From alt.pub.dragons-inn Mon Nov 22 14:54:44 1993 Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn Path: netcom.com!csus.edu!news.ucdavis.edu!agate!library.ucla.edu!news.mic.ucla.edu!unixg.ubc.ca!acs.ucalgary.ca!cedint22 From: cedint22@acs.ucalgary.ca (cedint22) Subject: [Jiri][Storm]: Flight from Darkness Message-ID: Date: Sat, 20 Nov 1993 19:08:42 GMT Distribution: alt.pub.dragons-inn Organization: The University of Calgary, Alberta Lines: 275 Swirling mists dance and weave, enclosing, carressing. Twisting tendrils of mist, twining round the mind. Loving touches from sweet lips of mist. "Funny what you feel, when sitting in the dark." The heart lurches, fear pounds through veins. The voice, the voice. It's of the mist, it is the mist. Now silence, only the touch of the mist remains. Then now, it comes again, the cold dark voice. "I once heard, while sitting in the dark... I heard my my soul, speaking softly, subtle whispers. Then the mist came, caressing me as it caresses you now. What it said, I don't really know. But when next I lived, I was black and cold." The voice, mingling with the mist... "Oh, I know what you wonder. I taste your fear, your questions. You would know where you are. And more importantly, who am I, that speaks to you in the dark. Listen, little bird, and I will tell." The mists billow, expanding, yet there is no pressure. Only... presence. Fingers of mist, encircling the throat, tightening. But not hurting, not yet. "Doomed, am I, to walk the Halls of the Night. Through twisting passages of labyrinth dark. I stride the ways to pursue the Art. The art of darkness, the ways of the Blacke. For that am I, now and ever. My fate was sealed in the Halls of the Nether. The Netherlord spake, and I did pledge to follow the Way, through darkness tread. It pulses through me, causing my heart to beat. 'Tis the drink of my essence, my very blood. Flowing through my vessels, is the Power and the Dark." Now the mist and the dark are one. It can no longer be seen, only felt. The Dark takes shape, as did the mist. Folding in on itself, then growing back out. Almost as if the Dark was made of mist, the way it moves, the way it seems to breath. "Funny what you see, while sitting in the dark..." The voice again. The voice of mist, the voice of dark. Malicious it is, but not frightening. Almost beautiful, as is the Night from whence it comes. "But you would know my name, yes? Ah, names are a powerful thing. Would you tell me yours? I didn't think so. Then let me ease your fear by telling you mine. I am the one, who waits in the dark. I am the one, who stalks the night. A beast say some, a fiend of the most vile origins. Both are right. I am he, who purity does lack. I am he, Kalhad the Blackk. Once a god of Kalladahn, my altars ran with the blood of the damned. Thousands of years, thousands of lives. All fell down under the ebon knives. "Then the Light came to me one night. The days they fled, dawn brought the darkdays. The Godslayer came with the armies of Light and his spear clove deep, cursed weapon of bright. I was slain, as well as all Kalladahn. We were denied the day when came the bloody dawn. And so I reigned, in my prison of night. Denied the day, and forbidden the light. So did I wait, the Darks' foul spawn, for many morrows' lights, and morning dawns. Did I murder the Day, or did it kill me? Another time, I'll let you see." The darkness moves as it chuckles silently. A laugh that is felt, not heard. For a long moment, the darkness laughs in silence. It is almost as if it isn't alive anymore. But it is- do not doubt, not ever. The voice then speaks again, but does it speak aloud? "Now that I've told you who I am, you'll want to know the hows and whys. I brought you here so I could ask. Do you know of life and death? Of course not," the darkness seems to shake, "for you are mortal, and what mortal knows that? Ah, there are some. Indeed there are. I will tell you of one, so that you may see. Why you? Don't ask. Just know that I shall share with you this rare glimpse for reasons of my own. "There are tales that some have told, of adventure and heroism so true and bold. There are tales that I have heard, of men who braved hells foulest curs. There are tales that many enjoy, for they tell of victory o'ver deaths dark void. But there are also tales that do not. Tales that show how death is wrought. I will tell you one that is so." The mist appears again, separate from the dark, which even now catches the tendrils in a blackened hand, weaving them together. A knot is tied, and for a moment it holds. After that moment, it bursts apart in a quick flash of dark. Kalhad the Blackk swirls the mist around until it becomes a terrible black mass of evil clouds. Clouds? Yes, that is what they are. And underneath them runs the terrified sea... "Lystyn close, and I wyll tell. The Tragedy, the Soulstars' Tale." ******************** The sleek dark vessel sliced roughly through equally dark waves as it headed full out for the port of Generica. Over head the sky tossed and turned, insane black clouds billowing and growing. Thunder roared as the clouds screamed in rage, spitting bright forks of lightening down upon the sea. Not good weather for those aboard ships, the captain of the vessel knew. But there was little that he could do, for what man could coerce the weather? For long moments he stood thus, oddly delicate hands for a sailor gripping the rail with an unsuspected strength, steely blue eyes seeming to pierce through to the very heart of the building storm. Finally the captain of the Soulstar turned away from the rail and walked back towards the aft, shouting an order as he walked. "Ho, Taylor!" he called to a large man climbing in the rigging overhead, fastening clamps and tightening sheets. The man nodded as he finished up what he was doing, then barked a few short orders to the other sailors who helped him in his task. Leaving the others to finish up, the first mate climbed down and joined his captain on the aft deck. "Aye, Cap'n," he began, "She's almost done. We'll 'ave 'er up ta full in no time. What with the winds a comin', we'll near fly 'cross these thrice cursed wave. What 'n be yer fancy, Cap'n?" "No fancy Taylor, just worry. I know my ship, and I know my crew. No finer could I ask of either, and I know you'll have her running tops. But I also know that we've not a chance of outrunning that." The captain gestured at the black monster that even yet seemed closer then when last he'd looked. "Aye, Cap'n. I share yer thoughts. 'Tis no storm like any e'er seen by m'eyes, I tell yer that for nuthin'. We canna let our fears n' worries inta the men, though. We got no other choice but to try." The big man shuddered as he looked at the approaching storm front one more time, not that it was easy to NOT look at it. "You know what to do Taylor. I'll be in my cabin if you need me. I have a feeling that I'll have no time for rest later. You should probably get a little rest too, when the preparations are done. Make sure all hands are rested and ready. We'll use a clockwise rotation." "Aye Cap'n. Start a three way shift, then?" At the captains nod, Taylor turned and relayed the new orders to the men. Three way shift, clockwise rotation, three hours per shift. At least until the storm hits some of the crew can get some rest, he thought. Himself included. A few minutes later, the blue eyed captain of the Soulstar was sitting in his room, a glass of wine poured and a meal on his table. He ate in silence, his thoughts as dark and gloomy as the sky overhead. When his meal was done, he called his squire to clear the plates and call his two mates to him. He stood and looked out the small window set in the rear wall, watching the unholy weather. After a time, he turned away, crossing over to his closet. He stripped off his jacket and the white shirt underneath, choosing another in his customary black. He chose another jacket too, and then donned his cloak, fastening it by the black stone butterfly clasp that he had used for countless years. In memory... Just as he pulled on a pair of well used black leather gloves, there came the expected knock at the door. "Enter," he said in a strong but soft voice. The door swung soundlessly open, and Taylor entered, followed by another, much smaller, brown haired man. "Ah, Taylor, Magarth," he nodded to each, "I've been expecting you. We must go over some things." "Things, Cap'n?" Taylor raised an eyebrow. "What're you gettin' up ta, sir?" "You'll hear soon enough my friend. Please, sit down." He indicated two chairs in front of his table which his two mates gratefully took. He waited for them to sit, then went once more to his closet, taking forth a small black iron bound chest, which he placed on the table. He took a key from his jacket and unlocked the casket. Slowly he opened it, being very careful not to set off the trap contained in the lock. He found the secret catch and smiled as the dart slid slowly from its' slot, the spring behind it still unreleased. His mates didn't seem surprised at all, for they had often watched their captain open his chest, though neither would have dared to try and do it themselves, especially without his permission. As small and harmless as the dart looked, it was coated with an invisible and very effective poison. He laid the dart aside, being careful to wrap it in a cloth first, then reached inside pulling out a smaller black box which seemed to be made of shiny black stone, though it could have easily been a foreign metal or hardwood. Now Taylor and Magarth both raised their eyebrows, for this box neither had been privvy to before. The black clad man set it on the table top as carefully as he had set the dart. He pulled a thong from around his neck and held up a key, which seemed to be made of the same material as the box. "Now, gentlemen, comes the part I called you here for. I do hope that you still wear the pendants a gave you?" Both men nodded and pulled forth the gold chains they wore around their necks. Their captain took them, removing the odd shaped pendants from the chains ere pulling forth a similar one from his own neck. He fit the three strange shapes together, and they clicked place like pieces of a puzzle. The first and second mate of the Soulstar both gasped in surprise, for they beheld a clever key. The captain pushed the three part key into a slot on the other side of the black box. He waited for a count of three, then placed the first key, the one that matched to box, into another slot in the middle of the lid, one that had appeared as the first key was turned. He waited a count of five this time, ere pulling the lid straight up in a quick and practised motion. A green mist floated up from the box, and the man in black waved it aside. "An explosive and very flammable gas," he explained, noticing the question on his first mates face. "If the box isn't opened in the right way, and at the right time intervals, it is ignited, destroying the contents, and likely the clumsy openner as well." He pulled from the box two scrolls and three matching keys, these ones carved from a strange white stone. He handed a scroll to each of his mates, along with one key each. The third key he placed around his own neck. "You doubtless have seen that storm, and what it portends. Lives will be lost, possibly our own. If the ship survives," he said with a pained voice, "and I do not, she is yours, to be split equally between you two." He held up a hand to stall the protests that Taylor and Magarth both began. "No arguing with me gentlemen. If I die in this storm, you two shall take over command and ownership of the Soulstar. You can deal with the cargo as you see fit, though I suspect that our current plan would still be the most profitable. On the other hand," he continued, his voice once more tight, "if the ship does not survive, and you do, follow the instructions on the scrolls I have given you. They will tell you where to go and what to do. The keys I have provided will allow access to a certain place where I have, ah, stored some goods that might be of use. You will notice that I also carry a key, and if we all live through this storm, we shall go together. The scroll does not give directions. You will have to speak to a certain man indicated to find out more. He will know what has happened when you show up. Show him the key and speak the words that I first said unto you when I made you my mates. I trust you did not forget them?" "Of course not, Cap'n. You said..." Taylor was cut off by a sharp wave and look from his superior. His face turned red as he realised his near fumble. Words that were spoken once and never repeated aloud were done so for a reason, and saying them would only hurt their purpose if others overheard. After a moment of silence, he looked his friend in the eye and saw again the troubled look that had set in since the storm was first sighted. "Why do ye speak of yer death so?" Taylor asked, concern in his voice. "What was it that you saw? E'er since you first set eyes upon that black weather ye have been as dark and gloomy as it has." The other turned away to look out the window again and it was long before he answered. "I know not what troubles me Taylor. I only know that when I saw that storm I had a deep foreboding and knew that death was coming. She rides the waves upon white frothy horses, and She will reap the fields of men with her cursed scythe. The feeling of doom has not left me- it's only grown steadily as the storm came closer." The captain shuddered, then turned to address his mates once more. "Please, leave me and go about your duties. I would be alone, and we have not much time ere the storm o'ertakes us. You know what to do." He turned back to the window and waited for Taylor and Magarth to leave. Taylor started towards his friend, wanting to speak some more, but Magarth layed a restraining hand upon his arm and whispered, "Come on Taylor. Leave him be." The large sailor reluctantly turned and left with the second mate. When the door shut behind them, the captain sighed and touched the butterfly shaped cloak clasp at his shoulder. Even then the rain began to fall outside. Thus did Cain of Kalistahn stand, looking out at the angry sea and waiting for Lady Death to come riding upon the crest of the Storm. -Dani Treutler. -- Dani Treutler Kyhra on FurryMuck. Cain at alt.pub.havens-rest Jiriku at alt.pub.dragons-inn cedint22@acs.ucalgary.ca or cedint22@educ.ucalgary.ca "Cows make milk." - Jake