3. Specter of the Nars

Specter of the Nars


  • 5.5

    As he turned back to the Paladin he felt a slight moment of discontent as he saw him already chopping through the web, freeing himself. The Paladin’s eyes were on him, taking in the colors of his robes and trying to get to his feet with his sword in hand.

    ”Intervening cur! The woman deserves punishment, stand out of my path and interfere no more”

    He simply smiled to the paladin from beneath his helm, outwardly the cold metal simply looking at him lifelessly. A small, cold, almost mechanical chuckle came from beneath the helm.

    ”No, I do not think that will be happening. I believe what will happen is that you shall find you walked willingly to your grave this day.”

    At this the paladin’s eyes flared with anger, moving away from the last bit of the web, and charged forward. The Tormite raised his bastard sword, both hands holding it strong, and let fall a powerful downward strike. The charge betrayed the paladin though and he was ready when the strike came.

    He moved to the side, feeling the rush of wind against the folds of his robes as the bastard sword slammed down. The strike came within an inch of sheering the skin from his bones but the anger filled charge gave away that first attack. However, with blinding speed that surprised him, the paladin turned the down strike in direction. Reversing his attack, the Tormite hoped to surprise his opponent. This time he was not ready when the strike came.

    The blade came up striking into his side and cutting deep. He winced at the pain, cursing for not having armor he could wear while in her colors. He let the strike move him back, taking some of the impact and lessoning it enough. The small bit of combat training he’s had against those blasted well trained goblins of the eastern woods being the only thing that saved the strike from being fatal.

    Out came his tower shield and wicked spiked club. He managed to get the finely crafted shield just in time to deflect the next strike from the sword, the sound of steel on steel ringing out through the caverns. The next strike was turned away barely by the thin magical field surrounding his body. Yet undaunted the Paladin came on, slicing and hacking with his bastard sword with righteous vigor.

    His mind was wheeling. He hadn’t expected such a skilled combatant nor had he battled without his armor in some time. He had to do something, to slow this onslaught and yet he had no time for a spell, not with that blade coming ever onward. However he kept his faith in Her, knowing that in this place, this land of hers, she would not let him fall. He bore the attack a bit longer, taking some minor cuts but catching most strikes against his shield or magical armor. He studied the paladins strikes, watching, calculating. The Tormite had strength, but he had his intellect and cunning and more importantly Her favor.


  • 5.4

    As he got closer he could understand his familiars mind. It was a strange place to read, vaguely alien, but he read the situation well enough. He reached into his bag as he ran, passing the bat in stride and not looking back, and grabbed a small bit of spider’s web.

    He moved throughout a few of the caves, traversing the caverns as the most skilled of rogues traverses the alleys of Peltarch, till he came around a bend to see the situation. An armored man, symbol of Torm upon his breastplate, was chasing after a small Halfling woman. The hin was ragged, barely in anything more then tatters and dirty, yet with a strange allure about her through it all. The dark of his robes and helm blended him into the darkness of the caves, making the Paladin not notice him until he heard the last of the arcane words spoken and the web shooting forth engulfing his armored body.

    He looked to the hin, realizing the bat had doubled back. Casting a quick spell, covering the bat in a sort of anti-light, darkness so much deeper then what is in the caves that it pulsed visibly to all. His eyes looked out he eye slits of his helm, piercing into the hin’s.

    ”Follow it!”

    He let forth the command and gave no more care for the hin, it was time to complete his duty. To protect his lands by slaying this one of The Protector. Only after that would he deal with this curious hin that he could feel a very prominent aura of betrayal surrounding.


  • 5.3

    He knew what the trapped imp was feeling before it even arrived. The evil glee, the eagerness, the haste it was making. Something was happening and he meant to catch his familiar in mid flight. Patience is a virtue, but knowing when to act and how important time can be is one as well. The wonderful paradox’s of life. Grasping his helm and slipping it onto his head, he reached down making sure his components pouch was safely stowed and bolts were available. Scooping up his shield and club he rushed from his cave. He knew the flight path of Senkrad and the approximate location of the bat. A few short cuts through Her land that he knew and he would cut into the creature’s probable path in 5 minutes easily.


  • 5.2

    Senkrad navigated through the stalactites, weaving in and out of them with ease, avoiding the protruding rock structures. The ultrasonic pitch blaring from his tiny vocal cords, reflecting back into his elongated ears giving him a blue print finer then any eyes could give a human. With near reckless speed he flew forward, looking and spying through the caverns. What was he truly searching for, he wasn’t sure. Drow, formians, surface dwellers, e didn’t rightly care. The soul of the imp long ago freed and yet imprisoned by his current master had been placed into this new form some time ago. It had taken him weeks to learn this new body’s ways but now that he understood it he relished the feeling. But oh, how did he long to have his infernal body back once more.

    It was then his ears picked up the noises. He stopped, fluttering, concentrating a bit upon the sounds…

    Noise, something slapping against stone; and fast. Running? Yes running sounds right. Hectically too. Someone not knowing the land to well but rushing. Something else though, another set. Heavier and chinking. The first is being pursued, and by someone with lots of metal. Weapons clinking? Perhaps, more like chain links, armor. Heavy breathing, the chase had been on for some time. Trouble…but perhaps opportunity.

    If he could still grin the imp would’ve given one of devilish glee. In his current form such an act was not exactly possible, but the look that came upon the bats face…so unearthly, unnatural…could almost be said to look worse


  • 5.1

    He moved through the darkened halls, the depths of the caverns blocking out all light, leaving emptiness akin to space. He was home here, his feet moving him through the lands with ease. Every rock, every wall, every whole and small pool of liquid he knew as well as he knew his name. Few people of the Nars knew these winding pathways better then him, and almost none of those above had been there longer then him.

    His helmed head moved slowly as he glided over the floors viewing the strange glimmering rocks of the underdark, glowing slightly and reflecting its own eerie dim light. Each stone piercing the darkness like a star in the midnight sky on a new moon. He loved this land, Her chosen lands, and he embraced it, protected it.

    Yes that was the key wasn't it, to protect it. To shield it from those that wished it harm. To allow these lands to be roamed free by those that wanted to escape the lands of the light, to flee from the pain and loss they experienced before. More then these though to allow the people of the city of refuge to live free of any exterior problems.

    The helmed head lowered as indigo light wafted forth. Rising up a side of the cavern, feeling the weave connect to him and lift his body as he turned his helmed head, looking up over the walls. The guards did not see him, oblivious due to the spell woven around his person. The people of the city went about their business, unable to see the figure hovering above unseen.

    But when his eyes passed over them they felt a shiver shoot up their spine and could swear something was there, watching and waiting, a Phantom.


  • **4.4

    He moved over after them, looking upon the ground unseen. Reaching down he grasped that which he sought.

    A single raven’s feather**


  • **4.3

    For the next few days he watched the wizardress. Sometimes from an invisible vantage point, other times through his helm. The time would come for the meeting, for speaking, but patience, patience is needed. He would befriend her first…if possible. If not it was no matter, that would just play farther into what he needed. Perhaps this woman was placed here as a test for him, a right of passage as such. He was not sure, but in this he would not fail.**


  • **4.2

    He replaced his helm now, preparing for the journey from the safety of Her winding caverns. He moved fluidly, a floating specter moving through the darken halls of the underdark. He moved past the door without a second thought, calling forth instantly the words for a spell of invisibility, wrapping himself in the cool comfort of the light manipulating dweamor. With each invisible step he took the pitch black or his robe slid away like a shadow fleeing from the light as the gold color crept overtop. He moved through the crypt with simple ease, never hesitating, never with worry. These were his lands, his home, and none knew it better then he.

    Out into the graveyard he moved, renewing his spell to be sure just before moving within the walls of Norwick. He traveled through the sleepy town, the townsfolk moving around in their typicial hurried and boorish lives. His helmed head moved about, taking all in as he proceeded to the south when he saw her. A woman, whose simple yet dark beauty was striking to his eyes. He could almost see an aura of blackness around the woman, not of malevolence but of torment, of despair, of self doubt. It was then he realized what that tickling sensation was, what was bothering him. It was time to find another of the art, it was time to guide one of like mind to her and her talents, and to have one to walk the path to the darkened embrace of Her creation…**


  • **4.1

    He sat in his darkness, the darkness he called his home for so long now. His cold eyes watched from beneath his helms. Activity was up as of late, things were in motion. Soon would be time, soon, but not now. There were other things to accomplish, goals that must be met before he returns.

    His mind was full of thoughts this day, purple streaks of insight shooting from neuron to neuron, teasing his mind with so many possibilities. Two now knew, two he had revealed himself to. Was it a mistake, was it foolish. He mused on this a moment, running one of his now revealed hands down the cold and unforgiving granite of the cavern walls. Yes, these two were well thought out, were useful. One was loyal, if not a bit daft, and had a talent for getting the information he would need. To be his ears for him during this time. The other, the other was the strength he needed, and the companionship. She was a like mind, in some matters at least. She could be trusted, he knew this. He saw things of himself within her, things that would bind her mouth for the good that it could bring them both.

    However his mind still plagued him. Things from his past haunted him. Visions of loss, of betrayal, of secrets kept and given and leaving this realm on the backs of dead souls. Three deeds he wished, all of which of different degree’s, but a forth had slowly crept into his mind. He would return the one whose heart he held. There was no true feeling there, no feelings of love of affection. These things were incapable for him. But there was a connection, a binding tie, and more so…she was a woman special to his Goddess. He did not know how, but knew it to be true. Now he simply had to find a way to wrest control of her away from the demon lord. But this will come in time.

    He thought back over his experiments, his prayers, his searches. Each day he felt the pull of the dark strands tugging against him, ushering him forward in his search. He did not know when, only She could know such things, but the time was approaching. His goal, his treasure, his obsession in the past year would come to him in time. And then the third, the one ever on the horizon. So close, yet unable to be taken quite yet. Perhaps the easiest of his goals while mockingly being the most different as well. He would have his return, he would return to his seat, but it would be on his terms, in his way.

    But no, something more was bothering him this day. He could not place it, it was but a tickle at the base of ones neck, like a cold breeze blowing over the tiny hairs sending them swaying against each other. Something was not right, something was missing that he needed, but what. What was it. What is it. Who is it.

    AHHHHHHHHH!

    He let out a cry of frustration, a sound of pure anger being set free, that set two approaching formians back to their lands. There was magic in that cry, power. They heard it and they knew; this was one marked to be left to his own.**


  • 3.5

    He was invisible this night, two of the hins on his shoulders. The bodies were exactly as they needed to be, hacked with a great sword along with many punctures of a pseudodragons tail, complete with venom. The illusion he created was good, not amazing, but it did the job. He came at dusk, with enough light to see the figure but not enough to truly make anything out. The illusion walked forward, following in his invisible foot steps. He placed the bodies on the ground and bid the illusion to make a few kicks for good measure before sending it off, dissipating it behind a tree as he headed back with a smile.

    Over the next few days he deposited the other hins at different places around the outside of Jiyyd.


  • **3.4

    The next few days was a joyous extravaganza of slaughter. Calculated and precise, yet vicious all the same. A tenday of killing in honor of Her, to bring loss and to seek revenge for a betrayal. All done in the secrecy of night.

    He had realized the beautiful thing about Norwick, adventurer’s came and go, and if ones turned up missing no one turned a strange eye. No one missed the half a dozen or so hins that died in the Rawlins that tenday, and were now stowed safely in a cave. Now was time for his plan. Now was time for the dead to have her revenge…**


  • **3.3

    The spell of gentle repose worked perfectly. The creature, while dead, still functioned decently enough without any wear or decay. He placed the creature on a make shift table in the corner of the underdark he made as a home. Working carefully with the tools before him he began to extract the venom from the creature’s gland, continuing to keep it on the brink of body failure with his spells so the liquid would reproduce itself.

    It was amazing what one could do with sufficient knowledge in alchemy and magic, and before long he managed to have a decent supply of pseudodragon poison. Taking the stinger from the creature he fashioned a way to stab and apply the poison with it. It was time to act.**


  • **3.2

    He stowed the body in one of the many caves of the Nars. He knew them well, knew small ones that one could barely wiggle in and others that were like grand cathedrals. It was his job to know, it was Her bidding, it was Her place and he felt most at ease there, in the darkness, with the cold stone wrapping him in a chilly embrace. However his task was not able to start yet, he had one more item to retrieve.

    He stalked into the Rawlins, moving through the trees. His black robes, dark as midnight on a moonless eve, rolled down his body as he waited within the tree lines and watched. He knew the fools of Norwick well, the crazed adventurer’s that go to all lengths to “hunt”. Tonight they will be the prey though.

    He watched a few come and go. Human, elf, another human, then a dwarf. No, not what he needed. It was something specific and if it took him a tenday to find it he would wait. Patience is a virtue.

    The night rolled on. Hour after hour slipped farther into the past as Selune’s retched light shone down onto the woods. He was planning to retire for the night when his eyes saw what he wanted, thank the Lady. A hin, adorned in the typical blue robes every mage in Norwick buys, skipping along with a small pseudodragon flying behind him. He was happily talking with his familiar, a little hesitant in the woods at night but hardly afraid as is the downfall of most hins.

    The hin heard the words of casting, but the spell was beyond his grasp. The young adventurer was engulfed in magical darkness. The blue robed mage began to panic and was suddenly hit with a furious wave of magical fear, shaking his entire body and bringing him to the ground in a weeping mess.

    He stalked up then, pulling the great sword from his back. His talent with such weapons had diminished with time, but he still knew the fundamentals, and his target was a quivering mess. He moved to the darkness, his magics allowing him to be at home in the protective globe. He spotted his pray and ignored the pokes of the annoying dragon. He swept down, chopping into the hin three times. The hin’s Blood splattered the ground and rolled off his robes as if it were mere water, the enchantment keeping it clean, as he watched the last movements of life in the corpse.

    He felt the stinger from the pseudodragon once more pushing against his robes, the creature confused as to why it wouldn’t penetrate. It didn’t have a moment to ponder this though, for a purple gauntleted hand reached forward with blazing speed, snatching the creature. It squirmed in his hand but with his master dead its power was fading and he easily snapped the dragon’s neck.

    He pulled the hin’s body onto his shoulder, and with a word of a spell he let the dragons corpse remain fresh and unable to deteriorate. It was almost time now, betrayals must be set right for those past this world.**


  • **3.1

    Tim couldn’t believe it, ten whole gold for a simple job. He’d never seen ten gold at once in his life save for passing a few of the nobles on the street. They always had a ton of gold, and yet he couldn’t even afford food half the time. The hin teen practically had to drag the great sword the man wanted behind him in the street, but that was okay. As he slipped out the gates he thought rather happily how he’ll give half of it to that nice orphanage starting up.

    As he came into the foothills he looks around for the man. He dragged the sword onward as the sun finished setting, moving to the meeting place. When he turned a corner around a hill his furry hin feet nearly tripped over themselves as he almost ran head first into the shining golden man.

    “You did well little one. Here, a tip for your fast service.” The golden man said, tossing a coin pouch to the hin but missing a bit, over throwing above the little ones head.

    The hin turned quickly, grabbing at the coin, counting it out in small wonder. Behind him the shining man in the golden robe bent to pick up the weapon.

    Smiling he looked over the blade. Smiling he ran his hand down it to see the craftsman ship. Smiling he brought it down in an arc nearly severing the hin child in two.**


  • 2.14

    He reached out, arcane words spinning forth from him, trying to grasp it. He still could not, no, not yet. But closer…ever closer.


  • 2.13

    She blinked.

    All around her was darkness, comforting, warm darkness. In the distance she could see her Mistress, She who was always there in her heart even when she wouldn’t admit it to herself. She closed her eyes and felt the darkness around her, and let her mind wander to all the things that made her happy in life


  • 2.12

    The darkness came from him, and she did not blink.

    The magic pulled agonizingly at her soul and she did not blink.

    The chakram came down, tearing through her neck, and even as her head began to be removed…she did not blink.


  • 2.11

    Cara followed the path her feet took her. She was in a daze, had been ever since the night she went to bed with Richard. Sweet dear Richard. Now she walked along the nars almost as if in a dream.

    ”Go up along the ridge then around where the gypsies live. If you see anything of danger run”

    Yes, that’s the words he said. The kind man in gold. Such a nice man, listening to her problems and lending her an ear. Why couldn’t more people be like him. Not like her sweet dear Richard. Sweet dead Richard. Betraying bastard Richard.

    She came to a crypt at night and entered without a single thought. Normally she would’ve been scared to death of even think about venturing into such a place. But it was okay, it was safe here. She knew it was. She walked through the halls of it as if she had walked it a thousand times before. She opened the door and saw him there. A dark imposing specter of a man, the helm connected to his robe looking like that of a deep dragon, yet she knew it was still him. That shining man, that golden hero in her life.

    She walked to him, a smile on her face, blood crusted in her hair. She looked at him and when he asked one simple thing, ”Are you ready?”, she nodded and laid upon the altar.


  • 2.10

    He watched all of this and simply smiled.

    ”Perfect…she is ready”


  • 2.9

    Donavan got to the house about midday. He had gotten the word from Dunderstone to check the house out after numerous complaints of the smells coming from it. He had taken his time to get on the case. Eight long years he had served in the guard force and they had him going out to check smells. Smells for the love of the gods! He finally decided to head over there after a nice long lunch at the mermaid. As soon as he entered the bedroom, he regretted having had that lunch.

    The scene was a bloody mess and flies among other insects had began to swarm around the two dead bodies piled on top of each other on the bed. Holding his nose and holding back the bile rising in his throat, he moved over. ”Dock worker and some street whore” he thought to himself looking at the two and the surroundings. He spotted a knife in the hands of the dead lady, then looking at the wounds figured she must’ve killed the man and then slit her own throat after the guilt of it. Or at least that’s what was going on the report, he wasn’t spending more of his days looking into the deaths of some no named whore and piss ant dock worker.

    He shut the door to the house and headed off to the morgue. ”Let one of those saps carry the bodies off and clean up the place,” he thought, ”I don’t get paid enough for this shit.” He hurried his steps a bit though, he remembered he still had to finish writing up the report of the husband that disappeared after seemingly slaughter his newly wed wife.