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The Arcane Order |
| Melyanna huddled in fear next to the
sarcophagus as the menacing figure stood above her, its scimitar that
raised high, poised to strike her. Dim light glinted off the wickedly
sharp edge, which promised to slice cleanly through whatever it struck. You
are still mine, my dear. Your meddling husband won't save you now!
growled the sinister voice, as the figures eyes glowed crimson. With
those words, the figure waved its hand towards a corner Melyanna had not
noticed before. The bloodied altar was surrounded by the eerie glow of
candlelight.
Now, shall we play our game?. With that, he cruelly wrapped his hand in Melyanna's long auburn curls and pulled the struggling elf towards the altar. Mely screamed in abject terror as she struggled in vain to escape the madman who looked exactly like her husband…except for those eyes. Those eyes were the only way she knew it was not he. Despite her struggles, she soon found herself bound to the altar and he stood above her. Long fingers lovingly caressed the intricately carved blade he now held as he described, in detail, what he was going to do to her. MELA!! she screamed silently, trying to use their bond to reach out to him, hoping that what he had said about watching over her in her sleep was true. Azeron , hearing his wife’s screams, instinctively knew where to go. He ran through the streets of Jhelom till he reached the cemetery. Her screams echoed hollowly through the crypt as he stood in the doorway, his eyes taking a moment to adjust to the dimness within…. |
| Azeron took his first tentative steps into
the crypt, prepared for the conflict that had become part of his nightly
vigil over his wife. As if on cue, the doppelganger spun to meet him
with crimson eyes. “You're late, lover,” it mocked.
“Aren’t you getting tired of me beating you every night?” Azeron’s voice was confident, but it was little more than bravado, shown for Melyanna’s sake. If she knew how much these nightly encounters were hurting him... “Oh, I’ve been preparing some special treats for you this eve...” And with that, the creature lunged with the scimitar. Azeron hopped backward, dodging the blade, and moving out of the crypt into the daylight. The creature watched and laughed. “Good, good. Now, try this... An Ex Por!” Azeron felt his feet anchored instantly to the ground as he watched the doppelganger advance. The scimitar began spinning and came down from the top. Azeron lunged hard to the side, and the razor's edge caught his sleeve, cutting through it effortlessly. But the angle was good enough that it slid without biting into skin. The creature followed through with a wide sweep across the midsection. Instinctively, Az sucked in his stomach, trying to dodge. However, his anchored feet kept him in place. An instant later, the blade had passed by without cutting flesh, but Azeron was falling backward, his feet still stuck to the floor. It was a marble headstone that saved him, though. Pain shot through his neck as he toppled back, but it was enough to nullify the spell. Azeron continued the motion, just as the creature came down with another overhead strike, escaping injury with what turned into a reverse somersault. He regained his footing, and glared defiantly at the doppelganger. “Is that the best you’ve got?” The creature just smiled. The next moment was a blur. The crimson-eyed twin jumped forward, vaulting himself off of a tombstone and over Azeron. In the air he spun, letting his blade swing down. Az ducked, but not before the blade tore into his shoulder. He let out a scream... he hadn’t expected an injury in this realm to feel quite as real as in the real world. Instead, it felt worse. His hand moved instinctively to his left shoulder... and the blood seemed frighteningly real... |
| Melyanna struggled against the shackles that
held her bound to the altar. She could hear Azeron and the creature
fighting just outside the crypt. I must help him... she thought
to herself, her struggles causing the rusty manacles to bite deeply into
the tender flesh of her wrists. The sounds of the struggle outside were
suddenly inside again and Melyanna watched in morbid fascination as her
husband dodged the doppelganger’s attacks.
Then the crimson-eyed creature was launching itself off a tombstone and over Azeron, slicing downward with his scimitar as he did so. Azeron's scream of pain drowned out Melyanna's as she saw the blood on his shoulder... Melyanna woke up to the sound of her own scream echoing in their bedroom. Her hair was plastered to her face by her own sweat as fearful emerald eyes looked towards Azeron, who was reaching for his wife. It was still dark outside, just enough moonlight shone through the window to bathe his features in an eerie light. Melyanna clung desperately to Azeron. "Why Mela? Why can’t I escape these?" she sobbed against his shoulder. Azeron soothed his wife as best he could, before lighting the candle next to him. As the candlelight penetrated the veil of darkness, Melyanna gasped in shock as she saw his shoulder. "Azeron! You’re hurt!" Slender fingers gingerly tested the deep purple, almost black bruise that was just starting to come to the surface. As she explored the shoulder, her eyes slide across the broad expanse of his chest noting other bruises along his rib cage and abdomen. "You said you wouldn’t get hurt..." she whispered quietly, guilt eating at her. |
| "No, mela," he whispered. Azeron
could see the pain and the guilt in Melyanna's eyes. "I never said
I would not get hurt. I said that we would bear this together..."
He looked at her, trying to make her understand the lengths that he would go to in order to protect her. He winced slightly as her fingers traced the surface of the dark bruise that he knew reached deep into his shoulder. Mely's eyes were quickly brimming with tears, and he raised a hand to her cheek. "No tears, mela. And no guilt. We'll get through this together..." With a labored grunt, he propped himself up in the bed, and Mely could see the matching streak of purple down his back — a clear indicator that this was caused by the nightmare. She began to open her lips in order to form a protest when Azeron cut her off. "Melyanna, we're doing this together. And that's not open for debate. You know you would do the same for me." His tone softened. "But, what I need from you now is some gentle care and some healing words of power." He looked into her eyes, hoping that she would be able to break away from the guilt if she was able to help him in return. And he sincerely hoped that her magic could cure the terrible ache that tore through his chest... |
| He was right, they could do anything as long
as they worked together. Their bond was proof of that, she thought
quietly. "Uma, Melamin, I will try..." she whispered quietly.
It had been so long since she had tried to use her magicks and the pain
associated with it made her hesitate a moment. But this was Azeron, her
bondmate, she would do anything to ease his pain.
In Vas Mani Melyanna chanted the words of power, her hands gently resting on him, one hand on his chest and the other on his back, near the bruising. There was pain, but she bit her lip trying to endure it. Slowly the deepest of the bruises faded, healing from inside. She whispered the words of power again. Again she bit her lip, this time drawing a small trickle of blood as the spell drained more of the meager energy she had left. "Enough, Mely..." Azeron interrupted as his wife started to chant the words a third time. "I do not want you any weaker than you are." He gathered her close once again, wincing at the pulling in his shoulder, though it was not as it had been moments before. His thoughts turned to what had happened in the dream... |
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The man awoke with a start. The ending of the dreaming-gestalt had been sudden, taking him by surprise. As his eyes slowly opened, he saw the young girl sitting in her chair as she had been when he began his trance. She paid him no notice, save for the sideways glance she sometimes cast in between her brews of rank and powerful poisons. He sat up slowly, the rings of his armor clanging quietly. He stood up, taking a few steps toward the skull candle in the corner of the room, slowly waving a hand over it and watching the wisps of smoke dance upward as he did so. The young girl watched him for a moment, an unusual curiosity coming over her. He stroked his read beard for a moment, and then spun on his heels, heading quickly upstairs. He began sorting through the books and tomes he had collected over the years, searching for something in particular. Then, pulling out a dusty, age-worn book he smiled. he took a deep breath, then blew a century's worth of dust from the binding. Setting the book onto the table with a "thud", he opened the yellowed-pages, turning them carefully until he reached the text he was searching for. It read... Baal’morda:
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The
Library Arcane: The Lord of the Dead