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Anka Seth - The Rise of the Hydra (New Update April 19, 2007)
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<blockquote data-quote="Fiasco" data-source="post: 2767324" data-attributes="member: 15187"><p>Reluctantly, the party rose and shouldered their burdens once more. Bastien’s gesture to move silently was largely unnecessary. Everyone knew the terrible danger that trolls represented. Any snap of twig or slap of branch made the offender wince. Hands strayed near to sheathed weapons and ears strained to detect any threat hidden in the ordinary calling of birds and rustle of foliage. </p><p></p><p>Glancing back, Argonne was amused by the carryings on of his companions. Several of them were clearly ill suited for stealthy travel, their overly tentative movements reminding him of the actors in a travelling bawd show he had once seen. Despite their clumsiness, the company successfully skirted Thornwood without mishap and gained the relative safety of the road on the other side. Bastien immediately increased the pace of the march, determined to put a good many miles between them and the doom struck village.</p><p></p><p>That night they made camp in the ruins of a temple. The heavily weathered remnants dated over a thousand years, or so the gnome reckoned. Mortec ran his small hands over the milky white stones, sinking into a reverie. The roughness of the rock against his palm felt heavy with history. What tumultuous times these walls must have witnessed, also countless moments of simple routine; events great and small, one after the other, flowing in an unbroken stream through the centuries. Here he stood, the last element in the sequence, but only for a moment, for time would move him onwards yet the stones would remain. </p><p></p><p>Mortec felt very small as he contemplated this, but paradoxically, he felt that part of him was very great too. Though he was only a tiny spec of being adrift the awesome expanse of time, yet he was a part of it, rooted in it, his thoughts and deeds were delicate tendrils that enmeshed themselves in the past, and moving further back grew ever in stature as the events that formed them took on greater significance. The end of the Convocation, the rise of the Druids, the persecution of the faithful, the God trapped in Stone, the rise of Gerach, other more ancient deeds only glimpsed even further back, all these great events had shaped him, made him what he was, and he in turn was part of them. Todesmagie taught that the world had begun with a single act; if he could but look back far enough, Mortec knew he would be able to see his own small presence in that genesis.</p><p></p><p>The moment of communion passed and the gnome was once more aware of his surroundings. He looked about the ruins with a more practical eye and tried to determine their provenance. The shape of a half collapsed arch and the general layout of the foundations indicated a strong likelihood that this had once been a temple to Srcan. Likely it had perished during the Convocation’s first great expansion. Driven by their imprisoned God, the Gerechians had shown a fierce intolerance for all other beliefs and governments. The crusading armies had been zealous in their destruction of all rivals to their faith. The ruination of this poor temple, once a symbol of bright enterprise and new beginnings had been but one small gasp of outrage in the centuries long agony of fanatical oppression. </p><p></p><p>His heart weighed down by his thoughts, Mortec looked to the others, wondering if he might share the poignance of the shelter they had chosen. Moxadder lay in a crumpled heap, a position he had assumed on the moment of their arrival. Stravarius was lost in the shadows while Argonne tramped noisily about as he saw to the making of a fire. Bastien wasn’t in sight and Gerard was fussing over the state of his once fine boots. Mortec’s lips tightened. These humans had settled in a place steeped in history yet they were content to root about as ignorant as a herd of swine. Mortec felt as far removed from his companions as he was from his homeland.</p><p></p><p>As full darkness covered the land with its concealing mantle, the travelers were drawn towards the fire on the tendrils of its comforting warmth. Steam rose slowly off clothes dampened by a late afternoon squall. Morgan leaned next to Kurul, man and dog taking comfort from the warmth of the other. The hounds ugliness did not concern the Fastendian. In Avinal, hounds of similar bestiality were often kept as an additional defence against the night horrors. So far from home and family, it was comforting to share a companionable silence with something that was almost familiar. </p><p></p><p>He shifted his rump to ease away from a sharp stone and leaning back, looked up at the night sky. A small blot of darkness on one of the temple walls caught his notice. Straining his eyes, he could just make out the shape of a bat hanging off a small projection of rock. Morgan felt a nagging suspicion grow. He had noticed a bat the previous evening too, and during the day he had thought to see one fluttering in the distance. Argonne had seen it as well and had made the offhand remark that they weren’t native to the area. </p><p></p><p>As Morgan intensified his attention, the small, shriveled head swiveled around as if it too had suddenly become aware of him. Somewhat unnerved by this unnatural scrutiny, he reached for his bow, thinking a well flighted arrow might rid him of this disturbing omen. </p><p></p><p>A deep growl raised the hairs on the back of his neck as he set arrow to string. Kurul, who had been the very embodiment of peaceful rest only moments before now regarded him with baleful eyes. They glowed an unpleasant yellow in the firelight as the growl intensified. </p><p></p><p>Confused, Morgan backed away from the hound as others in the camp were roused to alertness. Thinking that his swift movement in taking up the bow had somehow startled the beast, he let the weapon fall to the ground. In an instant, the tension left the chill night air. Kurul gave a soft grunt and uncharacteristically, his stumpy tail began to wag. </p><p></p><p>The hound nudged its great head against Morgan’s thigh as if in conciliation and than collapsed with a whuff at his feet. More puzzled than frightened by the incident, Morgan gave a foolish grin to his companions. Gerard sniffed dismissively, while Stravarius gave no indication of having paid any attention at all. The others shared in his mirth and the bat was quickly forgotten. </p><p></p><p>An easy mood settled on the camp and for several hours the talk rambled on inconsequential topics. It was accompanied by the rhythmic rasp of steel against rock as Moxadder carefully worked a dagger against a whet stone he had scrounged. The lethal edge he brought to the blade was every bit as comforting to him as the hum of companionable chatter around him. </p><p></p><p>The following three days passed without incident. The region they travelled through was sparsely populated, making encounters with travellers or villages rare. Fortunately, the lands were not fully wild either, and if dangerous beasts laired in the area, they didn’t make their presence known. The companions had settled themselves into the simple routines of travel and even the weakest members became hardened to the toil.</p><p></p><p style="text-align: center">*******</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Fiasco, post: 2767324, member: 15187"] Reluctantly, the party rose and shouldered their burdens once more. Bastien’s gesture to move silently was largely unnecessary. Everyone knew the terrible danger that trolls represented. Any snap of twig or slap of branch made the offender wince. Hands strayed near to sheathed weapons and ears strained to detect any threat hidden in the ordinary calling of birds and rustle of foliage. Glancing back, Argonne was amused by the carryings on of his companions. Several of them were clearly ill suited for stealthy travel, their overly tentative movements reminding him of the actors in a travelling bawd show he had once seen. Despite their clumsiness, the company successfully skirted Thornwood without mishap and gained the relative safety of the road on the other side. Bastien immediately increased the pace of the march, determined to put a good many miles between them and the doom struck village. That night they made camp in the ruins of a temple. The heavily weathered remnants dated over a thousand years, or so the gnome reckoned. Mortec ran his small hands over the milky white stones, sinking into a reverie. The roughness of the rock against his palm felt heavy with history. What tumultuous times these walls must have witnessed, also countless moments of simple routine; events great and small, one after the other, flowing in an unbroken stream through the centuries. Here he stood, the last element in the sequence, but only for a moment, for time would move him onwards yet the stones would remain. Mortec felt very small as he contemplated this, but paradoxically, he felt that part of him was very great too. Though he was only a tiny spec of being adrift the awesome expanse of time, yet he was a part of it, rooted in it, his thoughts and deeds were delicate tendrils that enmeshed themselves in the past, and moving further back grew ever in stature as the events that formed them took on greater significance. The end of the Convocation, the rise of the Druids, the persecution of the faithful, the God trapped in Stone, the rise of Gerach, other more ancient deeds only glimpsed even further back, all these great events had shaped him, made him what he was, and he in turn was part of them. Todesmagie taught that the world had begun with a single act; if he could but look back far enough, Mortec knew he would be able to see his own small presence in that genesis. The moment of communion passed and the gnome was once more aware of his surroundings. He looked about the ruins with a more practical eye and tried to determine their provenance. The shape of a half collapsed arch and the general layout of the foundations indicated a strong likelihood that this had once been a temple to Srcan. Likely it had perished during the Convocation’s first great expansion. Driven by their imprisoned God, the Gerechians had shown a fierce intolerance for all other beliefs and governments. The crusading armies had been zealous in their destruction of all rivals to their faith. The ruination of this poor temple, once a symbol of bright enterprise and new beginnings had been but one small gasp of outrage in the centuries long agony of fanatical oppression. His heart weighed down by his thoughts, Mortec looked to the others, wondering if he might share the poignance of the shelter they had chosen. Moxadder lay in a crumpled heap, a position he had assumed on the moment of their arrival. Stravarius was lost in the shadows while Argonne tramped noisily about as he saw to the making of a fire. Bastien wasn’t in sight and Gerard was fussing over the state of his once fine boots. Mortec’s lips tightened. These humans had settled in a place steeped in history yet they were content to root about as ignorant as a herd of swine. Mortec felt as far removed from his companions as he was from his homeland. As full darkness covered the land with its concealing mantle, the travelers were drawn towards the fire on the tendrils of its comforting warmth. Steam rose slowly off clothes dampened by a late afternoon squall. Morgan leaned next to Kurul, man and dog taking comfort from the warmth of the other. The hounds ugliness did not concern the Fastendian. In Avinal, hounds of similar bestiality were often kept as an additional defence against the night horrors. So far from home and family, it was comforting to share a companionable silence with something that was almost familiar. He shifted his rump to ease away from a sharp stone and leaning back, looked up at the night sky. A small blot of darkness on one of the temple walls caught his notice. Straining his eyes, he could just make out the shape of a bat hanging off a small projection of rock. Morgan felt a nagging suspicion grow. He had noticed a bat the previous evening too, and during the day he had thought to see one fluttering in the distance. Argonne had seen it as well and had made the offhand remark that they weren’t native to the area. As Morgan intensified his attention, the small, shriveled head swiveled around as if it too had suddenly become aware of him. Somewhat unnerved by this unnatural scrutiny, he reached for his bow, thinking a well flighted arrow might rid him of this disturbing omen. A deep growl raised the hairs on the back of his neck as he set arrow to string. Kurul, who had been the very embodiment of peaceful rest only moments before now regarded him with baleful eyes. They glowed an unpleasant yellow in the firelight as the growl intensified. Confused, Morgan backed away from the hound as others in the camp were roused to alertness. Thinking that his swift movement in taking up the bow had somehow startled the beast, he let the weapon fall to the ground. In an instant, the tension left the chill night air. Kurul gave a soft grunt and uncharacteristically, his stumpy tail began to wag. The hound nudged its great head against Morgan’s thigh as if in conciliation and than collapsed with a whuff at his feet. More puzzled than frightened by the incident, Morgan gave a foolish grin to his companions. Gerard sniffed dismissively, while Stravarius gave no indication of having paid any attention at all. The others shared in his mirth and the bat was quickly forgotten. An easy mood settled on the camp and for several hours the talk rambled on inconsequential topics. It was accompanied by the rhythmic rasp of steel against rock as Moxadder carefully worked a dagger against a whet stone he had scrounged. The lethal edge he brought to the blade was every bit as comforting to him as the hum of companionable chatter around him. The following three days passed without incident. The region they travelled through was sparsely populated, making encounters with travellers or villages rare. Fortunately, the lands were not fully wild either, and if dangerous beasts laired in the area, they didn’t make their presence known. The companions had settled themselves into the simple routines of travel and even the weakest members became hardened to the toil. [CENTER]*******[/CENTER] [/QUOTE]
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