From alt.pub.dragons-inn Tue Mar 15 23:16:34 1994 Xref: netcom.com alt.pub.dragons-inn:7119 Path: netcom.com!netcomsv!decwrl!doc.ic.ac.uk!pipex!howland.reston.ans.net!usenet.ins.cwru.edu!po.CWRU.Edu!rev2 From: rev2@po.CWRU.Edu (Robert E. Vogel) Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn Subject: REPOST: [Zjiria/Azend] Chapter 2 Date: 15 Mar 1994 03:38:32 GMT Organization: Case Western Reserve University, Cleveland, OH (USA) Lines: 119 Message-ID: <2m3ajp$3hc@usenet.INS.CWRU.Edu> Reply-To: rev2@po.CWRU.Edu (Robert E. Vogel) NNTP-Posting-Host: owl.ins.cwru.edu ADMIN: This thread runs parallel to the [Azend/Zjiria] thread - keep up! Zjiria, the Xraj, the Sirva, and this story are all copyright D. Schubert, 1993. All comments are still welcome. ************************************************************************** Upon the death of Yygrok, the shadowbeasts he summoned seemed to suddenly find business in other dimensions. With crude howls, each of the spectral monsters collapsed in upon themselves, leaving only a cold wind to mark their entrance onto this world. I was all the more relieved for this; while it was obvious that the beasts were inadequate at best in the face of my fighting prowess, the magikal nature of the beasts made me nervous, and I was glad to see them gone. Climbing quickly and carefully over the rock landscape, planting the soles of my boots carefully against the rocks for traction, I examined the fallen bodies of my foes. Surprisingly, two of the young Sirvan acolytes, each marked by a dull red collar, still lived. One was wounded gravely, and was mercifully unconsciousness, robbing him of the slow bleeding pain from his gut. The second was far less hurt, but similiarly knocked cold. Needless to say, I terminated both foes without hesitation. I then found that dear Xrana lived. It took a great deal of hope, patience and cold water to get her conscious that one last time. The winces of pain that escaped her mouth began to demonstrate for me the extent of her wounds, and it became apparent that only magikal means out of the reach of Xraj hands could save her. I asked her if she wanted me to carry her back to the closest village. With lines of sudden experience and ancient bravery on her face, she responded no, that she was ready to face the Pyrrh. Grimly, and ignoring the tears that she didn't want escaping her coal black eyes, I raised my weapon. Silently, I brought it down. I looked down at her corpse. How so like me, I thought. A fine, young warriess, proud of her stealth and her swordsplay, and justifiably so. Caught up in a war whose origins trace back before the birth of her parent's parents. A war whose outcome was as much a matter of life and death as its perpetuity. Only difference is she zigged when she should have zagged, or at the least stayed behind shelter. I wiped the blood off of each of my Gra'ah before sliding the swords back into their scabbards. How bravely you died, Xrana. @> Could you so bravely face the Pyrrh, Zjiria? <@ The voice, MY voice, lept unbidding through my mind, with a trace of almost morbid curiosity. My blood froze, and I became aware of how cold the wind had become beneath the face of the sun. I stood up straight, and stared into the clouds before chiding myself. I am Zjiria, one of the Xraj princesses! I am considered among the finest warriors of the seven villages! The thought that I might betray all and fear death -- unthinkable. There is no doubt. None. Or is there? I turned a deaf ear to my thoughts. Preparing for the work ahead, I took off my cloak, and removed the dirty grey shoulderpiece and breastplate of my armor. I set them all aside. They would only have gotten in the way, and I felt safe from Sirva interference. I started by lifting a thin, flat piece of granite onto the top of two piles of stone. The result was a natural, flat table. It would serve as Xrana's final resting place. I turned around, looking for other flat pieces of heavy stone, and making cold beds for the eternal sleep of my seven kindred. With tireless energy, I grabbed and hauled rock across the landscape. I worked silently, becoming increasingly more aware of my solitude, listening to the echoes of every rock I placed fly across the valley below me. The clouds seemed to fly across the sky, chased by the sun, and the rock cut cruelly into my palms. But finally I finished the last of the stone monoliths. Silently, I began to strip Xrana's body. She was a typical Xrajwoman, dark in hair and eyes, dressed in dark, metal armor made of linked plates, and lying on top of a fine woolen cloak. It was green in color, marking her home village. Three of her hands still clenched her Gra'ah as if they threatened to take flight from her; the fourth had escaped, and lay but five paces from the fallen warrior. I picked up the sword from the ground, and wiped the dust from it. Carefully, I examined the weapon. The blade of the Gra'ah was, as all are, made of solid gold. The hilt was a highly polished silver, which caught the light from the setting sun. The blade itself was short and wide, adept for quick movement, and less likely to interfere with three other blades used in tandem than a longer blade might be. Set in the hilt was the Eye of the Gra'ah, a beautiful stone that held the enchantments of the Gra'ah in place. Without the Eye, the golden blade would be far too soft to be effective for combat, nor would it be able to catch and dissipate Sirvan magic. I pried the other blades from Xrana's clenched hands, and then got the Gra'ah from my other fallen comrades. I gathered 27 in all - one fell into a crevice out of reach when Jak died, and I was lacking the time to go after it. I put 14 of the blades in my pack - more were heavy, given the other provisions I had to carry. To lighten the load, I hid some of my more useless things in a nearby cavern, as well as the other Gra'ah, and all of the armor my fellows wore in life, not to mention whatever provisions they carried with them. The Gra'ah I had were precious - the magic to enchant more was lost to the Xraj, and therefore the only ceremonial blades the youth of our villages would get would be those of fallen warriors. I marked the hiding place so that other Xraj after me might find it. My comrades lay before me naked. As the sun set across the valley from me, I wrapped each body in its cloak, and put it on one of the seven stone tables I made. I then took a vial of the Scent of Pyrrh, and began to rub it vigorously into the bodies of my fallen. The odor of the stuff was pungent, and my eyes watered. Yet, the Xraj people are somewhat flame resistant. Without the Scent, the bodies would never burn. With the noxious oil, they would go up like a candle to kindling. As the last light of the sun fell behind the mountain, I did my honored task, and lit each body. The smoke rose and twirled, and the odor of the burning bodies was even more rancid than the Scent each body was bathed in. I imagined I could see each spirit in turn leave its burning home, flying off to search for and face the Pyrrh. One corpse popped, and a shower of sparks flew. I stood unmoving. Xrana. Jak. Lara. Revipe. Rasta. Kreni. Baln. All warriors once under my command. All gone now. @> Was this your fault, Zjiria? <@ No. Of course not. Hush. No. Suddenly, I didn't feel like watching. I didn't feel like being there. It was night, and I was now a lone traveller in territory occasionally patrolled by Sirva - the cover would do me good. Wordlessly, I picked up the backpack. Fourteen Eyes of Gra'ah all seemed to stare accusingly at me. I slung the pack across my back and began to walk, never looking back at the burning funeral pyres of my fellow Xraj, or the bodies of my enemy rotting in the field. *************************************************************************** Damion Schubert Heretic->CarnageMUD heretic@huey.cc.utexas.edu "Jesus is coming - look busy!" -- I would think that I was dead but for the pain... ---Rabied Rat's Revenge