Thin silver crystal pendant
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A thin silver crystal pendant is an item that was given as a memento to commemorate the end of the Griffin Sword War. The pendant has three forms, each one representing a different aspect of the war: neutrality, the Resistance, and the Dark Alliance. Usage
VisionsThe Dark Alliance>stare my pendant Silver light twinkles along the surface of the pendant, and your vision is suddenly swept away... The void spreads on and on into eternity, its utter blackness unchanging and completely static. Suddenly, a faint silver wisp of light winks into existence and curls a luminescent tendril toward you. The threads of fate stream out into the darkness, and you find yourself following one of millions. The thread appears to lead into a deeper darkness, one of the mind, body, and soul... Cyclopean architecture is dimly illuminated by crackling pillars of flame in the expansive underground chamber. A single cloaked figure kneels before a massive altar, their head bowed in reverent prayer. The air blurs in nauseating waves as a a man appears in front of the altar, his face cast in shadow. His presence sparks a deep bow from the praying figure, and he nods. The figure rises to its feet. The hissing sibilance in the man's voice is quite apparent as he speaks in a tone which knows it will receive no objections, "I have a task for you." The figure only nods, the fabric of its robe rustling slightly in the silence. The man steps into the light, his dark-complected face bearing a remarkable resemblance to that of a serpent, "Death is to come to many by your hand. You will look to the past, to the one thing that served as a center of a great alliance." The figure removes its hood, resembling a scaled being who nods in a solemn fashion toward the speaker, "Yes, Master Luukos," he murmurs in a voice like that of an asp's hiss. "You have reached a position of my favor few have, Morvule. Do not disappoint me." With that, the figure blurs into a serpentine wisp of emerald energy and disappears entirely. The vision fades away as you feel yourself whisked away on another silver thread, but reality once again blurs into view. >stare my pendant The faint silver thread becomes visible once again as you slip into the memory of the pendant, and you find yourself in blackness... A figure turns to glance behind him, his braided white hair falling past his shoulders as his slate grey eyes scan the surroundings. Suddenly, as if the shadows conformed to him completely, another man steps out in front of him, his form completely cloaked in darkness. For a moment, his eyes glow a dark yellow hue, and the white-haired man turns and abruptly kneels before him. "It is time for you to return to where you began.", the man half-growls into the darkness, "Rally my Order. Cull the minds, for terror looms on the horizon. And you, Draezir, will cultivate it in my name." The white-haired man nods slightly and says, "It will be done, my Lord Sheru." The shadowed man turns his head up toward the pale grey light of Lornon, the silhouette of his head punctuated by curls of hair that look far too bestial to be on anything remotely human. "There will be a gathering, like that of before. You will know what to do when the time comes." With that said, the shadows simply coalesce around him as if welcoming one of their own, and he is gone. The white-haired man slowly gets to his feet and turns in the opposite direction, his footsteps the only thing heard in the darkness of the jungle. Your vision blurs and you find yourself travelling along the thread once again, but before you can see any further, reality snaps back into awareness. >stare my pendant The silver thread slithers across your vision, leading you to an expansive mansion... The curtains billow across the open window, causing the lush silks of the canopied bed to rustle slightly. A figure rises from the sheets, his curls of platinum-blonde hair falling to his waist as he stretches slightly. He walks across the white marble floor, passing by rows of twitching men and women hung upon hooks suspended from the ceiling. He reaches a circle of pure crimson inlaid upon the white marble and kneels down before the small ivory altar set within it. A voice speaks soon after, "You will leave this place. Your talents can serve me far better away from here, Eryael. The coming months shall bring torment the likes of which no one has seen for quite a while... and you will be there as my hand." A sick smile spreads across the kneeling figure's flawless features, "Thank you, my Master Mularos..." The wind billows again, and you find yourself following the silver thread into darkness. Just as a spark of light is seen, your vision is snapped back into reality. >stare my pendant The silver thread winks into existence, leading you to the dull, hazy red glow of a hellish chamber... The sound of a man's heavy, ragged breathing is all you hear before the inevitable clash of weapons and a vicious scream. Your vision swivels toward the cause of the disturbance, and you see a man dressed in little more than the remnants of what must have once been clothing - but now all they are are slashed, bloodied tatters loosely hanging over his skin. He screams and bellows as he cleaves a massive black sword, the very air blurring as it cuts through it and into the horde of monstrosities amassing around him. Pillars of fire rise up into the air, casting the surroundings in a hazy, bloody glow, their intensity seemingly fueled by the unrelenting bloodlust the man unleashes. You watch him as he literally rages through his opponents, and as he fells the last one, he lets out an earth-shaking scream, the effort put forth to do so so intense that the blood vessels in the man's eye burst, staining them a solid crimson. Within moments the chamber is still once again, the only sound the trickling of blood from the man's wounds and that of the bodies piled around him. Without warning, a figure rises up from the lava around the rocky outcropping, the lava covering it cracking and peeling away to reveal a towering man dressed in plate armor stained deeply with blood. The bedraggled, crimson-eyed warrior rushes to attack him without hesitation, which only serves to cause a pleased smile to crack the lips of the figure. In a single movement, he removes a huge sword from a scabbard on his belt and raises it. His eyes, black as night, stare viciously ahead toward the other warrior. Another deafening battle cry shakes the chamber as the crimson-eyed man leaps into the air, descending in a fatal arc toward his opponent. As their two blades meet, crackles of crimson energy accompanies the deep rumblings of the earth, blinding you for a moment. As your eyes readjust, you see that the crimson-eyed man has been flung across the chamber and lies, breathing heavily, against the far wall. The coal black-eyed man sheaths his sword and growls, "A fitting greeting, Zerroth. But you must leave this place for another. There will be fields of blood where you walk, and you must prepare. War comes, and my fold will answer the call." "You honor me, Lord V'tull." the crimson-eyed man speaks between heavy gulps of air. The vision fades away as soon as the towering black-eyed man dissipates into the air like a plume of smoke. >stare my pendant The silver thread leads you on once again, to a small settlement in the depths of night... Rain pours down in thick sheets, clouding the shadows in a constant haze of dull grey as the droplets hammer down into the ground. The quiet surroundings of a small, domed temple slowly become apparent in the gloom, and soon after your eyes can focus clearly, four figures step into the courtyard, each clad in a voluminous robe. They make their way toward a large, lustrous sword, its blade thrust into the heart of a dimly-glowing white stone. One of them speaks in a voice like a serpent's angry hiss, "This is what we shall use." A gruff, harsh male voice replies, "They left it out in a wanton display such as this? Fools." The serpentine voice says, "Make no mistake. They are not so foolish as to leave it unguarded. Its power is more immense than you can imagine, and that is also the power that protects it." "So..." A deep voice murmurs, the eyes of its speaker pulsing a deep amber for a moment beneath its robes, "We must avert their eyes from it." A soft, nearly feminine voice asks, "And how do you propose this? I could think of some very, very appropriate distractions for this quaint little town..." "We should just destroy this place and take what is ours." The gruff voice states. "There will be time for such things in the future, when our hold is secure upon this power. For now, we will rile them, we will appear bold when the true noose is descending toward their necks. I will handle the severing of the power that prevents us from possessing it." The serpentine voice replies. The gruff voice says, almost thoughtfully, "And then... War..." The deep voice continues the thought, "And Terror..." The soft voice says in a satisfied fashion, "And Suffering..." The serpentine voice finishes the statement, "And Death, my allies. It will be. We will see to it, in the name of our Lords. We are agreed, then?" "We are agreed." All four voices sound in unison. The vision fades completely to blackness, then slowly gives way to the light of reality. The silver thread that carried you to each of the visions taper off into nothing. The Resistance>stare my pendant Silver light twinkles along the surface of the pendant, and your vision is suddenly swept away... The void spreads on and on into eternity, its utter blackness unchanging and completely static. Suddenly, a faint silver wisp of light winks into existence and curls a luminescent tendril toward you. The threads of fate stream out into the darkness, and you find yourself following one of millions. The thread appears to lead into a bright white light, one of the mind, the body, and soul... You hear the cries of a massive battle, and soon the sights and smells immerse you in the bloody campaign. Warriors clad in billowing white capes and impeccably lustrous armor charge into battle, their blades flashing in the sun as they strike with flawless precision into their enemies. You hear the cry of, "Purify the infidels! Let them not encroach upon the Lady's lands with their befouling presence any longer!" You slowly center on one of the soldiers, his helmet concealing any hint of his face. He cleaves through the enemy with the passion of one devoted fully to their goddess and belts out words honoring her as each enemy falls beneath him. As the battle rages on, a warrior of the enemy falls to his knees before the brightly-clad zealot. His deep green eyes stare up imploringly at the slits of the soldier's helmet and he casts his weapon aside. He speaks, his voice laced with desperate hope as he begs for mercy. The sharp hiss of a blade being whisked through the air is his only answer, and his head falls, severed, to the ground. The soldier only reserves a disdainful glance toward the man's corpse before he murmurs, "Lady Lorminstra shall judge you. Not me." and storms off into battle once again. Within moments, he encounters another foe away from the deep chaos of the main battle. They parry against one another, rusted mace clashing against finely-forged steel. The warrior lands a lucky blow as he sweeps his weapon upward in a vicious arc toward the soldier, but it only serves to knock the lustrous helmet off his head. White hair tied into a short ponytail spills past the soldier's back and his ears mark him as one of elven lineage. His dark violet eyes glare at his opponent as he recovers quickly and fluidly slices his blade across both of the warrior's legs, causing his foe to stumble backwards to the ground. "I am a divine servant of the Lady, I *cannot* fail! How dare you even seek to defy us?!" The soldier screams as he raises his blade in preparation for the final strike. In his holy fury, he fails to glimpse his victim's hand reaching for a concealed dagger at his hip. As the blade and the soldier descend in a fatal arc, the warrior brings his dagger to bear. You hear twin screams of agony as the soldier's blade impales the warrior, and the razor-sharp edge of the warrior's blade slices across the eyes of the soldier. The vision comes to a close, and the words of the soldier echo in your mind, "No! I cannot... be harmed... under Her power! Why?! WHY?!?!" >stare my pendant The silver thread leads you back to the battlefield, which now harbors only corpses of crusader and warrior alike. The victors, the zealous men clad in their lustrous armor, march away in columns toward the setting sun. You draw closer to one of the soldiers, who's head is bandaged with a white cloth bearing deep red stains across the eyes. He appears to be a bit further away from the main group of his kinsmen, but he drags himself in the direction of their numbers anyway. You can hear him murmuring to himself, "It's just... not possible. Not possible..." A bush nearby him rustles, and he instinctively draws his blade. "I will NOT be taken by surprise ever again! Never!" As soon as he speaks the words, the blade slices through the air and the sickening sound of steel meeting flesh, then crunching into bone is heard. The child twitches once, then falls off from the blade with a soft thump onto the ground. As the blind soldier moves to sheath his blade, his ears catch the only clue to the identity of his victim as she gurgles out the words, "D-daddy...? Wh-...where's... D-d..." With a short, brief gasp the child dies. The man's face twists into a visage of pure horror, and his sword clatters to the ground. For a moment, everything stops, and he abruptly turns from the dead child and his comrades. Stumbling as he goes, he begins to walk in the opposite direction, into the unknown. As he walks away, something ripples in the air above the body of the child, as if it were but an echo of time. A vaguely humanoid shape leans down and cradles the child in its ephemeral arms, then looks around in confusion, as if it had no knowledge of what it was. It turns to look toward the blinded soldier with deep green eyes. As the vision comes to a close, the blinded man's last words echo on the wind, "I am... forsaken..." >stare my pendant The silver thread leads you to another place... Two humans in their early thirties parry against one another in a small field, sword against heavy ironwood staff. Huge grins split their faces as each blow lands. After a short while, they stop and walk to the edge of a small hill, where the silhouette of a bustling city can be glimpsed against the waning light of the sun. "You still haven't lost your knack with a weapon, I see." The older man says. "You'd think so, wouldn't you? My teachers always scolded me for it, but you can always rely on it when an incantation goes wrong." the other replies. A small period of silence permeates the moment as the two brothers gaze out over the city - the magnificent site of the Crown looms in the distance, its monolithic stones jutting sharply out against the mellow scarlet hue of the setting sun. The younger of the two speaks again, "I wish that the Church would join in the efforts against Jantalar." The older nods, "We have a different way of doing things - it may take time, but in the end, Justice will be served and the people of Mestanir will be found to be in the right. This I am sure of." The younger grins, "They're going to be letting me tag along on the campaign soon. I'd hoped we'd be able to fight together, you know, like when we always snuck into that kobold settlement when we were boys." The older man lets out a soft chuckle, "I don't think you'd be shooting peas at these targets, however. And I wouldn't be poking their knees with a stick." Suddenly a flare rises up over the city and explodes in a spectacular display of color, sparking a sigh from the younger brother. "Well, that would be the signal... it was good to see you again, Kendryth." "Likewise. Good luck, and be careful." He ruffles the younger's hair and they embrace for a moment. The younger flicks his fingers causing the air to ripple and swirl into a misty portal. Stepping through it, the youth is gone. The silver thread once again leads you away, but just as something beyond the darkness flits into your vision, you become aware of reality once again. >stare my pendant The faint silver thread dominates your vision for a moment, and as it fades away you see the same hill once again, its grasses nearly shimmering in the bright light of the noon sun. The older man called Kendryth stands atop it, silently practicing his sword technique alone. As the fluid and precise strikes whoosh through the air, the surroundings begin to ripple as if water, and a portal tears open raggedly in front of the man. A voice calls out from the other side, "Kendryth! Hel--agghck!" Immediately, the man runs toward the tear in reality as it teeters on the edge of closing altogether. The surroundings blur and change into a dingy alley in a sprawling cityscape. Buildings loom like giants, and darkness clings to the walls, driving out the sun. The man steadies himself, then brings his sword to bear. The sharp *THUNK* of heavy wood falling to the ground echoes behind him and he spins around, staring into the gloom. A shattered piece of an ironwood staff rolls past him. Laying in a puddle of blood is the man's brother, the corners of his mouth leaking with trails of crimson as he reaches vainly toward him. A hoarse whisper comes from his mouth, "Kendryth...be...hind you...!" With one final gasp, he expires. The man spins around to face an ivory-skinned woman, her hair tied back and her eyes intense as she regards him. Red glaes talons cover her hands, their surfaces crackling with green tendrils of essence. She speaks in a calm voice, "A churchman, I see. I have no business with you. Leave here." Immediately, the man charges with his sword in a fury. Green lightning arcs in intricate arabesques from the woman's taloned hands, but the sword simply slices through it as the man charges like a whirlwind toward the witch-hunter. Within seconds, the woman is backed up against the alley's walls, her feet dangling several inches above the ground as the man holds her there, staring at her with a desperate, horrified and furious expression on his face. The tip of the man's massive sword is poised at her neck, and he speaks, his voice ragged and pained, "You killed him. Now I will exact justice for his loss upon you. That is the TRUE way!" A soft voice says from the entrance of the alley, "But you know it is not." The man does not break his stare from the woman, but merely says, "Begone from this place, or I'll..." His sentence is interrupted by the soft voice, "Or you will kill me, as well? Do not let fanaticism sweep you away. Do not take the first step into this zealous mindset, friend. Killing her will not bring him back, it will only start a new cycle of torment for you and for others. When will it stop, once you put these wheels in motion? Will one slaughter be enough for you? It may stop the pain for a time, but the pain will return... and then you must repeat the process. Slaughter... after slaughter... after slaughter. I know how it feels, friend. Put her down, stay your hand and suffer not this fate." The man's face contorts into a visage of pure grief, and the sound of his sword clattering to the ground echoes through the alley. He drops the woman to the ground, where she gasps for air. Hunching over, the man retrieves his fallen brother and walks out toward the alley's entrance, where the soft-voiced speaker stands -- an old elf with deep scars covering his eyes. He reaches up to put a consoling hand upon the man's shoulder, and they slowly walk off in silence together. The light of the noon sun fades into the rippling silver light of the thread and it slowly leads you into darkness... then your vision returns and reality surrounds you. >stare my pendant The silver thread once again slithers across your vision, and you follow it, its shimmering surface leading you to a lush valley with a massive willow tree within the middle of it... Three figures stand underneath the massive tree, one a small child that skips and laughs as she plays with the abundant flowers in the shade of the sagging boughs. A large heavily-muscled man with a bit of grey in his dark brown hair leans against the tree, staring up at the sky. A massive sheathed sword is propped up next to him. The more diminutive form of an ancient elf with scars across his eyes sits within a deep groove of the tree, a smile on his face as he listens to the girl. Abruptly, the girl stops her free-spirited trots and sits down next to the blind elf. She turns her head up toward him and asks, "You always tell good stories, what happened to your eyes Mister Priest?" The brown-haired man chuckles, and the elf smiles, "You needn't give me such a title, little one. Just call me Ulstram." The girl nods enthusiastically and says, "Okay, but me mam said you was a priest and we should always be 'spectful to priests. So tell me about your eyes!" The elf's smile deepens and he speaks, "Well, you see... long ago, I used to hurt people. Many people. It was such a painful thing for me, but I did not realize it at the time. I just kept hurting people. And then one day..." The girl interjects, "Didja ever hurt a zombie? Mam says they ain't real, but I seen one! Really!" The elf pats the girl on the head and smiles, "Once. And they are real. But one day, I went to battle. There, I lost my sight, and what happened after that made me realize... that I was blind all along. Striking out at whatever I was told to, without care and without sympathy. I was not fulfilling the wishes of the Lady. So I left... to atone. And I found I had a different sight. A sight that could help me to help others. So I found that I did not need my eyes to see, to truly see." The girl giggles, and then nods, "Mam always says that. Well, she says somethin' like 'Well you could pluck out my eyes and toss 'em in the river and I'd *STILL* know them rotten boys stole my pie! They're bad apples, they is!'" The trio laughs together, and the girl tugs on the brown-haired man's arm, "C'mon, you said you'd teach me how to wield a sword! I found a good stick too, c'mon!" The large man chuckles and lets himself be dragged away into the field, and soon the clacking of sticks is heard. The elf simply listens, his ears twitching as the wind picks up slightly. Suddenly, a faint jingling echoes on the wind, and the elf turns his head to listen. An ethereal woman steps from an all-encompassing mist, her black and white robes trailing behind her forever as if it were the cloying fog itself. She strides silently a few inches above the ground, her expression holding only a hint of deep somberness as she leans down to whisper something in the elf's ear. Immediately after, she fades away, leaving only a few coils of already fading mists. The elf stands and begins to walk with purpose toward the man and the child out in the fields, and the vision fades back to the glimmering silver of the thread that once again leads you back to reality. >stare my pendant The silver thread comes, and beyond it comes another vision. The thread brings you to a darkened cell, where two physicians guide an exhausted-looking Vaalorian woman with long, raggedly cut, silvery-blonde hair through the door. Deep hollows circle each of her pale eyes. Her captors are somber, and an embroidered peacock insignia set with a green-rimmed diamond graces the breast of each of their robes. "When you're ready to be more cooperative, Chaeye, then we can help you. We only want to help you," the man on the left says. Despite his words, his eyes are completely devoid of compassion, and he watches her like he might watch some particularly interesting bug. "Sleep well," the other says, and then the Vaalorian begins to laugh -- a broken, painful sound that teeters on the edge of hysteria. "Sleep!" the inmate exclaims. "It's sleep thatbrought me to all this -- don't you understand? Can't you understand? The Arkati do walk among us -- I was chosen! I didn't want to be, but I had to!" As a convulsive shudder passes through the woman's body, the two physicians exchange a glance, then nod to one another. One lights a lantern before leaving, and the other closes the door. The sound of a bolt sliding home is very audible. As soon as the footsteps have gone, the woman swiftly extinguishes the lantern, dropping the room into near-total darkness. She pulls up part of the mattress, revealing a hole within, and digs out two onyx pendants with their chains tangled together. Clutching them tightly, she throws herself on her knees and stares out the tiny window into the star-filled night. "Ronan, Sentry of the Night, I beg you to hear me," she whispers. "This is the fourteenth year since I moved at Your hand. They are breaking me, piece by piece... let this be the night, I beg it. I will do anything." Her broken prayers continue until she begins to sway from exhaustion, and then she tucks away the pendants and throws herself on the mattress to sleep. And then, as she twitches in the depths of dreams, a soft reply comes from the night outside. "Though you called on the power of Ronan to bind you, never have you moved at His hand -- ever have you moved at your own, though you did what you did with cause and conviction. But tonight, if you choose, that will change... and everything will change. It will be no kinder than this. It will hurt no less. But you will be chosen, and you will be true... if you choose yourself." In her sleep, the woman sobs... a broken, exhausted sound. Then, without waking, she stands and walks to the window. Her eyes open as she stares out, but they are unfocused and still glazed with sleep as she whispers, "I am ready." She stretches on tiptoe to reach her fingertips through the bars... and then she dissolves into the night, and she is gone. Nothing is visible past the window save the faint light of a sparkling star, and the starlight forms a silver thread, and the silver thread guides you back to yourself. As the silvery thread manifests, a sense of lassitude swells slowly through your body, and what you see seems disconnected from the rest of the other visions -- as changeless and as changeable as any remembered dream. >stare my pendant An elven woman clad in black chainmail walks through a large human city with a calm, confident stride. The gleaming stars scatter pale silvery light over the streets, but people throng shops and stalls as busily as they would during the day. Every gaze slides past the paladin as if she did not exist, and she watches faces as she passes. One catches her eye -- she turns and approaches a heavy-jowled clerk at the entrance of a herb shop. Without hesitation, she walks directly into him, but they do not collide; she steps past his empty eyes and through.... Fire burns through pine trees, and demons with gleaming amber eyes, pincers and tails like scorpions, jaws like a wolf and legs like centipedes are perched among the branches, heedless of the black-tinged flames wrapping around them. She grips her sword in one hand, extends the other like a dancer, and waits for them to come... and how they come! She spins, chops, dodges, parries the lash of a tail with her blade... melts away into the shadows, returning in less than a second to lop a wolf's snarling head away from its body, and the fight continues. When the demons are slain, she searches for a river, and, finding one, cups her hands in the water. She closes her eyes and concentrates, and, though the skies remain clear, it begins to rain -- a cool, silvery rain that douses the flames and heals the branches where it strikes. Her shoulders slump and obvious weariness passes through her, but still the rain falls.... And then she is somewhere else entirely -- she is kneeling in a dark glade with a perfectly circular pool at its center. The trees rustle quietly before parting to reveal a gaunt, black-garbed man mounted atop a magnificent unicorn. Sheer wonder transfixes the woman's face as she stares at the man. The horseman yawns, and then, without preamble, he says, "You will go from this place. You are needed elsewhere, and here is where you will go..." An image forms upon the water, displaying a distant shore and a group of kneeling people. The quiet sound of a prayer drifts through the glade as the elven woman watches, and she cocks her head as she listens to their request. A ripple spreads across the face of the pool, and its leading silvery edge becomes a thread. The thread draws you away and back to the waking world. >stare my pendant The silver thread leads you to a place with brilliant waves of golden light that draws you in... A fair-haired child lies in the center of a golden field, his eyes focused on the fluffy clouds that drift lazily by as he chews idly on a sheaf of grain. A large smile crosses his face as a cloud momentarily covers the sun, and he says, "That one, that's a demon for sure." "A demon!" replies a more experienced, deeper voice. "Now why do you think so?" "It's hiding the light, da. The wind is cold now, not nice." "But see, now?" responds the other, "It passes just like that. The light's always there..." With that, gentle beams of light dance across the child's freckled face, forming a thread that pulls you back to reality. >stare my pendant The silver thread pulls at you once more, twisted with threads that resemble sunset... A small village burns near a ruined field, and screams of terror fill the dusk-lit sky. A growing boy, no more than his early teens, stares down from behind a large rock on a hill, tears streaming from his pale blue eyes. "Da.." he says, "Da.. don't go.. come back.." The vision swirls to look down behind him just as a blood-red sun sets, casting a momentarily blinding light across your field of vision... When your sight returns, you see a young man standing alone in a dense forest, sword drawn. Several roughly dressed men surround him, jeering and waving knives, daring him to make a move. The young man stands tall, a firm look on his face, but makes no movement. Suddenly, one of the men feints an assault, and a well-coordinated effort against the young man begins. Swiftly, yet with noticeable discipline, he blocks, parries, evades oncoming blows. The circle tightens around him, and it becomes clear that the young man is beginning to labor. Quite suddenly, as one of the attackers moves in, he instinctively raises his hands, and a blinding flash of light bursts forth... The light begins to fade, returning you to reality. >stare my pendant Several threads of silver stretch forth and encompass you... "You have done well, as we all knew you would," says an azure-robed figure. "Ever since you found us, since you found Him, you have acted with more clarity, more confidence, more strength." "Thank you, sir, I strive to do His will, as we all do," replies a figure from the shadows. "But you strive for more, don't you?" asks the robed figure, though it seemed almost more a statement than a question. "I do. I seek to bring His light to those who live in darkness, in fear, in doubt. I wish to bring His flame, that of love, of hope, of strength, to those who need it most. I wish.. I wish to protect those who need it. To prevent.. pain, fear, death." "And so you shall, as you have seen. He has shown you much, and in His light, nothing can be hidden from you. You must go and do what you can do. What you will do. Go, Lord Ablen, go and remind those who would cover the land in darkness that He is the light, and that he will not be defeated. Go, Solar Templar, and show them what a Champion of Phoen is capable of. Go, bring His people hope, confidence and strength..." As the words leave the figure's mouth, a gentle beam of dawn's first light bursts through the window, covering a tall, golden tanned man in its glow, a confident glint in his eyes, and a content smile across his face... The vision fades, then, and you find yourself back in the real world. Neutrality>stare my pendant The silver thread slowly comes into vision and leads you slowly toward another place, warmed by the flames of a crackling fire... you stare out a window onto a large elven cityscape. Rain pours down in thick sheets, providing a steady pattering melody in the background. A slender woman's hand reaches up to touch the windowsill. She speaks in a weary voice, "I cannot bear this, Maluverre." A low voice replies, "I know. I saw the look in your eyes when it happened." "Why was I chosen? I did not excel like you through the hierarchy. I simply followed and adhered to the ideals of the order. When it happened that night...", you hear a soft sigh, "I cannot stay with the order any longer. I cannot stand by and watch... I have to do something." "I understand, my love. But the others will not." "I don't expect they will. They have no idea what it's like... I can't open my eyes without seeing how... how short a time everything exists. Everything dies, I can't ignore it. I don't want to see into infinity, because I can see how everything, everything is so tiny in comparison to it. And such *power* at my fingertips! How I could change things, how I could make things last! But it's forbidden -- and they dare to call this a gift! I'd give anything to return to being an utterly blind and powerless creature like them." Another soft sigh punctuates the woman's speech. "I will do what I can to stave them off when you go, but you know that they will forever pursue you... and they won't stop. And I..." The woman's voice interrupts him, "You will have to side with them. I know. You have a life to live... I... I do not know what I have. Or what I am any longer. If She intended this for me, I do not know why I have not been taken beyond and into the silent ranks of her true angels. But I am not, instead I remain here... with all the desires and wants of our kind. I cannot deny my mortality, for even with these..." The ruffle of feathers permeates the small room, and your vision draws back so that you finally see the woman clearly -- a pair of sweeping black wings flow down her back, stopping just short of her ankles, "I think as I always have. And I cannot understand why this is allowed to be so... is it a trial?" "I do not know. In all the order's history, it never bore witness to what has happened to you. We only have vague excerpts from ancient texts of this ever occurring to normal people." The man sighs, his voice carrying the heavy sound of sadness, "You've been chosen, and if you wish to leave, I will not bar you, nor let esoteric rules do so. If you are intended for great things in the service of She Who Is Eternal, then you must find yourself. I've seen you in those chambers they've built for you. You are not yourself, you are not the woman I fell in love with, and it is their doing." The man steps into your vision, his long elven ears peeking through his silky grey hair. He unlatches the window, opening the chamber to the cool night air, and embraces the winged woman. A slight smile touches the woman's lips as she returns the embrace, then leans down to kiss the elf slowly. "I knew there was a reason I loved you," she whispers silently. Turning, she steps towards the window and ascends into the air with a single stroke of her wings, her slender form silhouetted against the moons as she rises away into the night. The night fades away into the glimmering silver starlight, which melds into the silver thread that leads you away and into reality. >stare my pendant The silver thread once again sweeps you away, and you find yourself within a dark chamber lit by the dim light of several torches... A circle of grey-cowled figures surrounds a crystal, each of them taking their turns chanting -- their words causing tendrils of essence to rise from the crystal as it continually builds itself up as if it were on its way to becoming a glacier. One of the silent figures leans over to whisper quietly to another, "Why is she not killed for her transgressions?" The other replies, "We do not believe she can be killed safely. Our only chance was the stasis spell, and it worked." The first figure makes a huffing noise, then speaks again, "But we have her under our control now, can she not be killed?" The other speaks, "No. Maluverre has swayed the majority of the fold into believing that she must be preserved. He's even gone so far as to not oversee her sealing. Proof that his emotions are not a factor that will cause him to betray us." The first figure mutters something, then says, "But she killed those nobles! And stopped an important military campaign single-handedly! She's interfered with the world! She's broken every rule we have laid down! They could find out about us with such blatant displays!" The other poses a question in a soft voice, "Have you ever seen that woman's eyes? There are streaks of black between the grey, and in those streaks I see the void of the night sky, stripped bare of all starlight. It goes on forever. I cannot imagine what she sees with those eyes, or how she can keep her sanity with such sight. We are doing her a mercy by sealing her within the crystal. She'll sleep peacefully there." The first figure nods its head slightly in silence, finally realizing the point of the proceedings. Beyond them, the crystal is completed, and you draw closer to it -- encased within is the same woman as in the previous vision, her black wings furled around around herself protectively and her purple-sheened hair falling in a frozen wave behind her face. Her eyes are closed, and a serene but somber expression graces her face. The circle of cowled figures grow silent, and without a word, the crystal is lowered into a long, cavernous shaft and into the darkness. A distant *THUD* is all you hear before the silver thread slithers across your vision and traverses from the past to the present, leading you back into reality. Additional Information
Release AnnouncementDateline 9/8/2005: DOOM DOOM DOOM -- IS GONE! With the destruction of the Black Temple in the sky, the threat of armageddon has passed! But not everything has returned to normal... The Griffin Sword is no more, destroyed by the will of the one who brings an end to all things -- Gosaena. But even as the world recovers from the blow the Dark Alliance has inflicted, hope has glimmered across the sky in the form of silver strands. Temples across the Elanith have reported strange happenings since the destruction of the Griffin Sword -- reports say that, with a prayer at the right place, strange things begin to happen. This phenomenon appears to be spread across a wide array of temples of vastly different faiths, and clergyman everywhere say the same thing regarding it -- "It is fate." |
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