"If yer lookin' fer th' big man an' his girl, they're still upstairs. But, ya better wait til they come down. Th' guy's as big as 'n Ogre. An' he's quick, moves like a Kajian. Give yerselves room; he gets 'is paws on ya yer meat."
The Innkeeper, a large burly man, spoke quietly to a small dark woman and her two male companions. Despite his size he seemed intimidated by the woman. He sweated profusely in the early morning coolness and alternated between wiping his hands on the none too clean rag he clenched and wringing it.
"I won't help ya. The man's known here, got lots of important friends. But, I won't try ta stoppin’ ya. I don't want no part o' no gripe 'tween yer Necromancer an' th' Sorcerer.
He paused, seemingly expecting a response from the woman. When none came, he resumed speaking.
"Anyways, ya ain't th' only ones lookin' fer them." He indicated a girl sitting at a table on the far side of the inn's front room. "She's one o' Azhamohn's. Can’t do nothin' ‘bout her. Ya better not try ta neither. Yer Necromancer's a long way off, an' even he'd have a tough time gettin' thru th' Sorcerer's shields."
"What use does a Kajian Sorcerer have for a human pleasure slave?" The woman's voice was low and calm, almost robotic. The question seemed rhetorical, not requiring an answer. The innkeeper merely shrugged; then almost as an afterthought answered anyway.
"Who can figger out why th' sighted do th' things they do? Why does a Kajian Sorcerer live on a Human dominated continent? Why does a Crocian Necromancer send humans ta do his dirty jobs? I only want ta stay outa these things. But yer here so I gotta deal wit it. Just remember I ain't goin' against ya. So don't bust my place up too much. An' get out quick once ya do it. Th' Guardsmen know yer here. They was in yestaday askin' around. They won't blame me fer stayin' out of a sighted thing. But they'll be here quick once th' fun starts."
"TO COLLECT YER BODIES." He thought, making sure that his inner smile stayed hidden. "YA ONLY SEE TH' BIG GUY, BUT TH' GIRL'S TH' DEADLY ONE. KARI'LL SPOT YA AN' TAKE YA OUT 'FORE TASKINS EVEN KNOWS YER HERE."
"Sometimes violence can be it's own reward” The speaker, a small terribly scarred dark haired young woman, known as Zara the Whip, elbowed past her two male companions as she muttered that cryptic phrase. Her attention was focused on the back of a very large man who had just come down the stairs of the small inn on the outskirts of the Castleton seaport. The man's companion, a very small elf like woman who sported an amazing mane of scarlet hair, turned to face her as she hefted the weapon that provided her name. Even before the two women's eyes met, the man moved away from the eminent confrontation. Distracted by the approach of a slave girl, he seemingly had no idea of what was about to occur behind his back. Apparently unaware of the potentially deadly situation developing in his wake, he followed the girl towards a second room at the back of the inn.
"Back down, Hound!!" Zara's voice was quiet and full of menace. "My business is with your master, human to human, not with you." As she spoke, she motioned to the larger of her two male companions. "Keorge, take her."
The man took a single step towards the elf-like woman, and then froze in place when her attention turned to him. "Zara, that's no ordinary hound. I've never seen one with a human form like that. It's gotta be one of the Royal Line. I don't know if the charm'll work."
Zara did not respond, her attention was elsewhere; the man had moved completely out of sight. She scanned the room quickly, attempting to find him. "Patros,” She addressed her second companion. "Move it, find him."
"If your business with my master is real, woman, tell it to me." The voice seemed too big, too vibrant, for it's owner's petite body. It drew the attention of every person in the room. "But, if you mean to harm him then I have some business with you." She remained directly in the trio's path.
"Keorge, handle her. Taskins is getting away."
"I told ya. That's no ordinary hound. I don't know if the charm'll work right." He took a silver amulet out of his pocket and held it at the small woman's eye level. It's polished surface sparkled brightly even in the inn's dim light. It quickly drew the attention of every eye in the room to the impossible splendor. All eyes except the two it was intended to dazzle. Kari barely glanced at it before turning her attention back to Zara.
"Bully boys with pretty toys don't impress me."
Her stance shifted imperceptibly. She seemed to be totally unconcerned by the fact that she was facing three opponents, all larger than herself. Absolute confidence in her ability to handle all three of them at once, seemed to radiate from her petite form, kept them at bay. They looked uncertain and seemed unwilling to move against her now that the amulet they obviously counted on to handle her proved useless.
The inn's crowd had cleared the area around the four combatants at the first sound of Kari's voice. Now they waited expectantly to see how the stalemate would be broken.
-------------------- Just an Old, Broke-Down, Drunk, Bum!!
With a Power Ring...
From: Westerly Rhode Island | Registered: Aug 2003
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posted
Strangely the large man had not been drawn back into the room by the commotion.
Keorge, the amulet wielder, seemed to realize first that their opponent was alone. "She can't change if there's no demon around!!" He yelled as he dropped the useless amulet and drew his sword. His action seemed to energize the dark woman. She flicked her arm suddenly, lashing out with her whip at the very instant that the other woman's eyes were drawn to her companion's voice and movement. It was a ploy that they had used successfully many times before.
Three steel blades were attached to the end of that viscous whip. The strike was directed at Kari's throat. Zara intended to end this with one movement. It was widely rumored that she could pick a fly out of mid-air at ten paces using that length of braided leather. Many a larger male opponent had fallen to that deadly lash. It was a weapon that seemed to be an extension of her arm.
This opponent however, was not fooled by the ploy. She moved with catlike speed at the first sound of the man's voice. Those deadly barbs came together with a menacing pop, but struck only the air behind her. She closed on Keorge first and was inside his sword arm before he could react. A hard knee found a soft groin and claw-like nails raked a suddenly exposed neck. He died instantly.
Zara barely had time to realize that her first strike had missed before Keorge's lifeless body hit the floor. The sheer speed and viciousness of the smaller woman's reaction stunned her. She was reputed to be the most deadly assassin in the explored lands, but...
"Now it's just you and me, assassin." The too rich tones of Kari's voice cut thru the silence like a knife. "Too bad your other bully boy ran off."
"She knows who I am!" Zara realized suddenly. "That means that they were expecting this, and....”
A rapid series of explosive noises cut off any further thought and Patros's bloody, lifeless body hurled back into the room through the rear door. He’d found Taskins and paid for it, she realized.
"Drop the whip and you live to take a message back to your master."
His voice fit his body. Both were half again as big as the largest of men should be. Both commanded attention by their sheer size and obvious strength. He had to duck and turn in order to fit through the doorway and re-enter the room. His blonde hair and blue eyes alone would have marked him as an outlander. No true son of Omega was ever born with such coloration. But his size...
On a world where a very large and powerful human might approach six feet in height and weigh close to 200 lb., he stood six feet seven inches tall and weighed 270 lb. More ogre than man to most human eyes.
Zara stood motionless and let her possible options race through her mind. She had failed and to those in the Necromancer's service the penalty for failure was death. She accepted that, escape was not a possible option for her. Serve the master's interests. Complete the mission or die trying. That code was part of the very core of her being. But of what use was it to her master if she died here, where he would not be able to absorb and use the mystic energy released by her death? The death of her companions meant little to her. Her master would replace them with more competent assistants as soon as she returned to Souam. The next Zara would be far better served than she was. And if she carried back the news about how badly they had underestimated the abilities of the Demon-Hound, that new Zara would be far better equipped to defeat these two enemies of her master. But if she died here...
In the end the decision was a pragmatic one. She was dead already. The only choice now was the manner of death that served her master best. Alone she was no match for this pair and to die at their hands, here, would not best serve her master's interests. She let the whip fall to the floor.
"I Surrender." The words almost choked her.
-------------------- Just an Old, Broke-Down, Drunk, Bum!!
With a Power Ring...
From: Westerly Rhode Island | Registered: Aug 2003
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posted
"Taskins, what happened here?" Laros, the guard captain knew Taskins from his previous visits to the port. The arrival of his squad of the port's guardsmen quickly dispersed the crowd.
"One of Arr's assassins,” Taskins indicated the motionless Zara, "Kari spotted her at the port and confronted her when we learned that she had followed us here."
Two guardsmen moved to flank the motionless woman. A third pressed the point of his sword into the small of her back.
"She's called Zara the Whip. Supposed to be the best there is. Her men weren't very good." He motioned to the lifeless bodies. "I'd appreciate it if you'd just put her on the next boat to Souam. I want her master to know how easily we took down his best."
"Why would the Necromancer send them here to take you?" Laros seemed puzzled by the woman's actions. "He must know that Azhamohn's shields cover the port. Even he can't break that magic, here on the Sorcerer's home ground." Laros turned to one of his men. "Take her to the docks. The Blackfin sails soon. Tell Captain Finch to have her bound and treated as cargo."
"Why does Arr want your head?"
The question, posed with typical policeman's bluntness, brought a slight smile to Taskins face. Cops are the same, no matter what world it is, he thought. But before he could reply Kari interrupted them.
"This is quite the nasty toy." She held up the triple blades of Zara's whip. "Mind if I keep it?"
The question was directed to Taskins, but it was Laros who answered it.
"Hardly, it's yours by right of battle. I heard her surrender as we arrived. That's why my men took no action at first." He turned and pointed to the bodies on the floor. "In fact, anything you want of theirs is also yours."
"No, just use their gear and money to show your men our appreciation for their quick response."
Despite his years on the often brutal planet of Omega, Taskins was uncomfortable with many of its customs. To him, the Rights of Battle or Conquest, which awarded all possessions of anyone who lost a battle to the victor of that battle, felt like grave robbing. Kari, native to Omega, but—despite her current appearance—not at all human, knew and respected her master's feelings on this point. That was why she asked for his permission to take the whip. To Laros, a native Omegan, the right of Battle was an ingrained fact, something that he grew up understanding and respecting. To him, Taskins giving away the possessions of the dead men as a reward to his troops was a much-appreciated act of largesse. He did not and could not understand the revulsion of someone born on 21st century Earth to the customs of his feudal culture. He gratefully directed one of his men to carry out Taskins's instructions without giving it any further thought.
Kari wound the whip around the waist of her tunic. "We came down to get something to eat, are you still hungry?" This time the question left no doubt about whom it was directed to.
-------------------- Just an Old, Broke-Down, Drunk, Bum!!
With a Power Ring...
From: Westerly Rhode Island | Registered: Aug 2003
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It took many days for Jayne Lincoln to accept the reality of her situation. At first she was convinced that the entire thing was a drug-induced hallucination. Then when it stretched on for longer than the effects of any drug that she knew of should have, she feared that her sanity was permanently shattered. Finally, Teela and Satyros were able to convince her that she actually had been transported to a different world.
She made a conscious decision to accept their explanations. One based more on the need to believe in her own sanity, than on acceptance of the situation. After all, she told herself, satyrs, trolls, were-beasts, ghosts, and dwarves were hardly part of her every day existence before this. They took a little getting used to.
So did the fact that she could perform Magic. True, what she could do was very limited, some minor levitation, creating clothing for herself, starting campfires. But she could see the mystic energy in all of its forms and colors. The vast majority of magic users could only see it in one of its forms and three maybe four colors. That, according to Satyros, was the true dividing line between the various magical disciplines.
Because she could see the energy in all of its forms, she could use it in all of its forms. So, potentially, she could do anything that any other magic user could do. It was, to Satyros' knowledge, totally unprecedented. No human had ever displayed that type of potential.
Now, because of that, she sat on a boulder half way up the highest peak in the Tiberian mountain range. Watching her companions putter around the campsite while they awaited the return of the dwarf, Magmar.
Satyros was in his tent. Lyta, the red haired, golden skinned, were-woman prepared their dinner. Teela, as always, floated a few feet away from her. And Zylph, the huge Troll, lounged against some rocks on the far side of the campsite.
She concentrated on the task at hand; an attempt to conjure a pepperoni pizza. Unfortunately, in her mind the situation was ludicrous and she kept breaking into giggling fits at odd times. Each time it happened she had to stop, calm herself, and start over. The process, as described to her by Satyros, was to mentally describe the item she wanted in the minutest detail possible, while fixing in her mind every sensory detail of the item. How it looked. How it felt. How it should taste. How hot it should be. The process was intense and demanding; requiring total concentration.
Once again, just as she was about to command (demand?) the pizza's appearance, her mind wandered. The image of a confused delivery boy, frantically searching his car, popped into her head. She could hear him muttering, "That's the third one this week."
This time, it took much longer for her to stop laughing.
"Please M’Lady; you are getting dangerously close to hysteria. That could be a terrible danger to all of us. Not to mention that poor delivery boy." Teela's mental voice sounded worried. The tone more than the words, brought Jayne's laughter to an abrupt halt.
To her surprise, the pizza, fresh in its delivery box, lay on the ground a few feet in front of her. On top of the box sat a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, items that she had been thinking about but had not tried to conjure. She picked up the cigarettes and lighter curiously. They were real. "Or," she thought "as real as anything else is here." She opened the pizza box. The pie inside looked and smelled exactly the way she wanted it to.
She lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply, and looked to the floating shape of Teela. "What the hell just happened?" She asked the ghost. "I only wanted the pizza. I never tried for these," Holding up the cigarettes. "And, that vision of the delivery boy ..."
"M'Lady, I was in your mind the entire time, but I have no idea what you just did, or how you did it." The bubble shape of the ghost danced in mid air, obviously she was very nervous. "Perhaps we should wake Satyros and ask him."
Jayne was about to agree when the Yeti appeared, holding the limp body of Magmar in one huge hand.
"You play lightly with forces you cannot comprehend, human." The Yeti's voice was soft. It laid the limp form of the dwarf down gently. Then it sat down next to him. "You display an utter disregard for what we Yeti, the most knowledgeable of magic users, consider to be the laws of magic."
Even seated, the Yeti was as tall as she was. Standing it would tower over her by a good five feet. It was covered with off-white fur and except for the oversized six digited feet and hands, resembled a polar bear with a flattened face more than it did a human. Still, something about it was reassuring, although if pressed, she could not have explained what it was. All she knew at the moment was; the creature did not frighten her in the least.
"What happened to Magmar?" She pointed at the limp form of the dwarf.
"He reached me just as you pierced the universal barrier. Knowing – as apparently you do not – the dangers inherent in such an act. I decided to use the fastest means of travel available to me in an attempt to reach you before your actions could cause harm. He could not have survived such a path conscious. So, I rendered him insensate before the journey."
It paused and stared hard at the pizza box before continuing.
"Your aura shows great power, exceeding even ours. You casually pierce the barriers between universes to satisfy your hunger. You also poison yourself with a vile habit peculiar to your home-world. Satyros was right. We must train you. Such a thing has never happened before. A human trained by the Yeti."
"I'm pleased that you agree with my assessment, Pete."
-------------------- Just an Old, Broke-Down, Drunk, Bum!!
With a Power Ring...
From: Westerly Rhode Island | Registered: Aug 2003
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posted
Pete? An Abominable Snowman named—Pete? How ludicrous could this get? She fought down the hysterical laughter that she felt welling up from somewhere in her belly. She was grateful for Satyros' arrival. It allowed her to think while she listened to the two men talking.
At the Yeti's mention of her aura, she had started trying to read its aura. What she saw there—what little she could comprehend of what she saw—made her feel small and insignificant. It was by far the most impressive thing that she could imagine. Of all the aura's that she had seen so far, only Satyros' was more than an inch or so deep. The Yeti's was easily four times the depth of his. And! It contained more colors and patterns than she previously thought possible in a single being. The Yeti's aura gave new meaning to the popular term, psychedelic. What little she could read told her that it was male, a wizard, and quite possibly over three hundred years old. The sheer power of that reflected life force left her speechless.
"You see the things that she does effortlessly." Satyros spoke quietly, but the sheer urgency in his voice grabbed and held her attention. "Yet she does not fully believe that any of this is real. She is half convinced that our entire world is nothing more than a drug induced hallucination. A fantasy cooked up by her own fevered mind."
"I'm not sure she is far wrong about that, Satyros. Our world, with it's multitude of races and wildly varying environments is clearly artificial. Who is to say what brain all of this sprang from? Satyr's travel the universes as easily as yeti do. Have you ever seen another planet like ours in your travels?"
Yeti and satyr's travel between universes? She grabbed that statement and held onto it with the grip of a drowning person. They could take her home!! They could guide her out of this madness!! But! Satyros said no one had ever made it back! She turned to glare at the aged satyr.
"You said no one has ever made it back!"
"Forgive me young one." He leaned heavily on his cane. "I spoke only of humans. No human can travel the inter-universal pathways used by satyrs and yeti."
"Why the fuck not?" She was standing directly over him now, fists on hips, glaring menacingly. Her voice rose with each word, so that the last word in her question was shouted directly into his face.
"Because," The Yeti interrupted in a quietly calm voice, "No human who ever came through a rift in the past has been a wizard."
The yeti paused and looked curiously at Teela. He seemed to be seeing the ghost for the first time. "More of Arr's work." He muttered. "Still..." One oversized hand extended in Teela's direction.
"NOOO!!" Jayne's reaction was instant. A field of bright blue extended from her fingertips and formed a barrier between the yeti's hand and the ghost. "She's my FRIEND!"
-------------------- Just an Old, Broke-Down, Drunk, Bum!!
With a Power Ring...
From: Westerly Rhode Island | Registered: Aug 2003
| IP: Logged |
posted
The yeti reacted as if his hand had been stung by a thousand bees. He jumped backwards violently as he pulled back the offending hand, seeming to curl his whole body around the hand to protect it. As a result he wound up doing a complete backwards somersault and landing awkwardly on his ample duff several yards back. He stared at Jayne with a mixture of shock and outright fear contorting his normally placid features.
"What ..."
"Jayne don't ..."
"No! M'Lady Don't ..."
It's blue, Satyros, By the Dwellers, Do you see it!"
All three voices assaulted her ears and mind simultaneously. Suddenly, she needed quiet – a place to think. If this was all real...
Instinctively she moved her hand in a wide circle. The blue barrier moved with it, expanding and solidifying, forming a wall that cut off the insanity. She was inside. The satyr, yeti, dwarf, troll, were-woman, and ghost were outside. She waved the hand over her head and the enclosure was complete. She was alone! Isolated from the Insanity! She didn't know what she was doing, where the barrier was coming from, or how it came to be. She only knew why! She needed silence and someplace to be alone and think this out. The voices still drifted through the walls of her barrier. A thought changed that! Silence, a peaceful quiet that comforted her.
She looked at a medium sized rock and it became a comfortable chair. "If I'm crazy, I might as well be crazy, comfortably." She picked up the all but forgotten pizza and sat down to eat.
His wingspan was almost twenty feet. She watched his face as he materialized inside her newly expanded enclosure. The confusion that marred those incredible features amused her. "An angel summoned by someone like me!"
The thought both thrilled and terrified her. Would he listen to her plea and aid her? Or, would he condemn her to hell on the spot? Or, was this already hell? Had she really been so perverted and evil—her mother thought that she was—that she had been taken alive to Satan's realm to be tortured in the flesh? Was she even alive? What did death feel like? The image of her fall through eternity, her awakening in that strange glade—was her body lying on the bathroom floor of the Kit-Kat Klub—while her dammed soul provided amusement for Satan's legions?
Her family was Catholic. Her mother planned to enter a convent and become a nun before she met her father. Beer and adolescent hormones changed that plan.
Six months after the marriage, her brother Carl was born. Jayne joined the family two years later. Then, like clockwork every eighteen months for nine years, another brother or sister joined the Lincoln family. Eight children in eleven years were born to the almost nun and her earthy dock-worker husband.
Despite her love for her large family, Maria Alverez Lincoln never forgave herself for the single night of human weakness that started it all. None of the Lincoln children ever doubted their mother's love; until the day that she discovered Jayne dancing in the nude at a local strip bar. That look of disgust was the last expression she ever saw on her mother's face. She refused to leave her room until her whore daughter was out of the house, permanently. Since that day they had not spoken.
She had no idea how long she had spent inside her self constructed haven. It might have been minutes, or days. Time no longer mattered to her. The pizza was gone, even though she had no recollection of eating it. Several diet cola cans sat atop the empty box. Where did those come from? It didn't matter. An ashtray sat on one arm of the chair. Apparently she had been smoking quite a bit. Appropriate, if really this was hell. She knew who she needed to talk to. He stood silently before her, motionless, only his eyes betrayed the fact that he was not a statue.
She studied the angel's form as it slowly became visible. Those eyes were sea-green and an ocean deep. She avoided looking directly into them, afraid of falling into their depths and losing even more of herself to this insanity.
He wore only a thin robe of a light gauzy material. It revealed an idealized human body, a Greek god with wings. His hair hung in loose auburn curls to his shoulders. But! Something about him was not right. Something did not fit. Yet everything about him, from his scarlet halo to his high laced sandals, looked as if it belonged in the Vatican. Well, almost everything, the robe could be heavier in a certain area. Were heavenly beings supposed to be that well endowed? What use would an angel have for that?
Still, they were supposed to be perfect.
The halo! She always thought that halos were supposed to be golden, but his was a rich scarlet. "Can't have that. My angel has to be perfect!" A thought caused the color to change. "That's better!"
It didn't last. The halo became scarlet again, brighter than before. Another thought, gold reappeared, even brighter. Then scarlet, brighter still, then gold, scarlet, gold, each change made it brighter, more intense. Suddenly it was a strobe, rapidly flashing, bathing them both in alternating bursts of scarlet and gold light.
"It ... Hurts!" His voice was soft. "Why do you torture me?"
An angel feeling pain because his halo changed colors?
"Someone has been playing with my MIND, the momma bear said, and they broke it!" The misquote amused her. She began laughing. A quiet giggle that quickly became a full belly laugh. The light show ceased as she gave in to the growing hysteria. The laughter became sobs, and she collapsed onto the ground in a sobbing heap.
-------------------- Just an Old, Broke-Down, Drunk, Bum!!
With a Power Ring...
From: Westerly Rhode Island | Registered: Aug 2003
| IP: Logged |
posted
"Teela, what is happening in there?" For almost a day they had waited for the blue dome to vanish, or for Jayne to emerge, or for anything at all to happen. Now it was obvious that something was happening, but whatever was happening was inside of the protective sphere. The light flashes that rapidly played across the surface of the sphere brought them all back from where ever they had wandered off to.
"Teela, can you still read her? What is happening in there?"
"Satyros I don't think that she is alone. I get the impression that she has summoned someone, but her mind is chaotic. The images are fractured. A circle of light emitting red and gold flashes. A winged man."
"An Azar. By the Dwellers! She brought an Azar here!!" Pete's expression reflected the awe in his voice. "Teela you must get through to her. Ride the link. Use it to pull yourself through to her."
"Link? What link M'Lord Yeti?"
"There is a thin strand of energy that runs from her to you. It must be a link! That's how she's learned so much Magic in so short a time. She's using your telepathic abilities to tap the minds of the more experienced magic users that she meets. She first took knowledge from Satyros. Then me. Now the Azar."
The ghost considered the idea for a moment and then realized that the yeti had to be right. Jayne was displaying abilities far beyond anything that she could possibly have learned through her own experiences. That knowledge had to be coming from somewhere.
The link was there. Obvious now that Pete had called her attention to it. Now to get inside the blue bubble and warn Jayne of the danger that she was in!
Elsewhere
"Doctor! I believe that you should personally observe this. The Wizard has summoned an Azar."
"An Azar? This was not planned! How are the Satyr and the Yeti Reacting?"
“The Satyr does not seem to recognize the implications of the Azar's presence. The Yeti is frantic!"
"Frantic? A frantic Yeti? Obviously the Yeti knows something of the Azar."
"How could a Yeti know of the Azar? I do not understand Doctor. The Yeti travel widely between universes. But I have no record of any attempts to explore the demonically controlled continents of Omega. How could a Yeti know of the Demon-Lord's chosen race?"
"Clyde, have you completely transcribed the records of all Yeti travels?
"No Doctor. The transcription of those records is 42.6% complete."
"Have you transcribed the records of the Yeti known as Pete's travels during the six month period immediately following Arisia's abduction?"
"No Doctor."
"Do so. Now."
-------------------- Just an Old, Broke-Down, Drunk, Bum!!
With a Power Ring...
From: Westerly Rhode Island | Registered: Aug 2003
| IP: Logged |
The office was Spartan. A desk, two chairs, and a cabinet, all solidly but plainly constructed, constituted the major furnishings. Only a well used scratching post, and the tail holes in the chairs, identified the room as a kajian's office.
Sackett stood by the room's single window, looking down into a courtyard behind the building. The unicorn stood in the center of that open area. Food and water had been provided for it. Sackett chuckled softly, "I bet the kitty-cats are gonna keep you very well fed, 'corn. They don't want to take no chances on you gettin' hungry 'fore we take our leave." He turned away from the window when a small noise told him that he was no longer alone in the room.
Silkas moved quietly, even for a kajian, but the human's hearing seemed phenomenal, he turned sharply as Silkas entered the room.
"There may be some evidence to support your claims, but first ..."
Silkas had spoken quickly, mostly to cover his embarrassment, both at being heard and at the difficult admission that one of his people may have been involved with the kidnapping of the Troll King's grandson. But now he fell silent, with his mouth still open, as he and the human watched the figure start to materialize in the center of the room.
Flowing white robes and a glowing red power gem became visible first. Followed closely by shimmering red-gold hair, wide set blue eyes, a cute button of a nose, and full pouting red lips. She was obviously slender even though only her hands and feet showed from beneath the white robes.
She was also dead.
She materialized in a standing position, but fell face first to the floor, striking with a resounding thud, as soon as the spell was completed.
"But first, you gift me with a dead Omystan?" Sackett's voice was hard. He stood with his feet set at shoulder width, in one white knuckled hand was the navy colt, in the other was an Arkansas Toothpick, more commonly called a Bowie Knife, it's foot long, razor sharp blade glinting in the light from the window at his back.
"NO!! ... or at least not this one!" Silkas quickly moved to the body, turned it over, and began to examine it. "We of Noram have no great love for the Omystans," He said as he started to open the dead woman's robes, "But we also have no quarrel with them, that I know of."
"Throat's cut ... Wrist's too." Silkas murmured as he examined the body, "Some of her milk glands seem to be missing."
"Humans normally only have two."
"In that case only one is missing, where should the blood muscle be? And the breathing sacs?"
-------------------- Just an Old, Broke-Down, Drunk, Bum!!
With a Power Ring...
From: Westerly Rhode Island | Registered: Aug 2003
| IP: Logged |
“Release me, let me control the power. You can’t handle this, but I can. Let Me.” The familiar voice was insistent, demanding to be heard. It had been shut out for too long.
She knew that voice very well. It was the same voice that drove her to new feats of daring over the years. It was the voice that took over when she was on stage, The part of her that loved control, The part of her that gloried in what her face and body could do to men.
When she was thirteen and already developing faster than her girlfriends, it was that voice that voice that convinced her to accept the boy’s challenge and skinny dip at Rock Lake. She had been the first one to strip. The other girls were shocked and embarrassed but a few hesitantly joined her. The boys were more nervous and scared than she was. That fact boosted her confidence immensely. She was not supposed to do what she did, to accept the challenge and bare herself before them, then jump into the cold water and tease them into joining her with taunts and suggestive comments. The boys didn’t know how to react to this girl who was more daring than they were, but eventually they all stripped and jumped in, boys and girls alike.
She had been in control and she loved it. Even when her brother Carl showed up and put a stop to the fun, she was in control. Part of her was relieved by his arrival, but not the voice. The voice protested. She managed to control it that day, but over the years it grew louder and more insistent. It drove her relentlessly, mercilessly, down the road to greater and greater feats of daring, more exhibitionist behavior. From ‘accidentally’ undone buttons and raised skirts, window shades left up, and finally onto the stage where the voice had complete control while the music played. That skinny dipping outing had been the first step on the road that led here.
The voice, she suddenly realized, had been silent since her arrival on this strange planet. Absent for the first time that she could remember, and she hadn’t even noticed until its return. Why? Where did it go? What was it doing?
She always thought of the voice as someone or something else, always with her but not part of her. Her personal demon. The voice never argued before but now insisted otherwise.
“I’m the part of you that loves excitement and refuses to live by other people’s rules.” It insisted. “We’re one kiddo, I’m the wild part. You’re the stodgy part”
“If that’s true,” She thought. “You should love this.”
“I do.” It replied. “And you’re too scared to do what needs to be done. Give me control.”
“Where have you been? What have you been doing? Why haven’t you been helping me?”
“I’ve been right here where I always am, stuck in the back seat. Watching and learning. You didn’t know what to do. You were too busy thinking that we had finally gone over the edge. That this was a crazy fantasy cooked up in our own mind. I tried to get thru a couple of times but you weren’t listening. So I did a few things to give us the edge.”
“What things?”
“Where do you think the knowledge to do all of this came from?” her eyes swept the enclosure, finally coming to rest on the Angel. He still hadn’t moved an inch, only his eyes revealed that he wasn’t an incredibly realistic statue. The strobe effect was gone. His halo glowing a reddish gold that reminded her of a San Francisco sunset.
“He’s a total bastard you know.” The voice was low. “You almost killed him with that halo color change stunt. I should have let him die. He deserves to. He and his entire putrid race deserve a slow and painful death!”
The pure venom in that statement shocked her. If the voice really was a part of her it was definitely the darker part. She shuddered at that thought. What was that part of her capable of? What would it do if she let it have the control it wanted?
“You don’t know what I know about them. Don’t judge until you learn all of the facts.”
“How can you know things that I don’t know?” “You cut yourself off from me! You kept me behind a wall and only let me out when you need me to do the things you can’t. Or when I force you to. I’ve always been able to see through other people and understand them better than you can. But, here on this world, the magic lets me act. I understood that as soon as Teela entered our mind. She gave me the freedom that I never had before. I forged a link to her mind, her telepathic abilities, while you were foolishly grieving for poor Gerard. Using that link I learned all that I could about magic. From Teela. From Satyros. From Lyta. From Pete. And finally from that rotten bastard over there. He’s no angel, he’s an Azar. A Male Harpy. Bastards keep whole continents in slavery to the Demon-Lords! They don’t even look like that. You changed him because you wanted an Angel to rescue you. They look more like vultures with arms and legs than angels.”
“If I changed him to look like that, then how could changing the color of his halo hurt him?”
“The halo’s real, it’s his body that you changed. The halo is a mystic energy reservoir. The halo has no color, you changed the color of the energy inside of it and that almost poisoned him. Luckily I was able to fix him while you were delirious.”
“I poisoned him and you fixed him? I thought you said he deserves to die.”
“He does, but we need him. We just need to keep him on a very short leash.”
“If he’s not an Angel then he can’t help us. Why do we need him?”
“Because his people are thousands of miles away, but there is a bigger threat much closer. The bastard that really murdered Teela and Gerard.”
“I killed Gerard and Teela is right outside.” “No Jayne, Gerard died years before we came to this world, and what’s outside is the rapidly fading essence of what used to be a very beautiful young girl. But, that girl is long dead, and soon even her essence will be gone.”
“Why should I believe you?”
“Knock down the walls you’ve built to contain me. Free me and I’ll show you the proof.”
“The only thing that you can prove is that I’m crazy! This is probably a rubber room and…”
“Jayne! Stop it! We’re not crazy! Our mind just works a little differently from most other people. It’s hereditary. Mamma’s the same way. One personality to satisfy Dad, another to deal with the rest of the world.”
“I don’t believe you!”
“You have to Jayne; it’s the only way we can survive here. Jayne, believe me, I’m better suited to handle this than you are.”
“Stop doing that! Stop calling me Jayne! If you are part of me it’s your name too!”
“I’m part of you, a much larger part than you realize, but I have my own name. You gave me that name many years ago. At Rock Lake, the night Carl interfered.”
“You’re Raven Earthwind?”
“Jayne, Please.” The voice changed in tone and timbre. “You must stop this. You are violating all of the rules and laws governing the safe use of magic.”
The voice in her head was Teela’s. But, the tone and the words were male and demanding, telling her what to do, not pleading the way Teela would.
Satyros? No, Pete! Damm Yeti know it all! She should… Wait, how could Pete speak thru Teela, Had he absorbed her? No! There were two separate resonances. Bastard found the link! He knows! And he’s using it to pierce the barrier.
I’ll fix him. The thought carried the strength of anger. I can trust Teela. But no one else. Even my Angel is tainted.
A single thought did it. Teela was inside with her. Mystic energy flowed back thru the link. Jayne watched the ‘soap bubble’ form, then expand and take human shape and form. A young girl, perhaps 10-12 years old appeared. Blonde hair, green eyes, a shy smile, a still boyish form.
“No please don’t M'Lady! That little girl is DEAD! I am a Ghost! Please, don’t lock me into that shape! Even you can’t bring me back to life! Please! Stop!”
“The shape is your doing, not mine, Teela.” The voice was deeper and richer than before. “I am only giving you the strength you need to survive on your own, as a ghost. I don’t want you to fade.”
“I’m doing it?”
“How could I do it? I don’t even know what you looked like. It has to be you.”
Slowly the human form vanished as Teela willed herself back to the bubble shape. Jayne watched the transformation grimly. “What did the Necromancer do to you to make you fear your own shape?”
“I don’t fear it M'Lady, I despise it. It’s not mine any more. He ripped me out of that shell and put one of his own creatures into it. That body still lives. It does the necromancer’s bidding. It and the new soul in it, belong to him, not to me.”
[ October 01, 2003, 04:57 AM: Message edited by: Almost New Kid ]
-------------------- Just an Old, Broke-Down, Drunk, Bum!!
With a Power Ring...
From: Westerly Rhode Island | Registered: Aug 2003
| IP: Logged |
Taskins entered Azhamohn's study quietly. This was the first time in the years of his acquaintance with the Sorcerer that he had been summoned to Azhamohn's inner sanctum. Curiosity guided his eyes, as he tried to examine as much of the cavernous chamber as possible, before conducting his business with the Kajian.
He closed the heavy wooden door behind him and quickly scanned the room. The lighting was an impossible mixture of harsh glare and total darkness. Ebony columns rose from pentagrams enameled into the marble floor. Those columns were not solid in a physical sense but they were impervious in a magical one.
The slave girl who delivered Azhamohn's summons to him had been explicit in her delivery of the sorcerer's instructions. He was not to touch—in any manner what so ever—any of those columns. To do so would release the demon imprisoned within.
Kari, normally his constant companion, would never be allowed to enter this room. The demonic influences present here—so strong that even his relatively puny human senses could detect them easily—would quickly overwhelm her far more sensitive Demon-Hound perceptions and drive her to the brink of madness. The best that could be hoped for—should she ever enter this chamber—would be a berserker rage, as she attempted to smash the multitude of pentagrams and destroy the imprisoned demons.
Imprisoned—but far from powerless—the mental presences of the demons were formidable. He attempted to turn his attention away from the black towers and focus on the lighted areas of the room, but found that he could not. Waves of mental pressure assaulted him from every direction. They promised fulfillment of all his desires—if he would simply touch any of the pentagrams.
The mystery of the strange compulsion that brought him to this world would be revealed... Kari would be transformed into a human woman... The strange nightmares would be explained... Riches beyond belief would be his... Women would beg for his touch... Kings and Emperors would bow low before him...
All for the barest pressure of physical contact with any of the dark columns!
Then he spotted a single lighted pentagram. Its interior was empty. The complex designs enameled onto the stone floor partially eradicated by a dark stain.
Moving slowly, as if wading through heavy syrup, he approached it. It was somehow isolated from its darkened brethren. Not by distance, but instead, by an easing of the mental pressure which hammered at his mind from all sides.
The conflicting influences subsided as he neared the lighted column. His movements began to regain their natural grace and fluidity. His senses, dulled and fogged by the demonic assault, began to regain their normal clear and sharp focus. He raised his right hand and stared hard at the single piece of jewelry that he owned.
The clear blue-white stone shattered his reflection into a million fragments. A bluish haze seemed to surround the central reflection, a bit which showed only his eyes. Ice blue orbs stared back from the gemstone, piercing the last of the demonic influences, and freeing him from the last bits of demonic compulsion.
Briefly, he wondered if he would have survived the last few moments without Castiglioso's parting gift.
Lowering his hand he looked again at the base of the lighted pentagram. The dark stain obliterating the enameled designs leaped into his vision, it was blood, possibly human, definitely still warm and steaming, which had been used to break the magical boundaries of the demon's prison. A small shudder ran through him as he stared at the fate which would have been his, had he surrendered to any of the demonic pressures and influences, that had been hurled against him.
In his years of wandering this strange and deadly world he had yet to encounter a physical menace that his combination of size, strength, speed, and 21st century earthly weapons could not defeat.
On a world where the average human male stood about five foot tall, and a huge man might approach six foot. He towered over them at almost six foot seven inches. That average five footer might weigh 130 pounds, the huge six footer might weigh 200 pounds, and he weighed in at 270 pounds. They fought with sword, spear, and mace. He used machine pistols, laser guided assault weapons, and grenades.
A Troll might be taller, an Ogre heavier, a Kajian faster, or a Crocian more bloodthirsty, he was more skilled and had better weapons. It was not an even contest, nor did he want it to be. The game was survival, and he intended to win every round.
Only when magic entered the equation did the odds shift to something approaching even, or go against him. Magic however was not something that he normally concerned himself with.
Magic and Magical Menaces were Kari's Province.
He caught sight of the sorcerer's gaunt form standing near the room's single visible window, staring out into the forest below. Azhamohn gave no hint or sign that he was in any way aware of Taskins struggle to escape the influences of the room's demonic prisoners.
As he approached the mage, he tried to guess at the size of the room and how many pentagrams it contained. He could not see the walls of the chamber, and the unevenly spaced columns of darkness seemed to stretch out forever. How much was reality, how much was illusion, he could not tell.
Azhamohn noticed his approach and turned to face him.
No human can read a Kajian’s emotions from facial expressions. The faces of those bipedal catlike carnivores are not constructed to display the range of expressions possible for a human face. However, the old expression "the eyes are the windows of the soul" seems to hold true for all intelligent races. At least among those that have eyes.
Taskins was shocked by what he saw in those hooded dark eyes. Terror, stark and unreasoning, stared at him from those bottomless black orbs.
"Fifteen years ago today," Softly, the flat and emotionless voice of the sorcerer began, "Vidnar, the Guardian King of Omysta, came to me with a proposition ... and a prophesy."
The mage turned away, returning his questing gaze to the forest below. Taskins waited quietly for him to resume speaking. Somehow he suddenly knew that his troubles in crossing the room had been a test of his worthiness for whatever task Azhamohn had in store for him, and that only a small part of the sorcerer's awareness was focused on him, the rest was conducting an intense search of the forest surrounding the castle.
"He swallowed a great deal of pride in coming to me and asking for my aid." Azhamohn resumed speaking in that same quiet, emotionless tone, "but, he felt that ensuring the safety of his Kingdom, and his daughter, came before saving face."
"The proposition was simple. Protect his daughter from the forces which both then, and now, sought to use the mystic gem that is her birthright as a weapon of conquest."
Azhamohn shifted his position slightly, as if to widen the scope of his search.
"The prophesy was that if I accepted the terms of his proposal, an arduous task, and failed... The entire civilized world would unite to destroy me."
-------------------- Just an Old, Broke-Down, Drunk, Bum!!
With a Power Ring...
From: Westerly Rhode Island | Registered: Aug 2003
| IP: Logged |
posted
The sorcerer slumped visibly at the end of his last statement. Taskins shifted slightly, trying to get a better look at his face. No hint of emotion showed there, not that Taskins had expected it to. So he waited silently for the sorcerer to continue his tale.
"The forces massed against Omysta used Demonic Possession in an attempt to kidnap the princess, but the mystic gem protected the girl well. The demon managed to gain control of her body, but her soul was transferred into the Jewel. The Gem also prevented the demon from spiriting itself and the body away. Vidnar subdued it without damaging his daughter's physical form and brought them to me. I exorcised the demon from the girl's physical form and imprisoned it there." A bony, clawed finger pointed to the empty, damaged pentagram.
"The girl remained here; hidden among the female slaves. Over the years I taught her much about controlling the powers of the gem, and had her training continued but a few years longer, her power would have been such that no demon could have stood against her."
Azhamohn looked away from the window for the first time since he started his monologue. Momentarily his gaze rested on Taskins face, the burning intensity in those inhuman eyes was undiminished. Involuntarily Taskins retreated half a step, feeling as if the sorcerer's search had shifted from the forest to his soul. Steeling himself, he kept his eyes locked onto that sorcererous glare, knowing that Azhamohn could not read his thoughts. After an eternity lasting but a moment, the sorcerer turned toward a black alcove, a darkened area in a wall that Taskins had not seen a moment earlier.
Taskins followed a step behind as Azhamohn moved slowly, almost reluctantly, toward the darkened niche. With each step they took the interior of that space brightened. The light appeared to come from an object which lay in a thick glass case.
Azhamohn stopped a few feet in front of the alcove, seemingly unwilling to suffer the full brunt of what by then was a harsh glaring light. He motioned for Taskins to enter that same glare and look into the case in its center.
Shielding his eyes with an upraised arm, Taskins hesitantly did so. As he moved past the sorcerer the glare started to ease, becoming a warm amber glow rather than the harsh blue-white light of their initial approach. He placed both hands atop the rectangular crystalline case and stared wonderingly at the two objects within.
"That is the sword used by Zorn to slay the renegade Dragon Triamenthies."
The voice seemed to come from a great distance, but Taskins could not tear his eyes from the sword to see if the sorcerer had moved.
"It was forged by Pythias the dwarf under the fire mountain Volcanius. The five jewels in the hilt were placed there by the wizard YomYalh, who also laid a spell on the blade, causing it to turn on and destroy any who would unsheathe it in an unjust cause."
Inside the case lay a huge two-handed broadsword. Next to it was a plain leather scabbard. On the pommel of the sword was a large blue-white diamond, a larger twin to the one in Taskins ring. At the base of the blade was a smaller, but still extremely large ruby. On each tip of the double guard were emeralds, larger than the diamond. The light seemed to come from a source deep in the center of the diamond.
"That sword, used in a just cause, is the mightiest weapon of this world."
Taskins could not take his eyes off of that sword; something about it seemed to call to him, to tell him that this weapon was meant for his hands alone to wield. Soft echoes of a voice began to gnaw at the back of his mind. "LIES, LIES, AND PERVERSIONS OF SACRED TRUTH!"
The light from the diamond began to pulse softly in time with the barely heard words. Taskins hands began to tingle; it seemed as if the smooth hard surface of the case was beginning to soften.
"SOON” That soft voice told him, “WE WILL BE AS ONE, A GREAT FORCE FOR TRUTH. LISTEN NOW, LEARN THE LIES.... IT KNOWS NOT MY TRUE STRENGTH, MY TRUE POWER... IT BELIEVES THAT IT CONTAINS ME... CONTROLS ME... LONG HAVE I WAITED, KNOWING, THAT YOU WOULD BE SENT... LISTEN TO ITS LIES... LEARN."
Suddenly the case was cold and hard, the light a steady glow. Taskins looked away from the sword. Azhamohn's eyes were cold and hard, boring into him, trying to read what had occurred in the last few seconds. Taskins swiftly decided to avoid the subject and spoke for the first time.
"I take it you want me to use Kari to track down and destroy the escaped demon.”
Azhamohn’s eyes softened quickly, and Taskins realized that the sorcerer had been ready to attack him without warning.
"IT TOOK A HORRIBLE DESPERATE CHANCE." The soft voice returned, blunting his rising anger, "LET IT THINK THAT IT'S GAMBLE PAID OFF...YOUR MIND IS CLOSED TO IT... AND FOR ALL IT'S STRENGTH... IT IS JUST A PAWN... IT'S STRENGTH VANISHES IN THE LIGHT OF TRUTH... LISTEN TO IT'S WORDS... HEED its REQUESTS... FOR NOW... IT MUST THINK its DECEPTIONS SUCCESSFUL."
Apparently, Azhamohn did not notice the flicker of anger rising in Taskins eyes, or the split second of contemplation that followed it. He replied to Taskins original statement. "Recapture, not destroy."
An urgency never before heard in the sorcerer's voice startled Taskins.
"It is imperative that the demon be recaptured alive. The princess, Arisia, is also missing. I do not believe that demon, weakened by its long imprisonment, could have possessed the girl a second time, but it could have captured her and imprisoned her some place that we may never find. Therefore unless you can rescue the girl first, or positively determine her location before you confront the demon, it is not to be seriously damaged!"
"Kari does not capture demons, she destroys them. My control over her actions ends when she is set on a demon's trail. There is no way that I can do what you want." Taskins stated flatly. "Even if I were to confront the demon myself, without her, I am only a man. Bigger and stronger than most, but still just a man. No magic. No defense against demonic powers. Kari would kill the demon after it killed me. Then she would go after you for sending me out without her. I don't see how I can help you on this one. It would be suicide for me ... and maybe for you too."
"You overrate the abilities of your beast, Taskins." Azhamohn's voice was cold and hard. "But, what you describe is the likely result if I were foolish enough to send you after Mir'al'zz unprepared. Fortunately, for both of us, for I would grieve the deaths of you and your beast. I have the means available for you to defeat any demon in single combat.
A hint of a catlike smile began to form on the sorcerer's face, along with a sharp glint of humor in those feline eyes. It was not an expression that Taskins had ever wanted to see the Kajian display. Azhamohn was not human. Kajian's are more closely related to panthers than apes. The sight of a smile on that face brought to his mind the image of a cat playing with a hopelessly doomed mouse.
"The Zorn-Blade is yours, should you successfully complete this task. It, in itself, is enough to allow you to defeat and capture Mir'al'zz."
"STOP!!, HUMAN!!" The sorcerer's voice rose to what sounded like a terrified yowl.
As Azhamohn had been speaking, Taskins had started to raise the lid of the sword's case. He closed it at the Kajian's yowl.
"That sword is never to be unsheathed in my presence save when it is safely within that special case."
The voice trailed off as Taskins turned back towards the sorcerer. But, Azhamohn was gone and no light remained in the room, save the soft amber glow emanating from the sword.
-------------------- Just an Old, Broke-Down, Drunk, Bum!!
With a Power Ring...
From: Westerly Rhode Island | Registered: Aug 2003
| IP: Logged |
The three digits of his clawed hand closed brutally around her throat. She endured the sharp pain of his anger stoically. The price of her failure was less than she had expected, for the moment, she was still alive, and each moment of life was precious. If she could only gain a few more of those moments, she might be allowed to speak. The words that could keep her alive after that had been rehearsed a thousand times during the journey here. The chance to speak those words was all she wanted. If she succeeded in convincing him that her choice of surrender was in his best interest rather than a selfish one on her part, he might spare her life. She would then be allowed to continue to serve her master's needs. It was more than she had thought that she could expect.
He threw back the hood of his cloak with his free hand and exposed his reptilian visage. Arr, the Necromancer of Souam, turned his head slowly as he inspected his servant's scarred face. Black eyes glittered as they searched in vain for a new scar or a mark of any sort to show that she had at least put up a fight before her abject surrender to the alien mercenary.
He released his grip on her throat and grasped the front of her tunic. Sharp claws sliced easily through the rough fabric. The hot, moist, air of the chamber reached her skin as he quickly stripped away her clothing. A thin sheen of sweat covered her as she stood nude before him and endured his inspection. With the exception of the rope burns on her wrists and ankles where she had been bound during the journey from Winsor to Souam, there were no new scars on her sparse but muscular frame.
"You surrendered that easily?" The question carried volumes of menace. She knew from long and painful experience that he expected -Demanded- that those in his service fight to the death in their quest to fulfill his desires. An icy hand closed around her heart. The next few moments would determine whether she lived or died.
"Master," She fought to keep her voice low and emotionless. "Further resistance was futile. My assistants failed in their assigned tasks and died for that failure. Their life energies dissipated into the winds of Winsor. You received no benefit from their deaths. No energy and no knowledge of the reasons for their failure reached you. I was left in a position where the only options left to me were death and surrender. If I chose death, I knew that you would not receive my death energies; they would also be dissipated into the winds of Winsor. I also knew that you needed to know how and why we failed. So that the next Zara would be better equipped to defeat your enemies. I chose surrender so that I would die here, at your hand, and you would receive the full benefit of my energy and knowledge in payment for my failure."
He nodded slowly and began to draw a single claw across her abdomen. It left a thin trail of her blood in its wake. She instantly steeled herself; any movement away from the razor sharp claw cutting that thin line into her flesh would bring death.
"Not many of your kind could make such an intelligent decision."
She fought to keep her relief from showing, knowing that if she betrayed any concern for her own life, it would immediately be forfeit. Arr demanded that his servants place the least of his concerns on a level far above the greatest of theirs. He expected them to be ready at all times to give the ultimate sacrifice, their lives, to satisfy the least of his whims. If he even suspected that she was attempting to preserve her own life, he would kill her without a second thought.
“Clearly, I find it amazing that the planet Earth could have produced two such different races as ours.” He watched her reaction carefully, and was clearly gratified by her obvious confusion.
“What do you mean master? I know that humans exist on Earth, but they are far different from the humans here on Omega. And, as far as I know Crocians exist only on Omega. I thought that your people were the only true inhabitants of this planet. That all other races were imported, but Crocians were native to this world.”
"Clothe yourself, Mammal." He indicated a tunic on the stone shelf behind her.
“The only true natives of this planet or this entire universe are the Demons. All material beings were brought here as food for them. This planet itself is not natural. It was created by “THOSE WHO DWELL BETWEEN” at the request of the Demon Lords. My race was brought here from Earth just as yours was. Mine evolved millions of years before yours did. Time itself means nothing to “THOSE WHO DWELL BETWEEN”. They reached back through time and plucked my ancestors from the planet that birthed both of our races. Now as the most powerful member of my race I am preparing to proclaim my dominance over both the races of our shared home world. Raptors were the dominant predator on Earth during our era. I will make us the dominant predator here on this world, NOW.”
-------------------- Just an Old, Broke-Down, Drunk, Bum!!
With a Power Ring...
From: Westerly Rhode Island | Registered: Aug 2003
| IP: Logged |
The Centurion’s command sent a full squad of guards into action.
An unusually large and muscular woman wearing only an assortment of chains and manacles was hauled into the hearing chamber. Weighted manacles had been riveted to her wrists and ankles; a heavy iron collar circled her neck and rained down chains to the manacles. Each manacle was connected not only to the collar, but also to each of the others. The chains formed a metal spider-web of that severely restricted her movements.
"An extremely cautious approach for a single female prisoner," Noted a bored young noble to his companion. "No street slut that one," replied the companion, "look how easily she carries the weight of those chains."
Four guards served as her personal escort. Their treatment of her and their wariness as they entered the chamber made it obvious that something about her absolutely terrified them.
Despite the fact that they had her in what appeared to be a totally helpless position, they took no chances. Each one held a length of chain that was attached to her manacles in one hand and a drawn sword in the other.
"Zara of Amazonia, you are charged with murder and kidnapping. The evidence has been presented and you are judged guilty. The judge, Lord Boyle Royce, will now hear your plea before sentencing."
The Centurion’s announcement of the woman's name brought the assemblage of nobles to attention. Most of them were present only because their various stations required that they attend these frequent trials. All of the assembled nobles knew that each of the defendants would be found guilty and sentenced to death.
Their life forces would be consumed by the Necromancer's growing need for power. Each of their deaths—they were all commoners—would spare the life of a noble. The law of the land required that the nobles attend these trials (and the executions that immediately followed) to personally observe the fate of those who were sacrificed in their place.
That same law also required that any noble who truly believed that the defendant was not guilty of the charged crime, step forward and offer his or her own life in place of the defendant's.
In the more than three hundred years since the armies of the necromancer, Arr, overran the kingdom and imposed this form of tribute—the cost of returning the disposed nobility to their previously exalted positions—not a single noble had ever disputed the court's findings. Today would be no different.
"Zara the whip; isn’t she one of the necromancer's favorites?" The companion asked in a hushed tone. "She isn't even native to our land. How can she be sentenced by the tribute court?"
Her master failed to acknowledge the question as he strained to get a better view of the proceedings. "Now, this should be interesting." He thought. "The necromancer's favorite assassin caught and sentenced to die as part of our tribute to him."
"Sometimes violence can be its own reward." The words were spoken quietly, almost whispered; yet they brought silence to the almost raucous atmosphere of the hearing chamber. The prisoner raised her eyes for the first time and looked directly at the judge. The young noble who watched so intently and expectantly could feel the tension level among his peers increase dramatically as those quietly and calmly uttered words somehow reached every ear in the chamber. It seemed to him that the prisoner had just, in some manner that was beyond his understanding, passed sentence on the court. As the sound of her voice faded; a sense of dread settled thickly over the chamber. Something terrible was about to happen, something no one present could prevent.
* * *
He woke suddenly, drenched in sweat, night adjusted eyes searching the small room for the source of the threat. Kari stood silently over him, looking worried, but not indicating any danger. It took a long moment for his tense muscles to relax.
“Another bad dream?” Kari’s question focused his attention on the present.
“Yes, but I don’t know if it was a dream or something else.”
“What else could it be; you slept and dreamed.” She smiled. “You see things in your head sometimes when you sleep; those are dreams, nothing else.” She turned toward the bed, ready to resume her interrupted sleep. He was awake, so as far as she was concerned the dream and the incident were over. “You think too much about these things, dreams are dreams.”
The seemingly dismissive comment was pure Kari, straight forward and unambiguous; her world view fit into the simple statement; “what is, is.” He forced a return smile; Kari would never understand the questions the dreams raised for him. To her the world was back and white. Even though she could see and understand things that he could not, her perception was limited to the here and now. The question “What if” was lost on her. He learned early in their partnership that tomorrow had no meaning for her, only right now mattered. She was incapable of worrying about what tomorrow might bring, or the true meaning of events. To her, what happened, happened, there were no grey areas and why things happened were of no concern. She would deal with events as they came, no anticipations and certainly no regrets.
That was not to say that she ever acted rashly, every action she took was well thought out, just not in advance. She could run an amazing number of options through her mind in an incredibly short time when faced with a direct choice, something that needed to be decided right now, but if action was not immediately needed she saw no reason to consider anything. Her attitude served to remind him that she was not human, despite her appearance.
They had been together for the better part of three years; he understood the differences in their perspectives and didn’t try to explain. She trusted him to handle the future, to decide where they would go and what they would do next. She would handle what she was best equipped to deal with; when it became necessary.
[ October 03, 2003, 06:33 AM: Message edited by: Almost New Kid ]
-------------------- Just an Old, Broke-Down, Drunk, Bum!!
With a Power Ring...
From: Westerly Rhode Island | Registered: Aug 2003
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posted
Was the dream a message? And if it was could he somehow unravel it? It wasn’t the first odd dream he had in the recent past. The phenomenon started after his last meeting with Castiglioso. Could the dreams be tied to the ring that Castiglioso assured him he would need during this assignment?
He glanced at the large diamond on his right hand; its silver setting a spiral on his finger that seemed to move on its own. Somehow he knew that the ring was involved but that it was on his side, it was helping to protect him from the something or someone behind the memories.
With the dream memory fresh in his mind he sat up. It was impossible to keep from wondering what happened to those callous nobles in that unknown land.
For him the dreams were something new. He didn't know who was sending those memories to him, or why. But he knew that the scenes that played in his dreams were real portions of other people’s lives. He was being forced to re-live snippets of other people's lives.
Each time it happened he tried to find something in the dream that related to his current situation. An agent of the Necromancer about to be punished by a court in one of the lands under his control, a feeling of dire consequences about to befall that court, the prisoner’s confidence in the face of certain death. Which of those things could be the message?
Something about the woman prisoner was very wrong.
Zara the whip was a name known far and wide in the explored lands, but the Zara in his dream was not the woman they had defeated and shipped back to Souam just a few days ago. Was the dream a message from the Necromancer, a warning that no matter how many of his agents they destroyed, there would always be another ready to take their place? Did the Necromancer use that name as a title for his favorite assassin, no matter who the Assassin was?
Still, no matter what the answer was, Kari was right about one thing, it was a matter for another day and another time. It was time to put it out of his mind for now. He had business to attend to.
"I wonder if this is how Goliath felt, when he wasn't on the battlefield." The room, as usual, was too small. Much smaller humans, the natives of this world, designed it for their use. To him, it seemed as if everything on this planet was built on a two-thirds scale.
He lit a candle and then sat for a moment on the edge of the too small bed and gazed thoughtfully down on its occupant. Kari had lain back down when she thought the conversation was over and instantly gone back to sleep. The bed was too small for him to use, but also seemed to be too large for the form that lay curled up in the center of it.
Kari continued sleeping peacefully. She would be totally awake instantly if there were any hints of danger, but could go to sleep quickly and sleep through almost anything under normal circumstances. It was just another reminder that despite her appearance she was not human. "Just like a typical cat, she’s able to sleep anytime, anywhere." He thought with a touch of amusement. "Wish I could do the same."
Stretching to relieve muscles cramped from sleeping on the floor, he moved quietly around the room, seeking relief from both the cramping and his insomnia.
Several years ago he flew an airplane through an impossible hole it the sky of Earth, and landed it here on the planet Omega.
D. J. "Dirty Job" Taskins, six feet, seven inches tall, 270 pounds of muscle and bone. No fat, no brains. Not a kind self-analysis, he thought ruefully, just an accurate one. How the hell else could he explain flying directly into that reality rift, space warp, warp zone, or whatever the hell it was, that brought him here?
It just felt right! When he flew into the center of the "whatever" he knew—with a clear, cold, certainty—it was the right thing to do. It was not only the right thing—it was imperative that he reached the other side!
Now, with his airplane and must of the equipment it carried just a fading memory and no way to return to Earth available, he was not quite so positive that the sudden change of course had been the correct thing to do.
True, he came to this planet extraordinarily equipped. The plane he flew that day was designed for use by high-powered corporate and government operatives. The standard equipment aboard it included an impressive arsenal of high-tech weaponry and equipment. When he coupled that weaponry with his physical attributes, it became a very impressive combination.
Shortly after he landed on the Island of Siciliano (where the customs and life-style, combined with the name, had provided him with hours of amused speculation) he made friends with the ruler, Don Carlos, and his chief wizard, Castiglioso.
-------------------- Just an Old, Broke-Down, Drunk, Bum!!
With a Power Ring...
From: Westerly Rhode Island | Registered: Aug 2003
| IP: Logged |
posted
One of Castiglioso’s innumerable lectures came to mind. Suddenly it was like being back in Don Carlos' Castle on Siciliano. He was dreaming while he was awake, only now the memories were his own.
* * *
"Don't always believe your eyes. You have to get out of the habit of believing that everything you can see is real, and everything you can't see is questionable. It doesn't work that way here. Any competent first year acolyte, in any one of the magical disciplines, can make an unsighted person—someone like you—see anything they want them to."
Castiglioso had a habit of punctuating those talks with illusions, and as he talked that day, the room that they were in changed several times, illustrating very effectively his inability to trust his normal human senses to tell him the absolute truth.
"Magicians, Sorcerers, Necromancers, and Wizards can bend, fold, spindle, and mutilate the physical laws of reality until their desired effects are achieved. The wildest of Esker’s drawings—impossible architectural designs and optical delusions—can be turned into reality by any half trained apprentice who is able to focus the requisite amount of power. Power—in the form of stored mystic energy—is the key."
"The training of adepts is quite different from what you would expect. That training is centered on the methods used in each of the four disciplines of magic to gather power, which means, to acquire and store vast amounts of mystic energy for later use."
Control of that energy during use—in fact how to use it at all—is barely considered during an adept's training. The theory is that each adept must develop his, her, or its own methods for controlling and using the energy. And! Those who develop inadequate methods soon demonstrate that fact by their usually spectacular, and often gristly, death. They are consumed by the power that they unleashed but could not control. They become object lessons in moderation—graphic reminders—that magic is not an easily mastered art.
After Castiglioso first explained how magic worked. He assumed that anyone who was willing to hazard the enormous risks involved, could learn to be a magic user. Acting on that erroneous assumption he asked Castiglioso—his mentor and guardian during his first few months on this world—to teach him the basics of power gathering and storage. That led to another lecture.
"On this world, were-beasts howl, vampires’ prowl, and mer-folk swim the seas. All of the creatures that exist in your Earth's mythology and quite a few never dreamed of there, exist and thrive. And sometimes, someone from your universe finds his or her way to Omega."
"Look to you it sounds crazy, but the facts remain as follows:
Omega has over three thousand continent sized landmasses, peopled by over a hundred different intelligent races of material beings.
Omega is hollow, inside is the inner-world (sometimes called the mystic realms) a purely magical land inhabited by demons, spirits, inncubi, succubi, imps, and other immaterial beings who feed on the life-forces of the material beings who inhabit the surface, or outer-world.
On Omega, magic and science exist side by side. For example a light bulb may be powered by magic or electricity, both works equally well. The reason being, apparently, and again I don't know why it works this way, I just know that it does, that only a small percentage of any of the races can see mystic energy, and therefore use it. The rest must rely on scientific processes."
He could not see the energy, he could not use magic, but he still wanted to know more about it. He spent the better part of three months on the island of Siciliano being tutored by the wizard. At first—after he accepted the fact that magic was real—he thought of his situation as being trapped in a never-ending fairy tale. But after the harsh realities of life in a feudal culture became apparent to him, he revised his opinion of fairy tales for the worse.
Survival of the fittest was the inflexible rule. Might makes right was the major tenet of the civilization. The golden rule here seemed to be a combination of "He who has the gold makes the rules" and "do onto others as they would do onto you, only do it first and make it fatal".
Added to that, was the fact that the creatures of the inner-world—demons of assorted varieties—made regular excursions, actually hunting trips, to the surface in search of their favorite food, the souls of material beings, and he realized that in this society the value of an individual human life was extremely low.
Well, the value of most individual lives anyway. As always, man seemed to find a way to place an inordinate value on the lives of the privileged few. Correctly stated, the value of an individual life among the common citizens was low, but the value of an individual life among the ruling class was inordinately high.
His friend, Miguel De La Rosa Carlos, or Don Carlos XI as he was titled, was the absolute ruler of Siciliano. Backed by Castiglioso—of course—the wizard held the real power on the island.
Don Carlos was a benevolent dictator in the truest sense of the second word. His government gave Taskins a fair idea of what one run by the "Mafia" on earth would have been like. Do as Don Carlos decreed instantly, with a smile, and life was good. Rebel in any manner, life was unpleasant, and short.
Only Castiglioso and Taskins did not "Kiss the Ring” of the Don, and jump to his every whim. In fact it was Taskins' refusal to follow one of the Don's 'suggestions' that led to his first departure from that island.
The arsenal of advanced weapons aboard the Blackbird had been unloaded under the strict supervision of the wizard and transferred directly to his tower. Both Castiglioso and Taskins feared the Don's reaction if he discovered the true capabilities of those weapons. They knew that he would insist on arming his small but highly efficient army with magically reproduced copies.
-------------------- Just an Old, Broke-Down, Drunk, Bum!!
With a Power Ring...
From: Westerly Rhode Island | Registered: Aug 2003
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