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Master EffeX
Lucian
Noctis
Chronic
EpicRoleplay
BunniesOfDoom
Days
headintheclouds
Kaithe DameLight.
See how it dances across the surface of the waves, glittering and glistening like shimmering magic over the seafoam's froth. By the shore the crystal waters of paradise ran clear as the sunshine sparkled over the rolling tides. And so too by night would the great sea mirror the stars and moon above as a map of the cosmos above charted below. This was the light by which the sailors relied, the certain stars and their movements across the sky kept to the rhythms of the heavens. Each celestial sphere giving the course and direction of which way and which when. Was it not also light that steered the weary captain away from the danger of the rocky cliffs? A blazing beacon of burning brazier from a high tower, which like a bright and wary eye scanned treacherous path? Was it not by the same principle that a traveler would light a lantern in the dark woods for fear of death around the corner? Or a even wander with a waning waxen candle in one's own house? A home of which ought to be familiar, a place of comfort and dominion for the lord or lady of the domus. So small wonder why he or she would bother with such a dim and lulling light. And yet the answer in all three cases was not out of fear of death perhaps, but something far greater, something which gave death such fear proper. There the answer lurked beneath the frolicking waves, under the forest canopy, and infesting one's very home.
Darkness.
Darkness, unknowing darkness. A black blindness that conceals and steals from the sense of sight. The abyss which gapes open like the emptiness of the skull which whispers memento mori or the pitiless gaze of the reaper who cloaks the body in the uttered shroud. Death is the promise of morality, a fear all mortals bear in the harrowing of their life. But it is darkness, ancient and foreboding that symbolizes the veil that even the immortals fear to cross. It is nothing, a void of existence, and yet it exists as a paradox of itself, as something made out of what is not. It is the never-was, always-is and yet-to-be. It was the mystery of a mystery, the boundary between the known and unknown. The darkness formed the very edges of reality, and the limits of fantasy where no god or writer could continue threading past. Where the mind ended and cannot comprehend, that is the truth and heart of darkness. For this reason the light must guide, however dim a glimmer it may be. And yet, while the great philosophers may delve and delve deep into the concept of the concrete nothingness and all of its abstractions for all the nihilism's worth, fewer still threw themselves into it. It was those souls who stared into the abyss and found the abyss staring back with its hollowed eyes.
Fire.
His eyes watched her. Burning beneath the shadowy cowl which masked his visage, tracking the movements made across the inn. Wading through the lake of tables, her movements slinking about to lure his eyes as the tavernmaster took them in. Who was she? So far and few who bore the torch of the heavens still, and she came not alone for the rest followed thereafter. And with the innocence of another patron giving the new arrivals a look over, he looked back down to cast those fiery embers away. What was she doing here? An agent of Varda? One who had come to bring him back into the service of the uncaring celestials? Or was she just another tourist in a tourist town? One that decorated itself not by the scales of the merfolk but by the coins that clinked within the pouches of visitors. The gold and silver chain that tethered them all, a weave interconnecting the exchange that binds them. And as he lowered his amber-bright gaze to glance upon his hand in this friendly game of chance played with the mer hunter across the table, he could feel them still, the astral collar around his neck like a proverbial albatross. It was from upon this chain that he hung, strangled like a puppet in suspension as his body cast a long shadow. They still tugged him so, even as the hands reached out from the fell to claim him. Strung now in every direction as each pulled his pale body asunder. And the pain was evermore delectable to a dead man. After all, to endure pain meant you still lived, even as they branded your flesh an outcast. And to soothe those burns, it was too easy to fall for an inviting drink even if no amount of mortal distractions could ever erase the strangle upon his tainted soul.
Water.
And how does one order a drink in a tavern underwater? What ways would the beerfroth flow in the currents and tows? Life underneath the waves was curious, a city of coral and thus so aptly named. A city far flung into the depths of the plane of water, carved into the reef as beautiful as it was sharp. A thousand and one cloisters tucked away with each wayward cave of living crystal, bastions of culture within the vastness of the wettest desert. What could be found was no question, but rather what was missing, for all pleasures from simple to the extraordinary. Weathered driftwood aged well from years of wave and waters erected themselves before each cave, spiraling and fanning shells became doors that opened and closed. And around each portcullis a frieze or placard depicting scenes of what could be found in exotic underwater artworks. Thus without language each visitor could know which were houses of ill repute and which such places were holy temples. Although often it was difficult to ascertain given the nature of being underwater made the locals seem so scantily clad by terrestrial standards. With their piscine graces and aquatic features, their forms were well adapted to the life in water eternal just as the warlock was attuned to life in the shadows. The umbral essences coalesced around his otherwise naked form, constituting themselves as an impressive armor set which fading wispy strands of inky blackness. Twas his cloak that concealed much of his shadowy manipulations and peppered white hair, keeping all within the edges of the ray's wraps. And twas also only the cloak he carried that allowed him to reside without drowning.
Air.
Without the cloak he must surface, breaching like the cetaceans to take the air, but first traverse the winding corridors of the coral maze. Higher and higher, following the luminous markings to the left to ascend the labyrinth network of undersea shops and coral buildings. It was a small irony that even in the depths so many miles down that such bioilluminescent light would exist in this abyss. Thus still even in the airless city, light still sought to cast out the dark and perhaps that for all their differences, even the mer and sea creatures still feared the primordial darkness that the umbral one could penetrate through with those infernal eyes. True he had come to rest and recuperate at the tavern, but he was here on business rather than pleasure. and despite his fall for vices and pleasures of flesh, the stalker had found his quarry. It was his game, his trade, finding that which needed to be found, and imprisoning them as required. The target was gullible for a wizard, convinced to cast a myriad of spells which rendered him powerless before a supposed impressed aspirant. A few words of flattery and encouragement was all that was needed for the arrogant fool to waste it all in a spectacular display of arcane powers. And to finish the show, the ecstatic wizard was goaded into doing the impossible: eschew the protection of his enchanted necklace and cast a spell of water breathing to prove his speed of spellcasting. Of course the very moment he attempted to do so, the smiling warlock dropped his false pretenses and evoked a counter. And thus alas, thrown to the mercy of the suffocating waters the wizard was forced to cut the dimensional anchor that tethered him to the plane of water, and there was instantly regrounded upon the prime material plane he could pose no threat to the warlock's employer any longer.
Earth.
Thus were the high and mighty humbled by a lowly shadow. Such was the might of words, the magicless magic from which so many sealed their fates with. Though it creeps low across the ground, the shadow was powerful. Few were blessed with its secrets, but those who knew its intimate arts could find themselves an eternal ally that shall follow them loyally. Thus come the sunless morning, from the ground his shadow rose and split off as it took form, darkness folding upon itself like a black sheet of origami. A muzzle, ears, legs, a tail, like shifting squid ink though invisible to all without a form of truesight as the shadow hound rose to the summons of its master and partner. Shaking the shadow mass that composed it like a canine would before sense the warlock's will and desire to watch her more. The Other Aasimar, before they left the public tavern for whatever and wherever it was they would venture. Slink into her shadow, and lurk there, let her feel the chill of fear, the dread of being hunted. What business did they have here? A fellow stalker visiting on assignment wondered the same thing thinking such a group had something to do with the fallen aasimar's arrival. Their card game interrupted the other night by such considerations, and they played for a greater wealth than coin. And with that knowledge won, there was something overheard in hushed towns about their former lord Marid. Ah a network of assassins, hunters and rogues, throughout all the planes, see how the shadows tempt so many?
Redemption.
Now with the silent bidding of his shadow hound, the umbramancer took his chances with this group with a keen interest in the young aasimar girl. Perhaps he sought to corrupt her too and turn her soul over to the shadows by dark seduction. Or perhaps he cared to warn her about straying from the path? Whatever the intent conspiring in his blackened soul was swallowed swiftly with a batting blink. Could she save him? Could he restore his inner light by following her? Orange eyes watched his shadow hound slink away and fade into her shadow as she left.
Farewell faithful friend.
For where once you followed me,
Now I follow you.
Would Varda tell her?
See how it dances across the surface of the waves, glittering and glistening like shimmering magic over the seafoam's froth. By the shore the crystal waters of paradise ran clear as the sunshine sparkled over the rolling tides. And so too by night would the great sea mirror the stars and moon above as a map of the cosmos above charted below. This was the light by which the sailors relied, the certain stars and their movements across the sky kept to the rhythms of the heavens. Each celestial sphere giving the course and direction of which way and which when. Was it not also light that steered the weary captain away from the danger of the rocky cliffs? A blazing beacon of burning brazier from a high tower, which like a bright and wary eye scanned treacherous path? Was it not by the same principle that a traveler would light a lantern in the dark woods for fear of death around the corner? Or a even wander with a waning waxen candle in one's own house? A home of which ought to be familiar, a place of comfort and dominion for the lord or lady of the domus. So small wonder why he or she would bother with such a dim and lulling light. And yet the answer in all three cases was not out of fear of death perhaps, but something far greater, something which gave death such fear proper. There the answer lurked beneath the frolicking waves, under the forest canopy, and infesting one's very home.
Darkness.
Darkness, unknowing darkness. A black blindness that conceals and steals from the sense of sight. The abyss which gapes open like the emptiness of the skull which whispers memento mori or the pitiless gaze of the reaper who cloaks the body in the uttered shroud. Death is the promise of morality, a fear all mortals bear in the harrowing of their life. But it is darkness, ancient and foreboding that symbolizes the veil that even the immortals fear to cross. It is nothing, a void of existence, and yet it exists as a paradox of itself, as something made out of what is not. It is the never-was, always-is and yet-to-be. It was the mystery of a mystery, the boundary between the known and unknown. The darkness formed the very edges of reality, and the limits of fantasy where no god or writer could continue threading past. Where the mind ended and cannot comprehend, that is the truth and heart of darkness. For this reason the light must guide, however dim a glimmer it may be. And yet, while the great philosophers may delve and delve deep into the concept of the concrete nothingness and all of its abstractions for all the nihilism's worth, fewer still threw themselves into it. It was those souls who stared into the abyss and found the abyss staring back with its hollowed eyes.
Fire.
His eyes watched her. Burning beneath the shadowy cowl which masked his visage, tracking the movements made across the inn. Wading through the lake of tables, her movements slinking about to lure his eyes as the tavernmaster took them in. Who was she? So far and few who bore the torch of the heavens still, and she came not alone for the rest followed thereafter. And with the innocence of another patron giving the new arrivals a look over, he looked back down to cast those fiery embers away. What was she doing here? An agent of Varda? One who had come to bring him back into the service of the uncaring celestials? Or was she just another tourist in a tourist town? One that decorated itself not by the scales of the merfolk but by the coins that clinked within the pouches of visitors. The gold and silver chain that tethered them all, a weave interconnecting the exchange that binds them. And as he lowered his amber-bright gaze to glance upon his hand in this friendly game of chance played with the mer hunter across the table, he could feel them still, the astral collar around his neck like a proverbial albatross. It was from upon this chain that he hung, strangled like a puppet in suspension as his body cast a long shadow. They still tugged him so, even as the hands reached out from the fell to claim him. Strung now in every direction as each pulled his pale body asunder. And the pain was evermore delectable to a dead man. After all, to endure pain meant you still lived, even as they branded your flesh an outcast. And to soothe those burns, it was too easy to fall for an inviting drink even if no amount of mortal distractions could ever erase the strangle upon his tainted soul.
Water.
And how does one order a drink in a tavern underwater? What ways would the beerfroth flow in the currents and tows? Life underneath the waves was curious, a city of coral and thus so aptly named. A city far flung into the depths of the plane of water, carved into the reef as beautiful as it was sharp. A thousand and one cloisters tucked away with each wayward cave of living crystal, bastions of culture within the vastness of the wettest desert. What could be found was no question, but rather what was missing, for all pleasures from simple to the extraordinary. Weathered driftwood aged well from years of wave and waters erected themselves before each cave, spiraling and fanning shells became doors that opened and closed. And around each portcullis a frieze or placard depicting scenes of what could be found in exotic underwater artworks. Thus without language each visitor could know which were houses of ill repute and which such places were holy temples. Although often it was difficult to ascertain given the nature of being underwater made the locals seem so scantily clad by terrestrial standards. With their piscine graces and aquatic features, their forms were well adapted to the life in water eternal just as the warlock was attuned to life in the shadows. The umbral essences coalesced around his otherwise naked form, constituting themselves as an impressive armor set which fading wispy strands of inky blackness. Twas his cloak that concealed much of his shadowy manipulations and peppered white hair, keeping all within the edges of the ray's wraps. And twas also only the cloak he carried that allowed him to reside without drowning.
Air.
Without the cloak he must surface, breaching like the cetaceans to take the air, but first traverse the winding corridors of the coral maze. Higher and higher, following the luminous markings to the left to ascend the labyrinth network of undersea shops and coral buildings. It was a small irony that even in the depths so many miles down that such bioilluminescent light would exist in this abyss. Thus still even in the airless city, light still sought to cast out the dark and perhaps that for all their differences, even the mer and sea creatures still feared the primordial darkness that the umbral one could penetrate through with those infernal eyes. True he had come to rest and recuperate at the tavern, but he was here on business rather than pleasure. and despite his fall for vices and pleasures of flesh, the stalker had found his quarry. It was his game, his trade, finding that which needed to be found, and imprisoning them as required. The target was gullible for a wizard, convinced to cast a myriad of spells which rendered him powerless before a supposed impressed aspirant. A few words of flattery and encouragement was all that was needed for the arrogant fool to waste it all in a spectacular display of arcane powers. And to finish the show, the ecstatic wizard was goaded into doing the impossible: eschew the protection of his enchanted necklace and cast a spell of water breathing to prove his speed of spellcasting. Of course the very moment he attempted to do so, the smiling warlock dropped his false pretenses and evoked a counter. And thus alas, thrown to the mercy of the suffocating waters the wizard was forced to cut the dimensional anchor that tethered him to the plane of water, and there was instantly regrounded upon the prime material plane he could pose no threat to the warlock's employer any longer.
Earth.
Thus were the high and mighty humbled by a lowly shadow. Such was the might of words, the magicless magic from which so many sealed their fates with. Though it creeps low across the ground, the shadow was powerful. Few were blessed with its secrets, but those who knew its intimate arts could find themselves an eternal ally that shall follow them loyally. Thus come the sunless morning, from the ground his shadow rose and split off as it took form, darkness folding upon itself like a black sheet of origami. A muzzle, ears, legs, a tail, like shifting squid ink though invisible to all without a form of truesight as the shadow hound rose to the summons of its master and partner. Shaking the shadow mass that composed it like a canine would before sense the warlock's will and desire to watch her more. The Other Aasimar, before they left the public tavern for whatever and wherever it was they would venture. Slink into her shadow, and lurk there, let her feel the chill of fear, the dread of being hunted. What business did they have here? A fellow stalker visiting on assignment wondered the same thing thinking such a group had something to do with the fallen aasimar's arrival. Their card game interrupted the other night by such considerations, and they played for a greater wealth than coin. And with that knowledge won, there was something overheard in hushed towns about their former lord Marid. Ah a network of assassins, hunters and rogues, throughout all the planes, see how the shadows tempt so many?
Redemption.
Now with the silent bidding of his shadow hound, the umbramancer took his chances with this group with a keen interest in the young aasimar girl. Perhaps he sought to corrupt her too and turn her soul over to the shadows by dark seduction. Or perhaps he cared to warn her about straying from the path? Whatever the intent conspiring in his blackened soul was swallowed swiftly with a batting blink. Could she save him? Could he restore his inner light by following her? Orange eyes watched his shadow hound slink away and fade into her shadow as she left.
Farewell faithful friend.
For where once you followed me,
Now I follow you.
Would Varda tell her?
