|
The Arcane Order |
| Grendal, Grey Paladin of the Grey Guard,
paced the small and dusty home that he shared with Dolthrandis. His
movement was silent, despite the added weight of plate and chain armor,
and extraordinarily graceful. His green eyes glow softly, radiance that
seems to slowly seep outward. Every fifth repeated set of steps, he will
stop and turn to the figure slumped in a padded chair by the fire. The
figure by the fire is dressed in blackened plate armor that is engraved
with ancient and bloodstained runes. The figure does not move for some
time, and eventually Grendal clears his throat.
“Dolth… be ye there? I knows I shouldnae be disturbin’ ye when yer trancin' and such, but I gots to talk to ye… Dolth?” The figure shudders, and suddenly the eyes snap open, and a volcanic orange glow shines from the eye slits of the helm. Slowly, the helm turns toward Grendal, and a harsh voice echoes about the small house. “Grendal…” A voice-tearing whisper… “Grendal... hold a moment.” Dolthrandis carefully pulls off his helm, eyes fading to an icy blue, and then sets the helm on the nearest chest. Dolthrandis opens another chest, carefully pulls out a small vial of a viscous reddish substance, which he uncorks and slowly swallows. As he swallows, he begins to strengthen, shadows being pulled closer to him, cloaking and protecting him. Dolthrandis sighs softly, regretfully, and then turns his attention to Grendal in full. “Yes, my brother? I can only assume this is an emergency, since you have been told not to disturb me when I am traveling in spirit form…” Grendal nods emphatically, horridly. “I knows, Dolth. But this be an emergency! Me friend… Me friend Melyanna… She be sick, Dolth. She been touched, I thinks. An’ whatever touched her done touched another elf! I kin smell it on 'em, I ran into em at th’Abbey… His name be Khalin, methinks. Kin ye helps me? Please Dolth?” Dolthrandis regards Grendal; momentarily take aback by the urgency of the request. “But of course, my brother. You know you have only to ask, and all that is mine is yours. I have examined her, you know.” Grendal stops dead, and focuses directly on Dolthrandis’s face. “Dolth… is she gonna die?” Dolthrandis shrugs, and looks away. “She has a… curse, I suppose you might say. There is someone who has tied into her life energy, and they are draining it away. The tie feels daemonic, but beyond that I cannot tell you anything. She spirited herself away shortly after I spoke with her. I imagine she was… discomfited by me.” Dolthrandis momentarily gazes out the window at the starry night. “What is wrong with her is not… sickness. It is something else.” He looks again at Grendal, eyes the color of a frozen lake. “I will speak with others, if you wish. Are you trying to help her?” Grendal looks down, and wipes at his face, hands suddenly streaked with watery blood. “I gots to, Dolth… She be a friend… I cannae let her just… be alone…” Grendal looks up, face streaked with bloody tears. “D’ye understand, Dolth?” Dolthrandis nods gravely, and puts a gauntleted hand on Grendals shoulder, then squeezes gently. “I will do my best, brother. Have you spoken with the other elves about this?” Grendal looks down again, and shakes his head yes. “But they donnae listen tae me, Dolth! I tried speakin’ to a healer o’thiers, an’ she laughed at me! She made fun o’me… How can I save ‘er if the healers wont even help?” After a sympathetic pat, Dolthrandis puts his arm down, and gently tilts Grendal’s head upward. “Be of calm heart, my brother. I will speak with others… and they will listen. And show me the face of this one who laughed at you… I would remember it for future times.” Grendal carefully relaxes his mind, all the laborious shields that Dolthrandis has taught him. He feels briefly a warmth, fleeting like a wraith in bright sun, steal over his mind, touching here and there. He sees briefly in his minds eye the vision of a graceful elvish lady, which then vanishes. Then he sees something else, a dark man… and the magickal smell the man had. Corruption… Dolthrandis closes his eyes, shaking his head gently to clear it. “This was the women, yes? And the man who is causing this?” Gendal nods, silent. Dolthrandis turns back to the chair, walks to it and sits, then retrieves the blackened helm again. With his back to Grendal, he says “Go brother. Hunt the one who has touched your elf friend. If you find him, learn what you can, be stay distant. There is no profit in exposing yourself to danger…” Grendal nods, eyes glowing a hard and fanatical green. His face is still now, hungry and alert, and every sense drinks in the night. He opens the door, whistling softly, and a horse shows in the night mists. Carefully he shuts the door, and rides away… Hunting. Dolthrandis sighs, then puts on the plate helm. With one softly spoken word, a glowing, flaming blue pentagram appears around him. Slowly then, animation fades from the body, the eyes slowly close. The body slumps, and briefly there is a ghostly image of a man… with blackened wings, holding a glowing bardiche, limned with runes which crawl and shift… There is a whisper of wind in the small house, and a voice whispers on it, carried on the winds to a crypt… “Necromancer…” Tarsis looks up from his book… “Dolthrandis.” “Necromancer… we must speak…” |
The
Library Arcane: The Lord of the Dead