Welcome Guest [Log In] [Register]
Welcome to Imythess, the border between dreams and reality. We hope you enjoy your visit.

Imythess is a creative writing board where you narrate the story of a character in the medieval land of Imythess, on the planet Chaon. Each topic is an opportunity for your character to interact with the world and its peoples by cooperatively writing pieces of a story with other members, one post at a time. We call this role-playing, because you assume the identity of your character as if it were your own.

In order to play, you must register an account for each character you would like to write about, and begin their tale by filling out their basic profile information: Race (human, elf, demon, etc.), class (warrior, mage, etc.), physical appearance, and any other personal details you would like to describe. You are also encouraged to come up with some background history information for what your character's life has been like up to the point at which their story in Imythess begins.

There is no approval process or application required to join, so long as you follow the rules then you are free to write whatever character details you choose. Registration is simple, fast, and completely free.


Create a character now!


If you're already a member, you can log into your account below:


Username:   Password:
Reply
Dangers of the Road
Topic Started: Mon Dec 1, 2014 3:35 am (1,486 Views)
Garold
Member Avatar


"I'm telling you, it's a dangerous time to travel, Mister..."

"Garold would do," he replied amiably, placing his satchel on the back of the wagon. The rest of the storage space was taken up with wares, barrels and boxes and crates, the contents of which were surely incredibly boring yet incredibly necessary. His own, battered, leather pack looked quite out of place among the neatly organized supplies. The simple motion sent a wave of pain radiating down from his shoulder, through his elbow and to his wrist, and back again. Garold drew in a quick breath, air hissing between his teeth.

Oh, Warren. You stole so much from me.

"Well, ah, Mister Garold... I'm just trying to tell you that the roads through the woods have been, erm, dodgy of late..." The wagoner wrung his hands together nervously. "People have been disappearing on the trip, whole wagons actually, so I wasn't expecting any passengers... It's why I took on so much cargo."

"I don't take up much space," he reassured the man, walking around to the front of the wagon. Well, in all honestly, he hobbled. Everything physical was a chore now, from the moment he woke up to when he finally laid his head down to rest. When he eventually reached the front of the wagon, the sight of the steps leading up to the seat was quite disheartening. His knees creaked just looking at the climb. Garold sighed and started to haul himself up, each and every motion sparking a cascade of complaints throughout his body. His old, decrepit, aged body.

"Are... are you sure?"

"Quite sure, young man." The title felt clumsy on his tongue, out of place, but he managed to spit it out. Garold finally hauled himself onto the hard plank of wood. It was just as uncomfortable as it looked. He shifted his butt back and forth, searching for the perfect spot, but it proved to be completely nonexistent. With another sigh he made a makeshift cushion out of his cloak. It didn't help much, but it was something. "Now, how long will it be before we depart?"

"Ah... soon, sir. Ten minutes." The wagoner looked back towards the rest of the caravan. There were four carts in the group, each of them similarly laden with supplies and getting hitched for the trip through Norwood. "Just some last minute preparations..."

"Feel free to make them, then. I will be fine right here." Garold drew a thick tome out from underneath his cloak, flipping it open to his bookmark. "I have quite a lot of catching up to do, after all," he muttered to himself.
Offline Profile Quote To Top
 
Ammeldi
Member Avatar


This wasn’t his usual type of assignment. He much preferred being completely invisible, out of sight and out of mind of those that would do him harm. He supposed he could have walked; it certainly would have been his preference, and he would have been well away from whatever dangers the forest had held of late. But it would not have told him everything that he needed to know. The whole point of this quest was unfortunately to uncover the nature of the disappearances, and that didn’t just include the kidnapping of random people. This much cargo going missing in so short a time…it meant something big was occurring in the Norwood - something that the Elves of the Woodland Realm couldn’t handle alone. Their scouts were known, it seemed.

Liam Dem was not.

The third back in the column of wagons, he was nothing special and it showed. The frigid air of early December had cast a thin film of frost across the ground, the trees, the bushes…everything glittered silvery-white with just the slightest hint of blue as the light hit it. From his black boots and the dark-brown shirt of cotton tucked into the color-matched breeches of leather he wore to his slightly lighter-brown vest, overcoat, poncho, and black cattleman’s hat, he was as much a common driver as he was an Elf of the Night. A simple band of black was around that hat, holding a turkey’s feather securely in place. The dark-green scarf he wore not only protected his face but hid the shape of his ears as well, and a pair of brown leather gloves kept his hands warm but allowed his fingers to deftly handle whatever they needed to.

Winter had come down from the mountains of Imythess at last, yet it was only just beginning. The pair of horses affixed to his wagon were fine steeds but common enough. He eyed the other drivers when he could and the man leading the wagon train without drawing too much attention to himself. He had done this sort of thing for the vast majority of his life, a full half-century and half-a-decade beside now, and he was in no way a novice at it as a result. This was really more of a job than a quest, come to think of it, but that was always the way. There was always another job, always another purse of gold jingling for him at the end, and always another accord for absolute secrecy.

Information was an expensive thing, and gathering it was a dangerous business indeed.

The addition of the old man to the column was an unexpected arrival but not entirely surprising. Those who sought safety or comfort in numbers often traveled the roads with merchants. But this was a dangerous time to be doing so. By the man's words, he was either more capable of handling himself than he first seemed to be or naive regarding dangers of traveling in this age. The first thing that came to mind was a caster of spells. Yet the way he moved and spoke - not the words or actions themselves, mind, but the pace and the tone - indicated that he might not be quite as powerful or dangerous (or even self-assured) as he would have liked others to believe that he was. He might become a liability rather quickly. However, Liam was not here to judge or to become anyone's savior. As far as the wagons and their drivers were concerned, he was just here to transport crates and barrels of good trade value.
Edited by Ammeldi, Tue Dec 9, 2014 10:33 pm.
Offline Profile Quote To Top
 
Garold
Member Avatar


Garold squinted at the words on the page for almost the whole ten minutes before recalling why the words were so blurry. He sighed and took out his glasses, slipping them on. He'd bought the lenses in Istan City, but the wire frames were much older, a work by his one-tome colleague. The metal was inscribed with tiny, virtually invisible runes that allowed him to see magic in exquisite detail. At the moment he only needed them for help reading, but seeing mana was always useful.

The wagoner shortly joined him on the front seat, climbing into the spot with an ease that Garold couldn't help but resent. He spoke in a soothing tone the horses for a moment before cracking the reins. The equines whinnied and started forward, hauling the wagon behind them. Garold placed a finger on the page to keep his place and watched as the entire caravan got moving, leaving the clearing on the outskirts of the village and starting down the road. He had spent almost entire life in the southern desert and had found the sights and sounds of the forest quite disturbing at first. He’d been stuck in the small town for two days now and had grown more accustomed to them, but even now there was something sinister in the canopy overhead as the branches intertwined, cutting their view of the sky.

It was almost a different world within the trees. The light was muted, a rare beam of sunlight cutting through the layer of leaves to pierce the gloom. Sounds were muffled, dampened by the surrounding vegetation. When they turned a bend in the road that put the village out of sight they were as isolated as a castaway on an uninhabited island. Anything could happen here and no one would witness it but the trees and the birds.

Garold shivered at the thought and returned his attention to the book. It was a basic history of Imythess over the last several centuries, outlining the nationstates and their rise to prominence. He’d always had an interest in history, finding the subject fascinating. If there was one benefit to being stuck in extended stasis, it gave me plenty of new reading material… He chuckled to himself and continued to work his way through the thick work, only looking away when a bump in the road pulled him out of his study.

It was during one of these uncomfortable interruptions that he noticed something unusual. One of the trees they were passing had a glowing symbol on its bark. A tremulous strand of light stretched between it and another tree on the opposite side of the path, where an identical sigil rested. When the horses passed through the line it disappeared, the runes shifting from a soft green to angry red before disappearing. Garold frowned and closed his book, placing it back in his satchel and paying more attention to their surroundings. After five more minutes they came across another pair of symbols, which reacted in the same manner. What in the world are those? The wagoner hadn’t noticed anything, which suggested that outside of the magical spectrum the anomaly was invisible. He couldn’t guess at what the runes could be used for, besides tracking their progress…
Offline Profile Quote To Top
 
Ammeldi
Member Avatar


When the wagons had been given a final once-over by the lead merchant, he returned to his own wagon at the front of the column. A moment later, that wagon began to move. It took almost a full minute to get the entire column moving at a steady pace, though there were only a few wagons to be pulled; they took up a lot of space, the horses included, and the wagons were not carrying the lightest of loads. Liam’s own wagon was mostly alfalfa, and the smell was one that dwarfed all other scents; there was also some wine and ale to be transported. It hadn’t taken much to replace the driver of this particular wagon; he’d overslept, is all. The people to whom the wagon belonged would get it back before they even knew it was missing, most likely; that sleeping concoction he’d purchased from the witch in Striberg was very potent.

For Liam, the woodlands were nothing new and nothing special. He’d spent more time than he cared to admit in the Gloomwood, a vast sprawl of dark and twisted trees and other foliage that would most likely have overtaken the city had it not been for the living darkness itself preventing such aggressive encroachment. Being a Night Elf, he was more in tune with darkness than he was with any other element; his eyes could see far better in the darkest places throughout (and beneath) Imythess than any other Elf could. He preferred the darkness, quite honestly, but he could handle the light as need be. He had no problem with the under-lands that rested beneath the ground and streets of Imythess, unlike most other Elves, for he did not fear the darkness. He wasn’t completely comfortable out in the open, however, which made the trees that now surrounded him particularly comforting.

For the most part, the journey was quiet. There was little noise in these woods at the moment, for winter had quieted most creatures. At first, the Teu-Tel-Quessir noticed nothing out of the ordinary. But the longer he spent inside the woods, allowing his mind to wander and his thoughts to run rampant despite his peripheral observations of his surroundings, the more he noticed something peculiar. He couldn’t place it at first; it was just a feeling. It was…something…not quite right…something out of the ordinary. Someone more naïve than himself might have thought it was just a silly feeling that meant nothing. However, Liam had not lived this long in his trade without listening to his gut instincts.

It was well after the first bend in the road that he realized why he thought something was odd. Actually, the first time the thought crossed his mind, he dismissed it at once; but for some reason, the thought had come back to his mind again. He pondered it for a moment before dismissing it once more. It was as the first of the wagons began to turn along the winding road again, however, that he saw the man riding up front put away his book; he seemed very distracted all of a sudden and was looking at the trees with a peculiar gaze.

It was this sight that made the Elf look ponder that thought a third time, and the thought was this: what was out of the ordinary was the silence. Even at its quietest, there was always a distant sound in the ears of a forest-bound Elf. Things such as the shifting of a leaf or a branch, the distant babbling of a brook, or some faint call that no human could pick up on were all well within hearing range of any Elf with ears to hear. No forest was ever truly silent, regardless of what ignorant humans believed. “Eerily quiet” for a human was “usual sounds of the woodlands” for an Elf.

Yet he heard not a single sound save that which was made by the wagons and those they bore. Liam wasn’t at all perturbed by the thought that rangers and woodland Elves were most likely watching the wagons at this very moment; they almost certainly had been as soon as the wagons had been lined up and readied for travel just beyond the woodland veil. They were nigh invisible, those Elves (and rangers, if any were present); the forest was an Elf’s life-blood, as much a part of him as he was a part of the great circle of life. Very few people ever encountered the Elves that watched them, for very few people ever had a reason to - good or bad.

But even the Or-Tel-Quessir must think this very odd, Liam thought to himself in Elvish.
Offline Profile Quote To Top
 
Garold
Member Avatar


There wasn't much that Garold could so. Whatever the magical runes were, they didn't seem to be harming the horses or wagons. Besides, he had never been a subtle practitioner of the arts. Warren could have dissected the sigils like a surgeon, paring them down to their bones and diving their purpose. Julia could have subverted them with her own magic, turning them to her will and gathering a hint of their conjurer. Even in his prime, the best Garold could have hope to do was utterly destroy the symbols.

Still, their presence was alarming enough that he couldn't return to his book. The caravan continued on its way, their progress tracked by the invisible symbols. Garold considered sharing the information with the wagoner, but decided there was little point. It would simply spook the man and probably cause him to turn around. There was no telling when someone else would be willing to travel through the depths of the forest, especially with a stranger on board. If he wanted to make this trip in the relative comfort of a wagon, he would just have to keep his mouth shut.

Due to his diligence, Garold noticed the trap before it could be sprung. Nearly half an hour after first noticing the runes, they came out of a long bend in the road to a straight passage. The canopy was not quite so thick here, allowing more light through the trees. In the middle of the road a large circle had been drawn, its circumference lined with countless runes. Garold hissed and grabbed the driver's shoulder, squeezing tightly. "Stop the wagon!" His voice cracked with command.

To his credit, the wagoner responded quickly. After a moment of stunned silence he shouted at the horses in a clipped voice, pulling back on the reins. The beasts whinnied in protest but obeyed, stamping their hooves and snorting. They came to a stop a mere dozen feet back from the outskirts of the circle. There was a shout of alarm behind them as the next wagon was forced to turn aside to avoid ramming into them, moving partially off of the road. The driver turned to Garold with a confused expression. "What's the matter, grandfather?" He asked in a respectful tone.

The appellation stung, but there were more important matters to consider. "Just wait a moment," he said, struggling out of his seat and off of the wagon. He walked forward a few cautious steps, adjusting his glasses. Whoever inscribed the ward was a master. Mana flowed within the lines of the circle, pulsing slowly. He couldn't tell if it would trigger when someone came into contact with the surface or if it had to be activated manually, but in either case he didn't want to find out what happened when it triggered, especially not first-hand.

Getting out of the wagon was all that saved him.

There was a sound of sudden, violent movement from behind him. It was quickly followed by a sharp crack. Garold turned in time to see that the wagon he rode on topple onto its side, the boards groaning in protest. The horses neighed in fear as their leads dragged them to their knees, eyes panicked and mouths frothing. The driver scrambled out of his seat, looking dazed. Garold caught only a glimpse of something large and predatory as it jumped into the surrounding vegetation, disappearing as surely as a mirage. His mouth tasted sour. Well, it looks like we're about to discover what's been happening to travelers...
Offline Profile Quote To Top
 
Ammeldi
Member Avatar


When the shout came, his ears were distracted just in time to avoid the same turn as the wagon before him. Two more followed suit quickly, pulling just shy of crashing into the other wagons. The driver of the second wagon did not look pleased, and the drivers behind the Moon Elf were similarly disgruntled. Since all of their attention was on the wagon that had almost been turned on its side from the sudden stop and the Moon Elf was alone in his wagon, he was able to quietly slip out of sight completely and into the shadows of the trees.

It must have been the old man who’d called for the stop. He was staring at the woods now with no direction in particular in mind. There was nothing visible to Liam so it must be something of an arcane nature that had worried the old man enough to call for a stop. That certainly confirmed his original suspicion if it was true, and the old man might be of particular use in this situation if it was. Magic was an immensely useful tool, one that could be powerful and devastating or subtle and dangerous (or some mixture of such). But it wasn’t the old man that concerned the Moon Elf.

He smelled it before he saw it: a putrid, pungent stench that crept along at a glacial pace and struck his nostrils quite suddenly. It was as though he was being assaulted by all the waste of Taras at once. They at least had sewers. But this wasn’t a city-smell; no, this was more primal. It had a strong musk to it, whatever it was. Then he saw it: a blur, like a shadow in the night, striking so quickly that the wagon at the fore had no chance. The driver was just…gone. He blinked, stunned. What could do something like that?

Several possibilities came to him a moment later, werebeasts being among the most prominent in his mind. Forests were known to be perfect hiding places for werewolves in particular, as they provided a lot of easily obtainable prey. But a forest full of Elves with regular mercantile journeys along the winding woodland roads was a prime target for a pack of such creatures. Granted, werewolves were supposedly mostly solitary creatures, unlike their more natural (and much smaller) kin. He had never actually encountered a werewolf but he did know quite a bit about them. He liked to read, the Moon Elf; it kept him well-informed.

He looked at the ground to determine whether there were tracks. Some would have been left if it was a werewolf. But he saw no canine prints in the hard-packed dirt, nor did he see any claw marks - either upon the trees, the ground, or the wagon. Whatever this was, it was no werebeast. At least, it wasn’t any kind of werebeast that he had read about. Werebeasts always left marks - always - regardless of how faint or obscure they might be. That’s what the literature claimed, anyway.
Offline Profile Quote To Top
 
Garold
Member Avatar


In his youth, Garold had been quite the warrior. One of the aspects of combat that took the longest to acclimate to was its suddenness. There was an old axiom that claimed war was long periods of boredom punctuated by moments of sheer terror. What it didn't mention was how quickly it could shift from one to the next. In order to survive combat, you had to learn to shift your mental state in an instant, to be ready at any moment. Some men never got the hang of it. They rarely survived.

So Garold didn't waste the time it would take to be scared or confused. Instead he dropped into a spellcaster's stance, both hands raised in front of him, fingers splayed wide and slightly curled. He drew mana next. It felt like drawing water through a narrow straw, straining to pull any respectable amount of power into his body. At last the magical energy filled him, dancing through his bones in an exhilarating rush. Garold moved his arthritic hands through a complex series of motions, shaping the mana with his movements and mind simultaneously. He chanted the arcane words softly, each syllable harsh and brittle.

Ten burning motes of light burst into existence surrounding his hands, burning like miniature stars. The spell completed just in time. There was a shout from one of the wagons mid-way through the procession. A second later there was the terrible noise of shattering wood. Garold's eyes flicked back and forth, gauging the distance and estimating the speed of their assailant based on his earlier glimpse. He flicked two fingers on either hand. Four of the embers streaked forward, leaving a thin trail of smoke behind them. He angled them so that each would reach the wagon at the same time but at a different height, a web of sorts.

His timing was not perfect, but it was good enough. One of the embers struck the creature as it pounced back into the woods, hissing as it struck flesh. Garold's eyes widened in shock. The creature was like nothing he'd seen before. It reminded him of a bear in stature, but it was far too large. Its frame was covered in thick slabs of muscle that rippled underneath a scaly hide. Bony spikes protruded along its spine and covered its skull in a crown of jagged horns. Its eyes were large and yellow, with horizontally-slitted pupils. A monster.

In a flash it was gone again, disappearing into the undergrowth. Garold broke out in a cold sweat. "What was that?" The question was purely rhetorical, awed noise. The six remained embers danced around his hands erratically. Despite his fear, there was something that nettled him about the beast. The wagoner mentioned that entire wagons were vanishing, which suggested that there was a degree of planning going into the ambushes. The runes he's spotted on the road only strengthened that hypothesis. That meant that the creature wasn't the real threat, but rather whoever was controlling it.

Garold turned to scan the surrounding trees suspiciously, looking not for the beast but rather any glimmer of magic, any hint of the real enemy.
Offline Profile Quote To Top
 
Ammeldi
Member Avatar


His ears did not deceive him, for his peripheral vision confirmed what he had believed originally: the old man was a caster. There were no time for introductions, however, as old man’s spell took hold and launched itself at the beast as it came into view. He was ready at once, an evasive stance ready to throw him to one side or the other in a dodging roll at the slightest hint that the monster was coming his way. And that’s precisely what it was, too: a monster. Liam’s first thought was that it was some sort of over-sized lizard-man, yet he had never seen one quite like this. Tales told of lizard men hiding in jungles south of Imythess or in certain parts of the Istan Desert but nothing he had ever read or heard about had ever mentioned the Norwood Forest. The only reasonable conclusion was that someone (or something) had drawn the creature here.

The old man’s spell was potent and well-timed, striking at just the right places. The beast was driven off with an odd call that sent shivers down Liam’s Elven spine. It was somewhere between the pained bleating of a wounded goat, the shrill crying of a new-born infant, and the dying screech of some horrible inhuman…thing. He couldn’t describe it any better than that. It made his ears hurt. Whatever this thing was, it wasn’t a typical lizard-man. There was absolutely nothing typical about any of this, in fact.

But his hunch about the old man being a spell-caster had been correct, and now he had a sneaking suspicion that it wasn’t a thing but a person that had drawn the creature here. Who or what that person was, he did not know. Liam moved forward once the creature had fled beyond his line of sight once more, however, and knelt where the creature had been hit. He examined the scales; they were warm but it was the flesh attached to them that interested him; it was weak and stringy, as though it were the skin of someone taken severely ill. This creature was not in good health, which would most likely have made manipulating it a simple task indeed. That explained how it had been brought here, at least. He pocketed the severed scales for evidence to bring to his employer.

It seemed that the old man had the same idea that Liam did. Liam’s own eyes now searched the woods as well, seeking some sign of disturbance among them. He sought something that didn’t belong, something that no one else could see. At first, he saw nothing. Yet in one particular part of what lie within his Elven range of vision, a spot that he had passed over twice, the stillness of the moment and the uneasy silence that followed the old man’s question as to the nature of their attacker revealed something Liam couldn’t quite put his finger on. He saw it only for a moment - a slight disturbance in the air, like faint ripples upon a still lake - and then it was gone. He looked around again but saw nothing. Whatever it was, it had moved.

Liam thus moved closer to the caster, thinking to gain an ally in this fight. If the creature was indeed ill, it could be wounded; it had been wounded. And if it could be wounded, it could be killed. But if it could be killed, it certainly could not be killed by ordinary means. What arcane or infernal force now controlled this odd creature, he wondered? When he was close enough to speak quietly with the old man, he did so in Common.

”The creature is ill,” he said simply, ”and it is not alone.”

He would let the caster determine from that what he could.
Offline Profile Quote To Top
 
Garold
Member Avatar


A whispered voice from nearby distracted Garold. He turned and nearly fired off the rest of his fiery missiles before realizing that it was a member of the caravan. He wore a hat topped with a feather and a loose scarf that hid most of his face. He'd spotted him in the prepping area but didn't remember anything particularly noteworthy about him. That had changed. There was a sort of liquid readiness to his stance, an if he was prepared to spring in any direction in a moment's notice. It was not the bearing of a wagoner. That, along with the lack of fear in his voice, suggested he belonged here as little as Garold did. Interesting...

"I concur," he replied. "It is not the true threat. Someone led us to this place. A practitioner." He scowled and returned his attention to the woods. Damn this place! He was familiar with desert environments and knew all of the nooks and crannies where someone might hide. Those instincts were useless here. He was forced to rely on his magic alone. Once upon a time, he would have simply burned a wide swath of destruction through the forest, cooking their unseen ambushers and the monstrous creature alike. Now that was not an option and he was vulnerable.

It was not a feeling that he enjoyed.

"Quickly, off the road," he hissed, following his own advice. He followed his own advice and pushed into the pushes, shoving aside the branches that clutched at his clothes. The embers floated above his head and provided a sullen glow that helped him find his way. He hoped that the lizard-creature would continue to focus on the wagons of supplies and not the old man that had seared its flesh. If it chose to pursue him, he doubted he could do anything about it. Its mottled scales were the next best thing to invisibility in the lush vegetation. It could kill him in an instant, with the same amount of effort he would use to crush a bug.

A flicker of light caught his eyes. Garold honed in on the patch of shaky illumination, recognizing it as the glow of magic. It was in a roughly humanoid shape, the outline of the figure shifting. He watched it for a moment before moving his gaze elsewhere, not wanting to reveal that he spotted the anomaly. "Thirty degrees to our left," he murmured to his companion. "Around thirty feet. A magical cloak. What do you see?" He considered firing off his remaining missiles, but was worried that they would simply set the woods ablaze.
Edited by Garold, Mon Dec 15, 2014 6:13 pm.
Offline Profile Quote To Top
 
Ammeldi
Member Avatar


His upper body and head moved back quite fluidly indeed as the spell flew off toward him; he had expected such a thing. Liam was used to the dangers of the road, even if he wasn’t specifically a combative sort. Then again, there had been that dark period recently - his conflict against the Drow…but he couldn’t focus on that disturbing (and sadly recent) portion of his personal history now. He had to focus on the danger at hand. The old man’s searching gaze had outed him just as he had outed the old man. Both knew that neither was here simply to transport goods.

Liam nodded silently when the old man mentioned the trees. He would be invisible there anyway, his Elven heritage lending him the stealth he needed. The armor he wore beneath his outer attire helped to keep him warm but it would also protect him from minor attacks; his dexterity would protect him from the creature. He only hoped that it was enough. If it wasn’t…he’d rather not think about “if it wasn’t”, to be honest.

He moved into the trees with a grace only an Elf could possess. Even when they were old, the grace of the Elves was superior to that of any human or dwarf or gnome or hobbit. It was what truly set the Elves apart, other than the “beauty” that other races claimed they had. Moving through the shadows, he stayed near the old man but completely invisible to all but the most prying eyes. He was a Night Elf, after all - a Teu-Tel-Quessir. Stealth wasn’t just his forte; it was his way of life. While it was true that he hadn’t followed his father’s wishes by becoming a hunter or a warrior and his mother had considered him a dishonor to his bloodline for it, his lack of weapons training had allowed him to perfect his future trade as an information specialist. He thus relished every bite he got, and his well-hidden eyes did not miss the glow of a caster when they were directed to it.

He moved swiftly and silently, using the trees for cover and the shadows for stealth. He disturbed not a leaf or a branch as he traversed the woods; he had grown up in the Gloomwood, after all. He expected the caster to vanish the moment he arrived, yet what he saw when he was within fifty feet of the glow gave him pause. The worst-case scenario in his mind was that this was a druid or an Elf but he saw neither before him. What he saw was…a statue. It looked to be of finely carved limestone, yet the image it portrayed was not one he recognized. It was some peculiar mixture of Illithid and Dwarf and Elf. That was honestly the best way he could think to describe it. It had the features of all three, and yet it was none of them. This statue was quite odd but odder still was the way it seemed to sprout from the ground itself, the buds around it evident of druidic growth magic; yet those fallen buds were withered leaves, and the foliage around it was completely dead.

But the glow from within…it was…enchanting, somehow…

Just as Dwarves are known for their resistance to magic in general, Elves in particular are very well-known for their resistance to charming and emotional magic. They tend to have a penchant for illusion-based and natural magic themselves, and their skill as rangers and assassins was unprecedented. That was what made the Drow so deadly. So to find it difficult to look away from such a thing as this, which appeared to burn internally with an emerald flame, was an extremely odd occurrence.

It was only with difficulty that he finally looked away, and he moved back quickly to warn the old man.
Offline Profile Quote To Top
 
Garold
Member Avatar


His companion melted into the woods with nary a rustle. Garold gaped for a moment before he caught a flash of movement heading towards the direction of the magical blur. Apparently this 'wagoner' was quite adept at sneaking through the woods. It was just another piece of glaring evidence that suggested he was not what he seemed. Garold frowned thoughtfully, wondering if this man was actually a plant. If there was a group responsible for all of the recent heists, it would make sense for them to gather information by including a spy amidst each caravan.

He mulled over the information before deciding against it. If there was an enemy planted within the merchants, there would be no need for the mystic runes marking their progress. Additionally, the ambush seemed too violent. What if a hypothetical traitor had been on the first wagon due to a last-minute change in plans? He would have died when the beast attacked. No, there was not enough evidence to suggest this man was a traitor. Still, he would proceed cautiously. The situation was too dangerous to move forward haphazardly.

The man returned quickly, sharing some odd information about a glowing statue. Garold winced as he heard another loud report from the caravan. Screams followed a moment later, thankfully muffled by the plant life. "Take me there," he ordered. He could not move through the forest nearly as adeptly or silently, but right now he was more worried with survival that stealth.

The statue was an oddity, an item of alien beauty... and wrongness. He shuddered as he laid eyes on it. In the physical spectrum it was merely grotesque, but in the magical it was an abomination. Tendrils of magic lapped at the pair of them like tongues. He could feel the mental incursions, attempting to warp their emotions. Garold took half a step back, closing his eyes tightly and focusing. Stone. Be stone. He focused on this one thought with his entire being. A stone could not feel, could not be seduced with sweet promises.

When he had a firm grip on himself Garold opened up his eyes once more, seeing the world in the clarity of pure objectivity. The statue's insidious presence slid off him like water on an oilcloak, unable to touch him in any way. "Fascinating," he said, voice mechanical and lacking inflection. "This is old magic, made new." He reached out as if he wanted to caress it but pulled his hand back at the last instant. "Subverted. We are in much danger."

There was a spellcaster responsible for this. One potentially more powerful than him.
Offline Profile Quote To Top
 
Ammeldi
Member Avatar


He was invisible until the moment that he wished to be seen, and that was the boon of the Night Elves. The Wood Elves had utilized the same level of stealth up until this point, yet he could feel their eyes upon him now. He had a feeling they weren’t really there. Was this a trait of the statue? It was an odd trait if it was. Paranoia was not something to be taken lightly; it could cloud the mind and confuse the senses at best. Besides, if there were Elves here, why weren’t they showing themselves? Was something keeping them away? That almost made sense, considering the Elves had yet to intervene in these attacks on merchant caravans. Merchants were often under the protection of the Elves despite the usual Elven desire to remain separated from the lives of other races. So why would they fail to act now unless this statue had somehow affected them as it had briefly affected Liam?

The Tel-Tel-Quessir allowed himself to be seen by the old man despite his stealth as he led him to the statue. He was under no orders to obey a simple guest of the merchants but considering the circumstances, he complied without a word. He carefully avoided looking at the statue again, although it was a compelling thing to do. It was only his natural resistance that kept him from being ensnared by it, he was certain. Whatever it was, it was foul and filled with dark magic. That much even he could easily discern, and Liam was no mage.

When the old man spoke, his voice seemed more an irritant than anything else to Liam. It was as though the old man was interrupting his peace and quiet and the voice of the stone. It was as though…the voice of the stone? What an odd thing to think…yes, the stone truly was filled with dark and powerful magic, a kind of enchantment that was difficult for even an Elf to resist. That explained why the Elves did not come here, he suddenly realized: they had already been here, and whatever this…this thing was…it had somehow ensnared them as it now attempted to ensnare him.

All Liam could bring himself to do was nod curtly in response to the old man’s words. He did not like this statue. It was not only grotesque but was a play upon the mind as well. He suddenly recalled an incident when he was very young in which he’d failed to successfully sneak up on a teammate; his fellow Teu-Tel-Quessir had pinned him and held a branch to his throat as a result. It hadn’t really hurt much; that wasn’t the intent anyway. But it had been humiliating, and he remembered wanting nothing more than to take his fists to the other boy at the time for doing such a thing. Not only that, he’d done it in front of Liam’s father - and that had made him even angrier.

He blinked suddenly as he realized where he was. He also realized that his left fist was upon the hilt of his dagger while his right fist clenched and unclenched; his lips were pursed and his eyes were narrowed at the back of the head of the old man. He relaxed his grip upon the hilt of his dagger with effort, and it required just as much effort to relax his other hand as well. He forcefully smoothed his features, his face becoming a blank mask once more. His eyes, though…his eyes held traces of doubt, of confusion, and of wariness.

The old man was right. This thing was dangerous.
Offline Profile Quote To Top
 
Garold
Member Avatar


Even with his mind clear and emotions dampened, he could still feel the influence of the statue. It surrounded him like a thick fog, pressing on his skin from every direction. This is wrong... A thought struck him with startling clarity: this abomination could not be allowed to exist. Even if they escaped the ambush but left it intact, there was no telling what the statue would do. It would slowly poison the forest, spreading its evil presence to every living creature nearby. It could not be allowed to remain.

He would not allow it.

"Step back," he said, eyes narrowing. He banished the remaining embers, gathering back the mana involved in their creation. He drew power like a drowning man guzzling water. The energy burned in his veins like fire, enervating his entire being. He barked out the incantation. The words were violent. They made his ears ring. He twisted his hands together, weaving the mana together.

A ball of crackling crimson fire appeared in his hands, giving their surroundings a hellish glow. He turned his gaze on the statue. It seemed to sense his intentions and redoubled its efforts to pierce his mental defenses. Garold ground his teeth together, forcing himself to launch the spell. The fireball flew forward, slamming into the base of the statue. There was an eerie, teakettle whine that made him wince. The conflicting magical energies sparked as they came into contact, sickly green and fiery red.

A moment later it exploded, blasting the statue to pieces. Garold shouted out and stumbled back, raising both arms in front of his face. Small chunks of debris rained down in the surrounding vegetation, one or two actually striking him. It hurt, but it was still better than the slimy, intrusive presence of the statue. He let out a long breath, relaxing slightly. All that was left was the crumbled dais, and that dissolved as he watched. The stone melted, leaving behind nothing but thick gray residue.

"That takes care of that," he said in satisfaction, rubbing his hands together.
Offline Profile Quote To Top
 
Ammeldi
Member Avatar


Liam certainly didn’t need to be told twice. He couldn’t stand to be near the thing, and yet he could feel it calling to him. It was…it was almost a coo, a soothing voice taking the form of desire - a desire to look. But he knew that the candy was poison, and the old man wasn’t the only one grinding his teeth. Liam moved away quickly. He sought the nearest tree and stealthily ascended into its boughs. The taint here was strong. He recoiled at first but pressed on out of necessity. He could feel the poison running through these trees - poison that did not take physical form. It would take a druid to remove that taint, lest it spread. Of course, that assumed the druids were still alive and unmaddened by the sickening taint of the statue itself.

When he heard the whine of the statue, he winced and shuddered. Then he turned back suddenly, as though he had to protect the statue. He found himself glaring first at the old man and then at the statue. He could see…inside the statue. But it wasn’t like seeing into the stone. He saw…he saw what he had done in the caverns. He saw what he had become down there. He saw and felt all that had occurred down there. He felt it ebbing away, yet he somehow knew in the back of his mind that it was a desperate ploy for survival. The statue was somehow sentient but perhaps only wise, not intelligent. Its will had to be bound to that of another. This was a matter in which Liam was not particularly knowledgeable. He knew little of magic and less of druidry, although he did know enough about what they were centred around to know that the druids would still be needed long after this threat had ended.

And then, just like that…it was gone.

The images, the voice-like emotions, the feeling of desperation…it was all just…gone.

The world had gone completely silent, just for a moment, and Liam suddenly saw with more perfect clarity than he ever had. He saw lines of magic in mixtures of light- and dark-hued green, like the veins of mithril upon the walls of the under-lands. They spread out in so many directions at once that was almost impossible to see where they all went. They were fading, like powder falling away, yet the shimmer in the air told him that the magic wasn’t completely gone. Yes, the druids would most definitely be needed here.

And then, quite suddenly, the sounds were back and the lines of mana were gone. He let out a deep breath rather quickly - one that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He almost fell but steadied himself. He steadied his breathing as quickly as he could, too. It was as though a great stone had been lifted from his shoulders. The air smelled raw and unnatural, yet simultaneously fresh and wonderful. In need of druids or not, this part of the forest would suffer no more taint. It was as though strings had been tied to the tress and the bushes, and now they had been cut. He didn’t know how he knew but he knew that the taint would not spread from here; it would kill everything it had touched, albeit slowly, but it would not spread.

He leaned against the branches and rubbed his eyes.

He had to wonder, though: was this the only statue?

After all, this had been almost too easy...almost...
Offline Profile Quote To Top
 
Garold
Member Avatar


Garold mopped his brow with one sleeve, unsurprised that it came away damp with sweat. The combination of resisting the statue's influence and casting a spell was taxing. For a moment, he hoped that all their troubles were over. That only lasted until the high-pitched, teakettle scream of the monster that beset the caravan sounded from behind them. Garold turned and saw it crashing through the forest, abandoning steal for brute strength and speed. He watched as it simply smashed through a smaller tree, chunks of wood and bark scattering in all directions. The obstacle barely slowed the creature.

He cursed and brought his hands up, adrenaline overriding his weariness. He twisted his fingers together before raising both hands up in a sweeping gesture, shouting the words of the incantation so quickly the syllables ran together. Moisture condensed out of the air, sparkling drops of liquid that hovered between them and the approaching abomination in a glittering veil. Garold pumped more magic into the spell, unmoving as the beast barreled closer, brow furrowed in concentration.

It was only a dozen feet away when he finally completed the working. The water flashed, freezing into a solid block of nearly transparent ice. The slab was fifteen feet wide and tall, two feet thick. The beast smashed into it with a frustrated snarl, clawed limbs ripping at the frozen pane. They skittered across its surface, unable to find purchase on the slick wall. Garold let out a sigh of relief, but knew that this was only a temporary respite. The creature would realize its path was blocked only in one direction soon, and he didn't know if he had enough time or energy to conjure two more walls of ice before it could rip him to shreds. Still, what other choice did he have?

He started the spell again, only to be interrupted by an unfamiliar voice. "Stop." At that command the beast instantly dropped down, ending its assault on the icy wall. It settled down on its haunches, watching Garold with too-large eyes, jaw hanging open to reveal a mouthful of serrated teeth. He shivered and turned to look past the creature, where a figure stepped out of the underbrush.

He first thought that it was a man due to their height, but once it stepped into a patch of sunlight he was unsure. There was an androgynous nature to its high cheekbones and sharp chin, its large eyes and slender neck and curved figure. The being had skin as brown as chocolate, with long black hair that fell to its waist. It wore a long robe of soft green fabric, the same color as moss. The outfit left its long, narrow limbs bare. The skin was covered with raised lines, graceful swirls and whorls that pulsed with power. Garold felt sick to his stomach. The being radiated the same presence as the statue, as sweet and deadly as poisoned honey. It was weak now, but he sensed a strength that suggested that it could be magnified on a whim.

"You fight," it observed softly, the words lacking any particular inflection. "Many do not. They run or hide, cry or scream, give in to terror and despair. Yet you strive for life." It cocked its head to one side, the motion graceful and utterly inhuman. "Why?"
Offline Profile Quote To Top
 
1 user reading this topic (1 Guest and 0 Anonymous)
Go to Next Page
« Previous Topic · Norwood Forest · Next Topic »
Reply

Top RP SitesVote for Imythess at Top Site List Planet
Top Site Lists
Misty Woods created by Helena & Cory of ZNR