Post by Wizard on Dec 18, 2003 2:09:26 GMT -5
Karn's Temple
Tikz sat back, careful not to make any noise. Not forty feet below him, the dwarf in mail brought his maul down on Kirrik's head.
Tikz watched the battle impassively. Yes...go for the head...kill him. Only moments to go...
Fewer than moments, actually. As he watched, two of his invisible lessers crept up behind the...paladin...(even thinking the word was distasteful) and the fiery elf. They broke through the elf's pitiful spell with ease, looked at each other to confirm, and threw their buckets---dousing their two targets. They immediately fell to the ground, unconscious.
For the rest, I think, just a misting should suffice. They were not as close as these two, perhaps, he thought at his lesser near him.
Immediately, my Lord.
And it was done. A barely perceptible mist fell over the rest---even the one from the East.
They may remember them...but they won't remember how they lost them, nor care enough to worry, my Lord.
As he watched, the portion of adventurers (what a laughable term, Tikz thought) still conscious slowly faded away, secure in the knowledge they'd succeeded.
Excellent...now we can begin the...relearning...process. Begin the transfer.[/color]
And one of the lessers began opening the gate necessary to transport the two unconscious recruits.
Until, that is, they met resistance.
"By all that I fought and continue to fight for, release them."
I don't think so, Karn...they're ours now. You know how it works.
"No longer..."
With that, the ghost bestrode the two bodies, sword at the ready.
And so Tikz the pit fiend drew his sword against Karn the paladin.
The first form came easily. Crushing the Sinner. Tikz twirled his sword high, then brought it low, only to be met by Karn's ethereal blade.
Pity you haven't a head to cut off, mused Tikz, as he pulled his weapon away and brought it low, then across. The Subtle Tempt.
Karn, however, wouldn't bite. Instead of bringing his block low and exposing his head to Tikz's tail, he nimbly leapt over the swipe and grabbed high, faster than the eye could see, catching the devil's tail in midair.
"No...and I've found faith to be an armor much lighter than steel and wood."
Tikz smiled, showing his fangs, and leaned forward, then dropped his sword and dove for the incorporeal knight, hoping to bring him down.
To devils, you see, the dead are no less graspable than the mortal---for why else would they care at what destination the dead end?
The two wrestled, rolling on the floor. Tikz could feel his back spikes cutting into the two bodies on the ground.
Cutting into...contacting...
You've lost this round, Karn...another time, perhaps. And he began concentrating on Baator...
"NO!"
And Karn, paladin, centuries dead, put all his energy into becoming incorporeal. He melted through the devil to the two on the ground, and grabbed them, mentally and physically, keeping them here.
Irresistable force met immovable object. Tikz and the bodies flickered, the pit fiend more than his twin prizes, but they didn't fully disappear.
Finally, however, Karn lay alone on the floor of the temple he called home, gasping for breath, out of habit more than need---for a dead man needs no air.
Baator, Ninth Level of Hell
"Hey...can we eat it?"
"I wouldn't touch it if I were you...he might wake up."
The devils looked at each other.
"Is this...?"
"Yes..."
"Tikz?"
Daring, they turned his body over. There was blood on his spikes, and his matted hair was braided just so...
"Keep'em, when he wakey we get rewardnd!"
Somewhere in the Gathered Nations.
"Wa...wa...water."
Irrkin was scouting further and further afield these days. Orders direct from the Dune Palace. The Master was supposed to be making inroads, after all.
He slapped his speed-camel, and it adjusted its canter to a trot. No sense dragging this gods-forsaken patrol longer than needful.
"Wa---"
Irrkin turned his head toward the sound. Probably just the wind---it could do strange things to a man's mind on these dunes---but he'd best check it out.
What he found horrified him. A man in metal armor---metal? Was he suicidal? wondered Irrkin---lay sprawled on the sand, fully exposed to the sun. Next to him lay a thick-boned elf in robes, his black hair standing out darkly against the sand.
The man in armor slowly opened his mouth. Consciously or unconsciously, he rasped, "Waaa---"
Irrkin ran back to his camel, and pulled a canteen from the saddle. Straight from the Life-giving Lake. He sloshed a little on the elf, then poured a little down the man's throat. In the desert, one knows---too much water can kill a man at the brink of death, however much he may wish for it. Then he pulled the elf's mouth open and poured a little down his throat, making sure that he didn't get it caught and accidentally drown him---if he were alive, anyway.
Then Irrkin remembered what was most important. Shaking a little, he moved from buckle to buckle on the human's armor, ripping it off as fast as he could. The metal was hot to the touch---and it showed on the man's body. He was covered in burns from head to toe. In some places his flesh was charred off. And in others...it looked to Irrkin like this man had been wounded before he collapsed.
He stood up and looked around. There were no footprints to or from the pair, but that wasn't unusual---the dune winds can erase even the deepest of tracks quickly.
He loaded them up on the saddle, draped on their stomachs. He could walk for now...he'd come back for their equipment later.
That night, under a blanket around the campfire, the elf stirred slightly.
Irrkin slipped out of his fur and stooped over the elf, now laboring to ask a question.
"Wh...where?"
Irrkin considered. Should he tell him? But then, this invalid could hardly be any danger.
"You're in the middle of the Desert, within the sovereign confines of the Gathered Nations. What's your name?"
"Na..my name...name...oh, gods." And the elf fell unconscious again.
A bucketful is as good as drowning when you're in the Styx, they say.
Dune Palace, training basement---two years later
Tineniel pivoted on his left foot, and brought the wooden sword across his the student's chest, swinging hard. Tann was good; he brought his stick up and turned into the blow, letting Tineniel's arm swing around him. The classic move at this point was for Tineniel to reverse his turn, aiming for his student's left flank. Tann switched his grip in order to better block the anticipated strike.
Except it never came. Tineniel dropped his sword and put Tann in a stranglehold from behind, keeping his arms pinned to the chest with his elbows so he couldn't use the wooden sword.
Tann stomped the floor, and Tineniel let go.
"You broke the rules, Master. You said to never let go of your sword."
"I did say that. And that's your lesson for today...there's always an exception to the rule."
Tineniel looked wearily at his student. "You're a packhorse. You could keep going until tomorrow if I'd oblige. Go home. Today's lesson is over."
Tann nodded, handed Tineniel the practice sword, and left the small hall in which they'd been practicing.
"Any luck yet with the book?" asked a voice from the other opposite doorway. It was Irris, leaning against the doorframe. He'd just returned from training the younger ones in riding camels.
"None yet...though I could have sworn I was getting close...the spiral hurt a lot right then." Tineniel responded. "For a moment I felt...I felt like I could have just looked at something, and it would have lit on fire. Just like that. How did training go today?"
"Horrible. It happened again. I was showing one of them the hop-mount...and I wanted a sword in my hands. A sword! What do I know of swords? The worst of it, though---I didn't want to be riding a camel. I needed a horse. And not just any horse---this sounds crazy, but I needed a specific horse. I ended up falling off the second hump because I was thinking about it too hard."
They both looked at each other, then screamed in unison, as they had so many times before, "WHO ARE WE?![/b][/color]"
Tikz sat back, careful not to make any noise. Not forty feet below him, the dwarf in mail brought his maul down on Kirrik's head.
Tikz watched the battle impassively. Yes...go for the head...kill him. Only moments to go...Fewer than moments, actually. As he watched, two of his invisible lessers crept up behind the...paladin...(even thinking the word was distasteful) and the fiery elf. They broke through the elf's pitiful spell with ease, looked at each other to confirm, and threw their buckets---dousing their two targets. They immediately fell to the ground, unconscious.
For the rest, I think, just a misting should suffice. They were not as close as these two, perhaps, he thought at his lesser near him.Immediately, my Lord.
And it was done. A barely perceptible mist fell over the rest---even the one from the East.
They may remember them...but they won't remember how they lost them, nor care enough to worry, my Lord.
As he watched, the portion of adventurers (what a laughable term, Tikz thought) still conscious slowly faded away, secure in the knowledge they'd succeeded.
Excellent...now we can begin the...relearning...process. Begin the transfer.[/color]And one of the lessers began opening the gate necessary to transport the two unconscious recruits.
Until, that is, they met resistance.
"By all that I fought and continue to fight for, release them."I don't think so, Karn...they're ours now. You know how it works."No longer..."
With that, the ghost bestrode the two bodies, sword at the ready.
And so Tikz the pit fiend drew his sword against Karn the paladin.
The first form came easily. Crushing the Sinner. Tikz twirled his sword high, then brought it low, only to be met by Karn's ethereal blade.
Pity you haven't a head to cut off, mused Tikz, as he pulled his weapon away and brought it low, then across. The Subtle Tempt.Karn, however, wouldn't bite. Instead of bringing his block low and exposing his head to Tikz's tail, he nimbly leapt over the swipe and grabbed high, faster than the eye could see, catching the devil's tail in midair.
"No...and I've found faith to be an armor much lighter than steel and wood."
Tikz smiled, showing his fangs, and leaned forward, then dropped his sword and dove for the incorporeal knight, hoping to bring him down.
To devils, you see, the dead are no less graspable than the mortal---for why else would they care at what destination the dead end?
The two wrestled, rolling on the floor. Tikz could feel his back spikes cutting into the two bodies on the ground.
Cutting into...contacting...
You've lost this round, Karn...another time, perhaps. And he began concentrating on Baator..."NO!"And Karn, paladin, centuries dead, put all his energy into becoming incorporeal. He melted through the devil to the two on the ground, and grabbed them, mentally and physically, keeping them here.
Irresistable force met immovable object. Tikz and the bodies flickered, the pit fiend more than his twin prizes, but they didn't fully disappear.
Finally, however, Karn lay alone on the floor of the temple he called home, gasping for breath, out of habit more than need---for a dead man needs no air.
* * *
Baator, Ninth Level of Hell
"Hey...can we eat it?"
"I wouldn't touch it if I were you...he might wake up."
The devils looked at each other.
"Is this...?"
"Yes..."
"Tikz?"
Daring, they turned his body over. There was blood on his spikes, and his matted hair was braided just so...
"Keep'em, when he wakey we get rewardnd!"
* * *
Somewhere in the Gathered Nations.
"Wa...wa...water."
Irrkin was scouting further and further afield these days. Orders direct from the Dune Palace. The Master was supposed to be making inroads, after all.
He slapped his speed-camel, and it adjusted its canter to a trot. No sense dragging this gods-forsaken patrol longer than needful.
"Wa---"
Irrkin turned his head toward the sound. Probably just the wind---it could do strange things to a man's mind on these dunes---but he'd best check it out.
What he found horrified him. A man in metal armor---metal? Was he suicidal? wondered Irrkin---lay sprawled on the sand, fully exposed to the sun. Next to him lay a thick-boned elf in robes, his black hair standing out darkly against the sand.
The man in armor slowly opened his mouth. Consciously or unconsciously, he rasped, "Waaa---"
Irrkin ran back to his camel, and pulled a canteen from the saddle. Straight from the Life-giving Lake. He sloshed a little on the elf, then poured a little down the man's throat. In the desert, one knows---too much water can kill a man at the brink of death, however much he may wish for it. Then he pulled the elf's mouth open and poured a little down his throat, making sure that he didn't get it caught and accidentally drown him---if he were alive, anyway.
Then Irrkin remembered what was most important. Shaking a little, he moved from buckle to buckle on the human's armor, ripping it off as fast as he could. The metal was hot to the touch---and it showed on the man's body. He was covered in burns from head to toe. In some places his flesh was charred off. And in others...it looked to Irrkin like this man had been wounded before he collapsed.
He stood up and looked around. There were no footprints to or from the pair, but that wasn't unusual---the dune winds can erase even the deepest of tracks quickly.
He loaded them up on the saddle, draped on their stomachs. He could walk for now...he'd come back for their equipment later.
* * *
That night, under a blanket around the campfire, the elf stirred slightly.
Irrkin slipped out of his fur and stooped over the elf, now laboring to ask a question.
"Wh...where?"
Irrkin considered. Should he tell him? But then, this invalid could hardly be any danger.
"You're in the middle of the Desert, within the sovereign confines of the Gathered Nations. What's your name?"
"Na..my name...name...oh, gods." And the elf fell unconscious again.
A bucketful is as good as drowning when you're in the Styx, they say.
* * *
Dune Palace, training basement---two years later
Tineniel pivoted on his left foot, and brought the wooden sword across his the student's chest, swinging hard. Tann was good; he brought his stick up and turned into the blow, letting Tineniel's arm swing around him. The classic move at this point was for Tineniel to reverse his turn, aiming for his student's left flank. Tann switched his grip in order to better block the anticipated strike.
Except it never came. Tineniel dropped his sword and put Tann in a stranglehold from behind, keeping his arms pinned to the chest with his elbows so he couldn't use the wooden sword.
Tann stomped the floor, and Tineniel let go.
"You broke the rules, Master. You said to never let go of your sword."
"I did say that. And that's your lesson for today...there's always an exception to the rule."
Tineniel looked wearily at his student. "You're a packhorse. You could keep going until tomorrow if I'd oblige. Go home. Today's lesson is over."
Tann nodded, handed Tineniel the practice sword, and left the small hall in which they'd been practicing.
"Any luck yet with the book?" asked a voice from the other opposite doorway. It was Irris, leaning against the doorframe. He'd just returned from training the younger ones in riding camels.
"None yet...though I could have sworn I was getting close...the spiral hurt a lot right then." Tineniel responded. "For a moment I felt...I felt like I could have just looked at something, and it would have lit on fire. Just like that. How did training go today?"
"Horrible. It happened again. I was showing one of them the hop-mount...and I wanted a sword in my hands. A sword! What do I know of swords? The worst of it, though---I didn't want to be riding a camel. I needed a horse. And not just any horse---this sounds crazy, but I needed a specific horse. I ended up falling off the second hump because I was thinking about it too hard."
They both looked at each other, then screamed in unison, as they had so many times before, "WHO ARE WE?![/b][/color]"
* * *
....when did this happen?
)
