|
The Arcane Order |
| Vendui',
As you may or may not know, I was afflicted with a grievous wound over a month ago. Pierced with a foul weapon by a murderer in Moonglow, the wound has yet to heal. It has become a perpetual infirmity, tearing open whenever I push myself too far. Thus far, none have been able to divine its origin. However, seeing your... unique... magics the other day in your curing of the Lady Amanda, I wonder if, perhaps, you might be able to discover the force behind this unhealing wound. I may be found near the Silver Arrow, where you happened across me last. Please respond as soon as you are able, as my situation has been growing steadily worse for some time now. Bel'la Dos, |
| The world reforms in his vision. Darn... still
haven't marked that rune closer to the Silver Arrow. He thinks for a
second, trying to remember why he marked it so far to begin with. Then,
shrugging, he moves on.
Hmmm. Been spending an unusual amount of time here lately. He opens the door to the Arrow and sniffs the smell of food cooking in the oven. Ah well, it beats the Keg and Anchor. He moves in and glances at the message board, always curious about the people who leave their lives for everyone to read. Huh... a message for me. That's odd. He scans the writing, wondering about words like "Vendui'" don't the elves say "Vedui'"? and "Bel'la Dos" never heard that before. "But, I guess he is old Academy." He looks around the room and doesn't see the Drow. So he walks to the door and out into the clearing. He wants me to find him where I last met him? Jeez. Where was that? I found them by Accident! Azeron wanders into the wood, hoping to accidentally find the Drow again. |
| In the shadows he hid, trying to quell an
unreasoning fear that something terrible was going to happen. He was not
armed with his war fork, but held a long spear that one of the faeries
had given him. He was not at comfortable with the weapon — it was not
as quick as his favored fork or kryss — but it allowed him to aide his
failing walk like a cane, without appearing like a sign of weakness.
Then, in the quiet of the afternoon, he saw Azeron Daefaroth wandering through the woods. He moved with a grimace, planning a course that would intercept the Magus. My condition is getting worse. Far worse... He attempted to quicken his pace, but decided that he could catch the other easy enough without pushing. "Vendui' abbil." Khalin looked at the face of the mage, noticing a slight grimace on his face. At first, Khalin attributed it to the usual prejudice he received when approaching someone unexpected. Then he felt a wave of lightheadedness. It was only when he recovered from the slight loss of equilibrium that he realized what Azeron was staring at. The fine chains of his mail leggings were slick with a crimson gloss. He stared down for a moment before removing a glove and touching the mail. He brought his hand up to eye level, rubbing warm blood between his thumb and index finger. This is getting FAR worse... |
| Azeron looked down at the leg, blood flowing
through Khalin's clothing and armor to form a slick layer running down
its length.
"Dear god!" Arcane gestures began. There was no time to waste. With a "Vas Rel Por" he opened up a shimmering blue moongate. "Step inside... Figuring out what's wrong with you may take time, and I need to take you somewhere where you'll be looked after in the interim." He waited for Khalin to walk through before doing so himself. He only paused for the briefest of moments when he felt that same, strange chill that he had felt the other day. |
The
Library Arcane: The Lord of the Dead