How long will life (and the weather) be stormy?

The rain beat furiously around Kyria and her captor as the two made their way to the stables outside the castle. Twas another dark and stormy night, and most assuredly not pleasant traveling weather; but in the mind of the Duke it didn't matter. His saddled horse was awaiting him, and he tossed Kyria up then jumped on behind. Leaving a few hasty instructions for the stable hand about not letting anyone in or out of the castle in his absence, he gave his mare a kick and away they went.

Zane stood at the window of Kyria's old room, watching them flee off into the night. At least he knew which direction they were headed, that was a good thing. He gritted his teeth as the horse and its riders faded away, wishing he was heroic enough to save the fair lady. The young boy slowly got back to work, knowing that there was nothing more he could do for Kyria at the moment.

Kyria was well drenched ten minutes into the ride, and along with that, the Duke was holding on to her so tight she could hardly breathe. She wondered what she had done to deserve all this treatment, and thought back to what her captor had said earlier - "the castle has been found out". What does that have to do with me? the lady thought to herself. Deep inside, she knew it had something to do with the powers her fingers held when she spun cloth, as well as what had gone on years ago when-- Her thoughts were cut short as the horse screamed to a halt and the Duke leapt off, carrying her down with him. "Are we there? Wherever 'there' is?" Kyria questioned. She couldn't see the Duke's dark smile as he said "No, we've just – well – we need to stop here for the moment. We'll be going again soon."

He helped her stumble into what seemed to be a dwelling of some sort, where Kyria could feel the warmth of a fire burning. "Sit." she was commanded, and fell gratefully into the chair. Scooting the wooden chair nearer to the heat of the fire, she overheard the Duke having a conversation with another man.

"Do you have the apparel for me?"

"I do, I do, right here good sir." Kyria heard the other man say as he fumbled around for something.

"Very good. You shall be paid well, Lamir. Don't forget to keep your mouth shut, or I'll shut it permanently. Hear?"

"Yes, yes, of course. Anything you say, Duke Prosser."

"Good. With that, we'll be off as soon as possible."

The next minutes seemed an eternity for Kyria after the conversation ended. She wondered what was going on now, and what this apparel was for. Just beginning to feel warm again, she felt the Duke grab her hand and stand her up. "Time to go." The Duke lead her outside, putting a thick cloak around her shoulders as he did so. "What was that all about?" She questioned, mentally thanking him for the cloak. "The less you know, the better; so don't ask. It's time to move."

The Duke swung Kyria up on his horse, climbed on himself, and set the mare off at a swift gait. His now dark blue cloak whipped in the wind as the trio sped off into the woods once again. 

It Rains Not Cats And Dogs But Pretty Ladies With Destructive Tempers

Another storm, worse than the one before, barreled through Aurora. Its predecessor was enough to make the night ominous and the old folk talk of disastrous and scary nights in years past. This one, however, was all that its predecessor threatened. Violent and forceful, the wind shrieked at speeds never before seen by most of the townfolk, and the rain was thick and fast enough to hurt. The lightning hurled down and the thunder howled, causing more than just little children to fear what the night might bring. The Elves would have perhaps been reminded of a hurricane.

In the middle of it all was a lady, walking down the street while leading a horse loaded with bags and headed directly to the combination tavern and inn. Even in the storm's howling, she heard the church tower bells ring for 2 o'clock in the morning. Eventually, she made it to the crude stable that the inn had and left her horse there before making her way to the door of the inn.

The door to the inn was locked. She pounded fiercely, but there was no answer. Smiling, she merely gripped the handle. Strands of vapor, dark purple in color, come from her palm and slipped through the cracks in the side of the door. The locks satisfyingly clicked.

Serenely, she entered like a ghost, leaving no evidence of her passage by re-locking the door behind her in the same manner. She had not made it even halfway before tripping on the remnants of the room's previously destroyed furniture. The floor greeted her face rapidly, if a bit forcefully.

That was enough to set her off. She calmly got back on her feet before unleashing a kinetic, expanding ball of pulverizing power that sent all the broken furniture bouncing off the walls in a cacophony before reducing them to dust on the floor. That, however, brought with it a new problem. The cacophony was more than sufficient in waking every soul that slept under that roof. Down the stairs rushed the innkeeper brandishing his slightly rusty sword (he was worried that thieves were now robbing him) and the Amaras, who more expertly held his well-tended and finely made sword. Realizing the magnitude of her error, the lady simply closed her eyes, sighed, and calmly asked the innkeeper, "Is there vacancy?"

The innkeeper, too flabbergasted at the sight of a queenly figure standing amidst the piles of dust that before were his broken furniture, stumbled over his own words before finally replying with a timid "Yes, madame!". His awe could perhaps be forgiven, for she was a sight to behold. Her beauty in face was beyond compare of even that of the legendarily beautiful Duchess Oriuta of Grebfell. What little of the lady's dress that could be seen beneath the boring and functional cloak was bold purple adorned with matching gems in expensive quantities.

"Then lead me to the available room. And sent someone to fetch my bags too; I seem to have forgotten to grab them," the lady commanded. At this, the innkeeper was all too happy to do, but the Amaras motioned to the innkeeper to let him run for them. As he slipped out from behind the innkeeper to head towards the stable, the lady noticed him in particular for the first time and immediately noticed his peculiar clothing. She also sensed what others could not: the aura of a power that was invested in the Amaras. She had encountered auras of power before, but for the first time she had encountered a person with an aura from a power that scared her.

The two men put away their swords. The innkeeper led her to what he considered his finest room. She hardly cared to notice the young, curious eyes of the innkeeper's children and niece peering from behind one of the doors they passed. Upon arriving at the room, she pronounced it satisfactory as the innkeeper apologized for the cold room and cold linens. He then left, leaving her in the dark room with the door open.

The lady hung her cloak on the provided coat rack, shut the door, and spread out on the bed without bothering to burrow her way under the sheets. Her emotions and face shifted from stern and commanding to soft and peaceful. The rain continued to pound relentlessly on the window, causing her mind to drift away in thought and sleep. She still remembered the pain, desperation, and anguish that had come into her mind from her--and she could not fail in retrieving--and, and, and.

 A sharp, quick knock on the door broke her stream of thought and brought her back to the here and now. She opened the door to reveal the male figure of the Amaras carrying her bags. For two seconds, he could see the face of an angel, albeit a tired and worried one. It vanished, replaced by that commanding queen persona from earlier. "Your bags, ma'am," he simply said. She snatched them out of his hands and quickly walked them over to the floor next to the bed. Nothing was said in reply; the Amaras decided to simply close the door after her and depart for his own room.


His aura, though pleasant, had become mysteriously downright repulsive to her. She whirled around, hurled the door to her room open, and exclaimed, "Keep your face out of my sight, Amaras!"

The Amaras paused in his slow walk. "Madame, I can assure you: if you do not wish to have my face before you, it will not appear before you." His face and voice was sincere, but there was a slight sardonic twist in his voice.

Her door was slammed shut. The Amaras quietly returned to bed. The hallway was empty and silent, save for the droning of rain and the cracks of thunder. Mercifully, the night saw no more disruptions.

(OOC) Compendium

First off, thanks to Amaras. I was about to post the other day, but a blackout of the internet forced me to save the half post I had for later. When the internet did come back though, I forgot that I was going to post.

Secondly, a full Compendium is now up. I've finished it up, made the necessary editing changes it needed, added in two maps, and now present it to you for use. The world of Ieon is now yours for the exploring...or taking, if that is what your ambitions are. I know some of us have rather...malicious....plans in mind.

Making Ready

OOC: Since no one else is forthcoming, I'll do the unthinkable and double post. ;)

IC:


Something far off inside the tower thundered, some other horrible experiment being carried out in some distant dungeon or workroom, where the alchemist carried on his ruthless, insane work. Crankings, grindings, howls and screams drifted up from the lower floors and dungeons to the higher levels of the pearl-ashen tower. While guards kept close watch on the grounds outside and scouts watched and spied on the forests around, the smoking tower went on doing its dirty, scientific work.

However, few knew of what was contained on the higher levels, in the upper areas of the tower. The spike of ashen gray, pale and unmoving, actually was quite a palace in the higher chambers. Just above and not quite out of reach of the screams and dying moans of prisoners below, whitened halls and pretty chambers filled the areas where the alchemist himself stayed. In the higher halls of the unnamed tower, lush red carpets and rich tapestry hangings could be found, plush furniture and regal, polished columns as well. Straight, royal halls or white stone stood unstained above the blood they were built on.

In one of the highest chambers, as always, where the great stained glass window could be found that lit up the meditation room, HE could be found. As always, the man spent many an hour merely studying the stained glass over and over, his twisted mind and broken heart going over and over the plan of action, the results, and the following rewards. Not bent and old like the alchemist who had brought him here, or infirm like the little scientist who was now preparing the experiment, this man was tall, regal, silent, and unmoved. By anything. The only thing that disturbed this stranger's reveries and constant planning was the sound of the occasional horror that rose up from below.

When the alchemist himself checked this man, he had to be careful. This man was a key instrument and patient, even the slightest wrong move or word would end everything he had worked so hard to build. Men like this one were not easily changed or swayed.
The alchemist, the Tower Master himself, stiffly hobbled down the plush red carpet hallway, his guards left behind him for once as he shuffled about in his upper house. His usual grumblings and mutterings, turning over countless formulas in his mind, fell silent as he approached this stained glass chamber, as though noise itself might disturb this unusual figure. His old, wizened face told of a long struggle, and it's hard, twisted lines were all the product of his hard, unusual, and painful work. Without a beard or much hair at all on his face or head, except a few wisps on his nearly bald head, he looked like a man twisted with age. Short, small, and even perhaps slightly overweight, his mind was the greatest weapon he could wield now. In his red, richly adorned robes, the old alchemist reached the small door he sought in his grand hallway, took a deep breath, and opened it. Silently.
He peeked inside, his sharp, black eyes glaring inward and searching about like a mouse looking out for a cat. The scene he saw inside was the same as always.

The pearly chamber inside was entirely unadorned, but absolutely stunning in it's stonework. Lovely patterns and rich runes covered the walls and floor, and the columns that lined the circular room held up a slightly circular dome above, where sunlight streamed down into the chamber. Brightly colored and lit, it was a beautiful place. Other than the grand columns and polished stonework, it was entirely without interest...except for one massive stained glass window at the end side from the door. Taking up perhaps a fifth of the circular wall that surrounded the room, a section had been entirely taken out and replaced with colored glass, which also was lit up at the height of day, like it was now. Rich colors of red, blue, green, yellow, violet, and others streamed in along with the white sunlight above, casting every rainbow color possible on the floor...and the figure who always stood in front of it.
He was still there. Standing tall, a high, slender, unmoving figure was staring up at the glass, studying the pictures that were laid into it. From that distance, the old alchemist could just tell that he was wearing a soft, white cloak, the only thing visible on his back. His long, soot black hair fell down some inches below his shoulders, long and combed.
The alchemist coughed roughly. "My prince?" He asked.
There was a long moment before the reply came. "Is it ready yet, Sidonus?"
"Not yet, prince." The old man barked. He always asked that question. "Almost though!" And naturally, he always used the same reply.
"Almost? How long is, 'almost,' alchemist?" The voice of the man in front of the stained glass was smooth and deep, with a polished air of gentleman nobility in it, the voice is a strong, proud man. He did not move from studying the stained glass before him.
"I have waited a long time, Sidonus."
"It will be ready completely, tomorrow." The richly robed scientist entered the room and closed the door behind him. Still, he didn't come any closer to the regal person on the far side.
To this, the white figure on the far side turned to face the alchemist. A scream from some poor, tortured soul rose up from the floors below, cutting through the dignified silence like a knife. It quickly returned, however, as the screamed died away.
"Tomorrow?" The prince raised an eyebrow. His face now visible, the alchemist studied it yet again. It was a handsome, noble face, perhaps slightly pale. His dark eyes and slender features surveyed the red robed man for a moment, like a bird of prey almost eying a mouse. His dark, black hair fell back behind him like a black hood on his white cloak. He was plainly dressed, only in a light silvery robe that shimmered in the light. The stained glass behind him glowed, radiating his features.
His expression was emotionless, however. "And all the others are ready as well?"
"Yes, they're ready." The alchemist nodded grimly. "The Icon of Peace is prepared, and the Icon of Joy has just been dragged up from the pits. The other Icons are being brought in. You, my prince, will have your six subordinates by this time tomorrow."
The prince smiled slightly. It was a cruel, cold smile that seemed to suck every drop of warmth from the room, like the smile of a dead corpse.
"Excellent." He paused. "I am ready to be made perfect, Sidonus. The world has waited too long for Man's sins, Man's evils, to be destroyed. This will make all things right, my friend."
The sickened scientist, who honestly believed it too, nodded. "Yes. All humanity will be made right now, one we begin the Purging. We will be perfect. And you, my prince, will be the greatest Icon, the leader of them all, the loving hero all will look to for all hope and greatness!" He rasped, with a grin.
The prince's smile faded. "I will be the Icon, Sidonus, rest assured of that. If you betray me, it will be you who is first purged. Remember that also." With that, the prince turned back to face the stained glass window. Another grinding noise came up almost through the floor to cut the quiet. It faded again.
The alchemist turned to go, but the princely experiment wasn't finished.
"By this time tomorrow, little scientist, all the world will be paid for in full, and they will forever regret the day they dared betray me. She will regret it. My father will regret it. And most important, every single wretched monster like her and my father will be destroyed. Evils like them will no longer stain the world." He looked over his shoulder at Sidonus. "Make sure you are clean, Sidonus, before the Purging begins. You are not exempt from it. You are human too." With that, he turned again to face the glass wall.
The alchemist nodded furiously and hastily exited, glad to shut the door and step back out into the hallway. He stood there thinking for a moment. Perhaps his 'experiment' was getting more dangerous as time went on, after all. Angels were not made in a day...much less human ones.

(OOC) The World, And Everything In It

I've just added a full compendium of the world we are playing with. There is a list of species and a history now up. Please note that the Fae species is incomplete at the moment. Me and Amaras are discussing some details for them. Also, a Geography section is up but empty. A map and description of the current landmass and political boundaries will be up soon (as soon as Amaras finishes that map. That's right, blame him. I declare that to be standard policy).

Review your recent posts and make sure nothing conflicts so far. However, do not be afraid to suggest new additions, changes, or information on anything! What I have put up is a framework for all of us to reference and build upon.

Troubles and Trials

Suddenly exploding into action, the Amaras traveler made a frantic leap after the fleeing figure of the person the doorway, growling as he went and watched the figure disappear outside into the darkness. Crashing through the already crashed inn took some dodging of broken furniture and a few growls of disgust as it snapped and was kicked away, but he made it across.
“YOU! STOP!” He shouted, hoping the unknown person would heed. As he dashed out into the wet street, drawing his sword, Gildor glared down the road at the flying, slender figure, fast disappearing into the night to be lost. For a split second the Amaras thought about pursuing, but gave it up. He was tired, and older, and thus probably slower, and furthermore he wasn’t looking to chase everyone who ran or looked suspicious.
As he pulled his hood back over his head, glaring into the rain and distance where the stranger had disappeared, listening the rain beat down on him. The scent of the cold outside hit the elf-man again, and he sighed, shoulder sagging a little.
“What in Creation…was that?” He asked no one in particular. No one answered, for obvious reasons.
He stood in the rain, gazing after the lost stranger, until at length he turned back inside from the gray, soaked street and into the inn. As he entered again, ducking under the high beam of the door, the Amaras pulled back his hood again, revealing once more his relatively dry features.
“I wonder who that was?” He muttered aloud, within range of the innkeeper, but not expecting much of an answer. As a veteran warrior, he knew how to use his mind, and was already at work. Gildor was no fool. If it had been an assassin, she/he/it had played poorly, so he doubted that. A spy? Perhaps. Enemies of the innkeeper? He looked in the man’s direction.
“Make any sense to you, good innkeeper?” He queried.


Ewan had long since given up the idea of struggling in his chains. That was pointless. Life in general seemed pointless when one had been chained underneath a tower for what felt like thousands of years. The idea of time seemed pointless and non-existent now, as though time itself just WAS, rather than being something articulate. If it existed at all.
The blackness only deepened and continued to mock him. Occasionally a light or two, just barely bright enough to be noticed, would flicker at the edge of his vision, but he knew far better now. It was merely his eyes playing tricks on him. Would he go blind at last, chained to the pitch darkness itself for so long?
The chains rattled a little as he flinched slightly, drawing his legs up and hugging them to himself. It was also very cold in the dungeons, but that was of course the least of his problems.
How in Creation had he gotten into such a mess as he was in? At what point did he go wrong? These questions tormented him. At first, years ago, he had been a simple ranger’s son, living on the land by hunting, trapping, and traveling the forested mountains around his homeland, occasionally visiting the cities. By nature, rangers were nomads and wanderers of the wilds, having family clans that were experts at living in the wild for years on end without having to contact civilization. It was a hard, but good life.
Then, old enough to shoot a bow and use an long sword, he had gone traveling on his own, as young men do once they grow old enough. Perhaps it was not that, but rather the direction in which he went that proved the first wrong step.
He found the very tower he was now trapped in, and had apparently been welcomed by them…then. The tower was always looking for strong young men to join the ranks of the ‘guards,’ the sentries and patrols who constantly patrolled it’s surrounding land. Men, trolls, and furies were all soldiers of the tower, and he, being excellent with sword and bow, was gladly accepted. Naturally like any enterprising young man looking for gold, power, and respect in the ranks, he had joined willingly.
For a few years he had patrolled and worked for the tower, a ‘black ranger,’ as civilized folk called them, rangers who served certain unsavory masters. He had patrolled the edges of the tower’s land, arrested and imprisoned trespassers, and on some occasions, ambushed and killing trespassers who were too dangerous…or to close.
His ‘master,’ that is, the person who ruled the tower with an iron fist, was a man that Ewan had really only seen a few times, and spoken with only once or twice. Though always surrounded by a couple of highly trained fury guards, the ‘master,’ who occasionally inspected the barracks and troops, was a small, older man who walked with a cane and stooped with a hunch, an invalid. How he was supposed to be so powerful, Ewan had no idea. Or rich. Or respected. But whatever the case, he paid well, so Ewan had asked no questions about the unusual ‘master,’ who spoke very little and walked even less.
And then, randomly, from out of nowhere, Ewan had been snatched out of his bunk at early dawn in the barracks, beckoned by a few of the higher level guards…and was immediately knocked out when something nailed him in the back of the head from behind as he had stepped out of his barracks that morning.
And that was the last time he remembered seeing some natural light in his life.
When he awoke, he was there. In chains. In the dark, watching his captors clang shut the door behind him with groggy vision. And that was eras ago.

When he heard the keys rattle and the door open, Ewan thought it was just a dream again and nearly dozed off, thinking the noise was not real. Until he heard footsteps and a rough, gloved hand reached down out of the open doorway and dragged him up.
“ACH!” He barked painfully, his body hurting to be so suddenly moved and jerked after months of barely moving at all. He looked up with a snarl into the face of the heavily armored jail ward.
The large, dirty, heavyset man with the dark beard glared at him in the torchlight, as someone behind him, a minion no doubt, held the torch close.
The jail guard grunted. “Yep, this is him. Take him up.”
The minion with the torch, a tiny, slender man as opposed to his large, fat friend, hurriedly rushed into the cell with the key and unlocked Ewan’s arms and legs. Ewan, still so weak after months of imprisonment, could only be helplessly held in the jailer’s grip. He struggled feebly, but it was worthless.
“The master has use for you finally.” The jailer muttered, and half dragged, half pushed Ewan’s limp form out into the corridor. The door on his cell clanged shut, and the torchlight disappeared up the low hall. To the master’s chamber they went.

The Memory of Pain

Keiran let out the breathe he had been holding back as the traveler walked past him into the tavern. As the air hit him again his nose wrinkled like a wolf smelling a dead carcass. In the darkness, his eyes glittered and smoldered. Amaras! There were few things he hated more.

When he closed his eyes, he could still taste the horrible acid flavor that had contaminated ever mouthful of air he had manage to gulp between the torturous pain. He’d tried to remain conscious because that was the only way to find out information about what they were doing to his body. However, the agony had frequently made it too difficult to remember anything, and he’d often fallen unconscious before hearing the answers he needed so desperately. The blue and white cloaked demons that capture him had bound him to a board with chains, then cut open his flesh, only to pour vile substances into the wounds. The wounds were left open to bleed as long as possible while they forced more liquids into the bleeding gashes. Finally they would bind up the cuts with clothes that were kept constantly saturated with something that smelled like a combination of acid, burnt hair, and blood. The only thing that kept him alive was the thought of saving his sister and a burning desire for revenge that grew stronger with ever slash of the knife. Almost a year after escaping now, he still didn’t know enough. All he knew was he had changed drastically. He was no longer the same human or even human at all.

The rain streaming down in incessant sheets should have made it impossible for him to hear anything beyond a foot or two, yet he heard clearly the traveler speaking to the tavern proprietor. While he’d been lost in memory a local villager had entered the tavern joining the Amaras. He now focused on the strains of conversation he’d been ignoring. “...trouble in the village.....raids....” It was the same story he’d heard at the tavern in the last village. What he needed were clues, answers to the whereabouts of his twin sister. Somehow he’d thought he would find them here.

Suddenly, he caught a fresh whiff of the Amaras’s scent. It sent his blood boiling and every instinct in him wanted to destroy the owner of that scent. It was almost identical to that of his captors! He struggled to resist, but his body lunged forward towards the door before he could stop it. There was nothing for it, he had no choice! Turning with all the will-power he could muster, he fled from the tavern with a long loping stride that would have put even the fasted horse to the test. It was just another thing that was wrong with him. How’d he’d gained this ability was more frightening then any of the experiments, and it was what he feared would eventually destroy him from the inside. It had happened twice now, once with the centaur and once with the wolf. The centaur had given him speed. The wolf had transformed his eyes into those of a hideous monster. Everyone who saw his eyes feared him, and everyone who didn’t distrusted him. Much as he hated it, he was beginning to understand what triggered the changes, and he knew it would happen again. He had to find out what they’d done to him and save his sister before it killed him.