littlek on 31/1/2005 at 14:48

---

Nat lay prone on the giving earth. He was in great pain but Nat knew that dragons could ignore pain. He lifted his wing and gazed at the massive hole in his wing. Part of the weapon that felled him from the sky remained imbedded in bone and gristle. He grasped it with one long talon and pulled it free clenching his teeth to keep from screaming. Dragons do not scream in pain but Nat does and he could not suppress the terrible roar that erupted out of his throat and escaped through his massive fangs. Spent, he remained prone on Gaia, drawing strength from the mother. The pain began to lessen and soon he sat upright like a dog on his massive haunches. He looked about him hoping Harden did not hear his painful scream. Nor any other dragon for that matter. He still clutched the arrow and brought it up to his nostrils to smell the man-scent. It was not the scent of the man he was commanded to destroy. He sniffed again and detected the earthy scent of a horse. So he travels on horseback. Horses do not cover their tracks well so he would be easy to follow. To follow and destroy. But that must wait as he was trailing another. He felt disappointment in that. He wanted to tear apart the wielder of that massive arrow that has so easily torn through his leathery wing. He flung the arrow into the thick brush and stood up. Nat no longer traveled as a biped. He was a dragon and dragons fly or run on four legs. His new body design was taking some time getting used to but he picked it up rather quickly. He carefully folded his wings beneath the protective hard outer carapace that Harden gave him.

Nat lowered his massive head to sniff the ground and nearly tipped over. Without a tail for balance, Nat found terrestrial travel difficult but not impossible. He tucked in his pelvis for balance and began to walk slowly swinging his head from side to side trying to catch even a molecule of the scent of the man he was sent to destroy. He easily found the trail of the mounted manfool who felled him but the one he trailed was more difficult. But find it he did. Nat settled into a long, rhythmic trot after him, easily closing the distance between them.

______________________________________________________________

Harden’s mood grew foul. That insufferable thief stealing his prize stallion right from under his new and perfect nose. And he could only watch helplessly from the window. He’ll have to think up something very nasty for that guard’s inattentiveness. And something even nastier for that thief. Then losing the gem to that…….Keeper. Harden's mouth curled into a cruel sneer. Just a moment more and he would have had him. But that fetid creature Oneiros warned him not to attack. He was certain of that. All that whispering. It was just too much to bear. It is my gem. I should have it. I am the only one worthy of its power. Maybe that imbecile Nat will get back his gem. If he did not have to rush the transformation of the nit he would be more certain of Nat’s success in completing his task. But the cake was not quite done. Still he did turn out very well. This thought lightened Harden's mood a little.

Harden stared at his reflection in one of the many mirrors that he had re-hung since he became beautiful once again. He could not help but look at himself. No longer did the grey pall of decay mar his fine features. It had been so long ago that he lost his virile looks and having to live eons looking like that was brutal. But no longer. Now things are all amiss with Ashille running about consuming the souls of all his unfinished projects. She always was insatiable that one.

“Well then. I should go find Ashille and stop her feasting before she ruins all my pets.” Harden mused out loud.

“No need to look far my darling.” A silky feminine voice cooed behind him.

Harden smiled and slowly turned to allow the creature the opportunity to fully admire his perfect form. He could tell from the look in her hideous eyes that she liked what she saw and, not to be outdone, she transformed back into the ravenous creature that had earlier seduced Guille. Harden walked up to her and reached up to her porcelain face. He wiped away the blood that trickled out of the corner of her perfect mouth.

“I see you have been dining on my pets again. We must discuss this appetite of yours my dear.”

Oneiroscope on 18/2/2005 at 02:07

---

"Dearest, thou need not concern thyself." Ashille purred. "I have not come for thee. Not yet. Though thy debt and thy delay pain me." The girl before him grinned fetchingly, but revealed row upon row of needle teeth doing so. A strange red glow illuminated the pair. Brighter than any flame, but darker than dead blood. Hellfire had crept into the room, seeking flesh and ruin, but did not fall upon Harden. The flames seemed to decide there was little of interest here, and their deadly dervish dance wandered aimlessly behind a tapestry.

"No? Then why are you here, if not for me?" Not as if even a Demon Lord such as Ashille could claim him now. He belonged to the Stone. Guille might have been destroyed, but it was only because of his own foolishness. A stupid wizard who had allowed himself to be mesmerized by a serpent. Harden was beyond such tomfoolery.

Ashille, giggled delightedly. "Art thou? Beyond my wiles?" Harden then felt something he had not experienced for a century. His eyes lingered on the nymph before him. The curve of the hip. The full lips. A voice deep and hollow boomed out in a cackling laughter.

"I think not, Harden Bagmoor."Ashille's true voice dripped with venom. "Thou art now and ever shall be... Mine." The girl's scarlet hair became quills of deep black, insectile and slithering with dreadful hunger. Harden's eyes widened. For the first time since his death, he was afraid.

"I will claim thee, and soon. But I came for a Deal. A promise has been made me, should certain conditions arise. I mean to see that they do. But before I collect my prize, I wanted to see thy face again, my pet. So that thee will know I have come, and that our arrangement will be honored." Black slime dripped from the maw of some unspeakable deep sea terror. The eyes became ridged stalks, terrible razor toothed worms that devoured light. The hellfire rose up, beginning to consume the depraved tapestries.

Then, Ashille and the hellfire was gone. Harden fell to his knees with a gasp.
-----------------------

Kestril beheaded a zombie that came too close, then gracefully danced away from another that reached for him with skeletal claws. The Keeper pulled Amelie, who in turn held the wailing Molly in an iron grip, toward the colossal stone and burial mound near the camp. At least there, before the ancient monolith, he and Acorn could face the horde without being overrun from behind. Acorn followed, but with some trepidation. A peculiar whispering tickled her ears near the burial mound. Something spoke to her from that cyclopean place, but she refused to hear it. What good would it do now?

"I think we're in trouble." Kestril deadpanned.

"You sure about that?"

"Pretty sure."

Acorn let off another wave of searing flame that incinerated several zombies. Acorn tried and failed to swallow when many of them simply got up again, flesh charred and falling as greasy black ash from their steaming bones. They couldn't even see them any more, she realized, the flame had destroyed their eyes but some inner sight yet persisted. The Stone was their eyes.

"Orson and Frob are coming. Maybe if we can hold out..." Kestril stopped. So then it would be four against hundreds, maybe thousands. A vampire, a woodsie witch, and two Keepers might account for a great many before the end, but not enough.

"We've lost, then." Acorn fumed. After all they had done, after they had come so far, to fail now when they were finally within a day's ride... And to fail so utterly. What would remain of this world when the Stone had finished with it? Anything? Perhaps only a gigantic and benighted tomb, crawling with undead horrors. But it wouldn't end there, would it? The Stone sought the obliteration of all things. Would their failure hear herald such a thing? Could that truly happen? But then, if she and her comrades were all that stood against it... Was it worth saving?

"I want my MOMMY!" Molly wailed hopelessly. Amelie held the girl tightly.

Orson and Frobert will not save thee, child.

Amelie looked around. Who had spoken?

Suddenly the world dimmed and faded away. Molly was gone. Amelie was standing in an empty place, black as velvet. But she could see her own arms.

I have a proposal for thee, sweet Amelie.

"Where am I? Who are you? Where is Molly!"

Your friends will fall. Even now, the Skollus Stone has them trapped. The Keeper called Orson brings their doom. The doom of all that live. The knight Oliver rushes to you, he knows what will happen. But he will not come in time. I can help you.

Amelie hugged herself. She was just a barmaid. She'd never even been kissed! What was going on!

Yesss. Poor child. It's all so terrible isn't it? You poor Papa. A terrible thing for a loving daughter to have to do. But you did what needed to be done.

Amelie moaned. Her throat seized up.

Think what will happen when Orson comes. They will try to bring back the wizard called Oneiros. The Stone will rule him just as it does thy poor Papa.

Amelie wept freely.

I can protect him, child. I can keep him safe from the Stone. Oneiros knew this. Before he came here he knew he might need me. He made me a Deal. Wilt thou honor it? Wilt thou pledge thyself to me for this service? I cannot help him otherwise.

"Who ARE you?" Amelie wailed.

Father walked out of the shadows, alive and well. Face unmarred. His eyes twinkled in that special way that had always made Amelie feel ten feet tall. His wrinkled face smiled.

"I am Ashille. Also called Lord Obus. Also called many other things. But thou may call me Father, if thou wish."

Ashille stretched out a hand.

"Take my hand and Oneiros will not serve the Skollus. Leave my hand and thou shalt return to the world and see what may come."
---------------------

Oliver unhitched the Sun Shield from his back. Best to be ready. It's golden light shone on the road before Jaimie's pounding hooves. At least now they could see where they were going! Somewhere nearby was Bagmoor Village, he thought. But where was Acorn? They were hereabouts, he was sure. But where?

{OOC: Haven't decided whether to keep this or not, but it gives at least a general idea of what I had in mind. Lemme know what you think.}

Oneiroscope on 6/4/2005 at 06:27

---

{OOC: Thread Necromancy Warning! Holy crap, I guess it's been a while. :sweat: I kept meaning to post here again, but ye olde creative juices have been pretty thin and watery for the past couple of months.}

"Who's there?" Gode asked. The drug the Hammerites had been giving him had thoroughly fogged his mind. He could feel the presence outside the thick oaken door, but nothing more. They had been standing there for a while, now. Still, no answer came.

"Damnation! Who the hell is it? Say something or go away!"

"I feared as much." The voice was thin and reedy. An old man. Familiar. Gode's mind raced.

"Father Kinnis? Been drafted to stand watch, have you?"

The voice was quiet. Gode could just make out a few sighs, and half mumbled phrases. The old man was thinking. That was clear. Finally he seemed to reach a decision, and gave a grunt.

"The problem is, Keeper, that outside our gate those fell troopers of that beast in the tower are at this moment preparing to attack."

Gode began to speak, but was cut off by Kinnis.

"And in the tunnels. Down there in the dark of our own mines the enemy is coming forth like rats from the walls. We are done for. All here know it."

Gode's head hung low. The finality of the old priest words rang true.

"The villagers are tearing each other to ribbons in their fear. The few you Keepers trained stand their ground, but fight with no heart. Some have chosen the coward's way."

"And the Hammers?" Gode asked, his voice remarkably free of emotion.

"Heh. We are Hammers. We trust the Builder. No fear dwells in the heart that is pure."

"Truly?"

"Of course not. Our mighty warriors are crapping themselves from one end and praying from the other. Our priests rush around like old women, talking loudly of deliverance but doing nothing."

Gode smiled. He liked this priest.

"But not you, Father Kinnis."

"Hm. Don't you take that tone with me, boy."

"But-"

"You might have a few gray hairs, but I'm still old enough to be your grandfather."

"I-"

"Think you can flatter me into letting you out, don't you. Hah! If I let you out it'll be because I'm damned good and ready to let you out. And not one damned second sooner."

"Yes, sir."

"That's better! Now. Where was I?"

"Letting me out?"

"Ah. The thing is, boy, I never did like losing. No sir. Not ever. I remember when I was a boy... must be oh seventy odd years ago now. My, that long ago? Hmm. Dear me. Old Bloody Knuckles. Yes. That was what they called me. Just kept getting up and kept getting up. Ha. Full of beans. What was that boy's name?" Kinnis drifted off into his memories.

"Father Kinnis?"

"Hm? Oh. Yes. Don't like losing. Even back then, I didn't care whether that boy broke my nose or blacked my eye or knocked out all my teeth. I didn't care if he killed me. I wasn't about to let him get away with taking my pennies. He was twice my size and... hah... twice my age, but I'd be DAMNED if I'd just stand by and let him take my money. You know what I did?"

"What did you do?" Gode managed to keep his voice from shaking. Now and then, the ground shook ever so slightly. The Combat Bots. That meant they were close. Maybe even inside the compound.

"I threw those pennies in his face. Wasn't the money. I'd begged all day for those pennies. Hadn't eaten a scrap in near a week, as I recall. But it wasn't the money. It was just that I wasn't going to stand by and let him get away with it."

Suddenly the picture of frail old father Kinnis as a half-starved street urchin, tossing his meager savings in the face of a thief came to Gode. This had been no schoolyard brawl. This hadn't been about milk money. The boy must have known the thief would kill him. It must have been as certain as the dawn.

"I killed him, of course. Weren't any justice to speak of back then. Not for them like me. Not unless we made it ourselves. Hmm. I was lucky. I lived. But the thing is, Keeper... The thing is... I didn't care. I didn't care if I lived or not. That boy had murdered two of my friends for PENNIES."

Silence descended. Then Gode heard the key in the lock.
-----------------------------------

The two Guardians turned. One of them was born down under Levent's charge, metal shrieking as its armor was torn asunder by the vampire's alloyed claws. The other raised its axe and advanced on the roiling black shape that had sprung on them from the benighted forest. Then it stopped.

Levent had fallen on his back, writhing in torment. The Guardian looked at Keeper Horn. The lich-thing was staring intently at Levent, it's eye sockets seemed alive with a light that the Guardian saw with the depths of its damned soul. Down there in the dark where memories of Harden and what Harden had done and what the Guardian had done at Harden's bidding crept and slithered. Down there, the light in the gaping holes of the dead thing's eyes cast no shadows.

Vampire. Keeper. Levent. You have renounced me. I see all, Levent. I see that you will never return to me. I weep.

In the forest from whence Levent had come, shadows shifted and moved closer. The Guardian, despite itself, moaned softly. The Hounds did not move like Hounds. They seemed to float. Mere shadows against the trees, as if cast by a man walking past a torch.

Witness my power.

Levent flopped over onto his belly, then rose to his knees. The Guardian he had slain stirred, then rose to its feet.

Receive my judgment.

One of those midnight spectres came close to the vampire, and bent close. It whispered something to Levent, then struck. It's twin, barbed blades sank into the vampire's back and ripped through. Levent shuddered and sighed. The dead Hound tore the blades free and Levent sank to the ground.

Then the lich turned to the Guardian. The dead Hounds and the newly dead Guardian closed in a circle. The Guardian saw Levent still twitching on the leaf litter his eyes open and glittering strangely in the dark. Before it died and joined with the Stone, it saw Levent raise himself up, grab the Hound that had impaled him, and drink deep from its throat.

Serve me. Now and forever.
------------------------------

Garrett now saw that the shambling creature was no zombie. It had wings. In the dark Garrett couldn't make out its face, but something seemed familiar. Something glimmered in his memory. He half heard a wrenching scream. Almost saw a figure like this one carrying a head that still moved.

Garrett's head spun. He retched.

The creature's head came up, alerted by the sound. It rushed forward, howling in desperate hunger. A name finally surfaced in Garrett's mind. Jorge.
----------------------------

Oliver hit the ground. Hard. Somewhere behind him, Jamie screamed. The chimera had found them.

----------------------------

Next to Frob, Fern seemed to shiver. Her face went rigid. She moaned. She stared at Orson, who was handing the gem to Acorn. She tried to speak, but all that emerged was a croak.

Acorn took the gem and produced the scroll. She began to read.

The zombies grew quiet and ceased their advance. Acorn felt the Geas of the scroll take hold. A soft golden light gew up around her.

Words forced their way from the vellum and into her mind, then out of her mouth. She did not understand them all. Those she did awoke memories of nightmares.

A breeze picked up, seeming to come from all directions. In the distance, thunder rolled. The faint whispers from the tomb moaned despondently and fell silent. The gem began to glow.

"Mysteries of the trees does he knows. And secrets of the rockses. The waters be his breaths. The Air his home. The path of the Maw is straight for him. The beasties be his brothers and sisters. Who be he? Oneiros, Son of the Green."

The gem left her hand and floated before her.

Then came words that seemed to echo in her thoughts in strange ways. As if she were in that place halfway between sleep and wakefullness. She felt a strange sense of vertigo, as if looking down on her own thoughts. She saw them as segmented flashing instants of eternal time. As if generations were being born, living their lives, and dying- only to live a single moment of her thoughts. Acorn wondered if she were going mad.

The gem began to spin. The light within it grew stronger.

Then came the tongue she dreaded above all others:

"Dark, dark, dark. In the tomb, in the dark. He waits there. He watches. He dreams with thee. His voice stirs thee. His hand touches thee. Now thou shalt waken him. Who calls to thee from beyond the wall? Who walks in the corridors and halls of thy home? Who remembers thy name? Oneiros, Lord of Twilight."

Acorn shuddered. The gem began to pulse. Between the flashes of blinding purple was another light. It showed her things she did not want to see. The shapes of the undead in that opposite of light were unbearable. She closed her eyes.

Then unfamiliar words. Words that hurt her throat and twisted her tongue. But at their utterance, she felt the sky yawn open above her. Felt the trackless void of space tug at her. Felt the tiny earth beneath her feet dwindle to nothingness.

Then, the demontongue. Sibilant streams of foulness left her shaking. They seemed to promise things. To stain her with an oily touch that she knew would never fully be cleansed. Always, from now on, part of Hell knew her heart.

Then a hand rested upon her shoulder.

More words, not from the scroll came into her mind and forced themselves said. The demontogue.

She heard Oneiros scream. Her eyes opened. There he stood. Gigantic. The armor new and whole. The blood began to flow. He screamed again. Of birth, of death, of the spaces between the stars and what dwelled there, of endless pain and utter damnation, of madness.

She turned and looked at Amelie, who withdrew her hand from Acorn's shoulder.

{Might edit this sometime soon. I'm a little groggy at the mo'. :weird: }

Oneiroscope on 30/4/2005 at 06:02

---

{OOC: Is anyone still reading this? Anyone but me still interested in posting? I think if no one else posts here after this, I won't either.}

Oneiros barrelled into the zombies with a cry of glee. The sword, hot with the fires of Hell and moaning with the despondent voice of a lost soul, smoked with every drop of Oneiros's blood that trickled onto the grip from the wizard's gauntlet. The glowing blade left a trail of black soot that stank of brimstone and burning flesh.

The wizard's first slash neatly bisected three zombies. The severed torsos fell to the ground and the blade took up three more voices in it's wails.

"Come on, you fetid bags of old meat!" Oneiros railed. "Kill me if you can!"

Oneiros raised a hand and blue-white lightning flashed forth, not only incinerating the undead it struck but those too close to the blinding flash. The giant, armored form laughed maniacally.

Acorn stood in shock, but only for a moment. The tide had turned. She joined in the carnage, taking grim satisfaction with every zombie she felled with fire. Kestril likewise joined the fray, his exotic blade taking terrible toil of those undead who dared come within striking distance. Orson and Frob also fought, felling zombies as quickly as they could. Fern stayed back, shock and uncertainty on her pale face. Molly wailed and clung to Amelie's unconcious form.

Very quickly the heroes had disposed of a great many undead. But more came from the dark. And these were not unarmed as the others had been. They bore pitchforks, scythes, swords, bows, hammers. The undead had begun to move with purpose, forming up into ranks and files. They maneuvered for position. Fear began to grip Acorn's heart when several appeared with what looked to be a ballista, dragging it through the muddy ground and then methodically loading the weapon.

It was obvious the Stone intended to destroy both Oneiros and his allies. This seemed too carefully planned. Why had the front ranks been unarmed? They had shuffled aimlessly. Acorn began to realize it had been a ploy. That at anytime this army could have annihilated them. Why hold back?

She looked to the wizard, now surrounded by mountains of charred and dismembered flesh. The ballista's bolt, meant to punch through stone and iron, slammed into the wizard's chest.

Oneiros was knocked flat. He shook his head. He sat up. The helmet inclined slightly, as if inspecting the torso of the armor. It was not dented.

"Many thanks, Ashille." The smoking, red hot sword moaned in reply. One voice rose slightly above the many it now held. "I know, I know. All in a day's work." The wizard's laughter caused several zombies to retreat.
--------------------------

Garrett scrambled away again, barely evading the crazed vampire's grip. He ran for his life. He had nothing that would reliably put down the monster. His only chance lay in running away. There was no time to hide.

Jorge bellowed in frustration. The vampire was weak. A steady, ever deepening diet of dead blood had taken its toll. But pathetic and ragged as he was, Jorge was still more than a match for the thief. And the scent of living blood had driven the already mad creature into a hysterical ferocity.

Garrett cleared a log, but his foot caught on an unseen root. He careened into the bushes, hearing the vampire just behind him. Garrett wrestled through the brambles and jerked himself upright and into a panicked sprint. The vampire growled. Garrett fancied he could feel Jorge's breath on the back of his neck. He would not be able to keep this up for much longer.

Then Garrett saw a strangely familiar sight. The shadow of a man. A very fat man. He bore an enormous sword in one hand, and a strangely glowing shield in the other.

"Ah, Garrett. I see you have an admirer? Shall I illuminate matters? Surely it is a case of mistaken identity."

Sir Oliver raised the Sun Shield, Jorge was no more.

Acorn on 14/5/2005 at 21:15

---

"Thanks." Garrett panted, and bent to rub at his still sore knee. " All I seem to run into these days are zombies, monsters, and strange characters who say they know me."

Sir Oliver snorted at the "strange characters" remark, "Well, we're not quite friends, but we HAVE interacted a few times fairly recently. Enough to call us aquaintances at least, but if you prefer that I call you MR. Garrett..." the two stiffened and then shivered away a phantom chill that grew up their spines as mad laughter suddenly exploded from some distance away in the woods, bouncing its fractured echo through the trees. "What was that?" whispered Sir Oliver, a frown deeply creasing his tanned brow.
"Man, I don't even want to know at this point." Garrett puffed, and sat down on a fallen log near the dirt road. "Something tells me there is no profit in this venture." The thief sighed tugging off a boot to dump a small rock.
"humf." Oliver grunted, "Way I heard it you joined Acorn's little quest to defeat the stone because the powers of darkness were after your hide."
"What?" Garrett raised his eyes to meet the knight's.