Thomas almost sent the cards flying in mid-shuffle as his first mate’s inquiry reached his ears. The buzz of liquor in his veins delayed the filter, thin though it was, from stopping his words from spewing from his mouth.
“Judas’ ghost! Gleet you say!?”
Thomas looked to Nicolette with an eyebrow raised in genuine perplexity. His eyes shifted to Jax, then to Antonia, and once again to his first mate. During this process his mind whirred with just how it was possible for a sailor, no mater what swung, or did not swing, between their legs, to not know the game of Gleek. After several blinks his wispy veil of manners at last cloaked itself around his tongue, and Thomas cleared his throat and did his best to repress the stunned dismay upon his face.
“Pardon me,” he said to Nicolette before resuming his shuffle.
He used the pause as he shuffled to reorganize his thoughts, as truly he had never explained to anyone how to play the elaborate card game.
“Firstly,” Thomas said, dealing the cards, “it is called Gleek, not Gleet.” His manner was not unkind, and he was careful to not present his tutelage as brusque. However, his astonishment was still so complete that he knew not how he fared in this effort. More than once Thomas glanced to Antonia and Jax, hoping to illicit some help and sympathy with the explanation. For several minutes he worked through the deck, trying to recollect every facet of the game and impart the knowledge to his first mate. He did this with an abundance of hand gestures and manipulation of his own coin upon to the table as illustration. Thomas would punctuate his efforts with the occasional, “Facile, non?”
Finally, with cards and coin strewn all across the table, Thomas let the few remaining cards still clutched in his hand to fall. His face once again masked itself into skeptical disbelief, his eyebrow arching upwards as it had before. He leaned towards Nicolette.
“Dites-moi vraiment, mademoiselle,” he spoke to her in his fluent buccaneer French. “You were in Louis’ navy, no? How is it possible for you to not know this game? I ask not with an air of judgment, but truly one of curiosity. Do you French marins not take part in such games? Is the Sun King so Popish about such things?”
AmongHeroes
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Always Searching For The Next Great Story
Hello there,
I am AmongHeroes, and I'm happy you're here. I am an experienced roleplayer, writer, and fantastical creator.
♠ - I am an adult in my 30's. As such, I prefer to write with other adults.
♠ - Though I am capable of embodying many varied characters, in 1 x 1 settings I prefer writing as a heterosexual male with a generally dominant/masculine aura.
♠ - Genres I enjoy range from low & high fantasy, sci-fi, horror, gothic, romance, dark romance and noir.
♠ - Adult themes are welcome including violence, sexual encounters, etc.
Do feel free to reach out to me for partnership inquiries or for friendly interaction. I look forward to seeing you 𝑎𝑚𝑜𝑛𝑔𝑠𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑜𝑒𝑠 we create.
I am made from the stardust of Her heart. Linked beyond time and moons and stars, in every life a soul fitted indelibly to a universe woven in the shape of Her claim.
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Collaboration with Igraine and AmongHeroes
Antonia hauled herself easily over the edge of the Parakeet’s roof, twisting about as quickly as she could in these blasted skirts. On her hands and knees on the tiles, she peered over the ledge and gutter with a grin, thick black hair falling down about her shoulders like an ebony waterfall. She reached down to offer Thomas a hand, waving her fingers just a touch impatiently. “Here now… No no, not your hand, Silver Fish! The wine!”
She had, after all, had to run and retrieve the nearly-forgotten bottle just as they’d been about halfway up the exterior wall. And though Thomas was already well in his cups this night, Antonia had only just gotten her reprieve from that eternal vigilance, and she meant to make very good use of it. Well, Thomas may not have appreciated being left to cling to the inches-wide ledge of the roof for some moments while she clambered back down and dashed back inside the Parakeet.
But she felt confident that even if he weren’t in an entirely appreciative mood? Oh, somewhere deep in his soul, he might understand. Or at least, forgive her a night’s frivolous silliness? Or maybe she’d just get him drunk enough to forget? Well, that was always an option too.
“Bloody hell,” Thomas grunted as he gripped at the roof’s edge once more. Balancing precariously, he managed to hand Antonia the bottle of wine. He swung his leg up, and managed to lever himself onto the warm tiles of the Parakeet’s rooftop.
“I see the damned liquor is more important than my neck!” He said to her, laughing with the catalyst of drink and the headiness of her company. As she ascended up towards the peak of the roof, he couldn’t help but reach out and tug at her skirts, pulling her back slightly on the slick masonry tiles. His laughter was uncontrollable, and he used his newfound momentum to pluck the wine bottle from her grip, and jog past her.
“How much is it worth to you, rogue?” Thomas said between snorts of drunken, silly laughter.
Antonia’s eyes widened, jaw dropping as she kicked her useless leather mules to the side, the hard leather soles clattering on the tiles. She tried swatting at him as he ran past, somehow managing to miss him utterly - to her own eternal surprise. Even quite drunk, giddy with laughter like the naughty little child he was being, and balancing precariously on unfamiliar roof tiles? God in heaven, but the man’s natural grace was a wonder.
“Oh, you are a brave slippery Fish!” she growled with a small snarl of a laugh, hopping after him first on one foot, and then another, as graceless as she ever got as she pulled off her stockings. Barefoot now, handfuls of her skirts hiked up in one hand, Antonia sprinted after Thomas, leaping for his retreating back.
In a fit of laughter, Thomas stumbled to the roof’s peak as Antonia latched onto his back. With a deftness that belied his state of sobriety, he managed to lift the wine bottle up and twist his body, saving it from shattering against the tiles. With his laughter subsiding into mere breaths of happiness, Thomas moved the bottle for Antonia to take.
“You have bested me,” he said, smiling with his face pressed against the roof. “I raise the white flag, and the day is yours.”
He rolled beneath Antonia so his back was now to the roof, and his copper eyes shone up at her. It took him a moment to perceive the position he had put the pair in, and the realization prompted another snort of laughter.
“God’s bones,” he said, “last time you had me this way I lost my weight in silver! Well, you’ll have no such luck this time, rogue. My coins have all been spent!” Thomas gave her a look of victory, though truly it was perhaps more for the fact of being straddled by a beautiful woman than saving his bullion from theft. Thomas surmised that Antonia was keen enough to know which.
Antonia simply rolled her eyes, as if she were truly remotely exasperated.
She most assuredly was not.
From her perch atop the pirate captain, she reached to pluck her prize, the offered wine bottle - still somehow blessedly safe and whole - from his grip and set it an arm’s length away against a conveniently close ridge of fascia. The small, victorious grin worked its way to her lips as she bent low, her long hair falling about his face and shoulders like a second, soft and starless curtain of night.
“Your coin is all spent, lovely man?” she asked him with a smirk, resting her folded arms across his chest. “Quel dommage! I’m afraid this will be all the worse for you then! It seems all that is left for me to strip from you, after handily relieving you at various times of your coin, your drink, and obviously your dignity?”
Antonia sighed oh-so-dramatically, as if deeply grieved to be the bearer of such burdensome tidings to the beleaguered buccaneer captain trapped between her legs. Shaking her head as she sat back atop him, she shrugged her shoulders, palms upward and wide-eyed with feigned helplessness. “Yes Thomas, I’m afraid I must now take all you have left in the world.”
“I must now relieve you of your virtue as well… ”
She bit her lip, hard, before bursting into sweet, childlike laughter and rolling to one side, closest to the wine, easily sliding herself against the length of his body as she looked up to the sky, her head nestling snugly to his shoulder. “What ever was I thinking?” she murmured with a soft whisper of a laugh in his ear, “You’ve precious little of that too! Well then, I will simply settle for the stars above, Thomas.”
Thomas laughed heartily, “Virtue? Indeed I say that Lucifer himself may have more shreds of it than I.”
He was silenced by the press of Antonia’s body against his own. Even through his drunkenness the moment cut him to his core like a tree root through stone. A seemingly impregnable shell pierced by the soft press of something yet more powerful than mere might could ever hope to be.
With that revelation warming his flesh more completely than the wine in his belly, Thomas in turn rested his own cheek against Antonia’s ebony hair.
“The stars, yes the stars. That is what I have to offer.” He said quietly, his lips barely moving.
With that same trancelike voice he spoke to her of Cassiopeia, Sagittarius, Scorpius, Libra, Arcturus, Draco, and almost reverently he pointed her to Polaris, the Home Star. Their Home Star. Thomas could not have said how long they had spent this way, staring up to the heavens, and admiring the dance of gods and heroes of old across the inky tapestry.
When he could show her no more, Thomas tilted his face to hers. He saw those stars and the night reflected in the cool grey pools of her eyes, and impulsively he raised a hand to push a stray lock of hair from her brow. They should name a constellation for her, Thomas thought, mark a place in the sky for all to view and be kept on course.
Slowly Thomas withdrew his arm from beneath Antonia’s head, and rolled himself so he was suspended above her. His face hung inches from her own, and though the stars were now blocked from her eyes, Thomas thought them no less resplendent. He closed the distance between their lips with fevered slowness, his heart pounding in his chest, bounding and leaping in great pulses of uncertain happiness and fear.
As his lips hovered before hers, with his copper eyes affixed into the depths of hers, he whispered. “Do the waves not oft lead to paradises both unknown and unexpected?”
His eyes drifted shut, and he moved to close that last final distance between them, a span seemingly as far as the sun and the moon, but no less as bright or radiant. Then he heard the voices.
Thomas froze, and his eyes opened at the sound. The voices were as distinct as songbirds in the still night air, and they carried to his ears like the unwelcome herald of the rooster’s crow.
He scoffed lightly as the fragile moment drifted free. The corners of his mouth curled slightly in a conciliatory smile. “The gods are so cruel, are they not?” He whispered to Antonia. Thomas moved up to kiss the beautiful rogue gently upon the forehead. “Another night,” he said as he lifted himself free from her delicious, gravitic pull, “we shall have to admire the heavens again.”
“Let’s go make them pay for the interruption with their coin,” he said over his shoulder to her as he slid down the tile, and with a finesse of a man born upon the seas, swung into the open window.
Though thoroughly annoyed at the interruption, Thomas could not shake the lingering glow of Antonia’s proximity, and as he descended the steps into the drinking hall of the Parakeet, he could not force the smile from his face.
As expected, both Nicolette and Jax were alone in the room, drinking rum and waiting somewhat awkwardly to his eyes. Thomas smirked, and he hoped that Antonia was not far behind him. He moved towards the pair, picking up a deck of cards as he did.
“Ah, welcome, welcome. I apologize for leaving you to wait, but the view was too amazing to miss.” A playful smile broadened upon his face, “And the stars were not bad either.”
“Shall we play?”
Antonia hauled herself easily over the edge of the Parakeet’s roof, twisting about as quickly as she could in these blasted skirts. On her hands and knees on the tiles, she peered over the ledge and gutter with a grin, thick black hair falling down about her shoulders like an ebony waterfall. She reached down to offer Thomas a hand, waving her fingers just a touch impatiently. “Here now… No no, not your hand, Silver Fish! The wine!”
She had, after all, had to run and retrieve the nearly-forgotten bottle just as they’d been about halfway up the exterior wall. And though Thomas was already well in his cups this night, Antonia had only just gotten her reprieve from that eternal vigilance, and she meant to make very good use of it. Well, Thomas may not have appreciated being left to cling to the inches-wide ledge of the roof for some moments while she clambered back down and dashed back inside the Parakeet.
But she felt confident that even if he weren’t in an entirely appreciative mood? Oh, somewhere deep in his soul, he might understand. Or at least, forgive her a night’s frivolous silliness? Or maybe she’d just get him drunk enough to forget? Well, that was always an option too.
“Bloody hell,” Thomas grunted as he gripped at the roof’s edge once more. Balancing precariously, he managed to hand Antonia the bottle of wine. He swung his leg up, and managed to lever himself onto the warm tiles of the Parakeet’s rooftop.
“I see the damned liquor is more important than my neck!” He said to her, laughing with the catalyst of drink and the headiness of her company. As she ascended up towards the peak of the roof, he couldn’t help but reach out and tug at her skirts, pulling her back slightly on the slick masonry tiles. His laughter was uncontrollable, and he used his newfound momentum to pluck the wine bottle from her grip, and jog past her.
“How much is it worth to you, rogue?” Thomas said between snorts of drunken, silly laughter.
Antonia’s eyes widened, jaw dropping as she kicked her useless leather mules to the side, the hard leather soles clattering on the tiles. She tried swatting at him as he ran past, somehow managing to miss him utterly - to her own eternal surprise. Even quite drunk, giddy with laughter like the naughty little child he was being, and balancing precariously on unfamiliar roof tiles? God in heaven, but the man’s natural grace was a wonder.
“Oh, you are a brave slippery Fish!” she growled with a small snarl of a laugh, hopping after him first on one foot, and then another, as graceless as she ever got as she pulled off her stockings. Barefoot now, handfuls of her skirts hiked up in one hand, Antonia sprinted after Thomas, leaping for his retreating back.
In a fit of laughter, Thomas stumbled to the roof’s peak as Antonia latched onto his back. With a deftness that belied his state of sobriety, he managed to lift the wine bottle up and twist his body, saving it from shattering against the tiles. With his laughter subsiding into mere breaths of happiness, Thomas moved the bottle for Antonia to take.
“You have bested me,” he said, smiling with his face pressed against the roof. “I raise the white flag, and the day is yours.”
He rolled beneath Antonia so his back was now to the roof, and his copper eyes shone up at her. It took him a moment to perceive the position he had put the pair in, and the realization prompted another snort of laughter.
“God’s bones,” he said, “last time you had me this way I lost my weight in silver! Well, you’ll have no such luck this time, rogue. My coins have all been spent!” Thomas gave her a look of victory, though truly it was perhaps more for the fact of being straddled by a beautiful woman than saving his bullion from theft. Thomas surmised that Antonia was keen enough to know which.
Antonia simply rolled her eyes, as if she were truly remotely exasperated.
She most assuredly was not.
From her perch atop the pirate captain, she reached to pluck her prize, the offered wine bottle - still somehow blessedly safe and whole - from his grip and set it an arm’s length away against a conveniently close ridge of fascia. The small, victorious grin worked its way to her lips as she bent low, her long hair falling about his face and shoulders like a second, soft and starless curtain of night.
“Your coin is all spent, lovely man?” she asked him with a smirk, resting her folded arms across his chest. “Quel dommage! I’m afraid this will be all the worse for you then! It seems all that is left for me to strip from you, after handily relieving you at various times of your coin, your drink, and obviously your dignity?”
Antonia sighed oh-so-dramatically, as if deeply grieved to be the bearer of such burdensome tidings to the beleaguered buccaneer captain trapped between her legs. Shaking her head as she sat back atop him, she shrugged her shoulders, palms upward and wide-eyed with feigned helplessness. “Yes Thomas, I’m afraid I must now take all you have left in the world.”
“I must now relieve you of your virtue as well… ”
She bit her lip, hard, before bursting into sweet, childlike laughter and rolling to one side, closest to the wine, easily sliding herself against the length of his body as she looked up to the sky, her head nestling snugly to his shoulder. “What ever was I thinking?” she murmured with a soft whisper of a laugh in his ear, “You’ve precious little of that too! Well then, I will simply settle for the stars above, Thomas.”
Thomas laughed heartily, “Virtue? Indeed I say that Lucifer himself may have more shreds of it than I.”
He was silenced by the press of Antonia’s body against his own. Even through his drunkenness the moment cut him to his core like a tree root through stone. A seemingly impregnable shell pierced by the soft press of something yet more powerful than mere might could ever hope to be.
With that revelation warming his flesh more completely than the wine in his belly, Thomas in turn rested his own cheek against Antonia’s ebony hair.
“The stars, yes the stars. That is what I have to offer.” He said quietly, his lips barely moving.
With that same trancelike voice he spoke to her of Cassiopeia, Sagittarius, Scorpius, Libra, Arcturus, Draco, and almost reverently he pointed her to Polaris, the Home Star. Their Home Star. Thomas could not have said how long they had spent this way, staring up to the heavens, and admiring the dance of gods and heroes of old across the inky tapestry.
When he could show her no more, Thomas tilted his face to hers. He saw those stars and the night reflected in the cool grey pools of her eyes, and impulsively he raised a hand to push a stray lock of hair from her brow. They should name a constellation for her, Thomas thought, mark a place in the sky for all to view and be kept on course.
Slowly Thomas withdrew his arm from beneath Antonia’s head, and rolled himself so he was suspended above her. His face hung inches from her own, and though the stars were now blocked from her eyes, Thomas thought them no less resplendent. He closed the distance between their lips with fevered slowness, his heart pounding in his chest, bounding and leaping in great pulses of uncertain happiness and fear.
As his lips hovered before hers, with his copper eyes affixed into the depths of hers, he whispered. “Do the waves not oft lead to paradises both unknown and unexpected?”
His eyes drifted shut, and he moved to close that last final distance between them, a span seemingly as far as the sun and the moon, but no less as bright or radiant. Then he heard the voices.
Thomas froze, and his eyes opened at the sound. The voices were as distinct as songbirds in the still night air, and they carried to his ears like the unwelcome herald of the rooster’s crow.
He scoffed lightly as the fragile moment drifted free. The corners of his mouth curled slightly in a conciliatory smile. “The gods are so cruel, are they not?” He whispered to Antonia. Thomas moved up to kiss the beautiful rogue gently upon the forehead. “Another night,” he said as he lifted himself free from her delicious, gravitic pull, “we shall have to admire the heavens again.”
“Let’s go make them pay for the interruption with their coin,” he said over his shoulder to her as he slid down the tile, and with a finesse of a man born upon the seas, swung into the open window.
Though thoroughly annoyed at the interruption, Thomas could not shake the lingering glow of Antonia’s proximity, and as he descended the steps into the drinking hall of the Parakeet, he could not force the smile from his face.
As expected, both Nicolette and Jax were alone in the room, drinking rum and waiting somewhat awkwardly to his eyes. Thomas smirked, and he hoped that Antonia was not far behind him. He moved towards the pair, picking up a deck of cards as he did.
“Ah, welcome, welcome. I apologize for leaving you to wait, but the view was too amazing to miss.” A playful smile broadened upon his face, “And the stars were not bad either.”
“Shall we play?”
Atticus felt Siya’s fangs pierce his flesh, and an almost nauseating wave of intense pleasure shot through his veins like molten gold. As she drank, his vision swam, and he fought to remain upright and lucid. His eyes glowed, illuminating the inky black of Siya’s own eyes. The dichotomy was an image of strange beauty, and something that Atticus forced into the fond recesses of his memory.
When she had drunk her fill, he felt her light kiss upon his neck, and the amorous clutches of her predatory embrace subsided. He heard her apologize, and through vision still blurred with the loss of blood, he smiled down to her.
“Don’t apologize,” he said with a drunken smile, “I have missed that sensation more than you could ever imagine. Let’s not wait another year before the next time, shall we?”
He stood in her wake, pausing for a moment to steady himself against the stone wall. Atticus looked up and gave Siya a smile and a wink before forcing himself to fall in behind Reginald Hoyle and the others.
The cave passage was completely dark, but each of the fantastic creatures that travelled within it had little trouble with navigating it. As they moved forward, Atticus realized he had much to address with his friend the Siren. Henry had been thrust into something very personal, and it pained Atticus that he hadn’t prepared his friend more. Atticus moved until he was beside the Siren.
“Henry, I’m sorry. I had no idea it was this bad. All I knew was that there were water spirits of the North involved in the Lupus Naturae’s pursuits of Hoyle and his family. I had no inkling they were this entangled.”
“None of us did,” said Hoyle in his guttural voice. “The breadth of this pursuit is a shock. It portends much more than a hatred from the werewolf clan leaders. I sense dark machinations, and ones that spread farther than the devices of the Lupus Naturae, or even this Ice Queen.”
In the darkness, Atticus saw Hoyle look back to him. The werewolf’s eyes fell to his pocket, where the bone-moon sat hidden within. Atticus’ eyes narrowed.
“Sir?” he said to Hoyle.
The ancient wolf did not answer, merely turning his head and picking up his pace. Hoyle’s silence unnerved him, but Atticus voiced none of his concerns. The bone-moon in his pocket now carried a conspicuous weight, one that Atticus had not noticed before, as if it had somehow gained a note of malice in its revelation. The group continued to move towards the now lightening entrance to the cave system, and Atticus looked over to Raleigh.
“Still glad you made the trip?” the incubus said to the dryad with a wry smile. “Not one of the most glamorous missions we’ve been on.”
The mouth of the cave was reached without any further incident, and Atticus marveled at the seemingly endless range of mountains that met them. Cold wind whistled beyond the diamond-shaped opening in the rock, heralding an environment much harsher than the chilled confines of the cave.
In that moment Atticus felt utterly worthless. They plan he and Hoyle had initially conceived to protect Aislinn had already been destroyed, and now the Bain & Hoyle group was in unchartered territory. He had no contingency plan for this, and the very thought ground upon his mind like a mill stone.
“The object in your pocket.” Hoyle said at last, turning from the view of the mountains, and looking back to Atticus. “Give it to me.”
Atticus pulled the object from his pocket without question, and placed it in Hoyle’s gigantic clawed hand.
The werewolf regarded the piece for a moment, his wolfen face contorting into an expression of grim contemplation.
“This sacred artifact has been passed down within my clan since before written time.” Hoyle said. “It has offered us hope in so many dark times, but I fear now it has turned into an instrument of a much more dire purpose.”
Hoyle’s golden eyes looked to each of them as he continued. “This was carved from the tooth of Fenris, the wolf son of Loki, and one of the progenitors of the modern werewolf bloodline. In my estimation it is the only way that the Nixie found us here, and since that is the case, it has betrayed those that have protected it for thousands of years.”
Atticus couldn’t contain himself. “Sir, why not destroy it then? Why are we still carrying it with us?”
Hoyle looked to him with a pained expression, as if hurt that he could not or would not answer the incubi’s question. “We need to get to London, and illicit the assistance of Archibald Bain. This is no longer a matter of limited scope. Does any of you possess the means to transport us such distances?” The werewolf growled. “I’m ashamed to admit that I did not foresee such extreme circumstances. The Solas na gealaí,” Hoyle held up the bone-moon, “was to be our ally and our means of escape. It is no longer.”
As Hoyle finished speaking, his silence revealed a soft voice. Atticus listened carefully, initially puzzled by the sounds source. Then it dawned upon him that the voice was coming from Hoyle’s sister. Atticus tilted his head to see Aislinn’s lips moving fractionally amid her unconsciousness. It took a moment for him to understand, until at last her incessant, silent words were revealed, sending a chill shooting down his spine.
“Ragnarök…..Ragnarök….. Ragnarök…..”
Hello hello,
I got the post up for the folks in the vaults. The one with Atticus and Mr. Hoyle will be coming tomorrow.
Hope everyone has had a nice weekend!
I got the post up for the folks in the vaults. The one with Atticus and Mr. Hoyle will be coming tomorrow.
Hope everyone has had a nice weekend!
The Vaults
Vos’o’los canted his head at the offering from the Golem. His hand decorated with the henna eye came up to point up at the giant creature. A slight smile came to the Keytaker’s face.
“Your offering is a genuine one, that much is evident, Adam. It is not however the key required.”
He regarded the strange flock for a moment as they fumbled with their thoughts and the requirement of the key. Vos’o’los knew of course that they held it, but they had to give it to him. Such was the nature of his existence. For even he, with his strange sight, could not know what the key looked like until it was given, and then, and only then would the vault be revealed to him.
Vos’o’los had waited centuries, sitting before the stone, guarding the vaults. Only a few had come in all those many years, and each time escorted by some avatar of the god Set. The Keytaker had thought it strange, but he did not question. The outside world was not his concern, only this realm was his to dwell in.
As he watched them with his ethereal vision, the Keytaker noticed a flash of revelation pass before the werewolf’s eyes. She pulled something from within the pocket of her jacket and held it out for him. The Keytaker’s hand moved towards her, the fingers twisting, giving the eye upon his palm the strange appearance of squinting.
After a time he stepped to the werewolf, and gently took the piece of ancient paper from her hand. Instantly he knew. His four ears perked up, and a smile drew up his mouth until the corners disappeared into the cloth of the wrap that covered his eyes.
“Indeed you do possess the key.”
With his other hand, Vos’o’los produced a brilliant white flower, and he set it into the werewolf’s hand that he had taken the key from. “When you reach the vault,” the Keytaker said, “place this upon the opening. It will open, and once you have finished your business there, the flower will take you and your company to wherever you require. Merely think upon the place or persons.”
Without warning the light shifted, as if warping in a great wind of space-time, then, just as suddenly it came into focus, revealing that they all now stood before a giant tree. The tree’s branches rose high above, and even below the damp earthen ground, forming one of the strange orbs that had been seen hanging from the “roots” of the vaults. Vos’o’los was nowhere in sight.
Upon the tree’s trunk, sitting about the height of an average human, was a conspicuous knot in the bark. From it twisted several delicate twigs that formed into a sort of organic chalice, awaiting the flower and the power it contained.
Vos’o’los canted his head at the offering from the Golem. His hand decorated with the henna eye came up to point up at the giant creature. A slight smile came to the Keytaker’s face.
“Your offering is a genuine one, that much is evident, Adam. It is not however the key required.”
He regarded the strange flock for a moment as they fumbled with their thoughts and the requirement of the key. Vos’o’los knew of course that they held it, but they had to give it to him. Such was the nature of his existence. For even he, with his strange sight, could not know what the key looked like until it was given, and then, and only then would the vault be revealed to him.
Vos’o’los had waited centuries, sitting before the stone, guarding the vaults. Only a few had come in all those many years, and each time escorted by some avatar of the god Set. The Keytaker had thought it strange, but he did not question. The outside world was not his concern, only this realm was his to dwell in.
As he watched them with his ethereal vision, the Keytaker noticed a flash of revelation pass before the werewolf’s eyes. She pulled something from within the pocket of her jacket and held it out for him. The Keytaker’s hand moved towards her, the fingers twisting, giving the eye upon his palm the strange appearance of squinting.
After a time he stepped to the werewolf, and gently took the piece of ancient paper from her hand. Instantly he knew. His four ears perked up, and a smile drew up his mouth until the corners disappeared into the cloth of the wrap that covered his eyes.
“Indeed you do possess the key.”
With his other hand, Vos’o’los produced a brilliant white flower, and he set it into the werewolf’s hand that he had taken the key from. “When you reach the vault,” the Keytaker said, “place this upon the opening. It will open, and once you have finished your business there, the flower will take you and your company to wherever you require. Merely think upon the place or persons.”
Without warning the light shifted, as if warping in a great wind of space-time, then, just as suddenly it came into focus, revealing that they all now stood before a giant tree. The tree’s branches rose high above, and even below the damp earthen ground, forming one of the strange orbs that had been seen hanging from the “roots” of the vaults. Vos’o’los was nowhere in sight.
Upon the tree’s trunk, sitting about the height of an average human, was a conspicuous knot in the bark. From it twisted several delicate twigs that formed into a sort of organic chalice, awaiting the flower and the power it contained.
Igraine said
*cringes* Why have to be so... Sharing? *whimpers a little*
Oh come now, it's all good fun right?
Is that a flute-dagger in your pocket?
Great posts of late, everyone(not that they haven't been all the time, mind you). And thank you Grainy and Dot. It's easy to sound good when you bounce your character off of writers like LT.
Also, I saw this picture and I had to share XD...
Also, I saw this picture and I had to share XD...
LimeyPanda said
She is wearing the yellow jumpsuit!
I know right!?
Please, someone geek out with me!
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