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#53

01-03-2012, 09:55 AM

Kerrah

Elune

Join Date: Apr 2006

Location: Finland

Posts: 10,961

Quote:

Chapter 11

”What in Light's name are you doing?” Sven asked incredulously. The creature before him stood seven feet tall, vaguely humanoid aside from the talons in its hands, fangs in its mouth, its small, pitch-black eyes, its distorted face and the three horns on its head. And Eric was going to barter with it? “It's a demon!”

“Actually, I am not”, the demon said. “And would you please close your mouth, farmer, I am trying to talk to your elder brother here.” It brandished its bronze talons for a moment and turned back to Eric.

Eric simply nodded, looking oddly calm. “Stay out of this, Sven.” He turned to the demon and spoke: “What is your name?”

“I can't believe this!” Sven cried out and shook Ladimore's sword before himself in anger. “YOU ARE BARTERING WITH A DEMON! What would father say?”

Without warning, the beast stepped toward Sven and swung its hand. An invisible force struck the farmer in the chest, and sent him flying backwards. “Listen to you much smarter brother, boy, and keep to yourself. This is your last warning.”

Sven landed on his back and felt himself slide across the ground for a short distance. He felt like he'd been hit with a battering ram, and yet the pain seemed to fade away quickly. He saw his sword nearby, and another black spot had appeared on it. He grabbed it and started to pick himself up.

“My name is Druj”, the three-horned demon spoke in a calm voice, as if he had not just assaulted Sven. “Thought we have met before, I am glad to make your acquaintance, Laterbrus, apprentice of Arugal.”

“You killed my master”, Eric said hesitantly.

Sven saw the demon shrug slightly. “Yes, I disposed of his soul and took his body for a vessel, but let me remind you that you were trying to kill him as well at the time.”

“Fair point”, Eric admitted. Sven stood up and leaned on his sword slightly, looking for a chance to attack the beast.

“I have something you want”, this Druj said and pointed at the Scythe, which was untouched at the back of the room. “And you have something I want.” He looked at the warlock before him expectantly.

“I do”, Eric said and tapped his chest. “The rift Arugal used to summon his Worgen troops, sealed and inactive for now, but ready to be released. And as you must guess, it is protected by enough spells that no one will ever use it without my willing assistance.”

Druj laughed. It was a sharp laughter, like someone throwing shards of glass at a chalkboard. “I wouldn't bet on that. But you don't have to worry, I have always been partial toward deals and barters, myself.”

Sven fought the urge to start pacing. Was the demon already focused enough on the discussion to not notice him sneaking up on it? It was best to wait for a little while longer...

“I already reasoned out myself that the Scythe is related to this rift”, Eric said. “Can you confirm that?”

“Yes, I can. The rift is a distortion in the natural barriers of reality which protect Azeroth from foreign invaders. The day Arugal created it, its opposite was created elsewhere, to balance the scales, so to speak. Don't ask me why it spawned as a branch of wood: let us just presume it is based on the expectations of the nearest sentient being, that poor, naïve Night Elf.” Druj took a short glance toward Sven, who felt himself freeze. So he was not forgotten after all.

Eric nodded thoughtfully. “So then, uniting the two...”

The demon gave a hoarse chuckle. Its horns seemed to twist for a moment, only to visibly snap to their original positions as it spoke. “May we pause for a minute? I've kept my eyes open on all the players present in this game, and I think two are about to enter the playing field in a few seconds...”

It turned to look at the door expectantly. Eric did as well, hesitantly. Sven took a few steps away from the door, keeping his eyes on the demon. He wasn't about to fall for this trickery.

He heard steps in the hallway. They stopped a little ways before the door. Eric called out: “It's all right. Hiraxen and the Dark Riders are dead.”

Windfarer and Kra'osha appeared in the doorway, and stared at Druj in shock. The demon bowed and spoke: “Long time no see.”

“What is going on here?” The orc asked, turning her eyes on the bodies littering the floor. She snapped her eyes back to Druj, and her fists squeezed into fists.

“Wait!” Eric said, stepping between her and the beast. “It's all right! No one has to get hurt, any more. Let me explain.”

Sven opened his mouth to protest, but saw the demon looking his way with a warning look in its eyes. His words died in his throat, and he felt as if the air in his lungs lost all temperature at once. Breaking eye contact, he started coughing, and almost missed the next part of the conversation.

“This being is named Druj”, Eric explained loudly. “The reason why he possessed Arugal back in Dalaran is because he wishes to possess the rift that Arugal used to summon the Worgen into Azeroth. He needs it to free himself of a spell my master put on him. A spell that locks him to this world, and keeps him from returning to his own.”

“What?” Windfarer asked.

Druj nodded and stepped forward. For the first time, its voice seemed to lack mad glee, and instead sounded... bitter. “It is true. For long, I have attacked this world, trying to find a way in, to invade it. Arugal caught wind of my plans, when I tried to manipulate him, and he used his knowledge of dimensional magics to trap me in between layers of reality. Before that, I could reach in and communicate with people, and yet I returned to my own home in between doing that. Now, I am not truly in Azeroth, but I am unable to leave it either.”

Eric loosened the collar of his black-and-orange shirt, and dug out a large crystal pendant. “Arugal's rift, and the Scythe of Elune. Together, they'll have enough power to send him home. And to keep him out for good, this time. He may be wicked, I have no illusions about that, but he'll finally be banished from Azeroth for good.”

“Indeed. I think I've spent long enough here to appreciate my own world a bit more”, the demon spoke and turned to take a step toward the Scythe. “In return for delivering the rift, I will let you have that old thing.”

“What do you say?” Eric asked his friends hopefully. “We're all worn and tired. We stand no chance against him! This way, we can make sure no one in Azeroth has to suffer him any more, and none of us will come to further danger!”

Sven blinked his eyes. They were not even talking to him, but he was starting to see the truth now.

The truth was that Eric had gone stark, raving mad.

“How can we trust him?” Kra'osha asked the warlock sceptically, nodding at Druj. “What assurance do we have that he won't use the Rift to summon a demon any or something?”

“I will cast the spell myself”, Eric said. “He will never be given access to the materials.”

Suddenly, Druj burst into laughter, startling even his newfound ally. “Oh, Laterbrus, you joker! How can you keep a straight face?”

“What? What are you talking about? What are you doing?” Eric asked him, taking a cautious step backward.

“You know what I'm speaking of!” The beast said with a sadistic smile. “You know it's not me whose trustworthiness they should doubt.”

Eric shook his head, but before he had time to protest, Druj turned to face Sven, Kra'osha and Windfarer. “Let me ask you three: what is your friend here going to do with the Scythe?”

A silence fell into the hall. It felt like a tomb. Nobody had an answer.

“Well, after I'm gone, he has the Scythe and he has the rift. He even has this nice fortress no one knows of! What did Arugal do? What is Arugal's apprentice going to do?” It smiled its cruel smile and suddenly lifted off the ground, levitating a few feet over the floor. “He's had the power to summon the Worgen any time he wanted with the rift - just like Master Arugal did - but he's not done that. And why has Hiraxen not summoned any Worgen with the Scythe? Could it be that your heroic little friend is keeping something from you. Something about what the possessor of both those things can do, perhaps.”

Sven shook his head. This was a ploy. He shared a look with the others, and they seemed to share his opinion.

“Oh, you don't believe me?” Druj asked and flew behind Eric, taking a hold of his shoulders. “Then hear it from the man himself. Laterbrus, you have no reason to lie and hide the truth any more! You've reached your goal. Now you just have to let your friends know what that goal is!”

Eric closed his eyes. His words were almost too silent for Sven to hear. “Why are you doing this, Druj?”

“I want to see this for myself”, the demon said with sudden grimness. Its face warped for a second, only to snap back. “They have to find out eventually. Better get it done now, kid.”

There was a long silence in the room. Eric said nothing, and slowly his failure to answer became a confirmation unto itself. The bronze claws pressed against his shoulders, tighter and tighter, but he didn't seem to notice, trying to keep himself from meeting the eyes of his friends, or his brother.

“Tell it isn't so, Eric”, Windfarer said cautiously, his speech spell sounding more human than normal. This was the first time Sven heard him use his brother's real name.

Sven started to shake his head, only to be interrupted by Eric suddenly bursting out: “It's not my fault you never stopped to ask what we're going to do once we get the Scythe. What did you expect, that I'd hang it on a wall? Arugal's army was limited, because all he had was the rift. With both it and the Scythe, I have enough power to realise what he never could.”

Sven blinked his eyes and lifted his gaze. His brother was scowling at them, teary-eyed and red-faced. Judging by the tone of his voice, he blamed them for not figuring out... whatever this was, sooner. “What?” The farmer asked blankly.

Suddenly, Druj's voice echoed through the chamber: “I TOLD YOU TO BE QUIET, CRETIN!” A bolt of lightning was hurled toward him, and he felt it connect with his throat.

For a few moments, Sven lost all perception of time and place. He was floating through a void of colours, sensations and smells. Someone yelled something, and there were the arcane sounds of spellcasting... then he smashed onto the floor face-first.

The world returned to its painful, regular form. Every part of Sven's body ached, but especially his neck. He became aware that he was able to breathe, which must mean that Ladimore's sword had protected him again. This time, though, the pain caused by the spell wasn't going anywhere.

He opened his eyes and saw that Windfarer had been struck down already, while Kra'osha slowly walked backward to put distance between herself and Druj. A spider-web of black tendrils spun around one of her fists, darker than anything Sven had seen before.

“I don't think so!” Druj said and vanished, only to appear again behind her. It squeezed its hand around her fist, and her spell seemed to absorb into its flesh. “I'm not falling for that again.” It hurled her across the room, causing her to smash against a wall, and then waved its hand so that the black stone reached out and grabbed her, capturing her in appendages of stone. Runes etched themselves on the wall around her, and shone with some magic that must be there to seal her magic.

Eric stood still, right where he'd been before. He watched his friend get defeated, looking concerned, but not moving a muscle to stop it.

Sven reached to grab his sword, seeing another large black blemish on it, only to freeze when Druj started to turn. The demon did not look at him, though, but instead caused Windfarer's seemingly unconscious body to levitate into the air. Glowing glyphs sparked to life around him, dancing around in erratic patterns and flashing in different colours.

“Very well, then. The distractions have been dealt with”, the demon said excitedly. “I hope you don't mind if I call in some backup to help us with my journey home.”

Eric said nothing, but Druj did not seem to need an answer either. It opened up a hand, and the black spell Kra'osha had created appeared in the air. “Thank you for this, orc. I won't have to spend my own energy to fetch something from the Void.”

“The void?” Eric asked, speaking for the first time after his earlier rant. He sounded calm, but Sven could tell he was only barely holding in his emotions.

“That's what I call my prison”, the demon explained and flicked the black tendrils forward. They expanded into a gaping rip. Reaching an overly long hand inside, it pulled out something.

At first Sven thought the object that Druj dropped next to its feet was a bundle of blue cloths with golden details. Then his eyed widened as he saw a hand reach out. It was a person. A woman.

“Meet Archhareveim Kaisafa”, the demon said to Eric offhandedly. “Also, my longest-standing servant should be in there somewhere... Aha!” It yanked out the flailed, burned form of Atar, causing Sven to stop breathing for a few seconds in fear of being noticed.

The pyromancer slowly stood up, looking unsteady. Eric stared at him for a moment, and then turned his eyes to the woman, as did Sven. She slowly raised her head, revealing a very pale face full of confusion and fright. She had dark red eyes.

Druj closed the pitch-black rip, causing a large wham sound, and then rubbed its hands against each other with enthusiasm. “Very well, I think we have all we need here. Kaisafa's mind holds certain secrets to dimensional magic which will make the spell easier. I am going to take her with me. She has her uses.”

The woman groaned, and tried to climb up. Druj shook its head and tapped a bronze claw against the back of her head. She let out a short scream before freezing absolutely still, a blank look on her face.

Sven felt his blood boil, and he forgot caution. He sprung onto his feet, sword at hand, and charged Atar, who stood closest to him. In that moment of surprise, before anyone could react to him, he cleaved the pyromancer in two neatly and turned to run toward Druj.

The demon flicked a hand, and sent out a glowing, dark green globe flying toward Sven. He dodged it and rushed forward, only to take another such spell right in the face.

The farmer fell into the floor, once more. He was like a bell that had been rung, shaking all over, but he felt the sword in his hand shake all the more.

“Oh! So that's how you persist!” Druj's mocking voice spoke out loud. “Let's see how many blows you can survive.”

“No! He doesn't have to...” Eric said, but trailed off, as if not sure how to continue. Sven squeezed the sword harder and started to stand up.

“I'm doing you a favour, Laterbrus. You know as well as I do that he'll never let his brother command the Worgen against Stormwind. I'll kill him for you. You can pretend you wouldn't have done the same without me”, the demon said and landed back on the floor to stomp its foot. A pillar of fire appeared below Sven, enveloping him for a few moments.

A great pain shot through the farmer for as long as the fire lasted, and then vanished when it did. Ladimore's sword looked charred, while his body remained untouched. The demon's mocking voice spoke to him: “Look at you! Someone gave you a sword, and now you think you're a big hero!”

He stood up, only to have a new bolt of lightning thrown at himself. It impacted with his right shoulder, and sent him spinning through the air for a few moments. He landed on his stomach, and miraculously found himself still holding the weapon.

“I'd say you don't know how to give up, but you obviously do! I saw the surrender in your eyes every time you looked at your brother on your way here!”

He took a deep breath, ignoring the shark pain on his shoulder, focusing on the awareness that his body was still whole, and got back up on his knees and looked up. His eyes met Eric's.

No words were said. Druj snapped his fingers, and Sven felt a tightening in his chest. He didn't know how, but he knew that the demon was trying to stop his heart.

The sword in his hand shattered, and a backlash of magic sent him flying through the air for the umpteenth time that day. He hit the wall near where Kra'osha was imprisoned, and fell down, barely holding onto consciousness. The last spell had been stopped, but he felt sick, like his heart truly might stop any second now. Shards of Ladimore's sword were littered everywhere. The weapon was no more.

Druj vanished, and then reappeared right before Sven, looking down on him. “It's about time we put an end to this. But first, tell me. You young, heroic types. What is with you and magic swords?” It lifted a hand, to snap its fingers once more.

“You can't blame us. All the good weapons are swords”, a voice answered the question.

The prisoner Sven had freed was standing at the doorway, holding a dark grey blade. His clothes and hair were still dusty, but less so than before. His hair, which was now visibly auburn, had been tied on a ponytail behind his head. When he'd been released of that prison cell, Sven had thought he hadn't been a captive for very long. Right now, aside from the dirt, he didn't look like he'd been a captive at all. There was a sort of... glow about him, his presence extending all the way through the hall.

Druj looked at him for a moment, and then scowled. “YOU!” It sent out a green orb of magic, like it had at Sven. The prisoner ran toward the attack, and at the last minute swung his sword to send it flying away. When he reached Druj, the demon teleported to the other end of the room, and for the first time there was a look of concern on its face.

Eric looked at the man, then his sword the sword. He looked torn, like he wasn't sure whether he wanted to help Druj or not. “Who are you?”

The prisoner blocked a bolt of lightning, an intense look on his face, and took a short look at the young mage. “If you aren't going to help me, stay out of this.” He charged toward his foe again.

“I will flay you alive!” Druj screamed and started sending attacks left-and-right toward the intruder, who dodged and parried, fighting his way toward it. Sven blinked his eyes, still dizzy from the impact with the wall, and very confused by this.

Suddenly, he saw the woman named Kaisafa stand up. Her eyes still had that distant look in them, and she moved in an... off way. She extended a hand, and the Scythe of Elune flew into it across the room. She turned to Eric, and held her other palm open for him.

Reluctantly, Eric dug out a pendant he'd shown earlier, the one he said contained Arugal's rift, and handed it over to her. Kaisafa took it, and threw it onto the floor, shattering the crystal. She then grabbed the Scythe with both hands, and started to glow. Sven was no mage, and even he felt goose bumps from the magic she was channelling.

The prisoner fought his way toward Druj, his back turned on the sight of the woman. Sven blinked his eyes and experimentally tried to move. He found out that it hurt. A lot. His unexpected ally reached the demon, and before it could move away, cut its flesh with that ugly sword.

Druj screamed and backed up a bit before floating up into the air, trying to get out of the reach of the man. The prisoner jumped and stabbed his sword through its leg, seeking to pull it down by force. The leg split into two, at the wound to drop him off, and then came back together. The demon floated in the air and looked at its opponent.

“Where did you come from?” It asked, its eyes briefly moving to watch Kaisafa. It was buying for time, to let her do whatever she was doing.

The man seemed to consider throwing his sword. He passed the chance, and instead waited for an opening. “I was here all along. Your lackeys captured me months ago. Seems you were too busy spying on this lot to notice.” He pointed a thumb over his shoulder at the rest of the people in the room.

Sven started to get up. Nobody was looking on him, once again, except Kra'osha (who was still bound to the wall). She seemed unable to talk, but gave him a nod and a supportive look. Nearby, Atar's upper body clawed the ground futilely, as if trying to stand up. He was surrounded by a puddle of something that must have been his inner organs once, before they were boiled for years. His legs still spasmed in reflex.

Sven fixed his eyes on the female mage. A portal of raw energies was starting to form in front of her. It was completely silent, but looked very potent, with many swirling energy lines around it.

“You are a vengeful man”, Druj said at the prisoner. “It wasn't anything personal, the business with the elf...”

“I didn't come here to hunt you down”, the man said. Though his face appeared calm, Sven could tell he was just barely holding a tide of fury behind. “But whether or not that is my goal, I will gladly see you done for, devil.”

“It's a shame, for now-” Druj said, taking a quick glance at Kaisafa again. It saw Sven, who was running toward the woman, ignoring the pain in his chest. “NO! STOP HIM!”

Eric stepped in his brother's way. Sven scowled and tackled him, pushing him into the magic vortex in front of Kaisafa.

“NO!” Druj's voice cried out just before Sven's world exploded into pure whiteness. The white broke into an endless rainbow, which then faded to black, from which spawned a new white...

He fell onto his stomach on something hard. It was uneven, so it couldn't be the floor of that hall... Surprisingly, he didn't feel dizzy or disoriented, despite whatever had just happened.

Opening his eyes, he looked around. He was in a wilderness of dark stone and a few bushes. It seemed to be early morning, or maybe late evening. There were several shapes lying on the stone around him. The only one he recognised was Atar's lower body, which thankfully did not more any more.

One of the people started to get up. Hastily, Sven pushed himself onto his feet and looked at who it was. To his relief, it was the prisoner, his face calm. He sheathed his sword before taking a look around himself.

“Where are we?” Sven asked, looking around for something to arm himself with. For all he knew, Druj or some other threat could jump out any second now.

The prisoner shrugged and knelt next to the two lying shapes near himself. “Your friends: the orc and the Forsaken. They are unconscious, but I think she's alive and he's... animate.”

“Where's my brother?” Sven asked, wondering whether he wanted to make sure Eric was dead or make sure he was alive so he could punch him.

“What's that in the bushes?” The stranger said and pointed beyond Atar's legs.

Sven carefully circled the half-body and peered into the leatherleaf. Truly enough, Eric lied there, breathing but unmoving.

“We'll have to find shelter. Who knows what beasts lurk this wilderness”, the prisoner said and looked into the sky.

Sven hefted his brother out of the bush and looked at the man curiously. “Who are you, really? And what do you mean, who knows? I've lived around here long enough to know how to survive in the wilderness.”

“I'm sorry I lied about my name earlier, Sven Yorgen”, the man said. “I wasn't sure yet whether you were an ally or a foe, then. I'm Guy Sliverberg.” He offered his hand to Sven, who shook it.

“And as for your second question...” Guy pointed into the sky. Sven closely lifted his head. What he saw made his knees almost give out under him.

I've been planning this chapter since the late days of Blood and Light.

__________________

Quote:

Originally Posted by Pliny the Elder

True glory consists in doing what deserves to be written; in writing what deserves to be read; and in so living as to make the world happier for our living in it.

Co-creator of UFS, a joint urban fantasy setting.

#57

01-15-2012, 03:04 PM

Kerrah

Elune

Join Date: Apr 2006

Location: Finland

Posts: 10,961

Quote:

Interlude

Kaisafa grunted as she fell on her face. As soon as she did, she knew something was wrong. She was lying in tall grass. Whatever portal spell she'd been made to cast had either succeeded or misfired to cause a random relocation...

She was a bit distracted from the thought process by the feeling left behind by Druj's possession. It was like her very soul was coated in filth: she found strange, violent thoughts drifting through her mind every few seconds, and when she tested her magic, she found it... slippery. She'd have a hard time casting anything in a few hours, though the teleportation had surprisingly not cost much of her mana. Almost all of her magical assets were ready to be used, just... awkward.

She heard movement nearby, and turned her head to look past the grass she was lying in. She would have stood up, but her body wouldn't stop shaking. She wasn't sure if that was some myriad after-effect of being possessed or just the shock.

She saw Druj's ugly body stand up nearby, and look around. “Home”, he spoke almost fondly. He almost sounded like a regular person. Eventually, his eyes locked onto the sky. Kaisafa's own gaze trailed upward, and eventually saw what he saw.

On the sky painted reddish purple by a sunset (or dawn) was the smaller of Azeroth's two moons, the White Lady. And next to that, Azeroth itself. Most of the planet visible from here was water, but the far-eastern coast of the Kingdom of Azeroth, and the Eastern Islands in the sea, were unmistakeable.

Kaisafa's stared for what felt like an hour. She realised she'd been holding a breath ever since she looked up. Inhaling, she slowly wet her lips and turned onto her back. “Are we...”

“We are in the moon your people call the Blue Child. I don't think the people who live here have their own name for it. Most of them are not occupied with abstract thoughts of the world they live in.” Druj turned to look at Kaisafa, giving a smile all too pleased to be giving new information to the Keepers of Lore. “Welcome to my home, Hareveim.”

Kaisafa started to struggle up, to get on her feet and try to make a run for it. Apparently unconcerned, Druj walked off to a nearby bush and looked down. “Atar, I'd like to thank you for your decades of service. We've come a long way since I first appeared to you.”

There was no answer. Everything about when she was possessed was a blur to Kaisafa, so she was not sure who this Atar was. She finally managed to sit up, and looked around, over the grass. They were in some kind of forest. The leaves on the trees had a noticeably blue tint. Was that where the colour of the moon came from?

“I was going to just kill you, to finally put you out of your misery, but if you insist, I can take you with me”, Druj said and idly waved a finger through the air. A horribly burned upper torso levitated into the air, causing Kaisafa to remember the man who'd been in that chamber. She shook her head and started to push herself up on her feet.

“I don't think you'll be going anywhere”, Druj said and walked toward her, his minion floating behind him lazily, looking as lifeless as he should be. “You are privy to the truest secrets of Zinine, passed down for thousands of years. Secrets that your Azure Goddess hid well for a reason. Also, I have to say I did grow fond of you over the past half a year...”

Kaisafa looked toward him and raised her shaky hands to defend herself. She was all too aware that her hair was in disarray, her face was dirty and her clothes were horribly torn. She probably looked pitiful and pathetic, her act of defiance turned into a farce. It didn't matter to her. She had been a prisoner for six months. I am Archhareveim of Zinine. I will not be used as a book! The angry thoughts echoed through her head, fuelled by those negative emotion lashes she was experiencing.

Druj stopped walking, and suddenly that self-satisfied smirk vanished from his face. “You know what your problem is? And I don't mean just you. I mean you humans in general. Pride. You make up all these titles, and then you say: 'I am this and that, therefore bad things can not happen to me'. Honestly, do you think Zinine cares about you? Do you think the Azure Goddess is moved one way or the other by who is the leader of a secret club, twenty members big, which claims to represent her? If some twenty farmers decide to name their leader the Champion of Brux, will that mean the so-called champion is immune to harm?”

The Archhareveim did not dignify his rant with an answer, but sent out a blade of hardened air toward him. Her magic still felt slippery, so she couldn't put much finesse into her spellcraft, but at least she had enough force to put quite a punch in her primitive spell.

The spell simply vanished when it came in contact with its target's chest. Druj made a tut-tut noise with his tongue and spoke: “Sorry, we're not going through that. Everyone is tired of all the fighting. You're in a foreign world! Take a look around, enjoy the thought that you are among the first humans to ever visit this place! Let's not ruin it all by slinging spells around.”

Kaisafa closed her eyes and felt her magic start to boil. The awkwardness seemed to melt away, finally, and she released all she had at the creature. She didn't even care what kind of spells she was casting, she just wanted to hit him with everything at once.

She did not see or sense whether it had worked. The exhaustion of all her strength at once had left her almost fainted, and her eyelids seemed to weigh a ton each. She swayed in place for a moment, and then started to fall over, only to feel a large hand grasp her shoulder. “Hey. Sorry to disappoint, but we're not done yet. Time to go and see what resources I have left after years of absence, and who I need to punish for leaving my service.”

“I hate you so much”, Kaisafa growled past her lips and slowly opened her eyes.

“I do too”, Druj admitted and made her float behind himself, next to that twisted upper body. The Archhareveim hung idly and looked again at the sky. She could not see any place she'd ever been to, from here. She wished she was home.

I was originally going to write this from the POV of Druj, using meta tricks to portray a wholly alien mindset. Then I realised I already wrote Druj's POV in the prologue of the fic, and there it was just normal prose.

Oh, well. I think delving into Kaisafa's mind for just a little while was fun too.

edit: In retrospect, putting that revelation in the interlude may have been a bad idea, but whatever.

__________________

Quote:

Originally Posted by Pliny the Elder

True glory consists in doing what deserves to be written; in writing what deserves to be read; and in so living as to make the world happier for our living in it.

Co-creator of UFS, a joint urban fantasy setting.

Last edited by Kerrah : 01-16-2012 at 05:06 AM.

#60

02-07-2012, 03:38 PM

Kerrah

Elune

Join Date: Apr 2006

Location: Finland

Posts: 10,961

Quote:

Chapter 12

“What I wouldn't give to find some yew”, Guy said, watching the alien-looking trees growing in a nearby thicket. He'd inspected them earlier, and found them unsuitable for his needs. “A sword is nice when you're exploring a dungeon, but here in the wilds, nothing beats a good longbow.”

Sven nodded his head and idly watched the three magic-users lying on the ground. They all seemed catatonic. He had dragged them to this camp-site in the shadow of a large boulder while Guy was exploring the surroundings. According to the Lordaeronian, there was no sign of settlement in any direction.

The farmer hesitated for a moment and asked: “You don't think... this place is all wilderness?” He looked up again, and watched Azeroth in the evening sky, fading into the sky as the sun descended below the horizon.

“Well... where was that portal aimed toward?” Guy asked and sat on a stone next to their small campfire. He fingered the sword at his belt a little anxiously. “I mean, probably to the Blue Child, yes, but did that devil give any hints why he'd want to come to the Blue Child?”

Sven wrinkled his brow a little. It had all happened so fast, with so much explanation that he'd had a hard time keeping track of all of it. “I think this is... that thing's home world.”

“Ahah. I guess that makes as much sense as anything having to do with the damn thing”, the other man said and shook his head a little. It was hard to tell how old he was: he couldn't be more than thirty-five, and yet... his face carried the deep lines of stressful years on it.

“So, you're a woodsman, then?” Sven asked, a little afraid about the answer he'd get. “Since you know how to shoot a longbow.”

Guy leaned back and closed his eyes, bringing up a hand. He was wearing an archer's gloves: the fingertips missing to help him handle the bowstring better. Some of the dirt and dust had come off his clothes, revealing them to be a very worn leather outfit befitting a light soldier such as a longbowman. He'd dug out two strips of cloth from his pockets, as well, and tied a dark red one on his forehead and used the other to tie his long hair into a ponytail. “I didn't exactly grow up in the woods, but I shot some with my uncle. I took up the pursuit again after I joined the Crusade. They didn't think I looked tough enough for the front lines.”

The Crusade? Sven froze and stared at this man. Only distant rumours of the Scarlet Crusade had carried down to Azeroth over the years, but they all agreed the crusaders were dangerous lunatics who slew all strangers on sight. Though on the other hand, Windfarer hardly fit any description of the Forsaken from the very same rumours...

“Of course, you can probably shoot the bow better than I can, if you've hunted”, Guy continued, not noticing his companion's reaction. “Longbowmen aren't taught to aim: they must only learn the rough angle in which to shoot to hit a certain distance. The officer yells how many feet, and we shoot a volley without picking targets. I did do some more personal shooting too, but I'm not any marksman, really...”

Sven nodded. “I guess I'm the reverse, then. I hunted from youth, with my father, but I haven't used a bow more than once or twice in the past years. When I joined the Night Watch, I was taught how to handle a sword and shield. And after I found a huge two-hander from a slain foe, I took it up, thinking it was the same thing. Boy, was I surprised.”

The former longbowman laughed a little and opened his eyes. “So, who are these people, and why are you travelling with them?” He pointed at the unconscious Eric, Kra'osha and Windfarer.

“That's my brother, Eric”, Sven said, nodding toward the sleeping fool. “Or Latebrus... that's his wizard name. He's... he was the apprentice of Archmage Arugal.”

“Oh?” Guy said, raising an eyebrow. “Arugal died around the time I left Stratholme...”

Sven looked down and rubbed his palms against his eyes, telling himself he wasn't tired. “I don't know the exact details. That devil thing from before killed Arugal, if I've understood correctly. Then Eric picked up these two...” He pointed at Kra'osha and Windfarer. “They departed to search for the Scythe of Elune.”

The longbowman scratched his bearded chin and idly walked over to the three, watching them closely while asking Sven: “So... why was your brother on the Devil's side while these two were incapacitated?”

“I don't know. He's an idiot. He was going to let the Devil conjure a portal and teleport here, so then he wouldn't harm Azeroth any more, and Eric himself would get the Scythe or something... it's just like him, making some big plan and leaving others in the dark about it.” He remembered a few times from their youth when that had happened, and got them in trouble. “As soon as he wakes up, I'm giving him a piece of my mind.”

Guy just nodded. He bent over and picked something off Windfarer. As he sat back next to the campfire, Sven saw that it was a knife. Carefully, the auburn-haired man brought the knife up and started to cut his beard. “I look like that damn Northman...” He mumbled as he started.

Sven just sat in silence, taking turns in staring at the fire and looking at the man. Guy didn't take very long: he didn't seem to care much for how his beard ended up looking (after all, he didn't even have a mirror), so long as it was short enough to not itch a lot. When he was done, Sven swallowed and asked: “If you don't mind me asking, are the stories they tell about the Scarlet Crusade true?”

The man froze for a moment and then sighed. “Well, that depends on the stories. And on which period of the Scarlet Crusade you speak of. I mean, I was there the day it was founded, and it was a pretty damn inspiring event...” He took a breath and closed his eyes, and then recited: “I swear to devote my life to the Light and its tenets: all of them rather than those I find convenient. I swear to give my body to the cause of the Light: to bleed every drop of my blood if need be. I swear to devote my mind to the idea of purging Lordaeron from the undead: I will not undertake other pursuits before this task is done. I swear to take up all who would help me fight the Undead Scourge as my brothers in arms. I swear to be a champion of the good, the virtuous and the oppressed."

Sven blinked his eyes. ”Those are some mighty words. But... you did fight off the Alliance and Horde as well when they came to fight the Scourge...” He almost expected the man to get angry, to just shrug the question off, but Guy nodded.

“That was years later. If they'd shown up the day we swore that oath, Sigmund Mograine would have allied with them in a second. After he died, though, things changed.” Guy frowned and fingered his ill-cut beard. “A lot of the people I knew took up the fanaticism because it protected them from being picked for interrogation by the inquisition. Others – including my sister – believed that the Light had refused to just burn the Scourge off the face of Azeroth because humanity was too sinful to be saved, and subscribed to whatever the new leaders told them because of that. Whatever the case, all the officers who'd been moderate had moved to the Argent Dawn the day it was formed, and their successors were hand-picked by the inquisition.”

Sven hesitated before asking: “So... what now?”

Guy stared at him for a good ten seconds before speaking: “I'm searching for someone. I need to get to Draenor, or whatever it's called today. Good luck with that, though...” He took a look up, at the planet visible in the sky.

The farmer leaned back and said: “So the Crusade is dead and gone?” He looked into the horizon. All that remained of the sun's light was a dark purple blotch in the distance. The stars were appearing in the sky now.

“No. I swore an oath. I'm still working to live by it. As soon as I figure how to find a way out of here, I'm back to saving Lordaeron”, Guy answered. He looked dead serious, and the look on his face was a little scary, it was so dedicated. “I left Lordaeron for the first time since my family moved in at the end of the First War, travelled through lands full of strange people I'd only ever seen in opposing armies, and almost got to the Dark Portal. I'm not giving up.”

“I understand, and I admire your dedication”, Sven said and hung his head. “I really wish I had something worth fighting for.” He stared at the campfire, and noted that it could use a branch or two more. He reached behind himself, but was interrupted by a loud howling.

Guy stood up and drew his sword in one smooth move, like he'd been waiting for a chance to do it all this time. The sword made an unnaturally loud ringing noise when drawn, almost drowning out his voice. “Wolves. You need a weapon. Take the knife.” He looked into the growing darkness around the camp, holding his sword steady. He had a very intense look on his face, and his voice had suddenly gained a throaty, hoarse sound.

Sven bent over the take the blade, holding it tight, wishing upon wishing that he had any proper weapon. “We need to protect these three.” He looked at the unconscious magi lying on the ground.

Improvising, he picked up a branch from the pile Guy had set on the ground and held it next to the fire, ready to wreathe it in flames the moment the beasts appeared.

Another howl, closer than before. “Wake up, damn it”, Sven grumbled at the napping trio. “If there was ever a time we needed your magic, it's now.” Turning his head around again, he saw movement in the dark, cracked, rocky landscape, and took a cautious step backward.

“It's worse than we thought”, Guy grumbled suddenly and and shifted his position a bit.

“Worse?” Sven asked just as the attackers started walking into the light of the campfire.

Worgen. Dozens of them. They snarled, spraying spittle, and brandished their claws, as they walked toward the two men. Sven held the knife out, but suddenly came to a realisation. “No wait! My brother! He knew the Worgen! Eric... Laterbrus! Laterbrus is here!”

The worgen seemed to listen to him, but they did not slow down and certainly did not stop. Suddenly, there was a growl behind them, and they froze. A bark, and they took a step behind, and then made room to let someone through.

He was a worgen slightly smaller than average, with a mangy, white coat and a muzzle a bit longer than the others'. His yellow eyes stared at Sven and Guy in turns, and then past them, at the three sleeping figures. Guy looked like a taut bowstring: about to jump forward and start killing people any second now. Sven hoped it didn't come to that: he had no illusions about being able to hold even one Worgen at bay with nothing but Windfarer's belt-knife.

The worgen turned his eyes back to Sven and Guy, and suddenly spoke in raspy, yet understandable, Common. “How do you know those three?”

There was a moment of awkward silence. Talking to them had been a desperate attempt. Sven hadn't expected them to actually talk back. He breathily said: “Laterbrus is my brother. The other two are his allies. I journeyed with them for a while. Then... we ended up here. We want to go back.” He glanced up into the sky, but Azeroth was barely visible right now.

The spokesman among the beasts fiddled his claws a bit, and growled in his throat. “Why are they asleep? They should awaken from this commotion.”

“I don't know”, Sven answered. “They've been that way since we arrived... here.” His eyes drifted to the dark, starlit sky for a moment before coming down again.

“Who are you?” Guy asked bluntly and raised his sword a bit, as if to remind the Worgen he was still armed.

The beast looked at him for a moment and answered: “I am Renthlivend, or Renthlos, as your friends called me when we sought to transport my people to their home from Silverpine Forest. I thought I'd seen the last of them, and yet, the Wise One sent us here today, and warned us we might run into humans.”

Guy and Sven's eyes met each other for a moment. “What did this 'wise one' send you here for?” Sven asked, a bit worried.

“People from another world arrived here today. You truly see no reason for us to investigate?” Renthlos asked them, crossing his arms over his chest. Both the men fell silent, so the Worgen looked past them and said: “I trust that you are no invaders, and pose no threat to this world or our people. Please lay down your weapons, and let us return to our village. I am sure the Wise One will look forward to meeting you.” The others around him did not seem so trusting, but slowly started to stand straighter and lower their claws when he gave a barking order.

Sven lowered his hand and put Windfarer's knife onto the empty sheath of his own belt knife. “Who is he? Or she...” He eyed Guy, who also hesitantly put away his own weapon.

“He is the greatest sage in our world”, Renthlos explained and stepped backward. “He is the only one who knows magic as Laterbrus and Dab'ra do. Human magic.”

“Maybe he'll know why these three aren't waking up”, Sven said and looked back at them once more. None had moved an inch.

“Maybe he'll be able to send us back to Azeroth”, Guy added, finally losing his angry voice, and flinched a little as Renthlos barked another order, and one of the hulking worgen walked past him to grab Kra'osha and put her across his shoulder. The lot of them were apparently letting Renthlos speak for themselves. He must be their leader or something, Sven thought. Or maybe they don't know Common.

“What are your names?” The worgen asked and seemed to consider something, before choosing to do nothing more.

Sven hesitated, giving Guy time to speak his loud and clear: “I am Guy Sliverberg.” Sven introduced himself afterwards in a more lame manner.

“I see. Let us depart”, Renthlos said and barked something at the other worgen. They moved out fast, on all-fours and using the terrain to run almost as fast as horses without showing any effort. Sven, Guy, Renthlos and three worgen who had the unconscious magi on their shoulders. The worgen leader started taking them in the same direction as the main pack, but stayed upright and did not go uncomfortably fast. “It is not a very long journey, even this way. It is good that we found you when we did. The wildernesses are not safe.”

Guy stayed behind the others and kept quiet during the short bouts of conversation Yorgen and the worgen occasionally had. The sword hanging from his hip felt very heavy, and whenever he did not focus on ignoring it, he could feel it calling for him.

No wonder that Laterbrus had recognised the sword. It was called the Shadowfang, and he'd been the apprentice of the Lord of Shadowfang Keep. However, something seemed wrong. When he'd drawn the sword, its power had felt two times stronger, and yet... more focused. It had taken him a long time to learn how to control its rage. Now, he'd barely needed any trying.

He looked down at the ugly blade. Maybe it had been damaged in the teleportation?

The worgen seemed friendly for now. However, this Renthlos was hiding something. Something was wrong here. What was the Devil up to?

Clearing his mind, he fingered the hilt of the Shadowfang and, in his mind, prayed to the Light for clarity.

Sven's feet hurt and he felt tired when they finally arrived in the village. It was a collection of tents and small wooden hovels with strange designs, made of strange hides and strange lumber. When they came to the hill overlooking it, several of the guardsmen gave the Azerothians of the group odd looks, but did not try to stop them from entering.

“Most worgen remain awake throughout the night, and sleep during daytime”, Renthlos explained. “I hope you do not mind meeting the Wise One before you sleep.” Despite the seeming politeness, he did not ask for their opinion on the matter.

“I guess it'll be all right. I'm happy to testify we're nothing but regular folk who got zapped here by accident”, Sven muttered and yawned loudly. He saw several villagers stare and whisper amongst themselves as they walked into the midst of the tents. Most of these Worgen seemed to have white furs, unlike the majority that he'd seen in Duskwood. There were muscular and sinewy men, tall and lean women, small children, old folk...

Renthlos gave a barking laugh. “Even if you think that is true, it is not. I knew your brother for a relatively short time, but I know that no one associated with him is 'regular' by any definition of the word.”

Sven frowned. For the first time since the worgen showed up, he remembered Eric's actions in that temple, before the warp. The bastard had wanted to sell them all out to that Druj thing, and use the Scythe of Elune to overtake Azeroth... with an army of worgen. The farmer looked around himself, imagining those people just vanishing all of the sudden, called to another world to serve as the footsoldiers of some power-hungry wizard's quest for conquest.

He wanted to think of something else. “You speak excellent Common. Did Arugal teach you, or...?” They were approaching a clutter of larger buildings ahead.

“The Wise One taught me when I was a child”, Renthlos said. “I am a son of the chieftain of my pack. All chieftains send their children to the Wise One to be taught.” He barked something at a nearby worgen woman, who nodded and ran ahead of them.

“Ah, that makes... no, wait, what?” Sven almost stopped walking when the realisation hit him. “Your sage knows Common?” He stared at the wolf-man in complete bewilderment.

“All will be explained soon enough. Just follow me”, Renthlos said and led them to the largest building, in the middle of the village. It wasn't big: barely as large as the Yorgen household, but it still towered over the single-floor huts and tents around it. Many cloths with tribal symbols painted on them hung around it. It had no door, but just a large entrance with a hide hanging over it, causing all visitors to have to bend down and lift it to enter. It was a strange choice.

As Sven entered, he was instantly surprised by the heat inside. It was almost uncomfortably warm, and the air felt somewhat stuffy. He soon saw that the inhabitants were burning incense, which explained some of it. He also seemed to remember a lack of windows when approaching the building.

Guy stepped in behind him, but Sven hardly noticed. He was engrossed with taking in the room he'd come to. It was a large hall that seemed to hold a kitchen, a living room and a bedroom in the same space. Worgen walked around, most of them busy with chores, ignoring the newcomers. At the end of the room were a group who were sitting on small stools, talking with each other in low voices. Sven stepped toward them, and squinted his eyes as he saw the farthest one.

It was a human. A very old human with pure white hair and flaky, wrinkly skin. He looked almost deadly thin, but his eyes shone with inner power. He wore a purple garment wrapped around himself, more clothes than any worgen in the village. He must be the wise one.

The man lifted his eyes, and he saw Sven. Tilting his head a bit, he called out: “Yorgen, is that you?”

Happy birthday, Zula.

I've been suffering from writer's block. I used the occasion as an excuse to make myself hammer through it. There's probably a bunch of typos and errors in this initial version, but it'll be worth it, just to get it done.

__________________

Quote:

Originally Posted by Pliny the Elder

True glory consists in doing what deserves to be written; in writing what deserves to be read; and in so living as to make the world happier for our living in it.

Co-creator of UFS, a joint urban fantasy setting.

Last edited by Kerrah : 02-27-2012 at 03:39 PM.

#63

02-28-2012, 02:57 PM

Kerrah

Elune

Join Date: Apr 2006

Location: Finland

Posts: 10,961

Quote:

Chapter 13

Laterbrus carefully walked through a thick fog. He couldn't even see his own outstretched hand through this haze. What was worse, he didn't seem able to use his magic. It kind of made sense, after the arcane disruption that had come when he'd been pushed into the rift by Sven...

He stopped for a moment to once again try to figure out what had happened after that. Everything had gone white, and then he'd just been standing here, in the fog. He scowled and continued walking. He wasn't sure how long he'd been going, but he wasn't tired yet, so it couldn't be long.

”I have to get out of here to...” He mumbled to himself and paused. ”I have to get out of here.”

A shiver ran through him as he once again felt like he was being watched by someone.

Sven blinked his eyes, confused. ”Uh, do I know you?” He took a step toward the wise one and squinted his eyes. The man didn't look familiar in the least.

”Wait, no”, the sage said and shook his head. ”Åke Yorgen was a young man back then... he'd be long dead by now.”

“Åke?” Sven frowned and said: “He was my grandfather... who are you?”

The man slowly stood up, helped by one of his Worgen companions. Despite his apparent frailty, he was as tall as Sven. Looking the farmer in the eye, he said: “My name is Garren Roland. I was once an Archmage of the Kirin Tor.”

Sven furrowed his brow. “Roland? You... died, didn't you?” He took a look over his shoulder, and found that Guy and Renthlos were staying back, out of this discussion.

“Died?” The old man said amusedly. “I guess it's fair that they assumed that of me. So you're Yorgen's grandson? How did you end up here?”

Sven frowned and crossed his hands over his chest. “Wait, can we go through this in a chronological order? First we talk about how you got here, and we talk about how we got here, and then we talk about the current situation.”

Roland fingered his white beard for a moment and then nodded. “Very well, then. This is going to be quite a tale, though, so we might as well have tea and honey cakes as we speak. Daena, dear, will you get the refreshments for out guests?” He spoke past Sven, at an elderly Worgen near a doorway, next to a large table. She smiled and nodded before leaving the room.

The old man walked beside Sven and looked at the others. He didn't seem to pay Guy much attention, but the unconscious trio who had just been carried in behind him seemed to catch his attention. “Hmh, I think I know what's wrong with your companions.” He walked past Guy and put a hand on Kra'osha's forehead. “Yes, the same thing happened to me too, when I first came here.”

“...they're all magic-users. I assume you are too”, Guy said hesitantly.

“Yes”, the old man said with a pleased smile. “Nice of you to see the connection. What happened is that their personal psychovibric arcane spectrums clashed with the new atmospheric magimental conditions, causing them to suffer mild epileptic shocks. Normally they'd undergo a day or so of mental recovery but I can boost up the process by properly syncing their auras using the Brelav-Zirallata method.”

He seemed to enjoy their blank stares very much as he chuckled and pressed his thumb against Kra'osha's forehead. “You're going to have to tell me how you ran into one of her kind later.” His eyes flickered over Windfarer next. “And especially him.”

A red wave of energy ran through him, and past the orc. She moaned in her sleep: the first noise she'd made in this world. “There we go”, Roland said with a slight smile. “Now she's in regular sleep. She'll wake up when she does.” He turned to Dab'ra next and repeated the process. “With him... I'm not so sure. Maybe the magics binding his mind to his body will refresh over some minutes? I've never studied the undead, except as a theoretical concept...”

The elderly worgen returned to the room with a large tray, which she lay on the table. “Please, take a seat”, she said in a friendly tone in perfect Common, and yipped something at the other Worgen in the room. Renthlos sat down at the table, while his men put down the unconscious magi on some cushions. Roland's guests from earlier walked off after short goodbyes in their tongue.

Sven and Guy took a seats opposite of Renthlos, but ignored the tea and pastries for now. Instead, they watched as Roland walked to the three sleeping figures and did his red wave spell on Eric. Though nothing looked different, a grim look fell on his face when he did it. “Did something go wrong?” Sven asked.

“The issue that struck the three of them has been corrected with him too”, Roland said hesitantly. "But with this one, something is different. It is not arcane, but spiritual. His soul has... retreated within. He won't wake up like the others will...”

Sven felt numb. “What? He's dead?” He only realised he'd stood back up when he felt Guy's hand grab his shoulder, urging him back down.

“Heavens no!” Roland said and slowly walked to the table, sitting down as well. The old Worgen female walked behind him, looming there like the retainer of a lord. “I don't mean that he's never going to wake up. I mean he won't wake up yet, not until... well, it'll help out if I know what's happened to him. And going by our agreement, I guess I'll start with the narration. Know, though, that he's in no immediate danger. I think.”

Sven very slowly sat down, taking a look at his slumbering brother. He and Kra'osha looked restless now, not comatose like before. Only Windfarer remained as still as he had all evening...

“So. Where to start? Well, I was Archmage Roland of the Kirin Tor. It was... oh Gods, so long ago. Well, your grandfather Åke was in his late twenties. I was about as old as he was. I left Dalaran to study on my own, tired of the big city. I came to a town called Sunnyglade, and found a nice cave nearby where I could study without being harassed. The Yorgens sold me food. I lived a simple life, contently studying the barriers that divide Azeroth from other worlds, and from the Nether.

Well, one day, something went wrong. I was being careless, there was a spike in the nearest lay line... and I woke up in another world.” He spread his hands in an and-here-we-are gesture.

Sven rubbed his stubbly jaw. “It's that simple, to travel to another world?”

“Heavens no”, Roland said. “I made it sound easy? It was a great coincidence it happened at all, and had I been a weaker mage, I'd have surely died.” He reached for a honey cake and took a bite of it. The Worgen lady gave him a strict look which he very pointedly ignored. Apparently she'd have preferred for the guests to take the first one.

“So they named you their sage? I mean, you just talked about sensing my brother's soul, so...” Sven trailed off while the old man finished his pastry.

“I wasn't given any honorary first-visitor-from-another-world title. I earned it”, the wizard said, and bit onto some more cake. He continued with his mouth full, sounding a bit like Windfarer did when he wasn't using his voice spell. “It took me years to learn the Worgen language, and then I studied for a decade under the previous Wise One. I learned the duties and skills of a local shaman to do it. I'm not that good a wizard any more, since I haven't practised much.”

Guy hesitantly reached for a pewter cup and poured himself tea. Sven nodded his head jerkily. He hadn't meant to offend the man, but for some reason he couldn't imagine an archmage working as some Worgen's apprentice.

Roland swallowed the rest of his honey cake and continued: “I know some of what's going on in Azeroth nowadays. Some of the Worgen tribes have been called there in the past few years, and they've relied a little of what things are like to me.” He frowned and took another look at Kra'osha. “My biggest regret is that I can't go study this 'dark portal' thing I've been told of. I want to know how it keeps magic-users from passing out when they use it...”

Sven blinked his eyes as a memory came back to him. “Grandfather said that he once heard your voice in Roland's Doom. Uh, the cave where you vanished...” He cursed himself in his mind for using that name. It sounded so grim.

“So that's what they call it...” Roland said. He didn't sound very amused. “Yeah, that was me. In my first years here, I tried to contact someone back home to get help, but I gave up on it. I could only send very fragmented recordings of my voice, and only to the place I'd departed from, so I figured it was no use... shortly thereafter, I found happiness here. I hadn't thought about Azeroth for years until all the recent summonings...”

Sven just nodded. He finally reached to take a honey cake. As soon as he tasted it, he felt like a fool for not trying one earlier. It was delicious.

“Now it's your turn, I'd say”, the old man muttered while pouring himself tea. “Chronological order, as we agreed. How did you end up here?”

Sven sighed a little and wondered where to start. “My brother and his friends – they're the three boneheads lying on the cushions – were searching for the Scythe of Elune. It's a magical object said to be able to summon legions of Worgen to do the wielder's bidding, and it was last sighted near my home. He decided to pay me a visit, one thing led to another, and I found myself in his group, riding to Karazhan and beyond.”

He stopped to think what else was important. He pointed at Eric. “My brother is Laterbrus. Renthlos may have told you about him. He was the apprentice of Arugal, and heavily involved with summoning Worgen in the past.” It was impossible to tell if Roland had already figured this out or not.

“Well, we eventually found the man who had captured the Scythe. We fought our way into his sanctum. Only, he wasn't the real threat. My brother made it there first, and by the time the rest of us got to him, he was dead and instead we faced a... I don't know, devil.”

“A devil with three horns”, Guy said grimly between sips of tea. All at once, Roland, Renthlos and the Worgen woman went stiff as boards of wood, their faces frozen in fear.

None of them spoke, so Sven continued slowly: “My brother... he said he was going to make a deal with it. He'd get the Scythe in exchange for helping it go home. Things got chaotic, and I ended up pushing him into the rift that was being channelled. We woke up here.”

“If you are here...” Renthlos said, his hands grabbing the table in front of himself hard enough to leave scratch-marks on the wood.

“Then so is he”, Roland finished. He closed his eyes. “I suspected he might be related to the Worgen-summonings on Azeroth. This confirms it.”

“He... it is named Druj, isn't it?” Sven asked. The two Worgen in the table seemed to shudder at the mention of the name, while Roland cringed in a painful manner.

Renthlos seemed to force himself to let go of the table, and nodded jerkily. “That name is not to be spoken lightly. He is a Lord of the Emerald Flame, an enemy to all who live.”

“Which means...?” Sven asked. He knew he was stretching it, now, but he was feeling too curious to let the subject go.

Roland seemed to think what to say, and bought himself time by reaching for a new honey cake. “I think you deserve the explanation, but I would rather save words for now. Your friends are going to want to know this as well. I will tell you all later. For now, I think you should rest. It is very late, and though I am used to staying up through the nights, like the Worgen are, I doubt the same applies to you.”

Sven didn't actually feel that tired, but he felt weary. A lot had happened in the past few hours, and he felt like it would really help to lie down and think for a while. “All right. Uh... do you have guest rooms or?”

“Yes, actually. Chieftains and seekers of wisdom visit me often, so I have rooms to spare, just in case. My daughter will take you to your rooms”, Roland said and called something out in the Worgen tongue.

Sven didn't quite have time to process what was just said before the door opened and a woman entered. She was Worgen, and yet, more human-like. She had bright blue eyes, a very short muzzle, and humanlike hands, but her skin was covered in white fur. Suddenly the elderly female Worgen in the table made much more sense.

Guy cocked an eyebrow as he stood up, while Sven wished he could be so casual. He found himself staring, and blushed as he lowered his eyes, raising from his chair.

“Good evening, I'm Srira”, the woman said and smiled. It was hard to tell how old she was, but she was probably older than Sven or Guy. “I can't believe there's another human in our world...” She seemed just as intrigued by them as they did by her.

“Our guests are tired, dear”, her mother Daena said. “You can ask them questions tomorrow. Take them to their beds, now.” Despite her age, she sounded very authoritative. Her Common was a little clunky, but still understandable.

“Yes, mother”, Srira said and gestured for Guy and Sven to follow herself. They passed by the sleeping magi on their way to the stairs. Sven assumed they'd be taken to proper beds soon.

She followed the woman through a doorway and up some stairs. In a cramped corridor in the second floor, she pointed at two doors and said: “You can sleep in those. I'll bring you washbins in a minute.” She stopped to take another good look at both of them. Sven felt uncomfortable being stared at like that. With the Worgen outside, it had been awe and intimidation. Here, it was curiosity and... something.

“Thank you”, Guy said tiredly and lowered his hand onto the hilt of his sword. “Can you tell your father to have someone guard the black-haired sleeping youth? He may be dangerous if he wakes up.”

Sven felt like protesting for some reason, but then ended up nodding. “The other two are going to wake up soon, I think he said. I guess he's going to give them the warm welcome and explain where they are when it happens”, he said and rubbed his eyes.

“Let father worry about that”, the woman said and turned to walk back to the stairs. Sven now noticed that her feet were more humanlike than a Worgen's as well, but not quite human. “I'll see you soon with that water.”

Sven and Guy were left alone in the corridor. The farmer turned to his newfound companion and said: “If Roland teleported here, maybe he knows a way back. I mean, he said that he gave up on returning to Azeroth at some point, but maybe he knows a spell, only he chooses not to use it.”

“It's possible”, Guy admitted. “We'll ask him tomorrow. I don't know about you, but I truly am tired as can be.” He walked to one of the doors Srira had pointed, and opened it up.

“Good night”, Sven said, and yawned loudly.

“Good night, Yorgen”, the former crusader answered and entered his room, closing the door behind himself.

Sven stood still for a minute. He wished he still had his sword. Ladimore's sword. Lazily, he walked to the other door and entered the guest room. He hoped that he didn't dream tonight. With the material he'd been getting since his last sleep, he was going to have really disturbing dreams.

Laterbrus stopped and lowered his hand. He still couldn't tell how long he'd been walking, but he was starting to sense that there was no end to this fog. “I know there's someone in here!” He yelled in frustration. “I can sense you looking at me. Show yourself.”

The oppressive silence around him deepened for a moment, before breaking when a familiar voice spoke: “You're right. There is someone in here.”

The fog gave way and the vague shape of a person appeared in front of Laterbrus. He wished he could access his magic, but without that, he lowered his posture, ready to fight with his bare hands if need be.

When he finally saw the other person completely, though, he forgot his intentions. The man was short and scrawny, with a feminine face and small hands. He wore clothes of blue and white, and had a short, blonde hair. His eyes were dark, almost black.

“What?” Laterbrus asked, confused beyond all thought. It was himself, only... in opposite colours. White clothes instead of black, blonde hair instead of dark... “What are you?”

The other Laterbrus sighed and shook his head. “That's a long story. Though I guess time is all we have at this point.”

I've gotten addicted to cliffhangers. Sue me.

__________________

Quote:

Originally Posted by Pliny the Elder

True glory consists in doing what deserves to be written; in writing what deserves to be read; and in so living as to make the world happier for our living in it.

Co-creator of UFS, a joint urban fantasy setting.

Last edited by Kerrah : 02-28-2012 at 03:03 PM.

#70

06-27-2012, 03:12 PM

Kerrah

Elune

Join Date: Apr 2006

Location: Finland

Posts: 10,961

Quote:

Chapter 14

Laterbrus blinked his eyes and shook his head. “Leave me be, Druj. You have better things to do than to haunt me here!”

The clone of him looked blank for a moment, but then said: “No. I am not Druj. A fair guess, but sadly incorrect.”

“Whatever”, the warlock said, not believing this trickery. He looked around and asked: “Where are we?”

He flinched when the other him raised a hand. Thankfully, it was not an attack, but a sweeping gesture at the fog surrounding them. “This is where things go when you discard them. Things you throw away, and don't want to see come back.”

“Hmm?” Laterbrus asked and frowned. That made little to no sense. “How do I get out?”

The clone shrugged and pointed into the distance. “You just walk past the offal.”

“Offal sums up all of this pretty well”, the youth muttered and rubbed his forehead, walking in a direction that he was pretty sure was the same one he'd been going previously.

To his surprise, he heard a chuckle nearby. The other Laterbrus was following him.

Without a word, they walked onward, through the fog.

Guy woke up early. Sitting up, he reached for the Shadowfang, which he'd stashed under the mattress of his bed. Having found it right where he left it, he squeezed the hilt and surveyed his surroundings, searching for enemies without thinking.

He was barely awake. During his travels south from Lordaeron, he had learned to be a light sleeper. He woke up upon sunrise without fail, or if his surroundings gave him any disturbance. The downside was, sleep did not refresh him as he knew it should.

He slowly begun to draw the blade to minimalise its distinctive ringing sound. As soon as he started, he felt the familiar anger flow through him. It sharpened his senses, and started to rouse his mind from its slumber. Yawning, he rubbed his eyes with his free hand.

Guy drew the sword free, and stepped out of his bed. He knelt down and placed Shadowfang against the floorboards, resting his forehead on the hilt as he started to pray. He felt immensely hungry, and a weak part of him begged for more sleep, telling him he was now in a safe resting place, but he ignored the needs of his body in favour of his soul.

He recited the prayers in his mind, asking the Light for guidance. His muscles ached, and he felt cold, but he didn't care. This discomfort was nothing. He had survived for a very long time – he was not sure how long – in that prison cell. He hadn't been given food for most of his stay. One day, he had sat down, sure he was going to die. He had crossed his legs and emptied his mind to contemplate the life he'd had. Then, the door had opened. What he at first took for a miracle turned out to be a farmer from Duskwood.

Realising his thoughts had been straying, he focused them back on where they were needed.

About ten minutes later, he stood up. The anger was still there, but as usual, it seemed to become a part of him after Shadowfang had been drawn for long enough. Guy stared into the distance and thought of where he was. He had no experience with the Worgen. This Roland seemed dangerous. Sven was simple and trustworthy, if naïve. The unconscious magicians might be dangerous. He had to keep his sword-hand ready around them.

He reached for the scabbard under his mattress and grabbed it, sliding Shadowfang in. The anger left him, and was replaced with physical tiredness and mental relaxation. Being emotionally tense did distract from pain and weariness, but it also exhausted the mind. The temptation to fall back under the covers was even worse than before. Guy took a stumbling step away from the comfort and reached to take his clothes, only to find them gone. He stopped dead on his tracks and stared at the chair where he'd left them last night. There was nothing there.

He didn't have much time to think before he heard steps outside, in the corridor. Silently pressing himself against the door, he listened. Steps, steps, steps... knock knock. “Uh... are you awake? I heard someone move inside.”

It was the voice of Roland's daughter. Guy hesitated before clearing his throat and saying: “Yes, I am. Where are my clothes?”

“They're downstairs. Mother patched them up”, the girl answered. “I washed them, too. Except the green shirt. That was too torn to fix any more. We found another one almost just like it, though.”

Guy yawned and let go of Shadowfang. “Can you please bring them up here?”

“Yes, of course”, the woman replied. “Wait just a minute.” Her steps quickly moved away from his door, toward the stairs. Guy turned around to lean on the door with his back, scowling to himself. It made sense of them to do this: he couldn't imagine doing anything different if he was the host and his guest came in wearing the rags from months of imprisonment. Yet, he felt somehow wronged in this situation.

The girl – whatever her name was – returned less than a minute later. “I will leave these outside your door, all right? I am going to go downstairs and have supper made for you. You can come eat as soon as your are ready.”

“Sure”, Guy muttered and waited for her to leave. When her steps had been gone down the stairs for ten seconds, he opened the door and grabbed the neatly folded clothes.

Closing the door behind himself, he let the clothes fall onto the floor and started to dress himself. He didn't know why he felt the need to rush. As he put the clothes on, though, he couldn't help but admire how well they'd been stitched back together.

Soon he was dressed. Black pants. Well-worn boots. Green shirt. Light tan vest. Red headband. Red leather belt, and two similar straps that held an empty quiver against his back. Finally, in one of his pockets he found the long-abandoned ribbon he'd used to tie back his hair in the past. Surprisingly, it had been washed as well as all the other clothes. He used it to get his dirty hair off his face.

“I need to make a bow”, Guy muttered to himself as he attached the pommel of his sword onto his belt. Heading out of the room, he yawned again, fighting off the tiredness that still haunted him.

Downstairs, he found the table he'd sat next to earlier laid with bread, strips of some meat, and a pitcher and mug. Thankfully, no one was around right now. He sat down and closed his eyes, just taking in the scent of it all for a moment before eating anything.

As soon as he started to eat, Guy became aware he was being watched. As he stopped to pour himself whatever was in the pitcher (it was red, so either juice or wine), he spoke past a mouthful of bread: “It's impolite to spy on others.”

Sheepishly, the half-worgen woman emerged from one of the doorways. “I'm sorry, I didn't know if you want company or not.”

Guy did not. He hesitated for a moment before mumbling: “It's all right.”

“Obviously it is not”, she responded and started inching toward the door. “I'll leave you alone.”

“Just tell me...” Guy said and took a sip of the drink (which turned out to be juice) to cover up that he didn't remember her name. “I'm obviously not the first human you've met. Why are you so curious about me?”

She looked at him as if he'd just asked what colour the sky is. “Well, of course there's my father, but he's my father.” She took a step toward him.

“What?” Guy asked, confused. He took a bite of the meat. It was really damn good. He hoped the Worgen didn't hunt some other sentient species for food.

She sighed and sat in a chair a little distance away from him. “It's a bit too complex to explain, and I don't want to burden you with this right after you woke up.”

“And yet you are not leaving”, Guy pointed out. She wanted something out of him.

She nodded. “Well, I just thought that you may need some help. You are in a foreign world, after all. I don't want you to wander out and get yourself killed.”

“I can handle myself”, he insisted, but knew that she was not going to let go of this excuse.

“Well, tell me what you want to do once you're done eating, and then how you'll go around doing it. If you don't need me for anything, then I'll let you go”, the woman said with a smirk on the edge of her mouth.

Guy blinked his eyes. “I'm going to go craft myself a longbow.”

She reached to take a loaf of bread as well. “Longbow? Long... bow... Ah, a longbow.” This was the first time her Common had momentarily failed her. ”We have a fletcher in town, actually. If you wait until sundown, I am sure he will make you-”

“Nope”, Guy said as he munched down another strip of meat. “I'd rather make my own.” He was sure that bowcrafting was wildly different among worlds and species'. Worgen claws were different from human hands. He was better off making a bow that he was used to.

“Very well, then”, the girl said and her smirk returned. “Can you tell which trees to use for your bow, then?”

“Assuming you have the same trees as on Azeroth...” Guy started hopefully.

“Well, your trees have blue leaves like ours do, right?” She asked innocently. When she saw his blank stare, she giggled a bit. “There's a reason our world looks blue when viewed from Azeroth, Guy. Your world looks green, except for the oceans, because your weird trees are green.”

Guy thought back to when he'd been on the plains after first arriving to this moon. He'd only seen a couple of trees from a distance, and it had been too dark to see their colour. However... “The grass...”

“Blue too”, chirped the half-worgen. Guy closed his eyes and bit on another piece of bread as he tried to remember the grass from those plains. He'd never looked at it. It had just been there, and he'd never paid attention to it. The sky had been much more interesting. Besides, the sun set pretty soon after his arrival, robbing everything of its colour.

“Okay...” Guy said. He had forgotten what they were talking about, by now. Thinking back, he said: “So you know which trees make good bow-wood?”

She nodded. After a moment's hesitation, Guy shrugged. Might as well take her with.

Kra'osha stirred. She had a splitting headache. “Ugh... khu'shara....” She slowly sat up, and felt a warm blanket fall off herself. Everything felt blurry. She closed her eyes tight and tried to remember what had happened.

A cold hand fell on her shoulder. “Steady”, a metallic voice told her. “Don't try to stand up. You'll pass out.”

She opened her eyes a little and saw Dab'ra there, looking at her passively. “Thanks”, she muttered in Common. “Where are we?” She lifted a hand to rub her forehead.

“Don't know. Inside wooden building. No one in room. Silently waited for you to wake up. Door not locked, but best be sure.” He was having a hard time keeping his artificial voice down. Kra nodded and inhaled deeply in an attempt to reduce the pain in her forehead.

She slowly turned sideways to dangle her legs off the edge of the bed she was on. She was dressed in the shirt and trousers she wore under her robe, which was neatly folded nearby. She wasn't sure, but it might actually have been washed.

Dab'ra handed her the robe, and she started pulling it on. Her magic felt... strange. Like she was under some kind of enchantment that affected her aura. The wizard apparently felt her flexing her metaphorical muscles, because he said: “Feel it too. Someone tampered with our magic while we were out. Must be careful.”

She groaned a bit and pulled the robe all the way down. Quickly lacing it up at the front, she stood up. “Let's see whose guests we are”, she whispered and readied her magic as she walked toward the door.

When she opened it, she was assaulted with the most wonderful scent of roast boar in her life. She suddenly realised how famished she was, and her knees almost gave up under her.

The door led into a large hall full of people. Kra's eyes moved past them, onto the succulent beast laid on the great table. She couldn't tell what animal it was. It wasn't a boar, but it sure smelled like one. She stepped forward, but was stopped by Dab'ra's hand on her shoulder.

“Careful”, he said to her.

She scowled a bit, and looked at the people. Now she noticed they were all Worgen. All except the incredibly old human sitting at the end of the long table.

Everyone was staring at her and her companion. She stared them back for a long while, and then said: “This quest keeps getting more and more ridiculous.”

Kra spent most of the explanation stuffing her face with that dead animal, as well as the excellent vegetables served with it. Dab'ra would ask questions, demand clarifications. She was content with just listening and eating. Most of what she heard made sense.

“Renthlos lives here? Where is he? Where is Laterbrus, and Sven?” The undead wizard asked, his eyes lingering on the food in a sad way. Kra felt bad for him: unable to taste food any more.

Roland, the old human, counted with his fingers. “Renthlos is out, scouting to see if he can find any clue of that creature you were fighting before you left Azeroth. Sven is above us, sleeping. Your other companion Guy went out into the countryside to find something... Laterbrus remains asleep.”

Dab'ra didn't seem to catch Roland's tone, so Kra had to swallow a mouthful of eggplant and ask: “What's wrong with him?”

The old man hesitated. “According to his brother's description of the events leading up to your arrival here, Laterbrus had struck some kind of a pact with... the being you met. One seldom makes that kind of choice light-heartedly. A combination of the moral duress, the devil's effects on him and the shock of a sudden transportation here probably broke him. His soul is in shock, and will not unite with his body.” He shared a look with the old worgen woman who sat next to him in the table. Kra was starting to suspect there was something between the two of them, by the way their eyes met every so often.

“Can't be cured?” Dab'ra asked immediately, drawing a bony finger across the table's surface.

Roland looked at him blankly for a while. “Only the Gods can help him. Luckily for us, asking the Gods for help is a genuine possibility here.”

“Where and how?” The undead wizard shot out immediately. Kra found herself hesitating. Laterbrus had sold them out, so it was hard to put curing him high on the list of relevant tasks in her mind. Her first priority right now was to find a way back to Azeroth.

“I will tell you, but not now”, Roland answered simply. “You both need a few days for recovery. Especially you, Windfarer. I've never studied necromancy, but straining your arcane powers could cause you to abruptly fall down, truly dead.”

Dab'ra hesitated, before adjusting his posture on the chair. “Very well.” Despite his voice spell being mostly lacking in emotion, he managed to sound grudging.

Kra slowly stood up. “I'd like to thank you for your hospitality. I am glad to know that even in far-off worlds, there are friendly people who are ready to help those in need.”

Roland looked at her for a moment, and then burst into a wide smile. “Beautifully said, my friend. I am sorry, but I think I need to start heading to bed by now. The Worgen are nocturnal, and I have adapted to that lifestyle as well over the years. I think there will be a few people around even during daytime. If you need anything, just ask someone you find.”

As the orc nodded, she wondered where Sliverberg had gone.

As Guy finished carving his bow, he nodded to himself. It still lacked the string. Some five paces away, the half-worgen girl was sitting on a log, trying to hide her yawns from him. Some blue leaves were falling past her onto the forest floor. On their journey here, she'd been asking him questions about humans non-stop until he not-very-politely asked her to cease. Luckily, she was too tired to be curious any more. The only sound was the loud singing of the native birds up in the tree branches.

He was starting to figure out her deal. Her father was a human, but had apparently neglected (or outright refused) to tell her much about his own sort. She was taking this chance to find out everything about Azeroth she could. Unfortunately, many of her questions made were hard to answer because she viewed what little she knew of human society and culture through what was assumed normal among the Worgen. For example, she didn't seem to fully grasp the idea of nations, kings and lords, and instead thought of kingdoms as very large tribes.

“Let's head back to the village”, Guy said and held his new bow in his left hand. “I don't want to keep you up too late into the daytime.” Back in Azeroth, he'd heard of the Night Elves that Azeroth had allied itself with, who supposedly slept during daytime. He'd found it absurd, but it felt less strange with the Worgen because this was, after all, a wholly different world.

The girl (Guy still hadn't asked her to remind him what her name was) sat up and nodded. Starting to walk through the forest, she idly picked up a bright red flower seemingly growing out of the bark of a nearby tree, and ate it. She'd warned Guy to not touch any plants without asking her if they were dangerous first. He'd learned to not get careless in the wilds long ago, after a plague-afflicted tree had almost eaten him during a scouting mission.

As they started walking through the woods, Guy realised his hand had lowered itself onto the hilt of the Shadowfang, wanting to rest on it but unable to do so because it was gripping the bow. Frowning a little, he lifted his arm, now self-conscious about its position while walking. Needing some distraction, he started a conversation. “This forest doesn't seem to have many animals. Some birds and bugs, but nothing bigger than my fist.” He tried to gesture at a bird, but there weren't any visible at the moment. He couldn't even hear their chirping right now.

“We're still very close to the village”, the girl said, following his gaze from tree to tree. “The animals know they'll become prey if they wander here.” She yawned again, louder than before, this time not even trying to hide it.

Guy opened his mouth to ask something, but was distracted by the sound of a twig behind himself snapping. Without a thought, he dropped his bow and drew Shadowfang, turning around.

There was nothing there. The sword's extended ringing seemed to echo in the emptiness of the forest. Guy's companion turned to him and asked: “What happened?”

“Hit the ground”, he said softly. “The forest went quiet. Something's up.” She took a moment to understand the idioms he'd used, and that space in time almost cost her life. Something swooped down from above her and swung a blade at her.

Guy pulled her down, pushing her out of the way of the blow. He felt a breath of air as the weapon of the assailant passed by his own head by inches. There was the sound of a ragged breath as some vague shape flew past him after missing its blow.

Hastily standing up, Guy brought up his sword arm and faced his foe. His eyebrows furrowed and he asked: “Who and what in the name of the Light are you?”

His assailant simply responded: “The Light did not name me or my kind.”

Suddenly, the fog started to clear. Laterbrus took a questioning look at the copy of himself. For... quite some time, they'd walked and nothing had happened. Now, without warning, the landscape around him was finally coming to view. For the first time after ending up here, he felt the ground under his feet have any kind of texture. It felt like... wet leaves and grass?

The mist was gone so fast that Laterbrus could barely comprehend it. He was standing in a forest that looked oddly familiar... “What the... this is... we're right outside dad's farm. But this isn't Duskwood.” The trees were healthy, the sky was clear, the birds were singing. Had he travelled through time? “Where are we?”

“This is refuse, as I said. Things you've thrown away.” The white-clothed stranger said, causing the young warlock to blink his eyes. Earlier, he'd though that was a passive you, and not specifically talking about him. Things he, Laterbrus, had discarded?

He was starting to have a guess about this place. Without a word, he stepped out from amidst the trees, onto the yard of the Yorgen household.

The door opened and two children ran out, laughing as the larger one chased the smaller one. Laterbrus watched them run, and then saw a man in his thirties peek out from amidst the crops. “Don't go too far, boys! Dinner is going to be ready in a few more minutes.” He yelled and shook his head a little as he adjusted his hat and bent back down, out of view.

Without really thinking about it, the young warlock walked after the children, following them to the edge of the forest. “I told you, there's a bird's nest in there”, the younger kid said, pointing at the branch of a tree. “I saw it earlier, but I didn't see anything go in or some out, though.”

“Just leave it be, you idiot”, Laterbrus muttered under his breath.

“Can you go get it?” The black-haired child asked innocently, showing that he couldn't reach the branches of the tree. His blonde brother smirked a little and started climbing. Laterbrus closed his eyes and simply listened to the sounds of young Sven climbing to the branch with the nest, and then falling down onto the ground, grunting. As he started crying, little Eric ran off.

Laterbrus shook his head and walked past the scene, followed by his doppelgänger. As the farmstead faded away behind them, and the forest started to morph into something else, the other him asked: “Why do you reject this incident?”

“I'd rather not think back to when my stupidity got my brother hurt.” The surroundings had frozen, halfway between this and that. His suspicions that his companion was in control of the place were strenghtened.

“And yet, you chose to hurt him again.”

The warlock sighed. “Look, do you have many of these planned? I have things left to do.”

Silence returned between them, and they continued onward.

Need to boost my update rate... (understatement of the century)

__________________

Quote:

Originally Posted by Pliny the Elder

True glory consists in doing what deserves to be written; in writing what deserves to be read; and in so living as to make the world happier for our living in it.

Co-creator of UFS, a joint urban fantasy setting.

Last edited by Kerrah : 06-27-2012 at 03:15 PM.

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#68 04-12-2012, 10:00 AM
Timolas Join Date: Dec 1969 Location: Malta Posts: 12,273	And for a second I thought he finally wrote something. Tut tut. __________________ The best revenge is to be unlike him who performed the injury. -Marcus Aurelius, the true Emperor of Rome

#72 07-01-2012, 07:01 AM
Timolas Join Date: Dec 1969 Location: Malta Posts: 12,273	It was a bit slow, but still enjoyable. Kra'osha and Dab'ra are finally growing on me after many years of wishing they were dead. I like how they've just been dragged along on these crazy adventures. I almost feel sorry for them. __________________ The best revenge is to be unlike him who performed the injury. -Marcus Aurelius, the true Emperor of Rome