Furry-Within

Three centuries ago, the final battle foretold by the Ancients Prophecies occurred, casting a shadow over the entire world of Haven and its peoples.  The leaders of light and darkness met on the plains of Herron with their armies, the battle to determine the future of all who would dwell on or within the plane resting on the conflict.

Each army had its champion, each their Pariah who would be instrumental in bringing about change...Yet what the leaders of the Light didn't realize until it was too late, was their champion had been one of Darkness all along, and its corruption had spread to all others who had come into contact with it.  The prophecies concerning their noble champion had been falsified ages ago by  the Darkness, and within days, all was led to ruin.

The sun that had once been so bright and welcoming turned to a black disk with only a faint silvery ring of light to hint at the glory it had once been to the world.  Plants and animals changed, adapting to the twilight, others becoming twisted with the corruption that spread like a infectious disease.  Druids, healers, and even those who were devoted to various aspects and divinities of the Light couldn't stem the flow of the taint as it spread, nor did their gifts to heal those afflicted by it work as they had in the past.

Faith was lost in the light, and as the lands fell next to the armies of the unnamed evil that continued to sweep from the battleground where the worlds Fate had been decided fewer were born without being affected in some way.  The main races who had held sway for so long; Humans, Dwarfs, Elves, and the Half breeds fell into ruin, with only the strongest surviving the change.

Cities that had once been thriving placed for trade of both magick and artifice turned into fortified bastions, each with little tolerance for even the slightest crimes committed within the walls.  Few who travel the roads anymore travel alone, and without protection or the knowledge of how to defend one's self from the dangers that lurk in the perpetual twilight.

Some seek wealth and fortune in the ruins of once great kingdoms; others sell what lore and artifacts they have collected, or their services as escorts throughout the land.  A rare few seek some knowledge of how the Darkness may be driven from the land, and balance restored to the world.  A dream...one that many hearts share...but only a brave and perhaps mad few are willing to pursue...

***

...Isharam, East port City of the Tirinsal continent and a haven for the strange, exotic, and illegal trade of goods from all parts of Tirinsal and the lands across the ocean.  Regardless of what item, or service a prospective customer may be looking for, if you can't find it in Ishram then it doesn't exist.  Aside from the docks and numerous warehouses that dot the waterfront more numerous than flies on a corpse, and the slave markets which produce their share of bodies living and dead, the best known and one of the last remaining wonders of the world stands overlooking the coast.

Rising on a loan cliff that curve up and over the water, the Wailing Watch Light tower baths the offshore waters with intermittent, pale yellow light.  Carved from the cliff itself, the tower once had a different name, now long forgotten by the people of Ishram.  The winds on nights when the strongest of storms approach cause the strange pitting and hollowed out recesses to generate the sound of hundreds of wailing women.  Whether intentionally crafted to do so, or some cruel twist taken place after the Final battle happened, no one can say.

On this night however, the wailing is muted by the heavy downpour which has lasted for three days and nights already.  Citizens of the city pay the rain little heed, some silently thankful for the fresh cleansing waters which will wash away the stench of the slave pens and market...if only for a few days after it stops.  Merchants who are used to the coastal weather still keep the stalls of their markets and store fronts stocked, offering warm Coff to any who enter, as much to warm the body as it is to entice them to look at their wares.

The Slavers retreat to their Inn's and pavilions to stay warm, most of their pockets already full of gold and silver coin...that which hasn't already been spent on ale, wenches or drugs.

In the city, Ishrams's guards are more thugs and muscle than actual city militia.  Only those protecting the Magistrate and his substantial mansion are more than simple mercenaries.  Few crimes ever come before the magistrate as it is, meaning that the pompous Toad deals with little aside from the taxes and fees from the docks and commoners.  Anyone who commits a crime away from the Merchants Pavilion pays for it with their life or their freedom.

Despite this, there are places of relative safety and peace in the city.  The Great Library, unremarkable in appearance aside from its size has forever been a place of pride for the magistrates who have kept control throughout the long twilight years of Haven.  Records new and those dating from before the Great Eclipse reside here, containing knowledge and ideals from ages long since past.  Only the most learned and noble of blood have been allowed to access its secrets, the staff more than able to direct someone seeking knowledge to the appropriate section.

Last but not least, near the mainland entrance to the city, rests the Temple of Illudra, Goddess of Light, Protection and Self-Sacrifice.  Few now days go there to pay homage to a deity most believe has abandoned the world to its dark fate.  Most of the clergy are elderly or far too young to be taken seriously; the once miraculous healings for which it was famed for in the past have ceased to be.  Distant and in a state of disrepair, the clerics are still more than willing to offer a place to sleep for those who are willing to respect them and possibly provide a donation to keep what remains of their stores stocked.

The rain continues to pour, the scent of the ocean spiced with the freshness of it along with hints of the drug dens who's smoke hangs listlessly in the damp night air.  A one time city of great wonders, now little more than a greed ridden den of thieves...What shall become of those willing to step forward and take control of their destinies...?

"Thank you, young Damascene. Are you sure?"

"Yes, Sister, I am very sure. I have far too much to carry around with me at all times, and if I can help anyone in any way, you know I will do it." The scholar said. He had a light purplish-blue tint to his hair, and his bangs were tied back into a ponytail, the sides of his hair falling down to his shoulders. He handed over a large rucksack of provisions to the Sister of the temple, the outside of it soggy with having been out in the downpour.

"Bless you. For someone who never followed our teachings or religion, you have always had the heart of a saint." The sister said, as she handed off the rucksack to a younger clergyman, who took it inside.

"I don't have to believe in the teaches, or religion-- but I can't refute the fact that something has happened due to it." Damascene said, looking at the sky. "Anyway, I must go, I need to make it to the Library before I'm too soaked to do any good inside." He gave the sister a respectful bow, and then made his way, pulling his hood up over his head. He doubted that the soft leather of his cloak would provide much protection, but anything was better than nothing in this tempest.

He wore a simple set of scholar's robes, aside from the cloak, which flapped mercilessly behind him as he tugged the strings on the sides to tie it around his body. He looked soaked from head to toe, as if he had been out on the streets for a while, and he just plop-plopped his way through the puddles towards the inner workings of the town again, heading for the library. He had another, smaller sack on his back under his cloak, containing well over a week's worth of provisions, and some magical catalysts, the rest of them being in small vials or satchels on his belt. His tome was tucked underneath an arm, and it seemed to somehow be perfectly dry when the rest of him was soaked.

Maybe today he'd be able to sneak past the watchful staff of the library, and see if he could find any more leads towards these dark days.

The mist that Antony walked through had only risen a few hours before, effectively covering everything in a heavy gray blanket.  He couldn't see more than twenty feet in front of him, which made the seasoned Pilgrim a bit uneasy.  His shortsword scraped against the sheath on his left hip as he slowly drew it out, sliding his shield down his arm and holding it in his left hand.  He trudged down the beaten dirt path through the soupy fog, listening intently for any sounds of anyone approaching around him.

Thoughts raced through his mind, swirling around in his consciousness as lost spirits did to a battlefield.  His hard-soled boots thudded on the dirt that was rutted and pitted by countless wagons that had been driven upon it.  The grass off to the sides of the path was spotted green and brown, a testament to the corrupting evil that had swept through the countryside.  Not a single animal or bird had made any noise or shown itself for the past two miles or so.  Since the fog had risen, he hadn't heard or seen anything from the outside.  He was utterly alone in the gray covering, which both excited and frightened him.

It had been quite a while since he'd had a good adventure (having had his last one at 21), and the idea of having another travel and possibly a fight or two lifted his spirits quite a bit.  His left hand unconsciously searched his brown jerkin for the small golden pendant underneath.  His finger traced around the circular metal object, the knowledge of its presence calming his nerves.  His arm finally fell away to hang at his side, the medium-weighted metal shield swinging like a pendulum.

There was a light breeze ahead of him, and even though it was slight and he wore several layers of tough leather armor, it sent a shiver up his spine.  There weren't any scents on the wind, which was disheartening-- he thought he'd be getting out of this mist soon.  He looked above him, only seeing a metallic gray overcast sky.  The air around him was chilled, and he could feel the light wind playing with the royal blue bandanna around his forehead.  A pair of pale blue eyes stared forward out from underneath it, almost obscured by a messy crop of brown hair.  It was tousled in the breeze that seemed to come out of nowhere.  There wasn't any wind at all before.  Sure, the weather could be unpredictable, but a breeze all of a sudden?  That wasn't right, was it?

...I watched as the first of the chosen entered or approached the port city of Isharam, though not with my eyes.  The sight of the physical world had been denied to me countless centuries ago, when I was as young as I looked.  Since then I had learned other means to 'percieve' the world around me, not only the physical, but the magickal and spiritual as well.

It was only in the last three hundred that I realized my true purpose, the reason I had been born, and then blinded to the physical beauty when bestowed with the blessing and curse of nigh immortality.  Sighing at the paths that lay ahead for those whose fates would become entwined with that of the world, I maintained my silent watch, standing at the pinnacle of the lighthouse as the rain continued to fall.

A matter of time...and patience...both of which I had in abundance but still, I would be faced with the daunting task of trying to convince them that any advice I gave held merit.  The Gods would do what they could, but it was up to mortals to act upon what was presented to them.  All I could do for the moment was watch and wait...until the time came for introductions...

He continued to run, feeling the water soak right through his boots. It was like walking in a puddle, and he grimaced at the feeling-- though he'd have a chance to dry off later. He ran past the odd person here and there, but he didn't really pay them any mind-- most people were wanting to do their business and get out of the rain, rather than dilly-dally or converse with one another. He saw the library in sights and picked up the pace a little, when something seemed to grab him from inside.

He stared up, the water splashing down on his face, and then stared back at the marina. It was like something, or someone was drawing him-- but he didn't know for what intent. He stared a little longer, just shaking his head-- it had to just be tiredness. He was imagining it. And he was wasting time, just letting himself get wetter and wetter, when he had to be inside the library, studying.

He turned around to start running again when he lost his footing on the wet, slipper stone, and barely saved himself from a rather painful fall. His book bounced along the ground and he scrambled to pick it up, almost as if he'd dropped a baby, or some sort of fragile, precious gemstone. He picked it up (and it was still dry to boot), and continued on his way.

He got to the library and headed inside, pulling down his hood and shaking out some water. Some people stared at him, though he didn't pay them any mind, and proceeded to step aside of the doorway, creating a small puddle to the side.

He brought his hands together, and slowly began to pull them apart, and there was a visible, but faint red light that was focused in the middle of his hands. As he continued to slowly bring his palms apart, the light grew into a flame, and it began to radiate heat, drying himself off. Though the cantrip was by no means deadly (it wasn't actual fire, more just a heat source), he made sure to face the wall to avoid anyone making any sort of ruckus about "fire in the library".

Leyran, Keeper of the Forbidden Scrolls:  Looking up from a conversation with one of the scribes and a traveling priest seeking an ancient cure for a horrible malady, I frowned slightly at the figure who had just entered through the main doors of the west entrance.  The scribe took a step forward in shock when a faint red glow emanated from the figure who had turned 'his' back to us.
"Calm yourself, Centavi," I said with a somewhat amused tone as I rested a hand on the young mans shoulder before he could cause a panic.  "The spell that one uses won't cause any of the newer volumes to catch fire, or even be used to light a candle if I'm not mistaken.  Attend to your studies and review 'The Works Arcanum' as part of your studies tomorrow.  As new as you are, you should have mastered some of the simple spells for detecting harmful presences and dangerous magicks by now."  The youth (barely in his twenties) listened and bowed deeply to me as I apologized to the priest and directed him to seek out another scribe who would know where the information he sought could be found.

Approaching the newcomer slowly, I took in his clothing 'definitely a male of some sort,' I finally concluded in my head, and paused just a few feet away.
"Greetings.  I welcome you to the Library of Isharam.  I am Leyran Estvanduil, one of the keepers of this place of lore and wisdom," I said in the common tongue, my accent slight and barely audible in the light baritone voice I had.  "You've come at a late hour and I fear that you may not have enough time to find any information that you seek until the morrow.  If you have just recently come into the city, there are a few rooms for travelers to use for a silver mark."  'As I have the histories and secrets to record as well tonight,' I thought, maintaining a cordial outward demeanor.

Dressed as I was in partial leather armored robes of a dark ebony in color, most would have taken my appearance as unusual, the armor and the lute hanging across my back causing those who didn't know of me to shake their heads and wonder what a bard was doing in a place such as this.  They would also have been hard pressed to say which Elven race I belonged to.  White short cropped hair, dark indigo skin, and ears that rose high and at a greater slant than normal would have looked unusual on most elves this age.  Few had the courage to ask about my past, and for that I was thankful, more than likely due to my silver eyes, and the cloth that concealed my face below the ridge of my nose.  Standing just over 6'4" it was more my presence and demeanor than what I was that had earned respect from the other keepers and the scholars.

Damascene jumped, his cantrip breaking, and he turned around. He was mostly dry, still feeling slightly cold in some places, but no longer standing in a puddle. He turned around and just looked the elf over, before he smiled. "Ah, forgive me lady Leyran. But rest assured that I will find what I need-- and as for a room, I have no need for sleep. I will sleep enough when I am dead." He chuckled a little at his joke, and just let his arms down-- feeling dry enough to be tolerable. He just brushed some of his bangs out of his face, and smiled warmly back at the other elf. Night elf? She wasn't of his race, at least-- but he figured that didn't really matter all that much.

"Although, if you are a keeper, I was wondering if you could guide me around? I was trying to find some books the other day but had no luck, I tend to get very side-tracked in here, you see." Although, once that was said, he didn't really know how to continue. "I was wondering if you had a... compendium of spells, of sorts? Something like simple cantrips, you know, spells of use rather than spells of destruction." It was a half-lie, he was always one to enjoy learning new spells, but he was moreso just hoping that this elf would show him around, and he'd be able to pinpoint the location of the locked off books.

Leyran:  "I'm afraid that the section for magickal studies, practices, and histories is already closed for the evening," I replied, holding my hands against my midriff gently and shaking my head.  "I'm sure that as a student of magick, you'll understand that if an apprentice were to fall asleep and inadvertently mumble even a minor fire spell that it could cause...quite a few problems.  Not to say that this will be the case with yourself, but still...I am unable to bend the rules.  At least in one of the rooms you will have the time to get completely dry and something warm to eat."

Turning, I walked past the shelves of public knowledge, the heavy oaken tables that still had books, scattered pieces of parchment and chalices from the days visitors, moving towards the inner Chamber of Reason which branched off into the three other entrance halls and study areas for mundane knowledge and histories.  The chamber itself would have been at home in any palace, the floors tiled with hematite, obsidian, quartz, and onyx tiles that glittered even in the lamps set at intervals along the marble walls and hanging from the domed ceiling above.

Taking a flight of steps up to the second floor, I led the scholar to the guest wing, at one time reserved for only the nobles, and most powerful users of divine or arcane magicks.  Now it was little more than massive rooms partitioned with small canvass walls and cots between each of them so the weary could sleep.  Briefly looking into one such chamber, I noted that a few cots were still empty and without any hint of belongings next to them.
"There are a couple of cots here, Feel free to use one of them.  Flint and steel are in the small tinderbox by the lamp on the table next to the cot.  When the library opens up to the public on the morrow, I'll find you and give you directions to what you seek.  A scribe will be along shortly with some stew and bread for your supper," I told him, gesturing into the room.  "I bid you a fare night, and a terror free one at that..."  Bowing my head slightly out of respect, I turned away and headed back for the Chamber of reason, taking the stairs back to the main level and then entering a small alcove hidden away from onlookers wish stairs leading to the lower levels and the forbidden knowledge that had been brought here for countless years...

«And should I wish not to?» The scholar thought to himself, grinning mischeviously as the other elf left. He hucked off his rucksack and soppy outer cloak onto the bed, along with his scholar's robes. Now dressed in some plain, thick leather trousers, and a black cotton shirt, he tied up his hair into a neat bun, to avoid having it drip all over the floor. He kept his belt on, however, and hugged his book under an arm, waiting a few seconds before he made his way back out of the room.

The only thing that could go wrong was that when that scribe came with his food, he'd raise an alarm about where he was. That, or the elf would look back. He made sure to wait until she had fully turned a corner before he bothered even catching up, peering around it to ensure she kept going. When they made it back to the main level, she rounded another corner and Damscene lost sight of her. He didn't even know if she'd gone into a secret passageway, or if she'd just made herself unseen, as if knowing she were being followed.

«Hidden, huh?» He pondered to himself, as he stepped into the hallway where she had disappeared. Most of the revealing cantrips he knew required for him to chant aloud or use catalysts, most of which would probably give him away. The others required a long time to set up, and he figured that he didn't have the leisure of just setting up the proper circles, nor did he have the time to do so. Still, he made a mental note of that very hallway, and stepped up to the wall. He placed his index and middle fingertips against the wall and closed his eyes, whispering a small word of power. His fingertips trembled, and then he drew them away, a small, dark blue marking on the wall, in the shape of an elvish rune. It meant nothing by itself, really, but it was unerasable by physical means, and he hoped that by the morning, no mage would come and wipe the marking clean. Pleased with himself, he just headed back to his room with utmost haste. He'd investigate further in the morning.

Quote from: Sabata_McCloud on October 08, 2010, 01:32:05 PM
The mist that Antony walked through had only risen a few hours before, effectively covering everything in a heavy gray blanket.  He couldn't see more than twenty feet in front of him, which made the seasoned Pilgrim a bit uneasy.  His shortsword scraped against the sheath on his left hip as he slowly drew it out, sliding his shield down his arm and holding it in his left hand.  He trudged down the beaten dirt path through the soupy fog, listening intently for any sounds of anyone approaching around him.

Thoughts raced through his mind, swirling around in his consciousness as lost spirits did to a battlefield.  His hard-soled boots thudded on the dirt that was rutted and pitted by countless wagons that had been driven upon it.  The grass off to the sides of the path was spotted green and brown, a testament to the corrupting evil that had swept through the countryside.  Not a single animal or bird had made any noise or shown itself for the past two miles or so.  Since the fog had risen, he hadn't heard or seen anything from the outside.  He was utterly alone in the gray covering, which both excited and frightened him.

It had been quite a while since he'd had a good adventure (having had his last one at 21), and the idea of having another travel and possibly a fight or two lifted his spirits quite a bit.  His left hand unconsciously searched his brown jerkin for the small golden pendant underneath.  His finger traced around the circular metal object, the knowledge of its presence calming his nerves.  His arm finally fell away to hang at his side, the medium-weighted metal shield swinging like a pendulum.

There was a light breeze ahead of him, and even though it was slight and he wore several layers of tough leather armor, it sent a shiver up his spine.  There weren't any scents on the wind, which was disheartening-- he thought he'd be getting out of this mist soon.  He looked above him, only seeing a metallic gray overcast sky.  The air around him was chilled, and he could feel the light wind playing with the royal blue bandanna around his forehead.  A pair of pale blue eyes stared forward out from underneath it, almost obscured by a messy crop of brown hair.  It was tousled in the breeze that seemed to come out of nowhere.  There wasn't any wind at all before.  Sure, the weather could be unpredictable, but a breeze all of a sudden?  That wasn't right, was it?

...The mist would soon part to reveal the sea port before the well experienced traveler, a light rain starting to fall with it as the faint ring of the sun dimly illuminated the nightshade blue sky.  Barely Mid-day, it would be hours yet before Damascene would arrive at the temple, and still more before he would be allowed into the great library.  Rain had gone off and on throughout the day, and the wind was barely enough to shift what mist still remained, the light house silent for the moment.  Whatever strange forces were at work in the world, they had led the traveler here, not the start of his journey, but it was a beginning of sorts never the less...

The Great Library

....It was barely after midnight when a figure entered the room of the most recent visitor.  Slight of build and little taller than a child of twelve, the dark blue robes with silver embroidery and a cloak of the same coloring shrouded her.  Wide cuffs of the robe were slit at the top of the wrist, allowing excess fabric to fall below the arm when the hands were raised yet concealing them when they were at the sides of the wearer.  Unlike some who might have entered from the rainstorm outside, this 'child was dry, showing no hint of the weather that plagued the port city.  That and it was unusual for a child to be in a place where most of the occupants and patrons were easily in their early twenties or late fifties if not older.

She moved quietly over to a stool by the lone table in the rooms center and watched the single occupant of the bunk beds against the walls, waiting patiently for the person to take notice of her rather than waking him up and causing some fright or other such commotion.

(Zerrif)