Research

[DoM Archive]

Date: 2/2/98 11:46 PM Eastern Standard Time
From: ZynCDragon

The blade slid easily from its home. To most, it was a fine work of blacksmithing mixed with great magic; to Zyndria, it was nothing more than an enchanted hunk of metal. Those enchantments, however, had piqued her curiosity. What she had seen that fateful night in the Red Dragon's side room was like nothing anyone from her land could have envisioned. A blade, reacting to an outside fire source? Yes, there existed
the drake weapons which flared with flame on occasion, but never, ever had there been such a reverse reaction.



Patiently, the sorceress had waited for the warrior to surrender her blade so that it might be properly researched. She was not terribly thrilled with the idea of such a person as Janella knowing the kind of power she held in her hands, but this was far too great of an opportunity to pass up. Besides, what were the chances that such a brutish woman could possibly learn to wield the blade's abilities effectively?



Gripping the sword's hilt, the Sylvan looked the blade up and down. Quite a large weapon, it seemed quite capable of removing limbs with the flick of a trained wrist. Setting it down on her large workshop table, Zyndria stood over the sunsteel, entranced by the runes upon it. Otherworldly though they might be, they still held some similarities with those found on Elanthia. Now..if only she could work out what the rest of them meant..all she had
found upon first examination was the Protection from Fire ability she had already known to exist.



She stepped away from the table, rubbing her eyes. They were bloodshot, showing her fatigue. After a deep breath, she turned to look at the blade from a small distance. She did not expect to learn anything from here, as she was not close enough to read the runes; however, she could not be sure if her eyes were playing tricks on her now. The hilt.. was it really glowing?



No.. there was nothing to provoke the blades abilities into action. It had been inside her temple for over an hour; surely, if it could sense illusionary magic, it would have reacted long before now. Likewise, it would have had to show a response to her presence by now. It was a mere sword; no matter how much power it had within, it could not control its own abilities. So what was that damned glow?



Slowly, Zyndria found herself entranced by the shining amber. Her knees became weak; her body, limp. She never noticed, however, as her tired gaze was locked upon the sword. Not until the next morn would she find herself unconscious upon her workshop floor.

Date: 2/5/98 9:28 PM Eastern Standard Time
From: ZynCDragon

For three days now, she had moved from her books to the sword, to her books again, attempting to decipher the runes upon the powerful blade. To her immense frustration, however, Krynnian magic was just dissimilar enough from Elanthian magic as to cause each set of runes to translate into mere gibberish.



It had not helped the sorceress one bit that she had yet to manage a good night's rest since acquiring the blade. Her dreams had been of past events, long dead to her conscious mind, perhaps older than the woman whom the blade belonged to. The research she had tried so hard to concentrate on was interrupted by the voices of past lovers, screaming in anguish- as they had when she eventually disposed of them for whatever reason. Surely the spirits
could not follow her to this place.. but it did not seem that her logic was holding true.



"Damned blade.." Zyndria cursed the enchanted sword, partially due to its apparent power as a beacon for the dead, partially because she could not stop it from wreaking havoc inside her head. She needed a new way to rid herself of her increasingly jangled nerves.



Knowing she could not hurt it, the Sylvan had cast minor spells of fire at Vendetta to relieve her stress several times in the past days. Some of those attempts had resulted in the blade taking her spell and shooting it in some random direction. She contemplated those times for a moment.. "High Priestess of Ivas.. Head of the CrazeDragon clan.. and all I have managed to deduce is that the bloody thing can play with fire!" But she could find no
other way to calm herself without risking damage to the sword, her workshop, or possibly herself.



Her irritation with Vendetta was great; however, her demanding curiosity was greater. She could not bring herself to attempt to destroy the weapon, yet. It was too powerful of a magical item to consider obliterating, even if it was in the form of a mere blade. She needed to figure out what all these runes meant, however, and soon, before her patience completely gave out.

Date: 2/8/98 3:16 AM Eastern Standard Time
From: ZynCDragon

"Bloody piece of trash metal.."



Zyndria cursed out the sword for what seemed like the hundredth time. In fact, she had probably done so more than that; her temper was flaring uncontrollably at times, a state of mind she had very little experience with. She had had it up to the points of her ears with the brick walls that seemed to sprout up constantly in the path of her research. What had she learned thus far, after a full week of study?



It could protect from fire, absorb it, release it..however, the aim upon release was still uncontrolled.



After being subjected to the hilt's amber glow twice more, she had managed to deduce that it was capable of causing drowsiness.



Although still unproven, she also found it to be a beacon for spirits. Perhaps so strong as to call upon them from across dimensions; that was more speculation than anything, however.



On one occasion, she had attempted to lift the sword, only to find that it suddenly weighed at least ten times what it did previously. Setting it down, she had given it an odd look; another attempt resulted in her being able to raise it normally. She could not be certain if something set it off, if being left to sit for over a day without being touched had some sort of effect, or if it was just a...fluke. It had not done it since, however, so she
remained unconcerned.



Realizing she had made far less progress than she had even conceived possible, Zyndria found herself needing to take a small respite from her work. Glaring at the sword one last time, she stepped out the door to her small abode, and travelled the few miles to town on foot.



Walking the streets normally was the way she got herself in a bad mood; the dirty, homeless people that lined the streets offended her physical senses, while the drunken men stumbling out of RhyDin's many taverns would ignore all facets of good taste with their lewd comments and grasping hands. Fortunately, the influence of law was weak, and the sorceress could deal with such ingrates as she pleased.



Today, however, it set her shaky mind at ease, to an extent. The crisp winter winds were somewhat frigid upon her skin, but the air was indeed fresh and relaxing. None of the troublesome twits who normally bothered her were anywhere to be found.



"Hello, Zyndria."



The Sylvan's ears perked. While she indeed had no true sense of caring anywhere within her body, she most certainly did understand passion. Something about the demoness affected her greatly, especially now that she was with child. Her aura was very strong, and the sorceress' skin suddenly felt warm against the cold breeze as ripples of heat flowed through her body. She did her best to hide this; however, she was unsure of her success.



"Hello, Shaika." Zyndria's face became an expressionless rock. Indeed, this would be the visage she had to maintain for the time being, in order to cover up for the inner turmoil that shot through her body at an arrow's speed.

Date: 2/21/98 2:25 AM Eastern Standard Time
From: ZynCDragon

Dark eyes met the dim light of torches as consciousness was regained. Struggling, she pulled herself onto her bed, feeling an extreme pain in her belly from hunger. Nothing like this had ever happened to the sorceress before, and she would have to be most careful to make sure it did not repeat itself. Rolling over, the Sylvan stared at the ceiling, trying to remember what had happened to her.



Her mind was absolutely trashed, riddled by tragic memories of years past. She was an imperfect being, she knew that; but her mistakes, the ones she bothered to count as mistakes at all, were very few and far between. For some reason, however, those errors seemed to loom at the front of her thoughts, awakened from the dark hiding places in which they had been buried under lust for power and desire for blood. What had enchanted that blade, that it
might change from an average piece of metal to a hideous device with the ability to tear at one's very soul?



The first week had passed, with little gain. Her sleeping had become erratic at best, and she could not tell why. Her only clue was Vendetta; it was the single change to her environment that might have caused it. Frustration had begun to claw away at her senses by then. The angry sorceress proceeded to force herself to study the sword, with no rest, for three consecutive days. She ate as she worked, failing to notice her food supply was depleted
after only forty-eight hours.



Upon remembering that, Zyndria could do little but groan at her own foolishness. It seemed clear enough that lack of nourishment must have played a role in her collapse. What could have driven her to such an extreme, that she simply did not eat? Slowly, she closed her eyes, and continued her attempts to draw out the recent past from the corners of her mind.



At first, she could only see a face. But it was his face.. the face of an elven wizard that had not crossed her mind for over twenty years. Yet it was so pristine, so crystal clear, that it was like she had been with him but a day before. Had she truly been in love with him? It seemed unlikely now. Her senses spoke differently, however..her thoughts were of good times, rare as they may have been. The hard-hearted Sylvan had finally been
cracked, to an extent; for here was a male, the only male, who had the courage and skill to stand up to her arrogant pushiness, and yet did not seek to destroy her.



In fact, he was drawn to her, and she to him. For a few moments, she remembered a full day in which her concentration while studying the blade had been less than less than stellar. A full day in which surprisingly happy memories invaded her consciousness, ones which evoked a small emotional response, in the form of a smile. Normal circumstances would have her noticing this, and working doubly hard to correct such a glaring weakness. Perhaps, if
it had been under normal circumstances, the second day would not have affected her as greatly.

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As time passed, and night faded into day, the glorious times Zyndria and Talarian had spent together were found further and further from reach. Lack of sleep and powerful magics had warped the Sylvan's mind to a point of very low self-control. She spent as much time working on the runes as drifting off into daydreams, desperately trying to retain those feelings of near-joy which had eluded her for decades. Over a period of several hours, many
memories returned..but they were far from what she had been seeking.



She winced. Recalling her reaction to the startling return of Talarian's death to her mind, the sorceress could do nothing but feel revolted and disgusted with herself. Screaming in horror as she watched herself lose control over twenty years prior, Zyndria had pointlessly begun to pace around the workshop, all semblance of mental strength having vanished from her person. How could she have done it?, she thought as she attempted to calm herself
down.



The same question reverberated through her head now, one week later, the difference being she was not questioning her actions of the distant past. She was now sincerely amazed at her inability to control her emotions, even under the stress placed on her slender shoulders.



For another day following the incident, the blade had continued to draw out her violent memories, one by one. At first, it was one every hour and a half to two hours; as time passed, the frequency grew exponentially. Vendetta found much to work with in the Sylvan's mind, as her life thus far had consisted of fifty years of domination, violence, blood, and death.



By the end, she was nothing more than a quivering body lying on a cold stone floor. Her body wracked with hunger, mind plagued by an overload of pain and death that had occurred at her feet, the sorceress had found the passing of her consciousness to be a welcome relief.



Somewhat awake now, Zyndria sat up weakly on the small bed. Turning to the nearby table, she looked at the sword, looking utterly peaceful with a red ribbon tied to the hilt.



"Red..ribbon?"



She didn't need this now. Were she to find the trespasser, she would probably lose the battle. But she knew that person would not be found this day. Aching, the Sylvan sorceress slid off her bed and slowly walked outside. She had things to do now, not the least of which was ridding herself of that damned blade. But first and foremost...she needed food, and needed to find it now.



Giving Vendetta one last dirty look, she proceeded to shut the door and look for a way to end her hunger.