OOC: Well..... might as well bring everyone back together again. I think power people are meeting up witht the control.

IC: Di'Ethe awoke on the back of his pegasus. He blinked his eyes into focus and stared at an altar. The others in his group were behind him already facing the trials of there respective rooms. Each looked shaken from the trials faced as vAldiCi had not beent here to shield there thoughts through each of the tasks.

Di'Ethe, Naur, Tam, Eagle and Chori approach the altar uneasily as they sensed great power emanating from it.

Time stopped

'Well, well. A renegade. You would be the last person I expected.'
Di'Ethe looked around, The entire chamber had disappeared and replaced by simple nothingness. There was no light no ground no feeling at all.

"Who are you? Where are you?"

'It's been too long since I've had any company. Do you find the accomadations comfortable?'

"What accomadations?"

Then Di'Ethe was suddenly surrounded by trees, grass swayed beneath his feet and the wind rustled through the leaves of the trees.

'Oh. A follower of nature. How very interesting. not many of your kind know about these things to recreate them so strongly in my realm. You are unique.'

"Who are you?"

'You have a querying mind too. You like to know how things work. How everything fits together don't you?'

"Yes, but..... Who are you?"

'You do not need to know. What is more important is, what are you going to do now?'

Di'Ethe considered what he had been told. He wondered where his friends were. He wondered where he was. Then he recreated the altar and the cavern in his mind. He recreated the last thought and last vision he had before it all went dark.

The scenary changed. Di'Ethe stood in the cavern once more and stared at the altar. It no longer radiated power, it stood silent. He felt his brow and felt metal. He had somehow acquired a diadem.

'Well done dark elf. You're fellows will recover soon enough but you will be my representative in the upcoming battle.'

"You're......." Di'Ethe removed his hand from the diadem and felt the god's power rushing through him from the diadem on his forehead.

He concentrated through the diadem and brought the others out of stasis and turned to see vAldiCi and the rest of his colleagues enter the chamber from the last set of doors.

Naur, Eagle, Tam and Chori collapsed onto the ground drained of energy. Di'Ethe wondered what they had gone through to leave them so drained before his own knees buckled from beneath him.

vAl looked at the exhausted group.

"I guess we should rest for now."


OOC: Well we're all back together and we seem to have acquired the diadem of order which drask wanted us to do. Just a rest thread. Do whatever you want. recount memories, drink some ale, kick back relax before someone takes over command and pushes us forward once more.

OOC--We’re not all of us back together... some of those on the Power thread have yet to catch up... like me. Also, in a few days, (ie. when the ticket gets through the moderators) The first two sections of the second chapter of my story should be up on Elfwood... I'll put up a link soon on the disc forum...

IC--Drask followed the others, lagging behind a bit. Even though he was a dragon again, the change always took something out of him, as if he were leaving something behind. He could no more explain to anyone, even himself, what it was, but nonetheless, he felt that he was less whenever he changed. Not to mention that his wounds taken while elven carried over--in proportion--to his dragon form. The cuts and lacerations he’d taken on his elven arms... they were there, and bigger. The dragon leaned on Thornfire as he ambled down the corridors. It was nice, once more, to have the ceilings near at hand.

After quite some miles beneath the surface of the earth--it seemed that the WarAngels had been there for years and then some--Drask came upon the place where the Alliance had split into its two almost-factions: Control and Power. Those who wanted power to control and those who wanted control for power. Order and Chaos, as it turned out. After passing some statues and a variety of other chambers filled with oddities, he came upon a room filled with smoke. He passed through it quite easily, holding his breath for fear of a trap.

Nothing happened to the reluctant dragon.

In the next room, however, Drask was overcome by sleep, a terrifying urge not unlike the late stages of hypothermia. The dragon drowned in sleep. He dreamed, as dragons usually do.

Drask stood upon a pedestal, high above the ground. Walking upon it was painful, but there was nothing else he could do: an electrical storm raged above him, precluding any possibility of flight. Looking down, the dragon could see hordes of people, staring at him. Tears ran down ruined faces. Others had no eyes from which to cry. Some were missing arms, legs... heads. All stared or pointed, silently screaming their singular accusation.

A face appeared before the dragon, at once beautiful and unattainable: she was not for him to have. Freia, his sister, his avenging angel, cried tears of blood as she looked upon the face of her brother, her killer. For, when all things were one, Drask had been the death of her: in protecting him, she had been struck down. Beside her hovered Banthusir, partner in crime, unofficial older brother, living representation of the ideal of Skeinir. Ban had been killed as persuasion: the first draconic victim of a magekiller’s malice.

An entire clan of dragons stared up at their scion, a living tribute to their deaths.

Others watched. Kormar, prophet and teacher. His gold-ringed eyes showed only remorse at not having taught more. Linfaer, her ivory-hued face framed by blood-matted black hair. That was not how she had died--some would say that truly, she had not died at all--but that is what Drask’s imagination made of her death. She walked a set of invisible stairs, her mist-grey eyes regarding him in love and sorrow. She kissed him, lips on scales, before speaking:

‘My lover, my killer. I die in you, and live forever through you. Turn around, feel the blood flow out of your feet and onto your pedestal. Know how it feels to bleed. We do. Look out on this crowd of souls. How many of them can you name? How many here are among those nameless dead, the cause for whom they died knows not their name? How many of them have you forgotten in your continued life? I know you haven’t forgotten me. How could you, when you yourself killed me? I haunt your dreams and nightmares, causing and curing. But what of these others? Look again. Look closely, my lover. My killer.’

Draskireis looked out upon a field of corpses, watered in their own blood.

Clammy hands upon his scaly shoulder shook him awake. Romulus, too, had seen terrible things in his induced sleep. Drask shivered, but Thornfire burned brightly. The pendant around his neck, too, glowed. It was hot to the touch, but its scalding heat was soothing: he could not remember to forget her. What would happen if she looked upon him now? If she, Linfaer the great, the terrible, the Blood Mage, could regard his scaled and clawed figure. Would she think him good? Evil?

Would she care?

Drinking from Romulus’ proffered flask--here was enough in that skin to sate even a dragon’s throat--Drask stood and continued to hobble toward the cave’s terminus. Romulus, sensing the dragon’s restlessness in company, walked a ways ahead of him, but stayed near. Ever looking out for the Young One, though he be in actual years the eldest of the Alliance. Years are a small thing beside experience. But even experience, with all the wisdom that springs therefrom, pales in comparison to the simple act of faith in a deity’s benevolence.

Draskireis Kensismai Martissal’s faith had died with Banthusir.

Soon there came another room, this one with a pleasantly pattering waterfall: clear water into an ever-draining pool. Before succumbing to another urge to sleep, the dragon stood beneath the waterfall, letting the water cleanse him of recrimination, of doubt. None of the others saw the steaming red droplets fall into the pool. Sleep overtook him while he still attempted to scour the past from himself with nothing more than water and force of will. vAldiCi, overseeing all without himself being seen, moved Drask’s head from beneath the falls, leaving it perched on a rock.

Another room, another pedestal. This time, though Drask was the one looking up at the pedestal. It was crystal, and built of souls. Souls who had believed in something greater than they themselves could perceive. From the pedestal looked down a woman. Human. Tall, but not ungracefully so. Clad in a filmy white gown with elegantly simple lines, she was breathtaking. He could fall in love with her easily, were he human. The distance from him to her shrank even though it seemed that both dragon and woman stayed in precisely the same place. He was transfixed by steel-blue eyes, and he only barely heard as she spoke to him:

‘But your heart is already pledged, and to one gone before you. Mist-grey eyes that plague you in your self-doubt, in your self-recrimination. You wonder if she had to die. If you could have taken her place. If... well, I’m sure you’ve thought of far more what ifs than have I. I cannot put your doubts to rest myself, and should I show you’re her spirit, you would disbelieve it. The only supernatural power you can believe in is that which you can control: magik. No, don’t deny it. That would dishonor your memory of another. Banthusir, revered in your eyes far and above Skeinir--what was a god in comparison to a brother? And both died. You think by your hand, or at least because of it. None can sufficiently prove otherwise.’

The dragon sneered at a prophecy written about another: ‘And love shall be your undoing.’

‘Will it be? How many others do you love that are alive because of it? How many of your brikari have you saved and been saved by? With which of them have you lost count of the tally? Bonds of blood are easily broken, but bonds forged in blood endure beyond all but betrayal. The worst betrayal of all, however, is to betray your memory, to twist the past to suit your current wishes. Go now, to your world, my unwilling paladin.’

The dragon awoke under a waterfall in an empty room. Satisfied that naught was missing, the fire mage also noticed that his wounds had been healed. He stood and continued forward, into a chamber with nine exits, including the door through which he’d passed. All around him were animals of all types and shapes and sizes. One crawled up to the dragon, slimy and pathetic but nonetheless determined. A salamander, an extinguished creature of flame, scaled the dragon to perch upon his shoulder.

Sartris

Many doors lay open, as if beckoning him, having already once been conquered. The dragon instead chose the forbidding looking black door, its teak wood stained black with something not entirely pleasant. He opened it and was sucked into a world of shadows. Shapes danced upon the walls. The walls moved about at least as much as the shadows themselves. Shapes, in loneliness and exhaustion--painful dreams brought no rest--resolved themselves into lost personages, and soon Drask found himself cornered in a shifting maze, only his tortured memories of a sad past for company.

Something slimy brushed against his neck, bringing the self-indulging dragon back to reality. He was not alone in the darkness--it was really only shadow--and there were plenty of things he could do about it. He was a FIRE mage, dammit, so why was he worrying about some shadows on some walls? With a thought and a gesture and a helluva lot of magik, the room exploded in light and sound. Sartris and her dragon emerged from the cleansing inferno to rejoin the fold.

Romulus looked at his companion with his head cocked to one side. ‘What is it, Scaley, that lizards have for fire?’

******************
PUNCH the keys, for God's sake!

OOC- um helo there my pretties i forgot what we were doing.



IC- Flash, a burn.
But no real pain. Just imagined, like the rest of everything in the room, in the rooms. Closing eyes and nothing else would be disguised...
something real cant be true if it disappears without you?
vAl watched his comrades quietly. It was rest, time to rest. A sabretooth tiger softly padded up to his kneeling form, an odd image occuring of a large animal and a sentient magical being.
Are not elves, the first elves.. the ancestors... are they not pure sentient magic without form or time?
The tiger purred. It sounded almost like a cat. It was a very Xandim-like purr.
If a small pussycat could somehow fit inside a large sabretoothy tiger (which also , happened to smell like ogre meat) then there was only one person that could manage that...
and .. it was
"hey xandim. it looks like u have leveled up."
"yeah val, i mean look at these large teeth. They must add at least 3 xtra points to my attack damage."
The tiger bared its teeth , showing off their impecable pointyness and length.

"leveling up, huh.." vAl muttered to himself, his long fingers streching into the deep recesses of his carrysack.. "i know it was in here some where" he started to become a little uncalm, which was a bit unsettling to see.

His eyes on Romulus, vAl procured a vial of noodle dust. "Look Romulus, brikari.." his eyes wandered to romu's pipe and all around the area..
"i have something that can surpass Mickey."

Romu glanced at vAl. "Surely you dont mean.."
"Yes. yes i do. Ol' Mickey ain't your only friend." vAl grinned.

"Now all we need is a small chicken..."

OOC- wAHAHAHA....


---------------------------
For Altair~

OOC-Hi all! My name is Mazade. I am moving to france in Late August, but ATM I live in RI. Let's see what I can write...

IC- Lywen awoke in a cave. A dark, damp, space with a cold, slimy floor. She felt drained. Her Chestnut brown hair lay flat to her shoulders, which was unusual. She missed the elves. Gently, she made sure she had all of her possessions. Her favorite thing was her sword. Ice. Ice was a family heirloom. Supposedly, when the Elves found her, the only survivor of Dimindium's Forces' attack. She really was a Human, but inside her, the mind of the Elves had grown. She had lived with them her whole life...well, since she was 6 months old. She had been trained as a fighter/ice mage. Alligned with the Goddess, from her family blood, and Gaia, from the elves, she had been called by Gaia to retrieve Her stolen Diadem. Which had led her to this damned cave. And she still hadnt found the diadem. Next to her, Lyta, the wolf pup her Elven mother, Amalae, had given her, rolled over and opened her gentle eyes. "Good morning," Lywen told her. Lyta was quite restless. She stopped every once in a while to twitch her grey ears. "What?" asked Lywen. Suddenly, she heard what the wolf heard. Voices. She grabbed Ice. "Light!" she hissed. A blue blaze shot from the sword and through the passageway of the cave. She grabbed her pack, called Lyta to her side, and, brandishing ICE, headed towards the voices. SUddenly, a sharp roar filled the cave. Lywen shot the Coldfire just in time to cancel out a blaze of actual fire. Where was this Dragon!? WHat did she do now?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When I close my eyes I can see forever...

OoC - ChiRRiN WiT MuH HoMieS oN TeH WeSTSieeeDe

IC - Ahh.. the wise vAl could also see Xandim through any new form. There was to be no trickin this mage, for he thought of things Xandim never would have. With a grunt, Xandim wandered off away from the newcomer. the warangels would all do their bit to welcome her, so he was not needed there. He wandered off, with no point in mind, but simply to walk. Slowly he wandered away from the AtW not paying attention to where he was... or where he was going.

Forest changed to mountain, mountain changed to sky, ground turned to air, as Xandims paws landed on dirt. Still he continued walkin,unaware of the blood on his legs from this freefall. Dirt tuend to forest, forest turned to cave as Xandim wandered back to the AtW and the newcomer, who apparently was not buying what these people were telling her. Xandim bumped into Drask rather hard, sending the unexpected dragon to knees. Yet he wandered on, as he approached the newcomer, who brandished her weapon in self defense. However, she was too scared to use it as the dazed Xandim continue to slowly pad forward, right past her, into the moss-covered wall. His forehead met the cave as his legs continued to move, movement was hindered, and Xandim was slowly brought back to reality when he heard the laughter of the newcomer.

"Ahahah look at this thing, trying to walk through wall but too dumb to realize its solid rock"

Slowly he returned to human form, apologized for his absense of mind and fell back, as he was the icebreaker for calming down this newcomer.

"eh whatever," Xandim spoke as he shoke his head and fell back.

OOC - NO clue

Part One...
OOC--I've been given somewhat control of this character, along with my sister's imput (she and this character both being female, well... yeah).
NO AVATAR
IC--Things were not looking good for Chori. Her sword had been swallowed up, her peahen had run away, and she was even now being herded by a closing ring of half-sentient trees who threatened to do more than swat her around a bit. She scrabbled haplessly on the earth, loosened by the trees in transit: their emerging roots had aerated the soil.

A root whipped out and slapped her across the back of her knees, throwing her down on her back. The impact of the root stung, and landing on the ground sucked the breath from her lungs. The elf attempted to scream; the sound escaped her throat in something akin to a sigh. No one heard her.

The trees continued to close their ranks. The circle was now two deep.

A branch lashed out at Chori's face, lacerating the pale skin of her cheek. Others followed, and she began to receive a beating administered by things she could recognize as nothing other than dark sorcery brought alive with a malevolent intent to do her harm.

Chori gave up hope as her legs and arms were snagged by roots and pinned to the ground. One tree, bigger than the rest, stepped forward to claim a sacrifice to the grove. The defenseless paladin gasped as red eyes opened out of barked skin. Gnarled bark twisted as one bare-boughed arm raised skyward to deliver the coup de grace.

OOC--plans for this... TBC.

******************
So in sum, what are we? We are the creatures that know and know too much. That leaves use with such a burden again we have a choice: to laugh or cry. No other animal does either. We do both, depending on the season and the need.
--Ray Bradbury, Something Wicked This Way Comes

Tam had lent his energy to Di'Ethe at the altar, and was now thoroughly exhausted, but with the help of his flask of whiskey, he was able to wake up enough to eat some of the chicken noodle soup that Val had just finished making. Pretty soon Tam was in happy land. Chicken noodle soup and fine elven whiskey was really what the soul needed. He finished his fourth bowl of chicken noodle soup, and soon he was rested and ready to go, which was good, beacuse a purple flying elephant was attacking him. Being alert, Tam knew that the only way to kill it would be with toe-jam, so he sat down, picked his toes, and flung the toe jam at the purple flying elephant, which turned into a newt and ran away.

OOC: I like vAl's chicken noodle soup!

OOC- Just relaxation

IC- The mood had lifted. Tasks were complete, and fights were finished. Now was time for mirth and enjoyment. Vilset reclined against a wall, thinking about events which had come to pass. He thought of his dreams, and his journey. Why did he go through that door alone? Why was there no animal companion? Why did Evelyn ... no! This was not the time to worry about mysteries. This was the time to enjoy one's self, observe people, and think of nothing.

Thoughts danced and drifted in the day's dazzling daze:

I see people, and people changing ... metamorphoses ... a new stranger to observe ... whatever is happening to Chori? ... it was quite nice of Xandim to ease the newcomer's nerves ... she reminds me in some way of Chori ... how will Chori react to this woman? ... those battles were well fought by Drask ... and vAl, too ... where did that whiskey come from? ... looks good to me ...

It was only a random stream of thoughts, not necessarily having any meaning. There was nothing wrong with letting his mind wander at this time; he let go of cares and allowed himself to relax. Vilset enjoyed himself for the first time in a while, and it felt wonderful.

OOC- I'm in a bit of a daze right now. Must be the lack of sleep. TV at 2:30 am is something else.

^^V^^

Images of broken light which dance before me like a million eyes that call me on and on across the universe