Date: 3/17/1998 8:47 PM Central Standard Time
From: DoraeRasta
The voices never give up; they plead and cry; it is deafening. Hoarse cries for someone to save them; promises of turning over new leaves; apologies dripping with fear. The brush moves over the canvas guided by a practiced hand, leaving smatterings of color, images of a nightmare. The canvas is bathed in bright colors; reds, yellows and oranges. The brush guides the colors, giving shapes and names to what the eye can now see; what the nightmare showed in sleep. Flames wash over the once white canvas; reaching out towards the painter, trying desperately to fuel its hunger. Why send you this demon to destroy us? Are you not strong enough to end this torment yourself? ::laughter cracks and crackles all around, dripping with taunting tones:: A Goddess' son you send to us... he is powerful indeed. But why destroy us? We will pop up again, habitate elsewhere, grow strong and plentiful. You may set my plans back just a bit, but I will rebuild, my children will be reborn... As always! ::Deep rumbling laughter,lacking the warmth of merriment, belonging to all things evil:: The hand guiding the brush quivers as the painter strains to hold grip. The nightmare replays itself in her head while sitting at the easel. The canvas, the brush, the paints help to remember those miniscule details one normally forgets upon waking. Messages are then devined before the paint even dries. For as images take life of the otherwise dead canvas, meaning streaks like a fire across the mind. The flames are joined by faces and body parts spewn throughout the firey mayhem. As the flames did, the bodies seem to reach out toward the painter. Pain, shame, guilt, fear all mirror in the victim's eyes... just as those same emotions had played out in the painter's eyes, those many years before. The brush falls, the painter scoots away from the easel, lest those hands really grab hold... Children's voices sing hymns; pure and innocent, calling out to the angels. Harps accompany the sweet voices, lending to the purity of it all. But then that laughter comes back; underscoring the children singing, showing that they are not so innocent, that only the black angel hears their song. He sears their hearts, the song ends; he sears their eyes, turning them red. Small soft hands reach out, but not to touch as a child will; but tokill. The nightmare is too strong, once again the paint brush is taken up to lay fresh colors on a virgin canvas..... A cold voice whispers in her ear; Remember you this? And images flash in bright bursts of color and sound. There is a sword and fire all around. A dark steed with unreal eyes stamps underneath the human who rides its back. The shape of the steed melts and reforms; its pleasure of the scene giving it fits between the solid and light of both worlds it is beholden to. Death emulates from the man upon the beast's back; fueled byanger. A tall dark skinned, dark haired man appears next to the man and beast... bright light is over shadowed by darkness... the screaming begins. Two drops of blood collide, sparks issue forth, an army of armor clad men and woman wielding weapons begin to surge forth as the man upon the beast and the darker man stand watching from atop a crest. Lightening, fire and blood frame the two men as darkness and chaos reign supreme. Then as quick as itstarted, the battle is done; leaving only darkness and despair behind. There stands a tall man with rainbow eyes in front of a Keep; all around this man a darkness swallows whatever other scenery is around him. His shoulders are slumped and rounded, his face lined with inner turmoil. Above the entrance of this Keep; scratched in another tongue; are the words "Honor above all". She rises quickly, sending her chair to fly backwards and crash upon the floor. It all makes sense to her now.... the Devil had been trying to tell her; Vlad was on his way to keep a promise. Crosh Minor was no more.....
A promise fulfilled...(Dorae)
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Re: A promise fulfilled...(Dorae)
Date: 3/17/1998 10:36 PM Central Standard Time
From: DragonFlte
A promise had to be kept. A promise made more to himself than her. She'd returned from a journey not long ago, looking no better or worse than he remembered. He wondered if she had gone where he planned to go now. Standing outside the Keep, he called to his demonic slave. "Darroqui, taiste." A pause, then, "Taiste....NAI!" The air in front of him wavered and what appeared to be a mass of floating ink droplets manifested from nowhere, coalescing into the shape of a massive black stallion with eyes and hooves of flame. "You called?" The demon's voice resonated through his soul, a black, burning presence within. "I have a journey to make. For haste's sake, I require your peculiar means of transporation." "Oh, aye Master." Such submission made Vlad suspicious. He knew the hate this...thing harbored for him; and so it was with caution that he approached. Was it his imagination, or did those fiery eyes burn with more malice than usual? Shrugging it off, he mounted, bracing himself for the jolt to come. It felt like a bolt of lightning went up his spine. The demon-horse he had mounted was gone, replaced by river of ink flowing at unimaginable speeds, carrying him along, helpless in its current. Scenery blurred by him on all sides, the images flying by so fast that in his eyes it all merged in a blinding array of color. And then, seemingly before it even began, the ride was over. Nausea overwhelmed him and for moment his was gone, leaving him spinning in a sea of darkness. It cleared in a moment, though, and a short time later he was able to get his bearings. This was the place, no doubt about that. He'd only been standing there a matter of minutes and already beads of sweat, the product of oppressive heat, rolled down his brow and plastered his hair to his head. He stood in what might have been street, if wagontracks and recent and numorous footprints were any clue. A cacaphony of foul curses and shrill laughter assaulted his ears from a building close by and the entire place wreaked of sewage. Oh yeah. This was the place. Crosh Minor. He tried to imagine what was like for her, his Sha'lan, to have grown up here. He remembered what she'd told him of this place and what had been done to her here. Loathing and disgust forced bile up his throat and his heart began to smolder with fury. Control, man. Maintain control. With closed eyes and clenched jaw, he cleared his mind and took a deep breath. His attempt to cool the fire within was rather rudely interrupted by the cold touch of steel at his throat. Slowly, his eyes came open. " 'S only a fool tha' closes 'is eyes in this town, eh lads?" The brigand holding the blade at Vlad's throat smiled, revealing cracked and blackened teeth. His breath stunk of rotten meat and garlic. There were several others nearby. Vlad didn't bother to count. There was no need. "Indeed....?" The coolness, the deadly calm in Vlad's voice wiped the smirk off the foul man's little face, replacing it with an expression of disbelieft. "And he who hesitates is lost." With no further warning, Vlad leapt into action. His lightning quick movement caught his assailent off guard and before the brigand could even utter a scream, Vlad had twisted the arm the held the knife behind his back, twisting it brutally at the elbow. There was a loud snap! as the bone broke, and blood sprayed as it tore through the skin. With catlike dexterity, Vlad caught the man's knife as he let go and, reaching around thefront of his this would-be mugger, slashed his throat out, raining blood upon the earth. Using the momentum from the cut, he spun and let go the dagger, sending it flying into the chest of a second man, come to aid the one Vlad had just disposed of. The second crumpled to the ground with a hoarse scream, clutching the hilt of the blade stuck in his heart. A third rushed him. Faster than most men could think to do the same, Vlad whipped his swords out of their sheaths. The third attacker was swinging a wickedly spiked club at his head. He ducked, then lunged upward, his riposte hacking the man's arm off just above the elbow. A follow through with his second blade split the highwayman open from left shoulder to right hip, adding more blood and viscera to the rapidly growing pool at his feet. Assuming a position that would allow him to turn quickly and face an assault from any direction, Vlad stared down the rest of this...gang. Three were dead, disposed of with ease. The others hesitated a moment, fidgeting with their weapons and darting nervous glances between themselves and Vlad. And then they ran. With a laugh that sounded harsh in his own ears, Vlad titled his head back and called after them, "KER NA ONERAS CEAONITE!!" They would not get far. His rage, augmented by the spilling of blood, made it so much easier to reach within and tap the Kol. Its power flooded him, coursing through every vein, rushing through every fiber of his being. Wild, raw, uncontrollable, the power of Kol turned him into a living conduit for chaos. It manifested itself in forms beyond imagination, using any means to accomplish the end he gave it: Kill. Destroy. Above him the sky turned black and the sun disappeared. Clouds a noxious, sickly grey rolled in from nowhere and from them poured a rain of liquid fire. Huge fiery boulders fell from the heavens, smashing and burning all around him. The earth tore itself asunder, ripping apart in enormous rifts and collapsing in upon itself, creating vast pits of flame. Houses and buildings exploded outward in violent eruptions of splinters and debris, orimploded inward, crushing all within. Creatures of nightmare, beasts of the Abyss materialized from the shadows, eviscerating anything they could find...including each other. The vile ichor that was their blood mingled with the red blood of humans. Anything left standing was blasted to oblivion by black lightning. And above it all, the screams of the slain. The dying voices of men, women, even children rang in his ears. Wicked and innocentalike were killed. Nothing was spared. Nothing. It didn't stop - and he was powerless to stop it - until everything was destroyed, and no life remained. He reeled, propping himself up with his swords for balance. Everything around him lay in ruin. Everwhere he looked, he saw fire, blood, death. Even when he closed his eyes, it was still there, seared into his mind. He whispered, "Dear gods... What have I done?" A black, shapeless presence approached from behind. "Well done, Master," Darroqui hissed at him, mockingly. There was laughter in the demon's voice. Enraged, Vlad spun around, slashing at the demon with one of his swords. The blade passed through the demon as if through air as it shifted its body apart, becoming insubstantial. But Vlad has expected this and thrusted his blade forward with precise timing, stabbing into the demon just as it was reforming itself. Ichor flowed from the wound. The demon hissed and writhed so in its agony that Vlad nearly lost his grip on the blade. Holdingon with all his strength, he managed to give the blade a cruel twist before jerking it free. With a final scream, Darroqui fell to the gound in a shapeless pool of blackness, ichor still leaking onto the ground from the wound Vlad had dealt it. "Leave me, demon. I have had enough of you." With that, Vlad turned and started on his way home. Alone, to deal with demons of a different sort. Demons of the mind.* Riding back upon an ordinary horse, it took him days to reach the Keep. Every night, his dreams were haunted by images of blood and fire, and the screams of the dying. Every day, it seemed to him that the sky pressed down upon him, bearing with it the wrath of the gods. He had killed hundreds under the pretense of righteousness. He had gone to wreak retribution upon the wicked. Yet who was he to judge men? And what of the innocents slain bythe power he had summoned? When at last the walls of the Keep were in view, he could not bring himself to gaze upon the words enscribed upon the entrance. Instead, he rode forth with head bowed and shoulders slouched, a horseman slumped in defeat. His, a soul in need of cleansing.
From: DragonFlte
A promise had to be kept. A promise made more to himself than her. She'd returned from a journey not long ago, looking no better or worse than he remembered. He wondered if she had gone where he planned to go now. Standing outside the Keep, he called to his demonic slave. "Darroqui, taiste." A pause, then, "Taiste....NAI!" The air in front of him wavered and what appeared to be a mass of floating ink droplets manifested from nowhere, coalescing into the shape of a massive black stallion with eyes and hooves of flame. "You called?" The demon's voice resonated through his soul, a black, burning presence within. "I have a journey to make. For haste's sake, I require your peculiar means of transporation." "Oh, aye Master." Such submission made Vlad suspicious. He knew the hate this...thing harbored for him; and so it was with caution that he approached. Was it his imagination, or did those fiery eyes burn with more malice than usual? Shrugging it off, he mounted, bracing himself for the jolt to come. It felt like a bolt of lightning went up his spine. The demon-horse he had mounted was gone, replaced by river of ink flowing at unimaginable speeds, carrying him along, helpless in its current. Scenery blurred by him on all sides, the images flying by so fast that in his eyes it all merged in a blinding array of color. And then, seemingly before it even began, the ride was over. Nausea overwhelmed him and for moment his was gone, leaving him spinning in a sea of darkness. It cleared in a moment, though, and a short time later he was able to get his bearings. This was the place, no doubt about that. He'd only been standing there a matter of minutes and already beads of sweat, the product of oppressive heat, rolled down his brow and plastered his hair to his head. He stood in what might have been street, if wagontracks and recent and numorous footprints were any clue. A cacaphony of foul curses and shrill laughter assaulted his ears from a building close by and the entire place wreaked of sewage. Oh yeah. This was the place. Crosh Minor. He tried to imagine what was like for her, his Sha'lan, to have grown up here. He remembered what she'd told him of this place and what had been done to her here. Loathing and disgust forced bile up his throat and his heart began to smolder with fury. Control, man. Maintain control. With closed eyes and clenched jaw, he cleared his mind and took a deep breath. His attempt to cool the fire within was rather rudely interrupted by the cold touch of steel at his throat. Slowly, his eyes came open. " 'S only a fool tha' closes 'is eyes in this town, eh lads?" The brigand holding the blade at Vlad's throat smiled, revealing cracked and blackened teeth. His breath stunk of rotten meat and garlic. There were several others nearby. Vlad didn't bother to count. There was no need. "Indeed....?" The coolness, the deadly calm in Vlad's voice wiped the smirk off the foul man's little face, replacing it with an expression of disbelieft. "And he who hesitates is lost." With no further warning, Vlad leapt into action. His lightning quick movement caught his assailent off guard and before the brigand could even utter a scream, Vlad had twisted the arm the held the knife behind his back, twisting it brutally at the elbow. There was a loud snap! as the bone broke, and blood sprayed as it tore through the skin. With catlike dexterity, Vlad caught the man's knife as he let go and, reaching around thefront of his this would-be mugger, slashed his throat out, raining blood upon the earth. Using the momentum from the cut, he spun and let go the dagger, sending it flying into the chest of a second man, come to aid the one Vlad had just disposed of. The second crumpled to the ground with a hoarse scream, clutching the hilt of the blade stuck in his heart. A third rushed him. Faster than most men could think to do the same, Vlad whipped his swords out of their sheaths. The third attacker was swinging a wickedly spiked club at his head. He ducked, then lunged upward, his riposte hacking the man's arm off just above the elbow. A follow through with his second blade split the highwayman open from left shoulder to right hip, adding more blood and viscera to the rapidly growing pool at his feet. Assuming a position that would allow him to turn quickly and face an assault from any direction, Vlad stared down the rest of this...gang. Three were dead, disposed of with ease. The others hesitated a moment, fidgeting with their weapons and darting nervous glances between themselves and Vlad. And then they ran. With a laugh that sounded harsh in his own ears, Vlad titled his head back and called after them, "KER NA ONERAS CEAONITE!!" They would not get far. His rage, augmented by the spilling of blood, made it so much easier to reach within and tap the Kol. Its power flooded him, coursing through every vein, rushing through every fiber of his being. Wild, raw, uncontrollable, the power of Kol turned him into a living conduit for chaos. It manifested itself in forms beyond imagination, using any means to accomplish the end he gave it: Kill. Destroy. Above him the sky turned black and the sun disappeared. Clouds a noxious, sickly grey rolled in from nowhere and from them poured a rain of liquid fire. Huge fiery boulders fell from the heavens, smashing and burning all around him. The earth tore itself asunder, ripping apart in enormous rifts and collapsing in upon itself, creating vast pits of flame. Houses and buildings exploded outward in violent eruptions of splinters and debris, orimploded inward, crushing all within. Creatures of nightmare, beasts of the Abyss materialized from the shadows, eviscerating anything they could find...including each other. The vile ichor that was their blood mingled with the red blood of humans. Anything left standing was blasted to oblivion by black lightning. And above it all, the screams of the slain. The dying voices of men, women, even children rang in his ears. Wicked and innocentalike were killed. Nothing was spared. Nothing. It didn't stop - and he was powerless to stop it - until everything was destroyed, and no life remained. He reeled, propping himself up with his swords for balance. Everything around him lay in ruin. Everwhere he looked, he saw fire, blood, death. Even when he closed his eyes, it was still there, seared into his mind. He whispered, "Dear gods... What have I done?" A black, shapeless presence approached from behind. "Well done, Master," Darroqui hissed at him, mockingly. There was laughter in the demon's voice. Enraged, Vlad spun around, slashing at the demon with one of his swords. The blade passed through the demon as if through air as it shifted its body apart, becoming insubstantial. But Vlad has expected this and thrusted his blade forward with precise timing, stabbing into the demon just as it was reforming itself. Ichor flowed from the wound. The demon hissed and writhed so in its agony that Vlad nearly lost his grip on the blade. Holdingon with all his strength, he managed to give the blade a cruel twist before jerking it free. With a final scream, Darroqui fell to the gound in a shapeless pool of blackness, ichor still leaking onto the ground from the wound Vlad had dealt it. "Leave me, demon. I have had enough of you." With that, Vlad turned and started on his way home. Alone, to deal with demons of a different sort. Demons of the mind.* Riding back upon an ordinary horse, it took him days to reach the Keep. Every night, his dreams were haunted by images of blood and fire, and the screams of the dying. Every day, it seemed to him that the sky pressed down upon him, bearing with it the wrath of the gods. He had killed hundreds under the pretense of righteousness. He had gone to wreak retribution upon the wicked. Yet who was he to judge men? And what of the innocents slain bythe power he had summoned? When at last the walls of the Keep were in view, he could not bring himself to gaze upon the words enscribed upon the entrance. Instead, he rode forth with head bowed and shoulders slouched, a horseman slumped in defeat. His, a soul in need of cleansing.