Insight
Adventurer
[sblock=Prelude]
It had been far too long since Archeaun Fiersall had communicated with his otherworldly patron. The truth was that the method required to make the communication possible was straining - both physically and mentally. Archaeun would not, of course, reveal the reason for his lack of communication. His patron would be most displeased with any sign of weakness and Archaeun knew that he was easily replaced.
Archaeun spread black and silver dust in a circle and knelt in the middle. He lifted his cowl and, when he was sure no one else was around, produced a small, black, leather-bound chapbook from his vest pocket. He opened the book to a well-worn page and began to read aloud its contents.
"J' felhívja önnek, hogy szörnyű arca Mag Tureah! J' felkéri a memória a király de Thrumbolg és minden ő leszármazottainak! Kérem, azokat a alázatosan kérem, Lord Oran! Hallgasson meg én hívás!"
The reaction was at first a puff of purple smoke in the corner of the room. The smoke grew and grew until it roughly resembled a humanoid form.
Archaeun bowed his head, knowing what was to come.
The cloud of smoke coalesced into that of a shady, humanoid figure. Its head was definitely elf-like, its body sturdy and stout, and stood upon furry, knee-back legs, like those of a satyr or faun. The being was over 11 feet tall and carried a twisted wooden cane tipped with the head of some poor creature. It was Lord Oran of Mag Tureah in the Feywild.
"Arise, my servant," it said. "We speak in your tongue since you have yet to master mine."
"Thank you, Lord Oran," Archaeun said, coming to his feet and looking briefly upon the realized form of his otherworldly master.
Despite Archaeun's years of arcane study and the fact that he had been in Lord Oran's presence several times before, each time, he had to learn anew to stand with confidence and courage, even though every mortal bone in his body was screaming to flee the feylord's presence.
"Tell me, Archaeun," Lord Oran began as he approached his servant. "Have you yet captured the Black Stag?"
Archaeun was downcast at this query and could not look Lord Oran in the eyes. "We need more time," he replied.
Lord Oran stopped dead in his tracks and scanned his servant for any sign of deception. I am most displeased," he said. "I have bestowed upon you and your lowly minions a great deal of arcane power. Much more so than should be required. What is the cause of this delay?"
"We have not secured the forest. The Black Stag must be somewhere. It... it must be hiding."
"The Black Stag is a dumb creature! It has no way to know you seek it."
Archaeun looked away from Lord Oran. "I know that, but... "
Lord Oran grabbed Archaeun by the shoulder, roughly turning him around. "I will have my prize, Archaeun," he said. "You will bring me the Black Stag and I will finally have it. I will finally have everything I need to..."
Archaeun watched Lord Oran as the feylord's voice trailed off. It was as if Lord Oran was considering some action, or perhaps the consequences of some action.
"You've taken far too much of my time as it is," the feylord announced. "Do not contact me again unless you have something important... like the accursed Black Stag in your clutches."
The feylord vanished before Archaeun could respond. He donned his cowl and walked to the nearby window. Opening the shade, Archaeun could see afternoon shadows starting to creep across the grounds of his complex. Cultists were busy assembling armor and weapons, engaging in combat training, or cataloguing the latest loot grabs.
To most eyes, all was going well. And yet, if Lord Oran detected any more failure, it would all be over as soon as it began.
[/sblock]
It had been far too long since Archeaun Fiersall had communicated with his otherworldly patron. The truth was that the method required to make the communication possible was straining - both physically and mentally. Archaeun would not, of course, reveal the reason for his lack of communication. His patron would be most displeased with any sign of weakness and Archaeun knew that he was easily replaced.
Archaeun spread black and silver dust in a circle and knelt in the middle. He lifted his cowl and, when he was sure no one else was around, produced a small, black, leather-bound chapbook from his vest pocket. He opened the book to a well-worn page and began to read aloud its contents.
"J' felhívja önnek, hogy szörnyű arca Mag Tureah! J' felkéri a memória a király de Thrumbolg és minden ő leszármazottainak! Kérem, azokat a alázatosan kérem, Lord Oran! Hallgasson meg én hívás!"
The reaction was at first a puff of purple smoke in the corner of the room. The smoke grew and grew until it roughly resembled a humanoid form.
Archaeun bowed his head, knowing what was to come.
The cloud of smoke coalesced into that of a shady, humanoid figure. Its head was definitely elf-like, its body sturdy and stout, and stood upon furry, knee-back legs, like those of a satyr or faun. The being was over 11 feet tall and carried a twisted wooden cane tipped with the head of some poor creature. It was Lord Oran of Mag Tureah in the Feywild.
"Arise, my servant," it said. "We speak in your tongue since you have yet to master mine."
"Thank you, Lord Oran," Archaeun said, coming to his feet and looking briefly upon the realized form of his otherworldly master.
Despite Archaeun's years of arcane study and the fact that he had been in Lord Oran's presence several times before, each time, he had to learn anew to stand with confidence and courage, even though every mortal bone in his body was screaming to flee the feylord's presence.
"Tell me, Archaeun," Lord Oran began as he approached his servant. "Have you yet captured the Black Stag?"
Archaeun was downcast at this query and could not look Lord Oran in the eyes. "We need more time," he replied.
Lord Oran stopped dead in his tracks and scanned his servant for any sign of deception. I am most displeased," he said. "I have bestowed upon you and your lowly minions a great deal of arcane power. Much more so than should be required. What is the cause of this delay?"
"We have not secured the forest. The Black Stag must be somewhere. It... it must be hiding."
"The Black Stag is a dumb creature! It has no way to know you seek it."
Archaeun looked away from Lord Oran. "I know that, but... "
Lord Oran grabbed Archaeun by the shoulder, roughly turning him around. "I will have my prize, Archaeun," he said. "You will bring me the Black Stag and I will finally have it. I will finally have everything I need to..."
Archaeun watched Lord Oran as the feylord's voice trailed off. It was as if Lord Oran was considering some action, or perhaps the consequences of some action.
"You've taken far too much of my time as it is," the feylord announced. "Do not contact me again unless you have something important... like the accursed Black Stag in your clutches."
The feylord vanished before Archaeun could respond. He donned his cowl and walked to the nearby window. Opening the shade, Archaeun could see afternoon shadows starting to creep across the grounds of his complex. Cultists were busy assembling armor and weapons, engaging in combat training, or cataloguing the latest loot grabs.
To most eyes, all was going well. And yet, if Lord Oran detected any more failure, it would all be over as soon as it began.
[/sblock]