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The Belchan Mines; An old Dwarvish mining city deep within the Belchan mountain range.
Topic Started: Jun 1 2014, 11:59 PM (92 Views)
Amaurea
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Andolla
Once a thriving Dwarvish mining city, this area was ruthlessly captured by the Drow and now serves at the home of a large remnant group of the dark elves.
"In sleep dreams embody our hopes and our future, but when dreams escape into reality, they become nightmares"
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Amaurea
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Andolla
The sounds of heavy hoof beets bounded across a misty field. Morning dew glittered on the grass, and such grass became trampled relentlessly by sward wielding horsemen. Though beautiful, the fresh spray of water felt more cold than anything. It made running from the authorities much more uncomfortable. Soon though, the chase would be over.

A sudden corn field hid anything but an unkept fray of blond hair whipping in the wind. The rest of the lanky, athletic thief was being pulverized by corn stalks and sharp edged leaves, but it didn't matter. His unseen smile spoke of any emotion he might be feeling at the moment. It thrilled him, the chase, and soon he'd be wrapping his arms around the most precious thing in his life. She was certainly more beautiful than any random jewels or spare coin the renegade had snatched up. Just a quick stop at her place, perhaps a small bite to eat, an embrace, and off again to join in the hunt....for himself. By night, the thief. By day, an eager investigator- who, mind you, had done his fare share of catching dastardly criminals. Yes, in a few hours, he'd hardly be recognized as the young man he was at this moment.

And there she was, standing at the edge of the field, looking with those sky blue eyes of her's, peering off into the distance, waiting for him.


A whole army!

Armek exclaimed with a laugh, ignoring the almost ghostly white complexion on Annabella's face. He scooped her up and spun her around, still with that dashing smile on his face.

Who knew the grand duke was so very protective of his stuff!

He set her down with a grin and shook his head. His body ached, and he was sure there were cuts all down his arms, but it didn't matter. He was with her again. But something pricked him sharply when he looked at her face, for the first time today, aware of it's unnatural hue. Armek's eyebrows lifted in worried question.





Th- The grand duke is dead Armek...

The young woman stammered, blinking a few times and subconsciously pulling away from him.

You.... You killed him.... Why. I- I didn't know you were a killer Armek.





The ever approaching hoof beets faded away as the young man looked downward. Suddenly he felt numb, shaky. The world seemed to spin as his insides began to knot up on him.

Dead?.... No, no. I don't kill people Bella....You know that. I'm not a killer, at all, and I never will be.... ever. There's been some kind of mistake, truly.

He reached out to reassure her, and tightened as she flinched away. Her eyes suddenly lit up in terror and something within him broke. Didn't she believe him? Something cold within his pack, pressed suddenly against his side. Was he leaning? Was he limping? Where did her distrust come from?

I didn't kill Anyone!

Armek suddenly exclaimed in a panic. He grabbed her, looking hard into her eyes. The battle for her trust, he knew, had been lost. But why? Why did her faith in him have to be so dreadfully flimsy? What had he ever done to cause this weak resolve within her?

Look at me!

He shouted, shaking her briskly. The horses were getting closer.

Do I look like a murderer to you?!

They'd broken through the corn field and now flanked the two. The chill sensation began to spread across Armek's body.

Do I?





yes...



Her timid voice collided with him, but Armek could no longer feel it. He couldn't even see her now. His world had gone black and he felt as if he were falling, faster and faster and faster....











MASTER!

A startled, but almost bouncy voice jumped into sound waves.

Master! If ye don't mind, would you care to, perhaps, stop, ya know, pointin' yer sward at me?





What?

Blinking rapidly, the waking man shook the fantasies from his mind and actually looked at the reality peering straight back at him.

Well Burin... Perhaps you shouldn't stand on the wrong end of it.

He said while sheathing his weapon. Running a hand through his white hair, Armek cleared his throat and addressed the rusty red haired dwarf with an almost joking smile.

I thought you knew better than to wake a wanted man in his sleep.





Absolutely sir, but ye never knew when things might bet boring. Now, don ya tell me you don't like a bit of adventure here and there.

The stout little fellow said, with an uncharacteristic chuckle. Burin Silverhammer was one of the few surviving members of his clan. Now, they all worked as servants to the Drow who had invaded their city. Though he was appalled at what they had turned his beautiful cavern city into, Burin hardly spoke of it. He'd been lucky enough to be put in the care of one of the more prominent members of the city. Armek wasn't a Drow himself, but he was highly respected by them. His human origin was almost a relief to Burin, even though his master wasn't the man he use to be.



I think I'm done with risky adventures for a while.

Armek said, looking over his shoulder at the strangely lit cavern city. Sighing he pulled on a shirt, some boots and a richly adorned robe. The attire never quite fitted him. He was use to the tattered remains of what was left after blowing up a building kind of look, but for his place now, he had to play the part.




If you don't mind me askin' sir... Is something botherin' you?

Burin asked cautiously, while retrieving a few articles of clothing his master had forgotten.




Just ghosts of the past.

The once-thief said. Reaching forward, he took a long glove from the Dwarf's offering hand and winced as he slid it's leather surface over his left arm. Glowing blue vanes, crossing his flesh there flashed in protest of being hidden. Armek squeezed his eyes shut and looked away from the Dwarf, unwilling to show him the pain written all over his face.

Nothing to worry about. Now... I hear fighting in the streets. Let's go take a look, shall we?





Again, if you don't min me sayin' It's a wonder any of us gets any sleep with those dark elves playing power games with one another.

The Dwarf grumbled.





Couldn't agree with you more.

Armek responded, almost with a hint of a laugh. But laughter hadn't visited his lips for a very long time. Slowly, he pulled the dark robe about his shoulders, and gently rested his gloved hand atop a strange obsidian stone, held fast by a silver chain round his neck. He felt better, he supposed, knowing the thing still remained on his person. His shoulders relaxed and his stride became more brisk and even. Today would be alright, he supposed... even if the sun never shown down here.
"In sleep dreams embody our hopes and our future, but when dreams escape into reality, they become nightmares"
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Amaurea
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Andolla
So, where do the loyalties lye now?

Armek came up alongside an impressively tall figure, standing on the edge of a balcony. He paused in his speaking, looking out over the strange city with a squinted eye. Though his night vision had improved while being among the Drow, his human eyes would never capture the darkness like theirs did.



The house of Gloth and Thorn are in a power struggle again.

The impressively tall figure responded. His voice wasn't quite annoyed, though, it wasn't all together pleased either. Obviously his chosen victor wasn't winning the fight. Shining silvery white hair cascaded down his back in long waving strands, and an ornate obsidian circlet rested just over his sharply pointed ears. With crimson eyes, Sham'Gar, lord and ruler of the Drow people, observed the chaos down below. The tangled mass of dark skinned bodies, struggling against one another was a common sight in the Belchan streets.

Don't worry though.

The regal Drow said placidly. His attention became split as another of his kin slunk up to stand on his other side. Without a word, the attendant handed his lord an elegant ebony bow, already notched with an arrow.

Ah, thank you Aidon.

With a nod to the other Drow, Sham'Gar turned his head back to Armek, who was waiting in patient silence.

No matter what the houses are doing, every Drow will band together behind you Shade.

The very edge of his dark lips curved into a strange smirk as he focused on the fighting below. With a muscular arm, Sham'Gar lifted his bow, pulled back the string, aimed and released the silent projectile into the darkness.

Except that one.

A startled cry, higher in pitch than the others, resounded throughout the constant motion. Within moments, the fight had broken up and those still able to stand were dragging wounded behind them as they vacated the blood stained street. Sham'Gar sighed and lowered his bow.

She needed to go at some point.







Perhaps the most bothersome part about his situation, was how comfortable he'd become with it all. Violence and murder just seemed so commonplace. The occasional dead corps lying on the side of the rode, was little more than a toppled scare crow in a corn field. Someone would pick it up later...and someone always did, even though he never saw them. The rarer, yet still common assassination of someone walking next to him, only seamed like the odd- but still common, run-away mare from the stables. Someone would tell the owner later. Perhaps, in an earlier time of life, Armek might have sat down and wondered upon the logistics of such a race even surviving this long. But, as Sham'Gar put it, "Every life has a purpose....but so does every death." So, who was Armek to question a four thousand year old clan, of a race which had lasted eons.

Still, death was no laughing matter to the human. In fact, nothing really was a laughing matter to him. His quest was a simple one: relieve himself of the Shadowstone without dieing in the process. Sham'Gar's quest was just as simple: Retrieve the Shadowstone at any cost. The two worked well together, even though the Drow was an inhumanly patient creature, and Armek considered himself one of the more impatient of his human kinsmen.


I have no doubt of your command over them.

He responded shallowly. He gave the Drow a side ways glance of skepticism.

Do I have reason to doubt your loyalty to me?



Sham'Gar smiled in dark amusement. He breathed out a soft laugh and shook his head.

Not at present, no. The playing field is astonishingly even between us. There is no need to fight a battle neither of us could win.

For Sham'Gar, the prospect almost resembled torture. Where death stood between Armek and his odd goal, Armek stood between Sham'Gar and his own. Normally, he wouldn't hesitate to kill the man where he stood, just as he had killed his own kind not five minutes prior. But Armek had learned how to master the magical stone's properties rather quickly, and for the moment, he far exceeded even Sham'Gar's power over dark magic. It was a wager best left untouched.

He opened his mouth to speak again, perhaps to say something which would bit him later, when the cry of a raven drifted through the darkness, and the creature itself, landed on Sham'Gar's outstretched arm. Peering at the bird fora moment, the Drow sighed and held it out to Armek.


It's for you.




Extending his own arm, Armek accepted the raven and peered at it curiously. For a moment he seemed intent on the creature, and then, suddenly he blinked and the bird flew off.

Burin... My staff. We're going hunting.

The dwarf obeyed without question and within moments, had returned with his master's primary weapon. Before, when common thievery was Armek's preferred profession, he'd favored daggers and even some swards, but magic had changed everything. Most of the time, he didn't even need to be near his target to end them.

Delicately, the man removed his leather glove and gripped the sleek dark staff. The purple-blue vanes in his left arm flashed violently and numerous runic symbols alighted up and down the staff. Carefully, he removed the stone from round his neck and placed it atop the staff. It fit perfectly. In fact, the metallic nature of the staff seemed to liquify, twisting and curling about the stone, caressing it in a protective cage of strange symbols. The weapon itself seemed to become one with it's wielder, for the first time sense waking, Armek felt perfectly relaxed. Nothing on the planet could stop him.




Go get your prize, Shade. You have the Drow at your side.

Sham'Gar said with a measure of pride behind his voice. He was ready for Armek to win his victory, perhaps more than Armek himself. His eyes found the Shadowstone, nestled in the staff's embrace, and he watched as both weapon and wielder backed away, only to become engulfed by invisible darkness. After all, shadow rifts were very difficult to see.

Marka!

The Drow called. It's a common misconception that elves never yell. But that really doesn't matter because Sham'Gar wasn't an elf. Drow yell quite frequently, and even still, their voices are as beautiful as the night itself.

The Raven appeared again, gliding down from the darkened cavern wall. It's dark shape stretched and warped until the athletic figure of the female scout landed on her feet before her king.




My lord. She said with a slightly startled smile. You know my name. What can I do for you?



I know everyone's name...

Sham'Gar responded flatly, as if she'd insulted his intelligence. All good and compelling nature aside, he allowed his crimson eyes to peer blankly down at her.

I need to speak to Karn.





Tell me what you wish him to know my lord, and I'll be on my way.

Marka responded respectfully, hoping to regain her lost ground.




My dear Marka.... You couldn't possibly be fast enough to carry such a message.

Before she could blink, Sham'Gar lunged for the girl, clasping her head in his long fingered hands like a vice. Staring sharply into her eyes he projected his consciousness through her and to his commanding officer, ignoring her struggling and pained gasps of agony.

Telepathy was no difficult matter for someone like him, but it was much more reliable when he had a conduit to work through. Her struggling became more violent until he'd finally finished. Releasing her, he watched passively as the girl withered to the ground, unconscious.

With a sigh of disgust, Sham'Gar called two guards to his side.


Take her to a room. Give her our best in everything. He instructed unenthusiastically. She won't remember the last hour, so tell her she was wounded in battle, and is being rewarded for her valor.

With a dismissal wave of his hand, he silently declared the whole ordeal over. Turning to view the city once more, Sham'Gar clasped the railing before him and frowned. Karn better focus on the true goal, or this operation could turn round and destroy them all.
"In sleep dreams embody our hopes and our future, but when dreams escape into reality, they become nightmares"
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