Thread: The Swords Lady

Prologue


It is a Land far from that of yours and mine. To inquire directions to such a place would be of no use. It is shall I say, beyond the sanctity of you and I to reach. Try as you may...

It has been written that the gods must have had a sick sense of humor when our quest first came to their minds. They sat in their Astral Planes and cast bets amongst one another, perhaps out of boredom; mostly out of the attempt to prove one another inferior.

When our Land was not quite one thousand years into the, shall I say, becoming civilized and all wild things being domesticated, the Orcs crossed the warm green waters of Grette and settled unnoticed in the Mountains of Errol. There, as if a mold consuming everything, their howls echoed throughout the valleys, and the beautiful rivers ran wild with blood.

For 500 years their evil matured. Great plumes of smoke bellowed from chimneys of stone. Vast toothed wheels rolled the bones of the dead into meal for black bellies. Slowly, a cry flew from the mouths of the people in the reluctant south. Orcabane was now threatening their very doors.

She...I mean the Sword of Dragonsbreath fell into the hands of the Orcian forces in the year 769ty. "The Soul of Princess Chiselmyst is lost!" the Lands cried. And, with that, the faces of men lifted to the gods in horror...in hopelessness.

Forgive me...please forgive me! I have failed to tell you of the Soul that is trapped in the Sword. How could I forget such a thing?

A saviour was born in the Winter of Misery, nigh to 222 years ago. The world was in a darker place than it had ever been in at that time. Prophecy had told of her coming, and that as long as her soul inhabited the Lands, no evil would ever truely overcome her people. So all was safe in the hearts of men. Are we not foolish?

The Castle of Shadowvale came under attack when the Princess was 15. For a moment in time the hearts of men shuddered as the thin girl lay dying on the floor of the throne chamber. Her existence was fading...her face was pale. The tail of a thick arrow protruded from her heart.

The Elders came with a sword....a marvelous weapon containing a soul-gem. As they chanted the soul of the once mortal Princess found new life in the soul-gem that now glows with a deep blue as her lovely eyes once did. It pulses deep...deep...deep in the gloom of the orcian stronghold. The orcs do not know what they have stumbled upon, but, undoubtedly will realize it before long.

Now, for the Gods...they set in the Heavens and cast lots upon the heads of a few adventurers to save the shallow existence of humanity.



RULES....

Outside talk must be accompanied by an Out of Character mark "OOC" and limited so as to not fill up the screen with conversation. Meaning- "OOC- and then add in conversation".
Goddmoding is not allowed.
No magic beyond simple alchemy or parlor-tricks. It makes it too easy to godmode.
PM me if you want to join. (I only want a few people as to give the thread a comfortable closeness that keeps us all interested and friends)
Spelling-This is a writing site. Nothing more need said.
All posts should be no less than three paragraphs. No one-liners. No rushed done posts. Lets use our ability as up and coming writers with a shared interest!
I will post the start-off thread in the next post as to give you all an idea of what the story is about and the style we want to keep it under.

-Battlemage

Ratik.
His name was Ratik. His face was etched deep against the shoulder length brown hair. Dark rings hugged his eyes. Through those deep blue eyes, life spoke volumes. Happy times had been few. A lost love entered his memory for a brief moment. The misery his mother went through before her untimely death one winter so long ago. The loss of his father on the fields of battle, even though he had been a simple smithy.
"I know its cold, Palatine," the big man shuddered as he pulled the cloak closer to his body. The brown steed, of apparent Preath breeding so noted for its rippling muscles, tossed her head against the wind as if understanding her masters words. "The city walls should not be much further."
The shield bouncing lightly on the saddle hook bore the coat-of-arms of a skull, inset on velvet green. This was the feared insignia of the 'Freelands of Gendorr' and he was riding home after some years. What had changed, he asked himself. His thoughts scoured the thick grey walls and flew in close as if a dove. Thick wooden roofs beckoned him. Stone chimneys bellowed smoke that gathered from so many in a choking mass that threatened to block out even the sun.
Shaking his head, the man eased the steed forward into a grove of icy trees. He was hungry. Dried pork had gotten drab. His remaining hard biscuit had crumbled to a hundred pieces in his cloak. In here, the wind was not so piercing, but, he had a horrible feeling he was not alone. Palatines' nervous eyes rolled around, too.
Leaving the trees behind, they found themselves on the road again. It was muddy. The days travel had churned the snow to black mush, that under the falling sun ran away across the countryside like a ribbon. A wagon came up behind them. They shifted into the trees and watched effortlessly as the carriage galloped toward Gendorr in a flight to beat the foes of nightfall.
"The whole worlds in a rush," Ratik spoke under his breath. Again his steed, his only trustworthy friend, nodded in agreement.
They camped that night two miles outside of the great battlements of the city. Even from this distance, the watchtowers could be seen glowing with faint magic that lit the outside of the walls. Beyond there was a brighter glow. That was the glow of the city within in all her glory.
Gendorr sat on the edge of the Desolate Region. It was the sanctuary for nearly ten thousand against the unknown that stretched out into the untamed kingdoms of the north. Through her gates trade criss-crossed the Lands- rare trade. The kind of trade that came from the minions that delved in the wild-lands.
Gendorr was a watchtower as to say, and her history stretched back across time for nearly 800 years. Many dark wars had come to her great black gates. The cemetary to the east of her, situated between the river that flowed through great gates to give life to the vast city state, bore witness to that. Most graves were unmarked, save those in Hero's Field, where the proud military of Gendorr were often left to rest.
Dawn lifted her orange curtain in the eastern sky finding the rider moving in among the clutter of the morning streets. The aroma of quick food hung heavy in the air. One had to grimace though for the sour smell of toiling animals and open sewage was also lurking. Wagons bore their burdens of beer and fat up and down the streets. Uniformed workers bumped into each other in their morning ritual of getting to work or delivering that mornings order of say eggs and butter to their shops.
Ratik turned off the main causeway onto a narrow alley. Here it was less of a frenzy. Pots and empty milk bottles were stacked by the doors. A maid quickly closed the door as the clippity-clop of Palatine's hooves neared her door. Ratik grinned. Did he really look that threatening?
These were streets that he remembered well. For many years he found himself among these same arched corridors when he was on-leave from the garrison that sets in the greater walls at the center of the city. He had his first real romantic encounter in a chamber beyond that door. Never had he loved the thin elven-blooded lady. Alcohol had gotten the best of the two friends that night. Needless to say, their friendship had quite played out that summer night.
"Well speaking of old faces!" came a famaliar voice from behind.
Before he even turned his face over pauldroned shoulder, he muttered the joyous words of ,"Mantze!"
"Where the Hades have you been?" the old bartendor demanded as the big man slid down off his horse and hugged him lightly. "I haven't heard from you since your message arrived two months ago."
"My road has been long, old friend." That was all Ratik had said till the stable boy was taking his horse off to the warm stables flipping a bronze piece in his hands. "Beer. Beer will warm my gut."
"Bit early for beer isn't it?" Mantze exclaimed with a smile. "Hehe, it was never too early for a good sip O' ale after a long ride."
The tavern was empty this early in the morning. A few candles were lit out in the center of the chamber. The place was small. Smaller than Ratik had remembered it, but, nonetheless cozy as ever. Before too long, he was slopping down fresh biscuits and beef. Beef was a hard commodity to come by in the winter. Mantze saved it for only special guests. Ratik smiled.
"So..." the bartendor shuddered. He could not resist asking. As most old men are, he was a gossiper. But, he knew who to gossip to. "The Duke has summoned you?"
"Not only me, Mantee-boy." Ratik stuffed his mouth and downed a mug of ale. "I am to go on quest with somebody else."
"Your mercenary days are coming back to haunt you, Ratik. Your reputation leads you."
"Naaaw," the warrior disagreed. He was not a proud boaster.
His eyes focused on the door.
"So who else has been summoned?"
Ratik shrugged.
He had no idea.

Sorry if you already read it BM, i changed it cause i had a better idea for my character i hope its okay...it's going to be a surprise

The shadows of flames licked the walls of the room, casting an eerie light upon the rooms single ocupant...A girl, the majority of her black hair wrapped in what appeared to be bandages behind her head, the remainder falling on her face, partially covering her emerald green eyes. Another band of cloth was tied tightly around the top of her head, small lumps obviouse under them...lumps most people mistaked for hair. The girl sat with her back to a wall watching the rooms door, her eyes darting this way and that as if to make sure there we're no attacks coming from the shadows. Cautiously she sniffed the air, before standing up and grabbing the blade from the ground beside her.

A creaking floor board echoed throughout the room the girl tensed, slowly shifting her blade as if to ready an attack. A small breeze stired within the room, gently moving legs of the girls loose fitting pants, revealing another abnormality, a lump running down the side of her leg, somthing that almost appeared tighed there. She stood there unblinking, listening, her ears picking up the sound of muffled footsteps approaching the room.

Her muscles all tensed then relaxed readying her body for an attack, the door creaked open, but she still stood firm, waiting for the person show themselves, another breeze stired, she sniffed and lowered her blade, a small smile playin on her lips,
"Mirua, how many times have i told you not to sneak around like that, one day you might be downwind and i'll kill you" A young boy walked into the room, he nodded,
"Sorry Ziadia, It's just..." the boy frowned and Ziadia walked foward kneeling next to him, a hand on his shoulder, "I can't stay here anymore?" The boy looked up almost shocked and nodded, "Mum and dad have been getting suspisious of all the food going missing and..." she held a hand up to silence him, "Don't worry, I have to leave anyway." she walked over to a corner and grabbed a small bag, before walking over too the window. Mirua walked over to her and looked out, "Your leaving this way?" Ziadia nodded and climbed up onto the windowsill, crouching she smiled at him, "Thank you Mirua" after that she jumped. Mirua darted to the window but couldn't see her anywhere.

Ziadia hung onto the windowsill until she couldn't smell Mirua anymore before letting herself drop the small way to the streets below.

Looking around Zandra shrugged, she really didn't have anywhere to go right away, she started walking along the narrow sidestreets avoiding any large groups of people. As she moved around in them someone caught her eyes, a young man with a horse. She followed him at a distance, thinking carefully about her moves making sure she kept herself hidden.

Her eyes didn't leave him even as the bartender greated him, she had been down to this tavern a few times, mostly hiding around sitting in dark corners and scareing the stable boys, a past time which as much as she hated it she couldn't kick. She watched as the pair entered the taven waiting a few moments before sliding in herself, taking to a dark corner near the door, her eyes watched the young man still, as he ate, but made sure whenever his eyes even wandered in her general direction to be looking the other way.

"...and the World was saved by the meeting of a few people...and Men, elves, and dwarves would sing tales of their adventure and wish to merely weild a blade in the quest"- quote from the Gale Diaries of Lord Laudomia of Ulesh, in the Year of the Raven, 972ty.

A light shower of dust fell from the rafters above the bar. It was dark up there. Safe. Safe from the prying eyes of men who always sought the unknown. Two beady green eyes watched. Behind those...two keen ears listened to the language of Men...

The tavern was full of people. Many were 'regulars' of whom Mantze the tipple talked to as if among old friends. But, he was a wise old man, and in his thirty plus years of serving ale and eats, he had gained the talent of reading thoughts. Mantze knew people.
The common orange glow of lanterns luminated the chamber. Off at the back, seated off-set in the wall, the light crackle of a warm fireplace drew the fondest crowd. They were mostly rough men with tales of adventure and the stiff talk of women from abroad. Their voices grew louder as they gulped the sharp ale. The 'women of the night' mingled in among them, eyes wide with the expectation of earning this nights wager for service.
Ratif sat off to the eastside of the scene slumped slightly in his chair. He had rode hard for many days. His gut was full. His senses tingled with the spirits that he had drank. He longed for more, but, his better judgement sided against it. Ever so often, he would glance up to the bar where his old friend was watching the door expectantly.
To pick a new face out of the crowd was simply forlorn this night, there were many travellers traversing the floor seeking amusement. Mantze smiled to himself. Tonight there would be good profit and grand tips.
The glitter and rattle of armor was everywhere. Weapons, normally not given admittance clattered against chain and plate. Ratif shook his head lightly to himself. Was the world big enough for so many heros?
The rafter overhead let out with a slight creak and sigh. Mantze barely noticed it. However, Ratif's eyes were searching the darkness for a few moments afterwards. The couple at the near table sneezed lightly and broke into laughter before returning to conversation. Ratif glanced at Mantze and shrugged.
The still-warmth of the tavern shuddered as the door to the street was opened. A woman, or at least it appeared to be, shifted through the door without a sound. A few weary glances strayed her direction. Mantze threw a stern look at Ratif. The newcomer had already caught his eye. His back straightened as he peered over the heads of the crowd between them.
The womans face was hidden; kept secret under a cowl that fell far enough over her forehead to keep her mysterious. The smell of winter and loneliness was upon her.
"What can I get you?" Mantze shuddered. His brow wrinkled as he tried to peer under the hood. His ears pricked. "I have not seen you here before. Warm yourself by the fire," and he waved a hand in front of the shelves of bubbling spirits behind him.

Above, in the rafters, the wind seemed to whisper. The imp leaned forward resting on one palm and squinted at the top of the womans head...

Ziadia smiled to herself as she took her set in the tavern. Her eyes darted around, wearily despite the welcoming atmosphere. When she was satisfied Ziadia sank back into her seat still keeping somewhat alert as her mind began to wander, two major questions had been bugging her since she's walked into this god forsaken town. The first 'What had happened Argo?' And the second, 'Why the hell did I answer the summons?!’ Despite the noise Ziadia found it easy to focus on these questions causing her to get lost in her thoughts.

"What can I get you?"
Ziadia jumped slightly at the friendly voice, her hand flinching slightly to the dagger strapped to her leg. As she looked up to meet the friendly face of the tavern owner she relaxed a small smiling gracing her lips which were barely visible under the cowl. As the taverns owner struggled to peer under her cowl her smile only grew more.
"I have not seen you here before. Warm yourself by the fire,"
Ziadia’s eyes followed his hand as he waved to the shelves of spirits behind him, but she merely shook her head politely,
“Thank you for the offer, but I will be just fine sitting here if that’s okay?” As she said this, her voice stayed sweet and polite, she looked behind the barkeep as if thinking, meeting the eyes of Ratif quickly before turning her attention back to the taverns owner,
“But if it’s not too much trouble could I please ask for a glass of water?” A shiver ran down her spine as she said this, her head moved upwards so that she could see into the rafters above her, her body alert sensing someone watching her, seeing nothing she shook her head to try and dispel the thought, but it wouldn’t leave.

((OOC: Hey BM, just letting you know two things, i re-wrote the paragraph(again ) and i'm going away for a week for uni stuff,))

A mug of ale toppled.
Hazlitt coughed. Eyes turned to him as he stood with chest puffed out. He stroked the great grey beard that hung down over his bonemold chestplate. Years of weathered adventure was on his face.
"Hazlitt is going to tell another story!" shouted someone from near the fireplace.
Mantze rushed around to fill the mugs. Storytime meant profit.
"I was in the Quoth Mountains about fifty years ago," he began. Inwardly, he smiled at the faces around. They were greedy for adventure stories, and he had many, many of them. "As you all know, those rugged peaks overlook the Noblelands of Dasturias." He coughed again to clear his throat to a better low; he wanted to sound gruff and wise. "The goblins have claimed that territory for centuries. My grandfather served in the Goblin Wars and felled the evil King Grokk...." he went on like this for several, several minutes. It was his trademark to throw out as many names in the tales as he could. He came off as being more important than he actually was. True, Hazlitt had served in many adventures, however, one could very easily call into question of just how many.
Ratik tuned the story out. He did not care to hear of anyone elses' brush with death or insane quest for fame and fortune. A life on the highway had put him into enough danger. If he wanted to retire from the whole adventuring scene, and become a Storyteller, he doubted not that he could earn a fine living at it. He would have his own cult following.
His attention turned turned briefly to the womanly shadow. He studied her for a spell then his gaze shifted to rafters where the flames danced with shades as if taunting him.
..."that was when the gore-beast burst through the trees to my right!" Hazlitt's lifted above the crowd throwing his arms up as if gazing toward the heavens. "And with my faithful battle axe in hand-" he fell deathly silent; his gaze was stuck to the rafters overhead. "What manner of devil is that up there?!"
One of the women who worked the crowd for pay, let out a shriek as her eyes grew accustomed to the shadows and the outline of the imp no more than six feet over her face.
Ratik threw himself to the floor as the winged creature swooped down with razor claws. His dive toppled a bench and three patrons went crashing to the floor. The tavern was in an uproar with women screaming and the unadventureous of the men scrambling to find the exit. Hazlitt's short form was lost on the sea of flailing bodies.
The imp lept down under the nearest table and for a moment was lost from view. The tablecloth waved momentarily before becoming still again. Ratik lifted himself up to one knee, both hands still flat on the floor. There was a deathly silence. The tavern was nearly empty. Mantze was peeping through the swinging doors behind the bartop.
The coyote was growling from somewhere over near the hearth.
"TURN..."came the low voice from under the table. It was more of a thought than actual words. All heard it who were in ear shot. "TURN BACK. DO NOT INTERFERE WITH THE LORD UNTARR..."
"Who are you?" Ratik exclaimed. The sword hilt was slowly sliding from the sheath at his side. "Speak, you devil? Who has sent you? Who is this Untarr?!"
"GO BACK..." the thoughts came once more.
Out on the streets the rattle and shout of the city guards came to their ears. Ratik glanced briefly at Mantze of whom was standing just behind the bar with a small club in his hand. There was no doubt about it, that without even looking, the presence of the demon was gone. They were alone.
As people slowly rose to their feet the Red Guard burst through the door. They were not the simple city guards as you might would have expected. Those city guards were behind the Red Guard on the street. These were the royal soldiers of the Duke of whom rarely came to the aide of the inhabitants outside of the Inner Sanctum walls of the great city.
"The Duke has summoned...you," he pointed at the dwarf, Hazlitt, "you" he motioned to the expectant Ratik, "yes, you", and his finger jutted toward the lone female who seemingly had not raced from the tavern. Ratik slid the sword back into his sheath. "The Elders have told of your arrival in Gendorr. He seeks audience. Follow me."
Little was to be said between the three at this moment. One by one they followed the the Red Guard leader through the door leaving Mantze to deal with the mess that littered his wood floor.
A carriage met them just at the end of the narrow alley. It was not elegant, rather one that had been apparently seized from the stables to taxi them to the inner city.
They found themselves pushed tightly together in the night air, with nothing more to do than to talk...

Perched high above the widened street was the imp. Through his pale red eyes, his master watched and witnessed all that the servant demon could see. As Untarr stood over the mystic cauldron that played like a picture-screen, he snorted through hairy nostrils and stamped his sharp-clawed feet...



OOC- We must decide how your character came to be part of the quest. A dream? A dream that wouldn't go away, perhaps??? Dunno. Have it, Babe!

OOC-Yeah, the dream idea sounds good. I'll have her be an oracle of sorts? Dreams about things and stuff. it works.

IC-
Ziadia kept her eyes focused on the table; this was the place she had dreamt about, she knew she needed to be here but why. Her mind aloud this question to dominate it, causing her not to notice the excited murmur as the old man, Hazlitt start his story. She shut her eyes breathing in the atmosphere, smirking to herself as she felt one of the young warriors gaze upon her. Removing her smirk she turned her head to look at him, only to find his gaze had moved up to the ceiling. She looked at him curiously for a moment before allowing her gaze to follow his, watching the flames shadows dance, not giving anything away. Shrugging she returned her gaze to the table…

After only a few moments a woman’s scream caused her to bring her gaze up once more, unlike everyone else in the tavern, Ziadia sat still watching the chaos unfold without the slightest bit of surprise on her face, she watched as the young man she had sensed watching her rolled out of the way, and as the unadventurous among the crowd darted for the doors. She watched the imp dart under the table next to hers without flinching in the slightest.

“TURN..."came the low voice from under the table. It was more of a thought than actual words. All heard it who were in ear shot. "TURN BACK. DO NOT INTERFERE WITH THE LORD UNTARR..."
Ziadia grinned as the voice came from under the table, a grin which only grew as the young man demanded answers.
"GO BACK..." Was all the demon said, before it’s presence disappeared completely. Ziadia pulled her cowl forward making sure it was still covering her face as the people left in the tavern slowly rose to their feet, and the Red Guard burst through the taverns doors. Shaking her head she turned listening carefully to the man as he spoke,
The Duke has summoned...you," she watched as his finger motion towards the dwarf, Hazlitt, "you" then as it went to the young man still kneeling on the floor, she made not of the fact that he seemed to expect it more than the others, "yes, you", the guard said finally jerking his finger back towards her, causing Ziadia to frown, It’s cause I’m female she thought with a growl and stood up, still listening to what else the guard had to say, her eyes only wandering to watch the young man slide his sword back into it’s sheath. "The Elders have told of your arrival in Gendorr. He seeks audience. Follow me." Ziadia nodded and followed after the guards allowing both the young man and Hazlitt to go first, still not saying a word as all three squeezed into the tiny carriage.

She looked between the two men and wondered to herself which would be the first to break the silence, I have my money on the old dwarf. She thought with an evil grin, mentally making sure that her cowl was still as far forward as I could be.

Ratik would have smiled inwardly to himself. One of them reminded him of the woman he had left behind in the trials and follies of his life. Princess Demeare had been promised to another in the name of keeping the peace between kingdoms. A midnight good-bye as the rain pattered on the roof of Adder Keep was all that he cared to remember of her. Two years....love....and then-gone. Gone like the wind coming off the ocean.
Fire. He found that a strong trait in a person. He sighed deeply to himself as he weighed the difference in how 'life-once-had-been' and how he was in the cold company of strangers, now.

The streets of Gendorr rushed by them. Night was deep and the lantern boys were making their rounds one by one bringing the beauty to life. The shadows fled from the ever growing glow. If one listened hard enough, it seemed that they shrieked as they retreated. Tomarrow they would return in their ever intense battle to defeat the light.
The thick clay brick became dark red stone, hewn from the ridges just west of the city. Here the echos became deeper and further. They passed through the heavily guarded wall of the Inner Sanctum. Ratik glanced over his shoulder as the cogwheel controlled gates were closed behind them. Sweat beaded his forehead just as quickly as the great doors came to final rest. He felt trapped and cast another glance at Ziadia curious if she was feeling the same.
"Clear the way!" cried the driver of the jostling carriage to a line of soldeirs as they returned from their early night jog, huffing and puffing. Their eyes strained to gain access through the windows of the carriage as it clattered by. "On business of the Duke!"
The street found a high grade, driving up...up...up the ever increasing hill. The thick walls of the houses thinned. The two and three leveled buildings fell away and the band found themselves among the surreal quietness of more formal structures bearing balconies and porticullas'. Wells dotted the street and by many were neat stables brimming with fresh hay and bustling with workers. Somewhere in the distance the ring of a hammer on anvil bounced lightly off the tin roofs.
The sight never ceased to amaze Ratik as the carriage bounded over the hilltop seemingly taking up speed. Setting in the middle of a deep, flat field was the Keep of Gendorr. He took a deep breath finding it easier to breath now.
The great black walls of the fortress lifted higher and wider as they neared. Windows ran in rows up every wall, some lit, some blackened, others filled with the frame of some noble as he watched the moon to the north over cold moors. The warrior leaned closer to the window as the silohuette of a dragon and its rider glided onto the roof some fifteen stories overhead.

The carriage finally crossed the moat that loomed up out of no where and burst through the Gate of Valor and into the openness of the courtyard beyond. Circling a great fountain it came to a screeching halt and the doors were slung open.
There was no kindness here. No apprehension for them being guests. No words even spoken in their direction. It was as if they were prisoners, but, not. Ratik took on a different demeanor now. The lines on his face that were then shallow, became deep ravines of thought. He led.
Corridors opened before them and soon they entered a hall-chamber decorated with various weapons, art from afar, and the shields and coat-of-arms of every major providence and state of the kingdom and her allies. A vast square table was sprawled in the middle of the floor. Upon it were silver dishware placed in the ritual of the land.
Two unarmored knights faultered from their conversing just long enough to question the passer-bys. One spoke quietly to the other and they both chuckled among themselves. It took them no time at all to get back to the business of their own.
The throneroom door came into view. It was not hard to discern that. A guard stood to eitherside of its yawning mouth, adorned in platemail and bearing a halberd. Only their beady eyes moved...bearly discernable through the slits in the pointed helmet faces.
"Ahhh, welcome!" came the salutation of a thin man with outstretched arms. He stood before them. His eyes traced the outlines of each. "The Duke, His Excellency, the Pride of Gendorr, Scourge of the Westlands, has been awaiting your arrival. Do approach the throne."
The court jester grinned half-hazardly as all eyes focused on the great man on the throne. The jester nodded with shiny teeth and cart-wheeled over to His feet. The tight suit she bore hid little to the imagination. She winked.

The Duke was truely an aged man. The light upon him was dim, so the shadows hid the tell-tale signs of history that Ratik so eagerly read people by. Here, he would have to guess outside of common knowledge.
"I trust your travel to my door was quick and without incident." The Dukes' voice was deep and sure of its footing. He was schooled well and the crimping accent of being a Diren(barbarian people of the NORR Regions descendent) gave him away.
The throne stretched out on eitherside with great arms of dragon. The back of the thronechair swooped down as a dragons neck and with mouth yawing up at the ceiling, therein burned a candle that cast everything in blue. A heavy battleaxe leaned against a table in arms distance of the hulking man.
"I summoned six..."he breathed deeply there being the mocking presence of a rattle in his lungs. "Four perished upon the Highway of Gendorr on their journey here." He leaned forward. "Orpah," the God of Fortune, "has smiled on you."
A chain slid across the stone hewn floor to the left as the guard dogs stirred. Another heavier chain clanked giving way to something more sinister and benevolent in the deep night shadows. Eyes flicked all around. An audience apparently watched and Ratik questioned of whom.
"I want to hear from each of you...*cough*" the Duke spoke as he looked upon them at the bottom of the small steps. "Who are you...???"
"Cheep!" the jester grinned and pointed to the woman. "Take the first turn, missy!" she cried and bounced around under the weight of great bosoms.
The Duke grinned as he watched her. His eyes slowly turned to Ziadia.
"Why does one hide under a cloak?" he asked vainly.

Ziadia felt all eyes apon her as the duke addressed her, she smiled inwardly and shook her head, bowing to the duke. she breathed in slowly ignoring the jester, but in the back of her mind wishing he would just fall over. As she let her breath out she began to speak, her voice was soft but seemed to carry around the room,
"My name is Ziadia, I am the daughter of an orcal from a small village with no name."

She reached up to the clasp holding her cloak on, and quicky she undid it shrugging the cloak off. Allowing both the men behind her to see her properly for the first time. Her black hair fell to halfway down her back, with a long fringe framing her beautiful face. She wore what would have once been a bright red dress that had faded over the years, and a pair of leather boots that where equally as faded. Despite her run down look the essence of beauty still shone though, turning her attention back to the duke she sighed, "and one hides under a cloak, because one knows it's dangourous to travel alone when you are a female" She paused slightly meeting eyes with the duke, "Your highness"

The Duke leaned forward with a slight grin. He was amused, true. There was other business to attend with her. For now, the Duke studied the woman. His fingers rapped gently on his knee.
"You find grace in my eye," he said sharply to her surprizing her companions. "Your strength shall be your saving, and perhaps, the destiny of your small band shall weigh heavy on your shoulders." He sighed and relapsed into the calm, yet strong character that he so profoundly was. "But, strength comes in comradary and trust. You shall need that. There are no lone-rangers here."
The jester clapped and patted her feet on the floor with glee.
A series of steps echoed from the shadows. It was evident that a 'cloud of darkness' was cast on certain reaches of the chamber. Little by little the dark gown of a man filtered out of the dark. He was hobbled, withered, and his back was bent forward in so much that he leaned forward on a twisted cane of cypress tree. The article was simple, yet, it glowed lightly with a green glow of magic.
The man was in sandles that seemingly cut deep into his leather-like skin. The deep shadow that fell over his face did not totally hide a thick grey beard. It protruded out as if to touch the dim light.
"Elder Valuna." The Duke greeted the old man with a respect that he gave few others. The old man returned a nod.
Valuna was the eldest of the Seven Councilors of Gendorr. These councilors were of every creed of the Men of the lands. Through this mutuality, the land was kept in array and peace was allowed to teeter on the edge.
But, the Elders were not just old men gathered together in a lone tower to capitalize on the ways and means of the Lands. They were of certain heritage, most bearing silver hair or stripes that hinted of sorcery and vast intellect.
A great library was at their disposal. It bore the writings of civilizations long gone. In fact, it took one of great knowledge and schooling to read the one hundred plus languages therein. The fiery letters of dragons and the glowing runes of the gods were scattered among the endless shelves. There were shelves of scrolls, some licking at the ceiling in an eternal flame, others vibrating as if a wind threatened to blow them through an unseen portal.

"Aaahh..." Valuna shuddered as he gazed at Ziadia. "You seek to see the great threat that peers from the shadows?"
The Duke grinned lightly. The jester clapped again...the pony-tail bouncing on her head.
With a wave of his hand, one small area in the sea of darkness burst to light. It was as if a shuddered mirror-lantern were casting a beam of light only that particular spot.
Ratik flinched. It was hard for him to flinch, but, he did. His hand did not stray toward the sheathed sword, though.
The rippling muscles of a red wyvern filled the gap. Deep red eyes peered through rows of deadly horns. A black tassel of smoke spiraled from its nostils, working effortlessly toward the spiked ceiling.
The monster shifted on its hind legs. Its head moved to the side, then returned to the other side studying the visitors.
Vagrond, the royal 'watch-dog' had not eaten in a decade. Under the spell of the elder, the beast was tame...in a transe...living a dream that would someday end in freedom- perhaps. One lip lifted exposing a row of dagger-like teeth flowing with acidic saliva. The chain rattled across the stone.
"Now, on other business, my friends..." said the Duke as he leaned forward and anticipated conversation from the audience.

Ziadia stood still as the duke studied her, resisting the urge to just wrap herself back up in her cape. She maintained her eye contact with him as he spoke to her; "You find grace in my eye," She barely noticed the sharpness in his voice, as he spoke but nodded to show she was listening "Your strength shall be your saving, and perhaps, the destiny of your small band shall weigh heavy on your shoulders." Ziadia looked down she had a small idea of what he intended by that, she let her mind wander back to her mother, who had been telling her to have faith in her dreams since she was a small girl, always going on that she would make a fine oracle one day. "But, strength comes in comradary and trust. You shall need that. There are no lone-rangers here." Her gaze returned to the duke as he finished his speech, she simply nodded not really knowing what else to say to that.

It was then the footsteps started, and her eyes where drawn to the shadows where the outline of an elderly man could only just be made out. She watched him carefully, sensing an air of magic around him. She watched as the Duke greated him, but eye’d him carefully, edging back slightly as his gaze turned to her.
"Aaahh..." she noted the old mans shudder as he gazed at her, and forced herself to remain still, as he continued to speak. "You seek to see the great threat that peers from the shadows?" Ziadia looked at him curiously not knowing what he meant, her eyes never left the old man as he waved his arm causing an area of the darkness to light up, only to be replaced with the overly large form of a red wyvern. She stumbled back away from the beast, tripping and falling at Ratik’s feet. Shaking slightly she didn’t move her eyes from the beast,
“W-what is that thing?”

Elder Valuna rushed across the chamber floor and cast an open book down upon the stone floor. As if it was a prized possession he stood gazing down at it. "Karonis," he mumbled beneath his breath, afterwards casting a glance over his shoulder to the Duke, of whom was leaning forward questionably.
The elder extorted. "The 'Seer' shall be opened!"
Ratik shifted uneasily. He feared magic. The world as he knew it was conquered by pain and might. Not mere words or the waving of a cedar wand.
The Book began to glow; ignited by the power of the hands that held it. Valuna was suddenly under a great weight, his unseen arms flexing and his back threatening to shatter. Ratik thought to step forward and aid him, but, instinct held him in place.
"Aaaahhh!" the elder cried as even he was forced back from the eruption, seemingly pushed back from the inferno of blue flame that ushered up from the open pages as it lay sprawled on the stone floor. "Vallooosha!"
The roof seemed to quake! Great pillars hidden in the recesses of the hall thundered and rocked on their feet. The edge of an underwater labryinth swished and bubbled off to the right.
Then suddenly-silence.

The flame spewed in a beautiful column seemingly up through the solid ceiling. It was silent. Silent beauty. Ratik stood slightly and peered at the faces of his two companions. Every torch in the chamber had been blown out and their faces seemed to glow in the blaze.
"It is open...the Seeing Portal is ajar!" Valuna's voice cracked the silence causing the shaft of light to tremble.
Suddenly, a pool formed across the ceiling. It was like nothing Ratik had ever lay eyes upon. The shaft subsided lightly, grew thinner, then bluer.
It was like looking through mercury...or through the back of a big mirror at the world on the otherside. It was crystal clear...surreal...almost a dream that played on a smooth waters' surface. A minotaur appeared and behind him there was a minion of orcs- it ended, and the face of a woman appeared in the blade of a silver sword! She was trapped, yet happy, for her eternity was planned, yet, fear caused her to scream in silence.
Ratik shook his head as the pictures burned into his minds eye.

**Help me** came the womans voice to their thoughts. It was like glass shattering. The ground trembled, yet, it did not. It was all in their minds.

Untarr the minotaur burst into the dream hacking and slashing an enormous double-bladed axe. Three silohuettes stood before him with weapons drawn-then the picture changed.
Gendorr lay in ruin! Burning! Blood ran the gutters. Children lay in heaps of ash. Death...tangled corpses...broken limbs...twitching eyelids! The highways were lined with crosses and the crucified burned under a red sun. Weary bodies lost of their souls, broken, beaten, whipped, pulled machines of war across the once land of Men like zombies.
All awhile, the Princess in the Sword cried. She could do nothing. Her heart broke in twain and blood flowed from her eyes and mouth and ears. She slumped to the unseen wall of Death and could only cry. Her cry vibrated the firey column....for years....and could be heard for centuries as a wail in the heavens.
The screen shattered in a million pieces sending everyone toward the recesses of the shadowy hall. Instead of sharp shards of glassy death raining over them, the slivers disipated into thin air. The burning column shrunk thinner and thinner as it raced toward the floor and was gone.
The torment was over as quickly as it had begun. A whisper could have been heard as a shout. One by one people stood up again.
The Duke cleared his throat drawing the audience.
"The times have grown dark," he shuddered. "The Lands depend upon these few. Prophecy has chosen- Them. Our well-being and future are in Their hands." He stood heavily from the throne-chair and studied those before him. He was much shorter than his seated posture had let on. "You must go to Orcabane, my friends, and take back what has been taken from us. The western Steellands are lost in a quagmire of war and the orcs threaten to overwhelm us all. Their arm of fury will travel east to our very doorstep! The Woman in the Blade is our only hope. If the orcs learn of what they have taken from us...her power shall be turned against us and all of mankind, and elvenkind, and the dwarves of the south shall even fall under chipped orcian blade. Go! Venture to the north recesses and bring back our Saviour! May the gods who have chosen YOU be at your heals and lead the way!"

That night, the adventurers were retired to their given chambers high in the castle fortress. Their bellies were full. The comfort of the rooms were wonderful with cushions and a soft bed and rugs upon the floor. Ratik sat that night on the balcony of his chamber and watched the stars as they moved across the sky. He prayed for once...something that he had not ventured to do in quite sometime. The morning seemed nigh, however, it seemed an eternity away.

The fire flickered gentle sending the flames shadows dancing up the wall, a young lady was sitting at a table with an older lady standing next to her, both where dressed poorly, the older lady appeared older than she really was, her eyes where outlined by thick black rings, her face was wrinkled and her hair which would once have been a stunning Raven black was starting to grey, her soft bue eyes where looking down at the younger girl sitting next to her, who seemed unable to stop shaking, the older lady breathed in slowly before speaking to the younger girl, her voice was full of a wisdom that most don’t posses,
“Ziadia, relax would you, and tell me about your dream” The younger girls stunning green eyes darted up meeting the dull blue ones of the older lady. Closing her eyes Ziadia breathed in deeply, trying hard to stop the shaking,
“I…I was in a tavern somewhere, I think it was in Gendorr” she paused breathing in deeply, before continuing, “There was a fuss, some old man was telling a story, then a woman screamed, at what I could not see. A young man seemed prominent to me throughout the dream, he was the first to react to the woman’s scream diving out of the way drawing a blade. After that everything blacks out for a couple of moments” The older lady nodded taking a seat at the table smiling slightly,
“Go on tell me more” Ziadia nodded, “as you wish mother” she paused again, “the next time I see something I’m in a grand room, it’s decorated with bits and pieces from all over the world, it seems so beautiful, the young man from the tavern is there as well as the old man who was telling the story. We end up standing in front of the duke, and he address’ me directly.” Ziadia breathed in deeply before continuing, “Next an elder man come out, and shows us something, and in it is the lady in the sword, the same lady I’ve been seeing in my dreams for months, at first she’s alright, but by the end of what the old man showed us she’s dying slowly, she’s bleeding from everywhere” Ziadia shuddered slightly before she continued, “The rest of the dream just showed the three of us travelling, and a couple of encounters, and me learning how to use a sword” Ziadia’s mother nodded and stood up walking over to the fire gazing into it
“I always knew you had the oracle gene in you girl, it’s just I was hoping it would surface later” She paused again as she used a metal rod to prod the fire, “tomorrow, you will leave for Gendorr, I have a feeling you where meant to act on this dream,” She paused again turning to her daughter, any trace of happiness gone,
“Just remember Ziadia, always have faith in your dreams, act on them, don’t ignore them” Ziadia nodded as she stood up walking over to her mother, the pair embraced quickly before her mothers face became care free, as if they had never had the discussion.

Ziadia’s hand stopped stroking the rug she was sitting on as the glaze that had appeared over her eyes evaporated, slowly she stood looking around the chambers she had been given. She sighed; she had to admit that they where grand, elegant, designed to give the occupant maximum comfort, but to her it just seemed empty. Standing up she walked over to the room’s balcony.

As she walked outside she sighed, and lent against the rail, her arm reaching down removing the dagger her mother had given her from its sheath strapped to her leg she looked it over, the handle was simple, just bound in leather the blade sharp and well cared for, she smiled slightly as she looked it over, it reminded her of home. Warm home cooked meals, made with love, good friends, company and a welcoming atmosphere. She sighed again leaning on the rail more so than she was before,
“I don’t think I’m ready for this” she said quietly not noticing Ratik sitting on the balcony next to her.

Ratik watched her from the recesses of shadow. Her thin form against the moon was a mere silohuette. She seemed so small and elegant against the eternity of the sky. For a moment, his mind went back to a former woman he had loved and how perhaps she was setting out on her own balcony bringing him to memory.
"It is not for you to decide," Ratik spoke from the shadows that were deep at the northern end of the terraced balcony. He moved with the stealth of a seasoned warrior. Had he not spoken, she would have probably never noticed him there. "The Lands depend on you....on us."
His demeanor was proud. The torchlight bounced off his great bare arms as he stepped from the shadows. Taking his place near to her, yet, not so close as to touch, he leaned on the parapet. His eyes mirrored the flickering torchlight of the city as it stretched out across the land. The wind in this high place blew his shoulder length hair lightly.
"Do you believe in eternity?" He did not give her much a chance to answer before meandering on in his thoughts. "I have travelled this world for 32 years and what do I have to show for it." The statement was not a question as much as a realization.
Her silence brought a grin to his face that he hid as best he could. "I have served under kings and crazed queens..." shaking his head lightly, "and every other kind of so-called royalty that exhausts itself into control of some shanty speck of the world. I have never thought about myself, though. Sure, I have had a drive behind me. That is another sad story that I shall not bore you with..."
Their eyes shifted toward the sky as a dragon-rider swooped silently through the night. Had the glare of torchlight not found its smooth, black body none would have been the wiser. It disappeared over the edge of a great ledge high overhead where the castle walls lifted away into the night sky. Moments later, another dark form cast itself out into the night sky and glided away to the south.
"I am not great with words, Ziadia." His mouth flowed over the smoothness of her name. "You have no fear. You are able to do what ever your mind seeks. Our road will be dark. I have travelled this land widely, indeed. But," and the word hung deathly in the air, "Our road carries us beyond even my knowledge of terrain and safe passage."
To the east the Gate Of Flames was cast open upon heavy cogwheels. The gate captain was shouting orders. No sooner than it had opened fully, than a band of riders pressed through.
"Make way for the Black Cloak!" the captains voice was carried up to them on the wind. "Make way to the Keep!"
Ratik sighed as he looked over at Ziadia and he smiled inwardly. He found her nature to be relaxing and welcoming.
"The Elves of Black Cloak Kingdom have arrived this night," he said not taking his eyes off of her questioning face. "There shall surely be a council called in the morning. Word has came that Orcabane is on the move and her evil hordes destroyed two border villages." Ratik's eyes turned to the street below as the elves dismounted and entered the courtyard. "The Lands are going to war and we are the daggers-edge."