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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Jon Potter" data-source="post: 2688171" data-attributes="member: 2323">[PLAIN][Realms #326][/PLAIN]The southernmost border of Pellham was indistinct. The Elves of the Spiny Wood were the undisputed rulers of the taiga that lay between the moors and steppes of central Pellham and the ice-choked tundra that skirted the Frozen Sea far to the south, but the borders of that coniferous forest were hazy in most places. In fact its only clear lines of demarkation were to the west where the Grey Craggs separated Pellham from the unmapped giant-held lands beyond and to the east where the forest grew right up to the base of the Risilvar Escarpment.Where the escarpment met the forest, the cliffs were sheer and hundreds of feet high. But the Escarpment dwindled in scope as one traveled northwards along its length, being less than a hundred feet in height at the Town of Radcliffe, and amounting to little more than a single step up at its northernmost point outside the Town of Floxen. That spot was a well-known ley line nexus and as-such was marked by a druidic standing stone whose intricate carvings had been all but worn away by wind and ice or covered over by a layer of hardy bluish lichen.It was here that Lela buried Wolf and said her final goodbyes to her friend."Well, Wolf, in a very short time we have a traveled a very long way in miles and in experience," the faen sniffed. "Much as I want you with me, Dear Friend, I know you are much happier in your new plane of existence and so I will leave you there in peace."She placed her hand on the grave and opened herself to the Green. Insects buzzed and chirped all around her, and the steppes were blanketed in daisies as far as her eyes could see in nearly every direction. This was a good place - one that Wolf would be happy in - and despite the tears on her cheeks, she found herself smiling as she spoke to her animal companion as she had for so many years."I feel like a totally different being than when I left the forest and Great Oak," she told him. "I was so excited and happy then. Now I feel... older. Sad. And... serious. I feel the weight of passion and destiny and uncertainty." Her voice trailed off as she stared at the sea of wildflowers. She watched the wind make waves of the daisies and drank in the natural beauty of the place."I know I will see you again in not too long on another plane," she sighed, brushing away her tears. "Meanwhile, I will use all of my strength and passion to fight Aphyx and insure that good wins out over evil."She rose resolutely into the air and headed out over the moor, wondering in her heart how she would ever find another companion that would mean as much to her as Wolf did."BALAZAAR!!" The dwarf proclaimed his name like a huckster in a traveling show. Karak half expected the flash of smokepots to go off every time he said it. He didn't take an immediate liking to the wizard, but it was nice to have another dwarf around, even one that wore a dress and was utterly bereft of a beard or hair of any kind."I do say Balazaar it be good ta see you even though it be a fartharn shame to see a shaved dwarf," Karak grumbled, slipping easily into the dwarfish tongue after so long speaking the language of men."I'm not shaved, lad," Balazaar told him. "It is merely an unfortunate side-effect of too many years spent in the dungeon. I've had worse.""It nae be natural, I tell ye," Karak growsed. "It just nae be natural.""I don't know," the wizard shrugged, ruinning his hands down the front of his robes. "It's quite nice being hairless. I suspect that it'll catch on soon enough." Karak's lip curled in disgust at the thought.Matron Mellona had brought the wizard in to fulfill her promise with regard to Karak's blade. Balazaar studied Karak's waraxe critically, giving it a few practice swings and testing its edge with one thickly-calloused thumb. "A fine weapon, yes," he announced with a nod as he handed it back to Karak. "You have summoned the mighty Balazaar, and you have gold, so the question is: what do you wish?"Karak looked at his waraxe with pride, forged by his own hands in the depths of Dwurheim, the weapon had been with him a long time and vanquished many a foe. The steel had history and its craftsmanship spoke of Karak's skill. He sighed and looked the bald dwarf in the eye. "I was looking for something with a little spirit," he explained. "I have no idea how this all works, I was just thinking of some of the old forge chants I used to hear 'round the hearth. Ye know, like the Axe o' Dwarfish Lords or the Hammer o' Thunderbolts!" Balazaar laughed deeply at that, shaking with mirth."You don't ask for much, do ye, young one?" the wizard chuckled. "Those weapons are artifacts of old, forged some say with the aid of the All-Father himself!" Karak harrumphed."It do nae have to be all-powerful, wizard," the warrior explained. "I was thinking that mayhap it could talk, or vibrate when undead or skaven be near, or I could throw it and it'd return, or -" Balazaar held up a staying hand."All of that is within my power, but it comes to me at a dear cost," the wizard told him. "One that I'm afraid your gold doesn't come close to meeting.""What?!" Karak argued. "I've done the hard work. The axe be made already. All ye've got to do is waggle yer fingers about like an elf an' go home with yer gold!""You speak with the tongue of youth, boy. You don't know one tenth what you should about the subject at hand," Balazaar scowled. "Putting these enchantments onto your blade and making them stay there drains a bit of my life force away. There's magic all around us - in everything. But making that magic do what you want and making it stay put is a daunting task, and it drains away some of my own magic to do so.""So what're ye sayin'?" Karak asked, appraising the wizard with his eyes."I'm saying that a dwarf must first learn to kill kobolds before he goes on to fight storm giants," Balazaar told him. "Consider my work with your weapon to be the first steps on your path the Axe of Dwarfish Lords. Now let me see that gold!"While the wizard counted, Karak plied him with questions about the dwarfholds. "Is the King well? Are the Mountains secure? Has the taint of chaos crept into our realms and the plague of rats too?" Balazaar grunted short answers in response, his attention fixed on the clink-clink-clink of the coins in his hands. Karak barely seemed to notice; he was fixated on his memories."I lost Malak to the plague, Balazaar, and I swore then and there to fight the very stuff of chaos myself if I ‘ave ta," said the warrior. "But it do be good to speak in my old tongue again. Me new companions are nice and all, but sometimes I do miss the company of dwarves, always traveling with such a crew of faeries and orc-blood. Why there is no one ta drink with."This got Balazaar's attention. "No beer?!" he asked, skeptically and Karak shrugged in reply."That new black one seems able to hold his own for a ‘ummie. But then again, I nae be so sure he is a ‘ummie," Karak told him. "That albino is a strange one too. One moment I think he just be a normal fae speaking of bees in a bee-hive then next he disables the Chaos Knight - single-handed, mind ye, and with mortal peril. Just so I could kill it! Why what a shockin’ thing I tell ye." the dwarf sighed into his beard. "I am going to miss the lass, too . She be a good one just comin in ta her own against Chaos.""I travelled for a time with an orc blood fighter," Balazaar told him. "His death weighed on me for a time. Of course it was a foul undead which took him, not chaos." Karak grunted and gave a nod."Now speakin of chaos, I've a second question to ask of ye,” the dwarf said and pulled the dull black breastplate of Blackheart's armor from a sack. He set it down on the workbench with a clank.  “Do ye see this ‘ere? This be from the fallen Chaos Knight. From what I can see it be heavier than the plate I wear now. But I fear it be tainted with foul chaos.""Hmmm...," Balazaar intoned, examining the section of armor with an appraising eye."I will rely on your opinion. If ye see no dishonour or taint in it, why I will consider it as my armor, after the proper ritual of course. If not, then I will dispose of it properly as cursed and chaos," Karak explained. "What say ye? Be it fit for a dwarf?”"With a bit of adjustment, yes," Balazaar said, hoisting the plate armor and looking at the leather straps that would secure it. "It is part of an entire suit, correct? It's not dwarven craftsmanship, but it's certainly stouter than what you're now wearing. I can examine it for you and determine whether it be tainted. For the right price..."Shamalin was visited by Klara, one of the younger initiates. Shamalin had always enjoyed her company as the girl was a gentle spirit, fond of talk. Still, Shamalin could not bring herself to join in the conversation, but Klara seemed not to mind. She prattled on about the weather and how Sister Benletta had ruined the stew that morning with her spoiled onions. Shamalin only half-listened to the girl, until Klara mentioned the VQS. Then the half-elf looked up at her and Klara lowered her voice to a conspirator's whisper, shooting a glance at the closed door and saying, "The dwarf has a chest spilling over with gold. It's true. I saw it myself! And, it's rumored the ogre has a necklace made of skulls and teeth!" The girl's eyes were wide with excitement. "But..." and her voice lowered even more until Shamalin literally had to strain to hear her. "That man... with all the piercings... No one quite knows what to make of him!"She knew she should thank them - her rescuers. The VQS. And she wondered for a moment at the name... thoughts which drew her back in time to another band of adventurers. She absently fingered the place where she had once worn a ring of polished silver flecked with black. Where was that ring now? Tucked in the loot pouch of some foul-mouthed follower of Aphyx, no doubt. Yes, she should thank them. Again, her mind drifted. There were six of them - or at least there had been. Seven really... Sister Hildigunna had been lost, too. Now there were five. Five adventurers mourning the loss of their leader. One of her own kin. Mellona had spoken to her of their endeavor - had told her of the magical pull in the head of the elf. Shamalin knew they were weakened by their losses and in need of a healer. But she had been totally unprepared for Mellona's suggestion. Go with them?! It was too soon. She wasn't ready. She had barely begun to feel her strength returning, not to mention her healing abilities. And she couldn't sing.But they had rescued her - risked everything in doing so and lost much for the effort. And she could not stay here forever. As much as she wanted to stay in her bed in the dark solitude of her room forever, she knew she could not. Her life was not worth the risks they had taken. Still, she owed them something.Reluctantly, she rose from her bed and moved toward the window of the room in need of some air. As she did, an image in the crystal mirror on the wall caught her eye. She stopped and studied her reflection intently. The figure regarding her seemed familiar enough, although the road to restoration had been long and involved. The scar running along her jaw and up her scalp was almost completely gone now. Her ears had healed too, although she noticed a slight loss of sensation in the top of one as she ran her fingers along the sweeping curve of her elfish heritage. Her reddish-blond hair had grown in and fell in waves past her shoulders, thanks to a potion that Mellona had provided. She let it hang loose about her face to hide the scar.Yes, to everyone else she appeared much the same as before. Yet to herself, the woman in the mirror was a stranger – pain and torment having left their markings in the unfamiliar lines on her brow and the pinched setting of her mouth. The sadness of her smile. The most telling, however, were her eyes. Eyes which, even at a glance, reflected haunting images of the evils they had witnessed. Shamalin sighed deeply and pressed her fingers to them, seeking to chase away the horror. Mockingly, the images painted themselves upon the darkness of her eyelids and once again she marveled that spells and potions could do so much to heal the body, yet could do nothing to touch the infection which had taken hold within her heart.A worry was nagging at the fringes of her consciousness. She had begun to feel the strength of her healing abilities returning slowly to her, and up until now she had believed that these were the gifts of her goddess reinstated. But a new thought had landed haphazardly in her mind, nibbling away at the edges of her fragile confidence. What if the White Lady had indeed turned away from her, as Blackheart had proclaimed? From whence did this divine spark draw, if not from Flor herself? Perhaps the powers of evil now felt a fellowship with the darkness in her soul. And a prickle of fear crept up Shamalin’s neck. Could Blackheart have spared her life to make her a vessel of such evil? Could, even now, the power that she felt returning be channeled from Aphyx herself?It was possible. She had devoted her entire life to the goddess of mercy, believing that all beings were both capable and deserving of goodness. But now, deep within the reaches of her heart, a darker truth had taken hold. She hated Blackheart. She was consumed by hatred for him - for what he had done and made her do. For all that he had taken from her. She loathed Blackheart with more conviction than she had ever possessed before, beyond any measure that she could comprehend. Given the choice, she could never grant mercy to the likes of such evil. The strength of that emotion called into question the foundations of her every belief.She opened her eyes again, and caught the glint of malice made plainly visible there. A chasm had opened up and threatened to swallow her whole. And most frightening was that she didn’t even feel like resisting. Effortlessly she could allow herself to fold into its depths and rest forever in the bowels of hatred.It would be so easy...Huzair stepped squinting out into the orange glow of afternoon and stretched. His back snapped and popped as he did so and he grimaced. The wizard was stiff and sore from too many hours getting drunk and scribing spells. Nothing that couldn't be cured by a few more beers and the talented fingers of a comely lass, he thought with a grin. He'd been trying to work his mojo on a few of the Florian initiates and thought he was making headway. There was something about their doe-eyed innocence that stoked his fire.Even drunk, he felt a clumsy tug at the chain around his neck and turned quickly. "You're not getting any better at that!" he snapped at Feln. Huzair had offered the Amulet of Natural Armor to the half-ogre provided he could pick pocket it from around the wizard's neck. So far Feln had tried on three separate occasions and he was abysmal at it."This form-" Feln started to say, obviously embarrassed by his lack of skill. Huzair waved him off and pulled a cigar from his jacket."I owe you one you big son of a... whatever you are... Gelgian Monk," the wizard muttered, lighting his cigar off his thumb. "Damn it I owe you for that Iron claw - or what ever the hells that was you put on me. I figured how to counter it so don't try it again." He massaged his throat, still feeling the half-ogre's steely grip. Feln snorted derisively and the mage glared at him."Tell ya what," he grinned, "I will give ya the amulet for one free punch... or are yas a chicken?" Feln arced an eyebrow and looked at the wizard incredulously."Actually, I was looking for someone to hit me," Feln said and Huzair returned his look of disbelief."You were?" he asked, unsure whether he'd heard the martial artist properly. Feln nodded."I had several teachers at the monestary. They all favored different styles... I try to practice those that I remember from time to time," he explained. "With this new form I find that I am a larger target and by toughening my skin I may be able to deal with attacks better then by dodging and keeping to shadows - a style which I favored in my old form.""Yeah!" Huzair mocked. "There aren' a lot of shadows big enough to hide you!""I don't know much of the history of the martial form, other then they used to call it the Armored Pugilist," he continued with a scowl. "The idea is that instead of dodging, deflecting, or turning an attack back on your opponent you simply allow it to strike and use your mind to overcome the pain, ignoring any damage.""And this is interesting to me, how?" the mage asked, swaying slightly. Feln smirked and leaned forward, protruding his chin as an obvious and easy target."Take a shot," he said, closing his eyes, "as hard as you can."Huzair smiled, activated the Ring of Blinking and sneak attacked the half-ogre. Or tried to at least. He wasn't a skilled warrior to begin with and being drunk didn't help him any. He swung and completely missed Feln's head. The half-ogre opened his eyes and blinked in disbelief."You missed?" he gaffawed. "And I thought I had seen you at your worst, Huzair!" The wizard scowled and kicked Feln in the crotch. "OWWW!!" the half-ogre bellowed loud enough to rattle windows nearby. Through gritted teeth he snarled, "Yes, thank you, Huzair. I see that I have not yet mastered the way of the Armored Pugilist.""What in the nine hells are you two idiots doing?" Morier asked, rushing around the corner, bastard sword ready. "People are on edge enough with Feln being in town at all, let alone with him roaring at the top of his lungs! Are you trying to get us thrown out of Floxen?""Don't get your scabbard in a twist, Morier," Huzair quipped, tossing the Amulet of Natural Armor to Feln. "The ogre and I were just doing a little negotiating." Morier shook his head."Must it involve screaming?" the albino asked, sheathing Ravager across his back. "I don't much relish the thought of sleeping on the ground while we wait for Karak to finish up with his axe because you got the VQS thrown out of town!""We're done. Aren't we, Feln?" Huzair asked, puffing on his cigar. The half-ogre nodded, placing the Amulet around his thick neck."Yes. But I need to talk with you yet," Feln replied. "Both of you." Huzair sighed and blew a smoke ring."I was just on my way to the Lantern," the wizard grumbled."No problem. Morier, can you walk with me a bit?" the half-ogre said falling into step beside Huzair. "I have been troubled greatly by what we saw in that manor. It was awful, I am sure you agree.""Few could argue that point, Feln," the albino told him as they headed for the inn. The martial artist nodded thoughtfully."I have a thought on how to use the manor for the greater good, however," Feln began to explain as they walked.</blockquote>

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