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 The Fall of Dalranus

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Phemonix
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Posts : 42
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Join date : 2010-10-07
Age : 25
Location : Cambridge

PostSubject: The Fall of Dalranus   Tue Nov 30, 2010 2:40 pm

Figured I would move this over here since I plan to work on it some more. Props to anyone willing to post ideas underneath. Anyway, here I go.



Chris: Footsteps thundered through the rough underbrush, disturbing the silence that clung to the gnarled oaks of the forest like death itself. The tall shadow, little more than something of dreams and thoughts, passed through the trees following an old path, beaten down with use. With purpose most sinister and thoughts darker than the pit itself, the shadow flew through the forest, heading towards the center.

As it passed deeper into the foreboding nothingness of wilderness, the canopy of the trees, now wizened with age, created the feeling of being within the earth itself. Darkness engulfed the ground, making it perilous to travel by anyone but those who were most experienced with the area. Or to those who had other talents. As the shadow traveled deeper into this darkness, it was consumed by it, only betrayed by its movements.

Suddenly, almost without warning, a clearing appeared, breaking the never ending trees and granting some relief from the darkness. The shadow stopped at the edge, heavy steps crunching down upon undisturbed leaves. Passing quickly through the natural barrier formed by their decaying husks, the shadow entered the clearing. Once being cast upon by the light, the shadow was revealed as little more than a tall man cowered within an old cloak.

Patched in many places, and torn and dirtied everywhere else, the man would appear as a beggar in most places, if not for the glint of metal which shone out from under the robes. By reaching up, the tatters of clothing slipped back from his arms, revealing the devastation beneath. His left arm was human enough, though covered in a distressing number of scars. His right however, was the source of the glint that came from the reflection of light.

Seeing it, most would think armour, however, upon closer inspection, it was the arm itself that was metal, not some covering or protection. Metal and flesh reached for the hood, drawing it back from his face to reveal the man beneath. The face, while not something anyone would deem unpleasant, carried a cast upon it that turned away all but the most stalwart. Small slivers of silver crept up from the right arm to cover some of the neck, but the face remained unmarred.

Glancing about with deep set blue eyes, he reassured himself that he had not been tracked, nor happened upon by those who stalked this forest. Raising himself up to his full height, a towering seven feet, he brought his hands up to either side of his body, and after a slight pause, brought them together in what seemed like an over exaggerated clap.

However, as the hands met, a great wind rose up in the clearing, whipping about the skeletal figure in a whirlwind of leaves of debris. Ever expanding, the winds tore about, clearing the forest floor, and revealing the pattern of stones beneath. As the last of the stones was cleared, the tall figure waved his hand, dissipating the winds as suddenly as they were summoned.

Towering over the cracked and broken remnants of the ancient stone circle, the figure glanced about, his gaze lingering on each fragment for but a moment, before passing on to the next. Reaching within the folds of his cloak, he produced a small, dishevelled looking pouch, which he handled with a delicate touch.

“I knew you would bring them.”

The voice echoed through the clearing, condemning the silence that had moments ago hung about the forest. Deep and reverberating, the voice came from all directions at once, betraying neither the speaker nor his location.

“Give them to me and I will let you live.”

The man grimaced within his cloak, inwardly fearful, yet sure of the safety the circle would provide.

“You would do no such thing. They shall never be yours to command.” Raising himself up, the man in the cloak raised is arm, the bag suspended on his palm.

“No!” The voice from without cried out in pain and hatred, and a great thundering noise whipped across the stones.

To late though; as the hand that carried the bag fell, casting it against the ground in a ferocious crash. Small splinters of glistening crystal flew from the impact, shining in the twilight that permeated the foliage above.

“No more shall this power serve your kind.” And with that, the figure in the cloak through up his hands, vanishing as just one more of the nights shadows.




David: A man stepped out of the trees and into the clearing. He was cloaked in robes brilliantly white and pure. It had taken considerable power and concentration to hide himself in the trees with magic. His face was contorted from anger and frustration. For all of his power the cloaked figure had been able to destroy the crystals and escape. The actions of that night would have far reaching and dire consequences.

The man considered who the cloaked man might have been and what his purpose was. There were many possibilities, none of them good. Those crystals were very important and their destruction would change everything. The white robed man reached out with his senses trying to pick up any residual magic. With any luck there would be some clues as to who the cloaked man was based on the type of magic he used. After a few moments of concentration the robed man gave up. The circle had absorbed all the residual magical energy in the area. There was no signs of the cloaked man left to find.




Chris: As the citadel of the Magi came into view, scraping the very fabric of the heavens, the white robed man glanced up, eying the structure with an interest few shared. Most who came to stand beneath its towering walls feared the place they had entered. Some even turned back, having not the stomach nor the will to approach such a foreboding place. If the sheer size did not topple the resolve of those who came to gaze upon it, the fact that portions of the central tower simply floated without support would send most others fleeing with terror in their hearts. Only the most stalwart of those remaining would ever enter such a place; others would simply wait outside while the messengers carried their ideals forth.

With prying, deep set eyes, the white robed mage glanced about, taking in the increasing number of people who had come to take shelter beneath the towering spire. Many were nothing more than poor farmers, forced from their lands by the spreading darkness, offering to sell themselves as a workforce for the men who lived within. A few of their number would disappear that night, used for magics that were only rumors to the outside throng.

As the ornate iron door ground open before him, the mage sent forth his mind, making sure the warding sigils were still in place. If the people without were to suspect an opening, they would overrun the door defenses and force their way inside. Casting a quick cloaking spell, such as the one he had used during the confrontation he had just endured, he walked calmly through the main gate, into the fortress that lay beyond.



David: The robed man started walking towards the central citadel of Dalranus. As he walked along the central street he was shocked and dismayed by what he saw. The city was almost empty. On a street where four carriages could have easily passed abreast there was not a vehicle in sight. What the city lacked in population it made up for in beauty and wealth: every building constructed of the palest white marble, every building large or small had stain-glass windows. The whole city looked to have been designed as a work of art by masters of unmatched vision and achievement. If the people outside the city could see the city behind the oppressive walls that they knew, they would weep at the beauty that was locked away from the outside world. Despite all this wonder and beauty, all the robed man felt for the city and its grand central tower was disappointment and disgust.

As the robed man came closer to his destination he was appalled at the wonton and indiscriminate use of magic to create beauty. It wasn't that the man couldn't appreciate the grand wonder of the city it was that beauty was wasted on mages who thought themselves above the art they had created. The robed man was inspired by the beauty and disgusted by its implications at the same time. It was at times like this that the man wondered at the meaning of it all.

After a moment of dark thought the man decided to focus on what he had come here for. Like the other few mages traversing the main street he ignored the magic fountains that summoned water from the void and cast it back into nothingness. He showed no interest in the floating gardens that hovered and danced through the air upon the strings of an invisible puppeteer. He was on a mission, and his disgust would only serve to distract him. With that he gathered his concentration and, using an old mental training technique, cast his emotions away until he would have need for them again.
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