Twisted Infinity
- Thread starter Wrahn
- Start date
Wrahn said:
Glangim clutches the letter in his mailed fist, torn between the requests of a man who may as well have been his father and his own uncertainties. He nods to the high priestess, a heavy tear can be seen rolling down his rough face and heaves his way darkly past his companions. I knew it in my bones.
He closes his eyes as he approaches the statue of the All-Father, his lips forming the words to a prayer but no sound escapes. He exits the temple, eyes closed, he knows it so well he needs no sight. Outside he opens his eyes once more, his hands shaking, his skin darkening like molten earth and he lets out a roar of frustration and heaves himself into the air. His boots redirecting his momentum and he literally falls to the ceiling of the cavern-city, landing with a thud he begins to walk to an outcropping of rock that has so often served as his place of contemplation.
Sitting upon a ledge, he places his head in his hands, and wonders what his decision will be although he already knows.
Last edited:
Nac Mac Feegle
First Post
Shifter's head bows momentarily in contemplation, then lifts up to look at the ceiling ledge where Glangim now sits. Even now the beginnings of feelings of oppression from the walls and darkness were beginning to set in. Dear as the dwarfs were, Shifter had always been a traveler at heart, and resented being trapped, always trying to keep visits to the city to a minimum.
"I will be about." Shifter remarks, then walks off, waiting until behind a stone outcropping to drop dwarven form in favor of a small, drab looking bird, which flits up to perch on top of a stalactite, eyeing the city through small, black holes.
"I will be about." Shifter remarks, then walks off, waiting until behind a stone outcropping to drop dwarven form in favor of a small, drab looking bird, which flits up to perch on top of a stalactite, eyeing the city through small, black holes.
Someone
Adventurer
Tares raises an eyebrow when Elusriel mentions that “there´s not time”. The sensation that something´s not going as they should lessens somewhat at the sight of the elves´ home, but returns later, when the sorcerer slowly walks examining the shelves. He comes back to reality when he the elf speaks.
“As you like.” He says. Normally, he would have refused, but Tares intuits that she may ask him to do something in return.
Back to the shelves, Tares examines the place with enchanted eyes [cast Arcane Sight]
“As you like.” He says. Normally, he would have refused, but Tares intuits that she may ask him to do something in return.
Back to the shelves, Tares examines the place with enchanted eyes [cast Arcane Sight]
Dimitri~
The boy looks terrified, with tears streaming down his face, “We dared him to go in, into the church at the Old Graveyard. He was suppose to just run in and touch the altar. But he screamed and didn’t come out. The Ghouls got him Abbot! You have to save him!”
Esbon Field was a recent addition to these parts. The Village had grown in the past fifty years or so. Previous to that there had been a larger town to the south, that almost a hundred years ago had been burnt to the ground, a victim of the Baronial Wars. All that was left were a few stone foundations and the Old Graveyard.
Dimitri knew for a fact there were no undead there, though at one time there had been. He had gone there with a few friends to clean the place out in his youth. The abbot of the monastery at the time had reconsecrated the place. Unless some sinister forces had slipped in right beneath his nose, there was very little chance the boy had been taken by ghouls.
Tares Hehrog~
As he looks about the room, he can see the entirety of the tree radiates several different forms of magic, from divination to abjuration. The furniture in the room if finely crafted but non-magical. The books all radiate a mild transformative magic, probably for preservation.
A little while later a smallish elf, not even reaching Tares height, enters the room. He is encumbered by an impressive stack of books of different sizes and shapes. Like all elves he appears young, but you sense that perhaps this one actually is. He places the books on the table and then turns to you.
“I am Cerren. Lady Elusriel is my teacher. She has asked me to help you with your research. I understand you are interested in the Aerdin Travelogues, particularly in reference to the Xevaisia sites. These are the most relevant to the subject.” He says indicating the books, then pointing to one particular one, “I included the Talvoric Codex, which has some information on the origins on the sites, though it was written by Talvor the Gnomeflayer, a particularly vile fiend, so take what you read in it will a grain of salt.”
“I suppose the most relevant question is: Do you read elven?”
Ata~
Standing looking toward the ceiling, a dwarf steps out of the temple and walks up to you. He looks at you a moment then stands next to you to try and figure out what you are looking at. Being too far for him to see, he shrugs and addresses you.
“I be Untor Deephammer, friend of Derrick Stonesplitter. You are Ata, friend on Glangim?”
He holds his hand out.
“The lad does seem to be takin’ it well. I suppose Derrick was the closest thing to a family Glangim ever had. I be thinkin’ that if I came home to find my family had gone to see Moradin personal like I’d not be takin’ it very well either.”
“But I don’t be thinking there is anything you can be doing for your friend now. I was about to good to the mead hall an’ I would be honored if you would be accompanying me. Not sure what ya little folk do deep down do when ya lose someone close to ye, but here we like to raise a pint to our friends and share stories so that we might remember them fondly, before we return his body to the Bones of the Earth.”
Glangim, Shifter~
Time passes. Below you the sound of the dwarves ruckus laughter can be heard. Dwarves traditionally celebrate the lives of those that have passed on to Dwarfhome for two days, before the great funereal procession on the third day. Generally speaking it is a bittersweet time where the dwarves pay homage to the fallen through stories. The more that participate, the more lives that the deceased had touched. It sounded like the entirety of Dun Faerin had been touched by Derrick.
The boy looks terrified, with tears streaming down his face, “We dared him to go in, into the church at the Old Graveyard. He was suppose to just run in and touch the altar. But he screamed and didn’t come out. The Ghouls got him Abbot! You have to save him!”
Esbon Field was a recent addition to these parts. The Village had grown in the past fifty years or so. Previous to that there had been a larger town to the south, that almost a hundred years ago had been burnt to the ground, a victim of the Baronial Wars. All that was left were a few stone foundations and the Old Graveyard.
Dimitri knew for a fact there were no undead there, though at one time there had been. He had gone there with a few friends to clean the place out in his youth. The abbot of the monastery at the time had reconsecrated the place. Unless some sinister forces had slipped in right beneath his nose, there was very little chance the boy had been taken by ghouls.
Tares Hehrog~
As he looks about the room, he can see the entirety of the tree radiates several different forms of magic, from divination to abjuration. The furniture in the room if finely crafted but non-magical. The books all radiate a mild transformative magic, probably for preservation.
A little while later a smallish elf, not even reaching Tares height, enters the room. He is encumbered by an impressive stack of books of different sizes and shapes. Like all elves he appears young, but you sense that perhaps this one actually is. He places the books on the table and then turns to you.
“I am Cerren. Lady Elusriel is my teacher. She has asked me to help you with your research. I understand you are interested in the Aerdin Travelogues, particularly in reference to the Xevaisia sites. These are the most relevant to the subject.” He says indicating the books, then pointing to one particular one, “I included the Talvoric Codex, which has some information on the origins on the sites, though it was written by Talvor the Gnomeflayer, a particularly vile fiend, so take what you read in it will a grain of salt.”
“I suppose the most relevant question is: Do you read elven?”
Ata~
Standing looking toward the ceiling, a dwarf steps out of the temple and walks up to you. He looks at you a moment then stands next to you to try and figure out what you are looking at. Being too far for him to see, he shrugs and addresses you.
“I be Untor Deephammer, friend of Derrick Stonesplitter. You are Ata, friend on Glangim?”
He holds his hand out.
“The lad does seem to be takin’ it well. I suppose Derrick was the closest thing to a family Glangim ever had. I be thinkin’ that if I came home to find my family had gone to see Moradin personal like I’d not be takin’ it very well either.”
“But I don’t be thinking there is anything you can be doing for your friend now. I was about to good to the mead hall an’ I would be honored if you would be accompanying me. Not sure what ya little folk do deep down do when ya lose someone close to ye, but here we like to raise a pint to our friends and share stories so that we might remember them fondly, before we return his body to the Bones of the Earth.”
Glangim, Shifter~
Time passes. Below you the sound of the dwarves ruckus laughter can be heard. Dwarves traditionally celebrate the lives of those that have passed on to Dwarfhome for two days, before the great funereal procession on the third day. Generally speaking it is a bittersweet time where the dwarves pay homage to the fallen through stories. The more that participate, the more lives that the deceased had touched. It sounded like the entirety of Dun Faerin had been touched by Derrick.
Someone
Adventurer
Wrahn said:
Tares picks one of the books and sighs. "No, most tomes I´ve found were written in common or draconic" says finally, "But I can circunvent that difficulty -though using one of my most powerful spells to do so, thus it´s a little overkill. So I´d prefer another way, if you can provide it."
Dimitri, Servant of Pelor
Dimitri nods while listening to Taemin "Hmm, he probably just fell and hurt himself, but I should probably check and make sure he's allright."
"Brother Taliln, if you'll find someone to walk young Taemin here home I'll head over to the graveyard and find out what has happened to his friend Rennyi."
Once Taliln has had a moment to respond, Dimitri will walk to the graveyard.
OOC: I'm assuming it's only a few minutes walk, right?
Dimitri nods while listening to Taemin "Hmm, he probably just fell and hurt himself, but I should probably check and make sure he's allright."
"Brother Taliln, if you'll find someone to walk young Taemin here home I'll head over to the graveyard and find out what has happened to his friend Rennyi."
Once Taliln has had a moment to respond, Dimitri will walk to the graveyard.
OOC: I'm assuming it's only a few minutes walk, right?
Tares Hehrog~
Cerren nods, “While we don’t have any magical means to translate, I can read them to you. I believe the Codex is in Infernal if you read that.”
Cerren reads the books aloud for the morning and into the afternoon. Progress is slow, as Aerdin, the author of the journals, tends to ramble on about useless things. Even skipping the irrelevant parts still leave Tares listening to descriptions of the odd flora that sprung up in such sites and other less pertinent facts. When Aerdin does touch on the topic of the unusual magical auras, his insights seem to duplicate yours for the most part, though there are a few tantalizing part in the second book that hints at a deeper understanding. By Dinnertime you have made it through two and are about half way through the third.
Dimitri~
[ooc:The Old Graveyard is about a mile and a half outside of town. So perhaps a 30 minute walk.]
Cerren nods, “While we don’t have any magical means to translate, I can read them to you. I believe the Codex is in Infernal if you read that.”
Cerren reads the books aloud for the morning and into the afternoon. Progress is slow, as Aerdin, the author of the journals, tends to ramble on about useless things. Even skipping the irrelevant parts still leave Tares listening to descriptions of the odd flora that sprung up in such sites and other less pertinent facts. When Aerdin does touch on the topic of the unusual magical auras, his insights seem to duplicate yours for the most part, though there are a few tantalizing part in the second book that hints at a deeper understanding. By Dinnertime you have made it through two and are about half way through the third.
Dimitri~
[ooc:The Old Graveyard is about a mile and a half outside of town. So perhaps a 30 minute walk.]
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