02-18-2002, 08:33 AM
Fear - Awakening (1)
The oneness. The stillness. Listening to the blood seeping slowly through the veins near his ears. Feeling the pause of the blood as the pressure quieted. Then the slow rush as his heart moved, as if shy, squeezing the fluid through his body. He heard again the seep of blood, bearing oxygen to his cells allowing them to breath slowly. Then nothing. In the oneness he felt the grass under his feet, the strain of the ligaments in his knees as he crouched, the slight itch running across the scales on his right thigh. He moved muscles slowly, independently of each other, widening blood vessels and easing the flow of blood. His tail lay inert, balancing him, allowing him to meditate while crouching.
Unmoving, he felt the day pass him by, as he sat still. His body grew cold and inert; he had no pulse, no heart, and no thought. Something warned him, something deep inside, some feeling in his soul. And it was his soul. The feeling came not without, nor from any one place in his body. He could not have pointed at his chest, or at his head, and said that was the place. It was from everywhere at once, and nowhere at all. "You please me." A cold, dark gravely voice spoke. "I have invested you with a great debt of fear, as all my children." Another long, cold pause. "Your fear grows, and builds, greater and greater every day." Kaessithe felt a throbbing in his chest. "You have not squandered your fear, nor have you sought to alleviate it. When the times comes to pay, you will outshine your brothers and sisters and remind them of the true lessons I teach. Listen well." Kaessithe felt his muscles start to spasm, as energy seemed to pour into them, unbidden.
"You have learned to trust, and be trusted. Glox has taught you that. Without understanding, one cannot truly understand what it is to create fear. Those who trust you, because you want them to trust you. You have trusted greatly, and learned greatly, of the lands and people outside of your homeland." He could vaguely smell the scent of burning Iksar flesh, more acidic and sour than demihuman flesh. "Your capacity for causing fear is unlimited, now, swifttail. Every tale that comes of you, performing great acts, every time you slay a monster, you bring greater fear. For your friends fear that what you are capable of, your brothers and sisters are also capable of. You are ever my creature, and will ever be my creature. No effort, no act you perform can change that. Remember, youth, though you play with Tunare's disciples, that you are mine."
Kaessithe awoke with a roar as impossible pain tore through his body. He leapt to his feet, eyes wide, staring about. No flames, no pain. It was gone. He was gasping for breath, air not seeming to come fast enough. Get... a hold... of yourself. With that thought, the stillness seeped back into him. The smell of burnt flesh was still there, although he felt no wound. A dream. He had gone too deep into the stillness, and fallen into his own subconscious. His fears of his own dark spawning must be affecting him more deeply than he thought.
Two elves, used to seeing the Iksar meditating beneath the great tree, came running at his roar of pain. They skidded to a stop, eyes wide, when they reached him. And when he looked down, he knew why. In the grass, perfectly burnt into the ground, was the rune of Cazic-Thule. Centered on his feet. He looked up at the elves, expecting fear. He was not disappointed. They broke into a run, fleeing toward the nearest lift up into Kelethin. He did not chase them. Gathering up his possessions, he took a few coins from his small coin purse, and dropped it to the ground. That should help with the components for the spells of sanctity that would have to be cast to bring Tunare's love back to the ground here. He very much feared that the elves, being the mystical and heavily superstitious creatures they were, would see this mark and foretell dire portents. And their fear would grow, as would the mark, feeding upon it.
He had to go elsewhere. He had enjoyed his carefree time among the wood elves, but he knew he was not a creature of Tunare, and only ill could come of his staying. It was time he returned home, where his flawed soul could only harm those deserving of such feeling. He began to trot easily and quickly south, not wanting to cause any more of a disturbance than he already had. It would be a long road to Kunark. A long road home.
Fear - Journeys (2)
The Dreadlands were everything he remembered. It would be good to get some solitude, even as frost grew on his scales. The remnants of the gnome's spell rolled away in a green wave, carrying the last vestiges of the Faydark and Kelethin with it. He held out the last of his money to the old man, but the gnome only smiled.
"Keep fighting the good fight, young one. You can beat him yet." Kaessithe smiled back reflexively, before the portent of his words sank in. The gnome waved as phosphorescent bubbles billowed up from under his feet, revealing a brown landscape, before the wizard was swallowed up by his spell.
"Wait..." Kaessithe spoke a bit belatedly. He let his hand drop, wondering what the old male had been about. Deciding not to worry overmuch about it, he looked around, breathing deeply the brisk mountain air swirling snow from the sharp Northern Peaks. Glancing up the mountain, and pulling his shroud more tightly about him, he lifted the hood over his face, keeping his tail close to his legs. The mountain seemed huge from the ground, but heights did not frighten him. Any swifttail worth his clay shackle could fall from heights that would kill a normal Iksar and smile as he walked away. It was part of the training, to relax one's body, and let the air slow you, let the ground rise up, not as an enemy, but as a nest-mate.
It took him the better part of two days to reach the peak. He found the climb to be exhilarating and refreshing, sweeping away the self-doubt he had felt in the last few weeks. He was once again set on his path. He would not go helplessly in the dark depths of Cazic-Thule's grasp. No matter how strong the pull. Climbing to the very summit of the tallest of the peaks, he crouched down, throwing back his hood. From there he could see the ancient Wizard's Outpost, the smaller, newer spires, and the druid stone ring, as old as the mountains themselves. From this height, he could not distinguish creatures from the green blur of the ground.
At this point in his training, he was almost always within the oneness, and everything he did was with measured movements and small amounts of energy. So from his crouch, entering a trance was simple. He felt his heartbeat slow, the blood pressure dropping, heart calming. His muscles loosened, letting the wind flow around him, swaying in time with the glacial northwestern winds that flapped his robe around him like a wild creature. The particles of the robe, the very magic essence kept him in a cocoon of warmth, making sure the biting wind did not rob him of the little warmth he had left.
The heartbeat of the earth, timeless vibrations through the ground, reverberating though the hardened leather soles of his shoes, through his feet, his body, his soul. He could feel the ancient malice that was Gorenaire, the tremendous power she possessed. Elsewhere could he feel the power of magic ripping the fabric of reality in tiny bursts, Wizards and Magicians and Enchanters shaping the ether to their will. The power of the earth rising and falling, cumulating in waves and fading away. Tapped here and there by Druids and Rangers, Shamans and some unrecognizable new force. The darkness of the underworld looming like a deep, unfathomable well beneath the mountain, beneath the earth. It stretched up in long dark tendrils, like whirlwinds of purest satin, touching the world of life through Necromancers and Shadow Knights. He could feel the iron will of the warriors, feel the ordered stillness of swifttails, and the human monks. The inconsistant and prosaic thoughts of the Bards, the subtle and cautious, furtive movements of the Rogues crept across his awareness. Seeming to descend from the sky was the power of the Gods, gifted upon the few strong enough to hold that power, the disciplined Paladins, and empathic Clerics.
And something else, something deeper, or higher. Something farther. The he saw him, his creator, his God. Cazic-Thule seemed unaware of him, though no god could match that description. Kaessithe watched for a moment before directing his attention elsewhere. Home. Back to the dark, deep halls and waterways of Cabilis. He saw the whole of the city, and let his mind guide him back to his home, the Court of Pain. Master Glox crouched peacefully, an aura of order extending from him, matched by the other instructors, Kaessithe felt almost ill-at-ease about coming within that field of order. It was not his.
But it is. He blinked. Grandmaster Glox was watching him, and when he glanced up, the other masters had followed suit. Shying back, he returned to his body with a snap, coughing. His heart beat off-rhythm for a moment, until he recovered enough of his poise to control it. One was not supposed to break the trance like that. Laughing at himself as a green-bellied newblood, he pulled his hood over his face, and began the rather quick process of skidding down the mountainside.
The day passed quickly, as he spent most of his time jogging at an energy-conserving pace through the mountains, avoiding unnecessary entanglements with creatures he would have difficulties with. It took him the better part of the day, and into the night to make it to the broken white columnade in front of the tunnel to the Frontier Mountains.
Kaessithe decided to camp in the tunnelway, where many creatures could not physically go. Shelter from the wind would allow him to make a fire, and he would stop and get a few hours of sleep. In a twist in the tunnel, where the fire would not be visible from either end, he sat down, dropping the few dead branches he had dragged in from outside the tunnel on his way. He did not carry bladed weapons, or even small knives. His claws and teeth sufficed for most things, and he hand not met the branch he could not break with a little effort. He let his feeling sink into the wood to find and exploit the weak areas. His fist struck one or twice, breaking the resilient stuff.
Laying his things against the wall, out of the way, he stacked the firewood in a neat pile on one side of them. Creating a log cabin, he placed each piece of wood according to a pattern he felt, leaving one side open. The smaller twigs and tiny bits that had survived the trip were snapped into tinder and kindling, and placed strategically inside the cabin. When all was in preparation, he reached beside him and pulled the long adamantite rod up beside him. Rather heavy it was, and felt strong in magic. Into his pack he delved, pulling out a small transparent red gem. Washed smooth and round like a river stone, it fit perfectly in the palm of one's hand. When he squeezed the item, he felt the magic ignite, covering his closed fist with a glowing red aura.
The aura and the adamantite staff struck sparks when he pushed his fist along the edge of the shaft. Sparks sprayed into the cabin as he pushed, giving off an acrid, magical scent. But the super-hot bits of burnt-off force pulsing among the tinder and kindling created a merry, dancing little flame in no time. As the flame improved, and began sloughing off heat, he let his eyes drift out of the infravision range into normal acuity. The cave looked different, less dark blue and had small sparkles and flickers of crystalline lattices. Not that any merchant would make his way into the Dread Lands to mine for crystal. Now Diamond, maybe...
It was with that thought that he lay back on his pack, covering all of his possessions with his body, and tucking his robe up around him. It was truly helpful in the morning not to have stiff, cold muscles. Tomorrow would be a long day. He intended to make sure the siege of the Giant Fortress was going well before leaving the area.
</p>
The oneness. The stillness. Listening to the blood seeping slowly through the veins near his ears. Feeling the pause of the blood as the pressure quieted. Then the slow rush as his heart moved, as if shy, squeezing the fluid through his body. He heard again the seep of blood, bearing oxygen to his cells allowing them to breath slowly. Then nothing. In the oneness he felt the grass under his feet, the strain of the ligaments in his knees as he crouched, the slight itch running across the scales on his right thigh. He moved muscles slowly, independently of each other, widening blood vessels and easing the flow of blood. His tail lay inert, balancing him, allowing him to meditate while crouching.
Unmoving, he felt the day pass him by, as he sat still. His body grew cold and inert; he had no pulse, no heart, and no thought. Something warned him, something deep inside, some feeling in his soul. And it was his soul. The feeling came not without, nor from any one place in his body. He could not have pointed at his chest, or at his head, and said that was the place. It was from everywhere at once, and nowhere at all. "You please me." A cold, dark gravely voice spoke. "I have invested you with a great debt of fear, as all my children." Another long, cold pause. "Your fear grows, and builds, greater and greater every day." Kaessithe felt a throbbing in his chest. "You have not squandered your fear, nor have you sought to alleviate it. When the times comes to pay, you will outshine your brothers and sisters and remind them of the true lessons I teach. Listen well." Kaessithe felt his muscles start to spasm, as energy seemed to pour into them, unbidden.
"You have learned to trust, and be trusted. Glox has taught you that. Without understanding, one cannot truly understand what it is to create fear. Those who trust you, because you want them to trust you. You have trusted greatly, and learned greatly, of the lands and people outside of your homeland." He could vaguely smell the scent of burning Iksar flesh, more acidic and sour than demihuman flesh. "Your capacity for causing fear is unlimited, now, swifttail. Every tale that comes of you, performing great acts, every time you slay a monster, you bring greater fear. For your friends fear that what you are capable of, your brothers and sisters are also capable of. You are ever my creature, and will ever be my creature. No effort, no act you perform can change that. Remember, youth, though you play with Tunare's disciples, that you are mine."
Kaessithe awoke with a roar as impossible pain tore through his body. He leapt to his feet, eyes wide, staring about. No flames, no pain. It was gone. He was gasping for breath, air not seeming to come fast enough. Get... a hold... of yourself. With that thought, the stillness seeped back into him. The smell of burnt flesh was still there, although he felt no wound. A dream. He had gone too deep into the stillness, and fallen into his own subconscious. His fears of his own dark spawning must be affecting him more deeply than he thought.
Two elves, used to seeing the Iksar meditating beneath the great tree, came running at his roar of pain. They skidded to a stop, eyes wide, when they reached him. And when he looked down, he knew why. In the grass, perfectly burnt into the ground, was the rune of Cazic-Thule. Centered on his feet. He looked up at the elves, expecting fear. He was not disappointed. They broke into a run, fleeing toward the nearest lift up into Kelethin. He did not chase them. Gathering up his possessions, he took a few coins from his small coin purse, and dropped it to the ground. That should help with the components for the spells of sanctity that would have to be cast to bring Tunare's love back to the ground here. He very much feared that the elves, being the mystical and heavily superstitious creatures they were, would see this mark and foretell dire portents. And their fear would grow, as would the mark, feeding upon it.
He had to go elsewhere. He had enjoyed his carefree time among the wood elves, but he knew he was not a creature of Tunare, and only ill could come of his staying. It was time he returned home, where his flawed soul could only harm those deserving of such feeling. He began to trot easily and quickly south, not wanting to cause any more of a disturbance than he already had. It would be a long road to Kunark. A long road home.
Fear - Journeys (2)
The Dreadlands were everything he remembered. It would be good to get some solitude, even as frost grew on his scales. The remnants of the gnome's spell rolled away in a green wave, carrying the last vestiges of the Faydark and Kelethin with it. He held out the last of his money to the old man, but the gnome only smiled.
"Keep fighting the good fight, young one. You can beat him yet." Kaessithe smiled back reflexively, before the portent of his words sank in. The gnome waved as phosphorescent bubbles billowed up from under his feet, revealing a brown landscape, before the wizard was swallowed up by his spell.
"Wait..." Kaessithe spoke a bit belatedly. He let his hand drop, wondering what the old male had been about. Deciding not to worry overmuch about it, he looked around, breathing deeply the brisk mountain air swirling snow from the sharp Northern Peaks. Glancing up the mountain, and pulling his shroud more tightly about him, he lifted the hood over his face, keeping his tail close to his legs. The mountain seemed huge from the ground, but heights did not frighten him. Any swifttail worth his clay shackle could fall from heights that would kill a normal Iksar and smile as he walked away. It was part of the training, to relax one's body, and let the air slow you, let the ground rise up, not as an enemy, but as a nest-mate.
It took him the better part of two days to reach the peak. He found the climb to be exhilarating and refreshing, sweeping away the self-doubt he had felt in the last few weeks. He was once again set on his path. He would not go helplessly in the dark depths of Cazic-Thule's grasp. No matter how strong the pull. Climbing to the very summit of the tallest of the peaks, he crouched down, throwing back his hood. From there he could see the ancient Wizard's Outpost, the smaller, newer spires, and the druid stone ring, as old as the mountains themselves. From this height, he could not distinguish creatures from the green blur of the ground.
At this point in his training, he was almost always within the oneness, and everything he did was with measured movements and small amounts of energy. So from his crouch, entering a trance was simple. He felt his heartbeat slow, the blood pressure dropping, heart calming. His muscles loosened, letting the wind flow around him, swaying in time with the glacial northwestern winds that flapped his robe around him like a wild creature. The particles of the robe, the very magic essence kept him in a cocoon of warmth, making sure the biting wind did not rob him of the little warmth he had left.
The heartbeat of the earth, timeless vibrations through the ground, reverberating though the hardened leather soles of his shoes, through his feet, his body, his soul. He could feel the ancient malice that was Gorenaire, the tremendous power she possessed. Elsewhere could he feel the power of magic ripping the fabric of reality in tiny bursts, Wizards and Magicians and Enchanters shaping the ether to their will. The power of the earth rising and falling, cumulating in waves and fading away. Tapped here and there by Druids and Rangers, Shamans and some unrecognizable new force. The darkness of the underworld looming like a deep, unfathomable well beneath the mountain, beneath the earth. It stretched up in long dark tendrils, like whirlwinds of purest satin, touching the world of life through Necromancers and Shadow Knights. He could feel the iron will of the warriors, feel the ordered stillness of swifttails, and the human monks. The inconsistant and prosaic thoughts of the Bards, the subtle and cautious, furtive movements of the Rogues crept across his awareness. Seeming to descend from the sky was the power of the Gods, gifted upon the few strong enough to hold that power, the disciplined Paladins, and empathic Clerics.
And something else, something deeper, or higher. Something farther. The he saw him, his creator, his God. Cazic-Thule seemed unaware of him, though no god could match that description. Kaessithe watched for a moment before directing his attention elsewhere. Home. Back to the dark, deep halls and waterways of Cabilis. He saw the whole of the city, and let his mind guide him back to his home, the Court of Pain. Master Glox crouched peacefully, an aura of order extending from him, matched by the other instructors, Kaessithe felt almost ill-at-ease about coming within that field of order. It was not his.
But it is. He blinked. Grandmaster Glox was watching him, and when he glanced up, the other masters had followed suit. Shying back, he returned to his body with a snap, coughing. His heart beat off-rhythm for a moment, until he recovered enough of his poise to control it. One was not supposed to break the trance like that. Laughing at himself as a green-bellied newblood, he pulled his hood over his face, and began the rather quick process of skidding down the mountainside.
The day passed quickly, as he spent most of his time jogging at an energy-conserving pace through the mountains, avoiding unnecessary entanglements with creatures he would have difficulties with. It took him the better part of the day, and into the night to make it to the broken white columnade in front of the tunnel to the Frontier Mountains.
Kaessithe decided to camp in the tunnelway, where many creatures could not physically go. Shelter from the wind would allow him to make a fire, and he would stop and get a few hours of sleep. In a twist in the tunnel, where the fire would not be visible from either end, he sat down, dropping the few dead branches he had dragged in from outside the tunnel on his way. He did not carry bladed weapons, or even small knives. His claws and teeth sufficed for most things, and he hand not met the branch he could not break with a little effort. He let his feeling sink into the wood to find and exploit the weak areas. His fist struck one or twice, breaking the resilient stuff.
Laying his things against the wall, out of the way, he stacked the firewood in a neat pile on one side of them. Creating a log cabin, he placed each piece of wood according to a pattern he felt, leaving one side open. The smaller twigs and tiny bits that had survived the trip were snapped into tinder and kindling, and placed strategically inside the cabin. When all was in preparation, he reached beside him and pulled the long adamantite rod up beside him. Rather heavy it was, and felt strong in magic. Into his pack he delved, pulling out a small transparent red gem. Washed smooth and round like a river stone, it fit perfectly in the palm of one's hand. When he squeezed the item, he felt the magic ignite, covering his closed fist with a glowing red aura.
The aura and the adamantite staff struck sparks when he pushed his fist along the edge of the shaft. Sparks sprayed into the cabin as he pushed, giving off an acrid, magical scent. But the super-hot bits of burnt-off force pulsing among the tinder and kindling created a merry, dancing little flame in no time. As the flame improved, and began sloughing off heat, he let his eyes drift out of the infravision range into normal acuity. The cave looked different, less dark blue and had small sparkles and flickers of crystalline lattices. Not that any merchant would make his way into the Dread Lands to mine for crystal. Now Diamond, maybe...
It was with that thought that he lay back on his pack, covering all of his possessions with his body, and tucking his robe up around him. It was truly helpful in the morning not to have stiff, cold muscles. Tomorrow would be a long day. He intended to make sure the siege of the Giant Fortress was going well before leaving the area.
</p>