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A Change In The Air

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Jhaerak	A Change In The Air	Lead	[-]
Posts: 1 (01/05/12 6:39 PM) Sigil of the Weeping Scythe Order of the Mighty Reply Quote More My Recent Posts	Tags : None The chamberlain of the Reapers of Sorrow was well used to his Lord's moods but this one had a particular edge to it that disturbed him greatly. "My Lord, may I assume that you no longer favour fine Cabilisian pottery? Or is there, perhaps, something on your mind?" he asked carefully. Jhaerak glared at him for a long moment before sighing deeply and turning away from his current destruction of the ancient artworks adorning the tables of Jhaerak's private chambers. "It's that damn bard, Breudar..." "The one that dared to accost you at the New Tanaan banking facility? My Lord, say the word and I shall have him dragged before you in chains, there to - " Waving him to silence, Jhaerak slumped down into the one chair in the whole suite, a bulky, high-backed behemoth made mostly of bones collected over the Seasons by Jhaerak himself and crafted in the form of a grisly throne-like trophy. "There is no life in the mansion anymore, Breudar. A handful of us stalk around the perpetual shadows that no longer hide life, intrigue or danger. What voices are there in these walls now? Aside from the two of us, plotting our futures, recounting our pasts... where are the screams? Where are the cries of pain, the screams of passion? The calls-to-arms and the pounding of feet on the way to new battles?" He sighed again and slumped deeper into the comfort of the chair. Jumping to his feet once more, Jhaerak strode over to a wall to regard a shawl that hung there. Peering closely at the dwarven stitchwork he whispered "and do you remember Tahngou, Breudar?" "The... the druid?" he stammered, "yes, I recall her, Lord. I always felt you should have execu - " "And Lady Kyrstellaine?" Jhaerak interrupted striding to another wall to regard a weapon of most unusual design. Without waiting for a reply from the dumbfounded chamberlain, Jhaerak idly stroked a lump of crystal that glowed faintly on the table before him - "and Lord Varigon? Does he still reside in fond memory, my friend?" Turning fully to face Breudar, Jhaerak allowed a faint smile to touch his lips as he took in Breudar's discomfort at the mention of these almost-forgotten names. "The Koada'Dals, my Lord. Yes... I remember them... and despite what you think, I did not disapprove." Squaring his shoulders and meeting Jhaerak's eyes fully, boldly and without flinching or signs of fear, he raised his voice steeled himself to do what he did best - tell Jhaerak the untarnished truth as he saw it, without bias, motive and aboive all without fear of retribution. "You were different back then my Lo.... Jhaerak. When you first came to us you were wild, uncultured, almost feral. Your time here tempered your moods and harnessed your spirit but your travels above ground, whilst viewed with disdain by many at court, tempered your very soul! Your skills grew beyond anything I had imagined for you when first I saw the bedraggled strippling that first stumbled through our gates. Your adventures ranged across these lands and into the very stars themselves. You battled demons, monsters, beasts large and small. You. Were. Magnificent!" Stepping closer to his guild leader, Breudar dropped his voice once more to a whisper - "you battled the very gods themselves and gained audience with the great Father of us all himself! And then... and then it all changed..." Breudar hung his head sadly, sadness tinging his voice as he continued, "our halls began to empty, our allies began to depart. And your passion for the hunt began to depart along with them.I turned a blind eye to the company you chose to keep, Jhaerak, but I have to admit, they gave you fire. Fire which is now, I fear, a flickering ember." Drained by the depth of emotion pouring through him Breudar slumped to his knees at Jhaerak's feet and quietly began to weep. Gazing down at his oldest and most trusted friend, Jhaerak nodded quietly to himself. "I thank you, Breudar. I have always been able to rely on you and your wisdom. And now, my friend, I have one last thing to ask of you before you retire for the evening..." Raising himself slowly to his feet, Breudar nodded slowly and mumbled "of course, my Lord, whatever you desire." "Summon the Deadcallers, Breudar, have them prepare their rituals. We have need, once more, of Temporus...." Turning on his heel, Jhaerak strode from the room. The ringing of his boots through the stone hallways of the mansion echoed the pounding in Breudar's head. Temporus. The Resting One, The Sleeping Soul, Herald of Change. The creation of arcane magics and forgotten sciences. Once a tortured servant who had had their mind and soul stripped away from them to be replaced with a piece of Jhaerak's own life-force, there was one reason and one reason alone for the existence of the now-slumbering Temporus - to lay at rest until the piece of Jhaerak's soul within him was awakened, that he might take over the leadership of the Reapers in the absence of the real thing... Change was indeed in the air. Jhaerak was going adventuring ! Darkreaper Jhaerak Entrahvian the Haunted "I'll try anything once - twice if I get a rez." ~Lady Caalix Scalebright - Tears of Veeshan~ Last Edited By: Jhaerak 01/05/12 7:12 PM. Edited 1 time.
Jhaerak	A Prologue	#1	[-]
Posts: 5 (01/26/12 6:19 AM) Sigil of the Weeping Scythe Order of the Mighty Reply Quote More My Recent Posts	“...open your eyes...” That was really beginning to annoy him now. A faint voice scratching at his mind like sharp nails across a slate. He didn’t know where it came from, who’s voice it was and most annoyingly of all he didn’t know what in the name of all the Realms it damned well meant. He would find out, oh yes he would find out – and then someone would pay for the intrusion into his mind. His soul may now be at peace, but his spirit was as fierce as ever and there would be retribution. First things first however... Rising from his bed he throws a robe around his shoulders. With a thought he accesses the far-speaking magics available to him via the guild hall and greets his fellow Sigils, exchanging brief words of welcome and camaraderie with those currently awake and adventuring. Similarly, he takes in his hand his Fellowship token and communicates similar thoughts to other companions. Not of his guild but still as much family as any Sigil. “...open your eyes...” Family... a frown creases his brow as he considers the implications of this thought for a moment. The Reapers had been his family for such a long time that it was difficult to imagine anyone else being included so easily in this term. The Fellowship, of course, they had become as like brothers and sisters, that was true although he’d only given voice to that thought this very moment. The Sigils? Aye, he supposed that they too were a family to him now. This didn’t come as a surprise to him, as such. The surprise was that he hadn’t thought about it until now. Today. Of all days... “...open your eyes...” Sighing, he prepares a breakfast and then dresses himself in his armour, ready for the day ahead. He has plans for today, things to do that he has put off for too long. It has to be today or it will be never. Opening a portal he travels swiftly to New Tanaan and from their he uses the portal stone to his final destination... the forest city of Kelethin. “Blue berry, blue berry” Cloaked in shadows he regards the swinging rope bridges and platforms from afar. Although he had visited here many times since childhood he had always done so in secrecy and with a great deal of stealth, never talking to anyone, never interacting with the residents. Even the many faces he recognised from his childhood – especially the many faces he recognised from his childhood. But today was different. Today he was here to speak to someone, so today the shadows wouldn’t suffice. “Blue berry, blue berry” – the taunts, the stones, the sticks. Focussing his mind he sends a brief pulse of his will to the Crown of Deceit in his hands. The air shimmers briefly and his vision darkens - the shadows are darker now and he can no longer pierce the gloom of the treetops. Nodding in satisfaction he knows the illusion is complete and he strides forth towards the nearest lift. “Blue berry, blue berry – no one wants him, not even his parents” being spat on, tripped as he walks, excluded from the games and company of other children Working his way higher he finally reaches his destination, a humble home, small, a little shabby. He notes the need for a touch up here, a little repair there. Taking a deep breath he glances around to make sure he is unobserved and slips inside. “...open your eyes...” The darkness inside is almost complete, the only relief being a small candle off to one side of the living area on a small table. With his currently impaired vision it takes a few minutes before his eyes adjust enough for him to see that the room has one solitary occupant, sitting on a low stool with her back to him and facing an empty hearth. A fire has been laid but not lit. She lifts her head and turns her face slightly. Her long hair is silvery grey now and falls down her back to her waist. “I have felt your presence close by” she says quietly, “but never this close. I knew though, I knew you would be back one day.” She looks forward again and lowers her gaze to her hands and continues, her voice still soft, sounding as it always had – a soothing balm, rich with strength, hiding a sharp edge but mostly calming and warm. “So... you’ve finally come to kill me then”. She makes it a statement, not a question and her voice is tinged with resignation and sadness. “At least do me the service of dropping the disguise. Be yourself, today of all days.” As he allows the illusion to fall he stretches his hand instinctively straight out towards the right. His hand grasps at air and he glances over. He’s taller now, of course... Smiling, he drops his hand to the low shelf fixed to the wall and grips the implement that he knew would still be there, had always sat exactly there. Stepping forwards he stands close behind her and reaches his left hand around her and gently touches her throat with his fingertips. Raising his hand he places a fingertip under her chin and lifts her head slowly until she faces straight ahead. He draws his hand back around her throat, gathering her hair in his fist. Opening his hand he regards the palm full of hair for a moment. Her body stiffens in anticipation and she holds her breath. Reaching round her head with his right hand, the object he has picked up catches the light for a second, flashing the reflected candlelight directly into his eyes, bringing with it a flood of memories. “Blue berry blue berry – die, bastard, we don’t want your kind here, NO-ONE wants you here” Drawing his hand back the object makes contact. There is a moment of resistance, a slight tugging, but then it comes free. He hears her breath being slowly released and senses her body relaxing. (to be continued...) Darkreaper Jhaerak Entrahvian the Haunted "I'll try anything once - twice if I get a rez." ~Lady Caalix Scalebright - Tears of Veeshan~
Jhaerak		#2	[-]
Posts: 12 (01/27/12 7:31 PM) Sigil of the Weeping Scythe Order of the Mighty Reply Quote More My Recent Posts	He reaches forward a second time and for a second time he draws the brush back through her hair, a strong confident stroke from her forehead all the way down to the tips. “You always were such a good boy” she whispers softly. He spends many minutes silently brushing the old woman’s hair, the movements easy and comfortable, an act he has done many times but not, however, for many Seasons. Satisfied at last he steps away and replaces the brush in its customary place on the shelf by the door then moves around the front of the woman, between her and the hearth. Sinking slowly to his knees he takes her hands from her lap and regards the face before him. She hasn’t changed much. Older, of course, lines of wisdom and time etch her features. Etched there too is a story of pain and sorrow that hurts his heart in the seeing. Time and sorrow haven’t robbed her face, though, of its beauty or its strength. Her eyes, once the rich brown of oak are now milky white with age but she still somehow manages to stare directly into his own eyes seeming to almost pierce his soul. No secret had ever escaped those eyes, no misdemeanour had ever successfully escaped the inquisitor’s gaze. Lowering his head he kisses the old lady’s knuckles gently. “Hello, mother” he whispers. “My son, how I have missed you. I feared for many Seasons for you. I didn’t know if you were alive or dead, if you had survived that day or not. I... I tried to search for you but the realm is so large and I didn’t know where to turn first. Didn’t want to go too far in case you tried to contact me here. I didn’t know if you blamed me and hated me too. I didn’t – “. “Ssshhhhh mother, hush... be at rest.” Releasing her hands he raises his body and leans forward to place his arms around her, moving in to embrace her and hold her close. He can feel her tears against his cheek and the shaking in her shoulders as she sobs quietly and her holds her tight, stroking her hair and whispering words of comfort to her. Eventually she calms and manages to compose herself and so he releases her and sits back on his heels again. Taking her hands in his once more he finally says what he came to say, the words that had waited too long to be spoken, that strained to be released. “I am so sorry, mother, so sorry for what I did, the shame it must have brought to you. Please... please forgive me.” “My son” she cries softly “the blame is not yours, my boy, you have nothing, nothing to apologise for! Those boys. That girl ...” turning away she pretends to spit at this. “They are the ones that hold the blame.” Turning back to face him she continues, calmer now. “After that day the City Elders came to see us, your father and I, they told us that the matter was to be closed, never spoken of. The boy’s parents had been told not to press the matter, that no charges were to be brought.” She sighs sadly. “They finally admitted that they had allowed matters to escalate, that someone should have stepped in long before they reached level that they did. The way you were treated... it took some time but they did, they eventually did admit that it was wrong for them to turn a blind eye.” Taking his face in her hands she leans forward, the tears beginning to roll slowly down her cheeks again. “They told me of the treatment you had received. Oh, my son, I had no idea, I didn’t know. All those years and I didn’t know. I loved you and thought i was caring for you and all the time...” Her voice trails off, emotion choking her words. He smiles up her and whispers “because I lied to you all the time, mother. I was a terrible child, remember? Always in some kind of trouble. Quite a handful if you remember. The beehive in the tavern? The guard’s boots that went missing and were found in the highest branches of the central trees? The glue on the handrail..?” She chuckles softly and finally finds a smile. Taking up his hands once more she replies “yes, yes you were quite the handful. A constant difficulty for your father and i, and a constant source of joy. Your father... you do know of course...” She leaves the statement hanging and he lowers his head sadly. “Yes, I heard the news. Ten seasons ago. I was there, you know, at the funeral...” Nodding, she smiles again. “I know, son, I felt you there, hidden. It made a painful day much easier to bear, knowing you were close, and I thank you.” They sit in silence for a few minutes, both lost in past memories, both feeling an ocean of emotions. She is the first to break the silence. “There are things we should speak of, before.. before it’s too late. My time here is limited son, and there are things I must say. Your parents...” “I know my parents” he interrupts. “You were my mother. He was my father. The only parents I have ever known. You raised me, fed me, clothed me and you loved me. You took me in as a babe and treated me as your own flesh and blood.” “And that is what I consider myself to be – your flesh and blood”. A warm smiles crosses her lips at the words but is quickly replaced by a frown. She lowers her head for a moment and composes her thoughts before continuing. “Don’t interrupt your mother, boy. I brought you up better than that.” Another swift smile crosses both their lips at this. “Your real parents, your birth parents. They left something for you... they said your time with us would be shorter than it should be but that you would return one day. And on that day we were to give you a box.” She raises her blind eyes briefly to the mantle above the fire where sits a small box, intricately carved from a dark wood. “It’s there for you. I feel it has been waiting for you for some weeks now....” “...open your eyes...” “And that’s another thing I need to talk to you about. The voice.” He raises his head sharply and regards her intently. “You... heard that?” “Oh my son, I may be old and blind, but I still hold an element of power. I sensed a presence other than yours the moment you reached the city. The voice issues not from this realm, but reaches out from... elsewhere. It has power. And it has attached a thread of Fate to you somehow. The voice is powerful and I sense it’s words are important. You must seek out its owner, son, and soon. Threads are entwining. A pattern is emerging. But fail to act in time and they will unravel and fall apart. Trust yourself, Jhaerak, trust yourself and your companions. Your companions are a key factor in the events that are unfolding. See the pattern that is emerging, my boy, see it and act. Promise me you will do this one last thing for your mother.” Growing more agitated by the second she finally turns her face away from his, closing her eyes to squeeze back the tears that threaten to spill once more. He embraces her tenderly once more, fearful and full of curiosity To his dismay she gently pushes him away. “Go, son, go now. If you don’t go now I think I may try to keep you here...” Nodding his understanding he rises to his feet, still holding her hands. The sadness in the room is almost tangible – he’s waited so long to talk to her but he knows he must cut his visit short. Letting her hands slip from his he picks up the black box from the mantle and summons a portal. With a final, sad look at his mother he steps through and travels back to New Tanaan. “...open your eyes...” With his mind he calls to his closest friend and once-Chamberlain – “Breudar, I have need of your arts.” “My Lord? Of course, I am on my way” came the reply. “Breu, your thoughts are jumbled – something wrong?” he sends through the link. The reply came quickly, and from behind him. “Nothing to speak of at this time, I need to investigate a few things first... Anyway – how can I be of assistance?” “The Plane of Hate, old friend, take me to the Plane of Hate if you will.” The wizard nods swiftly once and opens the portal. He’d started the day by visiting his mother. Now it was time to visit the Father... “...open your eyes...” “...open your eyes...” “...open your eyes...open your eyes...”open your eyesopen your eyesopen your eyesopenyoureyesopenyoureyes" (to be continued...)
Jhaerak		#3	[-]
Posts: 16 (02/07/12 5:53 PM) Sigil of the Weeping Scythe Order of the Mighty Reply Quote More My Recent Posts	As the portal closed behind him, Jhaerak begins to realise that something is amiss. Sure, it is dark and there is a palpable pall of foreboding in the air, a restlessness to the shadows but somehow it isn’t quite right... His natural Tier’Dal gift of night vision adjusts swiftly to the darkness allowing him to take stock of his situation and finally ascertain exactly what is wrong. The darkness is due to the fact that he seems to have arrived in a large cave. He sees tunnels leading off in various directions and in front of him are large gates in a strong looking stone wall – he sees guard emplacements at strategic points along the battlements and the glint of reflected light on weapons and armour. The light source itself is a mixture of dim torchlight and the glow of magic. “That idiot, this isn’t Hate – this is....Neriak?” Summoning a mind-link he calls out to his friend, “Breudar? Breudar! I know you have business occupying your mind right now but dammit, this is Neriak! Breudar! “ Confusion turns to concern – not only does he receive no reply, he does not sense Breudar’s mind at the other end. Concentrating deeply he tries a second time. Failing again he then tries to contact the Sigils, any Sigil. Growing frustrated he finally draws the Fellowship token from a pouch and clutching it tightly sends a thought to his comrades-in-arms. With a growl he puts the token away again.”So... it would seem I am cut off from the rest of Norrath. Powerful magic indeed. But who? And why...?” His left hand begins to glow with a sickly hue, he raises his weapon once more and cloaks himself in shadows. Prepared against the unknown as best he can be he steps forward to seek answers. Looking around again he realises that although this is clearly Neriak, it is not a section he is familiar with which is unusual in itself. That means it must be deep within Third Gate. But he has travelled extensively within his own city, even the forbidden parts... that doesn’t leave a lot of possibilities. “...open your eyes...” Powerful magic. A fortress compound. An area he hasn’t explored... he needs to leave. And he needs to do it right now! He manages one step backwards when a nearby voice startles him. Confusion at how the speaker could have gotten so close without his knowing fades as he hears what the voice has to say. “Darkreaper Entrahvian, we apologise for the interruption to your journey. Powerful spells are being cast here today and may be responsible for your inconvenience. The Matron of Matrons is aware of your situation and grants you audience, that she may apologise in person.” He stares open-mouthed at the silken-robed woman standing not twenty feet away from him. Unable to concentrate enough to maintain his magics the glow fades from his hand and the shadows surrounding him fade away. The tip of his weapon drops to the floor as he begins to feel the very real touch of fear deep inside. Bowing hastily he stammers a reply. “My Lady, I apologise for the intrusion. I.. I.. will be on my way. Please, forgive a foolish Knight his mistakes, it – “ The figure before him cuts his words off with a sharp hiss and takes a single pace forward. In her right hand she holds a coiled whip, leather, with cruel barbs along its length. Allowing coils to drop she grips the handle tightly. Her eyes flash a deep red as she speaks again, her voice low and menacing. “Male, I think you misheard me. The Matron of Matrons is aware of your situation and grants you an audience.” “...open your eyes...” Fear. Definitely fear. It has taken root deep inside of him now. He fumbles with his weapon, finally sheathing it on the third attempt and standing straight and rigid, attempting to hide the faint trembling that threatens to take a hold of him he bows again. “Of course my Lady, I am your servant.” With a nod and a hint of a malicious smile she turns away and strides towards the compound gates without so much as a glance over her shoulder. He hurries to keep up with her, following – but not too closely. His mind is awhirl with confusion, with questions to which he cannot possibly guess the answers. The journey takes some time but seems to pass in mere seconds, a blur of tapestries, corridors and hallways that he does not register in his confused state. Eventually they reach a large hall decorated sumptuously with fine art and powerful magical talismans. At the head of the hall he sees a large, ornate throne. He strides towards the figure sitting there, to his eyes the most beautiful woman he has ever seen. The greatest of them all. The most powerful of her kind. The first of his people. For only the second time in his life, Jhaerak falls to one knee in humility and with his voiced full of reverence he places his right fist over his heart as he addresses her. “Queen Cristanos Thex, I pledge to you my blade, my life, my soul. Command me, your faithful servant.” (to be continued...)