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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Jon Potter" data-source="post: 3681575" data-attributes="member: 2323">[PLAIN][Realms #405b] Repercussions III[/PLAIN]Shamalin scanned the sky, shielding her eyes from the bright sun. "I'm sure he's up there somewhere... " After a moment the small dot which was Ayremac became visible, glinting silver against the blue sky. Feeling a little foolish, Shamalin waved her arms attempting to get his attention. The holy warrior, however, did not change his direction or indicate he was aware of their presence. Even Karak's booming voice had no effect. After several frustrating moments, Shamalin resorted to a Sending. "Ayremac, come down here!" As an afterthought she added, "Please?""What is it?" his voice spoke into her ear, words tinged with concern. "Are you in danger? I'm on my way."Belatedly it occurred to her that she might have offered some explanation to the man in her initial contact. It was too late for that now and she couldn't give it to him without casting the spell again, something she couldn't do until the 'morrow. Able to do little else, the Officer of Umba began an immediate descent in their direction. Karak stood solidly and watched the approach with interest. Shamalin, however, had witnessed Ayremac's landings before. Not knowing what effect her spell would have on his relatively new skills, she stepped behind the dwarf and prepared to bolt out of the way if need be.Her fears were unfounded, and Ayremac landed gracefully. Still, she was relieved to have Karak between them, however, as she noted the look of consternation on Ayremac's face at being summoned without explanation. Windblade was barely visible in the Officer's fist. "There's no cause for alarm," she assured him quickly. "Karak needs to speak with you about something." Ayremac's face softened and his sword disappeared into its scabbard as he looked expectantly to the dwarf."Nice landing," Karak said awkwardly. He turned to look up at Shamalin. 'Go on' she seemed to indicate with a smile."Umm... seeing those two numbskulls fightin' made me come to a conclusion" Karak said awkwardly, still looking at the Mercybringer as if the proper words might magically appear written across her forehead. "That I need to be bringin' the fight to Chaos more... and the way to do that I figure is to upgrade me axe.""That seems like a sound conclusion," Ayremac agreed, his tone somewhat wary. "But what does that have to do with me?""Aye. That be the question," the dwarf grunted. "Now normally, I know, to um... ah... bring it to a Dwarven Runesmith or other Runesmith... which is what I done mind ya, but he tells me that... um... I need to bring it to a Cleric for... a religious ceremony or somethin'." Karak's face twisted awkwardly as he forced out the word 'religious' as if it tasted of goblin wine."That is true," the holy warrior nodded. "The Justiciars of Umba have made potent weapons to fight Chaos in the past. Some enchantments can only be accomplished through divine providence.""So I brought her to Shamalin... um... you know... our Cleric," the dwarf indicated Shamalin with a nod of his head. "But she nae able to do it... So... I'm told you can make it holy."It was quiet in the temple and the elven priest's eyes flickered to Shamalin momentarily as she entered the sanctuary, alerted to her arrival by her footfalls. There was something confrontational in the priest's eyes - hostile even. She had been given permission to observe the local healing rite while Karak attended to business at the smithy, but wasn't sure how she would be received by the actual religious members. And entering the sacred space, she was glad to have taken off her armor. The clanking steel shell seemed to have no place in the darkened interior of the temple. Even the swish of her plain white robes' hem on the stone floor seemed an intrusion to the pregnant hush that filled the place.Ayremac stepped in behind her, also stripped of armor, looking a bit as Shamalin remembered him from olden days, in a white merchant's shirt and tailored pant. Every crinkle from the soles of his leather slippers made Shamalin wince but Ayremac did not seem as bothered. His order was not so keen on silence as some, and he did not even realize his disturbance.As Shamalin advanced toward the array of benches, she made a point to push her strawberry blonde locks back behind pointed ears as if asserting her right to be in attendance. It was a curious sensation - accentuating that which Blackheart had sought to mar forever with his knife. With a shiver, she moved silently into place in the back and bowed her head respectfully. Ayremac sat down beside her and in a hushed whisper began, "The architecture is beau-" but Shamalin quickly put a finger to his lips and glared at him in that manner that only a woman ever truly masters. Ayremac closed his mouth and said nothing more, doing his best to retreat into the background."Iä! Iä! Shub-Niggurath, c'fhalma fhtagn syha'h-ebumnagl," the high priest cried, so suddenly that Shamalin jolted upright in her seat. His words were a shriek in the silent temple, a plea for divine attention, she assumed. The words made no sense whatever to the mercybringer. "Ya shtunggli!""Sll'ha-gn'wgn-ll'ah-sgn'wahl... " the other elves around the altar muttered, their own voices every bit as low and sibilant as the priest's words were strident. The intonations seemed only half-uttered, the suggestions of words rather than words themselves and the litany continued as the priest went on, underscoring whatever it was he was saying. "Sll'ha-gn'wgn-ll'ah-sgn'wahl... ""Ya sil'ha! Ya stell'bsna sgn'wahl shaggoth! Ng-wk'hmr r'luheeh!" the priest continued his oration, anointing the broken body on the low altar before him. It looked to be that of a young male. The words weren't elvish, of that much Shamalin was certain, but beyond that she could make out nothing; they seemed to be bits of speech divorced from true language. She listened, very intrigued, as he began to place his hand above various places on the unmoving body - close, but never touching. It did not seem to be a spell that the priest evoked. It was as if he spoke an invitation addressing the energy surrounding him, something unseen that listened and watched."Hafh'drn uln! Ooboshuyar yagl hai! Ftaghu naflehye! Iä! Iä!" His words were strangely, incongruously melodious - a continuous stream of fragments and syllables that seemed ill-suited to humanoid lips but still managed to suggest a coming harmony. The air in the temple so dark and still mere moments before seemed alive now, and Shamalin curiously noted the hair on her arm prickling with anticipation. Responding to some cue within the ritual that she could not fathom those around the altar began to chant more loudly, their voices rising with fervor with each alien syllable."Sll'ha-gn'wgn-ll'ah-sgn'wahl! Sll'ha-gn'wgn-ll'ah-sgn'wahl!"She felt an unexpected surge of emotion and realized that her voice was straining to add itself to the chanted mantra. But she knew that would be a terrible intrusion, and instead she clamped her jaw tightly shut and craned her neck to get a better view. There was something curious happening to the air around the altar. It seemed to be drawing back away from the priest as if the entirety of the temple apart from him were merely projected onto a sheet and a hand was tugging that sheet away from the priest. As it peeled away from him, it left him looking... harsher. To Shamalin it seemed that all of the subtleties in his appearance disappeared; every line and crease in his clothing was defined and emphasized, every curve become an angle, every color grown more vibrant, every shadow more impenetrable. He was sharp and clear and harsh and it made her eyes ache to dwell on him too long. All the while he chanted."C'fhalma fhtagn syha'h-ebumnagl!" The words of the priest (now just another string of slippery sounds amidst the cacophony) increased in intensity and, at the exact moment the attendant voices peaked in crescendo, he clapped his hands together over the body and the entire room fell silent. The air around the priest snapped back, softening the harsh planes of his form into more natural shapes. An expectant pause followed, and a moment later the figure on the dais stirred ever-so-slightly. Immediately, the robed attendants moved briskly to pick up the elf body, whisking him away through a side archway. The priest knelt in silent meditation, apparently spent by his efforts. There was something haggard and brittle about his face and shoulders and Shamalin realized just then that she was holding her breath.She let it out quietly and took the opportunity to steal away, excited and mystified by what she had seen. Clearly these elves had healing powers she knew nothing about. And, in spite of the efforts she had made to forge a new bond with her goddess, Shamalin couldn't help but wonder: was there some level of elven magic capable of righting the broken pathways of her own soul? Ayremac followed her out, saying nothing. He sensed that Shamalin had been moved by the experience more then he had and - as he had ever done - gave her the space and time she needed to address whatever inner turmoil she held in her heart."Oi, Morier? Morier?" Karak shouted into the Ring of Communication as he leaned against the firepit in the sunken hut he now shared with just Ayremac. He'd left his armor at the smithy and he was dressed in tunic and jerkin, the holy warrior was likewise unencumbered by his mail, but he wore some kind of robe that reminded Karak of something his brother might have worn. The Officer of Umba was kneeling in prayer before his portable altar, his back to the dwarf; he couldn't see the sneer twisting the fighter's lips."I'm here, Karak," the eldritch warrior's voice replied, sounding as if he was standing directly behind the dwarf rather than outside the bounds of New Mellorell. "How are you faring in town?""Listen, did you get your armor upgraded?" Karak asked, ignoring the question."Ah... no," Morier answered, his tone was surprised."No?" Karak barked, sitting up and shouting at his fist as if it were the elf's face."I was exiled, Karak," the albino said and the dwarf nodded."Oh... of course... " Karak shook his head in disgust. "I'd forgot ye wanted to roll around in the mud wi' your boy lover." He harrumphed and Morier sighed over the Ring."Look, Karak, was there a point to your contacting me or did you just want to give me another dressing down?" the elf asked. "There's not a lot to do out here, but I'm sure I can find something better than getting yelled at for something I didn't start." The note of annoyance n Morier's voice was plainly evident to Karak.After a stubborn moment, the dwarf said, "Fine. So what did you decide you needed? Let me know an' I'll make sure to get it." There was a pause on Morier's end, then."I don't know," he said finally and the note of annoyance grew even more evident. "It's not like I can just get something off the rack! I've got to worry about spell failure... and if it's too heavy it'll slow me down... " Karak sighed again."Like the boy's elf-kissin' mother, I am," he muttered and scratched his beard. "I saw a nice mithril breastplate down there when I dropped off me axe. It'll nae be cheap, but would that suit ye?""Yes!" Morier said at once, annoyance turned suddenly to excitement. "Thank you, Karak. I-""Listen, I need to talk ta Huzair," the dwarf interrupted and he waited while Morier traded the Ring of Communication with the wizard."This is Huzair," the mage's voice said."Huzair, it's Karak. I've been doin' an inventory of our magic loot and I noticed when I add it up that you have a nice haul. I think ye need to turn some items into the pot. Me axe is going to be expensive," Karak said bluntly into the Ring. "I cannot quite make out what you are saying," Huzair replied after only a moment's pause. "You want to buy a pot? What for? Are you going to cook?" Karak's teeth ground together loudly in the chamber, color reddening his cheeks."Do nae try them shards wi' me, wizard! I know ye can hear me!" the dwarf shouted into the Ring. "Now ye'll have to part wi' some o' the booty ye've squirreled away, an' that's all there is to it!""I did get the fire blade, but I earned it," Huzair said lightly. "I do not see much else. How about those gems? Except the pearls; we should keep those for Identification purposes. Sound good?" Karak thought that it didn't sound very good at all."All I know is this: that magic dagger ye've got stuffed away is worth enough all by itself to nearly pay for me axe," Karak answered. He labored to keep his voice even. "I am nae sayin' don't keep it, but if ye're just holdin' onto it because it be magical, then I say throw it in the pot. That alone will buy a lot of supplies." A long pause followed. So long that Karak thought for a heartbeat that Huzair might have taken off the Ring to escape the conversation, but at last the mage returned."Oh, all right" he relented. "But get me a less powerful magic dagger if you can.""Aye!" Karak replied. "I'll see if I can get one of Hofralix's men to head out to ye in the mornin' to retrieve what we're wantin' to sell. Good night to ye!" Without waiting for a reply he took off the Ring of Communication and got to his feet. His pallet of skins looked very inviting and he spared a bitter glance at Ayremac before settling onto them wearily. The holy warrior's devotion reminded Karak painfully of the day he and Malak had left Dwurheim. He remembered watching his brother hunched reverently over a shrine to Shaharizod while he lurked in the corridor feeling unwelcome in the Silver Queen's presence.He pondered briefly the irony of what he now needed to improve his axe and how easily it would have been had his brother still been at his side.The next day a Mellorn elf returned from Karak's errand with a sizable bundle of gear from Huzair and Morier. A note was affixed to the bundle that read simply: "You are a pain in my ass, dwarf."</blockquote>

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