Date: 1/3/2000 2:38 AM Central Daylight Time
From: TarethThrn
He said he had a meeting to attend, and this time it wasn't just an excuse to cover up the real reason for his leaving.
It was the usual exit, retreating into the depths of that huge black canvas coat and hat ensemble before stepping out. The Outback was really the only place he wore that outfit to and from, as he needed an external place to keep all his toys while he was in the ring... it wouldn't do to be hit in the wrong place and have both his leg and his opponent's hand blown off.
The city was still steaming when the large doors swung shut behind him... a cool evening rain evaporating against the warmed pavements and roofs spread below him. The wind was wet with tiny water droplets tonight, and experience told Tareth it promised a deep chill for anyone foolish enough to stay out until dawn. With a shrug he pulls the duster collar up stiff against his neck and cheeks, only to fold it back down again properly. Times like this
he considered taking up smoking, if only to make such a fashionable exit as to flick the still-buring butt away as he made good his escape from the doorway. However, the memory of his own smog-choked home world always swept such fancies from his mind.
It was still early enough in the Rhydin night to go without a light, there were many kept burning until last call in the drinking establishments surrounding the Red Dragon Inn. He was only interested in one of them.
It was called the Crystal Inn, and he took a few moments to stalk the outside perimeter before nuzzling up to one warm wall, holding it up until his partner arrived.
"Thorn? You'd better be here... " came a tentative half-whisper from around the corner to the rear of the building. Underneath the downward tilt of his hat (this is why he appeared to be just another part of the building, not even the glint of his eyes showed) Tareth bared his teeth in the grin of a person who made a good bet on a long shot to win.
"No ambushes here Damacles." The odd demon name rolled off his tongue in a way that just tasted bad, as most lesser daemon languages did when pronounced properly. "You actually showed up this time."
"I'm in a lot of trouble for just manifesting myself Thorn." The hint of purple horns and black hair moved fitfully through lamplight reflecting off the wet walls, Tareth's cue to keep his head down and eyes away from the coming apparition. "If they catch me in this plane without actually being forced here through a summoning spell, I could lose the ability to manifest myself at all for a few hundred years." The voice moved closer, and Tareth
could actually hear the effect of steam being forced through vocal cords stretched too tightly through a neck he knew to be too thin and long to truly support speech. These buggers always preferred the grotesque. "You have the knife?"
"Right here." Flipping one lapel open, he unsheathes the dagger that until now had served as one of his mainstays for close combat. Gingerly, he takes it by the blade and offers the hilt to the shadowy shape before him.
The thing hissed and gurgled as the steel left Tareth's fingers, obviously pleased with the offering. "Luccia's dagger. Heeheh! I can't believe she parted with it, especially to a mortal!" It was dark, and one could only guess that the jigging movements the demon was doing were some sort of odd dance. Steam started building in the passageway from the scraping laughter emitting from the jerking form.
"Ahem. You have what I asked for, right? You welch now, and you can forget about our deal. Saagejiwa will hear everything you did to his daughter." When dealing with demons, not even blackmail is a tactic to be discarded. Honor usually ends up at the short end of the stick in these types of negotiations, but what he needed for this plan was beyond anyone else's capabilities to create.
"Yes, Thorn, I do." The way his name souded in that grittingly sibilant voice made his teeth hurt. "Take them and be done." After a long pause in which Tareth could only think that the demon was staring at him, it added, "I suppose it would be foolish of me to think that this is over, mortal. I know your kind. Should I simply turn you to ashes now and risk what you have told to others?"
Tareth could only chuckle coldly at the threat, it was truly the only correct response to a question so posed. "We're done Damacles. You won't hear from me again, one way or another."
With that, a burst of hot humidity gusted past the wide brim of his hat, still lowered. After a moment, the cold drizzle returned to the tops of Tareth's ears, and he dared lift his head to check the alleyway.
Between two totally inhuman-looking footprints still steaming in the dirt lay a normal-looking, if smallish, buckskin sack. Picking it up, he tucked it into the inside pocket of his duster... taking that as a signal that the meeting was over.
----------=Thorn=----------
(( Opal SL- Tareth)) Date with a devil
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((Opal SL- Tareth)) Time to kill
Date: 1/14/2000 4:10 AM Central Daylight Time
From: TarethThrn
He had picked the brain of every old wife he could find, he had waded through the ramblings of scholars long since dead, and he had spent countless hours filling each of the tattered old rucksack's pockets with his particular marble-esque explosives. Now, as he shouldered the full pack of provisions and weapons and stood at the Outback's rear doors, he looked out at the city stretched below him. His coat switched about
in a stiff wind that threatened to pull the hat right off his head.
There was something in the air.
It was that unexplainable thing that only die-hard adventurers know by heart, that tangible yet elusive feeling that runs down your back like a trickle of cold water and lifts your heart higher in your chest with invisible hands. If one stands long enough to savor that something, it becomes a warmth in the soles of their feet... making them itch in need of movement. Tareth took it as a good sign to start his journey.
He'd found the amulet-maker through Mogg's weapon emporium. One of the best in the trade, he was assured. As he fingered the filigree of the thin copper disk clutched in one ribboned hand, he hoped that the old adage "You get what you pay for" was true, because he'd spent a great deal of his budget on these things. Three amulets; the one in his hand was to send him to wherever he wanted to go, the second one stowed in his pack was to send him
back, and the third now affixed heartily to the Outback wall was the homing beacon to which he would return.
"Well, time we got on the road."
With the other ribbon-wrapped hand, he pulled the black fabric up over the lower half of his face, completing his ebony uniform. He whispered the words and the amulet sifted from his fingers as dust... as it did, his body blew away like sand off the top of a dune.
----------=Thorn=----------
From: TarethThrn
He had picked the brain of every old wife he could find, he had waded through the ramblings of scholars long since dead, and he had spent countless hours filling each of the tattered old rucksack's pockets with his particular marble-esque explosives. Now, as he shouldered the full pack of provisions and weapons and stood at the Outback's rear doors, he looked out at the city stretched below him. His coat switched about
in a stiff wind that threatened to pull the hat right off his head.
There was something in the air.
It was that unexplainable thing that only die-hard adventurers know by heart, that tangible yet elusive feeling that runs down your back like a trickle of cold water and lifts your heart higher in your chest with invisible hands. If one stands long enough to savor that something, it becomes a warmth in the soles of their feet... making them itch in need of movement. Tareth took it as a good sign to start his journey.
He'd found the amulet-maker through Mogg's weapon emporium. One of the best in the trade, he was assured. As he fingered the filigree of the thin copper disk clutched in one ribboned hand, he hoped that the old adage "You get what you pay for" was true, because he'd spent a great deal of his budget on these things. Three amulets; the one in his hand was to send him to wherever he wanted to go, the second one stowed in his pack was to send him
back, and the third now affixed heartily to the Outback wall was the homing beacon to which he would return.
"Well, time we got on the road."
With the other ribbon-wrapped hand, he pulled the black fabric up over the lower half of his face, completing his ebony uniform. He whispered the words and the amulet sifted from his fingers as dust... as it did, his body blew away like sand off the top of a dune.
----------=Thorn=----------
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((Opal SL- Tareth)) Time to kill -pt. 2
Date: 1/14/2000 4:12 AM Central Daylight Time
From: TarethThrn
Once he arrived in the dead land, there was something in the air there, too... the stench of death and decay. It wasn't altogether horrible or overpowering, and would likely be unnoticeable were there any other scent to vie with it. No, the worst thing about it was how frightening it was, for this was a living death, a hungry death that sought to make everything else just like it.
The words barren and bleak failed in their descriptive duties to serve the landscape that came to greet Tareth once he gained his bearings. Very little rose from the plain of cracked brown earth stretching in three directions, save the dark shapes of leafless trees at sparse intervals and the mountains in the distance. In places the fissures had collapsed entire chunks of dirt, leaving jagged-edged craters... wounds in the ground. Ahead, words failed entirely, for it was nothing... literally nothing, a plain of blank dark mist. It was hard to tell just where this nothing started... or more likely the real world ended.
He halted just then, hefting his pack to the hard dirt. Rummaging about inside, he passed food and water, ammo and cover that had been checked and rechecked many times before his departure and finally came up with the second amulet. It was tempting... oh so tempting... to just use it then and there, let Gothmorda slumber undisturbed for all he cared.
But then a few images flashed before his mind's eye; the note he had hastily scribbled to Rask, the sight of himself in a mirror and a following stab of regret... he was getting old, and finally the drawing that had spawned this whole quest. It was the last that was perhaps the most powerful motivation, for it tightened his belief and strengthened his need for more information.
Over thirteen months ago while researching the task set before him by the Titan corporation, he had stumbled on an ancient compendium of magic items that briefly mentioned a set of opals that had existed since chaos was separated from order. It was of little consequence at the time, but after Khorien and Stormfist had been thwarted and Mr. Titan had disappeared, Tareth had time to go back to the text that had him so curious. The accompanying
drawing had depicted the stones set in a star pattern, each either complimenting or conflicting with its mates... only this star had six points. The names were set next to each stone, although it took him a while to translate the glyphs: FireStar, MoonBeryl, ShadoWeaver, PathFinder, IceDancer.... and SunCatcher.
With a deep breath, he pulled the rucksack back up his arm. Only one more moment's pause passed before he took the first step toward that looming unknown, the amulet firmly clenched in his hand. He chanted from behind the mask stretched across his nose and mouth, the mask he only used when on the job.
"There's no place like home... there's no place like home... "
----------=Thorn=----------
From: TarethThrn
Once he arrived in the dead land, there was something in the air there, too... the stench of death and decay. It wasn't altogether horrible or overpowering, and would likely be unnoticeable were there any other scent to vie with it. No, the worst thing about it was how frightening it was, for this was a living death, a hungry death that sought to make everything else just like it.
The words barren and bleak failed in their descriptive duties to serve the landscape that came to greet Tareth once he gained his bearings. Very little rose from the plain of cracked brown earth stretching in three directions, save the dark shapes of leafless trees at sparse intervals and the mountains in the distance. In places the fissures had collapsed entire chunks of dirt, leaving jagged-edged craters... wounds in the ground. Ahead, words failed entirely, for it was nothing... literally nothing, a plain of blank dark mist. It was hard to tell just where this nothing started... or more likely the real world ended.
He halted just then, hefting his pack to the hard dirt. Rummaging about inside, he passed food and water, ammo and cover that had been checked and rechecked many times before his departure and finally came up with the second amulet. It was tempting... oh so tempting... to just use it then and there, let Gothmorda slumber undisturbed for all he cared.
But then a few images flashed before his mind's eye; the note he had hastily scribbled to Rask, the sight of himself in a mirror and a following stab of regret... he was getting old, and finally the drawing that had spawned this whole quest. It was the last that was perhaps the most powerful motivation, for it tightened his belief and strengthened his need for more information.
Over thirteen months ago while researching the task set before him by the Titan corporation, he had stumbled on an ancient compendium of magic items that briefly mentioned a set of opals that had existed since chaos was separated from order. It was of little consequence at the time, but after Khorien and Stormfist had been thwarted and Mr. Titan had disappeared, Tareth had time to go back to the text that had him so curious. The accompanying
drawing had depicted the stones set in a star pattern, each either complimenting or conflicting with its mates... only this star had six points. The names were set next to each stone, although it took him a while to translate the glyphs: FireStar, MoonBeryl, ShadoWeaver, PathFinder, IceDancer.... and SunCatcher.
With a deep breath, he pulled the rucksack back up his arm. Only one more moment's pause passed before he took the first step toward that looming unknown, the amulet firmly clenched in his hand. He chanted from behind the mask stretched across his nose and mouth, the mask he only used when on the job.
"There's no place like home... there's no place like home... "
----------=Thorn=----------
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((Opal SL- Tareth)) Time to kill -pt. 3
Date: 1/14/2000 4:13 AM Central Daylight Time
From: TarethThrn
It was nightfall of his second day there, and he was just pulling the hat back up after waking. Rising from his lean against one of the dead trees spotting the terrain, he looks up in time for the setting sun to glint right off one eye, blinding him and degenerating the moment into cursing. He slept during the day, as that was usually the safest time to be unaware... the creepy-crawlies always came out at night.
He wasn't totally trusting though, from four poles driven into the dirt stretched a webbing of thin line, really only visible by the last rays of sunlight licking at the transparent string and lazily lingering in the tiny clear beads at every meeting of the weave. This defense was the main bulk of his pack, and proved just how fond he was of his small glass explosives.
As he reeled in the net, he considered the basic gist of what he was doing. It was a battle he had fought many times before, and won, the testament of those victories being he was still alive... it was the battle between magic and science. He could almost think it amusing how he was constantly able to play out the one conflict he had wondered so much about back in the "real world" he had been born into, where gargoyles were building decorations and
magic was for carnivals. This whole land was thick with deadly enchantment, and he alone dared penetrate it with his very unmagical means... simple chemical reactions and mechanical devices. It made him wonder just where the line was drawn between the two.
It was clear that he had walked into the very beginning of that black fog, for tonight the sunlight didn't quite last as long as it should have. The sunset was very important to him now, because it was the only guide he had on which direction to walk... his compass lay at the bottom of his pack, rendered useless by some freak of nature. He was reduced to keeping the sunset at his left shoulder while it was visible, and hoping he was walking in a
straight line from there. Although the moon illuminated most of the night (he'd chosen this time to travel here because it was the time of its cycle it would be the most prominent), it didn't have sufficient force to show itself through the thickening mist. During his traveling time, his world was reduced to a sphere of about twenty feet around him where he could dimly see dry, parched earth.
Finding himself with a great deal of time, and facing the endless blank plain of featureless mist on these long stretches of travel, he often found his mind wandering aimlessly from subject to subject. Questions he couldn't answer arose... how would he do at the Diamond Quest? Would he live to see the quest? What was Caedia up to? Shaking his head, he could only try and force himself to concentrate once again on the task at hand... try and picture
the old, incomplete maps the council had gathered in their forays into this land.
He found it difficult to keep his eyes open for long amounts of time. How long could he walk without really seeing? What was there to see anyway?
Suddenly the ground wasn't where it was supposed to be when he put his foot down. It was a few inches lower, but he stumbled all the same. The steps after the first were uneven as well, which startled him. He'd nodded off walking. How long had it been since he'd slept?
Wearily, he continued over the gently sloping uneven ground, halting briefly to get something to chew on. What felt like several hours later, he concluded that he had finally lost the sun entirely.
The pattern of the amulet was etched firmly into his palm by the time he stopped and set up the barrier to get some sleep.
----------=Thorn=----------
From: TarethThrn
It was nightfall of his second day there, and he was just pulling the hat back up after waking. Rising from his lean against one of the dead trees spotting the terrain, he looks up in time for the setting sun to glint right off one eye, blinding him and degenerating the moment into cursing. He slept during the day, as that was usually the safest time to be unaware... the creepy-crawlies always came out at night.
He wasn't totally trusting though, from four poles driven into the dirt stretched a webbing of thin line, really only visible by the last rays of sunlight licking at the transparent string and lazily lingering in the tiny clear beads at every meeting of the weave. This defense was the main bulk of his pack, and proved just how fond he was of his small glass explosives.
As he reeled in the net, he considered the basic gist of what he was doing. It was a battle he had fought many times before, and won, the testament of those victories being he was still alive... it was the battle between magic and science. He could almost think it amusing how he was constantly able to play out the one conflict he had wondered so much about back in the "real world" he had been born into, where gargoyles were building decorations and
magic was for carnivals. This whole land was thick with deadly enchantment, and he alone dared penetrate it with his very unmagical means... simple chemical reactions and mechanical devices. It made him wonder just where the line was drawn between the two.
It was clear that he had walked into the very beginning of that black fog, for tonight the sunlight didn't quite last as long as it should have. The sunset was very important to him now, because it was the only guide he had on which direction to walk... his compass lay at the bottom of his pack, rendered useless by some freak of nature. He was reduced to keeping the sunset at his left shoulder while it was visible, and hoping he was walking in a
straight line from there. Although the moon illuminated most of the night (he'd chosen this time to travel here because it was the time of its cycle it would be the most prominent), it didn't have sufficient force to show itself through the thickening mist. During his traveling time, his world was reduced to a sphere of about twenty feet around him where he could dimly see dry, parched earth.
Finding himself with a great deal of time, and facing the endless blank plain of featureless mist on these long stretches of travel, he often found his mind wandering aimlessly from subject to subject. Questions he couldn't answer arose... how would he do at the Diamond Quest? Would he live to see the quest? What was Caedia up to? Shaking his head, he could only try and force himself to concentrate once again on the task at hand... try and picture
the old, incomplete maps the council had gathered in their forays into this land.
He found it difficult to keep his eyes open for long amounts of time. How long could he walk without really seeing? What was there to see anyway?
Suddenly the ground wasn't where it was supposed to be when he put his foot down. It was a few inches lower, but he stumbled all the same. The steps after the first were uneven as well, which startled him. He'd nodded off walking. How long had it been since he'd slept?
Wearily, he continued over the gently sloping uneven ground, halting briefly to get something to chew on. What felt like several hours later, he concluded that he had finally lost the sun entirely.
The pattern of the amulet was etched firmly into his palm by the time he stopped and set up the barrier to get some sleep.
----------=Thorn=----------
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((Opal SL- Tareth)) Time to kill -pt. 4
Date: 1/14/2000 4:16 AM Central Daylight Time
From: TarethThrn
He was interrupted from trudging through featureless fog by waking up.
The mist was still there, but something was trying to force its way through the net. Without hesitation he throws himself to the ground, making his body as flat as he possibly can.
As a few of the tension strings break, the chemicals inside the small baubles contact air and ignite, exploding with a precursing pop of shattering glass. The first to blow causes a chain reaction across the net, igniting a wave of flame around the perimeter of the poles. Caught in a maelstrom of fire and force, whatever was trying to sneak up on him was quickly incinerated.
As the last of the flames die down he leaps to his feet, a white glare blazing in his hand. Not magic, it was another of his baubles... this one the size of a large marble. When shaken the ingredients inside mix, causing intense light. Holding his new torch aloft, he furtively glances about for other intruders that may have been attracted to the noise. Right now his thudding heartbeat alone would attract attention in this dead stillness.
There were more of them, lumbering figures only distinguishable as darker spots in the fog... and they didn't seem daunted by the demise of their companion. Crouching, he pulls more of his diminutive weapons from one of the four pockets lining the sides of his pack, readying for a battle. But what he had read didn't prepare him for facing the reality.
The first skeleton to break cover of the fog was heavily armored on the places where armor would still hang, and still wearing the moldy remains of a beard it had sported in life. Yellowed bone and rusty plate armor came into view brandishing a wickedly long spear. It walked with a steady deliberation, most likely incapable of anything else. Looking into those empty eyesockets made Tareth's mind scream and his body reacted by hurling the intensely
bright sphere into its torso.
He expected a scream of death, but only got the roar of hungry flame as the explosion half-consumed the walking dead and spit out the rest in random directions. Inside his brain was shouting tactical advice, but his body was slow to listen. Two more skeleton warriors met their flaming demise before his mind was able to yank control back and aim one of the blasts to the ground, where flying debris was more of a weapon than fire and obliterated the
rest of the troupe.
Panting and white with shock beneath his ebony covering, he fell to the ground and promptly vomited.
----------=Thorn=----------
From: TarethThrn
He was interrupted from trudging through featureless fog by waking up.
The mist was still there, but something was trying to force its way through the net. Without hesitation he throws himself to the ground, making his body as flat as he possibly can.
As a few of the tension strings break, the chemicals inside the small baubles contact air and ignite, exploding with a precursing pop of shattering glass. The first to blow causes a chain reaction across the net, igniting a wave of flame around the perimeter of the poles. Caught in a maelstrom of fire and force, whatever was trying to sneak up on him was quickly incinerated.
As the last of the flames die down he leaps to his feet, a white glare blazing in his hand. Not magic, it was another of his baubles... this one the size of a large marble. When shaken the ingredients inside mix, causing intense light. Holding his new torch aloft, he furtively glances about for other intruders that may have been attracted to the noise. Right now his thudding heartbeat alone would attract attention in this dead stillness.
There were more of them, lumbering figures only distinguishable as darker spots in the fog... and they didn't seem daunted by the demise of their companion. Crouching, he pulls more of his diminutive weapons from one of the four pockets lining the sides of his pack, readying for a battle. But what he had read didn't prepare him for facing the reality.
The first skeleton to break cover of the fog was heavily armored on the places where armor would still hang, and still wearing the moldy remains of a beard it had sported in life. Yellowed bone and rusty plate armor came into view brandishing a wickedly long spear. It walked with a steady deliberation, most likely incapable of anything else. Looking into those empty eyesockets made Tareth's mind scream and his body reacted by hurling the intensely
bright sphere into its torso.
He expected a scream of death, but only got the roar of hungry flame as the explosion half-consumed the walking dead and spit out the rest in random directions. Inside his brain was shouting tactical advice, but his body was slow to listen. Two more skeleton warriors met their flaming demise before his mind was able to yank control back and aim one of the blasts to the ground, where flying debris was more of a weapon than fire and obliterated the
rest of the troupe.
Panting and white with shock beneath his ebony covering, he fell to the ground and promptly vomited.
----------=Thorn=----------
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((Opal SL- Tareth)) Time to kill -pt. 5
Date: 1/14/2000 4:17 AM Central Daylight Time
From: TarethThrn
Some say that stubbornness is a failing, but in some cases it can be a savior.
It's funny, really, how one can laugh in the face of vampires, spit on threats of armies, and stay cool in the darkest of dungeons with a sentence of death upon their head... but be broken in an instant by one reconnaissance mission.
But this whole place... the land, the sky, the day and night, even the very air had been turned into a device to drain the soul from anything in it. With every breath it takes a toll, every moment steering you into madness. Tareth had never encountered something so thoroughly evil in all his dealings in all the environments he'd been to.
As he walked, sleepless now in the infinite bleakness without his safety net, he considered the naysayers and doom-criers so prevalent in the inns back when he was alive... for surely he had crossed into the worst part of limbo. They should be here, those who would enjoy such torment. Perhaps all the trenchcoat-wearing angel junkies would relish in this place.
Three other squads of skeletons had caught up to him since, each one facing the same end as the previous ones at his hands. Grimly grinning, he had used the last of their skulls as target practice with his laughably ineffective handgun. Not even a quarter of his supply of explosives was gone yet, but conservation was in his blood... the last group of five took less than two blasts to exterminate. These encounters were becoming the high point of
his time traveling, it seemed the only thing that ever changed in this hellish place.
How long had it been? According to his rations, little more than a few days, though it could have been years and nobody would have known the difference. He'd have to turn back tomorrow if he expected to live through this ordeal, but which way was back was anybody's guess. The medallion had a new home, tucked underneath the ribbons wrapped around his left hand.
When a larger darkness blocked out the mist before him, the only thought that occurred was that whatever hand guided all this destruction finally gathered up an army to stop him. Bearing his teeth, he readied the first of his marbles, ready to make their mission as costly as he possibly could. The ground itself would smoke for days after he was done.
However, this mass didn't move as he came nearer. It got bigger and firmer. As the mists finally relinquished their veil over his vision, it distinguished itself as a building. Cracked walls and black stone, something was different in the fog.
----------=Thorn=----------
From: TarethThrn
Some say that stubbornness is a failing, but in some cases it can be a savior.
It's funny, really, how one can laugh in the face of vampires, spit on threats of armies, and stay cool in the darkest of dungeons with a sentence of death upon their head... but be broken in an instant by one reconnaissance mission.
But this whole place... the land, the sky, the day and night, even the very air had been turned into a device to drain the soul from anything in it. With every breath it takes a toll, every moment steering you into madness. Tareth had never encountered something so thoroughly evil in all his dealings in all the environments he'd been to.
As he walked, sleepless now in the infinite bleakness without his safety net, he considered the naysayers and doom-criers so prevalent in the inns back when he was alive... for surely he had crossed into the worst part of limbo. They should be here, those who would enjoy such torment. Perhaps all the trenchcoat-wearing angel junkies would relish in this place.
Three other squads of skeletons had caught up to him since, each one facing the same end as the previous ones at his hands. Grimly grinning, he had used the last of their skulls as target practice with his laughably ineffective handgun. Not even a quarter of his supply of explosives was gone yet, but conservation was in his blood... the last group of five took less than two blasts to exterminate. These encounters were becoming the high point of
his time traveling, it seemed the only thing that ever changed in this hellish place.
How long had it been? According to his rations, little more than a few days, though it could have been years and nobody would have known the difference. He'd have to turn back tomorrow if he expected to live through this ordeal, but which way was back was anybody's guess. The medallion had a new home, tucked underneath the ribbons wrapped around his left hand.
When a larger darkness blocked out the mist before him, the only thought that occurred was that whatever hand guided all this destruction finally gathered up an army to stop him. Bearing his teeth, he readied the first of his marbles, ready to make their mission as costly as he possibly could. The ground itself would smoke for days after he was done.
However, this mass didn't move as he came nearer. It got bigger and firmer. As the mists finally relinquished their veil over his vision, it distinguished itself as a building. Cracked walls and black stone, something was different in the fog.
----------=Thorn=----------
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((Opal SL- Tareth)) Time to kill -pt. 6
Date: 1/14/2000 4:20 AM Central Daylight Time
From: TarethThrn
MsgId: <20000114042025.23189.00000337@ng-fp1.aol.com>
His eyes registered it, his fingers touched it, his lungs coughed spasmodically from the dust caked like thick frosting upon it... yet still his brain refused to acknowledge it was real. It took a firm headbutt against the stone to convince himself that it was indeed solid, and after that it took a few more moments of deep thought to remember why it was so important.
"A name!" The sound of his own voice startled him, it had been that long since any had spoken in the dead calm. This was one of the four houses of knowledge surrounding the main city, the heart of which was the temple where the curse of Gothmorda had begun. He had walked a straight line after all.
Dragging his fingertips in the crust of filth sheathing the walls, he was hesitant to let the contact go lest the entire building melt into dream, he makes his way to the entrance. With the help of his bright-buring weapons the interior proves friendly by comparison, all blunt angles and broken roofing... every surface crawling with strange writing.
"A name." He needed the name of an obscure branch of a religious sect, information that was only to be found here, where such a name was called upon only to banish its sight and influence from ever reaching this place.
In the cross-shaped structure, he knew just where to look for it. It was strange not to have to watch one's footing constantly on the paved floor here. However, it proved a healthy experience to run for a change, giddy with ideas and hope... things utterly foreign to this land.
Wiping his arm across the angled surface as he knelt on the raised dais in the center of the right branch, he traces his fingers down the newly cleared column of writing, his lips moving silently. Pausing, he taps a finger on one symbol... mouth working on the possible interpretation.
"Eureka," he breathes, eyes crinkling in a smile unpracticed for the last few eternities.
----------=Thorn=----------
Date: 1/14/2000 4:20 AM Central Daylight Time
From: TarethThrn
MsgId: <20000114042025.23189.00000337@ng-fp1.aol.com>
His eyes registered it, his fingers touched it, his lungs coughed spasmodically from the dust caked like thick frosting upon it... yet still his brain refused to acknowledge it was real. It took a firm headbutt against the stone to convince himself that it was indeed solid, and after that it took a few more moments of deep thought to remember why it was so important.
"A name!" The sound of his own voice startled him, it had been that long since any had spoken in the dead calm. This was one of the four houses of knowledge surrounding the main city, the heart of which was the temple where the curse of Gothmorda had begun. He had walked a straight line after all.
Dragging his fingertips in the crust of filth sheathing the walls, he was hesitant to let the contact go lest the entire building melt into dream, he makes his way to the entrance. With the help of his bright-buring weapons the interior proves friendly by comparison, all blunt angles and broken roofing... every surface crawling with strange writing.
"A name." He needed the name of an obscure branch of a religious sect, information that was only to be found here, where such a name was called upon only to banish its sight and influence from ever reaching this place.
In the cross-shaped structure, he knew just where to look for it. It was strange not to have to watch one's footing constantly on the paved floor here. However, it proved a healthy experience to run for a change, giddy with ideas and hope... things utterly foreign to this land.
Wiping his arm across the angled surface as he knelt on the raised dais in the center of the right branch, he traces his fingers down the newly cleared column of writing, his lips moving silently. Pausing, he taps a finger on one symbol... mouth working on the possible interpretation.
"Eureka," he breathes, eyes crinkling in a smile unpracticed for the last few eternities.
----------=Thorn=----------
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((Opal SL- Tareth)) Time to kill -pt. 7
Date: 1/14/2000 4:39 AM Central Daylight Time
From: TarethThrn
Even though he'd read all the histories on the necromancers of Gothmorda, this new knowledge still amazed him.
At the very beginning, the sorcerers already knew of the opals of power... they knew that such things could harm them. In their vast planning, they knew what they needed to do.
SunCatcher was referred to here by name! Not only referenced, but banished... along with those who kept it. Here was chronicled their effort to strike down the order that kept it, and remove all trace and history of the white opal. That's why the names had been stricken from all the other records... that's why Tareth had such a difficult time finding any news of it whatsoever, and ultimately that's why Stormfist's quest was doomed from the outset.
Without SunCatcher and the power of light and purity, they never feared the rest.
Stunned, Tareth slides down to a rest against the stone. He felt utterly drained and filled with air, as if he might float away like a dust mote. No... no.... not yet, no rest yet.
* * * * *
He slept that night in the temple while the entrance of the building was guarded by a thick blanket of his explosives, and even the heavy oppression of the mists couldn't dampen his spirits the next day, or the next. Even when the last squad of undead came for him, he laid their poor bones to rest with a song... "Another one bites the dust."
As he walked, he chanted the words that would activate the amulet. Like he had read, it didn't work within the confines of the evil's power. He only needed to get sufficient distance between himself and the city before it finally did.
At last, he finally arrived at the Outback. The first item of business was to go promptly upstairs to his room and sleep for a good twelve hours. The next: get drunk and pass out on the couch, waiting for the challenges to take place and the next phase of his plan to begin... all the while telling himself not to think about the fact that he's only half-done.
----------=Thorn=----------
From: TarethThrn
Even though he'd read all the histories on the necromancers of Gothmorda, this new knowledge still amazed him.
At the very beginning, the sorcerers already knew of the opals of power... they knew that such things could harm them. In their vast planning, they knew what they needed to do.
SunCatcher was referred to here by name! Not only referenced, but banished... along with those who kept it. Here was chronicled their effort to strike down the order that kept it, and remove all trace and history of the white opal. That's why the names had been stricken from all the other records... that's why Tareth had such a difficult time finding any news of it whatsoever, and ultimately that's why Stormfist's quest was doomed from the outset.
Without SunCatcher and the power of light and purity, they never feared the rest.
Stunned, Tareth slides down to a rest against the stone. He felt utterly drained and filled with air, as if he might float away like a dust mote. No... no.... not yet, no rest yet.
* * * * *
He slept that night in the temple while the entrance of the building was guarded by a thick blanket of his explosives, and even the heavy oppression of the mists couldn't dampen his spirits the next day, or the next. Even when the last squad of undead came for him, he laid their poor bones to rest with a song... "Another one bites the dust."
As he walked, he chanted the words that would activate the amulet. Like he had read, it didn't work within the confines of the evil's power. He only needed to get sufficient distance between himself and the city before it finally did.
At last, he finally arrived at the Outback. The first item of business was to go promptly upstairs to his room and sleep for a good twelve hours. The next: get drunk and pass out on the couch, waiting for the challenges to take place and the next phase of his plan to begin... all the while telling himself not to think about the fact that he's only half-done.
----------=Thorn=----------
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((Opal SL- Tareth)) Naughty Deeds
Date: 1/16/2000 8:41 PM Central Daylight Time
From: TarethThrn
He hadn't had much time to sleep before the Outback was flooded by people the next evening.
Dreams that night were full gnashing teeth and bodiless claws as he helplessly floated in the midst of a gray, groundless plain. It was only right that he jumped when Kheldar came surreptitiously in, followed much less quietly by Goon and Kelli. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he saw Maetel just finishing up her dinner for the night by the couch he abandon in favor of his chair... which heaped another surprise on his already quickened heart.
How long had she been there? Damn cats and their stealthy ways.
During the afternoon of drinking he had donned the one item that was so crucial, and costly, to his plan that it nearly physically hurt just to look at it. Such were the ways of demon-made things, there was always more of a price than what one was told. The iron bracer was solid and heavy around his left wrist, it made him feel unbalanced. He had covered it with the sleeve of his fighting gi, and wrapped the usual ribbons well about it... not only
would it not do to raise questions about his new decoration, but just looking at the runes jaggedly etched into its surface like semi-random claw marks made him queasy. The only halfway normal-seeming things about it were the five clear beads imbedded in the underside, grouped unsymmetrically near where one might feel for a pulse.
For a while as he watched the duels progress, he could almost forget the nightmare he had just tread and the real peril of the rest of his plan. It was almost just another leisurely night at the Outback, jibing with some friends and beating on others. He even managed to eke out a few genuine grins before Tarl and Maetel finished with their challenge, and once again he had work to do.
----------=Thorn=----------
From: TarethThrn
He hadn't had much time to sleep before the Outback was flooded by people the next evening.
Dreams that night were full gnashing teeth and bodiless claws as he helplessly floated in the midst of a gray, groundless plain. It was only right that he jumped when Kheldar came surreptitiously in, followed much less quietly by Goon and Kelli. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he saw Maetel just finishing up her dinner for the night by the couch he abandon in favor of his chair... which heaped another surprise on his already quickened heart.
How long had she been there? Damn cats and their stealthy ways.
During the afternoon of drinking he had donned the one item that was so crucial, and costly, to his plan that it nearly physically hurt just to look at it. Such were the ways of demon-made things, there was always more of a price than what one was told. The iron bracer was solid and heavy around his left wrist, it made him feel unbalanced. He had covered it with the sleeve of his fighting gi, and wrapped the usual ribbons well about it... not only
would it not do to raise questions about his new decoration, but just looking at the runes jaggedly etched into its surface like semi-random claw marks made him queasy. The only halfway normal-seeming things about it were the five clear beads imbedded in the underside, grouped unsymmetrically near where one might feel for a pulse.
For a while as he watched the duels progress, he could almost forget the nightmare he had just tread and the real peril of the rest of his plan. It was almost just another leisurely night at the Outback, jibing with some friends and beating on others. He even managed to eke out a few genuine grins before Tarl and Maetel finished with their challenge, and once again he had work to do.
----------=Thorn=----------
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((Opal SL- Tareth)) Naughty Deeds -pt. 2
Date: 1/16/2000 8:44 PM Central Daylight Time
From: TarethThrn
One of his biggest fears through all of these nights of planning was what may happen when the transition of minds came. Surely a duelist that had just won a new prize wouldn't notice too much of a difference once the demon-bracer had pulled the consciousness mind, the "soul" from the opal... leaving the power and gem behind, unharmed. Surely the tricks they could pull would still work, although without the stone's
thought to guide it... the real power would remain dormant. No, a newcomer to the opal wouldn't connect Tareth with the malfunction.
Someone like Tarl would though, having been so close to the stone for so long. When Goon announced Tarl successful in once again defending his hold on MoonBeryl, Tareth's stomach sank into his knees. Jaycy's plan hadn't completely worked, which put somewhat of a damper on his own. But it was much too late to stop now.
Putting on the best grin he can manage, he offers a congratulatory handshake to Tarl... who promptly takes it. Keeping a good eye on Tarl's face, he comments on the chances at the Diamond Quest, keeping the contact going for a moment. He has no idea of how long these things take, only what he was told, that physical contact was needed.
Underneath the black fabric of his uniform one of the tiny transparent beads fills quickly with a yellow smoke.
He backed slowly away, waiting for a shock of lighting... a booming voice proclaiming the deed done or something of that effect. Even when none of those present themselves, he watches Tarl for some sign of change, some reaction to his deed.
But Kelli relieves him, stepping in to distract Tarl with her own brand of congratulations. Saved, he quickly drops back, retreating to his chair with a beating heart and a nearly shattered mask of outward-appearing calm. One down, four to go.
* * * * * *
It was well into the early morning before Kheldar and Kelli finally finished, and Tareth was sleeping in his chair. It was to be expected after the past week.
He managed to catch Kheldar at the door on his way out, and shake hands with him as well. The second soul-swap went without too much of a hitch... both Tareth and Kheldar were numb with sleepiness, and the worry of a veteran opal-holder didn't apply. Another small bead was consumed with colored mist... green.
After everyone had departed, he lugged his body up the stairs and into his own room. Once there he could strip off the covering, risking nausea and worse to look at his prize... the two gems' souls trapped within his bracer.
"I'm sorry we had to do it this way... " whispering, lest any of his neighbors hear. "But I need your help." Distantly, he could feel something sharp, like a splinter in his side. Anger, hatred and a firm denial... such a thing could only be coming from the two small colored beads. Somehow, this small trace of life and communication made him feel somewhat soothed... all this wasn't for nothing.
Leaning forward, he tapped one fingernail on the small swirling gems. His next words caught the two off their guard, only obvious by their sudden silence for a long time afterward.
"We're going to find your brother, SunCatcher."
----------=Thorn=----------
From: TarethThrn
One of his biggest fears through all of these nights of planning was what may happen when the transition of minds came. Surely a duelist that had just won a new prize wouldn't notice too much of a difference once the demon-bracer had pulled the consciousness mind, the "soul" from the opal... leaving the power and gem behind, unharmed. Surely the tricks they could pull would still work, although without the stone's
thought to guide it... the real power would remain dormant. No, a newcomer to the opal wouldn't connect Tareth with the malfunction.
Someone like Tarl would though, having been so close to the stone for so long. When Goon announced Tarl successful in once again defending his hold on MoonBeryl, Tareth's stomach sank into his knees. Jaycy's plan hadn't completely worked, which put somewhat of a damper on his own. But it was much too late to stop now.
Putting on the best grin he can manage, he offers a congratulatory handshake to Tarl... who promptly takes it. Keeping a good eye on Tarl's face, he comments on the chances at the Diamond Quest, keeping the contact going for a moment. He has no idea of how long these things take, only what he was told, that physical contact was needed.
Underneath the black fabric of his uniform one of the tiny transparent beads fills quickly with a yellow smoke.
He backed slowly away, waiting for a shock of lighting... a booming voice proclaiming the deed done or something of that effect. Even when none of those present themselves, he watches Tarl for some sign of change, some reaction to his deed.
But Kelli relieves him, stepping in to distract Tarl with her own brand of congratulations. Saved, he quickly drops back, retreating to his chair with a beating heart and a nearly shattered mask of outward-appearing calm. One down, four to go.
* * * * * *
It was well into the early morning before Kheldar and Kelli finally finished, and Tareth was sleeping in his chair. It was to be expected after the past week.
He managed to catch Kheldar at the door on his way out, and shake hands with him as well. The second soul-swap went without too much of a hitch... both Tareth and Kheldar were numb with sleepiness, and the worry of a veteran opal-holder didn't apply. Another small bead was consumed with colored mist... green.
After everyone had departed, he lugged his body up the stairs and into his own room. Once there he could strip off the covering, risking nausea and worse to look at his prize... the two gems' souls trapped within his bracer.
"I'm sorry we had to do it this way... " whispering, lest any of his neighbors hear. "But I need your help." Distantly, he could feel something sharp, like a splinter in his side. Anger, hatred and a firm denial... such a thing could only be coming from the two small colored beads. Somehow, this small trace of life and communication made him feel somewhat soothed... all this wasn't for nothing.
Leaning forward, he tapped one fingernail on the small swirling gems. His next words caught the two off their guard, only obvious by their sudden silence for a long time afterward.
"We're going to find your brother, SunCatcher."
----------=Thorn=----------
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((Opal SL- Tareth)) Naughty Deeds -pt. 3
Date: 1/16/2000 8:45 PM Central Daylight Time
From: TarethThrn
Upon waking the next day and wandering down the staircase, he encountered Jaycy. Before he could open his mouth, she curtly informed him that Matt had successfully defended ShadoWeaver last night while he was sleeping, and continued on whatever errand drove her.
With a frustrated grunt, he switched courses and came back up the stairs. He knew which door used to house all the holo-matrix equipment from back when he was new here, and had filled his time by making note of such strange things as extreme power consumption and strange noises during the night. Perhaps the real Matt Simon stayed there... he could only be so lucky.
It was indeed so, a groggy colonel answered his firm knock. Hastily, he offered congratulations on the victory and got the needed handshake. Extreme luck was again on his side as he was pardoned from having to beat an awkward escape as Rask came looking for him, allowing Matt to disappear back into his room without much more interaction.
"Hello."
Blinking, he halted in the midst of the final step to the floor. It wasn't Rask's voice he'd just heard, this was definitely female... and from the sound of it, very near. Eyes shift over both shoulders, finding nothing.
"Coming?" This time it was Rask, holding open his office door. Finishing his paranoid moment, Tareth steps inside and takes a seat.
"I know you."
Rask was in the middle of explaining something when the voice returned, again sounding like the speaker was hovering just above his head. Tareth let it pass, trying to focus on what Rask was saying. He would deal with delusions later.
"... and this is not to be publicly known, am I clear?" It was the first time Tareth had even heard anything near that tone with Rask, this was obviously that important.
"Yeah, fine, I'm good with that." He was already itching to get moving, and his mind was wandering along the strings of his web, that plan of his. It wasn't until Rask mentioned Harris that he really paid attention.
Harris! In the midst of all that had happened, Tareth had forgotten his own challenge for FireStar. Someone else was solving his problems for him... he must have some sort of guardian angel sitting in his lap for this whole ordeal... perhaps that's whose voice he kept hearing?
He caught himself wandering again when Rask paused to give him a funny look and ask if he was okay. Nodding, Tareth motioned him to continue.
Harris was nowhere to be found, and the rules granted Tareth the victory by forfeit. However, as Harris was gone... someone had to be sent to collect FireStar. If he wasn't going to be at home that created a problem, one that Tareth was uniquely qualified for.
"I get it," was all he had to say, and that took care of the meeting.
----------=Thorn=----------
From: TarethThrn
Upon waking the next day and wandering down the staircase, he encountered Jaycy. Before he could open his mouth, she curtly informed him that Matt had successfully defended ShadoWeaver last night while he was sleeping, and continued on whatever errand drove her.
With a frustrated grunt, he switched courses and came back up the stairs. He knew which door used to house all the holo-matrix equipment from back when he was new here, and had filled his time by making note of such strange things as extreme power consumption and strange noises during the night. Perhaps the real Matt Simon stayed there... he could only be so lucky.
It was indeed so, a groggy colonel answered his firm knock. Hastily, he offered congratulations on the victory and got the needed handshake. Extreme luck was again on his side as he was pardoned from having to beat an awkward escape as Rask came looking for him, allowing Matt to disappear back into his room without much more interaction.
"Hello."
Blinking, he halted in the midst of the final step to the floor. It wasn't Rask's voice he'd just heard, this was definitely female... and from the sound of it, very near. Eyes shift over both shoulders, finding nothing.
"Coming?" This time it was Rask, holding open his office door. Finishing his paranoid moment, Tareth steps inside and takes a seat.
"I know you."
Rask was in the middle of explaining something when the voice returned, again sounding like the speaker was hovering just above his head. Tareth let it pass, trying to focus on what Rask was saying. He would deal with delusions later.
"... and this is not to be publicly known, am I clear?" It was the first time Tareth had even heard anything near that tone with Rask, this was obviously that important.
"Yeah, fine, I'm good with that." He was already itching to get moving, and his mind was wandering along the strings of his web, that plan of his. It wasn't until Rask mentioned Harris that he really paid attention.
Harris! In the midst of all that had happened, Tareth had forgotten his own challenge for FireStar. Someone else was solving his problems for him... he must have some sort of guardian angel sitting in his lap for this whole ordeal... perhaps that's whose voice he kept hearing?
He caught himself wandering again when Rask paused to give him a funny look and ask if he was okay. Nodding, Tareth motioned him to continue.
Harris was nowhere to be found, and the rules granted Tareth the victory by forfeit. However, as Harris was gone... someone had to be sent to collect FireStar. If he wasn't going to be at home that created a problem, one that Tareth was uniquely qualified for.
"I get it," was all he had to say, and that took care of the meeting.
----------=Thorn=----------
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((Opal SL- Tareth)) Naughty Deeds -pt. 4
Date: 1/16/2000 8:48 PM Central Daylight Time
From: TarethThrn
"Why have you done this?" It was the voice again, the sound of which sliced through his consciousness like sunlight on the eyes of a sleeper.
He was well on his way to where Harris was last known to live and, had plenty of time to think about many things so far. Matt had always referred to ShadoWeaver as "she", and supposedly this opal was responsible for the realm of the spirit. He had expected ShadoWeaver to lead the five in helping him, though he didn't know exactly how. By now he was fairly waiting to pounce the next time the voice showed up.
"ShadoWeaver, I presume?" He spoke aloud to the trees and squirrels of the path he walked on, mainly because he didn't really know of any other way to do it.
"Such is the name I have been called in this latter time." Once one got past the cold clarity of the voice, it was shatteringly beautiful. His breath caught in a lump of guilt at his actions for a moment... but only a moment.
"Why have you done this?" she repeated. Funny, her voice didn't cause the animals to stop and look as his did.
"Haven't you talked to the others?" It didn't really occur to him that he was talking to himself, or even that such a thing might be considered odd... only that he was finally, heartrendingly near to his goal.
"Yes. They have told me of a SunCatcher, that you named our brother. We do not know this Sun-Catcher. Do you refer to Storm-Fist, the weak mortal we destroyed not long ago... Khorien he called himself, or another by mistake?"
"Ah... give me a moment eh?" Pausing in the center of the path, he listened intently. Only silence greeted him. It seemed they were much more polite than he was.
Breaking and entering was how most thieves get started, and he was a veteran at it by now. Not too long later FireStar was riding in his pocket, and another of the small beads was colored red.
* * * * * *
"You still there?" He tapped on the bracer, seeing if that would get her attention again. Good ol' reliable, the rucksack, leaned precariously to one side on his bed, full and ready to go.
"Yes, mortal, what do you wish?" There was venom in her voice this time. Combined with the beauty it marred, the sound stirred sadness in his heart.
"Sorry. Is this a bad time?"
"You... " she paused, as if searching for the right word, "... stole us. We are unhomed. Now another has been torn from themself, and you are responsible."
If their plan was to make him feel guilty, it was working impeccably.
"It's time to go," he sighed. Pulling the hat over his head and giving it a twist to make it fit right, he adds, "IceDancer won't be joining us. Nobody's seen Dizzy."
There was no answer.
"C'mon guys," again tapping on the bracer, it seemed to do some good every other time.
"We have told you, we do not know this Sun-Catcher. Let us go," resolute, to say the least.
Undeterred by their uncooperative response, he pulls the pack up to his shoulder and heads out the door.
----------=Thorn=----------
From: TarethThrn
"Why have you done this?" It was the voice again, the sound of which sliced through his consciousness like sunlight on the eyes of a sleeper.
He was well on his way to where Harris was last known to live and, had plenty of time to think about many things so far. Matt had always referred to ShadoWeaver as "she", and supposedly this opal was responsible for the realm of the spirit. He had expected ShadoWeaver to lead the five in helping him, though he didn't know exactly how. By now he was fairly waiting to pounce the next time the voice showed up.
"ShadoWeaver, I presume?" He spoke aloud to the trees and squirrels of the path he walked on, mainly because he didn't really know of any other way to do it.
"Such is the name I have been called in this latter time." Once one got past the cold clarity of the voice, it was shatteringly beautiful. His breath caught in a lump of guilt at his actions for a moment... but only a moment.
"Why have you done this?" she repeated. Funny, her voice didn't cause the animals to stop and look as his did.
"Haven't you talked to the others?" It didn't really occur to him that he was talking to himself, or even that such a thing might be considered odd... only that he was finally, heartrendingly near to his goal.
"Yes. They have told me of a SunCatcher, that you named our brother. We do not know this Sun-Catcher. Do you refer to Storm-Fist, the weak mortal we destroyed not long ago... Khorien he called himself, or another by mistake?"
"Ah... give me a moment eh?" Pausing in the center of the path, he listened intently. Only silence greeted him. It seemed they were much more polite than he was.
Breaking and entering was how most thieves get started, and he was a veteran at it by now. Not too long later FireStar was riding in his pocket, and another of the small beads was colored red.
* * * * * *
"You still there?" He tapped on the bracer, seeing if that would get her attention again. Good ol' reliable, the rucksack, leaned precariously to one side on his bed, full and ready to go.
"Yes, mortal, what do you wish?" There was venom in her voice this time. Combined with the beauty it marred, the sound stirred sadness in his heart.
"Sorry. Is this a bad time?"
"You... " she paused, as if searching for the right word, "... stole us. We are unhomed. Now another has been torn from themself, and you are responsible."
If their plan was to make him feel guilty, it was working impeccably.
"It's time to go," he sighed. Pulling the hat over his head and giving it a twist to make it fit right, he adds, "IceDancer won't be joining us. Nobody's seen Dizzy."
There was no answer.
"C'mon guys," again tapping on the bracer, it seemed to do some good every other time.
"We have told you, we do not know this Sun-Catcher. Let us go," resolute, to say the least.
Undeterred by their uncooperative response, he pulls the pack up to his shoulder and heads out the door.
----------=Thorn=----------
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((Opal SL- Tareth)) Naughty Deeds -pt. 5
Date: 1/16/2000 8:49 PM Central Daylight Time
From: TarethThrn
"Why have you done this?" It was the voice again, the sound of which sliced through his consciousness like sunlight on the eyes of a sleeper.
He was well on his way to where Harris was last known to live and, had plenty of time to think about many things so far. Matt had always referred to ShadoWeaver as "she", and supposedly this opal was responsible for the realm of the spirit. He had expected ShadoWeaver to lead the five in helping him, though he didn't know exactly how. By now he was fairly waiting to pounce the next time the voice showed up.
"ShadoWeaver, I presume?" He spoke aloud to the trees and squirrels of the path he walked on, mainly because he didn't really know of any other way to do it.
"Such is the name I have been called in this latter time." Once one got past the cold clarity of the voice, it was shatteringly beautiful. His breath caught in a lump of guilt at his actions for a moment... but only a moment.
"Why have you done this?" she repeated. Funny, her voice didn't cause the animals to stop and look as his did.
"Haven't you talked to the others?" It didn't really occur to him that he was talking to himself, or even that such a thing might be considered odd... only that he was finally, heartrendingly near to his goal.
"Yes. They have told me of a SunCatcher, that you named our brother. We do not know this Sun-Catcher. Do you refer to Storm-Fist, the weak mortal we destroyed not long ago... Khorien he called himself, or another by mistake?"
"Ah... give me a moment eh?" Pausing in the center of the path, he listened intently. Only silence greeted him. It seemed they were much more polite than he was.
Breaking and entering was how most thieves get started, and he was a veteran at it by now. Not too long later FireStar was riding in his pocket, and another of the small beads was colored red.
* * * * * *
"You still there?" He tapped on the bracer, seeing if that would get her attention again. Good ol' reliable, the rucksack, leaned precariously to one side on his bed, full and ready to go.
"Yes, mortal, what do you wish?" There was venom in her voice this time. Combined with the beauty it marred, the sound stirred sadness in his heart.
"Sorry. Is this a bad time?"
"You... " she paused, as if searching for the right word, "... stole us. We are unhomed. Now another has been torn from themself, and you are responsible."
If their plan was to make him feel guilty, it was working impeccably.
A few curse words escape him as he checks the clock on the Outback wall before he leaves, time was definitely running short.
His options were at an all-time low, needing a place to go but not having one. It was disheartening to feel so close. Didn't he have all the ingredients? Hadn't he done enough? Maybe IceDancer was the key... it had to be. It felt as though the white opal was just beyond one pane of glass in a room full of mirrors, and he just didn't know which one.
Idly, he sets his bag on a table and plops into his chair. With a sigh, he can only hope to sit here and wait for the Quest to start, a failure.
Growing quickly bored of picking at a splinter with his fingernail, he pulls out the rubbings of the keystone in Gothmorda... one of his few successes in all this. Lips move silently as he speaks the words in his mind; gazachkee il metturdura, a-vec tundoi ta-stiridum... the telling of the Order of the Sacred Hand, keepers of the white opal.
Surprisingly, even after he ceases to read voices continues in his head. Eirenditu ka-moloi, a-karakas et sikkhaad... the words spiral higher, joined in synchronous excitement. A captive in his own brain, he can only hide in the corner as this mad whirlwind continues to tell the tale of the spirits that sing it, trapped in Gothmorda with the fountain of malicious intent. Something of the necromancers had carried through... and as they lay trapped there, victims of a hopeless crusade, those spirits sang to them of death and decay, those who would never know such things. In that black time they forgot their lost part, clinging only to one another.
The cadence slowly sinks, Tareth finally gains control of his own actions again. He slowly blinks eyes that had been open for far too long, the reaction bringing quick tears.
"We will help you find our brother, who you call SunCatcher."
----------=Thorn=----------
From: TarethThrn
"Why have you done this?" It was the voice again, the sound of which sliced through his consciousness like sunlight on the eyes of a sleeper.
He was well on his way to where Harris was last known to live and, had plenty of time to think about many things so far. Matt had always referred to ShadoWeaver as "she", and supposedly this opal was responsible for the realm of the spirit. He had expected ShadoWeaver to lead the five in helping him, though he didn't know exactly how. By now he was fairly waiting to pounce the next time the voice showed up.
"ShadoWeaver, I presume?" He spoke aloud to the trees and squirrels of the path he walked on, mainly because he didn't really know of any other way to do it.
"Such is the name I have been called in this latter time." Once one got past the cold clarity of the voice, it was shatteringly beautiful. His breath caught in a lump of guilt at his actions for a moment... but only a moment.
"Why have you done this?" she repeated. Funny, her voice didn't cause the animals to stop and look as his did.
"Haven't you talked to the others?" It didn't really occur to him that he was talking to himself, or even that such a thing might be considered odd... only that he was finally, heartrendingly near to his goal.
"Yes. They have told me of a SunCatcher, that you named our brother. We do not know this Sun-Catcher. Do you refer to Storm-Fist, the weak mortal we destroyed not long ago... Khorien he called himself, or another by mistake?"
"Ah... give me a moment eh?" Pausing in the center of the path, he listened intently. Only silence greeted him. It seemed they were much more polite than he was.
Breaking and entering was how most thieves get started, and he was a veteran at it by now. Not too long later FireStar was riding in his pocket, and another of the small beads was colored red.
* * * * * *
"You still there?" He tapped on the bracer, seeing if that would get her attention again. Good ol' reliable, the rucksack, leaned precariously to one side on his bed, full and ready to go.
"Yes, mortal, what do you wish?" There was venom in her voice this time. Combined with the beauty it marred, the sound stirred sadness in his heart.
"Sorry. Is this a bad time?"
"You... " she paused, as if searching for the right word, "... stole us. We are unhomed. Now another has been torn from themself, and you are responsible."
If their plan was to make him feel guilty, it was working impeccably.
A few curse words escape him as he checks the clock on the Outback wall before he leaves, time was definitely running short.
His options were at an all-time low, needing a place to go but not having one. It was disheartening to feel so close. Didn't he have all the ingredients? Hadn't he done enough? Maybe IceDancer was the key... it had to be. It felt as though the white opal was just beyond one pane of glass in a room full of mirrors, and he just didn't know which one.
Idly, he sets his bag on a table and plops into his chair. With a sigh, he can only hope to sit here and wait for the Quest to start, a failure.
Growing quickly bored of picking at a splinter with his fingernail, he pulls out the rubbings of the keystone in Gothmorda... one of his few successes in all this. Lips move silently as he speaks the words in his mind; gazachkee il metturdura, a-vec tundoi ta-stiridum... the telling of the Order of the Sacred Hand, keepers of the white opal.
Surprisingly, even after he ceases to read voices continues in his head. Eirenditu ka-moloi, a-karakas et sikkhaad... the words spiral higher, joined in synchronous excitement. A captive in his own brain, he can only hide in the corner as this mad whirlwind continues to tell the tale of the spirits that sing it, trapped in Gothmorda with the fountain of malicious intent. Something of the necromancers had carried through... and as they lay trapped there, victims of a hopeless crusade, those spirits sang to them of death and decay, those who would never know such things. In that black time they forgot their lost part, clinging only to one another.
The cadence slowly sinks, Tareth finally gains control of his own actions again. He slowly blinks eyes that had been open for far too long, the reaction bringing quick tears.
"We will help you find our brother, who you call SunCatcher."
----------=Thorn=----------
-
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((Opal SL- Tareth)) Naughty Deeds -pt. 6
Date: 1/16/2000 8:51 PM Central Daylight Time
From: TarethThrn
The journey would have taken months under normal circumstances, even by his flying carpet. By virtue of a conjurer at the local inn, they were able to make it there in a matter of moments.
There weren't that many branches of the Order of the Sacred Hand, and they had shrouded themselves in so many layers of obscurity it was doubtful that Tareth would have ever tracked down which branch he sought in his lifetime. With the opals to guide him in his decisions, via ShadoWeaver's commentary, it was much easier.
The sensation of warp-jumping was entirely new to him, and more than anything else it made him wish he hadn't had so much scotch last night, and grateful that there wasn't any breakfast in his stomach to lose. What made it infinitely worse was jumping, getting a word or two from her, jumping again... and so forth, scraping a dotted line across the multiverse.
When the mists cleared the final time, he stood in a field of alabaster grain stretching as far as the eye could see. It was almost disturbing to note that the horizon didn't curve here as it did back on Earth.
Turning, he caught sight of a lonely building. His first thought was "Remember the Alamo!", the second, "Burrito to go", for it looked like nothing so much as a Taco Bell on the Arizona boarder... all stucco and curves with a bell mounted in the front archway.
"We've been expecting you." The voice, not ShadoWeaver's, made him leap sideways. A tiny woman with bright eyes, a white robe and a matching cowl laughed titteringly from his only unchecked quadrant.
"You've what?" Tareth stammered, lost. Somehow, this entire place made one feel as if time didn't exist and they were standing in pudding. It fairly urged one to talk softly and walk slowly.
"Show respect," from ShadoWeaver, "she is one to be venerated." He wanted to ask how she knew that, but a glance at the sun as it sat low on the plain, although in no way indicative of the actual time in Rhydin, only reminded him of his limited time frame.
Again, the small woman chuckled. "Come inside, he's waiting for you." And she moved off in front of him, her robe making the grain rustle in a soft, soothing swish.
"He? Who? Ahh hell... " He starts to run and halts, realizing he just cursed in what's likely to be a holy place... shrugs, and again tries to make up the lead the small one had on him.
* * * * * *
The small woman turned on him, halting at the doorway.
"You will no longer need such... devices." With two outstretched fingers, she gestures to his left wrist. Black fabric, once strained taut at the burden underneath it, suddenly droops loose as the bracer melts into nothingness. A fluttering, wild and elusive, beats at the pit of his stomach as the four captured essences cycle 'round his head... free. in a blink, they're gone.
Tareth opens his mouth, pauses, and closes it. It's best not to question someone with the obvious power to simply melt away something beyond the ability of anyone he's ever heard of to create. Done, she nods and puts a hand on his back, guiding him inside the small building.
"Wait here, I shall fetch him for you." He didn't even turn to watch her go.
Many, many candles burn on every sort of alcove, shelf, and surface of the room... but what really catches the eye is the treasure spilt about everywhere else. Not coins, not ordinary jewels or valuables, treasure. Here a breastplate, thick with ancient elven carving. There a sword so heavy with enchantment it glows brighter than the candles. All about lay every manner of item... gauntlets, goblets, staves, wings, brooches, crosses... and all of
them no doubt simmering with inherent magic.
A soft touch on his shoulder brings his attention back to the present, and the woman's small hand cupping a brightly glittering opal. She holds it outstretched for him to take.
"You're just... giving it to me?"
Her gentle laugh trickles down his spine like a cup of cold water. "Well what did you think? Did you think to try and steal it, or to take it by force?" Again she laughs. "My friend, were you not meant to have this you never would have found us."
Not one to question luck or fate too much, he gingerly accepts the stone, sliding it into his pocket where it clinks against FireStar with a happy chime. Also not one to fidget, he sketches a courtly bow, backing out the door. He didn't want to find out who the others were in "us", not today.
"Remember, we have our eye on your Outback. Use them all responsibly." Lifting her arm, she waves to the back of one Tareth Thorn, who's running as quickly to his warp hole as possible. He's almost late for the ball.
----------=Thorn=----------
From: TarethThrn
The journey would have taken months under normal circumstances, even by his flying carpet. By virtue of a conjurer at the local inn, they were able to make it there in a matter of moments.
There weren't that many branches of the Order of the Sacred Hand, and they had shrouded themselves in so many layers of obscurity it was doubtful that Tareth would have ever tracked down which branch he sought in his lifetime. With the opals to guide him in his decisions, via ShadoWeaver's commentary, it was much easier.
The sensation of warp-jumping was entirely new to him, and more than anything else it made him wish he hadn't had so much scotch last night, and grateful that there wasn't any breakfast in his stomach to lose. What made it infinitely worse was jumping, getting a word or two from her, jumping again... and so forth, scraping a dotted line across the multiverse.
When the mists cleared the final time, he stood in a field of alabaster grain stretching as far as the eye could see. It was almost disturbing to note that the horizon didn't curve here as it did back on Earth.
Turning, he caught sight of a lonely building. His first thought was "Remember the Alamo!", the second, "Burrito to go", for it looked like nothing so much as a Taco Bell on the Arizona boarder... all stucco and curves with a bell mounted in the front archway.
"We've been expecting you." The voice, not ShadoWeaver's, made him leap sideways. A tiny woman with bright eyes, a white robe and a matching cowl laughed titteringly from his only unchecked quadrant.
"You've what?" Tareth stammered, lost. Somehow, this entire place made one feel as if time didn't exist and they were standing in pudding. It fairly urged one to talk softly and walk slowly.
"Show respect," from ShadoWeaver, "she is one to be venerated." He wanted to ask how she knew that, but a glance at the sun as it sat low on the plain, although in no way indicative of the actual time in Rhydin, only reminded him of his limited time frame.
Again, the small woman chuckled. "Come inside, he's waiting for you." And she moved off in front of him, her robe making the grain rustle in a soft, soothing swish.
"He? Who? Ahh hell... " He starts to run and halts, realizing he just cursed in what's likely to be a holy place... shrugs, and again tries to make up the lead the small one had on him.
* * * * * *
The small woman turned on him, halting at the doorway.
"You will no longer need such... devices." With two outstretched fingers, she gestures to his left wrist. Black fabric, once strained taut at the burden underneath it, suddenly droops loose as the bracer melts into nothingness. A fluttering, wild and elusive, beats at the pit of his stomach as the four captured essences cycle 'round his head... free. in a blink, they're gone.
Tareth opens his mouth, pauses, and closes it. It's best not to question someone with the obvious power to simply melt away something beyond the ability of anyone he's ever heard of to create. Done, she nods and puts a hand on his back, guiding him inside the small building.
"Wait here, I shall fetch him for you." He didn't even turn to watch her go.
Many, many candles burn on every sort of alcove, shelf, and surface of the room... but what really catches the eye is the treasure spilt about everywhere else. Not coins, not ordinary jewels or valuables, treasure. Here a breastplate, thick with ancient elven carving. There a sword so heavy with enchantment it glows brighter than the candles. All about lay every manner of item... gauntlets, goblets, staves, wings, brooches, crosses... and all of
them no doubt simmering with inherent magic.
A soft touch on his shoulder brings his attention back to the present, and the woman's small hand cupping a brightly glittering opal. She holds it outstretched for him to take.
"You're just... giving it to me?"
Her gentle laugh trickles down his spine like a cup of cold water. "Well what did you think? Did you think to try and steal it, or to take it by force?" Again she laughs. "My friend, were you not meant to have this you never would have found us."
Not one to question luck or fate too much, he gingerly accepts the stone, sliding it into his pocket where it clinks against FireStar with a happy chime. Also not one to fidget, he sketches a courtly bow, backing out the door. He didn't want to find out who the others were in "us", not today.
"Remember, we have our eye on your Outback. Use them all responsibly." Lifting her arm, she waves to the back of one Tareth Thorn, who's running as quickly to his warp hole as possible. He's almost late for the ball.
----------=Thorn=----------