The Plot To Capture The Dardenites ~ Tiavain, SO, RoD

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Postby Demetria » Mon Nov 10, 2003 6:16 pm

It hadn't taken long before any archers on the wall facing her had all been...altered for want of a better word. She was left with no one left to harm. Frowning, she debated going into the city and causing a bit of mayhem in a more up close and physical fashion. The fact that she hadn't met any resistance at all to her sorcery had left her slightly baffled, however. Perhaps there was something more going on than she had first realized, and if that were the case, then perhaps she didn't want to be inside the city when bigger things occurred. Putting a hand on her hip, she considered the walls a bit longer, then turned and began to walk along the edge of the city, making sure to keep far enough away that the archers couldn't luck into shooting one of their arrows into her.

The few men who had come with her, followed behind quietly, leading the horses. Several minutes had passed before any indication was apparent that they were reaching one of the city corners- and that indication was the wind picking up and sand blowing. A wind storm was not uncommon. It felt odd that it was only in one section of the area though. Frowning, she held a hand up to block the sands from her face and squinted. A horse and rider were making their way through the storm. It wasn't a body she recognized- but she would recognize the mount anywhere. That the animal allowed a stranger to sit on it, spoke volumes. Motioning her men closer, she indicated her intentions and made certain they knew what to do afterwards, then she continued to walk forward on an intercept course to the man and beast.

She stopped a few feet in front of them and waited for the horse to come to her, nuzzling her in greeting, while she looked up at the rider, head slanted, eyes curious. He spoke first.

"Come with me, there's someone I want you to meet"

Smiling crookedly, she moved to the side of the animal and let him drag her up behind him. Wrapping her arms tightly around his waist she hid her face against his back, keeping the sand out of her eyes. She had to yell to be heard over the wind.

I assume that there is a cure for this body you've found yourself in? It seems a little...small....

She had to fight not to laugh at her own joke, lest he make her walk. She grinned against his shoulder though. He could probably feel it.
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Postby Lyssia » Mon Nov 10, 2003 7:47 pm

...can I deal...with this sorceress? would be so easy...I could deal...with them all...if you like...wouldn't that be...nice?...the hiss of Lossandrea's words whispered in the sorceress's mind, unheard by all others. It was a voice that had haunted the Sidhe for ages, the voice of a soul that would not leave the sorceress, that in truth could not leave the sorceress. By a power beyond her own Lyssia had bound the dark soul within herself, knowing that there was no other choice but to do so. What she had released she had had to contain once more. Perhaps if Astavia had tried to release Lossandrea then the sorceress would have been more annoyed at the 'white' mage than she currently was. But there again none save for a bare handful of people knew of the shadow soul's existance...and those few were far from Tiavain and the mage's influence.

Be quiet, I'll not have you 'deal' with matters your way, the Sidhe muttered, apparently to herself, for she looked at no other. It did almost seem as though she was speaking to herself, or at the very least to the strange circlet of twisted black and silver that she wore. She spoke as calmly as though she were not sinking into the sands, as if she was having an ordinary conversation in a place of complete safety. In the past some had accused Lyssia of being less than stable, if they had seen her then, talking to nothingness, then perhaps they would have thought it gave their arguments greater strength. This hardly warrants letting you out of your bag.

She looked down at the sands, apparently studying them for a moment, the situation not breaking the faint smile upon her lips. Did Astavia truly believe that it would be so easily to get the desert to swallow Lyssia up and make her vanish? No surely not, she could not believe that the Istar of House Dovanucci would underestimate the Sidhe so drastically. There again who knew? Perhaps the city of spell-casters really did know so little about the that didn't seem right at all. The small Sidhe race had always been known for their magical abilities, if the people of Tiavain had not at least looked into her race Lyssia would be sorely surprised. It didn't seem like the sort of thing that they would overlook in their various quests for knowledge and information.

Her horse was panicking, she could sense its fear far more keenly than normal, not surprising considering that it believed that it was about to drown beneath the sands. She would have to speak with the Himmetian tribe elders when she returned, the pale mare had often acted as the sorceress's mount but the creature was far too timid. No that wasn't fair on the poor creature, it didn't understand her, only knew that it should fear her, or rather the thing inside the sorceress. It could sense what lay within the sorceress better than any human or elf that the sorceress had ever met.

Lyssia reached once more inside herself, calling on her Art, feeling it dance through her blood like bright motes of pure magic. It was always there and it always would be, the one single thing that would never leave the sorceress, that could never be taken from her. How could it be taken from her? How could she lose it? She couldn't, it was as much a part of her as her flesh or her blood, her mind or her soul, it was all of those and none of them. The Art was simply a part of who she was, a piece of her, it was magic and so was she. The Sidhe did not just use magic, they were magic, there was no other way to put it, and their strengths and weaknesses were tied intimately to it.

Once more the magic responded to Lyssia's call, a dog eager to be off its leash and into the world properly. The Art rushed through her blood, into the world, weaving itself about her and her mount, forming a large protective shield between them and the shifting quagmire, raising them up above its suffocating grip. The horse shook itself and fearfully stepped forward away from the affected sands, the steps nervous, though the sorceress seemed unconcerned. A brief gesture sent the Art towards the Himmetian boys and their own mounts to free them also, though she had no doubt that they would as gladly die as they would live, it was the way of the tribes.

Lyssia shook her head and smiled more, Really Astavia and what did that little thing gain you? Some idea of the extent of my abilties? I doubt it somehow. She looked in the direction that Maledict had gone, knowing that some plan probably already drove the demon onwards. What it was she would have liked to know...or perhaps not, the plots of demons could be enough to drive any soul mad. And she most certainly wouldn't want to lose her sanity...if she had any left to lose. As for whether the demon is as dangerous in this form as he was when in that flesh...ah Astavia if only you realised. But too late for that now, too late by far, what's done is done and no power in the heavens or upon the isle can turn back time and undo what has been done. As the demon said, study that flesh all you will, if you think it will actually gain you anything. The search for knowledge, an admireable thing, but I fear you search for the wrong kind of knowledge. But there again the city of Tiavain is one built on magic...there is a power far stronger than magic, one that you know well enough Astavia.

The smile upon the sorceress's face finally disappeared, replaced with something almost akin to pity as she looked at Astavia. I see the path before you Astavia, I see it too clearly, though you will no doubt challenge that fact and think me false in my words. You all face choices, after all don't we all? But you must be careful because I know where one set of choices will lead you, there again who can say that the other set will lead you to any better place? The smile reappeared as suddenly as it had vanished, But isn't that the way of things.

As for it being wisest to talk to with you,
she laughed lightly to herself, not mocking, just amused by the situation unfolding around her. I don't think so Astavia, I really don't think so. She looked towards Zanafien, bowing her head in respect to her fellow, Speak with them if you will, it is your choice. And when you wish to learn more of your allies and faithmates then seek me out in the red desert, gladly will I speak with you there.

Indeed I should offer that invitation to one other.
She looked back towards Astavia, When your choices are made, when you come at last to that end that I fear I see before you...then come visit me in the red desert Astavia, then we will talk for then you will be ready. Of course whether you'll ever realise you are ready is another matter, she shrugged, But there again there will be others, there are always others.
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Postby Neve » Mon Nov 10, 2003 10:42 pm

The Raised were put to rest, that Never felt. He had not tried to take control of the dead. No, he had let his apprentances seek to take control of small numbers while dealing with other matters. Their wills were weaker, it seemed, the the raiser of the walking dead. But Never was at the gates now, out of them, and apporaching the group seated. He paused, tasting the air. Aye, there was a deamon about, reaking a small bit of misery. How he would be a good addition to a collection... But alas, he was gone.

But still, to join the Istar... Why not, it was indeed amusing. The black robed Patriarch of Risetti still approached, a large shadow being cast by his companion. His bodygard was near eight feet tall, covered from head to toe in black, his face wrapped in black cloth. Bathasar, ever loyal, followed his master, a step behind. Never himself walked with a long walking staff, which was topped with a rather wicked looking skull, with rubies for eyes. He was a sight, pale, frail, or perhaps, not so frail? Never himself exuded magics of his own, it seeped from his pores. But here was the group.

Never Caught the last bit the witch threw to Dovanucci. These thought themselves so wise, so far above. Foolish, how very foolish to underestimate the might of Tiavain. Yet they persisted in their belief of their superority. Never laughed. Magic was power, and some power was lacking in the area. Dovanucci gave these weaklings too much credit. Bumbling through magic was all they were capable of.

Never paused, giving a slight bow.
Lady Dovanucci, I daresay that I did not receive an invatation to this outing. Perhaps it was lost by messanger? No matter, I will endevoring to make my manor more accessable... Never walked stiffly over to an open pillow, sitting. Bathasar hovered behind. Ah, here was the dead-speaker. Never could feel his power. Unfortunately there was only room for one Supreme Necromancer and Demonologist in Tiavain, and that was the Patriarch of Risetti. Still, this was all... Quite amusing.
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Postby Zanafien » Tue Nov 11, 2003 1:08 am

Now that was completely unnecessary of her to do that. He thought while a soft sigh escaped. Why must it be this constant pettiness? I would have believed her wiser than this course of action, but perhaps I have overestimated her abilities? Then, I could have assumed far too much, as I am want to do at times, believing others have more learning than they do, or more common sense.

He glanced over to Maledict and rolled the words he had said over in his mind. In many ways the demon was correct in refusing to sit among them, considering the damage wrought by Astavia, the supposed white Istar. A soft smile graced his face for brief seconds as the thought to another time when a good mage had done things others thought he could not have, or should not have. Just because a person had faith in good or evil did not mean they could not do one or the other. It was all in their specific mindset. Zanafien was perceived as evil due to his very nature, being undead as he was, and he could be extremely demented when he decided to follow that path. He was also capable of measures most could only qualify as being good. So, in the end, which was he? Good or Evil? He seemed to like to believe he could be somewhere in the middle ground, but leaning more toward good. In his own mind, he did what he felt was right and damn the consequences of his actions. Whether what he did was good or not, never really entered into the equation.

His eyes followed the current situation, observing but not commenting. What would have been the use of his words in the conflict between the Istar and Lyssia? Unfortunately, he did not know the sorceress very well, although his intelligence agents had kept him up-to-date on most of what his allies had been doing. Again a smile played across his face as he wondered those allies would have thought of being spied upon by one of their own? Would they find it grossly inappropriate, or understand it was merely a means of learning things about them before he actually met them? Perhaps they might wonder why he would do such a thing…and it was quite simple. How many times had he sent a missive off to one about their current state of health, and received nothing in return or some unreadable message written while they were drunk. No, it was much simpler to do it the way he had been, and less worrisome on them. One thing he was aware of about the sorceress, is she was extremely talented. Of course, being a Sidhe, naturally they were well-attuned to their surroundings and adept at magic, but it went beyond that with her. Something that was strange, every time he looked at her, he saw two people, one that seemed to be missing a part. It was strange beyond reason, and he could not quite figure it out but made a mental note to speak with her about it.

When Lyssia finally mentioned his name, he stood. It was not in him to sit while being addressed, and a slight smile cracked his otherwise chiselled face. You are too much the diplomat. Perhaps one day we will have need to set that aside and show some of these others what true destruction is all about.[i]

He pushed that thought far back into his mind. “I seek to find out [i]why
Astavia has brought war to my lands, besides her wishing our capture. There is surely something beyond she wants or the Istar will know my disappointment. Perhaps it is nothing that will interest me, or then again, it might. I am odd in that respect, finding interest in a grain of sand, but not in the fine workings of a catapult. If you look within the grain, you will find answers to puzzles left ages ago, but if you look within the catapult, normally you will find flaws made by human hands.” He smiled briefly. “Your invitation is most welcome, Lyssia. I shall journey to your lands soon, so we may speak at greater length. Perhaps you can answer some questions that nag at my mind.”

He bowed to Astavia and returned to his seat listening closely to the remainder of Lyssia’s words. She is wise, or perhaps learned? Experienced, certainly, but what does she hide? Is she like myself, hiding from my very calling, hiding from the fact I am undead, but not, alive, but not? No, there is something more there, different but familiar. And what of Astavia…why is it she sends the armies of Tiavain in search of three people…Okay, one undead, one demon and a Sidhe…of opposing ideas, I refuse to say faiths, for I serve no faith, I serve the demon due to his capture of me. What is it she wants? Whatever it is, I do hope it is good, for the loss of so many…

A new addition joined, and Zan observed him quietly. This one thought a lot of his own worth and measure, but the Lich of Despair doubted he was powerful as he believed. Ages old, and even Zanafien knew he could be bested, and had been in the past on numerous occasions, but he had survived and learned from his mistakes. His mind searched back to numerous reports that had filtered in by his intelligence agents and recalled this one. Lord Never, supposed necromancer extraordinaire, and of one house Risetti. Yes, that was his name and his arrogance showed brightly in his bearing and the disdainful looks he gave to those around. The sorceress Lyssia could probably teach this whelp a lesson, but the wise course was to stay out of his way, and allow him to make the mistakes and learn from them. Naturally, this one would probably seek to remove any competition and Zanafien had seen it all before. In his search for the supposedly Supreme title in Never’s field of study, or anyone’s for the matter, they always sought to be the top of their field, even if the ones they killed on their climb up were perhaps wiser. They did not learn from those that would teach, they only sought to destroy, which was a waste of knowledge, and knowledge was power. Once gone, it was forever lost to the sands of time.

“Greetings, Lord Never of House Risetti.” He stated, his face set and giving nothing away.
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Postby Milabar » Tue Nov 11, 2003 11:28 am

Blinking slowly as Astavia's entire stance went from one of offensive capture, to defensive diplomacy. Scowling lightly, I lower my hand, and seeing that only the demon was slightly amused at my killing of the soliders on the wall, I curl my lips slightly, and watching as the White Mistress orders a tent built, I sense the lich as he comes forward, and the demon as he leaves, unwilling to listen to the words of Astavia.

Watching as the lich walks foward, I smile and nod slightly towards him as he introduces himself. Speaking pleasant words back, I know that until Astavia gives the word, speaking less would more then likely be better, but still, I bow slowly in his direction, showing respect for those that live long lives.

Listening as Lyssia talks to Astavia, and then glancing slightly over my shoulder as I watch Neve walk out of the town, I laugh lightly to myself. Ahhh, the black robed one comes to play, once the diplomacy has started. Where was his vaulted powers and bodyguard while Astavia stood out here alone, surrounded by the powers that lead the troops against our walls, due to our attacking of thier lands?

More then likely defending his own, hiding behind his necromancy arts.

Walking towards the tent, I pull the hood of my cloak over my head, protecting my eyes from the sand that was blowing lightly. Stopping at the entrance, I curl my lips again, speaking softly.

"Even thought things seem to be well in hand Astavia, I feel as if I should join you in this little party. A white surrounded by evil would always do best with a constant ally in thier corner."

Glancing at Neve, I grin openly at him, and bowing very mockingly in his direction, I stay standing by the entrance of the tent, watching as things start to unfold upon themselves in the tent. Looking back at Astavia, I wave my hand, smiling as I do so, forming a small protection spell around her. As much as you should always trust your allies, you should never sit among evil without some sort of protection at your back....and your front.

Sitting down at the entrance, I lay my sword lightly across my knees, and leaning my elbows on the flat part of the blade, I start to listen to whatever is said.
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