UO Fiction: The Awakening

[Sage Aurora]

The Awakening
Kai Schober
11 Jan 2012 13:03:41 EST

Written by the EM Team

“Last time I do a favor for Rollins…” He looked at the note he’d been given from Rollins about taking a friend of his along with him. Victor glanced around his horses, and checked the fastenings on the saddles for the fourth time as the wind picked up. He looked at the skies as the heavens threatened to open up and deliver their own cargo upon the land, before exhaling heavily. Climbing back up into the bench on the front of the wagon he muttered, “I just hope whenever this Sherry gets here that she’s packed and ready to go.”

“I’m right here and ready, sir.”

“By the Virtues!” Victor exclaimed as his heart raced in his chest, looking down to where the voice had come from, and seeing only a tawny little mouse wearing a tiny grey shawl over her shoulders. He blinked a few times and rubbed his eyes, before realization hit him. “Y-you’re the Sherry! Sherry the mouse I mean!”

“That’s right! It’d take me a lot longer to walk to Yew than I’d like, so I asked around if there were any travelers on the way, and that’s how I found you! Permission to come aboard, sir!” Sherry let out a few quick squeaks which Victor chose to interpret as her attempt at giggling. He reached a hand down to help her, and she scampered quickly to sit next to him. With a crack of leather he lashed the reins of the horses to spur them on towards the road.

Sherry squeaked in surprise at the noise. Looking slightly abashed, her voice rose above the hoofbeats, “Sorry! It’s been a while since I’ve ridden with anyone. I’d almost forgotten how fast it feels traveling this way! So how has your trading business been lately?”

Victor shushed her, much to Sherry’s chagrin, before he spoke quietly enough that it hardly rose past the percussive beat of hooves. “It’s been…good and bad. I’ve been getting more pay for my goods, but the roads have been more dangerous lately, and a lot of traders don’t make it to their destination. We must be careful.” Victor sighed at length, looking across the darkening road as the sun descended further in its orbit. “It seems that the feeling left over from banding together to defeat Virtuebane is swiftly vanishing, and the nobles are fighting even worse than before.”

Sherry’s face lengthened as she listened, and she looked down to the road swiftly passing by underneath the wagon, before looking back up to Victor. Victor’s eyes were locked on the road, but they darted back and forth in the gloom of the forest, seeking out hidden dangers. Sherry started to open her mouth but was interrupted as Victor spoke once more.

“There’s a lot of paranoia and tension in the realm. I’ve seen fights break out between trading partners of decades, and families torn apart over their family businesses. I don’t think there’s a way to stop it.” Victor shuddered at something that this mention conjured up inside him, and Sherry stared at him briefly.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

Victor’s eyes held a haunted and tortured look in them, and he took a deep breath before he spoke, but he refused to meet Sherry’s gaze. “Sherry ... let me tell you a story about an ... experience I had last week in Vesper. Maybe it’ll help to finally tell someone. It started off with an innocent enough encounter...” Victor took a deep breath, and as Victor told the story Sherry swore she was seeing it unfold right in front of her very eyes...

As Victor’s tale drew to a close, Sherry gave the wagon driver a plaintive glance, and her tiny body shook as she swore she could almost hear the woman’s voice. She couldn’t find any words in response and instead studied Victor’s face inquisitively. It was plagued with worry and uncertainty, and she could feel its infectious touch beckoning her.

Victor’s dismayed expression only darkened as they passed by the burned and arrow pocked wreckage of another caravan along the road, and the sky suddenly burst forth with a crash of lightning. Raindrops began to patter along the wagon, and Victor gestured to the covered portion. “Go ahead and get inside, it’ll keep you warm and mostly dry. I’ll tell you when we arrive.”

Sherry climbed inside the wagon without a word and curled herself up into a ball against a few sheafs of wheat that were in the wagon, carefully avoiding the holes in the patched and worn canvas roof. Despite the shelter of the wagon keeping her warm and dry, her body was wracked with shivers from a chill that emanated from within. When sleep came to her, it arrived riddled with nightmares.

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Source: www.uoherald.com/node/523

[Sage Aurora]

The Awakening - Act 1
Kai Schober
20 Jan 2012 12:26:22 EST

Written by the EM Team

Buzzards circled high in the sky above the inland roads that led away from the ferries of Skara Brae, their lazy paths taking them in loops above whatever carcass lay beneath. Artemia took notice of them as she crept silently through the forest, hot on the heels of the hart she’d spied an hour earlier. The old stag was a crafty one and had kept out of any clean shots so far, but she knew that ahead lay a clearing before the land gave way to the road. If she was going to get a clean shot, that would be her opening. With swift and sure motions she indulged herself in the hunt, and she broke into the clearing and sighted on the great stag for only a brief moment before a scowl rose to her face. It seemed that the object of the vulture’s attention was here. The stag made its way back into the brush as she stalked closer to the carcasses in the clearing, and began to check through them.

The packhorses were clearly dead, and though they bore a mix of wounds, the feathered hafts of spent crossbow bolts spoke to what appeared to be an ambush. Their packs were empty as she’d suspected from the first, but she didn’t see any trace of their owner…until she noticed a light spattering of blood across trampled grass. She quietly nocked an arrow and stalked along the trampled grass until she found its end, where a fallen branch of dead leaves covered a man’s body. She kept her bow trained on him until she noticed no reaction, and stowed the arrow back into the quiver attached to her sash. Moving around the branch she took a moment to admire his face before shaking her head. She slung her bow over a shoulder and moved the branch off to see if she could identify him, or if there was enough left to take back with her. As she took stock of his wounds, she noticed a few shafts emerging from the side of a leg, and it looked like one of his arms was out of the socket. She knelt for a moment and closed her eyes before she became aware of a sound so soft she hadn’t noticed it until now. She looked down and laid her head atop the man’s chest for a moment to see if she wasn’t mistaken, but sure enough there it was; the slightest hint of life still ran through him. She set to work immediately, taking a flask of yellow liquid from a pouch at her side and pouring a bit of the potion down the man’s throat, following it up with another flask of cloudy white liquid. The man’s breathing seemed to strengthen, and Artemia put an arm under his head and scooped the man up with a grunt of effort, making her way back to Skara Brae.

The extent of the trader’s wounds only became apparent when they had time to examine him at the healers. Artemia stayed in the room until the healers urged her to wait outside, but even that was enough to see that he had a half dozen other wounds from various weapons. Cuts and bruises, a missing ear, broken hand, seven crossbow bolts, dislocated shoulder, broken leg, and Virtues knows what kind of internal injuries. It was shocking that he’d lived after it all, and Artemia wasn’t holding her breath on his continued survival. After a brief wait she began to get restless, and peeked her head inside once before heading towards the Ranger’s Guild. Live or die, the trader’s life was in the healer’s hands now.

Making her way through town she avoided a few of the roads and ignored the trash that littered the streets. The stench of the city had never held any appeal for her, but the rotting refuse that lay scattered amongst the town definitely wasn’t helping improve her disposition. As she traversed perpendicular to one of the main streets she stopped, feeling her body tense, and she crept to the corner of the next building and peered down the road.

A small group of citizens were outside one of the businesses, shouting and screaming something she couldn’t make out over the tumult of their combined voices. Their demeanor was clear, and she could tell it was yet another of the riots that had been happening lately, but there was something different about this group. She looked more carefully, and that was when she noticed the one in the center with a heavy satchel. As she watched, he opened the satchel and pulled out an improvised explosive, and started his attempts to light it. As quietly as she could she unslung her bow, nocked an arrow, and fired at the man. The arrow whistled across the distance in an instant, piercing through the rioter’s arm and causing him to drop the bottle, and the others fled in all directions. Artemia nocked another arrow as she approached, and kept it aimed clearly at the would-be arsonist’s face.

“Give me one good reason the next one doesn’t go through your eye.”

The man seemed to be in a state of minor shock at the arrow in his arm, but he managed to stammer out a response. “W-we aren’t trying to h-hurt anyone, b-but we have to s-send a message!”

Artemia scowled darkly, but removed the arrow from the bow and drew the short sword at her side, as well as a coil of rope from her bag. “Well I’m sure the town guard will like to have a few words with you, then. Give me any trouble and that arrow in your arm becomes the least of your worries.” The man didn’t resist as Artemia bound him, and she got him onto his feet. Marching him through town she got a mixture of responses, but ignored them all equally until she’d handed the man over to the guard on duty. With a sigh she headed towards the docks before anything else interrupted her.

She took a final look back to the city before boarding the ferry and tossing the sailor a few crowns, and they swiftly crossed the bay to the mainland. She could already tell as she approached that someone unfamiliar was at the ranger’s guild, if the shouting from the guildmaster was any indication. She stepped through the door in mid-tirade, closing it quietly behind herself and standing patiently as her guildmaster argued with the woman.

“…dumb enough to go on a wild goose chase! And for what you’re offering it’s hardly worth my time to even talk to ya! If ya want to drag someone off to die with ya be my guest, but it ain’t gonna be me or any o’ mine! Now take ya blasted maps and get out of my building.” Artemia stepped aside to let the visitor leave, noting the shock of bright blonde hair the woman sported as she passed, and looked towards the guildmaster for a moment. The old man sighed and rubbed a hand across his head, reaching for the drawer that she knew contained his flask. Noticing this, Artemia shook her head and returned out the way she came in. Artemia searched the nearby area to see if there was any salvaging her stag hunt…Even though she knew it could only be a brief, momentary respite from the reality that was unfolding around her.

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Source: www.uoherald.com/node/530

[Sage Aurora]

The Awakening - Act I, Part 2
Kai Schober
14 Feb 2012 14:20:15 EST

Written by the EM Team

“Blast it! Blast, blast, blast!!!” Callie snarled in frustration as she threw a stack of papers from the small desk she’d been using at the Britain Library, once again feeling as if she’d hit a brick wall. Her efforts in Skara Brae had shown no results and inquiries in the capital city weren’t faring any better, despite having uncovered even more support for her theories. She glanced to the staircase as one of the scribes, an elderly gentleman who appeared to be peeking from the stairwell to see that she was alright. Seemingly satisfied that she was, he descended once more. The energy suddenly seemed to drain out of her and she collapsed into the chair and ran her hands over her face, brushing her blonde bangs to one side.

In her mind’s eye she went over how she came to be at this juncture. Her father and mother had researched this same issue for years and were on the verge of a breakthrough…but both had been killed during a Crimson Dragon attack of Queen Dawn’s reign. Since then Callie had been doing her best to pick up where they left off but, without many of her parents’ connections, her options were limited. She was swiftly going through what money had been left to her and she had to produce something tangible before all of it would be for naught. With a lengthy intake of breath she sighed, and began picking up her papers and stacking them neatly once more. There were still a few avenues and options left to explore. Tucking her things inside the shoulder satchel she carried Callie made her way down the stairs, oblivious to the world around her. She strode towards the West Bank, planning to use the old Britain Crossroads to make her way to the moongate.

Lost in her thoughts she turned a corner and practically ran into a rough looking fellow with a few days growth of beard who was brandishing a well-used pike. His expression held that manic kind of gleam that could only be interpreted as malice or madness, and either was equally dangerous. Her senses seemed to return all at once as she realized she could hear the sounds of weapons clashing, the smell of smoke and fire, and the sight of scorch marks and trash heaps. In a panic she grabbed the little holdout dagger she carried at her waist and threw it inexpertly at the man, eyes widening in fear as the tumbling dagger only hit him with the hilt, his face contorting in fury as he readied the pike for a thrust. Heart hammering in her chest like it was threatening to burst, she swore that she was losing her mind as she felt the very ground beneath her tremble in turn with its pulsations. Only a split second before it occurred did she realize the truth of the matter.

Clad in a robe, cloak and what she swore was a jester’s hat, a man suddenly tackled her to the ground while shouting “Don’t Move!”, and with a roar that rattled her to her bones an enormous dragon lunged through the space she’d just occupied and closed its jaws upon the pike wielder. Its heavy footsteps echoed through the cobblestones and shook her body as it halted its forward momentum and lifted its prey up high. The man who had tackled her shouted to the great beast, though what he said she couldn’t hear over her own shock. She heard a shrill, panicked scream followed by a loud impact and silence. “You…You just killed him…How could you…”

The man’s robe and cloak were in bright, garish colors that seemed to match perfectly the jester’s hat that sat at a slight cant upon his head. The bells jingled lightly as he started to get up and looked down at her horrified gaze and hesitant words, and he held out his hand expectantly with a smile on his face that came so easily it had to be his natural expression. “I assure you that he will live, fair lady, though your sympathy might be a bit misplaced…I think he held little regard for your life. Talratha here just picked him up and dropped him, nothing more.” He held out his glove clad hand until Callie took hold of it, and he helped her up. “You really should be more careful though…the streets are very dangerous lately, and the guard force in short supply.” A crash in the distance and a lazily drifting plume of smoke arose to the east, and the peculiarly dressed tamer looked over to it with an expression that conveyed anxiety and indecision.

Callie looked to him and saw that he was still eyeing her with worry, and after a moment realized that he was waiting on her. “I’m fine…you can go.” She had barely finished saying it before he took off at a run with the dragon flapping its powerful wings, soaring above and just behind him as they ran towards the source of the smoke. Shaken, Callie picked up her dagger and let her sights rest on the bloodied and unconscious raider. The dragon had deposited the raider none too gently, but had aimed him precisely into one of the piles of trash that had become frequent in the cities as of late. With a slight sense of revulsion she pulled her satchel closer to herself and exited the city with a much brisker pace than she had started with. This time she kept her ears open and her wits about her, but she’d still feel safer once she’d put the larger cities behind her…
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Source: www.uoherald.com/node/550

[Sage Aurora]

The Awakening - Act II
Kai Schober
1 Mar 2012 12:32:48 EST

Written by the EM Team

“Look, if you listen to me and stick close and keep your mouth shut we’re not going to have any problems. And now that you’ve gotten us this far, I’m taking the lead.” Callie grumbled quietly to her guide as they crept silently through the metallic passageways and past numerous sentries. She wiped a hand across her brow and brushed her blonde bangs from her face. “We just need to make sure we don’t get spotted”. As they passed near one of the far walls of the mapped area, Balthan the guide found his attention caught by a long rusted wreck of machinery and slagged walls. Just as he was about to comment he felt himself run into the back of the archaeologist in front of him who turned and glared at him. “Watch where you’re going.” She hissed fiercely under her breath. She gestured for Balthan to turn around and began to remove some special equipment from his pack, tools that were not fashioned by human hands. With the tools in hand, she began to dismantle the mounting of one of the peculiar glowing wall panels, and removing a large console nearby with multicolored buttons. She spoke excitedly and quietly while she did so. “This will be the find of the century, you know. It’ll be put in the Vesper museum with our names on it and they’ll never forget us.”

With a snipping noise she managed to disconnect the last strut holding the console in place, and she tucked the tools back into the guides pack. She removed the strange panel first and broke the wires going to it and tucked it into the guides pack. Grasping the console, she tugged and pulled, but she couldn’t seem to remove it. She changed the way she grasped at it, and felt the strangely colored shapes on the front give way slightly, before she managed to rip the console away from the final bolt holding it in place. As it came away the structure seemed to pulse around them, energy flowing through conduits in the structure as she hurriedly tucked the console away. “Let’s get out of here while we’ve still got the chance.” A vicious tremor began to run through the structure, strong enough that she felt herself shift from side to side. “Time to go”, Callie said as she removed two of the recall scrolls from the pack, handing one to the guide and waiting for him to go. As Balthan vanished from sight, a red robed mage rounded the corner and began to chant words of power, and as she cast the words of power to recall she felt a blinding pain as her body teleported, and then there was blackness.

Harlann adjusted the scratchy robes that disguised her true identity as she left the city of Lakeshire and made her way through one of the shimmering blue portals. Despite her familiarity with their magical nature she always felt a tingle of trepidation at utilizing the portals, but soon found herself back at the white marble building that ensconced the gate that served the shrine of Compassion. Disguised as one of the meer’s mages, she found that many of the more irritating creatures such as the ratmen gave her a wide berth. She’d gone against the Shirron’s wishes to visit the Meer, but she’d managed to gather important information, and she was certain that the Shirron would forgive her when she presented this new revelation to him. She quickly went over in her mind what she would say as she made her way to the mountain passage that led through to the castle that the Jukan’s had been using as a fortress for some time. The nightmares and visions that had been plaguing their kind were not universal, but they were shared by the Meer; The Meer did not have an explanation for the phenomena nor was it an attempt by them to attack the Jukans; And perhaps most importantly of all, none of the gargoyles of Ver Lor Reg nor any of the gypsies in their encampments reported similar things. As she passed through the mountainside passage she felt a vicious tremor run through the tunnel and a shaking of the ground that caused her sense of balance to momentarily dizzy her.

Bursting through into the sunlight, she could feel the immense power that was being channeled due to the way it raised her hackles. No Jukan mage could be the source of this kind of power, so it must be an attack. “Evacuate, brethren! This is an attack!” The startled guards turned at what sounded like a Jukan voice, but squared themselves off with her on sight of her Meer outfit. She quickly took a breath and centered herself in the Art of the Way, and charged forward with her staff held at one side. She had no time to argue with them, and instead feinted left before fluidly slipping past the guard on the right and sending him crashing to the ground with a well placed strike to the back of his knee. She planted the staff into the ground hard and vaulted midway up the castle’s wall, scaling it quickly as her own people’s arrows glanced off the walls around her.

The entire castle was shaking as she managed to reach the apex. Tumbling and diving, she narrowly evaded one of the mechanical Juggernaut’s charges by planting her iron sheathed staff between herself and it’s mighty drill and spinning past it, breaking through to one of the back corner stairwells. As one of the red robed controllers fled past her, she saw him stop and begin to unleash a spell, but she’d already made it to the other side of the room and dove down a set of stairs, rolling and coming up on her feet at the bottom. Her body groaned in protest from the impact of the stairs but she refused to let it break her concentration. Her Shirron was mere seconds away and she ran for the door even as the whole structure suddenly seemed to leap a few feet to one side. She flung open the door just as a berserk juggernaut crashed through a wall in front of her and out into the sunlight. She rushed past it and jerked on the handle of the door to the Shirron’s chambers and stepped through as a lightning fast arm reached out and grabbed her by the throat, lifting her high above the ground. She attempted to choke out a warning but could not past the iron grip of the towering Juka in front of her, until she managed to remove her cowl, and the Shirron let her fall to the ground.

“The Juka need their leader. Forgive me, Great Mother.” With that, Waymaster Harlann twirled forward, bringing her staff around feinting towards her leader with it, before dropping and sweeping his legs. As the massive Jukan hit the ground a fresh tremor arose and she leveled a devastating blow of her staff to his temple, before throwing her staff aside. With the Shirron unconscious, she managed to get him on her back and stagger her way out through the hole that the juggernaut had left. As she did so she heard a loud twang of a bowstring as her right leg gave out from underneath her. Glancing down she could see the shaft of the arrow sticking out of her calf, but she rose to her feet again as the ground began to give way and the shouts from the fortress redoubled. Blasts of magic from Jukan mages and arrows peppered the area around her, until she felt her vision flash white from the effects of a mind blast spell. She focused herself in the Way once more and pushed her screaming muscles as hard as she could, managing to get outside of where she could feel the center of the magic before her leg surrendered to the wound and she fell gracelessly to the ground. As she felt blackness creeping into the edges of her vision, a hundred or more screams rose up at once from the castle behind her and then suddenly were no more. She could still feel the ground shaking and she drew on every reserve of energy she could muster, forcing herself to push farther, her vision blurring and swaying as she did, and the weight of her Shirron pulling harder with each passing moment. She felt the terrain changing beneath her feet, as grass gave way to dirt, and dirt to sand. She could feel the Shirron’s heavy breathing even as everything seemed to be falling apart around her. A cacophonic noise unlike anything she’d ever heard ripped through the air and sent a cloud of debris and smoke raining throughout the area as she stumbled to her knees amidst a set of grand pillars in the desert. “Great Mother save us…” she whispered as rocks and pieces of the castle rained down into the desert around her before she mercifully succumbed to the encroaching darkness.

Source: www.uoherald.com/node/557

[Sage Aurora]

The Awakening - Act II, Part 2
Kai Schober
15 Mar 2012 13:13:42 EST

Written by the EM Team

Intermission Fiction

Stumbling, he grasps onto the railing leading out of the cellar as the distant sounds of unrest echo throughout the empty building around him. Taking another drink from the somewhat depleted bottle of wine in his hand he makes his way through the corridors to the balcony, until the bottle slips from his grasp. In his attempt to grab it he falls, and knocks aside a piece of fabric with a jingle. His eyes are drawn to the weathered and tattered hat. A memory long past is conjured before his eyes as he feels a profound sadness, noticing the missing bell upon a lone corner. His hand reaches for it, fingers almost grazing the fabric before he stops, instead grasping once more for the bottle of wine. With a grumble he rights himself and staggers away from the hat, leaving it as forgotten as he had been, and heads back to the wine cellar once more.

Wislem stretched his wings once in agitation before running his talons along his horns, counting out the profits the smithy had made that week. The current state of affairs with the Juka was definitely troublesome. It was hard to predict how it’d affect them, but the recent bevy of adventurers that had shown up was proving to be a great boon to their economy. For Wislem, despite record amounts of profit, he couldn’t help but feel the adventurers were only the first wave of a new tide. He had little doubts that the city could weather any storm, whatever disturbance was occurring…Ver Lor Reg had stood as a bastion, a sanctum of safety for ages now. It was about time that it had drawn more attention and proved to be more profitable.

Despite everything seemingly going their way, he’d heard talk of a few who were considering Zhah’s offer. Come, she had implored them, and together we can forge a future stronger than we can apart. Zhah’s plea was not one that was ignored, but it was also seen for that which it truly was as well. It was a play on her part to increase the strength of Ter Mur, but it would cause Ver Lor Reg to be weakened, and the Councilors had told her they appreciated her offer, but aside from the current trading would take no immediate action. In recent days it had almost become a bit of a running joke between the gargoyles of Ver Lor Reg; Had they taken her up on it, they’d have missed out on this sudden surge in activity. There had been a few who hadn’t done so well during this sudden influx, like poor Kharas Zhem of the golem factory, who was having a tough time acquiring the necessary parts for his mechanical monsters. Wislem heard the chime of a clock behind him, and frowned as he realized he’d wasted nearly an hour in his head like this. The only true fear he could muster with any grain of reality was that of harboring the wounded Jukan and their Shirron…He’d tried to speak with one of the Councilors about transferring them to Mistas, but had been ignored. Couldn’t win them all, he thought with a bit of a wistful smile as he packed away the profits of the day. Heading through the marbled streets of the city the sun shone down gloriously, and the sound of one of the fountains was soothing to his ears.

[Sage Aurora]

The Awakening - Act III
Kai Schober
10 Apr 2012 11:39:43 EST

Written by the EM Team

There was hardly anything left after they were done. He’d borne witness to the frantic looting of the castle and had found himself only able to escape with his life. It was unthinkable, and as such it had caught him and seemingly everyone else completely unawares. Explosions were set off throughout the capital city…though there wasn’t much point in even calling it the capital city anymore at this point. Britannia was on the brink of collapse into a fully-fledged group of independent city-states, like Nujel’m had always been. All he had been able to salvage were the clothes on his back and the rumpled piece of cloth in his hand. He thought back to the incident in his head, still confused over the choice he’d made…

The fighting was getting closer, and he’d managed to wrap up a dozen or more bottles from the cellar into his tattered cloak, gathering it up and cinching it into a makeshift sack. The shouts were louder, and the wind brought the scent of smoke through the open windows, mingling in with the smell of the bay in a way that was at once intoxicating and stifling. He could hear the clashing of blade against armor, and when the sound carried right, the screams mingled with the howl of metal against armor, flesh, and bone. Time was quickly running out as he made his way to the front gates, stumbling upon something left on the ground. He looked up to see a crowd forming past the iron portcullis that protected his master’s home…and he could smell the scent of gunpowder. His eyes wide with terror, he turned to gather up his scattered bottles even as he heard the gates being assaulted and scaled. His attention was grabbed once more by the old hat, the one ragged corner missing its’ bell, and his fuzzed thoughts clarified for an instant as he thought back to what an old gypsy had told him years ago.

He seized upon the piece of fabric, intending to grasp the bottles as well when some of the crowd had already scaled the great gates that protected the castle. Within an instant they were grabbing everything in sight. He struggled to get to the gates, fighting past the mob that seemed intent on looting anything they could find, but he wasn’t making enough headway. The gates were flung open and he managed to get past them and onto the bridge, but a passerby suddenly knocked him into the railing. Windmilling his arms desperately, he felt his balance vanish as he went over the edge into the water, his fingers tightly gripping the hat he had once worn so proudly. As he struggled to kick his way back up a concussive wave suddenly struck, and debris began to sink down into the bay around him. Breaking the waters’ surface, he could see the remains of the castle that he had called home for so long; now naught but broken mortar, pulverized brick, and blazing tinder. Anything left of the bridge that could be of use was gone, and bodies and boards alike floated along the water’s edge as the soft lapping current of the bay pushed them towards the shore. As he finally got to dry land, he found the hat still clutched in his grasp, the only thing he’d saved from the castle. Somehow, even with the tragedy and horror unfolding around him, this one thing felt right.

Time hadn’t helped him figure out why it was important to him. It had been forgotten and left to rot as long as he himself had. Still, the gypsy’s words resonated within him and he wondered if this really meant anything, or if it was just the newest in a long series of jests that fate had played on yet another pawn on the chessboard. And if for some reason the gypsy’s words were true then, the warning she gave him later may yet hold water.

[/i][/ul]

An involuntary shiver ran through him, and he knew it was from more than just thinking about the chill that the water had left him with.

Source: www.uoherald.com

[Sage Aurora]

The Awakening – Act IV
Kai Schober
30 Apr 2012 14:56:14 EST

Written by the EM Team

The thundering echoes of metal clashing against stone rose up again from the western walls, as yet another of the mechanical beasts managed to clamber its way out of the hole that led to their entombed shrine to do battle with the Gargish defenders. Alone the creatures were not a lethal threat, but any mistake would lead to injuries, and the gargoyles could not replenish their forces as the machines did. Add to that the defecting gargoyles that joined the twisted and insane controllers inside the mechanized temple to a long dormant deity, and Ver Lor Reg sat on a precarious perch. And though the sounds of valorous physical battle carried from the site, a far different but decidedly no less heated battle took place inside their council chambers.

“To say we have dealt with the creatures of this land since Ver Lor Reg was created and we have never once faltered. To think that this is an unconquerable force is unworthy of our people. To say that we should accept the offer of Zhah…is unbecoming.”

A rustling of leathery wings showed the gargoyles’ displeasure at the tone struck by Vis-Lem. “Zhah’s offer of refuge and treatise is favorable and generous; Driven by worry of losing some of your power, Vis-Lem?”

Vis-Lem bared his teeth for a moment at Res-Vor. “To say that establishing Ver Lor Reg was a monumental accomplishment is an understatement; The machines are threatening, but the influx of visitors is helping businesses…”

An-Rel-Tar raised a clawed hand for a moment for silence, and everyone ceased. It had been some time since they had heard the aged gargoyle speak. Clearing his throat for a moment, he stood and gestured to the other gargoyles at the stone table. “The elves…humans…and even fellow gargoyles are straining our resources. There is only so much the land and our mages can provide, and with central Ilshenar sealed so have a plethora of our resources been sealed beyond our reach. The gold is good, yes…but of what use is it when the Britannians suffer from raiders in their own cities and caravans are scarce? Think on it long and hard, my friends…It is no easy decision to make. We stand at a precipice, and must make sure we do not plunge off of it.”

As An-Rel-Tar finished, he turned to walk out and the other gargoyles knew that regardless of whether or not they had anything else to say, for now at least, this meeting was finished.

San-Lem had spent several years as a healer here in Ver Lor Reg, and before that she’d wandered through the wilds of Ilshenar, and it was a testament to her ability to recognize danger and steer clear of it that she’d survived as long as she had. The recent skirmishes in the city had set her and many others nerves on edge regarding the current situation, and the heavy traffic through the area didn’t help. Change begets change, she thought…and change was often a violent and destructive process. She’d made up her mind some weeks ago, and had only just now finished her preparations, trading what coin she had for rations and supplies. It ached within her to think of no longer being able to feel the touch of cool marble beneath her clawed feet, but she’d already made up her mind.

As she passed through the gates of the cities and headed between the great marble pillars that marked where they had conquered the deserts of Ilshenar, she took one last look at the city before drawing her wings around her. She turned and headed north, passing a small group of humans with some sort of tool she’d never seen before. They were taking great scoops of the desert up and shaking loose the sand, finding rocks and bits of stone and marble from the initial constructions. Shaking her head she walked on, thinking that she’d never understand the humans no matter how many generations of their people she lived through.

[Sage Aurora]

The Awakening – Act IV Part 2
Kai Schober
11 May 2012 12:44:19 EST

Written by the EM Team

It hadn’t ever seemed like such a long journey from Ver Lor Reg to the moongate before, but their group had never been so haggard either. As the humans in Ilshenar had increased in numbers the strain on the city of Ver Lor Reg had grown to the point that it was no longer sustainable for some of the businesses and families. Prices had increased to the point that many of the gargoyles who’d lived there for ages could no longer afford to remain. Queen Zhah’s offer had tempted many away, and even some of the town guards had taken it up and left. With the pressure of the humans in the desert sifting and drawing in monsters of all sorts, combined with the opening into Exodus dungeon emitting the mechanical monsters regularly, the situation had quickly started devolving.

Vas-Wen helped to drag along one of her fellow gargoyles as they made their way through the desert towards the moongate, with a gargoyle child in her other arm. The few among them with weapons were tasked with clearing a path through the dangerous areas. She was one of the few who had managed to escape uninjured when the end had started, and now she was doing everything she could to help her fellow gargoyles get away from what was left of their once glorious and beautiful city. It had just happened so fast, it still all seemed like a dream…

A crashing noise awoke her from slumber, causing her to bolt upright in the stone bed. Assuming someone had dropped something, she rolled over in an attempt to sleep but not before another, much louder, crash broke her attempt. A moment later a sparking and hissing monstrosity was flung through the open archway, and a guard quickly dashed in after it, burying his spear deep into the creature and ripping out it’s mechanized guts as the whine of its engine finally ceased. Vas-Wen clutched at her nightclothes as she looked to the guard, whose breathing she could now tell was ragged and from whom blood flowed freely onto the floor. The guard looked to her with a startled visage. “This area was supposed to already be cleared! Get out of here and head for the gate, and if you know how to fight, arm yourself!” With that the guard rushed out into the street once more. Warily, she stepped through the stone archway from whence the guard had just come.

Ver Lor Reg was in chaos. The scents of burning oil and reagents clung heavily in the air, and the sickening essence of blood followed it like a chaser. Screams and clashing weapons rang throughout the entirety of the city, and to the west she could see guards clashing with Overseers, Minions, and even those once thought extinct Minion Lords. She could see that there was no way the outnumbered force could hold the mechanized monsters at bay, and they were in a fighting retreat. Hearing a cry in a nearby home she realized with dread that it was that of a child. Without even thinking, she sprinted towards the building, bursting into the open archway in time to see a juggernaut enclosing upon a lone gargish child. With a roar of fury she didn’t even know she could make, Vas-Wen leapt on top of the creature and raked its exposed human parts until she reached its throat, and dug her talons into it. The mixed spray of blood and alchemical fluid that powered the monstrosity quickly seeped into the creatures exposed circuitry and it cast out arcs of lightning through its body until the creature slumped and its drill finally grinded to a halt.

She quickly moved forward to the child and took him up in her arms, heading past the defunct creature even as a much more vicious looking version of the one she’d killed smashed through the wall and into the building. The massive drill attached to it whirred with blurring speed and wailed like the sound of a dragon’s claws upon stone. With a flap of her wings she threw herself through the doorway as the structure collapsed, feeling strong hands help her up as she joined the retreat, hoping she never saw one of these creatures ever again…

As she’d thought back to what had just happened, they finally reached the moongate and stepped through. Exiting into the sunlight of Ter Mur they were spotted by one of the Ter Mur gargoyles who immediately sent out a wave of alarm, though amidst his shouts he had to pause to cough a few times. As the healers and envoys rushed out of the city to attend to their brethren from Ver Lor Reg, Vas-Wen could only watch and wish she could do more.

“For your contributions and your dedication to the city, as well as in removing and assisting in the detention of threats both domestic and foreign, it is the decision of this body that you be recognized as a Baron of the city of Trinsic. Congratulations and we hope that you will serve well.”

The assembled men and women applauded as the brief ceremony concluded, and the newest Baron was named. Despite the hardships they’d endured, not everyone was finding this to be the worst of times, and the merchants of Trinsic had banded together as had those of several other cities. With trading and most of the means of survival in their hands with many of the former nobles ousted by the angry people, the merchants had been able to seize power, and were now in a state of de facto control. While this worked out well for them, not everyone was so pleased with it, one of them being the man who watched what he viewed as a farcical ceremony from a balcony overlooking the inner courtyard.

Stroking his goatee for a moment, the man turned to his servant that was with him, scanning his face for his thoughts on the matter. After but a few seconds he broke the silence and spoke to him.

“Tell me, Clancy, what do you think of merchants assuming the role of lauded council?”

Unmistakable sarcasm dripped with every word he spoke.

Clancy frowned for a moment and just shook his head. “Lord Archus, I do not think it bodes well for the future of our fair city.”
Lord Archus turned back to look down upon the gathered and then did an about face, his cloak hovering just above the floor. “As much as it bothers me, I fear it is not the primary concern at the moment. I’ve been trying to decide what is possible to do about the situation that’s occurred in Ver Lor Reg. After receiving word of the hardships they are facing I’ve come to my decision. Come with me, and we shall see if the expensive favors I burned have borne the fruit that I need and brought me the only messenger that might be able to get through to him…”

The unmistakable sound of valorite clashing against verite, of iron against copper, and bronze against agapite rang throughout the battlefield. A fierce contingent of knights backed up by a scant few mages were doing their best to fight off every attack thrown at them by the wild beasts and assassins that beset upon them, even while necromancers did their best to level the field anytime the knights started to make headway.

A rallying cry shot up as a man in gleaming, polished armor charged into the front lines, a banner flapping violently against the wind from the horses back as he threw himself into the fray. His helmet was adorned on either side with a battered but clear crest, that of a deep violet chalice. Dazzling sword strokes and parries were flung against the enemy combatants, causing the beastmasters, poisoners, and necromancers formation to quickly crumble. Even as the line advanced the scavengers were already starting to populate the battlefield, rats and crows finding those bodies not already used up from the foul magicks being used. Amidst the noise of battle and the intensity of the fighting, an abnormally behaving mouse was never noticed.

The leader of the knights shouted out for one last surge, and he dismounted as a fireball lanced out and took his steed upon its flank. On foot he closed the distance between himself and the one who appeared to be his opposite number amongst the enemy forces, and quickly brought his blade to bear against her. With a vicious snarl the woman raised a kryss to block, and they locked blades for but a moment before he managed to bring his shield to bear, and bashed her with it. In a single motion she brought a potion to her lips, ripped the cork out and drank it, and with an invigorated look she motioned for the plate armored knight to come at her. Both of them fought on even as their armies continued to battle, until finally the knight managed to gain the upper hand and knocked her to the ground. Hefting one of his plate armored boots onto her sternum he leveled his sword to her face.

"If you know where she is, tell me, and I will serve the virtue of Compassion over Justice today. If you don’t, then I hope your last words are worth it.”

The woman glared daggers at him, a bloody mouthed smile playing across her lips that was devoid of anything resembling warmth as she coughed out her answer. “She’s beyond your reach, Knight-Errant. And she’s beyond your power too. Your little kingdom is crumbling at the seams and we’ll be there to pick up the pieces when…”

Her response was cut short as the knight drew his sword back and silenced her forever. Without a word he turned from her body, surveying the scene before him; those enemy forces still alive were now in full retreat, and most of his forces were walking, if not unwounded. He slashed the blood from his blade and slid it home into its sheath at his waist as he approached his lieutenants, but was stopped as a peculiar rodent ran across the battlefield to him. As he saw her, he doffed his helmet and shook out the sweat from his raven locks, before kneeling to pick up an old friend.

“You are the last I expected to see in these lands, Sherry. I can only assume that it’s of dire importance.”

The knights voice still had a sonorous quality to it, one that brought a touch of familiarity that Sherry had found less and less of amongst others of late, and she made a silent thanks that at least here something hadn’t changed.

“Lord Dupre, it’s about the current state of…”

Reaching a plate gloved hand up he rubbed at his temples lightly for a moment before he held that same hand out in a gesture of asking her to halt. “For you, it’s simply Dupre. But come, I fear this is the kind of talk I won’t be able to handle if I don’t have access to a drink. I promise to only get you the finest of delicacies to nibble on as well.” With that having been said, he gathered up the reins of his steed and waited for one of his mages to provide them with a gate, and stepped through it with Sherry the Mouse in one arm…

Source: www.uoherald.com/node/594

[Sage Aurora]

The Awakening - Act 5
Kai Schober
11 Jun 2012 11:58:23 EST

Written by the EM Team

“Now, charge its left flank, and aim for the seams! Mages, lightning and energy bolts, but focus on keeping up our knights!” Dupre shouted out the orders from behind his plated helm, even as his cadre of knights swarmed one of the monstrosities that laired within Exodus dungeon. With the backup of the mages keeping them healed, they weren’t in any threat at the moment from the beast in front of them. Lord Dupre had heard the noises and gotten glimpses of things from inside what was left of Ver Lor Reg and it caused him quite a bit of worry. He’d been trying to devise tactics so that they could retake the city, but the creatures resisted quite a bit of force, and seemed to give up little in areas of weakness save for how well lightning worked against them. As he observed the knights, a noise from behind caught his attention, and he whirled while he drew the longsword at his side and lunged. His blade bit harshly into the seam of the floating menace, and he smashed it in harder by hammering the hilt with his plated gauntlet. With a squealing shriek of metal, the creature’s internal mechanisms chewed themselves to pieces on his sword before he drew it out and turned away, the creature exploding and peppering his armor with light shrapnel. He slashed the grease and oil clinging to his blade onto the floor of the dungeon as his knights finished slaying the much larger creature, and they retreated from the dungeon once more.

Lord Dupre had always loved the city, with its gentle ocean breeze cutting through the harsh heat of the nearby jungles. Trinsic felt like home, even after all these years…though the sandstone walls didn’t hold the same comfort they once had. In Felucca some of the structures still bore the scars from his campaign against Juo’nar and the fallen knights own siege of the city, but here in Trammel the same evidence was gone; He would never get used to that. He made his way to the weaponsmith, as was usual after these excursions…he’d yet to return without a blade in disrepair from using it against these metal monsters. From there he quickly made his way to the Keg and Anchor, and was going to sit at his favorite table when he noticed there was someone else in the spot he usually occupied. With a muttered grumble under his breath he made his way around the table and sat opposite the man, taking note of his wrinkled and rumpled clothes, and the way he clutched at something in his left hand, a glint of a dingy metal ball hanging off of it.

The waitress didn’t even need to come over to take his drink order; Dupre had been a regular since he’d trekked away from the lands of Felucca to Trammel, and in short order the staff had learned his patterns. She brought over a strong, aged honey whiskey and left him with a glass full and the bottle on the table. As he took a drink, he put it down with a start as the seemingly comatose man across from him had suddenly flung his open right hand out, clearly wanting the glass. Dupre’s face soured for a moment before he shook his head. “You’ll get nothing from begging, but if you’ve got news or information of worth, I’m not averse to sharing the drink then.”

This seemed to have animated the fellow, whose face lifted off the table to regard the knight, and he gave Dupre a crooked smile.
“I’ll tell you a story, my gleaming friend, and perhaps you might understand how this all began. But you’ll get nothing from me with my tongue this dry, so fill up my glass and we can see what you have yet to learn.”

Dupre looked down to see that as if by magic, an empty glass had appeared in the man’s hand, and he poured him half a glass full of the expensive drink.

“Now talk, and make sure it was worth the cost of that whiskey.”

The rough looking fellow winced as he drank practically half the drink at once, exhaling sharply as he pulled away, and leaned forward, as a spark of recognition passed between the knight and the jester. The jester laughed at the apparent shock that ran across Lord Dupre’s face, and he could smell the man’s foul breath accompanying that laugh.

“I was wondering if you’d recognize me, you old tin can. Can’t fault you for taste though, you always did know how to sweet talk these little waifs into giving you the best stock they had.” With that he raised his glass to Dupre and finished off what was left in it. “Of course, you probably either thought me dead and gone…or never bothered to spend a thought on an old jester, did you? I’ll tell you right now, what you’ve seen in our cities…it’s worse in Ter Mur. Apparently, those refugees out of Ver Lor Reg were carrying something with them, you see…something that doesn’t affect them but it sure does the Ter Mur gargoyles. They’re trying to keep it hushed up…but Zhah’s ferrying out the infected to that abandoned fishing village, keeping them quarantined…and the Ver Lor Reg gargoyles…I’m sure someone knows where they are. I don’t. That fishing village though…it belongs to the dead and the dying.”

Dupre’s mouth hung open at this stunning revelation, before he snapped it shut. The Jester held out his now empty glass, and flashed him a vicious grin, until the knight poured him another glass.

“You’re a regular saint, you old codger. Now I promised I’d tell you how it all began. Years ago, when my master was still with us, he’d managed to figure out that something was happening in Ilshenar, and it was centered around Exodus. He’d gathered what he could about the enemy, but it was at a turbulent time, and he doubted that he could get anyone to rally behind him. I wasn’t able to learn much personally, but I think he intended to destroy the machines that were empowering Exodus. Machines you might be familiar with by now.”

Dupre’s realization happened almost immediately, as he growled. “The nexus devices that everyone’s been collecting and building.”
The jester’s laugh had no mirth or lightness in it. “Isn’t it all such a grand, cruel joke? Our fate is being brought down on us by our own hands.” He paused to take another drink, shrugging as he did so and returning to his previous story. “He’d managed to get his hands onto some kind of scrolls he claimed were vital, but I never saw what was in them…all I ever saw were the two maps he had. One showed a passage into Exodus dungeon that went through Ver Lor Reg…that same map that was stolen the night of the riot and that that little fence made so many copies of. The other…”

He paused, taking a long drink and laid his head down, until finally Dupre broke the silence.

"And the other?”

The old jester looked up through bleary eyes.

“The other led him to the last place he ever walked as a man…but I’ll tell you this. Master always had a journal he kept with him that held more in it than anyone ever knew. If you can find that journal…maybe you can figure out what’s really going on. And I think that a knight as smart as yourself should know where it will be.”

Dupre’s face set with a grim bit of determination.

“Exodus Dungeon.”

“Glad to see you can still use a bit of what’s left between your ears, you tin can.”

Dupre sighed as he poured them both a full glass once more. “Heckles, I think you may have given me the first thing I need to fight this enemy…and I’ll definitely drink to that.”

[Sage Aurora]

The Awakening - Act 5, Part 2
Kai Schober
25 Jun 2012 13:45:42 EST

Written by the EM Team

Dupre’s gleaming platemail was scarred and battered as he approached the walled sandstone city, great strips of it ripped away by the attacks of the vicious mechanical beasts. He’d left too many men, elves, and gargoyles dead in the final struggle to rid them of the foul beast Exodus…and despite Sacrifice being a virtue, he wondered if it hadn’t taken more than its share this time. And why did it seem that those younger, faster, and stronger than he were so oft chosen while Sacrifice had merely passed him by all these years? Or maybe these others in some way had acted as a shield for him, preserving his existence by purchasing it with their own. Or perhaps his vow of Honor to defeat Minax was all that held Sacrifice at bay. He shook his head as he passed through the gates of the city of Honor, but he couldn’t shake off his uncertainty. The events at the moongate had only served to reinforce his unsteadiness; He’d intended to immediately return to Felucca and his hunt for Minax, but if the moongates were corrupted in such a way, could it possibly be an infection like the gargoyles were even now still facing in Ter Mur? And if so, would it spread to the rest of Gilforn’s gates, or even to those temporary ones conjured by so many mages of the realm? Give me a beast, a monster, a man who I can fight with a sword and shield, and I’ll cause them to quake, he thought…but I have no recourse against an enemy I can’t face. Turning these thoughts aside, he strode into the armorsmiths and handed over his large, heavy shield, to which the smith could only shake his head. It was yet another shield that had given its life to prolong his. He looked over the copy of the journal he’d found…and he wondered if he hadn’t been wrong about the man who had once so often held court with his Lord.



"Yes, Heckles, you know that I must do it. I trust you to tend to the castle and keep it ready for my return.”

“Then you anticipate returning, milord?”

Blackthorn was some time in answering, for he didn’t know exactly how to respond to such a simple and forthright question posed by his longtime jester and companion. Finally his voice rose as he shouldered the satchel carrying moonstones, blackrock, and other reagents.

“I anticipate doing what needs to be done. I only hope that it allows me to rejoin you here, Heckles. And Heckles…”

“Yes, Milord?”

Blackthorn tossed the jester a key, and the jester cradled it as if it were that which unlocked the gates to eternal paradise.

“Try not to empty the wine cellar in my absence.”

For once, the jester had no witty reply…even as his master’s back turned towards him and he watched his cloak flutter with the opening of the door and his exit, Heckles could sense how serious this must be; his master had never once trusted him with the key to the wine cellar before…



In Trinsic, despite that the rioters were still acting up and Ver Lor Reg was shattered…the mood was exuberant. The defeat of Exodus had made them all feel as if this was finally the end of a long journey through darkness; despite how he felt and what he thought, Dupre let them have their revelry and moment of glory. Tonight had been a victory, a powerful and important one…but it was not the end of their troubles by far. The peasants were still in revolt against the nobles; the gargoyles of Ver Lor Reg still displaced, now with no home; the minions of Minax and Minax herself running free wherever they may be; the gargoyles of Ter Mur stricken and swept through by the mysterious plague; and the Jukans and Meer decimated by the destruction in Ilshenar.

Dupre took his glass and drained it in a single throwback of it. He’d often been asked by people why it was he had such a fondness for the indulgence of alcohol.

Lately, his only reply was to ask how everyone else didn’t indulge in it.



The dungeon’s inhabitants disgusted him; their twisted mockery of magic was an affront to all mages. At the same time, it fascinated him…the power that they were able to harness.

In this case, disgust won out over fascination as a bolt of solid energy flew from the cloaked figures hands and ripped into the creature’s mechanisms, followed by three powerful lightning bolts that echoed thunderously through the depths, before all was silent again. Opening his satchel, he placed another piece of blackrock in front of yet another of the strange devices. He had no idea what this particular device did, nor did he care; all he needed to know was that it seemed important, and it was gathering energy.

He was here to deny Exodus access to any of it.

Trailing behind him lay a cord, fashioned from twine and infused with sulfurous ash; he set it up and led it back to what he believed to be the main chamber, and placed the few remaining bits of blackrock in front of the largest of the devices. With a moments incantation and several gestures, he could smell the burning of reagents in his bag, and feel as the magical energy traced its way through the ash infused ropes…he even could feel as the blackrock absorbed and enhanced the energies, and he had the satisfaction of seeing the large machine rock from the initial explosion, and he quickly turned to leave…only to be suddenly disoriented by a feeling he had felt once before.

Being forcibly summoned by Exodus.



The night had gone on late and Dupre had had his fill of whatever drink he’d wanted at any bar he’d gone to; but it left him unfulfilled. It was times like these, where even in victory he felt defeated, that he sought refuge in his dedication to Honor and everything it encompassed. So long as he kept true to his Honor, he would never lose his path.

Even if it felt like he was helpless to save a Britannia that seemed bent on tearing itself apart at the seams.



“You insult me, petty warlock. You think to undermine my efforts instead of join me. Is this what you think of your virtue of Honesty?”

Blackthorn bristled at the horrendous sound of the abominations voice, and managed to respond with a smirk on his lips that he wasn’t even sure it could see. “I’m afraid that you chose the wrong piece on the board if you wanted a virtuous pawn.”

Laughter, haunting, cold, and without any sense of mirth, came as if from all around him. “You think you’ve won, do you, little one. I am more than you could ever hope to be, and your efforts may have cost me…but we will see who will cost who the most.”

Blackthorns retort was lost as his jaw dropped, a moment of shock setting in when an enormous creature moved into view before him in the darkness, his neck craning back to look upon the bulk of the creature. For a moment, Blackthorn realized that perhaps there really was nothing that could be done against such a foe, and that he shouldn’t even try.

But it was only for a moment.

Blackthorn quickly backpedaled, thrusting a hand into the satchels hidden pocket, and withdrawing a large, peculiar stone that he’d hoped he wouldn’t have cause to use. The gleaming black sphere, something that Gilforn had boasted about being a ‘composite moonstone’, began to dance in his palm as he did his best to stay out of reach of the mechanical monster and he poured forth the magical energy from his body, his mana burning through his body with the rage of a dam breaking, every second his mind telling him he’d be just fast enough to keep out of Exodus’ reach.

Unfortunately, a blow that was so fast it was practically invisible slammed into him and forced reality in upon his comforting lie. He was flung across the chamber, managing to just barely keep his hand on the shimmering orb, and as he hit a wall and then the floor, his vision blurred and went red. He coughed hard, blood spilling forth from his lips, a telling sign of some internal injury…but he would not falter. He was Lord Blackthorn. This vile spawn of a creature would not defeat someone of his standing.

Exodus paced closer, expecting to see a look of despair upon the human’s face…only to find a bloody lipped smile on his face. And then suddenly a portal of shimmering energy, a swirling thing of crimson and cerulean, swallowed forth Blackthorn and Exodus alike.



“A setback, my minions. Much damage was done to the apparatus meant to empower and strengthen me…and my whereabouts are unknown. But none of it has affected my ability to communicate across realms, as you can see.”

Of course there was no actual response from the minions of Exodus…none that could be perceived by human senses.

“It seemed that the warlock was quite the duplicitous one…I imagine that there are many ways we can make that work for us. And like it or not…he is now a captive audience. Even if we are both trapped here, he will still be made of use…” A haunting noise filled the displaced chamber, as Exodus laughed.

_____
Source: www.uoherald.com/node/626

[Sage Aurora]

The Awakening – Act VI
Kai Schober
2 Jul 2012 13:37:52 EST

Written by the EM Team

The grass beneath his tread was soft, and covered in the morning dew from a sun that was rising in the east. Each step was taken without any specific destination, and there was no greater purpose in these steps beyond wandering; the land was unfamiliar and strange, and there were no clear landmarks to guide the way, and no signs of any sort…so he wandered. His robe dragged along the ground, fraying its edges as he went…but he paid it no heed. Finally at the end of his energy for the moment, he dropped to his knees in the soft grass, and meditated. An answer would come, or a path would be found. As he grew accustomed to the scents and sounds all around him, a new and unfamiliar sound crept to his ears. He drew himself up and brushed grass from his robe, before altering his direction…and headed in the direction of the wail of anguish he’d heard.

It took some time, but eventually he saw a thin wisp of smoke rising in the air; soon after, the smell of cooked meat reached his nose. Thinking to find himself at some sort of gypsy outpost, he was far more confused to hear noises that could only be associated with the sick and dying, and he hastened his pace. He stopped suddenly as he saw a red and white sign affixed to an ankh in front of him. While the ankh served to give him some minor comfort that he was not in completely alien circumstance, the sign brought confusion and curiosity to the forefront.

Quarantine Area! Danger! Entry Prohibited By Order Of Queen Zhah

There was a fence to lend credence to the quarantine order, but the gates were missing, and he found no guard barring his entry. Were it truly this dangerous, would there not be more stringent measures taken? And what of this Zhah, whom the sign ostensibly claimed to be a Queen? It had seemed there was far more to know than he could have imagined.

He was close enough now to hear the coughs and moans of the dying and deathly ill, and looking at the sign once more, he strode brazenly past the fencing, paying the sign no more attention. Perhaps the people here could answer his questions, he thought. It was only to find yet another shock as he approached, to see that what lay before him in the area were naught but gargoyles…and not even gargoyles as he knew them. He observed the strange gargoyles carefully and was already mentally cataloguing their symptoms in his head as best he could, despite his unfamiliarity with them. As he walked through the makeshift camp, he stepped onto finely grained sand and rounded the corner of a building before blanching at the sight before him, and realized that his initial assumption earlier wasn’t too far off about cooked meat. His sight was consumed by a funeral pyre, tended by two healthier looking gargoyles, who even as he watched silently threw another limp body atop it. His jaw set with determination at the sight, and despite his curiosity, he knew what had to be done.

===========

All initial attempts and conventional remedies had failed him; his magic was equally ineffective in curing these gargoyles of their affliction. It had been…an indeterminable amount of time since he had needed to apply himself in such a manner as this, and certainly even longer since being presented with one that would require his knowledge of alchemy. Still, with as focused as most alchemists had become on only the most basic potions, the archaic way he approached it had opened up new avenues, and he checked over the list he’d come up with. He wasn’t absolutely certain it would work, but he knew it was a better chance than they’d had before. Still, it would be dangerous to gather some of the ingredients, if they could even still be gathered. He was unsure if the Blightborn slimes could even be found, but he was fairly certain that Orcs and Terathans were too hardy to have vanished completely. Add that to sugar and vanilla, which any horticulturist should be able to gather, and a cure should be able to be fashioned.

The problem would be with the disease itself; it seemed to constantly change itself and stop responding to what few treatments they’d already used to stifle it, so that meant that the cure wouldn’t be consistent. It was possible that with different quantities of each ingredient mixed in different fashions, the same ingredients could continue to be effective for some time. He now only found himself with one major problem; being without anyone to assist in finding and gathering the ingredients.

Source: www.uoherald.com/node/633