Apprentice No More. (Old character bio) [Archive]

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Naghaz Sathrak

10-05-2005, 01:20 AM

<DIV> (I'm no writer, but it was comming up with this so I figured I would share it. Hope anyone with the resolve to finish it enjoys the read!) SathrakTower was nestled deep within Nerkiak’s Third Gate. The ancient building was inappropriately titled as its deep forward walls were far more reminiscent of a keep than any wizardly spire. The tower had been positioned in a defensive setting, with massive stalactites dipping violently from the hood of Neriak’s magnificent ceiling. Where the stone protrusions struck hand crafted wall only the finest architects could truly decipher. Such was the craftsmanship of this abode, such was the legacy of House De’Arth’lir. For ages it seemed house De’Arth’lir carried grand influence amongst the elder houses of Neriak. Influence forged through strict alliances, and backed by a bloodline rich in arcane power. Those of De’Arth’lir heritage all carried the gift of magic, and a select few were named amongst the greatest archmages in Neriak’s long history. And so it was with hungry anticipation the other noble houses began to descend upon the passing of Callibus, Archmage of Neriak and grand Patriarch of House De’Arth’lir. The Tier’Dal mage was considered ancient by any standard. Having served as a first mage for longer than most history books recall Callibus was given a wide breadth of independence, power, and prestige amongst the Tier’Dal, a rarity in Neriak’s theological society. Many of the ruling houses hated Callibus, and would have gladly conspired against him ages ago had he not been seemingly touched by the favor Innoruk. His powers were beyond compare, and as such many of the normally outspoken leaders, unaccustomed to cow-towing to a mage, were forced to hold their tongues and stand beside him upon the ruling councils. While his status amongst the nobility of Neriak was unquestioned, it was his unabashed devotion to and friendship with King Naythox Thex which had earned him the status of untouchable within the bowels of the Under City. House De’Arth’lir had one major weakness however, one that would soon be exploited with the passing of its Patriarch. With the opening of the Planes, House De’Arth’lir had positioned itself quickly as a class of realm hunters. Driven to the brink of immortality with their power, the hungry mages of De’Arth’lir had conspired to defeat the God’s themselves. Having prepared for years, the house embarked upon a campaign like no other, to reach into the plane of Growth and pluck the Goddess Tunare herself from its safety. Callibus aimed to strike down not only the Avatar of the light elves, but to trap her form permanently within a powerful Rune of his own creation. His plan seemed infallible, but then nothing in the depths Neriak was certain. During the creation of the Rune, Callibus sought aid from the most skilled Sage in Neriak. Casir Nat’hath was a rogue noble of a long dead house. Callibus had entrusted the wayward sage and promised him a place amongst the halls of SathrakTower in trade for his aid in the creation of the Rune, an item they came to call Kane. Casir was devious however, and sought the death of Callibus and all of house De’Arth’lir. The Sage secretly fractured the center of Kane, knowing the enchantment would not hold. Weeks later, upon the very vestment of Tunare’s Gate a mighty battle took place. House De’Arth’lir fought well and Tunare fell to the combined power of its mages. As her Avatar began to fade Callibus took up Kane and struck her broken chest calling out ancient enchantments of warding and binding. For a moment it seemed as though Tunare had been trapped, but just as the last bit of light faded into Kane a massive crack was felt across the plane. Callibus, sensing something had gone terribly wrong, thrust Kane deep into a tome of binding but Tunare’s rage and power was too great. The resulting explosion leveled all who were present. As the few surviving mages rose to their feet they saw gigantic gates begin to open all around them. Tunare had called to her aid all the formidable minions of her besieged realm. In a fevered attempt to save their Patriarch the remaining members of house De’Arth’lir launched a suicidal assault upon the horde of minions now entering the plane. They provided enough time, albeit dearly bought, for Callibus to complete his incantations returning him shattered and defeated to the halls of Neriak. The devastating loss on the Plane of Growth left De’Arth’lir with no female heirs to bare the blood of heritage. Suddenly Sathrak tower, and the ancient house which had stood strong for so long appeared upon the verge of extinction. Callibus turned to his youngest grandson, the only Tier’Dal of true blood left, a young apprentice who quite suddenly felt the grand walls of Neriak closing in around him. </DIV>Message Edited by Naghaz Sathrak on 10-04-2005 02:29 PM

Naghaz Sathrak

10-05-2005, 01:20 AM

Malthane winced as the unwieldy, dust covered tome slid from his grasp. Crashing to the ancient elder wood desk the clamor scattered scrolls to the floor while filling the air with a putrid smell of decay. Cursing under his breath the understudy dragged his nimble fingers across the cover, feeling it’s tightly stretched and cured skin of Dragon for the first time. His hand wavered momentarily just above a meticulously carved graphite rune, set just inside the center. An oddly calming heat emanated from this area, and Malthane knew well its meaning. Reaching deep into his robe's many pockets Malthane produced a tiny silver key, and deftly inserted it into the small bracer adorning his left wrist. A striking ‘click’ sounded as the bracer unhinged, revealing a series of symbols inlaid upon the bezel. Malthane appraised the view quickly and approvingly snapped the bracer back into place. “Soon my dear Chrono Kane, soon indeed I will drink deeply of the secrets lying dormant within you.” Sensing his servant’s arrival Malthane murmured a quick incantation of strength and using the spectral power, hoisted the tome seemingly into the wall itself. Recoiling just as the first wraps sounded against the chamber’s door, the former apprentice glanced once more to ensure the illusion held up to scrutiny. Pleased with the spell’s performance, Malthane bid enter. The large wooden door forced open with a deafening creek. The hinges left dry from countless spells of protection and ages of dormancy. In fact, until only a week before, the door to this chamber had not been opened for nearly 100 years. Sathrak’s former master, Callibus, had used spells to travel to all but the most mundane of places, and his library was no different. The creature entering the room was far taller than Malthane. Its looming presence made all the more intimidating by the sharp, grotesquely serrated teeth poking from its mouth and the bulging, sinewy muscles showing easily through the thick, crude clothing worn about its torso and waist. Regardless of the nasty creatures seeming ability to throttle the tiny mage in one blow, Malthane turned an icy glare upon the wretch, approaching it with venom. “Why have you invaded my studies so? Is life so meaningless that you actually beg to be relieved of it?” Verg was gigantic, even among trolls. A creature of great strength and temperament, it was often whispered that were he free to live his life; he would be amongst the greatest warriors of his tribe. As a youth, Verg became famous for cutting down a terrible and dangerous giant using only his strength and an enchanted sword named “Swiftblade”. The creature standing within the hollowed caverns of Neriak was quite changed however and far less eager to do battle. Callibus had witnessed the relative physical power of this Troll long ago, and twisted the creatures mind and body, to be used as his own. Now the beast was little more than a bodyguard, a flesh shield for the elder wizards of the spire, and perhaps death wasn’t so undesired. Bowing his great head and averting his eyes from the ire of his new master Verg stumbled and stammered his sentence, a fleeting attempt to deflect the dangerous casters anger. “Ti..ime ess now, mm..my master” the words seemed like lead passing through the creatures’ teeth. Tier’ Dal was a language few mortals could master, and trolls, with their elongated tongues, coarse mouths and fanged teeth had more trouble than most. “The pp..priestzz of Innoruuk, they await you…below”. Verg quickly bowed and lumbered back into the hall. “Indeed…” murmured Malthane, “tell the revered sisters I will be there momentarily, and then take up watch. I do not want any lingering eyes or ears falling upon this ceremony”. Verg nodded anxiously, ignoring the obvious sarcasm dripping from the words 'revered sisters', and retreated down the stairwell, relieved to be outside the wretched mages view. Placing his hands over the collar of his Oracle Robe, Malthane pressed gently on the seam lines, sidestepping briefly before a large mirror. Confident that everything was in place, the young Tier’Dal whispered a string of incantations, spells of protection, upon himself. One never could trust Neriak after all, and with his master’s death Malthane knew he was very much alone in this world, and more importantly, the last of his bloodline. Taking care to shut the chamber door quietly, Malthane cast yet another spell of discretion, this time upon the venerable wood itself, then turned and padded quickly down the stairs of the keep. A great hall led into a large, open, circular chamber where six clerics of Innoruuk lingered in a half circle. The center of the room was given to a large stone Dias upon which set a great pyramid of debris and the mummified corpse of the departed Sorcerer Callibus De’Aerth’lir. Upon his arrival Malthane bowed to each cleric in turn, and then took position opposite the group. With a nod, he joined the clerics on one knee and watched as each in turn spoke of the dead wizard’s deeds, in the name and glory of Innoruuk. As each completed their speech, they would add their voice in a spell of power, sparking a greenish white flame beneath the combusting timbers. Malthane worked hard to conceal his smile. His grandfather had lived deep within a web of lies for most of his life. Professing loyalty to Innoruuk and his shallow priests all the while, serving Solusek Ro. Glancing upwards Malthane settled his gaze upon the sparking and smoldering corpse of his former master. “Apprentice no more…” he whispered silently. And as the clerics of Innoruuk continued their recant of the trials and tribulations of his late mentor, Malthane found himself taking mental appraisal of the wondrous trinkets and artifacts that he had quite suddenly acquired. “I always did enjoy a good fire” he teased.

Naghaz Sathrak

10-05-2005, 01:21 AM

The mausoleum seemed sticky and hot, a mixture of warm surface air and a stone room overstuffed with the nobility of Neriak. The viewing chamber of Callibus De’Arth’lir had been opened to the upper echelon as both a tribute, and for some, a way of confirming the long lived archmage was truly dead. Days after the news of Callibus’s demise leaked onto the general public rumors had begun as to the validity of his death. Most of the elder leaders openly dismissed such chatter as “beggar talk” but many of them wondered secretly if this was simply another of the powerful archmages tricks. And so it took very little time for the ruling council to agree that a public viewing would not only be appropriate, but prudent in these few anxious days before the armies of Thex mobilized against the forces of the surface elves. For months now Neriak had been abuzz with news of a great offensive, one that would bring Innoruuk’s hatred and Neriak’s glory to the forefront of the world. Dark Corsair ships had been built, each carrying keel’s and crests enchanted by long forgotten magic’s. These warships would sail the sea brimming with the soldiers of Neriak, and the enchanted vessels would move undetected with a phantom speed unknown to the common elves of the light world. Their victory was guaranteed, and as the days counted down towards invasion, the under city reached a state of fever pitched chaos. Some among the ruling council had seen Callibus’s passing as a portent of ill news, most however saw the end of this rebellious and dangerous mage as quite the opposite. A sign of Innoruuk’s favor perhaps, that the proper nobility of Neriak would no longer need bow to House De’Arth’lir as an equal. Aristocracy did so revel in the downfall of a rival. Malthane watched the procession of visitors with carefully hidden disgust. He bowed his head in empty thanks to each of the passer byes, acting as though he was listening to their droning recants of the great Callibus, smiling in response as each noble tried to outdo the other with tales of how close they had been. Malthane silently laughed at it all. The empty regrets, the fawning praise, the dangerous invitations, all of it he knew was part of Neriak’s grand conspiracy. The Tier’Dal were so good at deception it had became an art form, and this piece had many layers. When at last the final visitor had bid her farewell, Malthane moved towards the massive adamantium chest baring his Great Grandfathers ashes and gently placed one hand upon it’s broad lid. The rare show of emotion was quickly stifled as gentle footsteps drifted toward the main entrance. Moments later a lithe Tier’Dal female adorned in the finest emerald gown strolled seductively and carefully into the chamber. “Ahh dear Khissista.” Malthane boomed, “so kind of you to visit! Paying dear Callibus a last respect or were you simply in the area, no doubt ridding corpses of their necessities?” A playful smile danced across the mages face. “Malthane De’Arth’lir! Such brazen words for a mere apprentice…” Khissista’s voice was melodic, each word dripping in sarcasm. “Continue along such dangerous roads and I will be forced to reprimand you!” “All roads are dangerous little siren, as long as I walk them.” Malthane moved forward, stealing a gentle kiss from the Tier’Dal. “Shall we adjourn to more, private quarters my dear?” I have the most spectacular view from my new bath chamber.” Without further word the two grasped hands and wandered towards Third Gate, entering SathrakTower as thousands of Tier’Dal troops boarded enchanted ships preparing for war.

Naghaz Sathrak

10-05-2005, 01:22 AM

“The heir to De’Arth’lir cannot be allowed to live!” Priestess Siress said in a voice on the verge of cracking. Frustration and anger played out clearly upon her face and she scolded herself quietly for the foolish outburst. “Surely the council in all its wisdom understands how dangerous this mage could be, not only to our cause, but to Neriak itself!” Siress had finally stated aloud what many of the leader’s had secretly thought for ages. “The fall of Callibus is an obvious sign from our Father, certainly its timing is not lost on the council. Just days before our most triumphant march upon the elves of Norrath, a most revered and hated male of our fine city passes unto death! All know Callibus was gifted with magic’s far beyond that of most mages, certainly were this some natural malady or burden of age that assailed him, his formidable powers could have defeated it.” Siress dropped her tone to little more than a whisper. “But he did not...or, more to the point, he could not escape this death. Our father is with us my sisters, of this I am certain.” The high priestess stepped down from her seat, and lingered beside a large portal overlooking Neriak’s central wall. Biting her lip for a moment in angst, Siress turned to address her audience more intimately. “I know the concerns lying deep within each of you. I too have felt a void where once I felt warmth, I too feel the loss of his presence…” “Blasphemy!” Shouted Matron Hi’rona, the youngest of the Matron’s seated upon the ruling council. “You’re words are poison!” Siress directed a cold stare upon the Matron Mother. A look of open violence and general rage was clear upon her face. “Interrupt me again Matron Mother, and we shall test your faith for good.” “Ladies please!” Matron Thesia D'narus interjected. “It is not the time for idle bickering. Siress, as a high priestess of our Father your words, and their intent, while wildly dangerous, can only be assumed to work within our Father’s grace. And so we shall think no more on this.” Seating herself once more, Thesia looked to the other council members briefly and then led her gaze to Cristanos Thex, Queen of Neriak. “It is your decision, none of us can conspire openly or silently against a De’Arth’lir, not as long as your late husbands formidable favor shields him.” Cristanos Thex stared distantly at the ruby encrusted wine goblet sitting before her. A touch of the red liquor held within had leaked from its rim, and slowly trickled down the riveted stem. “If it is our Father’s will that the De’Arth’lir name pass with the death Callibus, then so be it.” Siress turned from the portal with hungry eyes, ecstatic glee plainly etched across her normally stoic face. “The Indigo Brotherhood cannot know of our plot however…” Cristanos stated flatly “and any who forget that will answer to me.” Letting the threat linger in the air about her, the Queen of Neriak rose to leave. Stopping just before the massive stone doors she turned abruptly, staring directly at High Priestess Siress. “Should you find an ancient text within the walls of Sathrak dear Siress, one fabled to reside there, I’m certain you would bring the tome to my immediate attention…” “Most certainly my Queen!” Siress buried her disappointment quickly, confident her face had not revealed some deeper motivation. “Any item or artifact of power found within the hollowed walls of Sathrak will be brought directly to your majesty, you have my word.” “Excellent my dear, for should that book not be turned to me upon the death of De’Arth’lir, I will also have your head.” Cristanos turned then, and gently exited the room.

Naghaz Sathrak

10-05-2005, 01:23 AM

Neriak was abuzz. It was two weeks since the first Tier’Dal cutter landed on foreign soil. The reports from battle mages on the warfront confirmed the assault had progressed perfectly. It’s sudden fury catching the light races off guard and allowing them to muster only the most basic defense. It was now rumored that the undead forces of Dark Lord Mayong Mistmoore were amassing to the west, and that an alliance of sorts was underway. Certainly no kingdom of the elves could withstand the combined forces of Neriak and Lord Mistmoore. Victory became a forgone conclusion to those left within the undercity, and life went on as though nothing had changed. Malthane had slept too late. His body felt as heavy as a bag of oats and his head ached terribly. Absently reaching out from the bedchamber, he fumbled blindly along his nightstand searching in earnest for a mug of water. Finding none, the Dark Elf began the tender task of withdrawing his left arm from under Khissista’s slumbering form. The arm itself had fallen asleep long ago, being deprived of proper blood flow, and the Tier’Dal shook his hand anxiously in hopes of bringing it back to life. In the weeks since the passing of Callibus life had been pretty good for Malthane De’Arth’lir. Sathrak tower was all but empty now except for a staff of enchanted servants and of course the lumbering troll, Verg, who had served his Grandfather for centuries. Pulling himself out from under the silken bed sheets, Malthane yawned wildly and carefully twisted his frame to set both feet upon the cool stone floor. His mind began formulating movements that would aim to extract him from the bed, without waking his sleepy companion. The Tier’Dal looked about his room lazily. Iridescent blue light from arcane glyphs along the stone exterior cast a pale glow into his former master’s bedchamber. The unnatural light made the room look mysterious, and a bit romantic. Malthane turned to regard his sleeping companion… The light… Why was the light filtering into the room at all? Malthane inspected the window intently. Never in all his memory had those curtain’s been pulled open. In fact, not until he had taken the chamber as his own weeks before had the mage even known a window existed. But now the curtains were pulled, and from the looks of it, they were withdrawn in a very haphazard fashion. Malthane’s mind began to work franticly. He knew there were Houses amongst the Nobility of Neriak that disliked the De’Arth’lir’s. In fact it was a nefarious cur from a broken house that had led to the utter destruction of the family. But why would someone invade Sathrak now? Malthane knew assassination was the only purpose, but his mind could not bend around it. He was a De’Arth’lir after all. Beloved and protected by the late King himself! Who would be so presumptuous, so bold? “Whoever it is, their as good as dead now…” Malthane’s voice was a hiss. “Khissista awaken!” He used a quiet tone but one filled with urgency. Even as he spoke the mage reached under the corner panel of his Grandfathers nightstand and withdrew a sleek black wand of Euridite craftsmanship. Malthane cleared his mind, and prepared it for an onslaught of offensive magics. Even as a young apprentice, the mage was formidable. Stepping from the bed cautiously, Malthane padded to his cloak and robe lying in a huddled mass near the bath. Placing the robe over his shoulders made him feel immediately safe, for within its many pockets hid artifacts of power enough to safeguard him from all but the most malicious of attacks. Noticing no movement from the bed Malthane chided again. “Khissista! Get up now!” He had raised his voice this time and watched the dark corners of the room carefully, half expecting some raging abomination to explode from the blackness. “Khissista?” Something was wrong. The two had shared a great deal of wine the eve before but no more than their usual foray into the deep night. Khissita’s naked form glistened in the deep blue light. The ivory white bed sheets were pulled tight about her waist leaving her abdomen open to the air. Malthane searched for some sign of breathing. His eyes wandered across her delicate form seeking anything that may stave off his fast approaching worry. Looking to the night stand beside her, the young mage’s eyes settled upon the silver goblet from which Khissista had been drinking the night before. A goblet carrying the rune of De’Arth’lir, a goblet engraved with the name ‘Malthane’ upon it’s bezel. Pulling in a haggard breath, Malthane cautiously approached the nightstand and ran his finger along it’s inside edge. Red wine had dried upon it, as had a viscous substance, white in color. “Dalthi!” Malthane hissed. Dalthi was a well known poison used to steal life from its victims quietly, without all the convulsions and sputtering of natural roots. The Tier’Dal had no doubt the poison had been intended for him. Reaching out, Malthane gently caressed Khissita’s face, running his hand in a delicate crest down to her shoulder blade. “Smooth as Raven’s Claws” he stated in a hushed tone, a compliment he’d offered her a thousand times before. Staring at the cold form of his lover for a moment more, the sullen mage quickly made his way out of the room and down the spiral staircase. Taking steps two at a time, Malthane shouted out for Verg and headed towards the scrying room.

Naghaz Sathrak

10-05-2005, 01:25 AM

Siress D'narus, high priestess of Innoruuk and first heir to the house D'narus throne was becoming agitated. It had been a full nine hours since her last contact with Rethan, a shadowy rogue from the Indigo Brotherhood. She had enlisted this particular assassin for one reason only, his skill with alchemy was without peer within the hallowed halls of Neriak and that was quite a boast. Normally the solicitation of a murder would barely register on her solitary mind but this one was different. House De’Arth’lir had long been an ally to house D'narus, and now she had conspired to slay it’s last living heir. Biting her lip in nervous anticipation the Priestess poured a glass of Faye wine and brought it to her lips. The bitter drink swashed within her delicate mouth for a moment, allowing the subtle flavors of cinnamon and berry to linger upon her breath. A slight wrap at the door startled the generally cautious Priestess, pulling herself together she commanded the visitor announce himself before entering. “It is I, priestess…” The tone was cold and flat, setting Siress on edge as it always did. “Enter then Rethan, and be brief.” The door swung inward without a sound, presenting a tall Tier’Dal with deep black eyes and raven colored hair, a rarity amongst the dark elves. Rethan’s features were hawk like, with piercing eyes and an intense, hooking nose. He carried a perpetual scowl made all the more threatening by a nasty jagged scar running from his left eye to his cheekbone. The assassin was clad in fine leather armor with a saber and a dirk strapped to his belt. Rethan offered no bow to Siress as was custom, though she was uncertain if he meant it as an insult or was simply that unschooled in the subtleties of high society. Siress issued him an icy stare nonetheless, in hopes of gaining some ground with the dangerous assassin. “Is this night’s work complete then?” She asked in a steady tone though her eyes betrayed her anxious mood. “It is…” Rethan was cut off suddenly as a violent explosion shook the outer walls. Both Tier’Dal eyed each other suspiciously, Rethan going so far as to reach for his dirk. “What treachery is this?” He shouted as another explosion, this one seemingly closer, shook the city. Siress’s expression was dumfounded. She turned quickly toward her outer window and tore open the drapery. Guards were running up and down the streets with reckless abandon. Here and there a captain shouted orders while the citizens of Neriak gathered in massive throngs shouting alarms to all who passed. Siress opened the window and was assaulted by the noise, hundreds of people stammering and shouting while the plated feet of Neriak’s reserve force began to mobilize. Rethan retreated out the door just as a mild mannered aid entered. Siress looked at the diminutive Tier’Dal with an expression of worry. “My lady Siress, you have been summoned by the queen, she requires your presence immediately at the great library.” There was an unmistakable shake in the aid’s voice, one denoting fear and concern. “What is it then? What in Innoruuk’s name is happening here?” Siress was suddenly very angry at the interruption, a mixture of uncertainty and worry. “We are under attack M’lady, and the first gate is falling.”

Naghaz Sathrak

10-05-2005, 01:25 AM

SathrakTower shook violently, invoking creaks and groans from it’s aged walls. Somewhere in the distance Malthane heard glass shattering, beakers and alchemy tubes no doubt falling from their shelves. The inner most room of the ancient tower was known as a scrying chamber, it was home to a massive library and bore a magical shield of protection upon it’s outer wall. The young mage had come here moments ago in hopes of divining the identity of an assassin, but all that changed as the first wave of explosions sounded upon the inner walls of Neriak. Verg stood beside his new master with emotionless eyes. Dust and debris from the shaking walls had drifted onto his moist scalp and significant pieces were stuck here and there making him look ridiculous. “Seek out our Djiin and gather a report of….this…” Malthane made a broad gesture with his arms and turned towards a small staircase to his left, the only one leading up from this room. He eyed that exit for a moment, then shook his head and shouted again to Verg “and bring Khissista’s body to me wrapped in bed sheets, she deserves a proper memorial.” Any response the Troll may have made was drowned out by another, more significant blast seemingly upon the tower itself. Malthane eyed the roof carefully. He had supposed an attack was possible, with the largest portion of their army away it was a perfect time to strike. But these explosions seemed to come from the ground above as opposed to the front gates. Something was not right. A massive snapping sound jerked the mage from his musings. Somewhere to the west Sathrak was breaking. He could feel the subtle yet significant vibrations upon the floor. The young mage invoked a quick spell of conjuring and divination, presenting a small, floating eyeball he immediately commanded to survey the area. The Tier’Dal was growing nervous now, peering once more at the slender staircase leading into the private study of Callibus De’Arth’lir, a study which hid a great secret, and a terrible power. Walking to a nearby desk, Malthane unrolled a dark brown parchment of massive dimensions. A schematic of Sathrak rendered by his late uncle an aspiring architect and mage of great talent. Tracing a line from his grandfather’s study back to the Scrying room Malthane recognized that the protective magic encasing this area did not extend to the study. He found this curious at first, thinking his grandfather would have taken more care to protect the items stored within. The mages mind was reeling; this was all happening too quickly. Calming his inner voice, Malthane went into a meditative state, focusing his mind’s eye onto that of his conjured entity which had just exited the main gate of Sathrak. The scene outside was chaotic. Mobs of Neriak’s royalty drifted along the streets, many of them bearing arms. In the distance Malthane could see Neriak Militia, House of the Dead and Indigo Brotherhood reserves setting up chokepoints outside the entrance to Foreign Quarter. Ogre and Troll slaves lumbered to and froe baring massive logs and stone squares, creating makeshift defensive positions wherever instructed. Turning his magical apparition around, Malthane guided the entity north and west, around Neriak’s moat. From there he spied the great library, perhaps the safest municipal building within all of Neriak. From it’s ramparts he could see mages and priests alike using massive incantations of divination. “So Neriak is under attack after all.” The mage mused. “But by whom?” Malthane peered at the ceiling again as another massive groan issued forth. Lacking the skills to peer into Nektulos forest himself, Malthane looked back to the slender staircase leading up to darkness.

Naghaz Sathrak

10-05-2005, 01:26 AM

The ceaseless thundering had finally subsided leaving a dull ache deep within the eardrum building gradually to a high pitched keen. Malthane lay on the cold stone floor, unable to move for what seemed like an eternity. His mind was distant, as though he were watching himself from afar but blinded by darkness. Something within his chest was broken, or at least badly injured. A pain, like throbbing embers of super-heated coal emanated from within his abdomen making it hard to concentrate. The mage attempted to raise his head, trying in vain to appraise the situation around him. Pain assaulted him in waves, threatening to steal his conscious mind and drive him deep into the darkness. He lay still once more, and focused on the events leading him here. The explosions within Neriak had become more substantial, joining together like one gigantic concussive blast reverberating along the undercity’s roofline. Malthane had been deep within the protective walls of SathrakTower, within the scrying room... The mages mind blanked for a moment, and he was unable to recall details of the room. The troll Verg had been gone for too long, Malthane was angered by that, he had wanted Khissista’s body brought to safety but Verg had not returned and was likely dead. The arcane glyphs along the walls of the Tower had wavered, as though some significant magic was at work… It was coming back to him now in twisted bursts. The explosion, as if the world itself had burst in two, Malthane remembered his frantic flight up the stairwell, removing the magical wards from the massive door to the study as a burst of heat struck his back, sending him sprawling into the room. Then all turned to darkness and soot. The study chamber within SathrakTower was positioned just outside a protective sphere of magic warding. A fact that was not lost on the shattered mage lying upon it’s cold floor. Even in his broken form Malthane realized the apparent miracle of his continued existence. How had he survived? Gritting his teeth against the pain, the Tier’Dal forced himself into a position upon his side in hopes of surveying the area. Again waves of pain assaulted him, but this time the mage was prepared for it. He bit through the tip of his lip and batted his eyes to keep conscious. A coppery taste entered his throat, and realizing the damage he was subjecting himself to, the dark elf pulled in a deep breath. Focusing his eyes took a moment. All Tier’Dal were given the gift of Ultravision, a sight dedicated to the deep dark abyss where color’s melted in a haze of blue and black. The study seemed intact; in fact with the exception of some soot and light scarring, it appeared to be in perfect condition. Setting himself up a bit more, Malthane surveyed the room in it’s entirety. Bookshelves adorned in massive tomes of old all sat in perfect order, without a single book fallen from its precarious perch. Statues and antiquities of all sorts littered the shelves and massive desk, none had been knocked to the floor or shifted in any manner. Malthane began to understand why he was still alive; as he concentrated on the room about him it became increasingly clear that this study was in fact protected in some manner from the outside world. Whatever the situation, Malthane was in too much pain to work it out now. Leaning his aching head against the table beside him, the mage closed his eyes and drifted back into a deep, healing sleep. Days must have passed, perhaps weeks, before the mage awoke again. His body ached terribly but was functioning none the less. Using the table he had slept against as an anchor, Malthane pulled himself up and onto his unsteady legs in one fast motion. The air within the study was cool, but remained fresh. He had been concerned even in his deep slumber that the air itself would soon turn foul, killing him as he slept. If the ceiling of Neriak had fallen in upon itself, it wouldn’t have taken long for the air to stagnate. Noxious gases from deep within the earth were always leaking up into the under city, then quickly eliminated by fresh air from above. If the gates of Neriak had been sealed, emergency exhausts would be opened along the back corridors allowing proper ventilation. However, if the ceiling had collapsed around his tower he could be encased in a small air bubble, one that would sour quickly once the runes of warding failed upon the place. The mage surveyed his surroundings. The only door into the chamber had been slammed shut behind him, no doubt smelted to the frame by the intensity of the blast. The door itself appeared untouched, mirroring the curious nature of the rest of the room. Malthane approached the wooden portal and pulled hard on its handle. The door was held fast and gave no indication of ever opening again. Turning in place, Malthane settled his eyes upon the massive bookshelf taking up the western wall. Deep within that case was hidden a text of great importance, but for the first time ever Malthane began appraising the other texts shelved here. Various books detailing the different planes of existence made up a grand majority of them. A small collection of texts regarding the moon of Luclin and a treatise on the Combine Empire rounded out the collection. Unamused, the mage turned next to the massive desk making up the northern wall. Various scrolls were settled here, each tied and branded with the De’Arth’lir sigil. Malthane pushed the bundles aside searching for anything that stood out. Seeing nothing, he began opening the various drawers of the desk, stopping suddenly as he uncovered a small, leather case without markings. Picking the piece up, Malthane tugged gently upon the leather strap holding the portfolio together. Within he found an odd schematic, and various renderings of Wizard Spires, Druid Rings, and massive text books filled with the spidery words of magic. Malthane had seen all of these things before, in person. They were various methods of traveling great distances. Each imbued with powerful magic from before the age of strife. Flipping gently through the book Malthane searched eagerly for anything of importance. He paused near the end, his eyes having caught a series of words which chilled him to the very core. ‘Journal entry 3293, fifth day, week forty seven’ “I have no doubts now that Solusek Ro is gone from this world, perhaps never to return.” Malthane dropped the book to the ground and reached for the desk to steady his wavering legs. “Solusek has left us?” The mage thought back to the many years of deception his family had entertained. For thousands of years the De’Arth’lir line had worshiped the overwhelming powers of Solusek Ro all the while, professing grand affiliation with Innoruuk. The Father of Hate had never shown disapproval for his families’ ruse and thus they flourished under the illusion for all their days. As the mage thought on his families misfortunes, the sudden and dramatic violence and poor turn of luck his house had endured; It became all too clear that not only had Solusek left them, but his disapproval was now demanding some sort of reckoning. A wave of agony and regret struck the mage like a ton of bricks. All of his bravado, all his ego, the grand power of House De’Arth’lir fallen to what? A solitary Tier’Dal locked within the blasted remains of a destroyed city. Malthane dropped to his knees and sobbed, bitterly at first, the cries of true sadness. Over time, the cries turned to anguish and then, to anger. Malthane hated the world for what it had become, he hated this tower for imprisoning him, and most of all, and he hated Innoruuk for allowing his people to be defeated. Somewhere deep within an ancient book, came the sound of a child laughing.

Naghaz Sathrak

10-05-2005, 01:27 AM

Years had passed, many, many years. In the beginning Malthane kept track of them with parchment, and as the ink ran low, he pricked his finger, tracking them with blood. Over two hundred were recorded in this way, but as the years continued to pass the mages mind began to bend and eventually, he stopped keeping track all together. Tier’Dal is a race of long lived elves. The De’Arth’lir family was further possessed of venerable blood. It was not unheard of to live 1000 years within his family though generally the mages met their end far sooner, having tampered too long with nefarious magics. Still, Malthane’s kin was unlike the short lived races, having minds capable of enjoying countless years of study and personal pursuits. Here however, trapped within the walls of a doomed study, Malthane was quickly turning to insanity. The first 100 years were the easiest. The mage passed the time studying the text books contained within. Soon he realized that the study his grandfather had constructed was not in fact existent upon the primary material plane, but was instead a pocket of space traveling somewhere in another dimension. This explained Malthane’s survival during what he assumed was the fall of Neriak. Each day the mage would awaken, and summon food and drink for himself. The spells trapped within his mind were slowly fading without use, and while his memory served him well, his constant study of new and unique principles slowly edged out his atrophied magical talents. By the time three hundred years had passed, Malthane remembered only the most rudimentary of wizardly magics, those needed to survive. As his mind turned in upon itself however, the mage began wrestling with an inner voice, one which intruded upon his thoughts, and spoke in hushed tones. It talked of anguish, and hate. It burned deep within him like a smoldering fire, unleashing itself in torrents of rage that quickly extinguished. Often it would appear as the voice of a small child, laughing carelessly at the mage’s solitary position. The once charismatic aristocrat had descended to a creature of viscous rage and deep hatred. Malthane’s conscious mind knew he was going insane, but he lacked the will to stop it. Ages passed, and Malthane became a mere shadow of his former self. Often the mage would sleep for years at a time, without need for food or water. His curiosity of such things had long since passed, the dark tome Chrono Kane hid many secrets, but Malthane was certain it preserved his life. To what end he could not possibly know. But a change was at hand. Even while a part of his mind descended into mania the mage remained vigilant. During the waking hours of his life he continued to study the planes, and began devising a plan to bring him back to the material world. The gates and auguries needed to perform such a task were far beyond his skill and attempting such a thing unassisted would most certainly lead to his death. But Malthane was not entirely alone. The voice inside his head had become a trusted ally now, one that pushed the mage forward and kept him working towards a goal. The voice reminded him that within the walls of this study one could find some of the most potent magical artifacts known to mortals, and only by tapping into their power would the mage ever truly be free. And so it was that somewhere within his seven hundredth year upon the pocket dimension, Malthane De’Arth’lir stepped through the portal that would take him back to Norrath. A much changed world that even now struggled to survive.

Eriol

10-05-2005, 02:21 AM

Very nice. Quite good. Bravo.

Naghaz Sathrak

10-06-2005, 02:36 AM

<DIV>Thanks for reading it, I appreciate the kind comments and am glad you enjoyed it!</DIV>

Darl

10-06-2005, 06:37 PM

Your writing style is great, I really enjoy it and your story. Tanador - 50 Armorer, 34 Mystic