Hidden 10 yrs ago Post by LyricsKiss
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This was the sort of place Bela liked. Low-Key, out of the way and just far enough from the village for no one to recognize her. It was night the darkness afforded the paladin something she could use to her advantage, stealth. Though this wasn’t her usual tactic, the large black cloak over her hid her intricate armor from view. To just below her collarbone, Belamica was covered in silver, not just any silver, but the silver of His Holiness. Her blade had been known as ‘Light Seeker’ and Bela thought it was a fitting name, it sought to bring the light by ending the darkness that was the scourge on her land. The undead had been a problem for so many years that the king developed an entire guard just for the purpose of keeping the kingdom safe from the threat of the undead. After years of proving herself a more than worthy foe in battle, Belamica had taken up the mantle as the chosen champion of the king, and in turn had taken charge of the initiative against the undead.

She was in this tavern to seek out the informant that had passed an urgent message to the king. There had been an outbreak of the undead plague. A large number of graves were turning up empty with clawing marks in their lids. The dead weren’t staying that way. With her bright eyes closed, Bela’s pale lips moved in prayer. “Father, guard us against the darkness and steel us to unleash your might against those who are no longer of the living. “ It was a short prayer, but it was something that calmed Bela before the chaos of battle. Even as she whispered her prayer, the tavern she was in had gone eerily quiet. With her head bowed and her hood up, she hadn’t noticed as people filtered out of the place, scared looks on their faces.

By the time she realized the room was empty, the frigid feeling of death had already began to seep into the place. No doubt the undead were coming, someone had led them here just for her. For any other Paladin this would have been a death wish, but all Bela could do was smile as she unpinned her cloak and turned. The dark green material fell to the floor, leaving Bela in glinting silver armor. Even in the dim light it shone with an inner brightness. The creaking of wood caused a perked ear to turn towards the door, and as soon as she was distracted a window was broken. The growling of the undead was like music to Belamica’s ears.

“Bless me Father as I cleanse this land of this unholy MENACE!”


Her sword was pulled easily from her scabbard and as the undead swarmed into the tavern, all Bela could do was smile. For three hours the elf fought the undead swarm, and as the sun rose, she was the only thing left standing in that Tavern. Covered in blood and worse for the wear, Belamica loaded her horse and sauntered off to find somewhere to sleep off the battle she had single handedly just waged.
Hidden 10 yrs ago Post by Drache
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The Port City of Nautilus glittered like a jewel under the kaleidoscope of colours in the sky over the setting sun. Even far after the blazing bronze disc slid under the waves and the stars began to peek through the veils of purple, navy, and eventual black, the streets and thoroughfares remained lit with wide, shallow braziers and oil lanterns.

Seated on the largest of the Smokerim Isles and by virtue of being the largest city, Nautilus was the capitol of the island nation. Only a three day journey by ship to the mainland in the north, Nautilus was a melting pot of humanity and a popular destination for those of Hembath or Duruhl who wanted to enjoy their vices away from the disapproving eyes of their own governments. Bordellos full of exotic women and markets full of forbidden wares were displayed openly along the winding, cobbled streets. In some ways, the lax attitude towards controversial subjects like whore-houses, slavery, and intoxicating substances made the city dangerous. But in other ways there was a more equal opportunity out there for the cast-offs and misfits from other parts of the realms. And Nautilus was farm from lawless. Nestled on a high cliff in the middle of the city was the Jade Palace, home and seat of the Crown.

The young Prince and his Imperial Advisor ensured the protection of the small nation with the might of the Jade Armada, so named because of the greenish patina the ships took on once their copper-armoured hulls had spent a few years at sea. The Armada was generally touted as the fiercest naval force to be found.

Like all of the cities on the isles, Nautilus sloped upwards from the harbour through the thick jungle towards the steep sides of the volcano at the island's center. Most of the isles were volcanic, though there had been no significant eruptions for centuries. Even so, an instinctive love of the heat and underground magma was Drachia's inspiration for setting up shop here. The local societal climate worked in her favour, and she was away from the prying eyes of the full-blooded dragons who plotted and schemed over the centuries in the northern territories.

But in spite of her carefully-plotted existence in Nautilus, at the moment the red-scaled half-dragon was in a towering rage. Having been fearfully interrupted by her human servant Rhoderick to inform her that she had company, she had then received some news that had irritated her very badly.

In one of the large sitting rooms of the obsidian and red marble villa, she paced back and forth in front of the massive hearthfire, her amber eyes blazing fiercely, her clawed, talon-like feet clicking harshly against the floor with every step. No matter the warm summer winds bringing the scent of lurid tropical flowers in through the gauzy drapes across the arching windows, that bonfire was never dim when the Mistress was home.

Tail lashing, she rounded on the half-elf in grimy clothing, brandishing the parchment missive she had clenched in her fist. Her voice carried with it both a grumble and a hiss. "I thought I paid you better than this, Brent! Do you mean to tell me that Tarvick's little crew of half-wits found out about the location of one of the Forgotten Tomes and you waited three days to deliver the message?!"

The slender, boyish Brent gasped at the sheer ferocity in her visage, shrinking back against the door-frame in an attempt to escape the heat. He imagined himself being burned to death by her fire, or shredded by her claws, and only managed to stop himself from turning tail and fleeing because he suddenly forgot how to use his legs.

"N-...no, Miss Drachia! I came soon as I got the note. Tarvick bribed the Harbourmaster not to say nothin' until a whole day had passed, then it took Sebastian another day to find out where they was goin' after they landed in Greenpool. They found an old castle buried up in the Malcrist Mountains near them elflands. Covered by avalanches for a hunnert' years, he said. And they bringed back a banner with a sigil on it like the one I drew there."

He pointed shakily to the charcoal scrawling on the back of the parchment, and Drachia looked away from the trembling lad to examine it, smoothing it with her clawed fingers on a nearby table.

"...I see," she hissed, calmer now while she considered the meaning of all this, mentally cursing her bad luck. "This is the sigil of the old kingdom. They ruled in that area for hundreds of years. The tome must be there somewhere, curse it. And I'm three days behind Tarvick and his jewel-sniffing imbeciles."

Her ire was so much that when she snorted in disgust, a ribbon of dark smoke billowed from her thin nostrils. Turning, she glared into the fire, wondering what Tarvick could have found that made him so wary of her presence at the dig site. He had only a passing appreciation for what old spellbooks and mouldering yellow tomes could be worth, preferring tangible goods like gold and jewels. He never liked her competition, but he had also never gone to any great lengths to avoid her either. While she pondered, her tail undulated back and forth and the great ribbed wings at her back flexed.

Finally, she turned to find Brent still hovering by the door. Rhoderick was wise enough to have vanished out of sight, but she trusted that he was within earshot. He was a good servant and over the years had learned to anticipate her moods, the good and the dreadful.

"Brent, you did well, all things considered, but tell Sebastian that I want to see him as soon as I return." She wasn't cruel enough to punish her messenger...most of the time She reached into a black leather pouch attached to the belt around her shapely hips and tossed a trio of gold coins to him. It was triple what she normally paid him, and perhaps it was the shock that caused him to let the question tumble out of his mouth.

"Return, Miss?" His green eyes followed the dragoness as she prowled around, lifting a thick traveling cloak from a rack and twirling it back over her shoulders and wings. "You can't be thinking of leaving the island now, no ship can leave the harbour after nightfall."

Rhoderick appeared silently out of the gloomy hallways leading into the rest of the manor and handed his Mistress a sturdy pack. The handsome, if quiet, man gave Brent and almost pitying look. Within a few moments, Drachia looked ready to depart. No blade hung from her waist, though she didn't generally need one, did she. Her lips twisted with amusement, peeling back into a sinister grin that revealed a multitude of sharp fangs and incisors.

"My dear..." she almost purred as she stepped backwards into the towering flames, until her figure was completely obscured by the flickering blaze. Except for her eyes. "...who said anything about taking a ship?"

And with a crackling roar and a shower of sparks tumbling out onto the wide stone hearth, she was gone.
Hidden 10 yrs ago Post by LyricsKiss
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“You must be mistaken, there is no way she could have POSSIBLY survived.”

“Begging your pardon, my King, but I do believe I am alive.”

Bela sauntered in, a smile on her lips and a purse of gold at her hip for her patron. The king smiled widely, tucking her into a tight embrace that would have made a lesser person blush. “Ah, Bela! It cannot be true that there were twenty scores of undead, you had no reinforcements…” The king looked at loss for words as he led his hero over to a table set with battle plans and jugs of wine. Bela eased her sore body into a chair and sighed as a woman poured the two a glass of wine. “By the grace of the Father I was able to send the creatures back to death where they belong. No villagers were harmed in the fray…” she reported, all business for her liege. Her body ached and she knew there was a fresh wound on her shoulder that would need to be attended to.

“Yes, but you can’t have taken on that many without being injured…surely…” his voice of concern was cut off as another warrior came up and clapped Belamica on the back in greeting, a small wince was all that broken her stoic demeanor, but it was enough for the king to see. “Leslie! Bring Belamica to Maester Jamon, make sure she is taken care of. My champion, go rest, there is time for boasting in the morrow.” With that, Bela didn’t complain, didn’t protest, simply followed the serving woman down the hall. She knew the way to Maester Jamon’s by herself, and Leslie knew that well enough, but she was doing as tasked by her king, so Belamica said nothing.

“What on earth possessed you to do such a thing alone, Bela,” the soft voice came from the well muscled man before her. Looking nothing like the Maester’s Bela knew, Jamon was a rare breed. Beautiful and well built, a man suited for battle, but an accident as a child had left him blind, and because of that he made himself known in scholarly circles. Eventually he made his way through the ranks to those of the king, who had kept him as a royal healer and advisor. A shiver went through the paladin as Jamon peeled her armor off, exposing the festering wound underneath.

His delicate fingers danced over Bela’s pale flesh and all she could do was bite into her lip to hold back a whimper. No one gave her the sensations Jamon did, and to Bela’s warrior mind, it was unsettling. He cleaned and sewed her wounds with the precision of someone with keen eyesight and let his hand rest on her uninjured shoulder once he was done.

“You must not throw yourself so recklessly into danger..” his concern almost made Bela squirm, and as his hand moved to cup her chin, Belamica had to hold back a sound of surprise. His unseeing eyes stared blankly into hers. “I don’t know what I would do if something happened to you…” His closeness made Bela stand abruptly. She didn’t know how to deal with the warring feelings inside her.

“Thank you Maester, for you aid, if you could have a sleeping draught sent to my room for bed, I believe that is all.” The woman gathered her things without so much as another wince and left the Maester grumbling to himself.
Hidden 10 yrs ago Post by Drache
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Greenpool was the closest major port to the isles, so it was there that Drachia went, expending quite a bit of energy to telaport herself across the ocean. The trip left her more exhausted than she had hoped, and she resigned herself to having to spend the rest of the night in the city before striking out to follow Tarvick's trail.

She pulled her hood over her horned head as she prowled down the street. It couldn't hide her face from everyone, but Greenpool wasn't Nautilus and Drachia had no intention of dealing with riff-raff who were offended by red scales and ear-frills.

Just as she was thinking that a meal would be nice and her eyes flitted up and down the street at the menagerie of creaking, poorly-spelled shop signs, a tall figure in a gray robe fell in step beside her.

"So lovely to see you back in Greenpool, my Lady," came a low voice that Drachia recognized right away. "I had just about given up hope that I would ever see you again. You are the sun, and my heart is turned to ice in the shadow of your refusal. Have you come to bring light back into my life?"

She chuckled and turned to look up at the man without breaking her stride. "How dreadful for you, Maximus. Perhaps you should go back to Rhemes. If it's the sun you're pining for I'm sure the desert would do you some good. I don't have time to dally."

The man sighed dramatically. "You wound me. It's as though you haven't gotten any of my letters."

"I did," she retorted with a swish of her tail under the back of her cloak. "All one-hundred and twenty three since the last I saw you. But I am not interested in being your paramour, Maximus..."

She was cut off sharply when he reached for her wrist and pulled her up short, moving in front of her with her wingbones backed up against the stone building behind her.

"You can't deny that we've had good times, Drachia," the affectionate lilt in his voice had vanished and was replaced with something more insistent and desperate. The magus narrowed her eyes and glared up into his.

"I never denied it," she spat back. "But I wont be another pretty flower on your arm at the next royal gala. I have better things to do, Maximus. And you should know better if you think that looming over a half-dragon is going to do anything more than make her angry."

Her face inched closer to him and she stepped forward, forcing him to edge back a step. With a twist of her arm she broke her wrist free of his grip and reversed the hold so that his forearm was bared to her sight, the billowy sleeve of his robe falling back to reveal his chocolaty skin. Skin that was thickly etched with intricate runes. Her cat-like pupils widened and their little lover's quarrel was forgotten in an instant.

"Oh Max! What are these? You're not still dabbling in rune magic are you? You're going to get yourself killed, or worse." Her voice became an urgent hiss. "Is this why you keep begging me to recommend you to the Mage College?"

The dark-skinned man grew shifty eyed and snatched his arm back, folding his hands back into his sleeves. "It's easy for you to be so righteous, dragon. Not all of us were born with magic in our blood."

She shook her head slowly, knowing that nothing she said was going to turn him from the path he was on. They stood in the shadows, glaring at each other to the uncomfortable silence of their differences until Max lifted his hand and stroked his fingers along the outer phalanges of one of her wings. "Stay with me tonight? At least so you don't have to rent a room and eat week-old gristle instead of fresh meat and good wine."

Drachia turned to look north, her eyes following the road out of the city and towards the distant mountains. "I have to leave early. I'm following someone up to the Malcrists."

"Then you should get some rest."

"With you? Somehow I don't think I'll be getting much sleep."

He grinned, and so did she.
Hidden 10 yrs ago Post by LyricsKiss
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“The undead have advanced further north, the plague has taken down entire villages now.” The king shook his head as he informed his council. Bela sat back, a golden goblet of wine in her hands. She was the only woman at the small round table. She had more than earned her place among the men, but it hadn’t been easy. Now she was the envy of most and viewed as a leader, it was something Belamica was extremely proud of.

“If you pulled your men off of the post as Northruck and Bluff’s View, then they could make sure the city would be safe until our men arrived.” They all knew what city Bela was speaking about, it had to be one of the largest beside the stronghold the king maintained. If they were overrun with the plague, the kingdom wouldn’t survive through the winter.
“Those men are deserters. They haven’t sent tell in weeks of current conditions, no doubt off in some whorehouse.” Brolin spoke, a burly, hairy beast of a man next to her. His tankard alone was the length of half of Bela’s arm, and he was well into it. Her body still ached from the fight just a week before. They had made songs about it, singing of the heroic beauty who brought down the darkness. She’d happened into a tavern and without a word from her lips was treated to round after round of drink. The men and women both sung of her new triumphs and it made Belamica uncomfortable. She didn’t want notoriety, she just wanted to avenge the light and bring glory to her heavenly father.

“Send tell to them, if we do not hear back in a week’s time, we’ll send scouts to find them. Be it at their posts or some whorehouse.” The King gave a hearty chuckle and the men around the table joined in. As the guard filed out, they parted ways for the night. It would be an early morning of drills, and Bela needed sleep. But even as she prepared for bed, a pit of dread welled in her stomach. Something wasn’t right, but the elf couldn’t put her finger on it. She didn’t hear the sound of footsteps in her dark room, and by the time the cloth slid over her mouth and nose, the woman couldn’t seem to struggle.

A dark figure held the warrior fast as she fell into his arms, within moments a second shadowed figure appeared. Without incident they carried Belamica from the castle, her lifeless form slung over the shoulder of one of the men.

She couldn’t remember anything, that is until the pain began. It felt as if someone was using her stomach as a punching bag. Slowly, the elf came around, her wrists bound above her and her feet barely touching an obsidian stone floor. “Ahh, finally…I thought perhaps I would have to kill you for you to rouse from your slumber.”
Bela squinted into the darkness but found it did nothing for her vision, the voice didn’t even sound faintly familiar. “You are to blame for the countless deaths of my minions, what have you to say?”

An icy shot of fear slammed into her heart. For years they had been searching for the Necromancer responsible for unleashing the undead, he had no name, simply known in history as ‘The Dark Father’. He represented the very thing that Bela fought against, and he had her in the palm of his hand. Bela did her best to pull at the chains holding her, but she did nothing but bruise her wrists.

“Kill me, demon spawn, I will never give you the satisfaction of breaking me. FOR THE LIGHT FILLS ME!” She bellowed, pushing past her fear.

Belamica knew without a doubt, she would die this night.
Hidden 10 yrs ago Post by Drache
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The following morning Drachia let herself out of Max's estate just as the sky was growing light over the eastern forests. After reviewing the now-crumpled missive written by Sebastian, she set off over the city of Greenpool on her own two wings. The creeping debaucherers and ambitious business-men stalking the streets early, or later, wherever their perspectives lay, glanced up to see the reddish shape scything through the air.

Not only was there a great amount of freedom in flying, but it was a faster method of travel than anything else in her arsenal of resources, except for Teleportation, of course. But she couldn't 'Port to anyplace she had never been before, and such conjurations could be risky under even the best of circumstances.

So with golden membranes stretched taught and reptilian eyes scouring the nearly unbroken evergreen forests rolling below her, she tacked and bent her course towards the mountains. The snow-capped peaks were much higher than the mist-spouting calderas she was used to, and she hoped with an instinctive shudder that she did not have to endure those frosty heights at all during her trip.

As the hours swept by with the consistent whooshing of wind in her ear-frills, she began to see signs that she was getting close. From her dragons' eye view she sailed effortlessly over the tumbledown ruins of a farmhouse here, a cluster of homes from a tiny hamlet there all overgrown and drifted over by mossy earth, the shattered bottom half of a watch-tower on the jutting precipice of a cliff. The mountainsides rose up to meet her and as she sailed over a bare-rocked rise, she spotted her destination on the other side.

The gray-granite castle was difficult to distinguish from the surrounding crags, but even at a distance Drachia's vision was supreme. As she swooped closer and made a wide circle around the ruins, she could see where the avalanches of lifetimes ago had washed not only the winding road that had lead to the castle's main gate but also most of the west wing and part of even the inner keep. The walls and battlements that remained were largely crusted with moss and ivy with only dark slots where the windows had once likely contained the beautiful stained glass humans were so fond of.

Banking around, she spotted a cluster of seven horses milling about, eating the winter rye grass sprouting through the flagstone of the castle's inner bailey.

"Axun-ra!" the magus hissed her triumph in draconic. Tucking her wings, she twisted into a dive and dropped lightly through a gaping hole in the roof of the castle's main hall, snapping her wings open to land with a soft thud on the mouldering remains of a blue carpet.

Her snouted face twisted back and forth to take in her surroundings, but before she could step out of the shaft of sunlight she heard the tell-tale click-Thump! of a crossbow being fired. She threw up a clawed hand and dodged to the side, trailing a crackling arc of fire after her palm. The incoming bolt deflected to the side a mere inch from striking her scales, and thudded into the decaying mortar of one wall with a quiet hum.

Loudly, both out of surprise and to prevent another shot being fired she called into the dusty shadows of the ancient castle, "Tarvick, is that any way to treat your friends?"

She couldn't help but smirk when the nasally voice of her hook-nosed competitor came wheedling from a balcony above.

"Gods-damned dragon bitch, how do you get here so fast?"
Hidden 10 yrs ago Post by LyricsKiss
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The torture went on for hours, and by sunrise, the former paladin was a bleeding heap. The chains fastened tightly around her wrist were the only thing keeping her standing, her knees had given out hours ago. With her left eye swollen shut, Bela fell to the ground as the chains were released from the wall. Her wrists still bound, the ‘Dark Father’ spoke. He’d been silent through the entirety of the torture, and so had Bela. Never once had she cried out, only did her lips move in prayer to the light. She didn’t care about her life, but she couldn’t go to the grave knowing this monster still lived another hour. If she would die, she was going to take the bastard with her. She was good at playing injured, or showing pain where she felt none, the man must think he had her in the palm of her hand.

“Are you ready now to face your final Master? Death?” he asked as he put a long gray finger under her bloody chin, and Bela lifted her head just enough to spit into the man’s face. “I will face it, but not alone.” She used all her strength to launch herself at the man, knocking him off balance and onto the dirty cave floor.
But even as he fell, Bela didn’t rest, her body landed on top of the dazed master, and she could hear him whispering spells. With both hands Bela took the man’s head and slammed it sharply into the cave floor, the whispering faltered then, but his hands fell to his sides. Even as she felt the blood leak from his head, Bela could hear the sounds of footsteps.

With little energy left, the paladin groped in the darkness for something, a blade he’d used to flay her skin, it was sickly sharp and was just the thing she needed to cut the dark master’s head off. The spells stopped falling from his lips as a sickening sound filled the room, a man gurgling on his own blood, as the paladin kicked the man’s now severed head away from her.

They were coming, his children, and with a small knife in her hand, Belamica pulled herself up. Within her, she knew her final hours were coming to a close, and no matter how good she was at pretending, the Light was ebbing. The man had flayed her legs and arms, cut away most of her clothing and left gaping wounds in her side. In the darkness she could see her blood, glittering and shining in the torch light he’d acquired.

“The light is the bane of darkness…”

She grumbled as she held the small blade in her shaking hand. The footsteps were growing closer now, and Bela knew there had to be hundreds of undead marching to tear her apart.

“With the light we will shepherd the flock…”

She could feel the tears as she recited the prayer of the light, the knife in her hand the only important thing now.

“And shelter them in the glow of the Father. May the light bless me…” she whispered the last part as the undead filtered through the two entrances to the cave. “and fill me with your holy might. So shall it be until the end!” She pushed out into the crowd and took as many with her as she could before they swarmed her.

Belamica Darkthorn died a hero, her valor was told of by kings and princes, songs were sung of how she ended the undead plague the ‘Dark Father’ had unleashed upon the land, and like so many hero’s, her songs faded as did the memory of her great deeds.
Hidden 10 yrs ago Post by Drache
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Grumbling with resentment, Tarvick clambered down a rotted staircase to join the dragoness, his handheld crossbow hooked back on the loop at his hip. He was a thick, oily-skinned man with hawk-like features and yellow, jaundiced eyes. Drachia suspected, as she had many times in the past, that he would have been a much more successful adventurer if he didn't waste so much of his treasure on drink and whores.

"I see that Sebastian gave you my message then?" he asked, eyeing the dragoness disdainfully. His scowl didn't improve when she gave a nod of her horned head and stepped with cautious feet towards one of the many hallways branching off the grand hall.

"I got the message, Tarvick. And that message was that you didn't want me to know where you were going."

She could hear his heavy boots following her as she began to explore the castle. When he didn't respond she went on to say, "...and I find that disappointing considering how often you've benefited from my help. So what is different about this time, hm? Did you forget how to share? Is someone else paying you to bring them my share? Or were you simply hoping to collect everything and sell me what you know I'd want?"

No reply. She turned back to find the man with his arms crossed defiantly and a sneer on his face. In a flash of anger she lunged towards him and seized the front of his leather tunic. He was a sturdy man, equal in height to the red-scaled mage, but still she was able to hoist him rudely off his feet.

"Do not test me, Tarvick. I know more than one spell that will loosen that tongue." Her sinister growl echoed down the muffled, dusty corridors.

"Alright! Alright!" Tarvick gasped harshly, his dirt-crusted boots scuffing against the stone beneath him. "Two men found me outside Mizzy's Tavern a fortnight ago. They told me where I might find some treasure, and that me an my boys could keep it all if we brought them any books or scrolls with this sigil on it."

He fumbled in his pocket and brought out a piece of old blue silk with the symbol of the old kingdom, but it also had a ring of seven stars stitched in an arc across the top. Drachia stared at it as she lowered the idiot to his feet, struggling to remember where she had seen the halo of stars before.

"So you thought that you'd be likely to walk away with more loot if you gave your new pals what they were looking for than if you brought me along, hmm? Well, I'm here and they are not. If we find anything, you can just tell them I cursed you into giving it to me instead."

As they moved deeper into the castle, Drachia began to hear clearly the sounds of picks and hammers chiseling into the stone. "It sounds like your lads have found something after all."

They followed the trail of smoky torches until they came across Tarvick's team. They had already broken through one wall into a chamber that was littered with the remains heavy chests and racks. Whatever had been hidden here had been looted long ago, probably when the treacherous winter weather had sent ruinous earthslides to wipe out not only part of the castle, but much of the kingdom around it. But rather than looking into the faces of disappointed treasure hunters, the half-dragon saw them busily working to widen a rift in the far wall, breaking into another space behind it. Her nostrils flared slightly at the cold, musky scent of ages that came rushing out.

Grinning, with her wings lifted slightly from her back, she turned to Tarvick, and saw her excitement reflected in his human eyes. Whatever was behind that wall hadn't been touched in many long years.
Hidden 10 yrs ago Post by LyricsKiss
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“That…that can’t be…what do you mean abducted?”

The king couldn’t understand how someone could break into his castle and steal away with his most prized warrior.

“I’m sorry My King, but there were no signs of a fight, and no one has seen hide nor hair of the Lady since last night when the Maester sewed her up.” The errand boy was shaking, his head down as he delivered the bad news to his king. The monarch was quiet for a long moment before he sighed, “Put word out that I am offering a reward for her safe return or any information concerning her whereabouts.”

“Yes, M’Lord.”

The boy bowed out of the room and disappeared into the hall. Within days the word had spread and the rest of the men of Belamica’s unit began to sift through the people reporting to have seen the paladin maiden being carried away from the castle. It took a week before anyone had a lead well enough to go on, after that more people came forward.

It was a fortnight since her death before her men found what remained of Belamica. The men and their knowledge of the undead knew right away that Bela had taken down the ‘Dark Father.’ Around her broken, lifeless body laid the corpses of at least a few dozen undead minions. The men extricated her remains from the bodies and laid her on the stretcher they’d brought, hoping to find her alive but injured. A white shroud was laid over her body before she was brought in through the gates of the village.
Women wept as they heard the news of the Champion’s passing, men toasted to her in the streets and taverns, and within the castle walls, a feast would be held in her honor.

“Today, on the 12th day of our Spring Season, we celebrate the memory of a blessed warrior of the light. She was a champion of righteousness and valor, shedding light into the darkest of places. Henceforth, this day will be known as the Day of the Light Maiden, in honor of our fallen hero, Belamica Darkthorn. May the Father take you up into his shinning embrace and reward you for your courageous deeds against the darkness. Forever will you ring true into our memories…”

Within the depths of the castle, the shroud covered corpse of the elven maiden was being cried over. The blind Maester held the cold hand of the woman he loved. Never had he told her of his feelings, knowing he wouldn’t be an equal match for such a beauty. Though he’d never seen her, they had spoken for hours over ale on numerous occasions, and from those times he had seen her as truly as if he had eyes.

“Belamica, I do not wish to see your tomb shrouded in gold…and I know you would not either. I will take you to the Hollow Hills, where you always wished to visit, and lay your body to rest there. It’s beauty is almost fitting for the likes of you, my maiden.”

The words were whispered and by the time the men of the king’s guard came to fetch the body in the morning, nothing would look out of place. Skulls from the catacombs and bones from there as well were used to dupe the guard as Maester Jamon secured ride for him and his ‘mother’s’ remains across the shinning sea. It was weeks before he found a proper burial place, villagers assuring him it would be a beautiful place to be laid to rest. Only once he laid her out in her tomb, deep within the Hollow Hills, did he allow himself to grieve once more. With her sword and emblem of the Father buried with her, Maestor Jamon paid village men to seal up the tomb. Once the job was done, he promptly poisoned their dinner. No one could know of the location of his dearest’s tomb, no vile hand would marr her ever again.
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Once the wall had been breached and the crumbling sides shored up Drachia joined Tarvick and his crew in the chilly vault and realized that it was more than a single room. Her eyes glinted red in the poor light, able to see farther into the all-encompassing gloom than her human associates. She noted the cubbyholes along the walls and here and there could spy the dark eye sockets of humanoid skulls.

Cautious, she approached them, looking for placard or engraving to hint at the identity of the ancient corpses tucked neatly into their tombs. Places like this were notorious for traps.

"This isn't just a treasure vault, Tarvick," her voiced hissed out of the darkness, catching the man by surprise so that he nearly dropped his torch. "See that your men take care."

Over his shoulder he could see the lads wrenching the lids off large trunks that lined one wall, already shoveling the glittering riches into thick leather bags. Bags that, Drachia noted with a soft sniff, she had enchanted to carry more than they seemed in exchange for information long ago.

Drachia's wings shifted uncomfortably and she struggled inwardly, fighting the urge to seize the jingling, shiny riches from these pathetic humans and keep them all to herself. They didn't deserve the gold. And it was so...so pretty...

She stopped herself with a shake of her horned head, fighting he dragon-sized lust for treasure, reasoning that there were better things in store is she kept a good grip on her patience. In the impromptu entryway, Drachia saw nothing that held her interest, so the began stalking along the row of shrouded bodies, shaking her head or wings when they happened to catch on the wispy draping cobwebs that crisscrossed the darkened space.

Many were draped in what once had been colourful banners, or sealed in engraved stone or golden caskets. These, Drachia reached out to touch, unable to deny the pleasure of solid gold under her fingertips. She wasn't above grave-robbing. Many of the enchanted artifacts she had acquired in her time had been buried with their former owners. But she was far too practical to bother with the effort of looting an entire golden casket.

When she got to the very last cubby, far out of sight of Tarvick, she realized that she had found the original entrance to this sacred place. The original door had cavern inwards under the force of millions of tons of mountain rock. There was no way out this way. But it did mean that the body she was standing near was likely the last to be buried. Curious, Drachia's eyes found the placard over the head of the golden shroud.

"Here lies Belamica Darkthorn, elfmaid, champion of her Lord King Daramus and protector of the realm, sworn paladin by the grace of the Father of Light."

An elfmaid paladin championing a human king? That was a tale worth legends. Curious, the half-dragon reached for the golden shroud and pulled it back, a layer of dust sliding from the shining cloth to swirl in the air around her.

The yellowed bones and permanent leer of the skull that greeted her held no terror for the dragoness, but she was surprised. The skeleton wore no armour, the clawlike fleshless fingers gripped no might sword or other great-weapon, and the skull itself was large and blocky, missing both the small perfect teeth of an elf and the thin, refined cheekbones she would have expected.

"This is no elfmaid," she hissed quietly to herself, replacing the shroud with a flick of her wrist. Perhaps she and Tarvick had both been wrong and this tomb had been looted before. Disappointment etched into her demeanor, she turned to go when something caught her eye. Underneath the resting place of the mysterious skeleton, a panel of engraved stone jutted out from its surrounding mortar. Beyond it was nothing but the shadow of a small niche in the stone.

Crouching down, the mage gripped the panel with her claws and worked it free until there was enough space for her to look within. Her excitement grew and when she reached in, her fingers encountered not one, but a small stack of leatherbound tomes.

Working fast, she tugged them free and tucked them into the enchanted pouch at her hip. One final sweep of the tiny alcove with her hand and she recovered a small golden amulet, an intricate symbol of the God of Light that many simply called 'The Father'.

She didn't miss Tarvick's suspicious looks when she returned to the group and immediately put up her guard.

"You found something, didn't you?" He accused calmly, blocking the exit, his crossbow pointed at her heart. "I need those books."

There was a fierce determination in his tone that Drachia had never heard before, and in her surprise it took her a few moments to understand that it was a determination fueled by fear. Not fear of her, but of the mysterious others who had cornered him in an alley a fortnight ago.

Those few moments nearly cost her her life. One of Tarvick's mean swung at her head with a hammer while another seized her pouch and tried to wrench it free from her belt. She spun quickly, taking a glancing blow to the side of her face that darkened her right eye. She kicked the snatcher free and called on her magic to send a roaring fireball from her palm into the face of the one wielding the hammer. Both men staggered back and the flames jumped from the flailing human onto the dried, shattered wood of the ancient chests on the ground. The air was instantly full of smoke and simmering heat. A third man slashed at her with a sword, cutting a slice through her vest and her scales. The wound was deep and stung terribly, she slapped a hand to the bleeding cut and was thankful that she wasn't feeling her own entrails in her palm.

Gesturing with both hands at the ceiling, she melted the stone above the swordsman's head, bringing a torrent of lava down on his head. The glowing liquid splashed across her bare feet, and while the heat didn't bother her she knew that it would hamper her movements. The room was crowded with screaming men, smoke, and flame, and she knew there were more men with Tarvick. She turned for the door and ran, bowling the man down under her sharp talons, but not before taking one of his crossbow bolts in the thigh. Her angry roar rattled dust from the ceiling and it coated her scales as she limped away with her precious tomes.

"They'll find you, Drachia! The same men who find me wont stop until they have what they are looking for!" Tarvick, his angry face lined with oozing claw-marks, screamed after her as she fled the scene.

As soon as she reached the grand hall she opened her wings, launching herself up through the broken roof and away from her pursuers.
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Maestor Jamon spent the next fortnight forgetting himself in drink and gambling. It was easy for others to underestimate the blind Maestor, but he found it helped him forget the heartache. By the time he made his way back to the kingdom, the King had thought he had laid Belamica to rest in her hero’s tomb. He sneered at the thought, Bela hated being in the eye of everyone for her deeds she saw as her duty. She wouldn’t have rested in peace with everyone coming to boast over her tomb. Since so long had passed without a Maestor, the King had installed a new one. Jamon was welcomed back with open arms and worked alongside the new Maestor, Bartomius, for many years.

The two grew close and worked under the light of the father to keep the kingdom safe. Nearing the end of his life, an illness took hold of Jamon, and upon his death bed he gave a confession that shocked his colleague.

“And when he coughed, I knew his last breath would be soon. He wished me closer and as I moved in, the man grabbed hold of my robe, and pulled me close. Where his strength came from, I know not, but his blind eyes seemed to see me suddenly. He spoke of his love, a maiden of the light who had died a noble death. He had never told her of his feelings, and he always wished she had known how much he loved her. It seemed the woman he speaks of is the elf maiden whom we celebrate for in the Spring. He spoke of how she was one of a kind, and the king held her as his personal champion. A renowned Paladin she was privileged with training at the Court of the Father where the Relics of Light are held. She took the highest honor in battle. All of these things he told me with his last breath. I didn’t understand why he was telling me all this, until he coughed and his chest shook.

Then he told me of what he had done, I almost couldn’t believe it. He had absconded with the maiden’s remains to lay her to rest in a place she admired, away from those who would idolize her. It was the most peculiar thing I had ever heard. He’d placed bones from the catacombs under her shroud to keep others from knowing. If the man hadn’t trusted me, he would have taken the secret to his grave.”

The words were scribbled and within a cracked leather tome, other passages detailing the rise and fall of the king and his men.
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Four days after her skirmish with her back-stabbing compatriots, Drachia prowled down a familiar street in Greenpool with her hood drawn tight over her head. Every other step dipped in a pronounced limp, and she paused frequently to glance over her shoulder. Her passage over the rolling woodland had been considerably hampered by the first of the autumn rains, and her crimson skin held no great love for the icy winds rolling down from the mountains. Even now she held her wings clamped tightly to her back under her damp cloak, and the tight wool steamed faintly in the gloomy light.

Her claws gripped her pouch warily. With a sneer and faint rumble in her throat, she couldn't shake the feeling that someone was following her, and as yet she hadn't decided if she was still simply angry at Tarvick's uncharacteristic betrayal or if there was a genuine threat.

She allowed herself no sense of relief until she had reached Max's abode, her face twisting with distaste at the prickle of rune magic that crept across her flesh as she drew up to the front door, which opened to admit her immediately.

"Drachia?" The deep voice preceded its owner as Maximus came down the wide staircase to meet her. "I almost forgot what it's like to have you arrive by the front door." He was wearing his usual charming smile, but it faded into a frown as his eyes traveled the length of her storm-tossed figure.

"What happened to you?"

"Tarvick and his apes have a new financer," she snapped with a hiss, sweeping past him into the parlor where the flicker of orange light promised warmth. "I don't know who it is. But I am sure I will find out when I get back to Nautilus."

Maximus didn't miss her wry, rueful tone. He drew close, more than willing to help the half-dragon peel out of her horrible, soaked garments. "Oh? You sound certain."

"Well, only because I have what they were looking for!" She retorted. But the smug glitter in her eyes didn't last for long. Her wounds had gone untreated long enough and her onerous tenacity was no longer enough to keep the pain at bay. The broken-off crossbow bolt glinted grimly in the hearthlight and the gash across her stomach was weeping blood that trickled down the pattern of her scales.

"And paid for your trouble, I see," Max remarked, using the same disapproving tone she had employed when admonishing him about the scarification of his skin.

She looked at him with narrowed eyes. "You have your hobbies, and I have mine, Max. If you don't mind, I am going to need a healer before this gets much worse. I'd appreciate a recommendation."

--

Two days later, Drachia lounged pensively on the floor of Max's modest library with books scattered all around her, each open to a different page. There were scrolls also, unrolled and held open by random knick-knacks from Max's desk or her pack. The winding script of a dozen different hands from a dozen different authors was exposed to her prying eyes.

She shifted slightly, flexing against the linen bandages twining around her thigh and midsection. She had been sitting there for hours, hunched like a buzzard over a piece of meat as she tried to piece together the story of the three books she had recovered from the old castle.

The tip of her tail twitched as her mind worked over the intricate puzzle, forgetting all else in her continuing quest for knowledge and magic.

At length, Max came to join her, looming darkly in his place deep in a wing-backed armchair slightly further back from the fire than Drachia enjoyed. She was vaguely aware that she was missing meals, but she didn't stop turning pages, her cat-like eyes snatching words from the mouldering parchment as she read paragraph after paragraph.

Finally, even the patience of the dark-skinned nomad was no match for her and Maximus dared interrupt, but not without bringing a piece offering of food. "So, my shining ruby, what have you discovered amid all those scribbles?"

Sighing and stretching her wings for the first time that day, Drachia looked up, blinking slowly. Before she answered, she took the time to pick a few choice mouthfuls from the tray Max set near her, momentarily basking in the knowledge that she could keep him waiting for quite some time if she wished.

"I think I have riddled out some of the puzzle of these three tomes, but every page I turn gives me more questions than answers," she began, gesturing to the first book. It was the thickest book of the three, and seemed to be the oldest. Bound in a blue-dyed leather with the silver emblem of the old kingdom stamped on the front.

"This tome is a History of the old kingdom. It follows the line of the royal family for over three hundred years, as well as the most notable actions of their chosen Champions. One of the last was this...Belamica Darkthorn, whose tomb in which all three books were hidden."

As she spoke of the books, her fingertips traced almost lovingly across the thin vellum. She moved to the second book, which was the smallest most fragile, having the somewhat battered and well-traveled appearance of a personal journal rather than a sturdy tome.

"This is the journal of the old kingdom's castle Maestor's. There are five who contributed, and it contains more or less what you would expect. Everything from recipes and healing remedies to religious parables and philosophical ramblings meant to be passed down from one Maestor to the next. From this, I learned that Belamica's tomb never contained her body. One of the Maestor's took her away across the Crescent Sea to entomb her at Starfall." She re-read Maestor Jaemon's confession again as she lifted the book into her lap, a mixture of pity and wonder at the strange actions of a man's grief and unrequited love. Love was an impulse she had squashed in her own life with a fierce determination lest such temporary and useless distractions impede her personal progress.

"It seems that the elfmaid Belamica was entrusted with information about the location of the Durandana."

Recognition of the name dawned slowly in Max's eyes, and his stern brows knitted together. "Isn't that the enchanted sword, the one that Fentauk the Elder recovered from the hoard of Targaskoriax the White along with the..."

"...yes!" the fire-drake hissed, "The Flameheart Collar." Her excitement was almost palpable. She had never been this close to discovering what had happened to the Collar after the warrior Fentauk had slain the white dragon.

"Do the books tell you where it is?" He was struggling to remain aloof and out of the influence of the half-dragon's enthusiasm.

"No," she replied, her chagrin obvious. "But then there is the third book."

It was the only book that did not lie open on the floor, because even the impulsive and ambitious half-dragon felt a chill when she gazed upon those pages. The cover was a leathery brown, and at first Drachia had thought it to be nothing more than animal hide. But as her hands stroked that tough cover the residual prickle of vile workings crept across her scaled skin, and she tasted the fetid reek of corpseflesh. Only then did she realize that the binding was crafted entirely out of human and elven skin.

"This is a book of the Bloodmages of Nerull," she murmured, her voice low and wary. "It contains several intricate rituals and spells. It was apparently recovered at the sanctum of a Necromancer called the 'Dark Father', who was ultimately destroyed by Belamica Darkthorn, even though the effort cost her life."

The red bloodmagic runes caught the firelight as Drachia looked down at the book, shining darkly like wet blood. Once again, she surveyed the clutter of paper across the floor. But the web of information kept leading back to one thing, Belamica Darkthorn.

Assuming a somewhat smug resignation, Maximus sighed, folded his tattoed arms behind his head, and leaned back in his chair, "Too bad she's dead."

"...yes...too bad..." the dragoness replied, her gaze falling back to the vile book.
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It was dark when the small figure crept from a squat stone dwelling and out into the moonlit streets. A young woman, by the size of her, jogged gracefully along a village lane. She knew well where she was going, and the smile on her face was evident as she moved in and out of silver patches of light. Galina was going to meet Roldolpho, and tonight they were going to run away together. It had been a whirlwind romance from the beginning. Galina wasn’t the prettiest girl in the tavern, but she had most of her teeth, so she wasn’t the worst looking either. Roldolpho had seemed so suave and charming when he had sauntered in. He looked so exotic to her, his dark skin and long hair. Thoughts of him made her heart race and her soul giddy. Oh her parents would be so angry when they found her note, but she didn’t care. Her and Roldolpho were in love and her heart belonged to him. He had instructed her where to meet him, and as she got closer, Galina slowed her frantic pace. She had to look calm when he saw her, and then they would ride away. Just as Roldolpho promised, they would have a huge wedding back in his kingdom. The thought alone would be enough to sustain her until they got there. With a smile Galina rounded the bend of the country road and found herself near the graveyard. The red headed woman frowned as a horrible smell invaded her nostrils. Her stride slowed, then stopped as the smell became worse. With the back of her hand to her nose, Galina held back the urge to be sick.

“Roldolpho?” she coughed out, the sound of buzzing flies invading her senses.

With no answer, Galina ventured a few steps more before stopping to be sick. The stench was getting thicker the farther she walked. The buzzing sound intensified suddenly as Galina stood and wiped her lips. Suddenly, this all seemed like such a bad idea. Before she could turn, the feeling of a few flies buzzing around her head caused her to stumble back as she swatted at the pests. Taking her swats, the flies began to swarm, angry and buzzing. Galina didn’t know they were locusts until the first one bit her. By the time she could scream, the insects invaded her mouth, choking the young woman.

Her body was found the next morning by a local merchant on his way to market, her body was covered in bites and welts from the insects, and her blood had been completely drained. Her parents mourned their daughter, bewildered that she would be caught somewhere so dangerous in the dark of night.
Galina’s pale body was carried to the undertakers, and dressed for burial, and the next morning when the coffin maker went to measure the dead girl, he found her missing. Three bodies within the same month all seemed to just disappear. Undertaker John had kept his windows and doors locked day and night, fearing body snatchers wanting to take the bodies for nefarious reasons, but none of his locks looked broken when he would discover the random bodies missing. It followed no pattern, the thief didn’t seem to care whom he took. And it was becoming an increasing problem for the undertaker.

In the darkness something had come for the girl, something that didn’t need to use doors to enter a home. It was smoke and darkness combined, it slipped through the cracks and broken seals and awoke the maiden. The corpse sat up, it’s once green eyes a dull and lifeless gray. Her skin was sickly pale save for the welts of thousands of locusts bites. The minion walked awkwardly, as if she had forgotten how to use her legs, stumbling into this and that. But once she became accustomed to the feeling, the corpse was able to open the door and simply walk away from the Undertaker. The pale corpse walked and walked, through the hills and woods in the darkness of night, and just before morning, the zombie of Galina emerged into the caverns that would lead her to the Necropolis, to be with her undead breatheren.

Here below, this place was known as Zul’ Naxxar, or ‘Death Place’. Darkness clouded most of the buildings, the stench of death could be smelled within the caves. Rotting corpses lay strewn about the dark ground, rich soil going to waste underground. Galina groaned as she slipped down a steep wall from the cavern exit she’d taken leading her into the main chasm. Thousands of mindless undead moved the cavernous place, digging instruments and chunks of rocks being carried away with them. The screaming of unlucky victims could be heard all around the Necropolis, and to Galina’s dead ears, they didn’t even register. Her body swayed on unsteady legs as she shuffled into one of the larger ziggurats. A foul liquid bubbled in a pool in the center of the room, throwing the inhabitants into a sickly green glow. Nothing was said to Galina as she was directed up a flight of winding stairs by a man wearing a skull like a crown.

Her legs moved mechanically and when she reached the top landing, twenty other zombies greeted her. All of them knelt as if in prayer in front of a giant stone statue. The statue seemed to hum and throb with dark energy, and the undead around it seemed to feed off of it.
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Tarvick scurried down the gangplank and through the bustle on the docks, dodging the crew and passengers of a dozen different ships lashed to the jetty. Jasen and Hoff were right behind him, and all three men carried heavy bags over their shoulders. They were the only three who had survived the quarrel with the dragoness, and though each of them swore revenge upon her, Tarvick loudly of all, they couldn't deny a secret delight as they struggled with the added weight of the dead men's share of riches.

It had taken many days to make their way back from the mountains to Greenpool, and several more by ship back to Nautilus. Jasen and Hoff spent the entire voyage scheming in drunken whispers about what they would do with their sudden wealth, their plans spinning larger and more ludicrously extravagant the drunker they got. Tarvick was more reserved, unable to fully enjoy the pleasure of his success. The memory of his encounter with the hooded figures overshadowed all of his thoughts, and now that he was back in Nautilus he was eager to collect the rest of his belongings, charter passage on another ship, and put the volcanic isles behind him, never to look back.

Already past dawn, the crooked streets of the tropical city were still cloaked in the misty darkness, shadowed by the shoulder of the next island across the firth. Tarvick muttered farewell to the other two men, each of them knowing they would likely never see each other again.

If only Tarvick knew how right he was.

The inn he had been working out of for years was near the outskirts of the city, so he expected the streets there to be quieter than the constant raucousness near the harbour. But his long strides slowed when a malicious silence settled over him like a shroud. His heart began to pound and a trickle of cold sweat crept down his back. They were here! Somewhere close, though he hadn't seen them yet. In a panic, he turned down a dark alley, his grip tight on the bag of gold over his shoulder. It was the same vile chill that had preceded his first visit from the mysterious creatures, and he didn't want to explain to those cruel, emotionless voices that he had failed to meet their demands. His feet pounded into the crooked cobbles, and he stumbled over refuse and broken things as he abandoned his plans. Nothing he had in Nautilus was worth his life, not with the wealth he carried on his back.

He heard the windy whisper just as a zephyr of grayish mist erupted from the narrow corridor in front of him. Tarvick stumbled to a halt, his mouth open in horror as the gaseous form consolidated into a figure that had haunted his thoughts for nearly a month. Glancing up at the barely-lightened sky, all that he could see were the backs of unoccupied warehouses. Not even a window or alley-way door offered him a venue for escape. He spun on his heel to flee back in the direction he had come, only to find himself looking up into the pale face partly hidden under the black cowl.

Tarvick drew his crossbow and let a bolt fly at the man's face, only to watch in disbelief as the creature dodged and came for him. With inhuman speed, he slammed Tarvick against the wall with nothing more than an upswing of his fist, and the bag of gold spilled in a glittering avalanche across the filthy ground.

"Did you bring us the book of Nerull?" The voice was cold and cruel, and with a fearful clarity Tarvick knew that he was dealing with more than just mere men.

"Please! The half-dragon! She stole them from me! She took them even after I told her you wanted them!" Shifting the blame to Drachia would have pleased him mightily, even in far less desperate circumstances. The haughty sorceress was too enigmatic for Tarvick's taste. He preferred people whose motives were easier to divine and simpler to manipulate. The betrayal meant nothing to him at all.

The tall figure pressed close, the long fingers of a pale hand crushing into his windpipe with the strength of stone. With the other hand, he pulled back his hood to reveal a human face as unnaturally pristine as the merciless cruelty in its eyes.

"Where?" he demanded calmly in a tone that held no sympathy at all.

But though Tarvick's mouth opened with a gag to cough out every detail about Drachia he could remember or make up on the spot, he found that he no longer needed to utter a word. Looking into those soulless pits, fear consumed him, and as the vampire grinned with evil triumph, the treasure-hunter became lost in the enchantment that dominated his mind. His senses faded and he found himself swimming through a murk of icy shadows that only resembled the bright world he had known. He caught a glimpse of the vampires cruel and intricate designs, and his thoughts were bombarded with unwavering faith in a dark god and fervent loyalty to His cause. But at the center of it was an urgent need for The Book.

In return, the undead creature picked out of his mind everything it wanted to know about she who had tricked him out of the book he had been sent to find. He picked himself up off of the dank ground and wavered, blinking owlishly at the cloaked vampire. Dimly, he felt that he should recoil from him, but then a new thought entered his mind.

I must find the book.

He knew that the order came from the vampire.

I must find the book and kill anyone who tries to stop me.

He struggled against the compulsion, even when his feet turned him and he walked smoothly out of the alley.

I must find the books for my master.

By the time he felt the morning sun on his face as he strode up the sloped streets towards Drachia's villa with a purpose, the vampires had faded once more into the shadows, taking Tarvick's treasure with them.

--

Several weeks of travel had put Greenpool far behind the half-dragon mage. The land bucked and rolled underneath her wings in an exciting and ever-changing tapestry of sights. Verdant valleys dipped low and green with sparkling rivers splashing like winding serpents at their bottoms. She saw herds of noble elk flashing under the leaves of hilly forests, and admired at a distance gryphons nesting in their cliff-side eyries. Boggy marshes mired in mist, unbroken plains of waving grass, cities and castles and the clustered canvas tents of nomads, every mile brought something new and potentially fascinating for the dragoness to examine. But she didn't. It occurred to Drachia that the gift of flight was also its curse. It was swift and far safer than meandering along the earth at a crawl, but it was a lonely and distant way to travel, and some small part of her felt that perhaps she was missing something. She could expect to have many long centuries of life left if she didn't act like a fool, perhaps she could afford to travel by more mundane means and experience more on the way?

In her haste to discover the hidden tomb of the ancient paladin, Drachia decided to leave such a philosophical pondering for later. She hadn't forgotten that the book she carried was sought by mysterious others. Traveling north and west across the continent took her farther from Nautilus than she had been since the war. The Crescent Sea had been described and discussed at length in many of the texts and journals she possessed, and there were plenty of people in her past who had traveled from the lands beyond it. Drachia even had a painting of it in one of the rooms in her home. But it wasn't until the land gentled, sloping down and down until the curving shore stretched from horizon to horizon that she appreciated the tales of inexplicable beauty and wondrous enchantment that the area was famous for.

Long ago in a forgotten age, some world-shattering something had happened here. The stories varied from a simple cosmic collision to divine influence, but whether the awesome crater was the result of a meteor or the unknowable conflict of the Gods, the truth had been lost over time. As Drachie swooped down and back-flapped her wings, alighting and digging her talon-like toes into the white sand, she felt a faint thrum in her bones. It was different from the power she had been born with, the power that pulsed in time with her heart and sang in her mind every second that she was alive. This was something outside of herself. Something tied to this place. She gazed into the shining, blue-silver water, seeking past the countless fathoms and wondering what secret slept beneath those crushing depths. What was it that made its presence felt throughout this land after so many uncountable centuries?

Another mystery to solve some other time, perhaps.

Drachia spent the night on the shore of the inland sea, resting for the last leg of her journey tomorrow. The winds were warm and the waves lapped gently across the white sand, and the dragoness watched the lights shifting across the waves. Like the aurora borealis in the farthest northern wastes, the pastel sheets of colour flashed and darted across the sky in an endless dance. The waves glittered too, shining softly through the dark hours, not merely reflecting the sky so much as possessed of the same strange phenomenon. Even the creatures here were changed by the magic in the sea. While re-reading the Maestor's Journal in the shifting light, memorizing every detail that would lead her to the correct tomb, Drachia witnessed seabirds, turtles, and crabs many of which carried a prismatic bio-luminescence in their feathers or shells. She fell asleep under the stars, watching ships go by as dark shadows on the softly lit background of sky and sea.

The next morning the ghostly colours disappeared under the bright warmth of the sun, and Drachia let her wings carry her high across the waves to the high limestone plateau on the inner curve of the sea. The white walls and golden towers and domes of Starfall glittered brightly when they came into view and Drachia tilted her wings to take her course around the walled metropolis to the main gate on the other side. Perched high above the waves, the city was renowned as a hub for artisans and scholars and even as she landed deftly on the main road she could hear the intricate music floating from one of the many public pavilions and stages.

As usual, her aerial arrival had garnered some attention. She tucked her wings neatly across her back and adjusted her black corset-vest as one of the city guards approached from the nearby gate. Merchants and travelers looked on curiously, but as large cities went Starfall had a reputation for being more tolerant of non-humans than most, and while the arrogant dragoness typically didn't fear for her life in any situation, of course, she looked forward to being harassed less here than in most places.

The guard, an impressively large human with golden hair braided back behind his intricate plumed helm, stopped in front of her and stood with a fighter's easy stance. He had one helm resting casually on the hilt of a short-sword on his hip. He was wary because it was his duty to be so, but his expression didn't come with any additional resentment or suspicion, which was refreshing.

"Welcome to the great city of Starfall, M'Lady," the greeting included a short bow and the sound of his leather warskirt creaking slightly against his bronze chest-piece, which was engraved with the city's crest. "May I ask your name and the nature of your visit? Perhaps I can help you find your way?"

It wasn't a demand, which Drachia understood to mean that even if she deigned not to answer she likely wouldn't be barred entrance, but she wasn't too haughty to understand that a little cooperation would go a long way.

"Of course. My name is Drachia S'garsiath of the Mage Collegiate in Nautilus," she returned his bow with a nod of her horns and a brief flip of her wings. "My studies have brought me here, though one hardly requires an excuse to visit the beautiful Kingdom of the Crescent Sea."

The compliment earned her a grin. Tall as he was, she was still eye-to-eye with the man, and she was relieved that unlike some, this one didn't take that as a challenge. She went on to say "...I am especially interested in visiting the Prism Tombs."

"Ah. In that case I would recommend you go through the eastern side of the Crafter's Circle and look for the Temple of the Falling Stars. The monks are willing to guide visitors if you pause at the shrine to show your respects."

Drachia caught the man's gesture, his fingers rubbing together as though with two coins, and chuckled, nodding her understanding.

"I appreciate the tip."

He bowed curtly and stood aside, allowing her to stride past him and into the city. As she glanced back she almost felt bad about lying to him about the true purpose of her journey, but doubted that a mission involving bloodmagic and grave-robbing would go over well.

What awaited her there was a myriad of sights and sounds and smells, many of which were different than most other cities she had visited. It became apparent instantly why Starfall was considered the greatest hotbed of artistic expression in the known kingdoms, rivaled only in part by the secretive wildland sanctuaries of the elves.

In any other place, the colourful banners and festooned boulevards, complete with costumed performers and jostling musicians would have meant nothing less than a kingdom-wide festival. But such dazzling displays, fantastical and eye-popping as they were, were a daily occurrence.

Even the architecture was exquisite, and as Drachia picked her way through the hubbub she found herself face-to-face with massive base reliefs and towering statues centered in enchanted fountains. The city paths took her through trellised gardens and peaceful parks. As in Nautilus, when the dragoness glanced through the crowds she occasionally caught a glimpse of non-human faces. A minotaur here, a half-ogre there, many elves and half-elves, at least one other half-dragon, though this one had silver scales on his face. She even spotted a few individuals who appeared to have elemental blood in their veins.

At length, after the sun had crossed the sky into midafternoon, Drachia reached a white cobbled street that ended in front of golden double doors that stood open and welcoming. As she approached them, she glanced up at the two golden stars glowing softly on either side against the white limestone temple behind them. As soon as she crossed the threshold, her talons tapping audibly on the pristine floor, the music and laughter in the city seemed to fall away, replaced by the sea breeze blowing in through the huge window beyond the altar.

The temple itself breached the city wall, forming a gate that lead out onto the windswept cliff beyond. Drachia looked around and saw no one, but knew better than to think herself alone here. Above her, the golden dome she had seen winking in the sun glowed softly, filling the temple with a comforting, peaceful ambiance. The temple was fairly austere, especially in the face of the carnivalesque city outside, but Drachia was instantly fascinated by the altar. Like most temples there was a raised dais and on top of that a shallow limestone pool of seawater. Like the Crescent Sea over a thousand feet over the cliff nearby, the water shifted with a pastel rainbow of colours, even though its surface was perfectly still.

And suspended above it by some divine power that was similar but markedly different from her own magic, a large crystal star with slender, delicate spires, that rotated slowly in silence and reflected light in a thousand thousand slivers of colour.

Drachia passed rows of short pews, mesmerized by the wondrous floating artifact, and lifted her claws as if to touch it. Avarice reared ugly and impulsive and plans of theft and flight formed unbidden in her mind. The shiny object could be hers and hers alone and all she would have to do was grab it and make a quick escape through the expansive archway just beyond. It didn't matter that she knew nothing of its power or history, it didn't matter that she pledged no faith to the Order of the Falling Star, all that mattered was the shiny, shiny star...

She wrenched her clawed fingers back just inches before making contact and sank to one knee before the pool. Her heart was pounding and her body bristled in the aftermath of the mental struggle. Smoke plumed up through her nostrils as she took a settling breath, and looked at the star with a chagrined smile.

"I passed your test," she told it softly, and she decided that in this case 'paying her respects' was more warranted than she could have imagined. She reached into a pouch on her hip and tossed two golden coins into the pool.

"That you did," came a wizened voice from behind her, sounding wary and stern. "Not what I would have expected from a red dragon."
Hidden 10 yrs ago Post by LyricsKiss
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LyricsKiss

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Maestor Bartomius
Day 17 of the 80 year of our Father

“Outside of the vibrant city of Starfall, Jamon told me, things were much less colorful then within the city. For a long stretch to the west, treacherous terrain marred with cliffs and hidden chasms. But if one could somehow persevere, over the rickety bridges long ago needing repair, and wade through an ice cold river that could sweep a grown man off his feet, one could glimpse the beauty of the Hollow Hills. Like a glittering emerald in a sandbox, this haven was ringed by dagger-like mountains, making it a haven for many. Up until about 50 years ago the great heroes of our time were being laid to rest in the bright glittering tombs known for their prismatic stalactites. Three main hills rose up in the center, like the fingers of a giant trying to push through the earth. Tourists and Pilgrims alike took journey’s to this spot. But it wasn’t the bright tombs that he wished to lay his beloved, the Hero Darkthorn, it was within the giant tree which only grew within this haven. For hundreds of years this tree has grown, it’s highest branches almost reached the top of those dagger like mountains that kept it hidden. The tree was as thick as ten men side by side, Jamon boasted. I’m not sure if I believe him, his is blind after all. But I suppose one could tell by touch....

Never the mind, he took her into that sacred grove, electing to stay the night under what most called the ‘world tree’. When all in his party were asleep, he stole away under the tree. The roots, he claimed, were spread like fingers and easy to slip down below. Below the tree small tunnels had been made by ancient people’s, from the remnants of dusty altars, Jamon could tell they used to worship some pagan god there. He wandered to the depths and found a small alcove in which to lay the maiden. He swore it was the place she would have loved. It was quiet, no one would ever happen upon her remains of worship her like some false idol. Jamon spoke of place he laid the remains, how he laid her with a shinning white shroud. It was spun through with threads of silver, ribbons wove into the ends detailed our father of light’s prayer, something only used to the highest of our order.

From what I can tell, this shroud was to be for Jamon himself, but he would rather of had it laid upon his beloved than use it for himself. I knew there was no sense in arguing with him, for the deed had already been done, but not only did he steal a corpse but lay her to rest under a Maestor’s shroud? I was beginning to think Jamon wasn’t a pious man, but the father does not wish us to judge, so I held fast my tongue.

He knelt in prayer near her shrouded body for hours. He spoke the sermon of the 7 tomes and their lessons, and he gave her the last rights of the highest order. Once more I had issue with his actions, but chose to say nothing. This elven maid had bewitched him so, he only wished for her to be welcomed by our father, as we all wish for ourselves, so again I said nothing. Tears came from his blind eyes then, speaking of parting from his beloved. It pained him, he had knelt there for awhile longer before leaving the place and slipping out from under the tree among the giant roots, he wasn’t seen. He joined the group he was with, feigning the tiredness of an infirm man. He was cared for the entire way back to Starfall, the men carrying him on a litter as he held to the memory of his dear Belamica. When he got back to the town, he paid for lodgings at an Inn. He admitted, shamefully, that he indulged his pain, allowing the loneliness lead him to whores and gambling. I gave him absolution for these things and he welcomed it. His sickness shook his chest, and well all knew his time was coming.

He was tired now, his story told. It seemed like some weight had been lifted from him, telling this tale. He fell into a deep sleep once he excused himself to do so, and upon the next morning, he would not wake. Whether by poison or by the our Father’s hand, Maestor Jamon was taken up to be with his beloved. A part of me wonders if the man’s soul kept him here until his tale was told, but then I am nothing but a cog in the Father’s wheel, I cannot hope to fathom his divine purpose. May he bless Jamon, and let his soul rest.”
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