Closed - The valley of forgotten lights

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While Sylira is by far the most civilized region of Mizahar, countless surprises and encounters await the traveler in its rural wilderness. Called the Wildlands, Syliran's wilderness is comprised of gradual rolling hills in the south that become deep wilderness in the north. Ruins abound throughout the wildlands, and only the well-marked roads are safe.

Closed - The valley of forgotten lights

Postby Marishka Timandre on February 27th, 2010, 9:47 pm

Image

Beyond the lonely forest trail sits a ruin.
Picturesque and pretty to the eyes,
it exhorts the curious to wander in
and see the story that belies.

Noble in its frail condition,
reminiscent of a time long gone,
the stones still bear the emotions,
which most people fail to look upon.

In its groves of green and grass and tranquil peace,
solitude dwells unbound in perfect harmony.
In caskets of white and ebony,
in the groves do the just decease.

Yet the stones still echo with a sadness untold,
memories of times and eras cold.
Stripped of what is valued to sight,
only what is strong remains to fight
the elements of decay it invites to rest.

Upon its boughs the ghostly nest.
Covered in bramble and ashes still,
the coffers and ruins of peaceful will
forever reside in the tree laden paradise,
which in serenity is disguised.

Walking alone, the past so reigns
For only the past ever knew of its splendor,
The mirth, the consolations, the ardor
Its haunting loveliness is what remains.


- Anonymous Author, 04-07-07


The great forest was most certainly not the only sight to see in the Wildlands. Beyond the great pine trees, where the Valterrian had violently reshaped the comely valleys of Suva so long ago, stood some of its most classic remnants; decaying, haunting witnesses to the ambitions of that proud empire.

The ruins of a vast cathedral, steeped in more glorious memories, stood crumbling to the dust against the elements in a great valley. The towers of the facade rose high into the air, yet like a hollow ring from the abyss it was, merely an ornament now in the damp and sickening landscape. Looking closer upon the rotting stones, one would see the faces of people etched upon them, people who were not expecting the end to come so suddenly. The innocence of yesteryears had remained attached to reality in this place, devoid of consciousness, of care, over what had befallen them and their dearest ones.

Cool mist palpitated the air around it, giving it an aura of timelessness, mystery... And also a terrifyingly quiet sort of danger. Nothing was stirring; there wasn't even any sort of creature there to break the eerie silence for the benefit of any unfortunate soul who managed to wander there. And today was definitely a day of glee for the sadistic elements. For the first time in a hundred years, the place will see someone of the living world.

Out of the swirling shades emerged a figure in a long cloak, the metal bits of her embroidered clothes clicking together with every step into the mushy ground. Looking at her, one would have thought her to be one of the spectres guarding the place, a monk or a priestess from ages past and forgotten. Yet the luminous silver blade that hung from her side signified that she is nothing of the sort, and the chilled breaths that came out from her lungs told one that she is indeed alive.

Stopping by the thickened trails to observe the place, tantalizing gray eyes shone from the darkness of her coverings, keenly taking everything around her into account. There were several large circles in the ground, obviously the foundations of structures long destroyed. Pools of water to the side of the trail spoke volumes of what the place really is; it was a swampland, and not a valley. And with her devotion to Avalis intact despite her creed and profession, she could plainly feel the forces that gripped the ruined land. In her eyes, she could see, even for a moment, how lovely and grand it all once was. A couple of happy children, laughing and playing with each other brushed against her side at the instant, and when she followed the vision they turned around in their eternal ecstasy to hold hands, then slowly faded to the air of reminiscence.

A white hand touched a single stone column covered with moss and algae, and she instantly felt it all, the sedimentary truths of Ivak's wrath upon the world. Her sight climbed to the highest steeple of the towering stone sentinel, the lonely spire reminding her of gentle Mura and volatile Syliras.

There she stood alone against the dull and cloudy afternoon, with the rumble of thunder permeating the belly of the sky. She was going to have to find shelter soon, for the valley might turn into a deadly swampland with the heavy rain.
Image

"I pray I may in my times of grief, remember that suffering is always brief in the hearts of those who wish to live; So sally forth, strong heart, and believe."
The Lightning Countess
~ credits to Sorian's blog for the passage.
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Marishka Timandre
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Re: Closed - The valley of forgotten lights

Postby Ryndra on February 28th, 2010, 1:39 pm

74th Day of Winter 509 AV

When the Sky Lark gave way the Storm Wolf, it was a fearsome sight to behold. The cerulean wings of the lark were obscured by the Wolf’s monstrous form. It’s very howl thundered over mountains and reverberated through valleys. It shook the very foundations of the strongest fortress and turned even the strongest men into the smallest children. One bite of its gleaming fangs caused lighting to crash down and strike the unwitting and the foolish alike. However, when the Fire Bird and the Sky Lark saw together, the Wolf retreats, knowing that balance has been restored once again.

It felt almost as though the rain had been chasing her. It was taunting her she knew. The Ice Lion would catch her eventually and his roar would chill her to the very core. She was thankful though. The dreadful scrawl of the map in her pack had been right so far. Tyeth had smiled on her when he led her to the trader and the map. It was not something that gave her pleasure, using her charms to garner an object but the man had insisted that such a lovely face should not be lost in the Wildlands of Sylira. That was not to say she did not appreciate his generosity or Lhex’s sense of humour about the situation.

Her beloved purple coat was wrapped tightly around her, dark hair dancing playfully on the winds of the Ice Lion’s call. She pulled her pack off as the path meandered its way down. Unwrapping the parchment the map had been drawn on. Smudges marked much of it. Partly to her own stupidity in unwrapping the map in that damp cave. She could have sworn she’d taken a wrong turn. This path was surely too narrow for a trader’s cart. But no, there in all its venerable glory lay the Valley of Forgotten Lights. Another ruin to set up camp in for the night.

“Legends say that it is haunted, miss,” the old trader whispered in her ear. The closeness to the older man was uncomfortable, to put it lightly. “They speak of the forgotten. The ones who looked after the cathedral before the fires of the Gods washed over it. Be careful there, they could be trouble.”

Ghosts, spirits, none of these bothered her. If she could find shelter then she was happy. Rolling the map back up, she pulled her pack over her shoulder once again. She walked with a purpose, as she always had. Each foot placed unwavering. The posture and vigilance of a warrior evident in the way her right hand always rested on her blade hilt. The shield on her back was emblazoned with the bold insignia of the Storm Wolf. A black head howling at the lightning.

The entrance to the ruins was no longer so grand as it once was. Each of its wide steps was cracked and overgrown with age. The arch that once held the huge doors to the majestic cathedral was no longer as beautiful as it once was. Intricate carvings wore by age, fire and the elements had turned it to a mere shadow of its former being. A gift and a curse in some respects. Now, one could only imagine of its resplendent beauty and work that many craftsmen surely partook in during its creation.

One day, maybe this would be returned to its former glory. Ryndra placed her pack down in a small alcove. Once again the trader was right and her faith in Tyeth was not misplaced. Not much of the place was left standing but there was a side room with enough of a roof and walls to provide adequate shelter from the coming storm.

Free of the additional weight, Ryndra’s curiosity overtook her and she began to wander.
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Re: Closed - The valley of forgotten lights

Postby Marishka Timandre on February 28th, 2010, 2:37 pm

The dampness of the place, the squishing, soft coverings of dirty green, and the legendary old rocks of this forlorn structure, all of them seemed to conspire to make her sick at heart, to make her miss the touch of civilization and of the living. The trumpets of the gods blared across the ages, seemingly forbidding anyone not of death to come travailing these parts of the world. Yet how her gaze remained stolid, and how her heart beat at ease. There was nothing there that could faze her spirit, proof that the living soul surely must be more powerful that the dead's.

She walked with grace across the surreal blight of age, crushing patches of weeds as she explored the place just a little more. Entering the dejected portal that once housed what would have been a magnificent wooden door, a flood of visions inundated her sight.

For a moment the place literally glittered of the splendor of gold and lighted candles, burning on tall oil lamps by the thousands. The aisle was lined by a long carpet which led to the high altar, on the top of which glowed a magnificent rose-glass window. The cloisters and vaults of the place soared to tremendous heights, graced by smiling winged figures for which she had no name.

The well-polished wooden benches that lined both sides of the red pathway was not devoid of activity in this picture: a throng of people were all standing by, with various strange costumes adorning their personas. Guards wearing iron cuirasses and carrying long halberds stood right beside the door where she was, and turning her sight, she could see the stoic bearing and discipline which they surely were rigorously trained for. Trumpet bearers heralded the advent of a grand occasion.

Before the altar kneeled a figure with a long crimson cloak, with a man with a high cap and white vicar garments administering some sort of incantation in front of him. Taking a glittering golden crown from a plush blue quilt, he placed the crown on the cloaked figure's head before tapping his shoulders with a majestic longsword. When the figure turned around to face his retainers and subjects, his regal looking face smiled in pride, and the crowd exploded in tremendous joy.

Then, in an instant, all of it disintegrated back to reality. The towering sculptures overhead were gone, with only the sky serving as the roof for the inconsistent stone walls by the sides. Where the mighty granite buttresses had been, only the foundations of the side chambers remained. Broken statues of nameless kings and warriors littered around the rocks and grass, with a couple of crusted and broken sarcophagi resting along the traces of the aisle, with the ground floor being completely flooded by a shallow pool of water. Looking forward she could make out the remnants of the high altar, with none of the wall with the rose window remaining to be seen.

She descended the rugged steps which led to the center, stepping into the water carefully, lest it be deeper than anticipated. Not minding the minor inconvenience at all, she proceeded to a hollow chamber to the left, where she saw a very familiar-looking statue. That same smile, the same crown, the same sword. Despite the lack of one arm and with half of its face obliterated, she knew this was the man being crowned in irony: he was celebrating it in two different points of history. Just now, and so many centuries ago. On his feet was a rusted plaque, just enough for her to make out an inscription.

"He who has conquered the Nymkartans in the field of Rusalia, may he reign forever..."


The story of the place piqued her interest as a lover of history, but the time for it wasn't then, for the rain gods were threatening to pour its tears upon her head. The hollow chamber had just enough of a roof to shelter her, and she sat by a large rock beside the nameless victor of Rusalia.

As she was removing her boots to dry her feet, the sound of breathing and footsteps reached her from the other side of the dark wall. It seemed to be human enough, which made her huff in disbelief. Even in this secluded place there are people? She could only click her tongue in amusement at the thought.

"A fine afternoon to travel around haunted ruins, isn't it?" she said to the wall, as if Ryndra were right beside her.
Image

"I pray I may in my times of grief, remember that suffering is always brief in the hearts of those who wish to live; So sally forth, strong heart, and believe."
The Lightning Countess
~ credits to Sorian's blog for the passage.
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Marishka Timandre
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Re: Closed - The valley of forgotten lights

Postby Ryndra on March 1st, 2010, 7:36 am

A fine afternoon indeed but the winds would see it changed in an instant. It was to rain this eve and Ryndra was not going to be caught out in the storm she was no fool. Unlike the Konti, Ryndra had no desire to dampen her feet. It was more nuisance to her than it was anything else. The woman stepped around the small pond towards the altar. Surely, it was once a much more grand affair.

The time of Kings and Emperors, vast empires and powerful nations were all but annihilated by the fires of the Gods. The divine war that rocked Mizahar saw the end of civilisation for a brief time, but it was merely a blemish on history now. Would humans truly learn from the mistakes of the past? Could the Gods learn from their own mistakes? The Stormwulf had faith that they could and would should something like that happen again. Standing before the Altar now, she felt humbled, as though Tyeth himself were watching her every footstep. It was not a feeling to be ignored and she dropped to one knee, much as the cloaked figure had done so long ago.

“Tyeth, may my words and thoughts be carried by the Sky Lark to your ears,” Ryndra muttered quietly, just loud enough for her unknowing companion to hear. “I give you thanks for the future you have bestowed upon even the smallest of your children. I will carry your teachings as I do my shield. May they protect me in the days to come. May you guide me in bringing Justice to the injustices I find and let me do so with the honour and valour that you possess.” Ryndra remained silent a moment longer before it was broken by a voice that was not her own.

The ruins were haunted it seemed. The musical voice spoke as though she was stood barely a few feet from Ryndra. Another soul lost out in the wilds or a treasure hunter looking for artefacts? There were many reasons for one to be out here if what the trader spoke of was true. Rather than speak just yet, Ryndra turned towards the source of the noise. Her right hand still rested nonchalantly on her blade hilt but it was more of a precaution than her stance suggested.

As she entered the chamber of the conqueror, Ryndra’s soft eyes fell upon Marishka. There was warmth and compassion to be found in the eyes of the Stormwulf. No hate or fear, no worry about what she might have found lurking in the shadows of this old ruin. The sight that greeted her was one of ethereal grace and magnitude in such a place as this. It was almost as if the ghosts had been brought to life.

“The gods have smiled on us today it seems, stranger,” Ryndra’s voice was friendly. If this woman before her were a threat, she would not have introduced herself so readily and the Stormwulf’s posture became fully relaxed. “Such ruins would see no justice in the storms to come this night. Many call me Ryndra Alvarez but I am known by other names as well, pray that I may know who I speak with?”
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Re: Closed - The valley of forgotten lights

Postby Marishka Timandre on March 1st, 2010, 7:48 pm

Talking to whatever loomed beyond the walls seemed to be a good idea, as it drew the one being addressed closer. The sound of footsteps from beyond the unknown king's chamber grew louder as it approached, upon which Marishka too placed her hand upon her sword's hilt, just in case the unseen being she had been talking to turned out to be less than sentient and reasonable.

A shadow started to loom at the entrance to the hollow room within a few more seconds, with the tip of it touching Marishka's feet. Turning her head with a serious and ready glint in her eye, she quickly analyzed the person standing in to her left. She is definitely human, with a face as beautiful and smooth as a Konti's and eyes that spoke of kindness and honor. Not imposing by any means, she even seemed sweet-looking, blessed with modest height and a womanly gait. The fine sword she was carrying, however, told Marishka that this woman was also a fighter and adventurer, hence her presence amongst these dangerous ruins.

Standing to acknowledge Ryndra's introduction, the Konti warrior bowed slightly to honor her with hers in turn. "My name is Marishka Timandre of Mura, it is a pleasure, though indeed this isn't the best of places for a first meeting."

Just as she concluded these words, the sky finally unleashed the rain, with the volume slowly but steadily increasing in volume with every passing tick. Luck was apparently with them concerning the conqueror's chamber, for it was elevated enough to keep the rising pool of water covering the rest of the cathedral at bay. Water trickled through the inconsistent cracks by the side, the sound fading against the slapping of the torrential downpour against the ancient stones. There was no wind accompanying the downpour; apparently it was just a heavy dose of rain and not a thunderstorm.

Marishka sat back down on the stone, with her attention shifting back to the unknown king's face. The silence lapsed on between the two women for a dozen or so minutes until the Konti decided to break it. "If I may ask, why are you here Ryndra?"

The question seemed polite and earnest enough to her, just to serve as an icebreaker to pass the time by.
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"I pray I may in my times of grief, remember that suffering is always brief in the hearts of those who wish to live; So sally forth, strong heart, and believe."
The Lightning Countess
~ credits to Sorian's blog for the passage.
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Marishka Timandre
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Re: Closed - The valley of forgotten lights

Postby Ryndra on March 2nd, 2010, 10:01 am

Ryndra listened and watched intently as the stranger introduced herself. The Konti did not appear to be what you would expect from one of her race. She had a solemn, serious look, almost as if the world around her weighed on her shoulders. It was unfitting on such a mysterious and beautiful race such as the Konti. But Ryndra supposed she should not judge on first appearances. The ones she had read about in the History of the Knights were not necessarily describe as happy or sad creatures, she had just assumed.

As the skies opened, Ryndra let out a soft chuckle at her luck. She turned to look out across the rest of the dilapidated cathedral. “It seems the Ice Lion has caught me at last,” she spoke quietly to herself. With her back now in full view of her companion, Marishka would be able to see the shield that Ryndra also carried and the Storm Wolf’s insignia emblazoned on it.

There was something calming about hearing the thudding of the raindrops against the old stone of their shelter. Despite her relaxed posture, Ryndra held herself well, her feet firmly placed on the ground. The dark-haired champion closed her eyes, listening to the sounds around her, slowing her already calm breathing. As Mariska spoke once more, Ryndra turned, a soft smile upon her features.

“I travel to Syliras,” Ryndra tilted her head talking in the Konti’s appearance once more. The weapons she also carried spoke to Ryndra on some level and she felt inclined to elaborate on her situation. “I have a dream I guess. I wish to join the Knighthood that resides within the fortress-city’s walls. I have managed to stay one step ahead of the rain so far and here seemed as good a place to stop as any.”

“They say, before the Gods had their war, that this was a place of magnificence,” Ryndra’s gaze now fell on the statue. “Are you on your Call? We stand a long way from Mura and I cannot imagine one wanting to leave the shores of such a place.” Ryndra’s curiosity once again got the better of her in the presence of the forgotten king and conqueror. “Do you know much of this place?”
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Re: Closed - The valley of forgotten lights

Postby Marishka Timandre on March 3rd, 2010, 4:25 pm

Marishka nodded thoughtfully at the pleasant, unexpected answer, though she did not say anything in response for a moment, opting to listen to everything the human warrior had to say. It seemed that the gods have truly favored them, for of all places, it was in this most haunted of spots that they had brought two kindred spirits together. Letting the rain continue its tirade upon their humbled shelter, she responded first to her words about their shared interest before the questions she had posed.

"Hm. Strange coincidence. I too am on a journey to become a part of the knights of Syliras."
she brought up after a few minutes had passed. "However I am not on my way back to Syliras just yet, not after having come from there. I intend to improve myself for whatever is to come as trial, since having no connections in their ranks whatsoever is quite the handicap."

Next, to answer the question about her calling, about leaving home. It pulled a little at her heartstrings, softening her hard features in a split-second hint of her fonder, pent-up feelings inside. "Mura is indeed far away. I left it years ago, the call of improvement and the push of alienation--or paranoia--luring me away. It seems to be but a dream now, such a lovely dream. But I am sufficiently happy where I am. It is my sisters that I miss the most within its concerns."

Turning her head to gaze at the half-faced unknown king, she shook her head slowly, her eyes never leaving the ancient image of history. A small bulb of a weed stuck out from a soiled spot by its flat marble pedestal, somewhat like a reminder that the place is not completely dead. "Yes, this place was beautiful." she said, remembering the richness she had seen in her just several minutes ago. "However I am just as confounded about its history as you are. I had only stumbled here in my traveling through the forests."

Just after her words, the Konti warrior's ears heard something strange, like the sound of a tomb's marble cover being slid open. It was barely audible against the thrashing rains, but she wouldn't mistake it. Her eyes too sharpened, as if bracing for something. "Ryndra, be on your guard. There is something else here." she warned, her hand once more grasping the glimmering hilt of her sword. Despite this, however, she remained calm and composed as well as in a sitting position, not too worried about the potentially deadly situation they were both in.

A blow of wind, an unusually cold wind began to graze on their skins, as if it was touching them all around. In her peripheral vision she could swear that she saw the unknown king's statue turn its head towards them, though when she turned to it to confirm it was normal and nondescript.

An eerie voice began to quietly whisper in the breezes, blowing both women's long hairs into the wind, splays of water rushing forth from the doorless chamber's entrance.

"I live...and I shall... I shall live forever..."
Image

"I pray I may in my times of grief, remember that suffering is always brief in the hearts of those who wish to live; So sally forth, strong heart, and believe."
The Lightning Countess
~ credits to Sorian's blog for the passage.
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Marishka Timandre
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Re: Closed - The valley of forgotten lights

Postby Ryndra on March 5th, 2010, 1:21 pm

It occurred to Ryndra that there was something, not strange as such but not quite right to Marishka. Maybe it was simply the fact of what she was; having been pushed away from your home is not something one would ever want. She guessed if she had been pushed away from her small village then she would have been the same. But no, this was a path Ryndra had chosen for herself from a young age.

Ryndra had longed to return to Syliras after her few seasons absence. “I wish I could say I left Syliras to improve myself,” she looked down to the seated Konti. For a moment, Marishka could catch the feeling of sadness in the air and the Stormwulf’s eyes. “But I did not squander my time away. I have studied and trained. I have helped to train those who do not know as much as I but it is sometimes hard to make the best of a bad situation.” She was not sure why it was that she would open up so freely. But finding a kindred spirit after so much time alone was a pleasant change of pace.

“Was beautiful?” Ryndra asked looking back out of the doorless portal. “You have seen it in a vision? What this place used to be like?” Ryndra was not sure upon which divine beings the Konti followed, but she felt sure that Tyeth had guided her to this place for more than just meeting a fellow knight-in-training. Unfortunately, it seemed that Ryndra had been right.

It was a subtle move, almost mistaken for stretching and removing the stiffness in ones shoulders. The shield on Ryndra’s back slid down from her shoulder to her forearm in a movement that was clearly well practiced. She tightened the strap to secure the only true piece of heavy armour to her body. Not tight enough to cut off circulation be enough to stay steady and wieldable as a weapon. Ryndra’s right had fell to her sword hilt once more as the winds blew against them.

These were no the winds the Ice Lion brought. They carried with them a voice so ethereal and hunting that it chilled Ryndra’s very soul. Her grip tightened on her sword hilt. The steel of her blade was the wolf’s fangs. Each strike delivered its lightning blows to her foes. Her shield was its great hide. It was as much a weapon as a defence. Her war cry was its thunderous howl. Let it strike fear into the hearts of those who stand in her way.

“Tyeth, watch over us.”
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Re: Closed - The valley of forgotten lights

Postby Marishka Timandre on March 6th, 2010, 8:42 am

ImageGhosts, Spectres, and all other sorts of spiritual creatures. While she knew that they indeed existed, Marishka had always chosen not to believe that they did, for she has always believed that the living are more troublesome than the dead, and being a realistic person rather than a fatalistic one has always done her well. But what kind of preparation would this have lent her, in case a moment like this arrived?

The answer is none. And now she didn't know what to expect, what to do. All that the intrepid warrior could do was put her faith in herself and in her mother goddess, much like Ryndra had just done.

The tumultuous watery winds that raged outside the stone portal to the chamber began to divide, as the form of something began to shape it. It appeared to be human, draped in a flowing garment that did not move with the generated blows of air that swirled around it. Yet it could be seen as it further materialized that it was something else, something less than alive, or dead for that matter, with only the faint light of ancient bones framing the mighty armor that it wore to the chest. A crown adorned its head, which was topped by a very disheveled set of unkempt hair that flowed to the broad of its shoulders.

The silhouette that blockaded the entrance from the outside seemed to radiate with a sorrowful djed of sickly green, hollow eyes from the abyss of undeath ringing true in even more verdant shades. The shadow of a longsword hovered over one of its hands, and its mouth moved in a silent chant that neither of the women understood, being drowned with the call of the rain.

Marishka slowly stood up from her comfortable seat, her eyes wide with a momentary sort of apprehension and distrust. While her heart remained hard and unfazed, her body did not seem to share the same sentiments, and for a few seconds she was frozen by the sight of the undead king. Quickly regaining her bearings, her lithe, nimble fingers slowly regaining strength, a pallid glow shimmering through the dark, absent cold.

Only two things ran in Marishka's mind at the moment. One, was how they were going to kill it, and two, that she personally wished they didn't have to. This is no Nuit, nor is it a simple ghost, this is... Something else. Maybe something which cannot not be defeated by conventional means.

"Is this what they call a desolate one?" she thought out loud, not truly caring if Ryndra would answer her question or not. Her eyes jumped to the statue that sat in the corner. It was definitely him, and having seen the nameless conqueror of Rusalia in three incarnations has made the experience quite repetitive for the Konti warrior.

Without thinking before acting, Marishka humbled herself before the ancient king, falling to one knee in supplication. Her knightly instincts took over for her, much to her own surprise. Ethics called for respect to be given when due, especially when the one being addressed is royalty. She kept her hair bowed low, the falling locks of her hair touching the stone pavement of the chamber. A graceful hand touched the hem of Ryndra's garment, urging her to do the same. "Hail thee, conqueror of Rusalia, lord of Suvan." she declared in a firm voice that showed neither fear nor shyness.

For its part, the figure at the door moved none at all, but the droning of an atmosphere of pressure could be heard emanating from its jaws, its archaic language slowly gaining clarity in their minds. "Who are you who has chosen to invade my sacred sanctuary, oh strangers from foreign nations? Why have you betrayed my retreat from the clasps of this world?"

Upon being addressed, the konti raised her eyes to stare into his, still cold, still determined in her intent to bring this to a favorable conclusion as quickly as possible. Her words came out courteous and noble, no intimidation evident whatsoever. "We have merely sought shelter from the rain gods' divine torrents, we have come in peace."

Once Marishka had spoken, the king started to float forward, its entire body transcending the sheet of water that flowed from the mouth of the arch like a sieve through a waterfall. Its gaunt features were now clear to be seen, the pale green glow lighting up the chamber with an eerie light. The face has collapsed into a mere sheet of skin stretched over the skull. There is no color left in the king, only the shades of greens, whites and blacks found normally in anonymous old trees. Its voice is severely impaired in beauty, scraped with obvious ancientness, yet it retains a distinct poise and majesty to it.

"Ahh, how the years have passed by, and how shaky is eternity to those who can remember." the king recalled, a wave of its hand followed by a trail of green light. "It has been too long, much too long. The conqueror you speak of is gone, replaced by the results of Mother Tanroa's fickle swiveling. Nay to rest, to peace, nay to hope and remembrance, for there is none who can escape the curse of undeath once it has been granted. Unless."

The king paused, taking a look at its seated image from centuries back, a sadness draping the lines on its shriveled face. It floated about a foot from the floor, gliding to the left of the room, standing by the seated statue and guiding a bony hand to its shoulder. It elected to speak with its back turned to Rynda and Marishka.

"Unless..." it continued its earlier sentence, its eye half-turning to both in a thought. "...someone frees me from my sins." With the deadly long blade still holding straight from its right hand, it whirled around to declare, "If you defeat me and set me free, I shall grant you the keys to this cathedral's secrets."

Neither the seriousness in its voice, nor the posture it now slipped to with the ethereal blade showed any sort of jest or joy. They were going to have to fight the king, whether they wanted to know the secret or not. "Now..." it began once more, the blade now propped up in a fighter's stance. "Come. Set me free."

Marishka fully realized the lethality of the situation, and quickly drew her own blade, holding it up by both hands in a ready thrust. "On your guard Ryndra! Perhaps this is the challenge to knighthood that fate had it in store for us!"
Image

"I pray I may in my times of grief, remember that suffering is always brief in the hearts of those who wish to live; So sally forth, strong heart, and believe."
The Lightning Countess
~ credits to Sorian's blog for the passage.
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Marishka Timandre
The Lightning Countess
 
Posts: 53
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Joined roleplay: February 19th, 2010, 7:52 pm
Location: Syliras
Race: Konti
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