Another Mission Gone Well
By Blake | February 7, 2013
Hawthorne had set sail per the request of the Queen. The siege was to take place against the Red Ork Clan. The Orks had sailed to Yew and pillaged the outlying villages for the last time. The Militia was fed up. Now was the time to prepare the battle vessels and defeat the Orks on their own turf. It was the Ranger's job to scout ahead and report back to his Lieutenant. He did so swiftly taking only a few small items: his handmade bow, a small quiver of arrows, a bit of food for the waters, and an iron skillet. After all, The Sergeant had been dropped in the middle of nowhere before with much less.
The trip to Dagger Isle had been uneventful. A quick journey for his small boat. Blake had been on the island many times before and had scouted every outpost known to the Militia. He set ashore near the Yew Outpost and high-tailed it to the safety of the fort, awaiting nightfall.
As the night air became crisp and calm, Hawthorne made his way around the southern tip of the mountains. He scaled them above the Ork guards making not a sound. Blake was a master in the ways of the shadows. Hell, he could walk through Britain at noon without one wayward soul even noticing him. He crept to the north entrance of the fort counting heads of the ugly beasts along the way. He drew a map in his head of the lay of the land. He listened to the conversations taking place through the windows. And his nose twitched every time an Ork was closing nearer.
Just an hour before dawn, Blake began to make his way back to the outpost, and the small boat he had drug ashore and covered with some dead limbs and rubbish. The morning air smelled cleaner, as if rain was following the sun in from the east. Blake set a course back to Yew. Into the eye of the storm.
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Claws and Darkness- the Past exploits
By arzosha | February 7, 2013
**The corridors smelled of ash still, the floors covered in it and long forgotten dust. The hallway that she continually burnt was back and had doors. Simple wooden ones at first followed shortly after by dark pitted metal ones, to these she moved, ignoring the timber of her recent memories the ones she made after she had awoken. Her steps taking her unerringly to the old one of the past she strode with purpose to the one farthest back.
Walking into the darkness that enveloped that door, so rusted yet it held strong, a pale hand the nails curved in a mockery of a claw laid on it; she didn’t remember opening the door until she felt the push of emotions, holding them at bay so she could just peek inside.Â
Her mother filing away at her horns and clipping her sharp nails telling her she was a normal Elf, and not some product of a night of blind stupidity with a White draconic male. Stray thoughts wafted along. -Did her father live? Her real one? Did she care? –No, not a bit- She turned away wondering how her mother’s husband never noticed the odd eyes, probably too blind to his own ambitions.Â
Another door, this one scored by claw marks and she grimaced. This memory cursed her she decided, the sound of that man telling her, forcing her, to give up her identity as Tristana to become Trist; the son to make that man proud. Again the odd thoughts came as she walked up the corridor looking at the doors; “his†training, the sensei taking a personal interest and helping on the sly, the gift of the harmonica. How in a hundred years no one once found out the boy was really a woman. Perhaps the old man had but never spoke a word for “he†had been the best or near the best.
Thoughts of the place, one that had been hidden in the Far north in Zenegral, hidden by magic and in that cold land made to look so very much like the Old land, old traditions of Assassins, it was too bad only boys could be one of them. Why she had been forced to give up her feminine self.
She stopped at another this one made her smile just a little hint of real emotion leaking free the memory; a memorial for one of there own who let his rage, his Gods gift, consume him. He got sloppy and died, it had been sad but the ending,
--“He†again felt the amazement and confusion as the Sensei called “him†up and offered him a box, with in it the highest honor the Dagger only the most elite got in truth only 4 were in use for the guild, 2 were held by a paired Dragons, one to a Raekhan follower a lone hunter and now. “He†was given one “he†had thanked his own god the Trickster that night happy.--
The smile slipped away as she moved on. The next door she wanted to walk past but it was not to be, it swung open swallowing her into the memory.
-The hollow pleasure “he†had felt was stolen when the guild was attacked. His brothers killed and scattered he himself bound forced to watch. -Â
She growled her body rippling there in her mind, the dragon side held more sway her form altering to become more like a dragon’s; scaling and spikes rippling taking on solidity as they formed down along her spine and into a forming tail, gold against the white of her skin, as her tattered and deformed wings straightened out and became what they should have been, strong diaphanous with the veins visible through the fragile film of skin. She tried to escape the memory, the pain and anger that again consumed her.
-arms and feet bound, flat on the ground, someone holding “his†head up watching as a brother, the other hunter slowly, with a skill that would make any Dark Knight Dungeon Master proud, harm and kill the Sensei over a long amount of time. “He†screamed fighting to break free and unable to tears flowing down cheeks that had not felt such in almost 100 years.-
She stumbled away, clawed feet digging into the ash, a long plated tail whipping, as she tried to escape but to no avail another door broke under her clawed hand as she fell against it the memory making her scream.**Â
The black clad form fell to the side as her dream figure fell, curling into a ball to try and protect herself shaking like a leaf in a storm, a light crisp frost began to cover it sticking it to the surrounding grass.Â
**-Pain, never ending pain, darkness, jeering words and cruel jokes. The feel of a blade the pain as something was peeled, body on fire screaming “himself†hoarse as they slowly peeled his skin from him happily displaying it in his cell, asking things he could not understand or care to answer-
Even as the memory washed over her making her sob she could not help but wonder at her captors. She had been bound, stripped of all her clothing, yet never did they do anything besides torture and peel her skin leaving two places free of there harmful games as if they in there twisted minds decided to leave some things intact and untouched.
She struggled from the grip of those memories forcing them back behind their doors and moved on. The Dragon stopped before a door that constructed of wood and metal, a mingling of past and present; these memories she welcomed with a bitter happiness.Â
The hunt for her dagger, the journey long and arduous, she had to kill a few of her old Clan sibs who had gone to His side. Then finding him, finally, back in the ruins of the Old Clan grounds, a fight that almost cost her life; a weapon master and still assassin against her, a meager mage, but she had won. His final end she did not make easy visiting on him far worse then had been done to her, yet it was still a hollow victory. The dagger, safe again in her boot, the feeling of its eternal thirst for blood calming as she slowly walked away from the scene of the battle.Â
Empty, hollow, that was life for her now. She moved on ignoring a door that had an odd grain in the wood. Behind it an echo of a night or two, a dalliance in emotions, a pathetic attempt to be ‘human’; emotions a waste of time.
A picture instead of a door, a woman that was unmistakably a dragon kin like she, a Red though; this made her smile. The child was growing maybe she should stop calling her a Whelping, the term used in her clan for the lowest class, the new kids. Maybe she was ready to be called a shadow, or not, she could not help but gain enjoyment from antagonizing the red; the only emotion she felt now; joy in making that one get angry. With one last look, feeling the past trying to escape there doors, to render her weak again she turned and fled her mind.**Â
The Dark form stood up breaking free of the ice, the evil dagger being put back into a boot walking south slowly, not to far, just to an empty farm field and looked up at the moons. Wings opening to there fullest, looking like she for that moment wanted nothing then to fly, escape the existence she was bound to, as she was bound to the land.
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The spatter of pale pink snow, steam from a burnt corpse marred an otherwise pristine beautiful snowy mountain side. A low laugh that hissed at the end echoed. She flexed her hands smirking at the feeling of pain from the harmful fire spells she had cast.Â
Then with a twitch and resettling of still too small and near skeletal wings she set off down the mountain, leaving behind a fool of a Knight who thought to attack a women trying to bring a snow slide down on a small village full of others like her. Cold blooded hunters and killers, Trist couldn’t understand, she was doing a service to herself and others. Cleaning competition up and saving Fools she can and would make suffer later.Â
“I hope you have no one who will miss you worthless meat bag, though I have to thank you a landslide would be to impersonal, slaughtering them all face to face is betterâ€Â
She spoke over her shoulder to the rapidly diminishing corpse then to the black male pixie with yellow eyes and fangs that buzzed into a landing on her shoulder.Â
“What say you Thanatos slaughtering worthless lowlifes to more weaklings in shiny metal sound good?â€Â A rusty laugh as the wings twitched again leaving behind a rattling sound of death to hang in the air.
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Trist stood in the room she had rented at the Chail Inn looking down at the clothing she had laid out on the bed, two outfits’ two choices. A loose black and grayish shirt and black pants black boots and gloves, a cloak with a hood. And a strip of black cloth used to bind what chest she had flat, making her from Tristana into Trist or just Tyr. Male Assassin, the lone killer.Â
Or the Brown skirt and strapless top bought down in Kyr one time. Simple bracelets for the ankles, and ankle high shoes. No place to hide a dagger, showing off the pale almost white skin with the precision slices and marks, that came from torture and having ones skin peeled.Â
She shook her head turning away to the mirror and with care braided her hair in a intricate pattern. Before returning to her choices the pale cold eyes closing a ragged breath taken before they opened and the dress was put away. With learned hands wrapped the chest binding around tightly. Enough to just start to restrict normal breathing, then the shirt, and pants. Belt enclosed around the slim hips holding the Dagger and a few bags one with a purring pixie. The cloak came last hood pulled up and the Women no longer existed.Â
He sauntered out the door and down to leave, pulling on the gloves over the long thin fingers to hide all flesh glad he normally kept the claws trimmed or he’d have to buy more gloves. A pause at the exit to cast True Sight before leaving giving an idle wave to the guard. With a voice that was low slightly rough warm male and yet effeminate bid him good day.Â
Mind on business to find the next creature to use for his work, or just some fool to play with.
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The book was slim, bound in black leather blank pages filled it but for the first few. A spell and list in a simple but archaic style of common filled those pages. It lay in the grass held open by a small rock, edges fluttering in the light breeze that blew across the Chail Lowland Farm land. The farm field before it was empty left empty this season the perfect spot far enough away from travelers along the road or graveyard to see what was to happen.Â
White hair stirred from the tight braid that fell along the slim forms back. Pants tight enough along the thighs and shins to show off the sleek muscles but loose enough in the pelvis to hide any indication of sex, high boots dull black leather blended into the dark grayish pants. The black and grey shirt hung loose out of the pants, the low cut untied top shifted in the wind, showing a chest bound in black cloth flattening the chest, the tight sleeves just loose enough around shoulders, elbow and wrist to allow movement, moved as the black gloved long slim fingers lifted to the sky then stretched far before the form.Â
Cold dragon slit pale blue eyes looked downward the hands moving to the belt, pulling from a dagger sheath a assassins blade, wavered with runes along the edge glowing a red that moved almost hungrily up the blade. A cold smile as the blade was turned on the form, slicing a small nick in a hand then slid away. Eyes closing as the hands went forward, blood dripping adding to the spell that started to be cast.Â
Into the empty field the air wavered taking shape three shapes, two standing on one side, a stocky tall man with blonde hair and handsome face if not for a ragged scar that blinded one eye. The other was smaller willowy brown hair cropped close to the skull a face that was rounded, downy cheeked a face most women would sigh over or mother. Both wore blades the taller a long sword and dagger, the smaller two kama’s, both dressed in grey and black cloth with capes. Across from them stood a form topping over them both, cloaked and hooded, what may have been a breeze moved the cloaks, showing for the tallest a slim but strong form skin completely covered, daggers and a rapier held places on the belt, what may have been a wisp of white from the hood was quickly pushed back in by one long tapering fingered hand.
Slowly the area about the three forms took shape, sand underfoot, walls on all sides, then slowly sound a faint shouting as if from people watching, but the three there was nothing even as the two spoke there mouths moving to the third.
A irritated flick of gloved fingers and the hood bowed, the small man grinned and stepped back into his partners shadow disappearing from view, as the stocky one moved forward drawing sword and dagger. The hooded form stayed completely still a hand moving and a rather showy bit finger wriggling as Darkness suddenly descended inside that arena.Â
No sight but sound. Swords clashing, grunts then a yelp, a cry of pain of anger, then suddenly the darkness was gone. The stocky man stood over his downed partner who lay hands over chest in a sign of defeat though he still breathed looking unharmed in fact. The hooded one stood still rapier pointed tot eh ground, a dagger crossing the sword hilt looking at ease. Something said a look of rage of humiliation crossing the Stocky mans face and he charges, again sudden darkness, putting both rogues on equal footing but the one man ran out of it then suddenly froze as a shape appeared behind him immobilizing him. He nodded and the fight ended. The hooded one nodded moving away letting both retrieve blades and leave. Words heard distant faint. “This is our finest ‘Dragon’, Tyr All Assassins learn from him when any single can take on two then shall you be granted the honor given the Blade.â€Â The word ‘Dragon’ sounding like a title
The hooded form slid blades home and pushed the hood back. Short Moon pale hair that blew behind the ears, the pale cold blue eyes that held irritation, unhappiness. The win was not something this ‘Dragon’ had wanted or perhaps the fight was what he had not wished, he spun fingers clenched into fists then ran though sweat soaked hair pausing at two spots deep in the hair as if checking something, satisfied apparently the man moved as if to leave then froze at some unheard sound…Â
The image broke scattering in the wind as Trist gasped knees giving way to fall gasping fingers curling to halt the blood loss, eyes closing fighting to control the rest of that memory that had been brought to life by the spell tried to close the door it was kept behind in her memory corridor.Â
“a' i' du auta n'alaquel sut amin shor amin car baelaes vaestaestaesaerâ€Â
( "to the darkness go back. how I wish I had never remembered")
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He stalked back and forth, the moon casting shadows across the Chail farmlands. Dressed in that black and grey trench and hood he was talking to himself.Â
“hasol Eisi.. Myr baelaes mael sai cos eindral.... Vas os si vyrdes.. thasol Tali. shael por sor cadael shael por sor mas eindral....â€Â
Gloved hands raised pushing the hood back the pale braided hair escaping to fall down “it’s†back. Sinking to the ground uncaring who could come along at this hour in the night along the road to see the solitary form in a field, the fingers threading into the hair, mussing it around the horns as eyes close.Â
~Tail flickered, wings stretched as She walked along her memory corridor finding it odd. The smell of ash still lingered, past shiny smooth doors of the presents memories, past one that looked rougher. From that night’s chat. That had been closed right after and ignored for this long but finally it had gotten to her. Back to years past to one that looked crooked.Â
With a sigh she opened the door, memories of the night she had stumbled from the Eteric forest not remembering anything, lost confused and completely thinking herself the man she had so long pretended to be. Not realizing in her 5 year captivity horns had grown and so had nails. The start of it all. Finding out what her real father had been. Then months later as memories had returned the shattering feel of soft emotion.
She closed the door and shook herself. Emotion the trap of the weak though she had them as a killer they never came in handy the softer ones. That may of let her make friends. No one was allowed close secrets to hazard to the Clan must never be found so friendships were never made.Â
It had been easy to be that half and half in the past, never one or the other a women that acted like a man only. But now.. something had caused the urge the need to be completely else. “brother†or “sister†to revert back to what she had once been.
Emotions were the weakness, showing kindness even in a offhanded way broke the barriers. What may have been a joke was more then that. She was glad only a few knew her joke. It was Fun to be what “he†had so long watched and learned from the other Assassins do when they were trying to pick girls up and put that emotions into use, flattery, softness, the things that put the other off balance unaware of what true intent may be.
A faint curse as she passed a mirror and looked into the reflection of who she had once been. Even here were how she viewed herself as truth only showed back a slim cloth shrouded man with short cropped pale hair and those laughing eyes that could of grown cold at any moment. She turned the mirror around.~Â
Frost edged the grass around “it†only to break as. She surged to her feet, unlike the past she could not go un hooded in this land even as bound up as her chest was, to many knew her as “women†with out the hood, and time had added more softness to her face, no longer did she have quite that boyish beauty to it.Â
She shook and swore again pacing away from the spot she had been at to climb up and sit on the fence of the Horses corral pulling her Harmonica out she closed her eyes and started to play a old tune. The moonlight leeching any chance from a distance to realize she was a girl.Â
In the nights light she could from a distance pass as she once had as a boy with out the hood.Â
(“Farging Arse.. Should never speak to him again.... Part of the problum.. farking Male. when did this happen when did this start again....†)
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Heading back home ’They’ took a hard left turn into the bedroom, sparse with only a single small bed, a worn amour and a full length mirror. Hood pushed back the braided hair with the black and grey ribbon woven though, falling across one shoulder. With a slight flick pushed it back and slowly removed the trench. Tossing it to the bed removed the gloves, a ritualistic slowness in the disrobing. Bending down removes the boots and the dagger, then socks, before finally undoing the shirt, black cloth wrapped around the chest giving that flat torso look, finally the pants where pulled and dropped on the bed as well. Standing in but loincloth and chest band, ‘He’ took a shallow breath slowly undoing the black cloth, as it loosened the breathing became deeper rolling the cloth like a bandage till the last fell away deep imprint of a line above and below the chest showing how tight that cloth had been wrapped. The wrapped up cloth put besides others like it in different colors, the pale slit eyes gazing into the mirror thankful as always that ‘it’ had been blessed by a small if long frame.Â
“Perhaps I should not be happy if … Been... given a rack never would have suffered as long as… did you know.â€Â
“But dishonor would have befallen the Family and ... might have been killed you know. So should be happy at not having much there at all.â€Â
Shakes head as slowly a wing only a foot long lifted from her back, the eyes darkening in pain as it stretched the bruise lines along it showing she had pinned it down with the cloth. The other unfolded stretching and flapping making a little a rattling sound, the membrane between each finger tattered worn and small giving them both a rather decayed look. Shaking her head as the wings hung limp she turned away and laid down on the bed eyes closing not wishing to look into a mirror and see someone else, for that was what she saw. Herself and the one she had became to survive, with so much time there was a door that each was locked behind to keep them separated, thoughts feelings each separate safe… Tyr felt even if he was cold and heartless when it came time to kill He always was a better one joking flirting was part of the job after all sometimes. And… Tristana... Trist was everything an Assassin needed to be cold and heartless. She liked it like that. It had been easy to know when Trist or Tyr was in charge but now it was getting harder slipping back and forth between them. Feeling wishing that the body was one or the other and knowing it was not so.Â
Twas enough to drive anyone crazy, but the work being done was enough to keep her sanity for now after this was done perhaps the next step in her studies could be done
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Asleep in the relocated chail graveyard the trench coated, hat wearing half white slumped on a bench.Â
The hallway never seemed to change greatly. the scent of ash still lingered even after all the passing years. one way stretched misty the other end help a wall dominating full length mirror and a window. Flanking the hall end were two doors unlike all the others. one door was rough unfinished and set into a frame that was twisted and melted. The other had a beautiful deep finish door with beautiful carvings.
The doors faded and from the finished door Tyr stepped forth moving with that assassins grace to the mirror checking himself over. The 6' tall form was dressed in black and gray weighted trench coat, a nice shirt and pants. Hair done back into a tight braid with black and gray ribbon threaded into it. Looking like a tall pure blooded elf. You should of let me put us to bed before you got uppity now were sleeping in the rain." He turned looking at the the true owner of the body.
Standing in the melted doorway Trist just glared. dragon shaped eyes, horns curling from the unbound waist length hair beautiful white wings rested on her back and a tail flicked. Pure Elven to the Perfect Dragon-kin looked at each other.
joining Tyr at the mirror Trist sent a glare his way."You stopped calling me your sister, planing to scare people now?"
A short warm laugh"I'm bored so yes, we hid while the world changed again.
"We no longer wish it, time to play once more"
They shared another look, time or something had changed there competitiveness into cooperation for the moment at least.Â
Waking She stood looking down at her cloths she grumbled as she headed back to were they been staying to change into something more proper. "You need to learn to dress better I think we need new colors then Clan colors.."
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Race: Half Dragons
By arzosha | February 6, 2013
Though most people are unaware, dragons of all colors sometimes walk among them. And, for as varied reasons as exist with all the races, these dragons sometimes will take a mate from the two-legged ones they walk amongst. The children of these unions are the rare breed known as half-dragons. Again, for reason known only to the dragons, the most common unions by far are with humans and elves, but it is not impossible for a dragon to mate with other races as well. Half-dragon babies are not born in eggs and grow and reach maturity according to the life cycle of their non-dragon parent. Their adult lifespan, however, is extended ranging from 700 to 1000 years.
Appearance:
(Mostly suggestion, and Wings can exist if wanted)
Half Dragon appearance varies from individual to individual. In all known cases the body is humanoid, taking after the non-dragon parent. The reason for this is a matter of speculation, though the prevailing theory is that a dragon's physical form is naturally flexible (dragons being inherent shape shifters) and therefore the draconic half conforms to the biped form of the other parent which lacks the same flexibility.
There are, however, several physical traits half-dragons do commonly exhibit that reveal their unique parentage. Half-dragon skin is almost always of unusual pigmentation - matching the color of their dragon parent. In some cases the skin even develops fine scales. Even the half-dragon's hair may have a metallic sheen to it. Horns are also a common trait, as are talons or clawed fingers and toes. Some exhibit all canine teeth or even sharp fangs. Some have eyes slit with vertical pupils rather that the round pupils of their non-draconic parents. A very rare trait is the presence of a tail.
Many dragons will have one or two of these traits, a few have more, and a small number will have all of them. Half-Dragons have not been known to be born with wings.
Internally they also have a few differences from other humanoids. All half-dragons have vocal cords that closely resemble those of their draconic parent. With them they are able to speak in both normal tones and in the multi-tonal range of true dragons, which is beyond the ability of normal mortals to properly pronounce Often half-dragons will have a three chambered heart, the sound of which (when heard by a true dragon's incredibly acute ears) will immediately reveal their heritage even if the other outward signs are not present or are concealed.
The body chemistry of some half-dragons is quite unique. Where the parent was a Black or Green dragon, the body can be quite acidic, the breath giving off acrid vapors. Others, particularly those descended from Reds and Golds have metabolisms that burn very hot, their breath can be laced with tendrils of smoke, especially when aroused to anger. Children of White and Blue dragons, on the other hand, are often startlingly cold to the touch. (Any body chemistry differences are minor and are for RP value only, they are not to be considered valuable as special powers or advantages. For instance, black half-dragon blood is not acid enough to burn through rope or other things.)
Nature:
Half-Dragons share a dual nature, inheriting in full the instincts and desires of both their dragon and non-dragon parents. The temperament of their draconic half will vary depending upon color but some characteristics are universal to all.
From their draconic side half-dragons inherit a strong sense of curiosity and possessiveness. Having inherited a touch of the acute senses of their draconic parent, half-dragons are often very aware of minute details and have a desire to satisfy their natural curiosity by experiencing things with as many of their senses as possible. When something that catches their interest can be both seen and touched, seeing alone is not satisfying. And when a thing of interest can be seen, touched, and posed; then merely seeing and touching alone can be a disappointment.
The desire of a half-dragon to posses finds natural outlet in the gathering of a dragon's horde. The most obvious form a horde take in an accumulation of wealth - gold, gems, art, magical artefacts and the like, but any dragon, and half-dragons in particular often view other, less material things as part or all of their horde. For instance, a half-dragon may take a liking to a person be they lover or friend, or even to a whole community such as a particular village. The half-dragon will then guard them with possessive, perhaps even obsessive care. Or a half-dragon may devote themselves to a particular ideal or cause and treat that as their treasure. In any case, whatever a half- dragon takes as its horde it will feel an intense and possessive desire to protect and, if possible, to grow. The fastest way to raise the fury of a half-dragon is to attempt to harm or steal its horde.
The half-dragon's other nature is the one it inherits from its non-dragon parent. Because of this the half-dragon will have the desires that come naturally to that parent's race as well, whatever they may be.
How well the two natures of a half-dragon interact can vary. In some rare cases the natural inclinations of both heritages will compliment each other to such an extent that they meld together as one in perfect harmony.
At the other end of the spectrum, the two may remain completely separate, isolated even to the extreme of split personalities. In such cases it is almost as if two beings inhabit one body, constantly fighting for mastery. In the half-dragon's youth the non-dragon nature is often the stronger, able to maintain control most, but not all, of the time. As the dragon ages and begins to surpass the usual lifespan of its non-dragon race's half, the draconic nature inevitably begins to dominate until, in the end, it completely possesses the being.
The majority of half-dragons fall somewhere in-between these two extremes - they do not have split personalities but neither are they in total and perfect inner harmony.
Alignment:
All alignments are possible but normally alignment is influenced greatly by the color of the Dragon parent. Below are the most common half-dragon alignments by color. Alignments that are different, especially large differences such as Evil to Good or Good to Evil are quite rare. (though this can vary depending on backgrounds made
)Silver: LG, NG, CG
Gold: LG, NG
Bronze: LN, TN, NG
Brass: CG
White: TN, NG, NE
Blue: NE, LE
Green: CE, NE, CN
Red: CE, CN
Black: LE, NE
Powers and abilities:
Through they do not inherit the super-acute senses of their dragon parents, they are often in very touch with their senses and therefore more aware of what their senses tell them than other humanoids are. For example, a half-human half-dragon would have no sharper ears than any other human but they might be better aware of small sounds that others hear would disregard. This keen awareness, however, is no more than any other person could acquire with proper training.
Half-dragons receive no other special powers or abilities.
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Bio: The Twisted Tales of the Darkness and the Bird
By arzosha | February 4, 2013
Appearance: standing at around 5'8" this half human half something elvin, held eyes that would change color depending on mood or thoughts, Red hair that would fall over an eye at times, movements like a dancer a cat. leather or cloth held around her neck hiding a nasty Garret wire wound. another that went along her left leg hidden by a Serpentine Dragon (Chinese) Tattoo, and on her back Black Wings that looked tattered another tattoo.
This Sad Tale starts in a Large City along one grimy back street with n a Whore house. A Human Female gives birth to a red headed Half breed naming her.. Tilly.
Growing up this little half breed learned to avoid many things, those seeking to collect her for slavery, or for Certain Clientele that enjoyed the young... When her mother died of disease she left not wishing to follow her mothers footsteps.
At the mercy of the streets she would of died young or ended in a bad place. Yet a Miracle in a twisted fashion saved her from such. Taken in by two men. Rory the Assassin and Silth Leaders of the West Gang. She was given a home a Family. Rory was not around much, off on missions or scouting for new Talent, so her training fell to Silth more then not.
She grew into a fine Roof walker, pick pocket and throat slitter now one would think she would be happy... But Silth did things that kept such from truly taking root. Getting her drunk and marking her skin as he wished was one. Broken black wings on her back, a Dragon covering a long scar on her one leg. Keeping her from finding romance or even a simple lover. small moments of words that turned the Young breed into a bitter solitary Bird.
Her only light as when Rory visited and his most favored Student a odd creature from a different place, a strange half breed part elvin and part Draconic, both bitter though the Dragon was so very much older acted oddly almost young having holes in 'its' memory.
As she grew older turning into her 20's her 30's a raid from another guild took place. in the chaos a Garret wire slipped around her neck. dragged off the wire digging into her neck. Alone with her attacker a Shock to behold, twas Silth who proceeded to try and rape her.
Sadly he forgot she was not truly helpless even loosing blood and air, pulling a dagger as she bad mouthed and gloated, stabbing him in the gut. she left him.. dieing, bleeding out after she castrated him and shoved the Balls into his mouth.
Stumbling away she wrapped her wounds and fled the City, and somehow even shes unsure of ending up in a new land. Yet thankfully she was not completely alone....
,
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Name: Tristanna Tyrial / Tristen Tyrial (Tyr)
Race: Elf/Half White Dragon
Appearance: stands at almost 6' with pale almost whiteish blue skin and long hair as white a snow or moonlight, Pale Ice blue eyes that were reptilian slit. Skin was covered by scars that looked like skinning lines from shoulder area to ankle. on the left cheek was a small tattoo of a dragon holding a dagger. Small Horns set in the hair almost unseen and small wings on 'there' back that only stretched about 2' wing tip to wing tip, Tattered and torn useless for flight or anything else.
(Female Form) Voice was rough and cold very unkind and snappish
(Male form) Voice was low smooth sweet and charismatic maybe holding buried deep a coldness of a hunter.
Bio (Original Bio so sorry about the odditys =D)
 Life is a corridor of doors left open so that the memories of your existence could always be accessible. Yet for some the doors are shut, maybe peeked into, but mostly ignored; then there are those who burned the corridor, loosing their past so as to never be pulled down by it. Still the Ashes would always leave a bitter taste of what might and truly should have been.Â
Her past was lost, her present a painful darkness behind her eyes, her future, her future… Muffled screams drag themselves into her pointed, little, ears somehow she knew they were her own. Feelings of Air across gaping wounds, the acrid smell of blood and fire, voices that mocked in questioning words she no longer cared to understand; tormented, broken of body and mind; the pain seemed an eternity, yet she knew that time passed. Then silence. The pain slowly diminished but the darkness abided. Peace and with it a sleep so deep she remained unaffected. A Voice rumbled in her blood cooling her burning skin.Â
Time held no sway in that restorative sleep. Years pass by like wind on the water leaving behind only ripples – The voice’s effect was the same, mending and changing as it saw fit. She is completely oblivious until one day…Â
The forest was silent. A small mound begins to shift, leaves and other forest detritus shake and fall revealing a long, thin form. The creature pulls itself out of the rest of the waste and collapses unto the forests loamy ground. The dappling sunlight crept across unnaturally pale skin, scars webbed across a tenuous form. Coughing, more of the forest floor falls away; a scaled affect is glimpsed in the skin and vanishes just as quickly. Clawed hands push upwards and the creature nearly falls backwards as it gains a seated position. More coughing, more falling leaves, and we can see the creature is a long, willowy woman. Her hair, the color of the moon’s kiss when clean is brown with a green edge, pools around her like a stagnant lake. Another cough brings her head forward and a tiny lump appears behind a pointed ear. She moves her hair away from a surprisingly clean face her hands skim over the lumps, revealing two slim horns. She lifts her head, blinking unusual ice blue eyes, unusual in that instead of being round they were slit like a reptiles. Squinting into the fading light a rusted voice breaks the stillness, “Wh-who…â€More coughing, as her throat tries to close, “Who a-am…I?†The racking of her body nearly collapses her to the ground. The dark blankness of her mind offers, “Dri-gen, Drigen… No…no-not m-my… name.†She licks lips gone dry before the tree above her broke ground, “Tr…Trisss…Tristana…ye-yes, my name.†Bitter Ashes fell her as the two names return; one she knows as her own, the other a God, one she vaguely remembers following but is mostly lost to the Darkness of Before.Â
Unable to move, completely depleted from the trauma of remembering her own name and waking from a forced slumber, she laid waiting. After several hours a small furry creature that came to investigate lost its life as she devoured it raw, uncaring. Night was well advanced when she felt strong enough to make her way east. After a while she stopped at a tavern called… Spoke…something, relieving a drunk mercenary of all but his skivvies while she waited.Â
As a new sun peaked over the horizon, a waif in ill fitted armor emerges from the forest into town. Her hair badly shorn and a sword belted to her side, not to mention the money pouch she got off that mercenary, she walked down the road. Looking carefully around, squinting at the light, she turned south. She felt like she knew this place, the taste of ashes teasing her tongue; no matter, she would make new memories and chase the ashes away. A power in her blood, so different from the one she had once felt from the Shadows; a power that rumbled and stretched the wings of a battered soul, calling her down another path, though the skills of the former still lingered.
Ashes of Memorys: peices of the Past returned.Â
Fragments of memories Like Ashes in a Fire pit jumbled up but still making a whole someday.Â
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The Night held a Chill of Fall as He waited crouched like some creature on a rooftop watching a building waiting for his mark. He had stalked her for months watching her pattern her every step, he had nothing but time, if she died before his blade then so be it, he was already older then he should have been. She would not be showing for a bit longer as he yawned tongue curling like a cats behind slightly pointed teeth. The Sound of the door slamming shut making him look down to see her dashing from the building.Â
He cursed something had disrupted her pattern, a tip off to her death? Heh no matter as he lifted his arm a small what looked like an Arm Crossbow and a small dart and aimed at the fleeing women. A few seconds after he fired the dart, the women stumbled and collapsed to the ground. With speed and agility he moved and swept her up making it back into shadow before anyone could know anything had happened. Once back to his roost he watched as another shadow appeared were she had fallen...Â
They had sent another after her and Take HIS Kill how dares this person... first though to find out who was behind her fleeing then who had sent another. Back to the Shady inn he had booked a room at. No questions from the man behind the desk. Once in his room he dumped in women on the bed not even tying her and waited. When she woke looking around in alarm he smirked and lifted his arm again and shot her with another dart.Â
“So you tell the truth my dear†He gave her a death head grin as she looked at him. “Why did you run?â€Â
She sputtered some stuff and though he looked dead calm to her on the inside he seethed coldly the vary Farging Wench that had sent him on this mission had told his mark she was hunted…but none of that mattered now. With a cold grin he moved tot eh door and nodded. “You’re free to go and safe no one will kill you ever fearâ€Â
He watched her go and waited. A few moments later the sound of a body hitting the floor and he walked out drawing a sword, the poison he had shot her with had finally acted. With a fast slash and some work he severed her head leaving the body to be picked clean.Â
When he got to the house of his employer a stained bag in hand he was shown to her study, this women that could have been a snakes relative so cold and deadly. “Here ya go one dead Wench†Dropping the bag onto her desk so the head rolled out and smirked inwardly as the Women started and made a disgusted look.Â
“So you have well done Trist†She got up and went to a safe dialing up the numbers not hiding the code and got his price. “Here you go I have another job if you are interestedâ€Â
“No thank you I have a job to finish first†With a swift movement grabbed the women and slammed her to the wall. “You tried to up my Kill and now you seek to kill me... Death is your only answerâ€Â
Swiftly he pined her hands and feet to the wall with daggers grinning as he slit her open from her chest down so she died slowly and opening the Chest grabbed all the money before leaving satisfied on the wall next to her dieing body in her own blood…â€no one Double Crosses the Shadow of Deathâ€Â
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The morning was silent in the compound everyone morning the death of a Clan Sibling he had been the best of the single Death dealers. Sitting in a tree away from everyone Trist shook his head. The Boy had been good a mere 20 years and of the Death Rank the highest one can hope to gain with out killing the Elder off. But the child had one Flaw his God. He remembered that day finding the boy Broken and laughing, looking like some great thing had thrown him around like a rag, the boy had babbled about his God Raekhan and the Gift he had been granted. It was true the Gift of Rage made him to the place he had been but he was unable to control the fire and it made him sloppy enough to get caught and killed.Â
Jumping from the tree he had been in he made his way to the small temple set aside for all the Clan to worship there God or Goddess of choice. Pulling his Clan dagger from the spot in his boot he laid it down and lowered his head sending a prayer to his Lord Drigen to watch his step to not let him end so pathetically for the Game was not yet over nor the pieces all placed. Afterwards he had left leaving his dagger for his God not realizing he had been watched.Â
That night at Dinner words were said for the lost Sibling then the Sensei Called him forth while holding a box engraved with Dragons, the top of the box a Dragon holding a Sword dancing in Shadow with Jade, Ruby and Onyx stones inlayed into the design.Â
“I noticed you left your weapon to thy God so I am hoping this will be a humble replacement Sir Death†The box opened and inside resting on Velvet and silk a Slim dagger the vary blade’s surface covered in Runic Writing, the handle a Black Dragon the blade was hard to see for it danced with dark energy a constant moving shadow over the blade. Trist felt the blade and swallowed this was the mark of the top assassin the Death giver. This blade bound itself to one and one only becoming a dull useless non magical item on the owner’s death. He took the blade expecting to be nothing more then an illusion, but the feel of the blade in his hand a feeling of something dark and hungry emanating from it he Grinned and bowed deeply. “I will not fail thee Master or this blade, by Blood and Shadow may the Clan be always standing...by this mark by this weapon I pledge myself to the Call of Death and Shadow...â€Â
he laid the blades edge on the Clan marking on his right cheek faded and stretched from the many years he had lived with in. then as the room broke into screaming and yelling he ran the undaggered hand though his hair checking the twin bumps under the hair really fast as he did to make sure they did not need filing yet and took his seat again sliding the dagger into it’s place in his boot.Â
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A summers day spent inside as her mother scoured and filed the two bone like protrusions on her headÂ
“Sweetie Trisatana you will have to do this too your Fath. My Husband must never know all right no one must know you are an elf simple as that nothing more or less an elf.â€Â
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Another summer day nibbling at the Treat gained for her fifth year living... the voice of her Father...Â
“You have all it takes to be a great Clan Child you would bring honor but for that to happen…I Have No Daughter... I have A Son...Trist you are my Son understand that you are not a girl you are a BOY!!â€Â
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A toy hidden till alone with in the compound, the only thing from home a simple toy top. But nothing would save him older boys found him and laughing took it away joking among themselves as a few tears fell. A dash to a tree and more tears. Till a kind voice and hand pull him away, letting him cry. Only after was it found the shoulder he had gotten wet was the Sensei’s head man himself.Â
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A crisp spring day shifting from one foot to another as gifts were handed out to the new graduated Students. A small object placed in his hands by the Sensei himself with a wink. Looking down to find a harmonica with the elven words- "toror of loomin OR lumbe OR" meaning “brother of shadowâ€. A grand gift indeed.Â
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The day was bright the compound abuzz with excitement a fight between the top Lone Shadow vs. the top paired Shadows. Everyone came, any of the Shadows not out on the hunt, the whole compound.Â
He walked the arena perimeter annoyed he had just gotten back from that semi bungled job. Though the thought of that –Things- pets finding her pinned to the wall did bring a cold smile to his face. But instead of being able to rest, offer up his tribute to the alter he had been challenged to prove himself. He did not care that much... but something felt wrong and as he watched everyone gather that feeling grew, a hand went into his pocket only to curse as he remembered the Harmonica was still in his room.Â
The Fight was brutal for the pair. He never allowed them any room, pulling all his abilities, using his gear to darken the arena then going invisible, he downed them one at a time, even the Shadow dancer of the pair fell fast. Yet before he could throw the wooden blade he had been using down...Â
Pain racking his body holding him in place as dozen of spells went off from the surrounding forest... Death. So much death to those that made it there life to hand it out. Watching as hooded hidden men and others killed with no mercy his brothers, destroying in a single day, mere hours a great Clan….Â
So much more to it but no the memory of the last hours still hidden so much still lost.Â
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That last memory a final piece returned, so sharp to bring her to her knees, choking back a scream.Â
With the Clan dead... those who held him brought forth the Man that had been like a father the Sensei. Before his eyes and the rest of the day they tortured that Old Elvin man using techniques he himself would come to know all too soon. Though it hurt to see such the true pain that drove daggers into his heart was the one doing it. A Clan Sib one of there own had destroyed everything all because of a mistake made. The last job. His last job the killing of that Woman for double crossing him... his Sib was also hers…destroying his clan torturing his Sensei all for revenge on one person...
-- Though many things, many changes did 'they' go though along the way a Portal found a path taken a new realm, were a elf assassin found 'them' Rory. he took them under his wing, the magic becoming not as Important, yet a gift was given a Spell that gave hope to the darkness to Tyr to have himself a true life. from him they relearned how to truly fight to utilize the magic and combat together. They also met a young half breed Raven, both bitter souls a friendship of oddity between them grew and warmed. Till seeking answers after the guild attack a odd portal found and entered hoping to find 'there' Bird of darkness.
, 
( just the wings mostly)Topics: Player Events, Player Run Quests, Role Play Stories, Server News, Server Update, Uncategorized, UORP Events, Website Update | Comments Off on Bio: The Twisted Tales of the Darkness and the Bird
[SVN 523][2/4/2013] Lions & Tiger & RARES oh My!
By TheGuy | February 4, 2013
There will be several way to acquire these new rare items. The first is through the black market. In Narrowhaven you’ll find a hand full of vendors that will sell random rare items for a lot of gold. Yes, they are expensive, yes we did that on purpose! *laughs* These items are really meant for the player who already has a house and has acquired a good sum of gold that now is just sitting in their bank acquiring dust. Now because of the price you likely will not be able to purchase one of ever item. So save up your gold and go buy yourself a rare item or two!
The second way will make the thief’s happy! We will be adding some of them to the game world to be sealable! Some meaning as many as we can handle adding to the game world with out going crazy *laughs again*. Anyway, these stealable rares have not yet been setup. We will post an update when they start to show up.
Lastly, you may or may not have noticed that all the bosses spawners are currently turned off. This is temporary and they will get turned back on here some time. We noticed that the way they are setup now is not how we were intending them to function. Once we get it all worked out they will show backup again.
- Missing artifacts added to paragon drops, treasure chest, basecreature
- Adjusted boss monster stats to make them be less soloable
- Fix for profile crash if xml attachment is not present
- Removed silk clothing armor until it can be adjusted some how
- Increase seed drop rate on certain monsters
- Fixed strange meat typo
- Socket Hammer, now requires 10x red scales to craft instead of 1 valorite ingot
- Added around 600 new rare items (And there are still more to add)
- Added black market vendors
- Fixed a couple peaches of artifac armor not being part of the sets
- Fixed a couple of animation bugs for wrong animation (ice wolf & Solen Matriarch)
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Quest; The Return of Asmodeus
By Scarlet | February 3, 2013
The Gem CollectorThe Gem Elemental spoke of important words as I asked a silly question in which I wasn't believing myself. I figured that, as precious as she could be, she could perhaps know how to create such object. At least a clue, anything. I was desperate for an indication of any kind... if it could be done, it would mean so much.
- Miss, I think I remember something about fifty gems of each sorts... or maybe a hundred...
I was shocked. Standing behind the large table of my underground Lab, I froze. I clumsily dropped the half filled vial I was working on, letting the content spread on the stone floor, without even reacting. Have I really heard right? It sounded possible, even on a short term notice. I started breathing again, after a while that seemed to have lasted forever. I don't even recall when was the last time I felt such a wave of overwhelming feelings. My head was spinning and I even grew doubts about all of this being a dream. The strong and sour stench of the alchemical mixture that was sticking on the ground reminded me it could only be true. So there was hope?
Gems. I was lucky enough to have quite a collection already, but I needed far more than what I already had. I managed to curl a smile for Amber, thanking her for her valuable knowledge. By the way she was staring at me, I imagine that I got lost in my thoughts for way longer than a few simple minutes.
(...)
- My Dears, today I present to you a new mission that is of first importance! It shall be taken care of before all the other ones we are currently working on. I have prepared a list of ingredients we will need to gather. Please keep an eye open for those and bring them to me. I shall reward those of you that will have proven to have made the best efforts.
Most of them were smiling, ready to run and bring me everything I asked, on a silver plate. They were beautiful. Beings that are bound by Love will do everything in their power to please another. I have enough Love for all of them at once, it was not a problem. The ladies had their missions, the men had some others, and even I had an important part to play. After all, I must be the one almost drowning in my own motivation... So, we all went together in endless hunts, keeping an eye on everything that would shine in the darkness of caves, in bottom of treasure chests. Alas... it was a long and seemingly endless task.
What if I used of my persuasion to jump to a higher level in less time? Surely being seen at the surface more often, because of all those travels for gems, would catch the eye of a few... A most beautiful lady, blood-red colored hair and a bow; the perfect recipe for success.
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Tales of the Seas
By Peppero | February 2, 2013
TALES OF THE SEAS --- Part I
In search for a legend
My instincts practically yelled in my mind for me to give up on this idea. Only thinking about it gave me shivers but I saw it as the only way. The Mistress will be waiting for my news of the sea serpent location, and no one else expect me would be able to discover it. With her promise in one hand, and my will to find out more about my race in the other, I dived once again, since many months, into deep waters.
.....................
As my serpent call kept placing me into difficult situations, taking over my mind, I addressed this issue to the only one that I could hope to help me. There is a bound between us two, and I needed to charge my part on it, if I wished to remain alive.
"Maybe dere issss a way to be able to control it Misssstresss..." Yes, for my surprise every time I changed the only thing that would pull me out of the serpent was her. But it was not enough. The serpent had to be controlled and not just calmed down. Thus is in this part that she would enter. There were tales among my people of a very special Nyx, that when fully got his true form, somehow was able to set aside part of his wild mind, continuing to intelligently speak and even learnt the humans tongue. I believed that this legend, if real, would prove itself rather useful. The bound should be enforced, and learning new languages never hurt anybody did it?
.....................
The plan was to capture the ones of my kind and squeeze every bit of rumors they could provide. Maybe the older clans were able to provide me more information... No one knew what type of danger I was going to get myself into. I think that even myself didn't fully see it, maybe was the magic powder making me feel so unbeatable.
Meh great plans required dangerous actions. Entering into the seas once again in search of tales was not something that I was eager to do, but feeling the cold waters dandling my body once again, and the darkness starting to surround, made me wish to just flee and return to my domains. But it is not possible now... Even if I wished, even if I dared to try to survive without a clan, I could not go back. For the first time it came to my mind that I'm only just a mere prisoner of her. Could it be? Then why would they all risk their lives into this quest?
I kept thinking in that while I descended into deeper waters, in search for a prey of my own kind. Soon the time to see if I truly have a trustworthy ally will come.
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Crash Landing
By Tygre | February 1, 2013
Dark of both skin and hair, even a woman of her height and sturdy build was hard pressed to be seen in the stifling darkness of deep night. Where she was, she had no idea. Certainly not where she had intended to end up! It was midday in Stormhaven and on one of their rare sunny days…all she did was follow Aeiren through one of those tall glowing circles like they’d done countless times before. But he wasn’t here with her. Something had gone wrong – terribly, horribly, awfully wrong and now she was stranded in the dark, in the middle of only the gods knew where, alone!
“Damn et! By the Saints... –There’s no’ even ah bloody gate teh walk back into! Bugger et all!†She vented vehemently to the general area as she stomped back to where she thought the gate should have been. Letting out a growl of frustration, she turned sharply on her heel straight into a vicious set of gleaming teeth and golden eyes. The snarling mass drove directly into her chest, knocking her back. Just as her head cracked against the ground, a searing pain tore through her left side. Rowan struggled wildly and tried to focus. Now there where two, no, three of these things attacking her! She swung out with everything she could muster. She kicked and twisted and was rewarded with a solid thump against something furry and a grunt. Then, clawing at the ground, she managed to scramble forward a pace before the most nightmarish howl filled the air around her and fire shot down her left shoulder, connecting with the gaping wound on her ribs. She finally let out an anguished scream as a weight descended over her back. Hot washes of foul smelling breath engulfed her neck and face.. The world pitched forward.
The weight was gone. Everything was spinning. She was being pulled in every direction yet compressed into the tiniest ball at the same time. The pain was there and then gone, pulsing maddeningly, teasing with relief then consuming her entire being. Was this death? Oh, she hoped not… her stomach churned with dread. All at once everything stopped and she lay still face down, though on something cool.. and she could smell.. the sea? She groaned and clutched her side, the white hot agony now constant and very much there.
Something was on the ground in front of her.. a growl sounded as it stirred. She struggled to get her head to move when suddenly, “WITCH!â€, practically a bark though very much a word of the common tongue. Her chin snapped up to find a very large, furious looking wolf with gleaming teeth and golden eyes glaring at her accusingly.
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The Bond of Obsession
By Scarlet | January 27, 2013
The Bond of Obsession
It was made of the darkest of marbles. On the exact center of it, were standing straight three perfectly black candles. The tallest of them was constantly holding its flame without ever burning down. Beside them three, on the right side, two white bones were forming an "X" shape. It is just on the other side, left, that was carefully folded a shroud of shadows, as empty as the Lady tending to it. This precious altar was decorating a corner of my room since a little while, already. No Family member had ever dared to ask me a single question about it. Perhaps they knew they wouldn't hear any answers leave my lips. I would have replied; "I am fine". Nothing more, nothing less. It is not today, the day where I will open myself to anyone, not even Family. Betrayal and conspiracy are walking around myself from the very moment I open my eyes, every eve. I know it.
- I have asked him to lie to me. Lying to make me believe there could still be traces of you somewhere. He refused, of course. He said that it was all in my mind. I am not insane, am I, my Dark Lord? I have those memories of the seven curses and of the ultimate sacrifice you have done. Despite how lonely I am, I am not as desperate to invent someone that never existed... Are you there? Please speak to me...
- ...
It was not working every time. Sometimes, I would have to accept this silence as only answer. I swear that on other days, it is very different! He is there, looking after me, for my safety, like he always had to. He used to have such great plans for me. He used to be the most powerful and feared entity that existed. He used to take care of me so well, remaining unmatched at every level. How can others not suffer from such constant comparison? How can you look worthy compared to supreme perfection? Oh nobody can, nobody. Only He is He; a parasite, a haunting spirit, a corrupted soul, the only one I could ever truly care for. Nothing is completely evil nor can it be completely good. Am I the only one believing difference is the key?
(...)
Sometimes it happens, I have fabulous ideas and furthermore, I have the means to achieve them. It would be a lot of work and efforts wrapped in some cloth made of many lies tied together, but it had to be done. Iraestra asked me to describe Him. There it was, that proof that I couldn't possibly be so creative... I am -not- insane.
- The first things I remember are his cold grey eyes that seemed to be made out of pure arrogance. His lips were thin and some believed he never smiled. On some rare occasions, he did, but I believe to be the only witness of such moments. He had so pale and delicate skin... so white that he seemed to be ill under certain lighting. Darkness would suit him so much better... And messy raven black hair... and...
I lost track of time, again, abandoning myself to the description, detailing his every trait and manners to the attentive drow. She was the artist and I was ready to criticize the Masterpiece.
- Prove to me that you are worthy. Prove to me that you are better than Miluda and you will be greatly rewarded.
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Dark tidings.
By Eadred | January 25, 2013
Eadred Foxton looked up from where he sat with mortar and pestle, grinding a noxious solution. His sullen eyes, the color of otter fur, seemed ready to wish the direst of fates upon the person behind the intrusion, and he shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut and rubbing his temples for a moment.
Eadred opened his eyes after a brief pause and looked over at the elaborate timepiece he had affixed to the wall. The hour was late. Another knock.
"Eadred, brother. Open the door." came a voice.
Eadred seemed a little placated, knowing the author of the voice behind the door. He rose stiffly and fastened the whipcord belt around his costly robes.
"Be right there, Jory." he said coolly.
After Eadred was satisfied that he looked presentable, he crossed the room, his studded sandals clacking on the cold slate from which the stone floor was fashioned, and moved to open the door.
As he opened the door, he could see the form of his baby brother in silhouette. He had come alone, and in secret... at least Eadred hoped so. Much relied on the secrecy of his mission. Eadred quickly ushered his younger brother inside, and closed the door softly. The latch clicked into place, and Eadred turned to regard his brother, Jory Foxton.
"Little brother, it is good to see thee." Eadred opened his arms wide, and Jory moved in to embrace his eldest brother.
"And it is good to see thee, big brother," returned Jory.
Eadred ventured a rare smile and studied his brother at arms length, with his hands on Jory's shoulders, relieved that Jory had made it to him safely.
"Thou didst bring the phylactery...?" He enquired of Jory gravely.
Jory nodded, and produced a small bundle from the leather pouch at his belt. It was wrapped in velvet cloth, the color of midnight blue. Eadred's smile widened.
"Good. I knew I could count on thee, dear brother. The master will be pleased. He chafes to enter this world, but will not risk crossing over until the phylactery is hidden securely. I shall personally see to it that it is. Trouble yourself no longer with this burden." A pause, and then, "Wert thou seen?" Eadred asked urgently.
Jory shook his head emphatically. "Not a soul, brother. I took great care to avoid detection."
Eadred almost sagged with relief. "Good. Go downstairs and take your ease. The innkeeper will provide thee with meat and mead, and a clean bed to rest in, shouldst thou have need of it." Eadred gripped his brothers arm. "You did well, Jory."
Jory smiled and inclined his head courteously. Without another word, Jory took his leave. As the latch clicked into place once more, Eadred returned to his potion mixing, satisfied that the phylactery was safe and in his possession.
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