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Lucius DeAuster
Old Wyrm
Old Wyrm

Joined: 14 May 2006
Posts: 452
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Can Be Found: Gharnholme or Cisroe in Carowyn
10589.46 Silver Crowns


PostPosted: Fri Jun 15, 2007 10:10 pm    Post subject: Snapped Reply with quote

Hard crimson eyes watched the office from the roof across the street as a few of the workers moved within, finishing up their daily business. They were dismissed as soon as they registered on the dark thoughts, though in truth those were many leagues away. What thoughts were currently coherent, that is.

The day had not been a good one. After Cieara’s momentous revelation earlier that day at Shadow Hold, Fiona had dragged him back to Gharnholme, trying to talk to the Chaos Lord about what they had been told. “Remember this love, I nae ever told my da about what ye and I shared.” The soft tone had cut through the red haze that was threatening to envelope him, even now taking him back to those days of their youth. “Ye be like Rhystil more than ye know, as he would nae ever have consented to ye as well. “

“The difference is, love, was that I had no intention of harming you or your family.” He had replied testily, to which Fiona had shook her head slowly.

“You may nae have meant to, but ye did change my life forever.” Even now, hours after being said, those words cut through him, turning the hot fires of rage ice-cold. In smothering the cold emotions, he went calm. The rage he normally felt fled, taking with it the comfort he felt in the hot emotion.

And now, he acted.


Walls had been rebuilt, new paint, carpeting and furnishings giving the office of Lance DeMeer, site and claims representative for the honorable Dewey, Cheatam and Howe a warm ambiance. The better to put their clients at ease when they came in with deeds and money in hand, soon to be parted with one or both. DeMeer himself counted himself truly lucky, as he had seemed to come out ahead with the whole fiasco months ago, when his office had been devastated by persons still as yet unknown. Extremely lucky, given the volatile nature of the senior partners and thier views on failure and setbacks.

When having the offices rebuilt, DeMeer had contracted the best security firm he could afford to place the wards around the office, linked directly to the local watchstation. Should any try to break in again or with the mere touch of one of the triggers at each desk, the guard would be alerted, and the images from the orbs scattered in and around the building automatically begin broadcasting back to the home office of DCH. He would have preferred wards to keep the more nefarious of races out, but given the unusual and varied clientele he represented, that had been out of the question.

Thus it was, the guard standing at the door watching the four clerks finishing their work for the day was caught off guard by the shadow of movement to his side, in the corner close. Starting to turn that way, he barely registered the silvery flash, and an instant of pain. And then all went black.

Hearing a dull thud, one of the ladies looked over, thinking that Charles had bumped into the water cooler again, only to see Charles’s head, now severed neatly from his neck, bounce against a cubicle partition. As the corpse fell in a heap the armored warrior standing there stepped forward, holding up the bloody battleaxe. He glared at the four clerks, three women and one man, and slowly lowered the battle-axe. The other hand rose, and four sets of eyes were drawn to a small eldritch red globe that gleamed in the light. “You have thirty second to leave this place.”

Given the edge of that tone, the four made no hesitation, the male leading the charge toward the door. The warrior seemed not to take any notice, looking instead at one of the corners, and the image orb there. A bare five heartbeats had passed; the clerk's hand was just pulling the door back when the intruder spoke again. “Thirty.” The woman standing beside him saw the ball flare, and had started to scream when the air combusted.


Lucius watched as the flames engulfed the office, ignoring the smoke drifting from his armor and scorched cloak, blocking out the pain of the burns on his face. Everything faded, as he sought satisfaction from the conflagration below. He found none.

The fireball had done its work, sweeping through the office as he barely stepped back into the shadows in time to escape the worst of the spell's blast. Already he could hear the bucket brigade being summoned, along with shouts from the guards. The building would be saved, DeMeer would probably open another office, this time in a better protected part of town. But…there was no satisfaction in the deed. No sense of accomplishment. No disgust at the meager strike. Nothing.

Turning away from the edge of the roof, he paused again, looking directly at the location of another image orb before slipping into the waiting shadows.

And the Day of Life Gift began...
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