Beyond Dominia: The Role Playing Mill: Stopfate...

By Jaron on Saturday, May 19, 2001 - 02:00 am:

May 6, 795 - Talismanian Reckoning

Jaron slumped to the ground, blood slowly pulsing out around the arrow in his chest. Kobolds had taken much of the continent east of the D'ner river and south of the mountains of Kaat'n, including vast forests of Shaharazad. Joerda had been captured and taken away from him. He hoped she still lived, but had heard her shrieking screams last far into the night. There had been nothing he could do.

The two had parted ways with Sage Advisor for a time, once the threat of both Fatestop and Shadow Darkshroud had been made clear. Still technically an apprentice of Sage Advisor and Kaat'n, Jaron had been sent south from Justice Keep on a Journey to Whayn-Fharh, where they had learned Aerlin had been sighted. They never made it.

Fumbling clumsily at the medallion beneath his shirt, he withdrew it and beheld the shimmering marvel of the Blue Bastion, bequeathed to him by his adopted father. While Jaron was strong in his art, he was not yet so skilled to be able to use the Bastion to aid him. Weakly, his hand lowered, the medallion grew slick with blood. A sob took him, twisting his insides from the pain of the arrow embedded in his flesh. His eyes began to close, and then, he saw his answer...

By Elrohir (Elrohir) on Monday, May 21, 2001 - 02:25 pm:

Through narrowly slitted eyes damp with pain-wrought tears and sweat, Jaron only vaguely noticed the shadowy figure part the darkness, with a word, and kneel near him. For a moment, the pain in his chest jolted him with its rage, then ceased. Conscious that the arrow was in him no longer, he coughed up blood.

"Stand, fool," a voice hissed in the darkness. "We have no time to waste here. Dire events are transpiring that need intervention."

Jaron rose shakily to his feet, blinking away his anguished tears. As he stood, his eyes followed the cape of his savior, past wicked steel boots, glimmering, gauntleted fists, and broad, armored shoulder pads to end with a bearded, mustachioed face peaked by a large forehead. Strapped to the man's back was the largest sword he had ever seen. Long grey hair flowed down over the heavy-looking shoulder pads. Jaron wondered how the man managed to bear such weight.

Just as Jaron had done, the stranger also looked over the young man whose life he had just saved. For all intents and purposes, the boy was unremarkable, except for his eyes - eyes filled with sorrow and loss, mingled with deep seated fear and above all, knowledge. Blue-green eyes... Where had he seen that shade of blue before?

"The kobolds have gained a foothold before they were fully anticipated. You see, I have witnessed the future. In less than half a year the kobolds will run triumphant over much of the continent, and those buffoons in Dantimos will barely even know. That will be their downfall. But now we have an even more pressing concern."

{Fatestop. Sage said something about it before sending me after my sister.} The stranger arched an eyebrow (truly an interesting sight on that forehead) at the intrusion into his mind, but shrugged it off. The young man could not hurt him, not now. Nodding, he continued.

"Mute. How interesting. No matter." Those eyes... And the green, he'd seen that before as well. Why did the young man's eyes haunt him so? "You will not find your sister in Whayn-Fharh. She was present when He was brought into the world.

"Stupid really, Ley's rushing into the hand of prophecy. The Dark One..." Inwardly, the man chuckled. How many more "Dark Ones" could this planet draw to itself. Even himself... "The Dark One, I knew once upon a time, or so I think. But with Fatestop, he could very well unravel existence."

{What can be done to stop this from happening?} Jaron, now more than ever, felt like a bit player, walking in the footsteps of a great master. The path had been set forth by his father, Elrohir Githain. Once more, the world had to be saved, and in Elrohir's absence, Jaron felt that he had just been thrust in a position to save it. He had no clue how.

The medallion, §-shaped with Gandalf's blue diadem in the center, welled with light as the blood slid off. His attention drawn, the stranger's eyes widened. The blue aura surrounded them both.

"That light..." The stranger knelt in awe, awe he should not have felt. Reverence was not part of his belief structure, unless it was to revere himself. A ghost walked out of the shadows behind Jaron and placed phantom hands on unfeeling shoulders. Lifting its head, revealing its face, the stranger nodded in recognition and understanding.

Feeling the strange presence and the other man's awe, Jaron felt humbled in the enfolding vestments of power. A silenced hush cloaked the two. Discourse occurred between the phantom and the stranger, that much Jaron recognized, but little else beyond that. Than the moment ended.

"Perhaps things are not quite as dire as I thought. Plans are being enacted, young Jaron. Yes, I know your name," the stranger spoke in response to Jaron's puzzled look. It is time for you to know mine. I am Thrakkiss."

As the serpentine hiss of the Dark Warlord's name faded, Jaron wondered off-handedly what had become of the kobolds...

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