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Rebirth

 
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Glanhelmion Tasartir
Young Wyrm
Young Wyrm


Joined: 13 May 2006
Posts: 39
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Jobs: Blacksmith, Falconer

3634.02 Silver Crowns

Items

PostPosted: Fri May 20, 2011 12:39 am    Post subject: Rebirth Reply with quote

Rebirth…


Darkness parted in wispy tendrils that dissipated into puffs like inky smoke, energies the color of crimson snaked and arced away, hissing as they made contact with the stone of the seemingly endless room. The dim light revealed the black clad form of Glanhelmion, bells hissing lightly, their light voice a mocking one, as though to taunt the soul that was stolen this eve. Shadows danced as his slink brought him into the center of the dimly lit dome shaped chamber, where he then gracefully fell to one knee in one fluent motion.

Drawing a single silver stiletto, which seemed as normal a dagger as any, aside from the fact that the soul contained within could be heard screaming across the room, as the blade’s will encased the victim. Blood still coated the blade in spots, almost like a staining reminder of what the weapon was, and if one paid close enough attention it would be noticed that the metal was slowly absorbing the violent red liquid.

“I present to you The Soul, the last soul that I claim for you in this means my Lord, and for this purpose…I hope that this pleases you?” Glan’s usually cold tone was soft, and beseeching; almost a complete one-eighty, yet at the same time it held that roughness that characterized the assassin.

A hand extended in the darkness, gloved, with the finest Elvin silk, white as the heat from the sun, and it seemed to radiate such light. Energies clashed as Glan rose to his feet, and began the carefully placed walk across the chamber towards the hand. Tangles of crimson, silver, and something of the purest white sizzled on the air as the hands met, and the exchange ended.

Retreating into the darkness, a laugh ensued, almost a cackle, fighting the urge to shiver Glan took to perfect, precise, steps backwards, then fell to his knee, bowing at the neck as well to stare at the stonework. “So can I become whole again?”

The voice was deep, yet soothing, “You have served me well son of darkness, and I will grant you access to yourself once more, and to your titles, but only so you may serve me to your true potential.”

Violently a purple and white light raced from the darkness where the hand had made it’s exit, and slammed into Glanhelmion, snakes of plasma enveloped his form, white hot in intensity. Then the snakes became a glow, which seemed to pulse, like a spiritual heartbeat, his form rising from the ground slowly, the glow ignited the room for an instant…




In that moment the silver haired form of Long Lankyn stood smirking, the smirk of a man who just made a pawn leap across the board. Now he had a knight, and that’s what he needed. Then as the light had come, so did an ensuing darkness, that was darker than dark, colder than ice, the feeling it gave was as though all the air was being forced from ones lungs.

Red orbs, outlined by a silvery glow pierced through the darkness, along with a deep growl, that seemed to reverberate through the stone chamber with ferocity. The darkness seethed, and then light returned, almost as though the room had been flushed, and all presence of the sinister abyss had left.

All that remained was the master of the beast, “Welcome back Glanhelmion Tasartir, Spawn of Darkness, my friend… just remember who holds the reigns here or I will end you again!”

Lunging from the rooftops, the inky form slid across the surface of the asphalt out into Rhy’Din, more of the ominous forms fanned out across the roof. The form in the center was the silver haired black clad assassin that was at-least recognizable. Red flecked silvers danced in their sockets from person to person below as the beasts absorbed into his form, energy lancing down his fingers scattering into the air.

Crackling muscle and bone as the last of the hounds vanished into the form of the Trueblood, he stood at his full height, staring down upon the people, a smirk caressed his scarred face, those red flecked silvers burning, breathing in sharply, then baring his teeth, “Raining blood, from a lacerated sky!”

Vanishing into grains of black sand an unseen breeze carried the contents into the crowd below, drifting on that same unseen breeze he found himself sitting in the darkest alcove, in the darkest hole in the wall that was available. Staring at the packed bar, and the standing room only crowd, those red flecked silvers began to pulse.

“Spirit in black till the end…”

The howls shrouded the screams, and passerby dare not look in on what could only be considered a massacre. He unleashed the hounds, and some even say that on that night, they heard what sounded like a child’s laughter on the breeze, as though the night itself was enjoying the sacrificial blood letting. Or disemboweling, or dismembering.



When the authorities finally found themselves on the scene, they witnessed the grisly display. Although the bar would be considered empty now, blood covered every surface except for the outline of where someone had sat in an alcove in the rear corner of the establishment.

Bits of flesh and bone fragments were scattered amongst what could only be identified as bits of organs that were shredded, and atop the bar was the owners head, his eyes individually placed in two martinis, the tongue had been removed, and all of his teeth were missing. Still he was identifiable, and in the blood had been smeared a message, solemn in its speaking as it was read aloud by those present.

“This is the price of crossing the threshold!”
_________________
The sacrifice of others who walk within,
The battlefields of death embracing him,

The courage from beyond surrounds one's soul,
Walking side by side through graves unknown.

"Crazy Horse" - Black Label Society
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Glanhelmion Tasartir
Young Wyrm
Young Wyrm


Joined: 13 May 2006
Posts: 39
See this user's pet
Jobs: Blacksmith, Falconer

3634.02 Silver Crowns

Items

PostPosted: Fri May 20, 2011 8:41 pm    Post subject: The Coming Storm... Reply with quote

Quote:
I see a bad moon a rising,
I see trouble on the way,
I see earthquakes and lightning,
I see a bad time today,

Don't go around tonight,
Cause it's bound to take your life,
Cause there's a bad moon on the rise...




Glanhelmion stepped through the threshold of the solid oaken doorway, the solid door shutting definitively behind him as he moved with grace and ease past the well dressed man who appeared to allow his entry to the abode. Greeted by a spacious hall, he moved silently down its length, his steps silent on the white marble. Red flecked silvers absorbed the sights of the varied artwork that called for attentions on the walls. The cherry wood end tables were set perfectly to accent the décor, offering hints as to the wealth of the owner of the home.

Stepping into an observatory, those red flecked silvers wandered upwards in their respective sockets to take in the night sky which was visible through the large domed glass ceiling of the room. Rubber plants were positioned along the walls in hanging baskets, along with lavender, and a few other air scrubbing and scented indoor plants. The plant life added a level of humidity to the room, and the day’s heat still lingered on the refreshing air.

“Ah lord Tasartir, I’ve been awaiting you… I suppose that you are here of your own accord?” Turning to face the voice the black clad assassin held up a gloved hand, as if to call the man into silence. He was chewing over that question, as his gaze swept over the form of the fellow.

“It’s been a long, long time Vincent…” His gruff tone softened towards his former apprentice, the only one Glan had trained personally.

Nodding the man unruffled his robes, which were of the purest white, the white-wood staff he was clutching began to vibrate with energies as he moved slowly towards the Trueblood, his steely gaze leveling on his former teacher.

“Indeed it has my friend, not often that I get visitors anymore, not much need for us who embrace the old ways of Druidic practices anymore. But more to the point, what is it I can do for you this eve?” His tone changed, and he added a bit of inflection at the end of the sentence to imply that he did understand Glan’s intentions of returning.

“I need a new construct… I need another god-slayer.” Glanhelmion’s words were gauged, and weighted, his tone was very grim, and cold; almost, as if he was steeling himself for coming events.

“This got something to do with the latest veil activity on the edge of the Borderlands?” Vincent looked his age now, far beyond that of his usual thirty something appearance, he now looked quite feeble, and the hair that had turned white over his lifetime now looked rather appropriate.

Nodding slowly, the Trueblood turned away, his red flecked silvers searching the courtyard which was visible through the main window. His gaze lingering on the fountain, it was in the image of Vincent’s father, the Lord of the Crimson Coast, of old anyway. The man died in battle, long ago…
“Yes this activity is being caused by something, and if the door we sealed with Anguish is open again, you know what that means…” His words trailed off, as the assassin suppressed the shudder that wanted to wrack his frame.

Vincent grew pale, his steel grey eyes hardening on the back of Glan’s head, “But now he’ll have Anguish, that weapon isn’t for this world, how do you expect to fight that? Even if I could pull a legendary weapon from thin air, Anguish was the incarnation of something just slightly short of a Wrath of God… you were there, at the end of that war, you saw what it did. Nobody can fight that!” His tone rang with hints of guilt, as well as anger, and more than a little concern.

Shrugging Glanhelmion turned to face his friend, “That’s why I am asking you to forge for me one last time, Vincent, he cannot be allowed to escape, even my Lord knows this… and doesn’t wish this.”

Vincent stepped forward, standing before Glan now, looking up at the Trueblood, he looked deep into those red-flecked silvers. “A soul-bound weapon is all I could think of to assume this role, you are aware what that means?”

The ancient nodded, “Yes I do, and I understand that my Lord will not be pleased, but if this threat were to surface, it would be bad for everyone… this is the original Darkwalker, the lord of Golems, and such… I can spare the explanation you met the man, he was my teacher, and yours before you were tasked to me. I cannot allow him back to these realms… I know that this is not either of our tasks, but I am the only one who seems to notice the patterns.”

Shaking his head the old Druid found an overstuffed armchair, dropping in it, as though he couldn’t bare standing anymore he looked up pitifully at the his former teacher. “Aye, I know all about the man, or well what he once was… hell I still remember what you once were.”

Glan smirked at that comment, he knew what the man implied, before his soul was shattered and split into different pieces he was a completely different person. Leaning now against a support beam the Trueblood looked down at his former apprentice. Still awaiting the answer, he slid an Elvin clove between his lips, brushing his finger tip over the tip he took a long pull on the filter, allowing the calming effect of the herbal blend to ease the nerves that seemed to be crossing he allowed his attentions to return to the current matters before him.

“What about his army? What if it rises with him?” Those words seemed to pull the remaining warmth from the room instantly, even the lights shifted, shadows danced, and Glanhelmion shuddered, that was a mortifying thought…

“Well then I’ll have to build one of my own.” Glan’s worlds trailed off, as he noticed the shock in the face of Vincent, his steely eyes locked on red flecked silvers, almost as though trying to delve into the mind of the Ancient.

“Don’t be ridiculous, why haven’t you told the Count?! He needs to know… so does the Lady, you know that they don’t want his shadow looming even if it resides in the wilds of the Never, he’ll regain strength, and call those against us, he’ll usurp you… and you’ll be useless to the Count, and he’ll kill you, does any of this sound familiar? Happened before remember…?” The tone was biting and icy, the usual stoic attitude that characterized druids was lost in this moment, as the man looked up at his teacher, he knew what was going to happen. He knew what he was going to say, and he knew what he’d do about things. But the question was, what did Glanhelmion have in mind.

Shrugging almost impassively, “Everyone has to die sometime, and I don’t think it’d be that bad to not have the powers I have at times. But on the other end of that, I know that if he devours the part of me that taps into the Dark, then well, he wins, I get it… but you know that only you or I can send him back to the Big Empty, and you’ve started aging again friend, and I would not have you sacrifice yourself. Nor would I put it before Lankyn, who more than likely already knows, and will be questioning me as to why I did not formerly present this to him in the first place.” Stopping the Trueblood caught his breath, and began slowly, forming his words like one would shape ice, “But this time, it’ll be my choice to end it… which is why I sought you out on my own this eve. I even left my shadows back at Onyx house.”

Vincent was now glaring. “While all this is going on you slip away, ask me to make a god-slayer, and now your telling me all of this without Lord Long Lankyn knowing, he knows who I am, who knows what I am, and he will know if a Legendary weapon is forged, anybody with the psychic sense of a gnat would sense that kind of presence in Rhy’Din.” His tone was now edged with anger, and dripping with rebellious contempt.

Shaking his head, Glanhelmion looked intently at Vincent, “So will you do it?” The simplicity of the question annoyed the Druid more than anything.

“Yes, but I will have to go to the Ironwind mountains, so I’ll be between realms for a while. You need to get the politics settled, or something of that nature… also figure out how to conceal the damn thing once you get it! And I’ll need some of your blood, leave it with Groam on your way out.” A wave of his hand cut Glanhelmion off, “Now leave, before I change my mind, this isn’t the first time you’ve hidden your actions from the eyes of the High Council, this time it better work, because you will not have me to back you up.”

Silently the Trueblood moved carefully from the room, looking over his shoulder one last time at the back of Vincent’s head in the armchair, “I owe you…” The words were barely spoken under his breath. He understood that Lankyn would probably be very unhappy, but he knew that if he explained this to the Count the Lord would simply use the Council, find a useless expendable pawn, bind the weapon to him, then destroy them both at the end.

Glanhelmion however had plans, plans to rebuild his home, and the Morganti weapon he would receive would grant him the power to do so. It would tap directly into the overflow of energies he was experiencing, and feed from him. At the same time it would prevent his soul from being devoured by another weapon, unless it was another Soul-bound weapon.

His end game was shaping up, he left the note. He knew that his own master was already extending his reaches to the pools of darkness very close to his own haunts, and Glan understood that this was going to become a problem over the next few months as the veil became more erratic, and the power grew.

Stopping by the butler, Glanhelmion offered up a vial, filled with thick red liquid, the man accepted it in a white gloved hand, before opening the solid wooden door, and just as he came he left, the Trueblood silent in his movements, before dissipating into darkness on the night breeze.


Quote:

Hope you got your things together,
Hope your quite prepared to die,
Looks like we're in for nasty weather,
One eye is taken for an eye...

"Bad Moon Rising" Creedence Clearwater Revival

_________________
The sacrifice of others who walk within,
The battlefields of death embracing him,

The courage from beyond surrounds one's soul,
Walking side by side through graves unknown.

"Crazy Horse" - Black Label Society
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Glanhelmion Tasartir
Young Wyrm
Young Wyrm


Joined: 13 May 2006
Posts: 39
See this user's pet
Jobs: Blacksmith, Falconer

3634.02 Silver Crowns

Items

PostPosted: Mon May 23, 2011 4:42 pm    Post subject: Sneaking In Through The Back Way Reply with quote

The night was young yet, the smell of spring played upon the senses, the valley, nestled between two large stone faces that ascended skywards. The Ironwind mountain range, the cold gray rock gave way to the crags, which eventually fell into dense overgrown forestation. Protruding from somewhere near the center of these untouched wilds was what one would deem a cave, hidden amongst the greenery, as creepers, wisteria, and other wild vine clung with intensity to the slate colored stone.

From within the cave was the flickering of a fire and the amount of soot that lined the walls of the mouth of the cave hinted at the use of coals. A fair distance from the mouth of the cave was the displacement of air, an intense pressure filled the clearing, black mists filtering into a grainy image, before solidifying, energies vibrated; then sparked away casting silvery tendrils of plasma to bolt outwards, writhing in the piercing particles, and causing the scent of spring to be replaced with the smell of ionized carbon.

Black clad, and cautious as ever Glanhelmion took a moment to adjust, he never did like transferring to other realms, although things were a thousand times easier now that he was mostly himself again. He still disliked the thought of leaving a finger or something behind because he lost concentration.

Red flecked silvers slid in their respective sockets over the tree-line. He blinked, the red flecks danced, and he changed to scope and spectrum of which he could view, picking out heat signatures, heartbeats, and aura. Taking note of the Dwarven guardsmen who seemed to think they were being quiet, and invisible, he began his silent slink across the soft grasses towards the cave entrance.

Although he wasn’t sure exactly how Vincent had convinced the dwarves to let him use their master-smith hall and forges he would never know, and never ask…

More to his concern was how hard it would be to get from here to the Tasartir keep; on the other side of the continent, and how hard it would be to re-establish it as training grounds… he needed an army, and not the conventional type. He needed to once again to birth the school of Shadows, and maybe attempt to train some Darkwalkers, yet he knew that it took a special soul to do that, and those types went to the way side with tearing of the Veil, so he was unsure… although he also had to make sure the libraries there were still intact, and hadn’t burned with the rest of the keep.

Although most of the important tomes had been kept in a specially made sealed chamber it was still questionable as to their fates.

His thoughts faded as he noted the heat before he even entered the mouth of the cave. Red flecked silvers adjusting to the light, those red flecks swimming, modifying his spectrums again, and then it hit him…

Something akin to a first meeting between to tigers, energies lanced, crossing only so often, then a shift, and he could feel it calling to him, yes the weapon had been forged, and it was his, and it knew it was his, it was drawing his steps to continue.

Metal shavings and flakes coated the walls, and flagstones, as the cave became more like a small fortress. Although considering it was a Dwarven passageway, there was a slight emphasis on small, and to this Glan grumbled a few curses while being forced to bend at the hip, so that he could reach the Great Hall.

“Stop there Elf!” The tone was very commanding, as the Trueblood exited the tunnel, before he even had known what happened an arrow head slid across his cheek bone, drawing a thin red line that was already welling with blood.

Although that was a bit of poor judgment by the guard who had committed the offense, as there was a pop, like the crackle of bones, and something the appearance of a water balloon filled with cherry syrup exploding, sent the room into frenzy.

“Shoot at me again, and I’ll devour you all, understand?” Spoken through gritted teeth, as darkness began to pool un-naturally in the well lit Great Hall that expanded before the Trueblood, large pillars, and high ceilings, a very grand display, the marble streaked with lines from the remnants of mythral ore which was used to construct the reinforcement struts of the fortress, and Master Smith Hall.

“Not smart ELF!!” Called an unseen guard, but they didn’t launch any more arrows, instead a grey bearded Dwarf, whom Glan was sure he had seen before, came into the lighted area.

His movements showing his age, and his eyes showed wisdom to match. Yet there was still that Dwarven fire there, “You haven’t aged a day…” The little man’s words seemed to echo with a hint of memory, confirming that the Trueblood was right in noting the familiarity.

“Nae, but time is kind to me friend? Has it been kind in it’s Turns to you?” Bowing from his back to the Dwarf, now see was it really all that hard for everyone to be nice…

“Aye it has, I have spread my lines and sewn the seeds of my kin. I have expanded our halls, and we now hold over half of the cave systems in the Ironwind range.” His voice was square, and even, but still held the command that those of a higher breeding always clung too.

“Well my Lord Dwarf, many apologies, but may I inquire as to the location of my friend? Did he not inform you that I would be arriving this eve?” Glanhelmion made sure that his tone was as level, and he even threw in his own hints of regality, but nothing on the level of those more pompous and whom centered their lives around paperwork and the High Court.

“Nae, the younglings fire at anything that moves, it’s been that way since we withdrew from the outside.” His tone was now grave, and guilt hung heavy in those words. “Are you certain Lord Elf?”

Nodding Glan let those red flecked silvers find the eyes behind overgrown eyebrows, and he spoke slowly and carefully. “Yes, but I will stand against it… although I fear the darkness that is tearing through the wilds here of it’s own accord is spreading to other realms.”

The Dwarf chewed the inside of his lower lip, then stomped his booted foot against the flagstones, causing one to crack. “That would seem to match the last reports we received from the Crimson Sea. Yet, that would mean that most certainly he will rise, and what if he finds you?”

“Fight, maybe win, maybe lose… but I will take the time I have to acclimate myself properly in preparation for this. I wish to rebuild the Tasartir Grounds, and access the libraries… if only to have an outpost here for warning and as a point to make travel easier for me to come and go as needed.” The words were picked carefully, as he knew the Dwarves were an isolated peoples, but that didn’t mean they lack spies. So he was cautious as to not reveal the names of other realms he found himself in, considering that information could be detrimental.

“Good, then we will be behind you…”

“What??!”

“It’s a problem for-“

The shouts and rebuffs halted as again the booted foot connected flagstone, this time resonating like a war-hammer against sheet metal. “It is final, the darkness threatens us all! We either fight, or become a wasteland like the Eastern cities, which have already fallen into the abyss!”

This was news to Glan, and he would have to take that into consideration, it meant that the true Lord Darkness was getting more wind in those sails and his ship would come ashore soon. The question was, when he came ashore would he come with an army, or would he need time to amass one, or dominate one, not sure how that worked. But either way the Ancient knew that now more than ever he would need all the help he could get…

“Wise words master Dwarf, I will see what I can do to reactivate the translocation chamber in the old keep, so that we can remain in touch, and so that we can distribute troops without need of mass marching. I would like as little attention to be drawn to our forces as possible, so make no moves unless it is pertinent.” Now he added that commanding regality, but it was more like that of a commander establishing a command, not gruff, but still icy.

“Aye, I shall also get a mage on activating our chamber again, but not sure if we have the supplies to feed armies my lord Elf, it is becoming harder and harder to hunt the mountain ranges now… and we are having difficulties finding new resources.”

Thinking this over, Glan slid an Elvin clove between his lips, brushing his finger tip over the filter he took a long pull on that filter, the following inhale was more like a slam of smoke into his lungs. Whitewash thought produces various outlets for this… but he settled on one specific route. “Once I can get a discreet supply line in from other realms, I will personally see that your Hold prospers.”

More thought as sweet scented smoke lined his words, “Also I will see what I can do as far as getting farmlands in the foothills for your clan… all I ask is that you find means to contact all of your other kin folk, the more we have behind us the better. You find the end, I’ll get you the means?” Sure that the Dwarf wouldn’t catch the turn of phrase, but much to his astonishment the Lord just nodded, his brow knitted thoughtfully, his stubby fingers pulling at the long silver beard.

“Well then it is settled… bring forth what has been promised. Vincent must recover, he has drained all of his energies, and our healers are attempting to breathe life back into him; but his time is growing shorter and shorter.” This last statement struck Glan in the heart… truly, but his expression remained cold and calculating.

“When will I be able to see him?” Although the tone hinted at concern, he still remained steeled to the emotions that now plagued him, especially in these more critical moments.

“Come back after two nights, he should be at-least awake by then.” His words trailed off as another of the Dwarves appeared, holding a large metal box, runic syllables marked the sides and top, and they seemed to pulse with energies, most likely to charge the weapon fully.

The box was only about a foot shorter than Glanhelmion, and was about half a foot wide. A great-sword, and when handed to the Trueblood, not only did he feel the presence of the weapon, and it’s cold hunger, he felt the intense weight of the weapon. Although it wasn’t a major issue, he could simply pour his energies into boosting his physical strength to wield the weapon accurately, but concealing it… well that would be another story.

“Many thanks Lord Dwarf!”
_________________
The sacrifice of others who walk within,
The battlefields of death embracing him,

The courage from beyond surrounds one's soul,
Walking side by side through graves unknown.

"Crazy Horse" - Black Label Society
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View user's profile Send private message Send e-mail
Glanhelmion Tasartir
Young Wyrm
Young Wyrm


Joined: 13 May 2006
Posts: 39
See this user's pet
Jobs: Blacksmith, Falconer

3634.02 Silver Crowns

Items

PostPosted: Wed May 25, 2011 4:29 am    Post subject: Looking Away. Reply with quote

Although Glanhelmion himself personally held a distaste for the human creation of combustion weapons, he was instructed in their use, and was required to carry more than one of said weapons. Personally he liked pistols, but on certain occasions he carried a small sawed’ off shotgun; and, the weapon itself looked the epitome of its name, being only slightly larger than the other two pistols that were concealed on his form. A double barrel, of the most common variety, simple, well maintained, loaded with buckshot.

Tonight he was glad to have brought along that lump of steel. Red flecks making a rotation in the pools of silver as the six-foot-six frame emerged from the cave entrance. Cool night air lashing over his face the Trueblood ceased his moments. Displaced energies greeted him, and he could feel it, picking up the traces of magic on the air; what was more alarming was, his sighting the various auras that began filling in the tree-lines he figured that his presence was no longer unknown.

Or maybe it was the weapon he had come to receive; the assassin was most unsure, all he understood was that he had to get word below. Calling to memory the Dwarven Lord Holder, he envision the man’s face, and the message was rushed but believed to be adequate.

“Danger has found me, seal the tunnels for the moment Lord Dwarf!”

His hopes were that the warning would have the desired affect, and that the Dwarves would make it through whatever wouldn’t follow his lead. The teleport was far to slow, three cloaked figures had made it through the picket guards, and a crossbow quarrel had found the Ancient’s collarbone. Making the shift bumpy, and he appeared flat on his back, the stone greeting his armor clad form with a distinct thud!

Rolling to his feet, sure that those who had come seeking him or the weapon were already tracing his path, energies, the type of teleportation used, and where he popped too. So preparation had to be made quickly, in anticipation of his arrivals Glanhelmion surveyed the place he had chosen to make his stand in a glance.

Decidedly it was underground, the library of a fallen keep on one of the Border crossings, the place had dilapidated far beyond repair. Making reconstructing the once formidable structure a pointless, futile, or too costly undertaking; long ago at its fall Glan had turned the place into a small cache of various tools, and resources. But this eve, he would turn it into a trap.

Moving quickly, he pulled a garrote from the folded collar of his Elvin silk shirt, and another from under one of his matte black leather bracers. Stringing the two pieces of wire together he looped them over the trigger of his sawed’ off, then the guard, running the remaining wire across the one exit the room offered.

The stone work of the room itself was granite, and worn, dust from weathering, and lack of use coated every surface, every tome, as well as the four spindly wooden tables and sixteen chairs. Book cases lined every wall; in the room and in the hallway that led to the fifteen by fifteen meter space.

Pulling a thick heave tome from the shelf nearest the entryway to the chamber he had just drifted through, Glan placed the shotgun in its place; then, he turned lifting a book directly opposite his trap, he made another placing one of his newer toys, a hand grenade, under the book he had placed. Pulling the wire just so that the shotgun was a hair length from firing, he looped the other end around the safety pin of the grenade, using the book that said fragmentation explosive device had replaced on the crumbling shelf as a weight to ensure that both countermeasures reacted according his plans.

Silently he padded down the hall, energies being placed and woven, drawing on all ambient mana, channeling it, thickening the darkness, to the point where it seemed as though the chamber beyond the hall was nothingness, pure and simple, swirling and writhing like an un-natural mist, soon it began spreading into the hall, creeping with the appearance akin to many hands clawing themselves forward, from a grave towards fresher air. Filling the air with an icy pressure as he lowered the level of restraint he placed on his power usage.

He was still careful, considering that pumping out to much energy would not only weaken him, but give away his location to other parties who yet may wish to seek him out. Although there was more to this picture, and he wasn’t sure what that would be, or could be...

Only pondering for a second the implications of this strike, he more considered the “Who” was behind it part. Though the Trueblood had his suspicions, he refused to take into account that before his banishment from the true Elf-lands had been lifted, he had quite the enemies. Although most of the political ones now stood to be potential allies, there were still those who occupied powerful enough stations to cause him considerable hindrances in his future ventures in this plane.

Which he could not have…

The assassin’s hands were far from idle, he assumed that if the team that was sent for him was worth whatever whoever had paid to have them dispatch him, that he would need further preparations made to meet a serviceable, non-revealing end result.

Finding the two remaining exits was a simple thing, considering the keep was more like a small outpost, far enough down the Ironwind mountain range to be deep within the overgrown wilds, so near the waste that it was a blended desert/forest, that seemed to spawn life of its own. Without the proper survival training one would find even treading the land above a treacherous feat, wild mana storms could rip someone apart, then put them back together; hell, on some occasions there were those put back together not so anatomically correct to the original design of their um… physique.

So picking the large and long empty main chamber as his fallback/last-stand option was moot. Sneering he thought of the reactions he might get from those choosing one of the exterior entryways…

Both were broad hallways, with a large arch, simple to spell, first was the door, he knew that if he placed a seal on the portal that when opened the charge that he linked to the seal would be set off. Selecting something of a more subtle nature he wove energies into the equidistant line, where the two large pieces of aged wood met. Glowing faintly before his altered vision, he watched as energies transferred producing a blue glow, which spread outwards to the walls and floor of the room. Sneering now, he turned on a heel, and headed towards the other entrance, his movements remain silent, as this room too began to fill with the thickening darkness, and presence.

Onto the last point of entry, this one he would keep simple for effect. A firm grip remaining on the steel box, it’s own seal still preventing the weapon from release, the Trueblood knew that the seal would only break when the blade had found it’s identity, and was decided that it wanted to know it’s wielder. Rune-work still pulsing, the etchings glowing with faint silver light, slow like that of a heartbeat, matching his pulse, pulling on the strings of his power.

The bond had already been made to the weapon, this was new; predetermining the possession of a great weapon, the others had all picked their wielders on their own, this one was birthed for the soul purpose of aiding, and preserving the Ancient. A weapon that could already be felt, a presence that was already budding into creation, and sentience…

Biting the inside of his lower lip he reflected on the power that was so nearly in his grasp as he focused on the where the plane of where aperture split. Again he wove his energies subtly into work, the charge this time setting of a soft crimson glow, that soon died.

At this point simultaneous explosion wracked the structure, and there was only a smile to be viewed as the only remaining entryway was breached.

The figures had not so much stormed the room as drifted in, in formation of course, but the cloaks that covered shrouded their appearance made it seem as though they were floating. Not even their faces were visible from under their cowls, only eyes, intense yellow, piercing; offhand, the Trueblood had never seen anything like this in his travels.

Yellow gaze’s pierced through the subtle magic’s, but not the subtle trap.

They seemed to glow, and track the assassin’s movements, as the cloaked figures encircled him. He forced more energies to the crossbow quarrel that remained dug in between his clavicle and shoulder blade, he dare not pull it out until he further understood the extend of his wounds.

Although he also understood the limitations of holding to his shell; meaning, his left arm had become useless…

“Death shall not meet you.” The voice was calm, the vision that was associated with the sound inside the Ancient’s mind was of a pool, still, quiet, and serene. Calm. Impossible calm…

Just then it hit him, his mind awash in the immersion of another, almost like integrating a part of himself that always existed, but remained it’s own auxiliary autonomous self. This was feeling was emanating from the contents of the box. The rune-workings in the metal that sealed the case were no longer pulsing. Dropping the heavy metal box to the ground Glanhelmion considered the implications of this, and considered it carefully. He could reveal his new strength to the world, or he could differ to one that was equally as strong, utilizing the new presence inside his mind to aid him through battle.

But first to better identify his enemy. He was backlogging all of these realizations, as the cloaked figures fanned out in the hallway, he couldn’t help but smile, he knew he was visible as daylight; and he watched their attentions shift. Slowly the focus of those animalistic eyes found the box that landed at the Trueblood’s feet; alone, it gave them pause, almost as though frozen, shaken with a sudden impulse, a feeling, as though the contents were more deadly than anything ever witnessed or experienced in the deep dark hole that they crawled out of.

Successful in his fast draw seizing the moment and pulling one of his two remaining pistols; meanwhile, the charge he had placed to entrap the entryway had erupted into sparks, which thrived on the more oxygenated air, sending a jagged streak of violent plasma arcing through three of the eight that had begun the challenge. Dropping, instantaneously limp, the three bodies were sizzling and wrecked, the cloaks had fused to the remaining flesh, and charred. The fresh smell of the wilds was replaced with the stench, that this had created.

Squeezing off two rounds into one, then another, Glan managed to drop into a crouch, leveling his sights on a third, realizing he had ten rounds left in the magazine. The resounding percussion from firing the weapon had his ears ringing… another drawback from retaining his shell. But he appreciated the experience, and made a mental note into research on dampening firearms.

He usually only used the things if it was the last choice, and he had to get loud and mean, and he had to do it fast. Otherwise, he generally would have cut them down. The two he hit, with the reasonably large handgun had fallen; but they seemed to be drawing themselves back to their feet.

The entire groups of entities had regained their nerve entirely and were advancing. Firing off the next two rounds, he took pause, glancing down and taking a mental picture of the box.

In the second this took he had calculated the energy required, and designated it to the task of opening the connection to the sword within; then, he set it as yet another sub-task, compartmentalized the usage, focus, and thought processes required to a part of his mind.

“Hungry, I am so hungry…”

Feeling a chill now, the Trueblood hesitated, considering the implications of opening the box and seizing the weapon. Everything in his body urged him to do it, just to be in direct contact with it, but he also feared the feeding of it. It meant that he would have to hunt souls again, directly. Not as a past time, or as just a job requirement.

At the moment, he was now feeling the pain from the wound. His focus wasn’t the greatest, as his expertise with magic’s or their usage could get anywhere near the levels of his progenitors’, or of his masters.

Now the battle and stealth magic’s he understood. He could grasp the concepts, and applications of these, but the things such as healing, and regeneration were far beyond him. Even with a high pain threshold the task of holding a gun properly with his injury was becoming quite the difficult task, along with dampening the recoil, so that his aim was not skewed with his shots.

Flinging their cloaks aside the four (due to shooting them didn’t much work, so only the last one hit was still down) revealing a sharp, wicked looking exoskeletal frame, that if flesh would have been grotesquely muscled. The carapace like surface of their outer shells had the appearance of black ice. Extremely elongated hands displayed wicked talons which seemed semi-retractable. The edges of which were serrated, almost like a cross between a saw-blade and five small scythe blades. Their faces appeared to be a cross between a large cat, some form of large insect, and a humanoid reptile. Seemed to be a sick experiment by some high caliber mage, but the simplest answer is never always the case.

Glanhelmion had enough at this point, calculating was no longer an option. The light that was now filtering in from the sunrise out on the wastes outside the forgotten keep, revealing the his enemies exterior was indeed as he had observed an exoskeleton, as the light was now partially shining through the black tinted carapace.

He now understood that the ones he had shot were dead in the long run, but that did nothing to help the here in now. Left hand had now succumb and fell limply to the metal case, and began the simple task of unclasping the hitch; while, his right hand holstered the pistol in its properly concealed place.

Flipping the cover of the case away and across the stone the entire room seemed to hold its breath (or whatever the things trying to kill him would do). The weapon was only a foot shorter than Glanhelmion himself, the sheath only held the top portion of the blade, more like a sling than a sheath; but, it was made of a compound of metals and other minerals, which was only revealed in accents that were not covered in a deceptively soft looking flat black leather. Meant to be worn on his hip, the blade looked almost as though it were made of stone, black with streaks of blue, which devoured the light cast upon it. The shape of the blade was of a typical great-sword, one-and-a-half hand widths apart from the finger-guard; though, this sword was different, in that instead of tapering to a point it remained broad, with what looked almost like a crescent shaped piece of metal was bitten or shattered off the end, leaving a vicious, primordial point to the weapon.

In one fluent motion the weapon was secured to his hip, a cloak of his own billowing out of his armors; a simple bit of magic having places to conceal such things. The grey fabric swirled as the weapon was drawn, and the nearest creatures began their lunge.

Held in both hands the weapon guided itself in it’s masters grip, the edge of the blade sliding easily through the midsection of the first, carrying it into the injured one that was next in line, a good enough portion of the point of the sword digging across its carapace.

Both fell screaming silent screams in their tongues, the souls, if they possessed them were now in the blade, being devoured by the presence within.

Claws found his side, scoring across exposed ribs, but only successful for the moment. Not only did the armor he wore absorb most of the blow, what did sink home wasn’t enough to kill the assassin yet.

Pivoting, then dropping low, Glanhelmion swept the leg from another, as a single claw from on of it’s hands raked down one of his cheeks, the wound sizzled a moment. One of the Ancient’s charms glowed intensely a moment, the device purged the poison from his bloodstream, and added a stimulant to his system to ensure the healing of the wound.

Falling to the floor, the creature was dead as soon as the blade cut the skin, the decapitation was only to drive home the point, as the Elvin assassin whirled on the remaining two, who had ceased in their attacks.

His heavy cloak had prevented the flurry that had ensued on his back were unsuccessful, although it was intensely spelled, it was probably still ruined. Still it saved his ass, and at the moment that’s what he needed; he may be limited by his shell, but he likes having it, it makes him physical. Grounded…

The creatures now considered this, and looking to each other decided it wise to engage the Trueblood in speech.

“Old one, what is it you are trying to do here?”

Rational? Maybe… Glanhelmion considered this before speaking, and he did so carefully, considering he did not know the creatures, and could not tell their customs or traits.

“I am here to claim what is rightfully mine as Tasaritr, lord of the Elvin clan of Darkness, first high order of Assassins, I am the last Lord Dark-Treader, able to go between. My goals are aligned against The Dominator, and his rise from banishment, if you stand against me in that goal, then you will die… I have nothing more to say on this matter, to the likes of you.”

Yes, a Trueblood, in essence will still hold to arrogance even staring down rough odds, considering he didn’t know what waited within the keep, and considering his situation he could use the cache of things he had left here; or, at least what time had not taken.

Again the beings conversed, their language that of a different frequency, consisting of vibrations that the Ancient was not privy to, and considering his progeny he had no taste to become acquainted with it’s sounds.

Glan considered the thought that if and when they offered up their information he’d still slaughter them just for being inferior to him and challenging his right to existence. He also wondered where the cross-bow shooter was, and then he remembers the rooms that may have possibly collapsed, and figured that whomever had been the head of this operation, namely the person who was using the heavy magic’s was dead.

The only reason he knew this is because the only aura he could detect was the intense one of the feeding blade that was now resting at ease in his right hand, naked, the blade had taken on the shimmer of snakeskin, but still maintained the smoothness of steel. Each smooth scale was outlined by that dull blue tint, that swallowed any source of light, almost like a negative. The aura was bright, but different, almost as thought you were staring out the outline of a black-hole; or a link to nothingness, whatever hope of eternal life beyond taken, with just a scratch.

“Unless you are my true wielder, my true wielder shall never be let to fall in battle as long as I am at his side…”

Glan would have to get used to that, he always disliked psionics, they were comparable to text messages that some of the lesser more degenerate life forms practices. But so much more personal, and so little privacy, intimate feelings can be felt and distinguished when communicating with the mind.

Yet it is often noted that with a little skill and practice after the initial handshake of taking the call, or getting the message Glan understood how to wipe the emphasis his current situation, or current emotional coloring didn’t affect mental tones or responses.

He calculated the question he wished to ask the sword, while his red flecked gaze focused on the chatting homegrown minions. Damn mages, think just cause they learn some thieves tricks that they can start taking contracts, and going after people. Not how the world works, spawn a few things and roll up and hit somebody. Sloppy work, but then again it may not be what it seems, it may be a testing of the water from others.

It could even be one of the groups the Dominator already possessed… Glan knew no other way to describe his supposed Night Father… or the more or less possessed form that the Spawn of Darkness chose to assume.

“What name do you go buy Friend?”

A feeling of thought swept him, almost as calculating as one of his own. He pondered if the weapon would pick up personality traits.

“I go by the name Blackthorn, birthed to tie to the Holder of Lordship to Darkness…”

Glanhelmion considered this thoughtfully, as the two abominations now turned to regard the assassin now.

“Our master was employed to terminate you, it was considered that you were un-allowed back over the Border, and the assumption was that this was a simple task.”

The strange monotone offered no possible detection, so slipping out feelers, and checking the creatures yellowed gaze he found the feelings of what he felt to be associated with truths. Nodding slowly, he began.

“So your saying you think that your master whomever that is was hired to kill me, because of banishment, I am in good standing once more with the Courts, allowing me to go where I please, when I please. So if you dare consider lying to me…”

A smile curling in those now cruel lips of his the Trueblood gave consideration to the reactions this would create, and it took immediate affect, as the Blackthorn was now poised ready in his right hand, pointing directly at the closest mage-spawn.

“We do not lie, we form consensus, then decide what course of action is best, and at this moment we believe that finding death at your hands would be undesirable, to ours and our master’s plans. He wishes audience with you, for your efforts have caught his attentions…”

Turning the creatures began a surprisingly fluid gait towards the empty great chamber of the Keeps underground holds. Following in silence Glan found himself running his left hand over his cuirass, casually brushing dust from the flat black leathers, then he moved to his right bracer, even licking his gloved thumb and polishing off a smattering of blood.

It was his usual reaction before entering potentially life threatening situations to check his hardware in a casual nature. It ensured that he knew the most readily and situation serving devices were concealed about his form; and, all things considered a mage who could manage to spawn creation was a little bit further than his comfort zone. Considering he wasn’t the most skilled magic user, even though he had the power to be, he would rather avoid going toe to toe, spell to spell with the man.

So he made sure that if he had to end the coming encounter abruptly he could.

Crossing the threshold to the vast, empty, dimly lit, and dingy great chamber, a man stood in a patch of sunlight, that shone through a collapse in the outer structure of the Ancient fort. He was dressed in a short cloak, the color grey, hood pulled over his head, shrouding his face in deep shadows.

This countermeasure did not keep Glan from picking out facial features however, as those violent red flecks danced in silver, peeling away the illusory magic’s the man had woven over himself.

He was at-least some part Elvin, his eyes a bright blue, with a hint of silver in their depths. His thin face was accented by a strong human lined jaw, but the man had power, lots of it. It was hinted in the fact that his eyes possessed a level of radiance, a true glow, like the backlight of a high-tech display screen.

The man was well muscled, athletic, not shaped to break down walls, or do heavy construction. More like well trained and honed muscles.

All of this making Glan wonder how he must appear to the man, considering that using his own magic’s the assassin had managed to see through the man’s disguises. Revealing some form of truth…

Blackthorn rested easily in its wielders right hand, content with projecting his masters murderous intent, causing the nearby entourage of creatures shift uncomfortably, and occasionally glance at the Great-sword, with uneasy glances as they struggled to continue to draw breath in the draining presence of the weapon.

Finding his way past the rabble, and to the head of the snake Glan considered this, and considered also that the head is usually where the fangs are kept. His stride was easy, as he felt reassurance from the weapon in his grasp, and he could feel it feeding his and its own energies from the mana possessed in those present.

Stopping just outside of striking distance, Glan spoke first, quick and to the point, grabbing the situation firmly by the balls.

“So who the *** do you work for. And why the *** do you think you can kill me?”

The man looked up now, causing the cowl of his cloak to fall down to his shoulders, revealing the slightly pointed ears of a Halfie, the Trueblood scowled at this, allowing his further distaste at the mixing of human and Elvin races show.

“I am Nemek Elwar, high mage of the Shadow Court, and have been sent to kill you by my Lord. He expresses that you usurped him, and wishes to be replaced on this plane as Lord Darkness… he wishes to be returned to his proper holding and station. But he feels you would impede his will. So you must die…”

So the man had clearly gotten something from the Dominator, or had simply succumb to his will…

“It’s what Darth Vader would have done Luke…”

Great Glanhelmion thought, the sword just quoted Star Wars, this would be interesting having a different room-mate in his head. His previous ones, well they weren’t so easy to get along with, and weren’t always so helpful though. So he was partially optimistic.

“So you seriously think you have a chance in hell, well your sadly mistaken.”

Shaking his head, the boy smiled, a smile that matched the viciousness that Glan could project, and this gave the Trueblood pause, maybe he hadn’t considered everything. Red flecked silvers sweeping the shadowed room, and it hit him.

There were two groups of four, grey cloak clad, spread in a semi-circle around him and Nemek.

“We only wish to prevent you from getting safely from this Realm with that weapon, that’s all the Lord wants, and he shall see it that you are unable to make the trip back to Rhy’Din… oh yes he knows, and he knows who houses you… although you are his main concern… he has many ideas.”

Again the reference to we, okay, he was fighting the Legion indeed, and he understood this. That meant, anyone or anything could be direct agents to the Dominator at this point. He considered the abominations again, and their curious staring yellow gazes, half of the time they were focused on the Wielder, the other was spent gazing at the naked blade of Blackthorn.

Shaking his head slowly, Glan had decided this discussion was over, and this had tried his patience enough for one night, he was hurting, and he wanted to go home, get healed, and then take time to sort through his business.

In one sweep, he was upon the man, right arm sending Blackthorn in a vicious arc, a black smear-like after image of the blade followed in the wake as the man’s head was swept from his shoulders. Rolling across the ground to the foot of the closest cloaked figure, those red flecked silvers slid in their respective sockets to his next choice.

That gaze lingering only long enough for him to pivot around the sweep of a rather large axe. The cloaks billowing as all of the figures descended like a pack of wolves, attempting to devour a smaller wounded creature.

Pain lanced in Glan’s gut, and in his back between ribs, but his twist had prevented the worst of it. His sword cutting an arm and a portion of the midsection from one man, the swing had followed through disemboweled another.

Whirling low now, he swept a piece of lower leg from a man at the knee, before rising in the spin, cutting the stomach of another open. Sending him spilling in a silent scream to the floor; a smile forming on the Trueblood’s lips, as he spun to face the remaining four, red flecked gaze finding each cloaked figure. He could hear the quivering of their hands upon their weapons, and taste the fear. He knew that they could feel the surge of pressure the blade in his grasp was now giving off.

His pace was slow and smooth as he angled closer to the remaining four, “You are all dead now…” The red flecks swallowed the silver, leaving only an outline of those pools of the rational part of him. This was the bloodlust they faced now, the animal, the primordial, the Ancient part of him…
_________________
The sacrifice of others who walk within,
The battlefields of death embracing him,

The courage from beyond surrounds one's soul,
Walking side by side through graves unknown.

"Crazy Horse" - Black Label Society
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Glanhelmion Tasartir
Young Wyrm
Young Wyrm


Joined: 13 May 2006
Posts: 39
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Jobs: Blacksmith, Falconer

3634.02 Silver Crowns

Items

PostPosted: Mon May 30, 2011 4:14 am    Post subject: Fix Me Reply with quote

Finding himself again, the Ancient stood, covered in other peoples, and his own blood, his body pretty much wracked, a thin saber like sword, through him… he realized the only thing keeping him conscious and ambulatory was his magic’s. Several of his charms were glowing now, and he understood that this meant it was taking a considerable amount of power to keep him on his feet.

Now would be as good a time to get what he wanted to get from his hidden cache, and vanish…

“I’m fine in the fire…” Again he pulled from his taste for lyrics, at-least human’s had found decent voice in media, something about mortal pain was so delicious to him. He couldn’t put his finger on why, but he understood the dilemma, he just chose to laugh at its limiting properties.

These thoughts helped distract him from the draining of his stored energies, as he pushed on finding the concealing stone face that hid his store. Pulling the slab away with his injured arm did him no true service, so he made a quick motion in sheathing Blackthorn, and rummaged around the compartment.

He found two packs, which he disgorged the contents of one, and selected various items from to stuff into the other. Done with this task, he slung the pack over his right side, neglecting to even begin patching himself up before blinking from his current location. A wispy cloud of smoky haze remained where he had once stood, hinting the smells of the Dark worlds of his patron Ward Realm…

Finding his magic’s something of a renewed interest, in their ancient practices Glanhelmion had learned much in such a short time of his true natures. Thanks to the guidance of those near him, his mind had been truthfully nourished back from the brink of destruction. Also once he was again rejoined with one of his missing pieces he was now more himself.

This was his leading thought as he appeared back in his residence, outside of Onyx House of course, although he still chose West End to live in, he had decided to use his vast means to purchase his own personal residence, which he had spelled so seriously that anyone simply thinking of gaining entry would find the urge to reconsider.

So he knew he was safe, and that’s what counted. The apartment was sparse, aside from various art projects he had undertaken, an acoustic guitar, and various furnishing that were more for comfort than anything else.

He disregarded the bed room, selecting to go instead to his washing room, finding various herbs, and various chemicals that he sought he filled the lavatory with water. Heating it with a cantrip, he began to soak some bandages, as well as towels that he would need to complete his medical procedures. He wanted to at least patch himself up before seeing the healer, so their job wouldn’t be as difficult.

Also this ritual gave him time to reflect on how to better conduct himself in future events, as well as process the information that he had gleaned from his most recent adventure back home.

Taking the time to strip away his cuirass, and gauntlets, his armlets, and all the added padding and reinforcements, as well as personal modifications that all pertained to his armor. He peeled away the leather shell, which was stuck to him by caked and dried blood that had mixed with fresh that was still pouring from him weakly. All of this created a sticky goop, which would have to be scrubbed from the armors before he could repair them.

“Well, Blackthorn, here’s what I think, I think the dominator knew I’d seek out Vincent, considering he was the one who banished him in the first place, using the great weapon Anguish… right, so he knew that I knew that Vincent was the only one who could construct a weapon of worth to face him. So at that point he made to intercept us, considering only a Dwarven forge, logically, could imbue a weapon such as you… then I found myself staring down his back alley acquisitions.”

“Very astute, I came to the same assumptions, but I cannot suppose, only in certainty am I able to voice truth…if I better understood the odds, I could offer something more useful, my apologies master.”

Unhitching the belt, so that he could remove the remainder of his cuirass, he rested the sword easily against the wall, before easing down onto a stool, placed specifically for this purpose before the expensive looking glass he had purchased.

Although he preferred to use old titles still, something so much more elegant about them, he knew it to be a mirror, but this one was rather large, and allowed him to see his works better, which helped at times like this.

“Well I figure that at this point I should bring this to the attentions of my superiors… and I am uneasy about this, considering I need to express that I only wish to be backed, not defended. I deserve to fight my own wars, as well as win my own name. But also I for bigger and better things…”

“Such as lordship of the Dark-realms altogether?” Something playful in that mental tone, hinting that the weapon had already gained a great deal of insight into it’s wielders mind.

“Indeed, I want power, the power to rebuild my Clan, and seize the reigns, as I should…but one goal at a time, I have to reclaim the academy grounds first, and begin rebuilding the Fort, and my Holds, which will be a great undertaking even with all of my current funding and power.”

The blade had denied a response on this subject, Glan figured it was due to it’s impartialness to the situation of training others, and ambition, its only goal was to better serve its wielder.

Smart man that Vincent, Glan thought, as he jerked the barbed cross-bow bolt from its position between his clavicle and shoulder, the pain that had ensued caused him to emit a low rumbling growl, and sneer viciously at his relfection.

“***, that never gets easier…”

Drawing back into his own thoughts, he figured he’d let his most current incursion to sink in, and the implications of such, before he dared venture back across the Border, he’d have to be really quiet this time, because he’d be returning to his family estate, and he would be meeting with his first of employ.

He also wished to send word to the dwarves to see how they fared, and see if they could aid him with their master of crafts-work in rebuilding. The more fortified he would be, the stronger their forces would be in the final sweep of the blade purging the Legion from the Borderlands, but it was more than that…

Glanhelmion wasn’t stupid, if the Dominator was able to access this world, he could go anywhere is well, but probably not to when like he could. Although Glan held no want or need to go to different times, he only used the skill to be in places at key moments nothing more.

It was a useful thing, but he dare not abuse it… considering this is what his currently acquired knowledge of his magic’s revealed he could only picture what the Lord Darkness knew, he feared this, but understood that to discover more he’d have to access the libraries of the Academy, and read the historical records, and the older tomes, the tomes of power.

But before understanding the power, he had to understand the meaning behind it first, otherwise he’d lose himself to its temptations, instead of bend it to his will. He was ambitious not stupid.

Sliding the saber through his midsection, he dropped it onto a large towel on the floor next to the cross-bow bolt, then he placed two of the hot towels to the holes, wrapping them once with a strip of bandage to bind it to his form, before placing another hot towel to the opposite exit wounds.

Mixing things now, he contemplated further…

So Glan thought, if he could only find bodies for this whole thing… but they couldn’t just be any bodies, his specific troop requirements would be to a certain criteria. He was now undoing what he had just done, using fresher hot towels he added the disinfecting and healing poultices to the wounds, the mixture something he learned to make very readily amidst combat, so finding the time now was rather easy.

Alright, figuring deeper, so he needed to recruit those skilled in the shadier arts, and begin showing them the ways of his order. Which, would begin on the morrow, he possessed some knowledge of his own, and various tomes, containing knowledge useful to this cause. But for the first few, he’d begin with the basics, and build upon this, utilizing them to train the next wave.

He needed to amass a brood of assassins at-least five hundred in standing order, and strength by fall. Not much time, or at-least he predicted that to be the point of which the veil would tear a swath across the multi-verse, and affect various things in ways most unexpected.

At this point, the Dominator would arise, and begin his march, to take a foothold in the Elflands, so that he could gain footholds in other places, or at-least that’s what Glan would do, and he figured that this would be of interest if nothing else to his superiors. So this would be the way he would summarize it in his report, and then he would place it upon the Lady of Onyx’s desk, Lady Belial, she wouldn’t be happy, he wished he could offer more than his meager plans, but he was sure that he’d have the time he needed to accomplish his goals.

Then he’d need to reclaim his full Estates, which would require tact, and political maneuverings based from the outcome of his next actions. He would find his way, and expand upon his forces, he must if he was to claim the Darkness, and then he would have his true power. If he could sit atop that throne, he would be in truth powerful enough to accomplish anything he wished.

This was his endgame, although he would not let it be known, not to anyone, he couldn’t… it was to important that he accomplish this, and gain the means to assume his mantle.

Now he was focused on the physical, he began muttering the words required to begin the healing of his wounds, repairing some flesh, and mending a portion of the damage. Glan then found himself scrubbing the armors, vigorously, cleaning them to the point that they seemed to look as though new.

Then he rose to his feet, cutting across the hall to his spare bedroom, setting himself down at his work desk. Pulling out all the things required, he mended the armor, then reinforced it properly, adding metals and plating to a majority of the compartments, but he left room for other things.

Placing said other things where they went, into the ribbings, and formfitting holsters and sheaths, he disrobed from the remaining accoutrements and followed suit. Finalizing the entire process with oiling the armor, and cleaning each individual piece of equipment, honing or tweaking this or that, before reassembling his ensemble to a trunk which he spelled shut, and emplaced the various traps to ensure the contents remained undisturbed.

Pulling on a more casual attire, he then moved into the kitchen, cooked something simple, filled what was empty, and was now partaking of an Elvin clove, the first he’d had all night, since the running had started.

Calling his blade to its place on his hip, Blackthorn was grateful, and in the period of inhaling the meal, the weapon had explained in detail how to summon it, to his hip, or grasp. Although it did explain furthermore that it had not yet matured enough to cast specific effects, intentionally, and did not know the power words to activate its special properties at will.

“It’s alright Blackthorn, we will both work on it together.”

Glan found comfort in the blade, as he pulled on the filter of the Elvin clove, his right hand finding quill, and ink, then paper. He began scrawling out his report, and his assessment, timeline, reference information, and any other useful information he had attained about his enemy, and their goals, and their means to accomplishing said task.

Signing each page, dating it, time-date-stamping every event summary, and every interaction point; then signing at on the last page, he then placed a ring to ink, folded and sealed the document. It was expansive, and he also made note to offer the tomes from which he had acquired his knowledge on Belial’s desk, so that she could infer her own opinions, before presenting the entire affair to Lankyn, or others.

He understood that this may be a bit much to present at once, but at-least he was offering disclosure to what he had stumbled upon in his own advancements. He neglected to add his own personal game to the list of information, and he made sure to omit all knowledge that he had pertaining to the Realm of Darkness, he knew that offering that would expose his underlying purposes.

Satisfied he pulled another mouthful of smoke into his lungs, he began to right his other proposals, and the letters for High Court affairs, exhaling sweet scented smoke, he selected various peoples names and various matters. Then finally he was finished, and now wore a tired clerical work, he never did like the paperwork, but it was a necessary evil, and offered means to come to resolution without need for direct conflict.

This was a decent thing, and at the moment, he would rather keep nice with those he would aid, and he probably would rather remain in their good graces even afterwards, considering he may need them later, so he took the time for formality, and etiquette.

Sealing each letter carefully, before snubbing out the Elvin clove, and drifting towards the bedroom, where he would die till the morrow, when he would start again, ambition burned within him, keeping him awake long enough to feel its call that dawn in Rhy’Din was far to far away…
_________________
The sacrifice of others who walk within,
The battlefields of death embracing him,

The courage from beyond surrounds one's soul,
Walking side by side through graves unknown.

"Crazy Horse" - Black Label Society
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Glanhelmion Tasartir
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PostPosted: Tue Jun 07, 2011 8:29 pm    Post subject: Sidewinder... Reply with quote

Quote:
“I slide through the wasteland as my world,
My hunger takes your life,
Preyed on to keep me alive,
Yeah, mercy’s all that you need, mercy’s empty in me,

Can’t you feel the poison rising out of the morning and clear through the night,
You can feel my strength destroy you straight to the heart from the venomous bite,

That’s right I shed my skin tonight but fangs are hard to hide,
And you know that you’re going to die,
Mercy’s all that you need,
Mercy’s empty in me

Can’t you feel the poison rising out of the morning and clear through the night,
You can feel my strength destroy you straight to the heart from the venomous bite,
I can’t regret, can’t escape decisions made for me, no control,
Fire that burns and never dies, wrapped around I’ll bury my fangs deep inside,

Making my way through the night,
You’re still in my sight,
You’re running away cause you know you can’t hide,
My instincts are cold blooded hate,
To you I’m the bearer of fate,
Wrong place and now wrong time,
Now terror is all that you’ll find;

Stay inside tonight - You’re out there all alone,
Vanish from my sights – Venomous control
You won’t make it right – My appetite has grown
Lost the final fight – No love will be shown

Can’t you feel the poison rising,
Straight to the heart of the venomous bite,
Can’t you feel the poison rising out of the darkness and into the light,
You can feel my strength destroy you,
Fire burns but never dies,
Straight to the heart of the venomous bite,
Wrapped around I bury my fangs inside,
Can’t you feel the poison rising out of the morning and into the night…”

"Sidewinder" By - Avenged Sevenfold


Glanhelmion had found his prey, darkness sliding forward, as his slink brought him from the shadowed doorway leading out into the alleyway. The man he was trailing stumbled a bit in his inebriation, collapsing against a wall, leaning there, tilting his head back. The guy seemed to be fighting off the throws of nausea, a usual reaction when someone spiked your drink with a few things.

The darkness pooled in the alleyway now, the paved surface which boots crossed silently was now darkening, slowly sliding into the depths of ink that writhed like trapped fingers, looping around the shoes of the man who was now throwing up.

“Wha-“ His voice was rushed between heaves, and hacks, his hand slapping onto the corner of a nearby dumpster, the other one rubbing at the lapel of his suit, brushing off a clot of what was once in his stomach, but this was not his focus, his focus was the fact that the ground seemed to be moving…

Ghost-like now, Glan’s steps offered only the whisper of bells, cooing softly like a hushed whisper requesting silence. The eternal shush, that he offered before doing what he so liked to do.

One of his large black gloved hands palmed the side of the man’s head, slamming it into the lip of the dumpster, “Who in the *** is Tristin J. Thompson you little worm!” Again this time gripping the man’s short cut black hair, he slammed it against the dumpster again.

See contrary to popular belief, Glanhelmion knew many things, and he knew how to find out many more; and in this the Trueblood was pursuing that so called “Thug” who attacked him the other night, seeing as he figured the man to be more than a simple gangster from the World.

“I don…” That was about as far as he got before a fist collided with the back of his skull, sending the man into the brick wall that he was previously leaning against, those tendrils of darkness holding the man firmly to the ground.

“Look, I know who you work for, I know who he works for, and I want to know more about him, is that too much to ask, cause if so I’ll just feed you to the abyss, and go find someone who’s better informed to beat ***!” Glan’s tone was firm, and steely, the deep baritone sliding out lined with clove smoke.

“Honestly!” The man managed to scream weakly before the Trueblood spun, sending a boot into the man’s gut, throwing up blood and a green ooze onto his armored calve, and boot, Glan smiled, a wicked thing, tainted with the shadows that were now lengthening, and dancing.

Those red flecks swimming in silver, as his gaze found the man’s blue eyes, “Last chance?” He was now drawing his foot back, settling his boot to the ground again, he slid a vicious looking long-knife from a sheath amongst his person, gazing intently at the blade, Glan raised it to his own throat, slit a thin line against the skin, letting that crimson liquid flow out, all over the guy… poor man.

“Alright, alright, ***! Just stop, I’ll tell you everything I know… just please don’t kill me you lunatic! *** those lawyers, they don’t pay me enough for this!”

Sliding golden-rod across his own wound, Glan eased back, leaning against the dumpster now, pulling his Bloods jacket tighter about his armors, the leathers hissing in protest, bells sounding a whisper in the wind as he shifted from foot to foot a moment.

“Alright, let’s start with that cheap-*** vamp, who’s got the hard on to start trouble?”

The guy looked thoughtful for a moment, then spewed a few interesting bits of information, “Well he works directly for Howe, the others have no real clue as to what he does. All I know is that he does odd jobs, and is some kind of supplier of lots of things. Personally I think the vamp only uses Howe to launder his funds… but I’m not sure.”

A gloved hand patted the man’s head, an insulting gesture, almost like the reward offered a dog, but this was more degrading, as though the dog would be a higher life-form.

“Good boy, want a *** cookie, tell me something I don’t know before I jump rope with your G.I. Tract ok?” A grin sliding across his lips for an instant, before it again turned stormy, forming a twisted sneer, as; he hooked the man across his jaw-bone, teeth crunching in the impact, a few flying with a swatch of blood off into the darkness. Which had intensified to the point that the world which lay beyond what was happening in the alleyway seemed to no longer exist, almost as though nothingness had managed to devour all hope the ‘Legal Associate’ had of escaping his fate.

“Well… well… well…” Another hook, this time the opposite side of his face.

“Speak up son, don’t stutter!” Glan’s tone had a hint of too much humor in it, if it wasn’t for the pain being inflicted one would find it hard to take the Trueblood seriously.

“I have the address of two of his warehouses!”

Finally, Glan thought, no more stuttering, that red flecked gaze found pause on the man’s blues. “Well that is interesting, but I have a better idea!”

Although he had never done anything to this extent, the Trueblood was sure he could pull it off. A gloved hand lifted, and then slapped down, covering the man’s face, palm against the tip of his nose. Pushing his energies into the man’s mind, he began stripping the information from his skull, devouring it, making it his own. Dark wispy tendrils burrowed through the man’s skin and skull, worming in ears, and eyes; the smoky-black-liquid-like substance of his energy was now snaking around his neck.

The scream that was sounding was enough to drive the Ancient to finish the job, but he felt it would be a waste to murder a blank slate, stripping the last thought from the man, he left the hollow empty thing to remain in the alleyway, to starve, never really releasing the magic’s that held him to the ground.

That silent slink of his brought him towards his apartment, sliding through the doorway, he doubled back, through a hidden door, and then down a set of stairs to an armory, selecting various trinkets and toys to disperse amongst his person, he felt the rush flow through him. He was hunting again, for sure, a one on one, solitary hunt!

A smirk painted those wicked lips, as sparks arced from his finger tips, energy brimming from him, finally a focus that didn’t involve paperwork, or requests…

He checked the other rooms of his apartment, each one, deciding that nothing else was pressing, he left, headed off towards the location he had gleaned; the new trick he learned was a nice one, but a little to… personal for him, although swallowing a soul without a tool was a delicious thing, Glan preferred to feed the Morganti weapons he used, the soul-stealing implements would share their spoils with the Ancient; but, they were more clean, they only gave him the energies held by the soul, the consciousness, the things that made a person a person, well that’s what the weapons devoured.

The direct route, required that the Ancient sift through thoughts and experiences that the person had, had before death, and decipher which one’s to keep for himself, and which to disregard. But now that he had an actual photographic picture of the warehouses that Tristin owned, the Trueblood was off to reign down hell, something he was good at doing.

Bells still ringing lightly on his boots, even as he kicked the spell-box on his Harley into life, the growling rumble of the engine faded as he left sight around a corner and off through the twists and turns that made up Westend, off towards the smell of blood and death, *** and piss, the smell of human's, the smell of Rhy'Din in summer time.
_________________
The sacrifice of others who walk within,
The battlefields of death embracing him,

The courage from beyond surrounds one's soul,
Walking side by side through graves unknown.

"Crazy Horse" - Black Label Society
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Glanhelmion Tasartir
Young Wyrm
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3634.02 Silver Crowns

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PostPosted: Sat Jul 02, 2011 1:12 pm    Post subject: What's Left Of The Flag Reply with quote

It was night over the wastes, an eternal inky blackness, that hung like fog in the air, devouring the blue above, killing the green below. The scent of nightshade, tainting sand laced wind that lacerated at what had become of the once forested landscape.

Gunfire sounded, it was distant, a rifle report that only seemed lost on silhouettes revealed at the passing of sands. Drifting over the forms of several before dispersing, the wayward grains of sand were swallowed by a thick cloud of wispy tendrils that clawed through the air.

Slinking from darkness, he pulled his form back together, the slick black thing that had crawled from the abyss becoming the Ancient again, almost folding back into the shell that he wore on this plane.

A sick sneer painting his lips, red flecked silvers sliding smoothly in sockets as he pulled at the filter of the Elvin clove. That intense gaze finding a particular outline, and he shouted. “Miraf’n, updates? Have we found where they’re coming from yet?”

Sliding forward the Trueblood he called out appeared, the shroud he wore to conceal himself falling away, and leaving only the strings of magic’s to fall away into another lashing breeze.

“The tower is almost complete, those Dwarves work quick M’lord; also we have found that whomever is doing this is using the Never, a between world-“ His words fell short, as a crack whizzed by, nicking a piece of flesh from one of the pointed ears he was so proud of.

Glan turned, the sneer widening into a full grin, “How long have we had the snipers around?” A gloved hand rising, closing into a fist, a snarl rumbling free from wicked lips, as red flecks swam in silver.

“Well…” Miraf’n began, “About six hours ago, they’ve been flowing in steadily since, taking pot-shots, vanishing before we can pin ‘em down boss.” He was becoming less proper by the minute, although he was more focused on the nicked point of his right ear at the moment.

“Well damn, that’s why…” Dropping now into a crouch behind a low wall, Glanhelmion told his lieutenant to follow suit, “They’ve got spell shielding, strong stuff too, means my bet would be that there’s some strong mage running the show, as usual,” Which was said with such a nasty hint of distaste, “With this kind of thing.” He shrugged, ducking around the corner, then vanished leaving his lieutenant gaping at a cloud of black smoke.

Another wind exploded, this time high up on a hillside, more of a dune now that darkness had touched the lands here, but still served its purpose. At-least until the Ancient slid onto the crest of said dune, and looked down onto the man, hidden beneath a net, and concealment gear.

“Now, you should have picked something a bit further out, but I’ll give ya’ an A for effort though, chuckles…” Blackthorn whirring through the air, falling down bisecting the sniper, the tarp he used to blend into the black sands was shredded, crimson and a scream hit the air.

Again back to where it had all began, in the courtyard of his new keep, Glan stood staring at Mir, “Now, just to find that troublesome magic user right, I expect that can be arranged, oh, and please bring him to me alive, and in one piece… so I can cut him into many more to get some more info out of him, yeah do that!”

The words spilling as his slink carried him towards the mirror-like black walls, which seemed to flow like water, rising out of the land. The stone was crystalline, dark, devouring light.

There was no obvious aperture, well not as of yet, but Glan knew that soon he would have his former Hold, and he would be able to command from here. Turning now to his second, letting that red-flecked gaze rest, “Well?”

“I think that’s a deep subject boss…”

“Don’t be a smartass, can we find the caster who’s juicing these snipers enough to get past us?”

“Well… that’s been the problem, and why we’ve been hunting them down one by one.”

Miraf’n held up one of the tarps the snipers had been using to hide amongst the landscape, as well as some shreds of the wraps and armors they wore. All of which held some shreds of magic, or the scent that they had been spelled in some way.

Red flecks swam in silver, “So in other words they’ve been using spelled gear, not a direct line. Well, that’s old-school then… these new kids like to jack directly into their puppets.” He wasn’t far off, but the Ancient only knew a few individuals who could spell things like that.

Which was further confusing the Trueblood, considering he figured that none of the people he knew had the skill to pump out enchanted goods like these would have that much of a hard on to piss in his cheerios.

“Right you are boss, this is big, or well… getting bigger I guess, I mean you went from cover band to full on Black Sabbath in a week.”

Glan couldn’t help but laugh at the choice his lieutenant had picked as a metaphor, pulling again on the Elvin clove, as red flecked silvers scanned the black dunes. He couldn’t see the glint of any scopes, or pick out any energies, so he continued to hack out the conversation.

“Well either way, we’ve secured enough weapons to counteract most threats, and swell our ranks, and banks.”

Mir nodded, considering the implications of this, “But don’t you think the blood-bag will be a little bit peeved we made off with two warehouses, and three ships of his “Party-Favors”, and his weapons, and well whatever else we got on those raids…”

“Well I didn’t get what I really wanted no, but hey, guns work… and well we’ve already unloaded all of the other stuff, so we’ve got quite the funds to play with.” Words laced with sweet scented smoke as he took his lean against a nearby piece of wall, closing his eyes and tilting his head back, fighting the throbbing inside of his skull.

“Speaking of that, how are things on the other side?” Miraf’n queried, asking of course about the goings on in the other worlds. “Oh and can I get one of those boss?” Finger pointing towards the Elvin clove between two fingers.

Gloved hand dropped a spare into Mir’s hands, before Glan shook his head slowly, considering what exactly to say, “Well where to start.”

“Let’s start with business, well I’ve managed to double the rate at which we can train ‘em, bring ‘em through the ranks, and send out our own little killers, wrapped in pretty little bows, with their sharp pointies to boot.”

Glan pulled a fresh Elvin clove from his pack, brushing his finger tip over the end, he pulled slowly, inhaling the smoke, almost for dramatic pause, but then again he shrugged almost as though dis-interest was common place with the next string of subjects.

“As far as I can tell, Ms. Bel, and the Big L-man got things tied down in Rhy’Din, and as for B-town well I’m never sure with that one, the World, or whatever the scum call home, well that’s the usual… just shuffle around enough products for them, and play to their sins.”

Mir nodded, “Well if you need me to be elsewhere boss, just let me know, I told you back when we left the Borderlands that I’d follow you through all of this, you’ve been a stand-up guy, for the most part.” He lit his own clove, pulling on the filter, just as a bang sounded.

Shaking off the ringing in his ears, Glanhelmion crawled from the whole that he was now occupying. White smoke, ashes, and the smell of sulfur, bombs maybe? Having a major whiskey-tango-foxtrot moment, the Ancient stormed forward, towards what he could assume would be the source of all of the chaos that was now erupting.

Sending mental messages to others, as he pressed forward, even though his legs were jelly, “Mir, what the hells going on?”

Brushing past the smoke now and shaking off the daze Glan stopped dead, red flecks no longer doing their usual circuit through the silver pools that marked his gaze.

Jaw falling open, red flecked silvers widening, frozen, he stood on the edge of smoke staring out, utter and total disbelief written all over his expression.

"Well ain't this a bow-legged sun-of-a-bitch!" Glan's words fell short as he watched darkness well, belching up abominations to meet swords and weapons fire...
_________________
The sacrifice of others who walk within,
The battlefields of death embracing him,

The courage from beyond surrounds one's soul,
Walking side by side through graves unknown.

"Crazy Horse" - Black Label Society
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Glanhelmion Tasartir
Young Wyrm
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3634.02 Silver Crowns

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PostPosted: Tue Oct 18, 2011 8:55 pm    Post subject: 30/30-150 Reply with quote

Lightning arced, and fireballs whizzed past the tall black clad form of Glan, his red flecked silvers scouring the black sand covered grounds of his forming obelisk. A sneer painting a vicious expression as another fell to Blackthorn, the mad blade craving more blood.

"Boss what the hell, we didn't expect anything like this, not yet? We're going to have to fall back." Mir's tone was very clinical, as the report from his rifle caused Glan's ears to ring.

Red flecked silvers finding the wiry second in command, Glan took a second to observe him sighting through the scope of his favored rifle. The weapon firing one of it's large rounds, the casing being about the size of Glan's hand in length.

"Like hell, I'm not losing my position, you can fall back, but I'm not going anywhere."

Mir shook his head slowly, finally turning to look at his commander, "Fine, tell you what, you buy me a bar when this ***'s over!"

Glan smirked, "Alright, what if you win the bet?"

Blackthorn ending another two abominations that encroached upon the hill, the assassin sending mental commands to his men, as to patch up the hole they had come through. The response was a volley of spells, that damn near blew a crater in the spot, and left small flaming bits of mismatched limbs smoldering here and there.

"Well we all die if I win boss, so lets just hope you win the bit and stick with that..." His rifle punctuating his statement, then Mir dropped his magazine, reloading with speed and precision, he was now offering copper coated candy once more.

Sliding to the front of the line, Glan had defined the commander of this horde of well, Glan didn't even know what they were, just that they were dog-like, ugly, with a reptilian head, raptor talons, and hard to kill. So he took a vicious swipe, that drew a violent slash of crimson to splatter the cluster of Truebloods nearby the assassin.

Gritting his teeth, he amplified the energies he was forcing into enhancing his timing, and dexterity, ducking under an outstretched arm, he planted Blackthorn deep into the gut of the attacker, and plunged into the mass of black mangy bodies.

He could hear Mir's shots, and he saw the effects taking root, a swath was beginning to clear before him. A focused push of energies sent a black wave, about the width of his hand, through everything standing in front of the Trueblood, the energy slicing through enough of the opposing force to make a hole.

Another sneer, as Blackthorn found the slender silhouette of a bipedal form, that only offered a smile, before it disintegrated at the tip of the Godslayer...

Turning about Glan realized that the battle had ended, in the sense that all that remained were the bodies of his own fallen forces, which was a slight disappointment. Still he had won the day, for the most part...

"Well boss, I think we managed to deal for now, but we are seriously going to have to reinforce this place, hard, another wave like that and we'll have to abandon the stronghold, and restoration project."

Nodding Glan slid an Elvin clove between his lips, igniting the tip with a finger, he smiled a cold smile, his words laced with sweet scented smoke, "We can push out the rest of the work, but still your idea is sound, reinforce, and get the Dwarves working on the defenses more, I want anything within a hundred yards of this place to burst into flames."

Miraf'n gave a mock salute, weakly, "Alright boss, and can I get one of those?"

Smirking, Glan let out a laugh, "Get a better job, then buy your own."
_________________
The sacrifice of others who walk within,
The battlefields of death embracing him,

The courage from beyond surrounds one's soul,
Walking side by side through graves unknown.

"Crazy Horse" - Black Label Society
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Erebos Achlys
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175.00 Silver Crowns

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PostPosted: Wed Oct 26, 2011 9:47 pm    Post subject: A Turn for the Worst... Reply with quote

Night fell heavy on the obelisk that was of the Trueblood's construct, the jutting black tower would have been the largest landmark on the horizon if not for the veil of sorcery. The eerie black sands churned and sputtered in spots, and wind whipped viciously, even the surrounding wild life cowed to the dread inspiring edifice that rose forever into the ebon abyss of night.

Black clad Glan stepped through his hole in the rift, dropping to those sands, his red flecked silvers sliding in respective sockets as his head turned slowly, his form following.

"Long time no see Glanhelmion my son."

Shivers racked the Trueblood, as he flicked silvery hairs from his face with a gloved hand.

The man standing before the assassin could have passed for half-elven, or something along those same lines of muddled blood. Although in place of fair skin, was a cracked and horrid appearance, matched by eyes that were solid black voids.

Tall and lanky, the man seemed to have trouble moving, almost as though he wasn't completely used to his arms, legs, or perspective.

"Erebos, figures; I was wondering when you'd burn out a piece of meat to speak to me. How is the great "Dominator" this eve?" Sarcasm dripped from his words, as gloved hands pantomimed the word Dominator.

A smirk not so different from the assassin's touched Erebos' lips, and he gazed upon the Trueblood. "You have come into fruition, did the master decide to give the whelp his soul back? Lankyn getting soft in his old age?"

Glan laughed, "Not as soft as people think, he just sends me to do the nasty bits now."

This brought a giggle, which turned into a cough, blood, Erebos examined his palm for a moment, "You know we could just end all of this, just let me take you, I mean surrender isn't going against your code or anything."

The facade fell, and Glan sneered, his gloved hand falling to the finger guard of Blackthorn, "Tell you what, you surrender, step off of your throne, and let me take your head off how about that?"

Darkening, Erebos offered an expression akin to disappointment, but there was disdain brooding in the lines of that young face, "Nae, Glanhelmion you barely understand your powers, and you haven't truly ascended anywhere, so how do you expect to beat a god."

Glan laughed, now he was back on stable ground with this conversation. "The same way I beat most people, first with an aluminum bat, then I'll gut you, and then I'll take that smiling face and spike outside of my office."

Sinking into a shadow, Erebos let out a snicker, "You forget your place at my side Glanhelmion, it was almost two centuries you killed for my cause, and paid homage to me, what would you do if I stripped my blessings from you? How would you hunt your prey then?"

Tilting his head back Glan paused, "Let me think, oh, walk in, put a knife in them, then walk out. I was an assassin from the time I was birthed, the only difference between when I worked for the order, and you, is that I now find cause in aiding those with greater purpose than myself."

Laughing, Erebos' cracked and distorted face slid from behind the darkness, and the moonlight pierced the shadows to reveal exactly how warped the young man had become under the weight of a god, and he smiled, a yellowed evil smile, corrupt in every meaning of the word.

"Glanhelmion, you have fallen far, far indeed, and you will fail in taking my throne, and I will kill you, then I'll keep your shell, and then nothing will stop me from taking what I want from the realms then."

Glan pondered on why he had to save the world, but there wasn't much a bastard Elf kid could do, he had been selected, that's all there was to it. Still he refused to peek around the corner at the true nature of his destiny, and at this moment the Trueblood was uncertain as to his fate. But he also believed he could alter that fickle thing, and this choice was one out of many.

"Personally Erebos, you are an asshole, and it'll be nice to put a knife in you and tell you to *** off."

Still smiling Erebos leaned in close to the tall form of Glan, his breath something like blood and decay as it filled the senses of the Trueblood, "I will kill you, then I will kill everyone who wears a Bloods jacket, maybe then Lankyn will find his own toys to play with, oh, and if you think I can't reach you, you are sadly mistaken. Just wait Elf, you are a spec, and I will brush you under the rug like so many others, there will be other patrons, and other lords to take the mantle of high assassin in your stead. And the courts will take my word into account when I walk the material world once more, which is coming to a neighborhood near you soon son. So katy bar the door...."

His words hung limp as Glan slammed an imbued dagger into the pharynx of the possessed boy, which caused him to begin smoldering like an ember, "Well first your gonna' need some other dumbass to ride."

Spitting on the ground Glan entered his tower, the thing was near completion, and he had some last minute adjustments to be made, he intended fully to make his foothold in the Elf lands permanent.
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