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The Blade of Phoee (Updated 12/08/08)
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<blockquote data-quote="Funeris" data-source="post: 4458898" data-attributes="member: 22792"><p><strong>Chapter 8: Devils in the Dark (Continued)</strong></p><p></p><p>They turned to the stair, ready to ascend the handful of stairs as the door wrenched open. An old man spilled from the opening, yanking the door shut behind. Twisting, his ankle burst and he tumbled down the cool stone to land prostrate before them. He looked up.</p><p></p><p>“Tobus!” Cassock growled. </p><p></p><p>The old man hissed in response, rearing back. A soft light drifted from Tobus’ wrinkled hand and into his useless ankle. The bone knit itself together again.</p><p></p><p>“You will not escape justice this time, priest.” Cassock leveled his bloody blade at Tobus. </p><p></p><p>“I am not here as your enemy. I am only here to deliver a message to this tower’s master,” the priest sniveled. </p><p></p><p>“No matter. As Cael’s proxy, I will pass his judgment on you, follower of Ara’kull.” The others watched the tip of Cassock’s sword sear into Tobus’ flesh in silence.</p><p></p><p>“I will not fight you!” Tobus shrieked.</p><p></p><p>“Guilty.”</p><p></p><p>Metal slid silently between ribs. The cold steel burned as it passed through muscle, lung and heart. Hatred filled Tobus’ eyes as blood filled his mouth and painted his lips. </p><p></p><p>“I go now to my, God,” he rasped. “Your suffering is only beginning.” Wet sucking drowned the rest of the curse. Life left the priest’s eyes and his body slid from the blade.</p><p></p><p>“You go now to Cael,” Cassock corrected but his voice held doubt. A shadow stretched up from Tobus’ body, another soul dragged toward the capital. He cleaned his sword on the priest’s body, then rifled through the few possessions. </p><p></p><p>“Are we ready, yet?” Aramil begged, impatience obvious.</p><p></p><p>“Yes,” Cassock blurted. A scream snatched their attention, proved his answer false. </p><p></p><p>A man broke from the wood, two hundred feet away in a full run. His colors were hidden by night but the cut of his armor clearly marked his allegiances to the royal army. He screamed again, bastard sword waving in the air.</p><p></p><p>Cassock grumbled, readying his blade. Was there no end to their line of foes?</p><p></p><p>Ana and Zayda lifted arrows to their bows. </p><p></p><p>Aramil paused, listening intently to the sword’s cool voice. <strong>FEAR. HE DOES NOT ATTACK. HE FLEES. BE READY.</strong> Aramil thought to speak up but the sword stopped him. <strong>THERE, SEE IT? ANOTHER UNDEAD.</strong></p><p></p><p>A dark form, faster and quieter than the dead separated itself from the shadow of the forest. It allowed the soldier to set the pace, keeping just close enough that its prey would feel the pressure.</p><p></p><p>“Undead,” Aramil advised. </p><p></p><p>“I know, I can feel it,” Cassock replied. “Be ready.”</p><p></p><p>The distance between the groups vanished as the soldier charged. The shadow allowed it. When the soldier was only thirty feet away, Cassock prepared his sword, drawing it back for a powerful blow.</p><p></p><p>The shadow struck. </p><p></p><p>Its lithe form became the sky, expanding and filling the world with terror and death. The soldier’s eyes widened with shock. Inky talons slid into his back as the thing became part of him. His blood became its blood. </p><p></p><p>Death closed around the soldier’s heart, ending its rhythm. His body crashed into the earth, a few hand-spans from Cassock. The shadow landed lightly thereby.</p><p></p><p>“Is it really you?” It questioned. “Truly? After all these years?” It stepped into the light. A line of blood streamed across its pallid chin. It reached a hand up, a cold finger and thumb closing on Cassock’s jaw.</p><p></p><p>Rhynos turned the cleric’s head to the left and the right. The scent—their scent—their life was potent, overwhelming. But it was not right, not quite. Similar but not the scent of the destruction in Divi’sad. </p><p></p><p>“You’re not him,” Rhynos spit with disdain, releasing his hold.</p><p></p><p>“I am Cassock of Cael,” the priest replied, unsure.</p><p></p><p>“Yes, yes,” Rhynos bellowed, “but you’re not <strong>HIM</strong>!”</p><p></p><p>A scream echoed from the tower. Cassock looked at its high walls. “We’ll sort this out momentarily,” he promised. </p><p></p><p>Aramil took his cue and examined the door. “Not trapped or locked,” he murmured. Taking a deep breath, he pulled the doors open.</p><p></p><p>Moonlight fell across a large chamber, revealing a circular wooden table and a chalice. Large, nearly-hidden forms stood sentry nearby, statues of stitched flesh. </p><p></p><p>Aramil saw the flicker of torchlight dancing up the staircase winding around the inside of the tower. Zayda could see only the chalice.</p><p></p><p>Aramil darted for the stairs. Zayda sped across the floor for the chalice. </p><p></p><p>“No, WAIT!” Cassock ordered.</p><p></p><p>“You’re definitely not <strong>him</strong>.”</p><p></p><p>Zayda’s leapt onto the table nimbly, her fingers closing around the chalice. The four dark forms shuddered to life, lurching toward her, meaty fists striking at her body.</p><p></p><p>Aramil was halfway to the torch. Just a little further. </p><p></p><p><strong>DEFINITELY A LIVING FOE,</strong> the sword commented. </p><p></p><p>“My kind of enemy,” Aramil quipped, sure. Then the stair was opening before him, gravity and his weight springing the trap. Seventy feet of darkness yawned at him with a hungry maw.</p><p></p><p>Aramil fell.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Funeris, post: 4458898, member: 22792"] [b]Chapter 8: Devils in the Dark (Continued)[/b] They turned to the stair, ready to ascend the handful of stairs as the door wrenched open. An old man spilled from the opening, yanking the door shut behind. Twisting, his ankle burst and he tumbled down the cool stone to land prostrate before them. He looked up. “Tobus!” Cassock growled. The old man hissed in response, rearing back. A soft light drifted from Tobus’ wrinkled hand and into his useless ankle. The bone knit itself together again. “You will not escape justice this time, priest.” Cassock leveled his bloody blade at Tobus. “I am not here as your enemy. I am only here to deliver a message to this tower’s master,” the priest sniveled. “No matter. As Cael’s proxy, I will pass his judgment on you, follower of Ara’kull.” The others watched the tip of Cassock’s sword sear into Tobus’ flesh in silence. “I will not fight you!” Tobus shrieked. “Guilty.” Metal slid silently between ribs. The cold steel burned as it passed through muscle, lung and heart. Hatred filled Tobus’ eyes as blood filled his mouth and painted his lips. “I go now to my, God,” he rasped. “Your suffering is only beginning.” Wet sucking drowned the rest of the curse. Life left the priest’s eyes and his body slid from the blade. “You go now to Cael,” Cassock corrected but his voice held doubt. A shadow stretched up from Tobus’ body, another soul dragged toward the capital. He cleaned his sword on the priest’s body, then rifled through the few possessions. “Are we ready, yet?” Aramil begged, impatience obvious. “Yes,” Cassock blurted. A scream snatched their attention, proved his answer false. A man broke from the wood, two hundred feet away in a full run. His colors were hidden by night but the cut of his armor clearly marked his allegiances to the royal army. He screamed again, bastard sword waving in the air. Cassock grumbled, readying his blade. Was there no end to their line of foes? Ana and Zayda lifted arrows to their bows. Aramil paused, listening intently to the sword’s cool voice. [b]FEAR. HE DOES NOT ATTACK. HE FLEES. BE READY.[/B] Aramil thought to speak up but the sword stopped him. [b]THERE, SEE IT? ANOTHER UNDEAD.[/B] A dark form, faster and quieter than the dead separated itself from the shadow of the forest. It allowed the soldier to set the pace, keeping just close enough that its prey would feel the pressure. “Undead,” Aramil advised. “I know, I can feel it,” Cassock replied. “Be ready.” The distance between the groups vanished as the soldier charged. The shadow allowed it. When the soldier was only thirty feet away, Cassock prepared his sword, drawing it back for a powerful blow. The shadow struck. Its lithe form became the sky, expanding and filling the world with terror and death. The soldier’s eyes widened with shock. Inky talons slid into his back as the thing became part of him. His blood became its blood. Death closed around the soldier’s heart, ending its rhythm. His body crashed into the earth, a few hand-spans from Cassock. The shadow landed lightly thereby. “Is it really you?” It questioned. “Truly? After all these years?” It stepped into the light. A line of blood streamed across its pallid chin. It reached a hand up, a cold finger and thumb closing on Cassock’s jaw. Rhynos turned the cleric’s head to the left and the right. The scent—their scent—their life was potent, overwhelming. But it was not right, not quite. Similar but not the scent of the destruction in Divi’sad. “You’re not him,” Rhynos spit with disdain, releasing his hold. “I am Cassock of Cael,” the priest replied, unsure. “Yes, yes,” Rhynos bellowed, “but you’re not [b]HIM[/b]!” A scream echoed from the tower. Cassock looked at its high walls. “We’ll sort this out momentarily,” he promised. Aramil took his cue and examined the door. “Not trapped or locked,” he murmured. Taking a deep breath, he pulled the doors open. Moonlight fell across a large chamber, revealing a circular wooden table and a chalice. Large, nearly-hidden forms stood sentry nearby, statues of stitched flesh. Aramil saw the flicker of torchlight dancing up the staircase winding around the inside of the tower. Zayda could see only the chalice. Aramil darted for the stairs. Zayda sped across the floor for the chalice. “No, WAIT!” Cassock ordered. “You’re definitely not [b]him[/b].” Zayda’s leapt onto the table nimbly, her fingers closing around the chalice. The four dark forms shuddered to life, lurching toward her, meaty fists striking at her body. Aramil was halfway to the torch. Just a little further. [b]DEFINITELY A LIVING FOE,[/b] the sword commented. “My kind of enemy,” Aramil quipped, sure. Then the stair was opening before him, gravity and his weight springing the trap. Seventy feet of darkness yawned at him with a hungry maw. Aramil fell. [/QUOTE]
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