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| A wrong turn | |
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| Topic Started: Apr 2 2006, 06:40 AM (263 Views) | |
| Zaigon Xandros | Apr 2 2006, 06:40 AM Post #1 |
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Commoner
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The Dead Magic Zone is a place that many have heard of, and a place that many stay away from. As its name implies, magick spells and incantations will have no effect within this desolate area of Avalon. The ground around this area of Avalon is cracked and little, if any, plant life can be seen poking out of the cracks and through the thin layer of black dust, ash of what once was part of this land, that is, if anything ever grew on this land. From the look of it this land has held this appearence for a long long time, and by the look of the unmoved black dust it does not seem that anyone has been here for a very very long time. Two very old looking stone walls have been placed all about this Dead Magic Zone, put up by a figure of power and authority long ago to keep people out of this god forsaken piece of land, or perhaps to keep something in. Whatever the reason, this zone seems to have expanded over time, or else the walls were not made properly, for magic itself seemed to begin to fail a mile or two before the walls that sourounded the zone. A figure could be seen walking roughly two miles from this wall, a book open in his left hand and his right casually placed in the pocket of his black pants. From a distance the human, for that is what this figure was, looked to be a simple lost civilian, and if anyone got close enough to see him they would guess that he was a wealthy businessman from the city of Avalon, but he was neither. His clothing consisted of a pair of simple black dress shoes, rubbed untill they shined, long black pants that seemed to have been straightened a few times and a long sleeved black shirt that was tucked into his pants, a belt finishing the picture. The mans skin was rather pale, which made the features of his face stick out. Blood red lips set upon a flawless pale face with odd purple eyes that looked to be able to pierce through people. They were odd and mystifying and held the gaze of all who looked upon them. On this particular day his hair was combed back in a sophisticated manner. In his left hang was an open book, roughly four hundred pages in. The ink that was used in this book was red, and the pages were old and yellow. If one were to see the cover of this book they would recognize the black and red designs of a necromancer. The book he held was a grimoire of sorts, or more of a historical book with many references. It was something he had stolen before he left his old guild, the last of the books he had to read. He had taken a good half dozen books, the one he carried in his hand being the shortest, and the last that he had to read. They all held some aspect of the necromantic arts. Biographies, the history, various incantations and spells and books of the dead, yet he still could not perform any of these arts. As the man got closer to the wall he lowered the book for a moment, slowing his pace before stopping completely and looked around. He did not entirely know where he was. He remembered walking towards the Mines of Iseh, and remembered seeing it in the distance, but now that he thought about it that was a very long time ago, in the early hours of the morning, and now the last rays of the sun were dieing. He had become so lost in the book that he did not know where he was, entirely, but he did see a stone wall in the distance, and quickly made his way to it, placing his book in the backpack he had on his back. Crammed in that bag were the other five books that he had stolen, his bood and drink supply hung in pouches or flasks from his belt. Within twenty minutes he had reached the wall. Walls usually meant civilization, but he did not see any near here, and something felt wrong. He was not entirely sure what was wrong, but something seemed to be missing. Something that he could usually feel was no longer there, but what it was he had no idea. After looking at the wall for a few moments he decided to climb it. The wall was extremely old, but it held, with some missing stones. He used those holes within the wall to place his feet as he quickly made the climb, sitting at the top and overlooking the wasteland that lay before him. He did not know what this place was, but he was beginning to like it. |
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| Sir | Apr 3 2006, 12:36 AM Post #2 |
The Dead One
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There were many reasons why some avoided the Dead Magic Zone. Some were simply afraid of it, others had no interest in it but most left it well alone because of its capability to destroy magic. What was ironic was that there were reasons why some wanted to enter that place but what was even more ironic was why someone like…oh let’s say the Dead Immortal, Sir, would want to enter. The lifelessness of the place seemed to match the ‘aura’ around the creature atop the black stallion. The walls had not kept them out, indeed at some places where the wall was particularly close to the centre of the Zone, it had crumbled leaving behind a carpet of fine dust. At one of those points they had crossed and then had travelled relentlessly across the dead land. Now the horse stood not far from one of the walls at the top of a knoll. Dust swirled around them; the wind picked it up and amused itself by scattering it over the dead land. The hem of Sir’s cloak fluttered but that was the only thing that moved. The horse and its rider could’ve been mistaken for a statue, the horse’s pelt the same glossy [but dirty] black and the rider cloaked in a dusty but black cloak. The setting sun’s golden light did not exactly reach this place. It seemed to skim the ground and the land between the walls was darker and murkier than the land outside the walls. It was like opening the door to a dusty room. Light may flood in but it does change the fact that it’s dark and grimy on the other hand it makes it even more obvious. The same happened here, though the sunlight streamed in things only seemed murkier than before. It seemed like this arid land was scorched to the bone, it had been denied its sunlight for so long it no longer wanted it. Movement caught Sir’s eye. Somebody had just appeared at the top of the wall and was now sitting there. He was too far away to make out anything except the stranger’s humanoid form but Sir did not move closer and made no move to investigate. A frown creased his forehead, he had not expected others to come this desolate and pointless land. He felt that the stranger had robbed his privacy and right to be here. Annoyance flared in him, who was this person? He appeared to be a simple city man who had no need to be here. But why had Sir come here in the first place? Surely what he looked for could not be found here? So why had he come? To enjoy the lovely scenery…? Of course not. This place, the Dead Magic Zone, was shrouded in mystery. Why was it like this? Why was it so empty? Who had made it like this and how? One legend told of treasures hidden here, power beyond imagination. But as Sir gazed at the desolate land he discarded that legend. There was nothing above the ground but for a few dead trees and the ground itself was no place to hide something. Beneath the cover of the dust the ground was hard, no shovel would cut it open. Yet despite the bad conditions Sir believed there had to be something. There always was. Never was there just nothing…especially not in this land. Sir believed there was more to this than just the dust and the deadness. He was here for the power, the hidden hopes that had been promised in a legend. A cackle echoed from his mouth and with a low whistle from Sir the horse trotted towards the wall. The horse was a magnificent beast, on the larger side but by no means overfed. Like a lacy net, mud caked its legs and flanks. The covering of dirt did not lessen the creatures splendour. Black as the night, with eyes that twinkled with intelligence. From the step of the horse and the composure of the rider it was obvious they were both proud. Arrogant and demeaning, Sir wasn’t exactly on anyone’s ‘best pals’ list but this meant nothing to the poor Dead Immortal. They neared the wall and with them came the obvious smell of a rotting corpse. It clung to Sir in the same manner that a fly hanged around faeces. It really was about time that Sir found a new body to inhabit. |
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| Zaigon Xandros | Apr 3 2006, 01:15 AM Post #3 |
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Commoner
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A smile crossed his face as Zaigon looked over the dead land before him. A thin layer of black dust covered the ground, but from what he was not positive, ash was what it most likely was. The definate color of the ground was not know, for the dust covered it, but Zaigon could only assume it was dirt, or possibly a hard rock, in which case it would be a grey or a sandstone. He enjoyed the look of this place. Empty, deserted, the very few trees that did grow were long dead and now looked dark and menacing. Although he liked the look of the area, something bothered him, something didn't feel right. It was as if something had been taken away from him, but he did not know what that something could be. So he shook the thought and returned his attention to the land before him, but after a few moments of thinking an idea popped into his head. The feeling he had was something he could not explain, which meant that neither a large dead presence nor a large power was here. But that meant that something was here, and judging by the age of this wall it had been here for a long time, kept inside for ages by order of a long dead king or something of the like. But the thing could not be a person or an animal, for they would have jumped over, climbed over, or broken through the wall by this time, and the king would have known this. So what lies here must be a force or a power that does not reside in an object or a specific being. That power was what was gnawing at him, but what was it doing? Zaigon did not know. But now he wanted to find out. So he took out one of the half dozen books he had in his bag and carefully flipped through the ancient yellow pages, scanning the pages to find what he wanted. After a few moments he did. He would summon an undead warrior from beneath this land, for beings had to have died here at some point or another, and with another spell would give the skeletal creature the power of speech. The skeleton would then be able to tell him what had happened to this place, and if anything of value could be found beneath. and, more importantly, what this gnawing he felt did to him. With a smile he began to mutter the words that printed before him. He did not need to read them in order to cast the spell, or so the book said, but it made him feel a little better doing so. His words held power, but after this little incantation was finished nothing happened. So he tried it again, with no success. He was about to give up, but decided to try it one last time. The moment he finished speaking he was met with a must disgusting smell. It was horrid, yet forced Zaigon to smile. It was the smell of rotting or rotted flesh, the smell only made by something long dead. He had cast his spell. With that thought in his head he moved to his feet, standing atop the wall and looking out into the wasteland. Not too far away he saw a figure riding upon a large black horse. He did not focus on the horse, it was not important, but instead turned his attention to the figure atop it. That seemed to be the source of the putrid spell, and that being looked to be what he had summoned. With open book in his right hand and left hand in his pocket he attempted to focus his vision on the undead rider. He could not make out the features of this rider, but he did see a rather pale and thin being, by no means a warrior, but he would do. "Hello there. I have a question for you" |
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| Sir | Apr 4 2006, 04:02 AM Post #4 |
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The Dead One
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Summoning…Most dead beings had experienced this ‘process’ whether willingly or not. In the days of long ago magicians and those that meddled with the powers of the dead would summon spirits called the ‘Greater Dead’. These mostly consisted of solitary and irritable spirits who knew dangerous and powerful secrets. But these modern magicians had no time for the monotonous Greater Dead. In these times, hordes of the Lesser Dead were summoned to be part of the great armies of the dead. Magicians no longer searched for knowledge, they desired the label of ‘powerful magician’ and usually achieved it by commanding a huge army of the dead. It was an unfortunate business for those Lesser Dead that were summoned many many times during a century to fight in an army, but the Greater Dead had found an advantage in it. Summoning was a painful business, one that was mostly despised. It involved a magician chanting an incantation with the dead spirit’s name and then that poor spirit was wrenched from one place to another [usually from the place that came after death to the world of the living, though in some unfortunate cases it was from one place in the living world to another place]. And so the Greater Dead were usually left alone to their own ways to laugh at the ill-fated Lesser Dead. Now Sir was a curious creature. He was dead…yet he wandered the world of the living. The Gates of Death had denied him access to whatever it was that came after life. Despite all this he could be [and had many times been] summoned, though none of those magicians had been able to control him wholly. Without his birth name complete control was lost.* Though Sir was really dead (he was a spirit that had to inhabit bodies; very painful, don’t ask) he was still sometimes called an ‘undead’ but for what reason/purpose I am not sure. Over the course of his death Sir had acquired much knowledge and during the times when knowledge from the dead had been revered he had been summoned quite a few times. One of the pieces of magic he had discovered was how to bind Ombra’s horse-spirit to him so whenever he was summoned, the horse came with him.** Most fortunate for Sir, his knowledge has not been needed for a long time and it has been ages since Sir has last been summoned. In most books he is classified as a Greater Dead [or nearly one since he has the physical power of a gnat] but more detailed books state that he is a useless and petulant spirit with an insane mind…Hardly worth summoning. [Fortunately those authors were smart enough to write those books under false names and so Sir was not able to hunt them down]. Now, Sir and Ombra had travelled through the Dead Magic Zone and stood by the wall that separated that place from the rest of Avalon. From beneath the edge of his hood, Sir gazed up at the man atop the wall with an amused look on his face. This was going to be interesting… Sir was by no means a pretty sight; he looked about as pretty as he smelt. A long black cloak covered most of his body and the clothes underneath were also black. A long hood cast a shadow over his face but his thin and pointed chin was visible as were his pale lips, curled in a malevolent grin. The man’s voice rang down to him informing Sir that he had a question for him. The grin slid off his face and was replaced by a sneer. This…commoner, simpleton, wanted to ask him a question? “You…want to as me a question?” He grinned to himself, patting Ombra’s head. He considered it for a moment. “Ah well…I suppose I could listen to your question if it’s a quick one. But mind you, I don’t usually bother with such things, eh?” His grin turned to a squeaky snigger. Two seconds passed as he tapped his fingers, stroking the horse’s mane. “Well then…Get on with it.” <ooc notes> *: After Sir had realized how permanent his place of ‘death’ was to be he destroyed all evidence of his former name. Burning papers, killing people, he himself has tried to forget this name though it still lingers…somewhere in the back of his mind. **: Ombra is very different from Sir. He doesn’t age as fast [thanks to a spell from the elves] and so he doesn’t need to change his ‘body’. He can be killed and will die some time…When Sir is summoned, Sir is spiritually summoned [he leaves the body he is inhabiting and therefore the person who summons him must have a body ready for him] but Ombra is physically summoned…So that’s kinda like teleporting. =] |
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| Zaigon Xandros | Apr 4 2006, 06:16 AM Post #5 |
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Commoner
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Zaigon smiled as the undead creature spoke. He had not expected the man, for that is what the being looked to have been at one time, to speak to him. Zaigon had attempted to summon a less powerful creature then this, although this creature did not seem to hold any power at all. Not that he thought about it, he was not entirely sure what this being was. Most lesser dead were zombies or skeletons. Their brains and all other bodily organs had been long destroyed or rotted and were not usable. When awoken from their eternal slumber and their bodies taken from the soil beneath the feet of the necromancer, they could and would obey simple commands. But in order to speak or attempt greater commands there would need to be some other magic involved. The lesser dead were usually summoned in large packs and used for fighting. They were thin and fragile beings. The greater dead usually came in the form of a death knight or a demon. Both of which would be heavily armors and rather skilled in its fighting and sometimes magical abilities, as well as having enough intelligence to speak, sometime rather fluently, and think for themselves, in which case a binding and truth spell may be in order. This creature did not fit either of those two descriptions, but rather seemed to be a blend of the two. He was weak and frail, at least to the sight, and had the appearence of a lesser dead skeleton. But he had the horse that was fit for a death knight, and could speak like an ordinary creature, like a greater dead. So what was he? What exactly had Zaigon summoned? he was not entirely sure, but he would stand his ground and be ever alert incase this creature decided to attack or something of the like. Zaigon silently flipped a few pages before stopping and scanning the page, reading over the spell used to bind a creature. It was the fastest spell he would be able to use, for it would simply hold the creature in place. Any spells of attack or destruction or the like would take too long, at least at this point it would. Once Zaigon got used to the spells they would come much faster and easier to him. After quickly glancing over the page he looked up to the man, deciding how to speak with him. A lesser dead would be looked down upon. Commands would be given as orders, and the lesser dead would obey. Greater dead, unless properly bound and forced to do the summoners bidding, should be talked to with respect that a being of great power and ancient knowledge deserved. Zaigon decided not to take his chances, and looked down upon the being from the wall, choosing his words. "You look to have roamed this planet for some time before and after your death. Being so it only seems right that you would know about the place your horse stands upon. If you would, tell me what this place is. What does this land do, or what has this land kept that has forced a king of old to put up these walls, and what is this nagging feeling that does not seem to want to leave me?" |
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| Sir | Apr 30 2006, 01:43 AM Post #6 |
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The Dead One
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It was true that Sir rarely found time [ah, what a lie. Perhaps it would be more correctly said that ‘It was true that Sir rarely found enthusiasm’] for listening to the petty discussions conducted between ordinary mortals. Immortals and learned men, on the other hand, were an improvement but were still not worth Sir’s time unless they had something really interesting to say. He sniffed regally, dark eyes staring at this stranger that had dared to address him. The man seemed rather ordinary at first but then Sir’s eyes registered the pale face and the contrasting blood red lips. Next, Sir’s eyes wandered to the stranger’s eyes and Sir twitched. Such eyes he hadn’t seen for a very long time, a ‘jolting’ violet that contrasted with the snow-white of the man’s skin. I will not say that ‘Never before had Sir encountered such a curious person’ because Sir has met many odd people and it was certainly true that this man could be counted among them. The smile that spread across the man’s face as Sir was talking made a frown crease his forehead. Why was he smiling? People didn’t usually smile when the met him, many ran away but those who were foolhardy enough to stay and talk to him kept a straight face. The smile irked Sir and he muttered something to his horse. The man then began to flip through a book that had evidently been sitting on his lap. He read something off it and then appeared to be considering something. Sir snorted, he didn’t have all day. Finally the man spoke up and Sir smiled a nasty smile. Hmm…Not rude, not overly embarrassing he seemed like someone who knew what he was doing. But as the man got on with his actually question the smile slid off Sir’s face like honey dripping off a spoon. Those were the questions that Sir himself wanted answered. He wanted to know what there was here and why, but now this man was asking him. Him, Sir, the great mysterious being that evaded death. Sir’s frown deepened and he cursed himself under his breath. Well, obviously he wasn’t going to tell this stranger that he had no idea what this land was for and why some old king had put walls around it. “Ah…Such probing questions, and I don’t even know who’s asking them. Pity, eh? Well, let me just say that the man that sits on the wall sits there only until he falls.” He cackled, as if what he had said had been a very humorous joke. His laughter ended in a dry cough and Sir looked slightly disappointed that the man had not understood his ‘joke’. “Well…Never mind. This land,” He paused. “It has a long and…eh…bewildering history. And dangerous, yeees…” He looked up, head back, the hood slipping away slightly to reveal his point nose and sharp cheekbones. With one hand he yanked the hood down as low as it would go, so that the edge went almost to his nose, casting his face in such a shadow it was impossible to see anything except his chin. “Perhaps…If I knew who I was telling such dangerous secrets to…I might tell the truth.” Ah, how lame but he couldn’t really take his words back. He settled down in the saddle trying to look as dignified as possible. |
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| Zaigon Xandros | May 1 2006, 11:36 AM Post #7 |
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Commoner
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(sorry, i've been busy with school and other things lately) Zaigon saw the undeads odd smile leave as his question was asked, and many thoughts ran through his head. Had he confused the creature? After all, it looked to be a lesser dead, and lesser dead were not too smart. Then again it spoke fluently, and Zaigon immediatly threw out this thought. Perhaps the man had been disgusted by the questions, as if he thought everyone should know the answer, or as if the answer was obvious and this being on the wall was too stupid to notice it, but Zaigon discarded this thought as well. Maybe this being had had a hand in the way this place turned out, maybe he had made this land the way it was some time in the distant past, and did not want to bring up those memories. Or there was the slight possibility that the being did not know the answer to the questions, but the why was he here? Simply passing through? he would more likely walk around the walls then cross through if he was going somewhere, so the undead man had to know what was here. Unfortunatly the mans words did not tell Zaigon who had put up the walls, or what they were here to protect, or protect from. The meaning of his words was vague, as if the man was steering the conversation away from the wall, or as if he did not know what took place here himself. "As the man who sits on the wall is destined to fall, the bones of the ancient shall turn to dust. Lets just say that you would be telling it to someone who could use this knowledge to change the future." Zaigon said. |
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| Sir | Aug 14 2006, 01:59 AM Post #8 |
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The Dead One
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<ooc> Omg. I am so so so so sorry! Please forgive me! <ic> Sir sighed softly. Had he made it too obvious that he knew none of the answers to the man’s questions? He cursed, a sharp, coarse word from a language long forgotten. Beneath him, Ombra whinnied and danced on his hooves, impatient to be rid of this land. The spell that had been cast upon him by the elves could not withstand the cancelling power of the ground within the Dead Magic Zone and though Sir was unaware of the changes happening to the horse, the stallion could feel age chewing him up. While Sir waited for the ungrateful man to reply, Ombra whinnied again, taking a few steps forward. “Ney! Ombra.” Sir commanded the horse to a stop. Finally the man spoke and Sir snorted. What did they teach people these days about the dead? Most certainly nothing about respect to their elders. Just as the man’s voice was sucked up by the emptiness Ombra shot off, braying, eyes bulging out, foam gathering at his lips. Sir, who had not been holding on, stayed on for an award-winning second and flew off, landing heavily a few metres away. Ombra shot off, running along the wall until he came to a ruined part and leapt over the ruins to safety on the other side. Dust flew up, Sir’s hood had fallen off his face, revealing a head covered by skin that seemed to be stretched over his skull. His cheekbones jutted out sharply and his forehead seemed to take over most of his face. A few scraggly clumps of thin yet long black hair still clung to the pale scalp. His eyeballs seemed to bulge out and they glittered with anger. He pursed his lips together and slowly picked himself up. After examining himself critically he decided that the only problems were: he had lost Ombra and his radius had snapped clean in half and the tip of the bone was jutting out of his ghastly pale skin. The pain was different than what the owner of the body would’ve felt, had he been alive. What Sir felt was his soul searing with the pain of harm done to his body. He cursed vehemently, poking the bone so that it didn’t stick out so much.* He then realized that his hood had fallen off and with a snarl he yanked it back on. Finally, after dusting some dust off his clothes he turned back to face the man on the wall, with an expression that said that if he dared to laugh he’d regret it. The fall hadn’t done him any good. He could feel his skin crawling and threatening to fall off. Though he couldn’t smell it, he could almost see a haze of green odour floating around him. His fingers grasped his sword. It hadn’t made his fall any easier since it had got in the way and had made it awkward. Had the body been alive he would’ve received a nice blooming bruise on his thigh. “Well, since my ride is off, I s’pose I owe you some answers. But don’t think, ungrateful little rascal, that I have time to speak with you all day.” The fall certainly hadn’t improved his temper. “This place,” he gestured. “Is…dangerous. It’s…It was…God’s above!” He spat. “It’s the Dead Magic Zone. No magic here.” He jerked his head in the direction which Ombra had run. “He’s kept alive by an elfish spell which was stopped by this cursed land. Perhaps it’s a good thing he ran away.” The last thing was more of a mutter to himself. “Well then, are you, fool, going to tell me your name?” |
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