. He let his hand linger on the cocoon for no other reason than to admire the smooth flawless skin on his hand. He fingered the wing and smiled. Nat responded with a low growl and violent thrashing. Harden chuckled.
“Well I guess you are done cooking. Let’s see what I created.” Harden reached up and flicked a small protrusion on the top of the cocoon and it split neatly in half with Nat falling heavily on the floor. Nat tucked thick, powerful legs underneath him and slowly stood up. He now towered over Harden as he extended and flexed his leathery wings. His powerful arms hung at his side and he flexed large, sharp claws that tipped his scaly fingers. His face was covered in fine scales with piercing yellow eyes that were now fixed on Harden. Larger, thicker scales covered his thick chest and back that even the sharpest arrows would not be able to penetrate.
Harden looked Nat up and down then smiled. “Yessss. You will do. You will do just fine. You turned out better than I thought you would. I think I need to make more like you.” His smile grew wider when he looked into Nat’s hateful eyes. “Yes you would like to destroy me. That is good. But you know you can’t.” Harden cackled. “I have a little job for you.” Harden’s face changed to annoyance and he stepped back. “Stop breathing on me. Now listen carefully and if you make me happy, then maybe I’ll….er….maybe create you a tail to complete your new look.” Harden leaned to one side and looked behind Nat. “Yes a tail would look nicely. And some hair on your head. Hair would be a nice touch. Now listen closely and don’t you dare disappoint me.”
Oneiroscope on 14/1/2005 at 04:43
Gode gazed silently upon Thule, Fenris, and Undu. All that remained of the Minders, except for Orson. Thule, youngest of them all, a golden boy if ever there was one. Fenris, dark and brooding, a seasoned warrior in his prime. Undu, the exotic warrior of a mysterious land. And, of course, Gode himself. Almost too old for this, now. He had lived in the City all his life. Had served the Keepers since he had been old enough to lift a book. His blade was a broadsword. Oracle, he had named it long ago. For in the end its edge told the future, who would live and who would die.
"Now we begin." Gode said. "Let all that is hidden come into the light."
The Minders all bent their heads in meditation. Each began searching the thoughts of the others and opening their own thoughts.
Foolish Keepers. Think thou to find me?
The voice slid away like a snake. Gode concentrated harder, and felt his brothers respond in kind.
A foul laughter, cold as a glacier, echoed in their thoughts.
"Here I am!" Fenris shouted gleefully. He jumped up and had his blade at young Thule's throat in an eyeblink. He giggled insanely, gently sawing the blade across the boy's neck just enough to draw blood. The other Minders jumped up and drew, but hesitated to strike. Fenris cackled at their dilemma.
"So," Gode rumbled. "You hide in Fenris? Was it he who slew Brother William?"
"No, Gode." Undu said, and Gode felt the scimitar at his throat. Fenris blinked several times, then released Thule with a look of horror when he realized what he had been doing.
"Undu," Thule began, rising to his feet. "Release him." He drew his sword. "Release him NOW." The boy was fearless. A moment ago his friend's blade had been slicing into his flesh, yet his voice was clear and his hand shook not at all on the hilt.
Good lad, Gode thought. Then something hideous came into Gode's mind.
"Or what, little cub?" Gode sneered. "Will you strike me down?" Undu pulled the scimitar away, eyes wide. Gode chuckled.
"Yes." Thule said. "I or one of my brothers will slay you, demon." Then the boy giggled as Gode blinked in suprise. "Brave lad, this Thule. Stupid, but brave. I always thought so."
"Kill him! Kill him now!" Gode screamed and drove toward Thule. Killing the current host was the only way. It must end here.
Thule laughed as he easily parried Gode's thrust, but the laughter was cut short when Undu's scimitar removed his head in a fountain of blood. The black man was frozen in the act, his blade running red with the boy's blood. He sobbed brokenly and fell to his knees.
"Thule..." Undu's voice was pure anguish. He dropped the crimson scimitar with disgust and spat on it. "Better it were me!" Tears flowed freely over his scarred face. He subsided into a prayer in his own tongue and was inconsolable.
"Fenris..." Gode stopped. His voice shook too much. He took a breath. "Fenris, take Undu away from this place. Tell the Hammers to come for Thule." He sighed, and weariness bore down on his aging bones. "I will tell Oliver." The dark warrior of the North, always reticent to show the slightest emotion, merely nodded glumly and went to Undu's side as Gode left the room.
When Gode found Oliver, the knight was mounting Jamie.
"Stay away, Gode." Oliver's voice was hard as steel. "I watched your battle from a secret room."
Gode found himself surrounded by Hammers. His broadsword was gently lifted out of its scabbard and his hands were bound. He looked to Oliver incredulously.
"But we killed it!"
Oliver shook his head. "Take him and the other Minders to seperate rooms." He spoke to a Hammer priest, one of many now amongst the Hammers and regarding Gode with looks of great concentration. "Keep them drugged, but treat them well. Keep priests on guard at all times to suppress their powers."
"Oliver!" Gode called out desperately.
"I am sorry, Gode. I am sorry I did not see this in time to save Thule. But now I must act. I only pray I can reach them before they bring him back."
"You will fail, Sir Oliver. You will die on the road and serve the Stone." Gode reeled in shock at the words twisting from his mouth.
"Perhaps." Oliver conceded with slitted eyes. "But not without a fight." With that, the knight wheeled his gigantic steed and galloped through the gate.
Oneiroscope on 17/1/2005 at 04:03
Two Guardians stood immobile in the darkness of the woods as rain began to fall yet again. Droplets tapped quietly on the steel fused to their bodies, collecting in dark beads and rolling off onto the leaf litter. Behind them a dark figure clad in filthy and tattered robes finally stirred. Each of the Guardians knew a moment of disappointment. They had both allowed themselves the luxury of speculating that it had returned to the silence of the grave from which they had retrieved it.
Guardians knew no fear. Such emotions had been trained out of them by Lord Harden. But the thing sitting on a boulder behind them came close to awaking the sensation anew. Guardians knew no fear except fear of Harden himself. But the thing was so like Harden...
"We move." It rasped in their thoughts. The dead thing could only speak directly to their minds, its jaw was a ruin of broken teeth and burned flesh."South. The time approaches. Be swift."
The Guardians had been ordered by Harden to obey, and they did so instantly. One of them bent and, careful not to touch the charred skin bared by the decaying robe, picked up the creature. Then began their relentless pace, and the scabbard the undead creature still wore at its side beat rythmically on an armored thigh.
-------------
Harden opened his new eyes, then turned to the Guardian who attended him in his rooms."The knight is gone. The Keepers are neutralized. Attack at once." The Guardian bowed and sped from the room.
Lord Bagmoor smiled. Nat was on his way. His prey was alone on the road. Even the fat knight would not survive the chimera Harden had fashioned for him. Harden wished he would be there to see it. It would be like something out of a story book.
Without the knight and the Minders, the monastary would burn like a house of matchsticks. All within would find themselves caught between Harden's forces in the forest and those even now moving through the mines. He hoped there wouldn't be too many fatalities. He had ordered his forces to accept surrender graciously. Fresh recruits would be so... interesting.
littlek on 18/1/2005 at 02:26
Nat soared silently high above the trees. Blood! Mutilation! Splintered bones! Agonizing screams! His mind was consumed with rage and violence. He searched the landscape below for another sign of his quarry. He was clever this one. He covered his tracks well but he must have sensed that he was being followed and became more careful and cunning. Nat lost valuable time when the trail he followed turned out to be a false one and he had to double back. But Harden gave Nat the eyes of an eagle and he easily found his trail after spotting the broken twig that marked the trail his game tried so vainly to conceal. Sharp, piercing, all seeing eyes. But unlike the vision of an eagle that was diurnal, Nat’s vision was equally good at night. However, dusk was in between day and night and Harden had not planned on that. So Nat again lost the careful trail of his prey. So Nat took advantage a rare thermal that spun upwards over the cold land and Nat spread his broad wings and spiraled up with it his eyes searching back and forth over the land beneath him. Soon his eyes would not be confused over the few photons of light that bounced in his eyes and confused his vision. Soon his nocturnal inheritance would dominate. Kill him! Break Him! Bathe in his blood! Consume his flesh! These insane thoughts raced through Nat’s mind. But hiding in a crack in his mind, another entity recoiled at the horror of what he saw that he had become and stifled a scream. He must not be detected if he were to survive. Nat feared what he would do to himself. So he sunk deeper into the crevice and watched the landscape spiral below through the eyes of an eagle.
This is why the chimera did not see it coming. The arrow was fast and swift as it flew towards Nat out of the dark trees and through the dim sky. Someone of great strength was the power behind the arrow or the arrow was blessed with magic as it still possessed a great amount of power even having soared for such a distance. Nat saw it too late and reacted instinctively by dipping sideways. But the arrow found its mark and ripped though the one area not covered by thick, protective scales…..his wing. Had Nat taken the arrow in his chest as was the intent of the archer, the damage would merely have been an annoying bruise since the scales over his vitals were impenetrable by arrows. Harden had thought of that. But Nat merely reacted not yet fully aware of his newness and now it was too late. His one good wing flapped rapidly to slow his decent yet he still hit the ground hard.
