Acorn on 30/10/2003 at 07:18
"Levent." Kestril grunted, "Part of my duties were to check on him, as he had not been reporting in..." He leaned wearily against the trunk of the tree and began pulling off his gloves one finger at a time. "Levent's in a bad way. Huh, you don't know what an understatement that is... He's been off track for a long time. I don't know how long; Maybe it was the isolation. Every once in a while a Keeper will crack on these long running deep cover observation assignments. You've heard the stories. The guy went native on us, took up a drug habit out of loneliness."
Celtic nodded his head.
"...Then our enemy got into his weakened mind and now he's just a vegetable." Kestrel concluded. "The rest you can guess... I have recovered the Artifacts as I was instructed to do, and as the readers of the prophecy had dictated." He added reverently.
Garrett sighed at this revelation and began checking his bow string for frays.
"And the Eye?" Celtic asked raising an eyebrow.
"I was instructed to move it to a safer location. The Eye its self fought against me on that;" Kestril winced at the memory, "especially after it had learned that I had recovered the Artifacts. I acquired it too eventually and at great pains. Then an unseen enemy, possibly the very one we seek to contain, began taking steps to oppose me. I believe it had been watching the resting place of the Eye for the whole time it was contained there. It used the flaws in the minds of the innocent and not so innocent to capture and spirit the powerful object away from us."
"--We've got to get the Artifacts to town, now." Garrett interrupted the tale. "But we've got to stop that guy too--"
"Don't fret about the brigand, boy..." A jovial voice drifted in. "He won't get far if I have my way." Frob swaggered out of the trees wiping his face with a silk handkerchief and re-adjusting his saber harness over his ancient burial finery. The perfect gentleman; blood smell surrounded him, the remainder of some poor woodland creature. Even under the stars the dark stains on the cloth were evident as he tucked it away in his sleeve.
His eyes twinkled with more starlight than was natural as he observed the wary little discussion group. "I have our quarry covered. Just see that my niece comes to no harm, will you?" His hand fell heavily upon Garrett's shoulder, chilling the thief like ice through his cloak though Garrett suppressed his shivers. "There's a lad. I'm sure we understand each other." Frob smiled forcefully into his eyes. Then the cold hand lifted and brushed Garrett's throat as he released him, seeming a careless move though the thief knew better. The vampire's bow was courtly as he left, breaking into a jog down the road that quickly increased to an impossibly fast run.
"Who the hell was that?" Celtic asked shivering involuntarily himself.
{OOC: Anyone else can follow the highwayman if they want. Maybe someone for daytime travel? Or we can invent another person that Frob recruits (Hypnotizes?) for his aid. Also, I hope you don't mind the prophesy angle I added. Keepers don't seem to take any action for any other reason... they just watch.}
Oneiroscope on 30/10/2003 at 07:55
Benny was drunk. Again. And that was a very good thing. Because otherwise he'd be a mess. Poor old Father Vraden was dead. Poor old taffer. Nobody but Benny had liked the old goat. Not even his own Hammers. But the Father had always had time for Benny. Now he was dead, and Benny was drunk again.
He'd been doing so well, too. Nine months without even a glass of beer. He'd even made lieutenant of the Bagmoor guards! He might have made captain before too much longer. But now he was going to be fired. He was full of the Lord's brandy and drunk and he was going to end up working for the Downwinders again. But wait, there weren't no Downwinders out here. He should have stayed in the City. At least there, he knew most everybody. Out here in the sticks who did he know? Father Vraden. And now he was dead and Benny was gonna lose another job.
He eyed the last remaining golden bottle in the wine cellar. He had to close one eye to reduce it to a single image. Even then it moved around all on its own. Well, why not? He was already drunk, he was already fired. Then he heard the elevator coming down.
Here we go, he thought. Here comes Cap'n to bust my chops. Benny snorted and grabbed the bottle. Better get in down quick, before he hauls me outta here. He sat back and started draining the bottle as fast as he could. Then he heard voices.
"Well done. I'm sorry I couldn't talk to you upstairs, but it's much more private down here."
"No problem, milord. Easy as pie." That was the Cap'n alright. The Lord and the Cap'n both come to fire me. What a world.
"Ah, yes. Very apropos. Very droll. Vraden always did love his mince pies." What? Benny shook his head. He wasn't following this too good. On account of he was drunk.
"Yes, milord. And all that garlic. He never even tasted the poison." Benny's eyes bugged out. Poison. Someone...the...Cap'n? The Captain poisoned the old taffer? Why I oughta... He tried to rise and draw his sword, but his knees buckled under him and the hilt got caught in his tunic.
"Shhh. Don't use that word. Not even down here." the Lord whispered. Lord. That no good bastard didn't deserve to be called no Lord no more. I gots more right to be called a Lord than that pile of Burrick dung does. When I sober up, I'm gonna skewer those two. See if I don't, when I sober up.
"Here's your money, my good man. Now. Let's go back upstairs before we're missed. Good work, Captain. Good work."
Benny heard the two conspirators get back on the elevator, then the thing went up. Benny looked at the bottle still in his hand. With a feirce look he upended the bottle and poured the contents on the dirt floor. Bastards. I'll get 'em if it's the last damned thing I ever do. So help me, Builder.
littlek on 30/10/2003 at 17:59
Fern pulled out the last of the painful thorns from her shin. Fresh blood oozed from the wound and Fern encouraged it to do so in order to clean the wound from the inside out. She really did not have to worry; in fact her injuries were already healing nicely. Thanks to the healing potion that thief they called Garrett gave her to drink. She felt so shy around him. Heck she was shy around everyone but she was especially aware of his presence and constantly stared at him from under her lashes pretending that she was concentrating on tending to her injuries. She never really got a good look at his face because he had an uncanny ability in keeping in the shadows. But even in her weakened state lying in the dirt on the highway, she remembered looking up into kind, deep-set dark eyes and saw the calm, patient far away look of a man who was confident in himself and of his abilities. Fern realized she had her first adolescent crush.
Fern glanced at Acorn. But what chance did she have with a man like Garrett when the Woodsie Witch was around? Acorn was a beautiful mature woman that all men desired. Fern took great delight in hiding in the shadows of the woods and listening to the men talk about the Lady and of other ladies. Ferns name only came up when they would use her to tease another man as his love interest. They would laugh about the scrawny lass called Fern, always hiding in the shadows with her secret thoughts, smelling more like a horse than a girl, her dress always torn and dirty. She wished Acorn would let her wear pants rather than these silly dresses anyhow. She glanced at Acorn and was surprised that she felt such bitterness in her heart when before she felt such awe being around the great Lady.
“Follow my ways and do as I say and you can have any man you want little Fern. I can make you beautiful and immortal. Yesss, that is what you want.” Said the familiar voice of Guille in her head. This time it was different. As if just a piece of the vile creature remained locked in her thoughts but what was left was not powerful enough to control her body. Yet, what remained of him poisoned her once pure thoughts and she thought of things that she had never considered before.
A soft whistle interrupted Guille's poisonous mutterings. Fern instantly recognized that it was a human not an animal that made the soft whistle in the woods. She also noticed the secret look between Garrett and Kestril and watched them slip away and disappear into the dark woods.
“Follow them! Be quick. Be silent” Said the voice in her head.
Oneiroscope on 30/10/2003 at 21:43
The spiders sized up the prey that had so convieniently presented itself to them. It was gigantic! They would feed for weeks on the juicy, succulent, tasty thing. They began to emerge from their hiding places and converge on the meat. Then something happened. All of the spiders felt pain, terrible pain. One of them shuddered and deathscreamed, then rolled over on its back. Treachery! Ambush! But where was the enemy? Then, as quickly as it had begun, the pain died away. As if it had been too weak to finish its slaughter.
We are victorious! We have slain the enemy that could not be seen! But then, just as they were about to begin feeding, something new happened. Mist began to rise from the edges of the cave. Musical mist. Something deep in the racial memory of the spiders recognised this. The Woodsie was speaking to them! The voice was faint, as if from far away, but insistent. They listened attentively. Then, when the mists faded, they spread out within and without the cave. All the better to protect the giant egg sack that had taken the place of their meal.
In the crypt, Leaf slumped much as Guille had done. His first attempt had been foolish. The exhaustion in his undead body had clouded his judgement, had led him too attempt too much. But then he had realized his mistake and rectified it. The Stone had taught him to use what hindered him. So rather that kill the spiders with magic that would have cost him much more flesh, he had simple suggested something to thier simple minds that would serve the same purpose. Even better, since now the spiders would protect the body of the bandit with the zeal of a mother protecting her young.
But still, Leaf sensed it was not enough. He knew his resources were limited, but he had just enough energy left for something small. Something to add some margin for error. But what? He reached out with his senses once again, first finding the Eye, then searching nearby. Something would suggest itself. Nothing of great interest presented itself above ground. A few deer. A rabbit. A hungry owl.
Leaf began to search underground. He found a pack of Burricks. A possibility, but more effort that they were worth. There had to be something. Then, deep underground, where the heat began to liquify the rock, Leaf found what he was looking for.
It would be easy. The fire elemental already existed, so he would not need to further harm himself by summoning it into being. He simply spoke to it, reminded it of his pact with the realms of chaos. He neglected to inform it that his allegiance had since changed, but the elemental didn't need to know that. All it needed to know was that Leaf required its presence above ground. There was a friend who needed a companion.
Acorn on 31/10/2003 at 11:23
Fog rose over the hills west of Van Bramble's 'Magic Youth Elixir' medicine show wagon that was parked for the night just off of the main dirt road. It grayed the pretty black of the night sky with soft billows that wakeful Van observed, smoking thoughtfully on his pipe. "Funny that it only came up in that one area", he thought. "From behind where the road crossed the hill."
The fog rose up and thickened and a shape formed out of the center of it, speeding down the road from the hill and causing more foggy opaquing around itself. Dust. Van concluded. Dust, not fog. It was night and the moon was only a sliver, so he couldn't make out exactly what it was, though it was too small for a horse he was sure.
Deer maybe. It passed the cart in an eye blink, leaving only a dusty breeze in its wake.
Perhaps not a deer, Van thought. Perhaps he should turn in. And lock the door tightly.
The bolt shot home behind him in the pitch black interior of the shuttered wagon's cabin and he felt his way to the single bed stubbing his toe on a box of potatoes, the main ingredient to his 'miracle medicine', letting out a short curse on the way.
---
Far from winded, not that he needed to breathe, Frobert sped down the road past the old medicine show coach and its owner. "Some things never change." He chuckled at its shadowy painted promises and then re-focused his attention upon the road. Here and there there were gouge marks in the hard wagon rutted earth from the huge steel shod hoofs of a swiftly running animal that had been trying to cover a great distance at top speed. He continued his chase until their trace seemed to have vanished from the roadbed and then he trotted to a halt.
Frob turned a circle, surveying the surrounding terrain. To the right a meadow spread across his view encompassing a small lake that shimmered under the stars. Across the road on the other side was dense thicket of brush and scrub oak with only a few open spots.
He sighed, trudging back the way he came, back tracking and looking to both sides of the road for clues. A deer track cleft through the trees and brush on the bushy side of the road and he followed it up a short distance. Frob stopped and listened. Nothing. He turned and was retracing his steps when a snort from behind stopped him short.
A horse whinnied and snorted again a short distance away.
"Ah, company!" he thought, "possibly a hobo rather than his quarry, but that wouldn't be so bad either... " Frob moved silently forward until he could see the large horse outlined against the trees where it was tethered. It made munching sounds in its feed bag and shook biting flies from its head blowing into the bag. Frob circled away from the horse, searching about the small clearing for evidence of the rider. There seemed to be no trace... the horse whinnied again stamping its foot this time. Frob faced the horse thinking his presence had spooked the animal, but found it facing a different direction, ears stiff and alert. Nostrils flaring. A yellowish glow back lit some thorn bushes arrayed before a small rise of rock momentarily and then receded to a faint blush of light.
"A Lantern." he mused, "Let us see if this is the vagabond I seek." Frob crept forward drawing another snort from the horse. He turned pressing a finger to his lips impishly. Did the horse's eyes narrow in distrust or was that a trick of shadows?
He made it to the bushes and bent aside an impeding branch putting an eye to the edge of an opening in the rock face. Heat. The interior was warm, the weak light illuminated a jumble of equipment and possibly supplies. A ticking tapping noise assaulted his ears from near the back of the enclosure, and he pushed his way further into the opening to try and investigate. Then the light radiating from around a corner shone brighter and emerged as a floating ball of swirling fire! Frob hissed and fell back raising an arm against the glare as a small firey missile rocketed by over his head, missing only from his clumsiness. He beat out the fabric of his smoking sleeve and leaped away as another missile smoked past him setting the bush on fire and striking the base of the tree where the rearing horse was tethered. Its bridle strap snapped and the crazed animal fled away in the direction of the meadow. Frob ran a stumbling zig zag pattern through the brush after the horse, partly as an impromptu evasion tactic and partially because he still had blind spots before his eyes from the sudden appearance and attack of the bright orb. He reached the road; hung up a foot on a deadwood branch and fell hard to his stomach knocking wind he didn't need out of him as he scrabbled frantically to his feet. He grabbed up the branch as a weapon, useless though it might seem and turned, brandishing it before him. The elemental made burning noises from somewhere back the way he came getting steadily closer and increasing his fear of one of his few true enemies. Frob nearly panicked seeing no cover in the lightening darkness of the meadow before him, but then remembered the lake... and forced himself to trot slowly in its general direction until the full irritating light of the fire elemental was upon his back and he could hear its noisemaking increase sharply at having spotted him. Frob dodged to the side and a firey bolt flew past his shoulder, then he increased his speed knowing that the elemental could not travel much faster and zagged back the other way as it fired again. Reaching the lake in no time he big stepped quickly through the shallows into water half as deep as his height and submerged himself with a wicked smirk.
The elemental arrived at the water's edge and hovered, bobbing angrily about. Frob watched its wavering image from beneath the rippling surface and waited long minutes until it turned and began to follow the shoreline. He then rose up with a yell swinging the branch like a bat with all his strength and splashed a tall watery sheet of murky pond over the orb which promptly sizzled and went out, leaving nothing but a puff of damp smoke behind. Frobert chuckled dropping the stick and slogged back out of the mire making his squishing way determinedly back toward the track and its cave. He re-entered the charred space jumping down with a flourish of his sword, the swashbuckling flare of the movement ruined a bit by the squelching of his shoes, and met the hissing shrieks of several very angry spiders now arrayed about the entrance. One bit him, obviously expecting a kill but he merely kicked it off flattening it against the wall. He impaled the second on his saber and took a third out with a savage punch. Frob found a final large spider near the rear of the cave guarding a snoring bundle of clothes. It jumped at him and he caught it pulling each leg from its struggling body until a mere torso was left shrieking and wiggling on the ground. Then
ex-Lord Frobert approached the prone figure.
--------
Leaf slumped further at this new failure, and began to marshal flagging energies that would wake the sleeping highwayman, but he paused at a sharp derisive laugh from the Skollus Stone.
"Leave it." It commanded, "Let the undead have his snack. He shall carry the Eye nearer still. Guille has reported the niece plans to travel into the city, and the vampire shall wait for her outside the East gate." It then began to laugh almost childishly, as at a game it was sure it would win. Leaf merely sagged to the cool stone floor its thoughts becoming cobwebs. Sweet Death.
Until wakened again...
littlek on 31/10/2003 at 18:05
Fern tiptoed silently through the underbrush and hid in the shadows between two large oak trees that were unfortunate enough to germinate too close to one another eons ago. Now they were entangled in a long battle for the available space and light they both needed to survive. Their gnarled trunks were almost touching but there was enough room for Fern to slither between them, her form taking on the look of an exposed root. She was too late to hear the entire conversation that Garrett and Kestril had with the stranger. But she did over hear that Kestril and the stranger were Keepers and that they planned to take the artifacts to the city. How Garrett fit into the uncompromising circle of the Keepers remained a mystery to Fern.
Guille mused out loud in her head, “Keepers! This is good to know. Your sneaksiness will be rewarded in due time little Fern.” Fern smiled, her once pure heart grew blacker as Guille’s poison spread through her.
A soft rustle of leaves being walked upon startled Fern out of her thoughts with Guille and she thought her presence would surely be discovered when she saw it was Frob who casually leaned on one of the large oaks she hid between. He stopped to whip off the remains of his last meal from his lips. She or maybe it was Guille drew her face into a satisfied grin at not being detected by the undead. Frob then made himself noticed by the three men and Fern soon learned he would go after the highwayman.
Guille hissed his instructions, “Our business lies with him. Follow the undead.”
Without a moment’s hesitation, Fern obeyed. Had the three men not been so distracted by Frobs sudden departure, they would have noticed one of the dark roots of the oak tree silently crept away and disappeared into the thick forest.
Fern ran as fast as she could through the forest and when she was able, came out of the safety of the trees and on to the highway in pursuit of Frob. She soon realized that Frob ran at an unnatural swiftness and so she had to rely on the tracks that the highwayman’s horse made since Frob left no tracks. Guille’s thoughts grew weak and soon his presence was gone but Fern continued to obey his wishes. She was not as strong as she thought and wished she had stolen a healing potion off of Garrett. Her pace slowed to a jog and soon she came upon a ‘medicine show’ wagon that was parked on the side of the road. She stopped and crept up to the wagon and listened for any occupants. She heard the soft snoring of someone asleep. She went to the back of the wagon, drank water from the barrel and then turned her attention to the owners’ horse. The horse was half asleep, its long ears hanging lazily on each side of its bony head, lower lip drooping, with one hind leg resting on its toe. She stroked the horses’ nose. The horse merely opened its eyes a little wider. Fern decided against stealing the tired horse and making him run when he needed to rest. Had Guille been present, she would not have been so humane. Fern drank more water then resumed her jog in pursuit of Frob. She ran for nearly five miles and was nearing a bend in the road when she heard thunderous hooves ahead. She did not have time to hide when a large red horse galloped into view, rider less and panicked. She stood in his path and spread her arms out to make herself look bigger. She whispered, “Easy big guy, whoa fella.” The horse now focused on her and not at what he thought pursued him and with an arched neck, pushed his toes in the ground and stopped inches from a wide-eyed Fern. The horse’s labored breath blew out from the feedbag that still hung from his halter. She slowly reached out and grabbed what was left of the lead rope. She rubbed the stallions’ forehead talking softly. Soon the prancing stallion relaxed and concentrated on breathing through the bag. Fern removed the feedbag and the stallion gratefully nudged her shoulder. Fern then picked up one front hoof and saw it was this horse whose tracks she followed. She smoothed the horses coat and noticed that someone had hurriedly brushed and cared for him after the saddle was removed. A few sweat marks remained.
“So what happened to your rider?” she whispered to the horse. “Is Frob so swift to have overtaken such a horse as you?” Fern waited for some instructions from Guille but Guille remained quiet. “If Frob is responsible for you running loose then he has much to feast upon. So we still have time to catch up.” She turned the horse to walk back in the direction the horse had just fled from. The stallion resisted at first knowing what danger was ahead but Fern soothed him again and he sensed her strength so he walked quietly beside her, his breathing less labored. When the stallion was rested, Fern swung easily on his back and pressed the horse into a long easy trot. They maintained this pace for several furlongs. When they entered an area with a murky pond and the stench of something burning Fern felt the muscles in the stallion back tense. Then she heard the familiar hiss of a large woodsie spider. The stallion turned to flee but Fern maintained a feeble control over the powerful horse to keep him from bolting. She slid off his back, spoke to him in a language that only she and the horse could understand then undid his halter and set him free. The horse stood mpmemtarily surprised by her action. Then realizing he was free, spun on his haunches and galloped off to safety. Fern turned towards the direction of the sounds of spiders.
Oneiroscope on 31/10/2003 at 20:02
The Hammers crossed the drawbridge slowly, thier hearts full of impotent fury, grief, and confusion. Brother Simon supported Benny. He had challenged Captain Karlds, the brandy still clouding his thinking though at least he'd been able to stand and hold his sword.
The Captain had bested him easily, toying with the drunk for some time, administering countless small but painful cuts before tiring of the game and running the man through the belly. Thankfully Brother Simon had witnessed the debacle and had been able to save the guard's life. The wounds were healed for the most part, but Benny was still very weak. He needed at least a week's rest, according to Simon, but Bagmoor had insisted they all leave at once. In the middle of the night!
Benny's gut felt like he had swallowed a fire crystal even though the wound had been sealed by Simon's Healing. His whole body ached. The only reason he wasn't dead was the ministrations of Brother Simon. He knew that. But he also remembered Brother Simon talking taff about the old Father. As if the young buck knew more about anything than an old campaigner like Vraden.
Benny resolved not to tell the Hammers about the murder. What could they do, anyway? No, guards had their own way of getting back at nobles. Benny felt at his pocket again. It was still there, the iron key that opened the grate beneath the waters of the moat.
If he couldn't find a thief with that look near the keep, he'd find one in the City. The Bagmoors were rich. Benny had seen a king's ransom just lying around on the endtables, to say nothing of the big safe in the Lord's...the Bastard's bedchamber. And maybe he could convince the thief to go to just a little extra trouble. Just a little. Most thieves would jump at the chance to kill a noble.
------------
Selena Sarcens was overseeing the loading of the Mechanist caravan. It was proving more difficult than she had hoped. Almost everything was loaded except her prototype Child Of Karras. Not only was it considerably bigger than a standard Child - with its unique multi-barreled cannon sticking out quite a bit further and the heavy ammunition box protruding like the pack of one of the Baron’s troopers- but inexplicably it was having considerable difficulty ascending the ramp onto the huge wagon that the Mechanists used to transport Children.
Too much weight, Selena fumed. I was afraid of this. I will have to redesign the leg servos and increase the hydraulic pressure. Her new Child was her pride and joy, but all new machines needed field testing and modification. She was sure that once she had smoothed out the design, the new Child would be infinitely superior.
No slow-to-detonate, randomly careening cannonballs for a start. The standard Bots had a bad habit of hitting themselves with their own weapon, or even killing Mechanists with poorly placed shots that sent the cannonball hurtling into their midst. Now it could fire raw fire crystals that would do nearly as much damage as the cannonballs but would explode on impact. Also it bore blessed Water crystals for encounters with the undead, and Air crystals for crowd control. And the range, and speed of firing, was more than quadrupled. Gone too was the ridiculously vulnerable firebox that invited deactivation when soaked with nothing more than a few cupfuls of water. Instead the firebox was now sealed tight within the Bot, and held perpetually hot Fire crystals.
Meanwhile, the comedy continued. The Child would get only a few slow struggling steps up the ramp, catch its cannon on the side of the wagon, and backpedal. “Dangerous Conditions! Require Further Instructions!” Then repeat the performance. It had done so dozens of times now. The joke was wearing thin. Selena wiped at her face with her hand.
“Stop! Stop!” She finally shouted at her Mechanists. “Obviously this isn’t going to work. Dismantle the Child and load it in pieces. We will reassemble it when we get to the Keep.” At least the journey would not be too long. They were only perhaps two days travel from the Keep here in the Gold Hills Seminary. It was well that it be so. The sooner she could get started on her plans, the better.
Oneiroscope on 31/10/2003 at 23:46
{OOC: Nah, it's cool. I was expecting Frob to at the very least scare off the horse and make things interesting. Fern is there, who knows what she might get up to? And though it would be extremely difficult, I did establish that Guille can animate a corpse if he has to. He just wouldn't be much to look at afterwards. Not that he is now!:cheeky: }
Frob sat back from his meal and wiped the blood away from his chin. For the first time in centuries, he had a belly full of real, honest human blood. Not sheep. Not horse. Human. Well, technically human. The bandit had gone beyond mere stink some years ago. Probably the last time he had bathed. But the blood was sweet enough. The pleasure warmed his body in a way that animal blood never did.
He felt drowsy. The sun was coming up. He'd have to sleep in the cave during the day, and find where the bandit had hidden the Eye come twilight again. For now, he had done enough. The corpse of the bandit might rise come nightfall, sometimes they did even without the sharing of blood, but if he did he would be in thrall to Frob. The Orwell family needed all the help it could get right now, another vampire added to the roster couldn't hurt.
------
Fern watched as Frob crawled deeper into the cave and curled up behind a boulder. The sun was rising quickly. Soon she would be able to sneak in and find the Eye as the vampire lay in torpor. With a chill she thought: what if he wakes up? What can I do against a vampire? She thought back to all the stories that had terrified her as a child. A stake. Yes. If he moves I will stab him through the heart.
Fern left the entrance and began searching for a likely looking stick that she could grind against a stone to get a sharp point. She found one. Remarkable. Since Guille had entered her body, the terrible fear she had always felt was fading away. Two days ago, the mere thought of a vampire had scared her witless. Now she was going to beard the lion in his den.
Acorn on 1/11/2003 at 02:05
{OOC: Littlek. Tell me if I went too far and I'll change this. But Fern showed up in the cave and I can't resist..}
The charred remains of the bramble bushes no longer hid the entrance of the bandit's cave. The smoking twigs snapped loudly in Fern's probing hands and she froze in the entrance to the shadowed cavern, made even more dark by the contrasting light of the rising sun, listening intently for any responding stir from within but there was little noise beyond the sound of water dripping somewhere deeper in the earth.
She concentrated silently, hard this time. "Great power. Aid me!" She felt nothing. Alone with no other presence within her, Fern's eyes began to tear up in frustration and she wiped them away strengthening her resolve by grasping the improvised stake even tighter.
She dropped silently to the stone floor, pausing again to adjust her vision to the gloom, and took a long look about the cave. The voice that had guided her here and filled her with the power to throw off enemies before was remaining silent, but she was sure that she could please it. Draw it back to her with the gift of the Eye; the gem that it had wanted so badly before. Perhaps adding the death of the vampire as gratis would sweeten the temperament of the force whose guidance she craved.
She searched about in the gloom, finding some jerky among the heaped supplies in a corner and sticking a piece in her mouth to munch on it thoughtfully.
"Where is it?" she queried in her head, but was rewarded with only more of her own thoughts. Anger filled her. I'll find it myself then! Fern searched diligently about the small cavern, keeping her distance from the vampire's hiding place but being as thorough as she possibly could. She passed a small pool of water standing beneath a bloated web shrouded stalactite for the third time, then turned considering the water's milky depths. She knelt and plunged her hand into the liquid and felt something hard deep down in the mineral mud. Aha! She mused, pulling the Eye up from the sucking ooze.
"Why, thank you my dear!" Frob's voice echoed chillingly from behind her.
Fern gave a startled cry and whirled to stab out at him with her stake.
"A stake. Haven't seen one of those in a while..." Frob mused, a swift hand grasping and turning her wrist away in an iron grip that forced her hand to open and drop the improvised weapon to clatter on the stone. Frob liberated the Eye pushing the protesting orb deep into a pocket then grasped the struggling girl more forcefully pulling her close to him and forcing her to look deep into his eyes.
"Somehow I don't think you came at you're mistresses bequest." He commented, gazing with suspicion deep into her glaring painfilled eyes.
"I don't need a 'mistress' anymore!" she snapped back at him struggling harder and rammed the toe of her boot painfully into his shin. Even stomping his foot, but to no avail. "The Power has promised to take care of me. It will destroy even you!"
"We shall see about that, little one. Even having lived several centuries I am not quite fully cured of my skepticism." Frob replied frowning. The girl was becoming a liability. Were he to tie her for the day, she would probably at some point re-link up with the mind of the enemy that had used her body to best him so easily before, and snap the bonds... and come after him in his dormant state.
The girl gasped and stiffened as he forced her head aside and bit deeply into her slim neck sucking greedily. After a minute her struggles slowed, relaxed, and then she was still. Frob lifted his face to gaze at her limp cooling form suspended in his arms. His niece would not be pleased. Though he did not believe that this action compromised his bond to guard the Orwells--the girl was a major threat--still, Frob felt himself poised upon a thin line. What should he do.. Well, his niece wanted the girl alive... Frobert partially drew his sword and nicked his wrist with the blade. Better to put this one under HIS control, he smirked pressing his wrist to her mouth. She wanted power did she? Well, then power she would get...
His laughter echoed from the cave startling birds from the nearby trees into flight.
Oneiroscope on 1/11/2003 at 02:40
{OOC: I thought of perhaps a thumbnail idea for the use of the artifacts, if it ain't cool, lemme know.}
The Skollus Stone watched the events unfolding in the cave. Everything was proceeding in a most satisfactory manner. The interception of the Eye was of little consequence. Now there was time for Guill and Leaf to rest, and begin again when the Eye was closer.
But still, something was happening that the Stone could not quite detect. Something small. As if a mouse had entered a mansion. The owner could see mouse holes, could find droppings, could realize that something had been at the grain, but never see the mouse. The Stone could see small events coming together in a way that suggested the interference of the Creator.
The creature Kestril for instance. Ironic that in finding the Eye he should also happen to have found the Trickster's toys. So they had found the Yoke, had they? The Stone sensed the hand of the Creator in that development alone. But no matter. His chosen vessels were mortal. And mortals could be notoriously unreliable tools.
And then there was Harden. Harden was the Stone’s masterpiece. He had been at first interred in the crypt, but a careful manipulation of the dreaded patriarch’s children had resulted in the body being removed and dumped in the fens. Even shame had its uses. Once a Child of the Stone was created, it did not matter if it left the crypt. It belonged to the Skollus Stone for all time. And Harden was so much more than merely a walking corpse. The champions would find themselves in great peril, should they get within a day’s journey to the Keep.
And then they would have to enter the crypt. They would have to break the seal of the Precursers, to open the doors. And once they did, they were doomed. An army of the undead awaited them. A thousand years of Bagmoors, and before them the even older warlords and their families. The Stone had always allowed all who had ever claimed the Stone Ground to inter their dead within. Never once acting against them. Why halt the growth of an army? Why stop someone who brought you treasures?
The mask and dagger would do much to aid the humans, it was true. The mask made the wearer invisible to the Children of the Stone. The dagger could make them sleep. But one invisible opponent, surrounded by hundreds of zombies, would be easy prey for Guille and Leaf even were the two liches reduced to specters by their undertakings with the Eye. Still the spectral mages would be in thrall to the Stone. Still they would be more than a match for any human.
Then there were the precautions of the Precursers, meant to prevent the Stone’s liberation. Even this the Stone would turn to its advantage. Even if the human pessessed the agilty to hop the stones and cross the lake of molten rock that surrounded the Stone, the statues that ringed the chamber had their own surprises and were eternally vigilant. No would be hero would ever get near enough to apply the Yoke. Even then, even if the Creator interfered directly somehow and the Yoke was put on the Stone. It would only mean a delay. In a thousand years, or two thousand, the humans would forget again. Inevitably the Yoke would be lifted, and the Stone would awake again and begin again. The Stone had reason to fear them not.
But this Garrett. The Stone knew of him, had watched from afar when Garrett had stolen the Eye and fooled the Trickster. He was more resourceful than most humans. The strands of probability were woven especially thick around that one. The Creator's work, with no doubt.
And then something had happened within the Keep itself. That worried the Stone the most. Something had happened and the Stone could not see what it was. When the foolish Hammers had crossed the moat, the Stone had felt a tremor in the webs of probability.
That nit Vraden was dead. Always pecking, had been Vraden. Always tapping at the Stone’s consciousness like a witless bird on the scales of a dragon. Too small to be bothered with, but too insistent to ignore. For all Vraden’s insignificance, it was pleasing to the Stone be rid of him.
The Stone knew the part the current Lord of the Keep had played in the priest‘s accelerated demise. It had carefully manipulated the Bagmoors for six hundred years, breeding them like the livestock they were. Had the Stone not whispered to countless generations in the dark of their dreams? Had the Stone not used their all too Human weaknesses to its advantage? The death of Vraden would be merely a small bonus.
The Skollus Stone had inspired centuries of conflict in the area, all to move pieces of the puzzle so slowly, so delicately, that its nemesis would never guess its true aims. Even allowing a very few to ‘escape’ the Stone’s grasp. So much the better to export such pliable genes far and wide. But these new creatures that were coming. These Mechanists. To at last use the power of the Precursers against itself! There were real possibilities there. Especially in the ambitions of a certain young priestess who was deliciously malleable. The Skollus Stone felt certain that its time had come. Patience, the kind of patience that murdered stars, had its reward. The reward would be REVENGE!
