From alt.pub.dragons-inn Tue Jul 5 08:34:44 1994 Xref: netcom.com alt.pub.dragons-inn:7449 Path: netcom.com!csus.edu!csulb.edu!library.ucla.edu!europa.eng.gtefsd.com!news.uoregon.edu!gaia.ucs.orst.edu!flop.ENGR.ORST.EDU!viper.CS.ORST.EDU!foleye From: foleye@viper.CS.ORST.EDU (Stilt Man) Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn Subject: [AD] Smothered Concerns Date: 4 Jul 1994 04:17:42 GMT Organization: Computer Science Department, Oregon State University Lines: 426 Distribution: world Message-ID: <2v82h6INNlrs@flop.ENGR.ORST.EDU> NNTP-Posting-Host: viper.cs.orst.edu ". . . and that, my good Highlord, is the last contact with the Empress ere she departed for the assault on the temple of the Guardians," said the sepulchral voice of Ah'khurah, the Undying One. "Then, you are saying that something may have happened to her during the battle?" said Lord Kronos in his deep, quiet voice. The two faceless beings communicated through pools of water, each able to gaze upon the visage of the other. Ah'khurah stood in his cowled true form, his crimson eyes glowing from within the darkness of his hood in anger. The greenish mist that emanated from him like a miasma was flaring brightly in the gloom of his tomb chamber. It was clear that something had him agitated. Kronos was more human in his appearance, though no less fearsome in aspect. He was dressed entirely in black plate armor, with a polished white stylized skull-like mask covering his face. Various other skull-shaped decorations adorned his armor at the knee caps and the bands of adamant which were designed to allow him flexibility at the waist. Large shoulder guards were layered over smaller plates guarding the joints, mail on his upper arms and thighs, plates at the shins and spiked gauntlets around the forearms. His armor covered all the extremities that were likely to be struck with plates of adamant, the less critical areas with gray mail. His entire suit was shined such that a flying insect might well have landed on it, slipped, and fallen to the ground without being able to gain a foothold on it. The circular red field with the ebon crescent shape, the sigil of Arcania Dorval, was emblazoned upon the chest plate of the armor. The hilt of a katana blade protruded from a scabbard on his right hip, for the man was left-handed. Lord Kronos was a wizard as well, and a powerful one at that. He was not the master that either Arcania or Ah'khurah was, but strong nevertheless. He had pursued his dark arts on his own without aid from his stronger mentor, seeking independence in his accomplishments as well as to preserve his own schools of thought. He had been with the Empire since the Dark One's ascension, having been the lord who aided her in consolidating her power over the Heartland ere the war with Zeph of Turgay had begun. Under her reign he had had much access to much of the dark arts that he had never been privy to, and master it all had he. He was no longer fully human, for part of the function of the spells in his armor was to preserve his essence within his body long after it should have crumbled to dust. Thus, he had become somewhat dependent upon its power, and could never remove the armor, or time would quickly reclaim what had been denied it over the ages. His breath was clearly audible in a sort of sucking sound followed by a loud exhale, as if it were an effort for him to draw the breath into his body, or perhaps his throat was constricted around it. Either way, it represented a testimony to his unnatural age that even his magic could not conceal fully. Yet now, he knew what disaster might befall the Empire were the Empress not found. Her power and will were much of what kept the utopian society fully functional, he knew, and if she had vanished, he knew as well as the Undying One how that society might unravel. "So her last contact with you concerned her plans for this Shrouded One and the escaped prisoner, Emrikol of the Bandaged Hands?" asked Kronos quietly. "Yes," replied Ah'khurah. "They were on Nexus as part of her plans for them, and are currently striving to overthrow the Dark Lord known as Velric." "This Dark Lord has not seen them since her escape from his dungeons?" "Correct." "Then I must investigate this and learn what has befallen her. To this end, the Shrouded One and the man with the bandaged hands must be found once more, and questioned until they can tell me what is amiss with the Empress," said Kronos, his breath wheezing a moment beneath his helmet, sounding infirm for a time ere he regained control of it. At that, he turned and began his preparations for transport to Nexus. \/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/ Arcania sat in her harem dress and watched Althinas pace back and forth across his study, worry plainly evident upon his countenance. She had little doubt what he was concerned about, after the visit of the Emperor. She wondered inwardly if Jiloro, wherever in the city he was, was undergoing a similar ritual of fear. She considered whether she should get involved or not. She had little doubt about what the results might be if she intervened, but much kept her from acting. The sorcerer-king was very domineering about keeping other wizards tightly in rein. He was very artless, she mused with contempt. She suspected that most of the other sorcerer-kings were little different. So confident in their power were they that skill and subtlety never seemed to present themselves as real advantages. They were like children with their power; they assumed that so long as they were the largest brutes in the jungle that they could rule unchallenged. Brute was not an unfair way of describing them, either. The wizards of this world were known for their minimal artfulness in favor of greater power to incinerate things. As Saiblos and Jiloro had both demonstrated, it took little skill in deception to prevent these power-mad beings from finding a clear target to incinerate. It was clear that no champion of life had ever even approached the level of artfulness that the Shrouded One or herself had attained, or the world of Athas would be a far more hospitable place at this time. Saiblos, at least, Arcania could find a minimal amount of respect for. This being had power to exceed that commanded by any of the sorcerer- kings, yet he still retained the cunning to divert their attention to lesser threats, the dragons in his service. With a minimal amount of cleverness he had placed one further obstacle in the path of any potential rebels, and thus his ultimate power over this domain was that much safer. Or at least, it would be if not for this Woodskeeper, she mused. But there was only one of this Woodskeeper, and many dragons in the service of the Empire. If the Woodskeeper could even see through the guise of the Emperor, the dragons still kept that struggle in the the favor of the latter. The Emperor had that obstacle still to keep the Woodskeeper and any other of his avangion ilk in check. The thoughts of Arcania Dorval were interrupted by a sharp rap on the door. Arcania could not entirely conceal a smile. She could not hear anything amiss, but she knew still what this would be about. Althinas seemed almost to dread striding to the door and opening it, but then the knocking became more urgent. "May as well get it over with," he muttered, as he threw the portal open and listened to the templar that stood there. "A dragon is sighted, coppery-brown in color. No wings, stooped in posture," said the templar. "It is indeed headed for the gates of the city." "I will be in my bedchambers," said Althinas, sighing. Arcania could hear the resignation in his voice; he went there to await his end. That he did not bother to give orders concerning her confirmed her suspicions that he had given up hope; he was going to die, so what matter her fate? The sorcerer-king left, and the templar with him, leaving her alone in the room. Arcania left the room when the corridor was clear, seeking the slaves' dressing room. She was not certain she was going to intervene, but she would at least escape. Being dressed in the clothes of a harem girl would not be the optimal method of presenting a free woman, to be certain. She had much to concern herself with. She could intervene, but it rankled her to know that she had saved Althinas his city. She despised the sorcerer-king for no small number of reasons. He had enslaved her, taken her to his bed with no concern for her opinion on the matter, had dared to think her inferior because she was female, had been part of the destruction of a once-green world, and was far too arrogant for his own good. Were it not for the fact that the approaching dragon would no doubt be the death of far more people than merely those in this city, not to mention an agent in the continuing destruction of this poor world, she would cheerfully aid it in its quest to kill Althinas. She asked herself why she even cared what happened in this world. The fools that lived here craved only power; they cared little for their environs in their quest to attain it. They deserved whatever they got from their foolish deeds. Too, the Necklace was not on this world. It had preserved her life beyond death on one occasion in the past, but she did not know whether it might do so if she were killed on a world other than where the Necklace itself was. On Nexus, she had risked little but to battle foes whom she already knew she could defeat. She had brought the Necklace the one time when she had any suspicion that she could be killed in battle; here, she had no such comfort. But she was, after all, a nymph. She could no longer stand and watch the life of this world and its creatures be exterminated and spurred on to their evolution to further ugliness and brutality simply to survive than she could countenance the crimes Althinas had visited upon her. That the crimes he was guilty of were no more than she had done to countless men in her time was of no consequence to her. The world was not a barren place for her presence on it; it was for his and those like him. That was enough to her. \/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/ The maddened, wingless dragon threw its shoulder against the obsidian gates that stood betwixt it and the lives inside. Pain wracked its every movement, the pain of its need, its thirst for power that tormented all dragons in the later uncompleted stages of their transformation into wyrmkind. The gates cracked, but did not break. It reared up almost upright and threw a scaley forearm into it, and this time a hole opened within. It could not stand fully upright, already stooped into near- dependence on its two hind legs, its tail well-developed behind it. Its head was distinctly mammalian in appearance, still, and the feverish yellow eyes betrayed intelligence behind their infuriated glare, but its purpose was unmistakable. It had been held by the Emperor for decades in thrall, in sleep, and it had been released with permission to vent its thirst and rage upon the inhabitants of this city of Zaroia. That, it intended to do with all its power. Arrows with obsidian heads showered down from the walls of the city as it gripped at the edges of the hole in the gate, bouncing harmlessly off its coppery hide. Its hands began to glow, drawing power for the strength to rip this obsidian portcullis from its path, drawing the life from what was close at hand. The guards immediately above were the first to feel the effect, clutching at their chests and falling to the parapets, turning to ash ere they even struck the floors. A few more fell, and the dragon had its strength, rending the portcullis asunder and removing its obstacle to the people within. It sucked in air, and as it exhaled a bolt of lightning leapt from its jaws and found a group of templars that were even now running in hopes of preventing its entry within the inner wards of the city. Shining blue orbs of light began to grow about its hands, the soldiers nearest the monster paying for them with their lives. The dragon unleashed this energy upon the soldiers of the inner wall, knocking large portions of rock loose from the tops of the wall along with the occupants who stood in defense there. It used its claws and teeth for very little, used its spells and innate power for slightly more. As it took steps the people in its path fell and crumbled to ash upon the streets, their life forces given up to feed the hunger of the stooped monster that towered over them. A few wizards stepped forward from the peasants' ward, attempted to loose bolts of all colors of lightning and fire upon the horror, but their power seemed not to faze it in the slightest. As its wounds closed it collected yet more strength from the lives in its surroundings, and it became abundantly clear to all in witness that its hunger would not be sated even for a moment until it had devoured every life in the city. One man, human in shape, noble in profile, silver in hair and eye, beheld the creature, a grim and sad expression on his face. He stood forward, and raised his hands. Immediately, a large creature with vaguely humanoid frame took shape, floating above the dragon. Its wings of gossamer kept it afloat, its aura of light seeming to cow the beast into backing away, its eyes unable to bear the brilliant yellow glow, its movements seeming weaker as it stepped back from the awesome vision. "You trespass upon land that does not belong to you, monster, and seek the lives of the blameless," said the apparition. "Begone from here, and perhaps your life will continue long enough that you may even succeed in your quest for power some day. Continue it here at your peril." The eyes of the dragon narrowed angrily, suspecting though its eyes could not fully understand that they were being deceived. "I sense that you are not truly here, Woodskeeper, and even were you you could stand no hope of preventing the vengeance of the Emperor upon his rebellious subjects." Its eyes were slits against the light, but the feverish gleam left them a moment, as it scanned the crowd until it found the novice avangion standing alone amongst afeared peasantry. "Methinks I have found you . . ." Jiloro only barely had the time to leap clear ere the gout of lightning sent a shower of stones flying from the hole it made whence the man had just leapt. Jiloro knew he had made a mistake; he was no match for this monster, but perhaps his own life would buy those of others while the creature pursued him. He could at least delay it while some of the citizenry might escape. Jiloro closed his eyes, and several men, each the mirror of the next, stood in a line before the advancing creature. It was intent upon destroying this being, for avangion and dragon were ever mortal foes of one another. The creature examined each standing before him, ere it swept its clawed hand among them all. Each of them vanished upon the touch. The creature's eyes narrowed as it only now noticed the wizard making his flight to the next ward of the city, now using the peasantry to conceal himself. The creature roared in anger, bounding after him. Only one wall stood betwixt it and the keep of the sorcerer-king; Jiloro could not hide for long, for he had little room left to run to. The rabble were not quick enough to step from its path, and it wasted not its opportunity to devour their essences into its magic as it passed. The piles of ashes slowly began to scatter in the hot desert wind in its wake. The defenders upon the wall over the inner gate had already been killed by the first strokes the creature had dealt, so none remained to close the gate upon it. Its eyes could still see the man running for his life as it peered beneath the gate. It was forced to duck to pass beneath, for the structure was built for humans and at best half-giants, not creatures of this size. It cursed the fact that it had not been able to attain wings yet; they were yet beyond its reach. It stooped still further, nearly crawling upon its belly as it slid beneath the second gate. A blinding lance of white hurtled down from the sorcerer-king's keep to strike the arch over the head of the dragon. At first the arch seemed too stubborn to give way, then did so ungracefully, coming down in a heap upon the head and neck and upper body of the monster, flattening it to the ground in rock and no small amount of pain. Its upper body could find no purchase, broken and agonizing. Its hind legs could still move, and scraped for purchase upon the sandy ground of Zaroia. It could find nothing that would support its futile struggle against the tons of stone that imprisoned it, however. It shook its head, clearing a way to breath, at least. It found itself staring at the most beautiful female it had ever seen. Silvery blonde hair fell to her waist, a vest and trousers only barely successful in concealing her curves. Her sapphire eyes glared at it, and for a moment it knew fear, for the baleful stare carried power behind it. It shrank its head back as far as its neck and the stone would allow. The thought of biting her occurred to it, but was gone as it realized she was beyond the reach the fallen rubble allowed it. So it satisfied itself by glaring at her. She met its stare, and then it saw the glint of pink in the pupils of her eyes. All thought left it as it caught sight of it, and it felt its conscious will loosen; nothing was so important as looking at the pretty pink twinkles in this stunning woman's eyes. It stared harder and harder, and as it stared its vision seemed to become a tunnel surrounded by blackness closing in from the periphery of its sight, closing in upon the center of its view, until at last all it could see in the blackness were two pink glints of light. Then that, too, vanished from its sight, and the darkness closed forever upon the eyes of the monster. "You have saved the city," breathed the familiar voice of Jiloro from behind her. "Wait for me beyond the outer gates. There is something I must do ere I depart with you," she answered, still looking down at the deceased form of the dragon pinned beneath the rubble. Jiloro opened his mouth to reply, but found that he was about to speak to empty air and kept his words behind his teeth. \/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/ Althinas wondered why it was that the screams of fear and the cracking of the walls of Zaroia had subsided. He shook his head, not deigning to rise from his chair before his desk. It would all end soon or late; no need in seeking it out. "My love," came a sultry and silken voice behind him. He whirled to find Arcania looking at him. But this was not the lackwitted girl he had bought; this was a woman with intellect and power in her eyes. She was dressed not in the outfit he had provided her to display her charms to him, but rather in a shirt and trousers that covered more of her, though its tight fit still left little to the imagination. "How did you come to be here, in these clothes?" he stammered. He reached out with his power that would break the mind of the girl, force her to comply. He found, to his astonishment, that her mind was completely closed to all outside influence, that his attack was useless. He kept talking to distract her, until he could think of another means of staving her off. "So you destroyed the dragon and saved my city for me. If you can defend yourself from my mind, it would not surprise me that you could accomplish the other as well." Arcania nodded. "You will go to your grave knowing that you owe this brief remnant of your life to Arcania Dorval, a woman who is far more even at half her full ability than you could ever hope to be. You will go knowing that you are a fool to have trusted her with your secrets, a fool for not knowing that the Emperor you serve with such contempt has more power than you will ever know, yet hid it from you with an illusion that a child of five summers could have conjured, so artless are your ways." "You are going to kill me, then," said Althinas. "No, my dear," said Arcania. "You will die by your own hands, and thus be spared the indignity of death at the hands of a mere woman." One eye narrowed, one corner of her lips turned upward. Althinas fumed. "I will do no such thing!" Arcania gestured to the chair before the mirror. "Have a seat." He bristled, fully intent upon defying her, and his jaw dropped with a wooden sound as his legs turned his body and did precisely as she directed. "Noticing that your limbs obey me and not yourself already? My, I am dealing with a genius to be reckoned with, am I not?" she cooed, sarcasm dripping. "You will note that I said you will die by your own hands, not your own will." She leaned in close to whisper. "I save this fate for only the most special of occasions." She raised a hand toward the mirror, his reflection within it. "Now pay close attention." His eyes moved perforce to the mirror. "The chain." His hands reached up and seized the iron chain that held the ruby pendant about his neck. She continued, "Keep watching. You would not wish to miss witnessing your own demise, would you?" What she meant was made clear as his hands began to draw the chain tighter about his throat of their own volition, his eyes refusing to turn away from his own visage, bulging eyes and purpling tongue and all, which stared back at him in this final act. "Do be sure to enjoy yourself, my love." Her eyes wide once more, this time in satsifaction as whimpering sounds of choked fury and indignation made their way through his collapsing throat, she turned and left the room with a soft laugh. \/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/ Jiloro looked up to find an exorbitantly smiling Arcania walking towards him through the city gates. "What happens?" he asked. "Let us just say that King Althinas has found a way to strangle his worries for the time being," said Arcania, eyes narrowing. She enjoyed the thought that danced in her sparkling eyes, sparkling in a manner that Jiloro found discomfiting despite his assurance that Althinas was hardly benefiting from whatever she was thinking. Then she looked at him in earnest. "I am not of this world. I wish to return to my own nation, for I have an Empire of my own to see to. Alas, I cannot simply turn my back, now that I have witnessed what Saiblos and his kind have inflicted upon your world. Too, I do not think I can return to my world of my own volition. I have already tried, and have failed." "Then . . . " he left the question hanging. " . . . I wish to be taken to this Woodskeeper. It is my hope that we can help one another," she said. Jiloro nodded guardedly. He had little reason to trust her, but she had demonstrated a willingness and power to kill dragons, and he knew the Woodskeeper needed such. "Very well. Perhaps together we can shorten the reign of Emperor Saiblos over the region." At that, they turned from the confused city of Zaroia and began a trek in a southwesterly direction. +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+ + The exile of Arcania Dorval + +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+ + . . . scribed by the Stilt Man, + + foleye@xanth.cs.orst.edu + +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+