Welcome Guest [Log In] [Register]
Add Reply
The Encroaching Dark; An Aturan and an Arunayan
Topic Started: Mar 21 2018, 07:52 PM (97 Views)
Arda Tuluva
Member Avatar

“My Lord, O Venerable Lord, please! I beg you!” The elf pleaded in High Aturan, tears streaming from his purple eyes. “Not I, Great Lord. Surly another would be better!” His pleads went unanswered as he forlornly stared at the obelisk. He was kneeling naked, hands shackled, feet bound and a silver band around his neck.

Another approached the large Obelisk. He wore long, tight, form fitting black robes with faint silver accents. From the waist down the robes was cut into four separate, over lapping pieces. The tight sleeves had black onyx buttons from the wrists all the way up the side of his arm to his shoulder; the high black collar was outlined in faint silver. He wore a shining onyx corset that looked very much like vines covering his torso and back coming up wrapping around his shoulders.. His head was covered in a black headdress that resembled a raven, its wings fanning out behind him; a heavy metallic veil covered his face with incandescent alexandrite set on the strings in the Aturan rune for protection, only his bright pink eyes were visible, the blackness sounding his eyes meshed into the colors of his attire. His hands and arms were covered in ritualistic henna; on all his fingers he wore long black nail guards in much the same design as his corset each with one incandescent alexandrite set near the first knuckled, they covered his entire fingers, extending some centimeters beyond.

Nine of the massive, horned Qunari soldiers stood vigilantly in their black and red armor, their helmets looked like iron serpentine skulls intensified by their own horns. Each held long dual edged-rectangular battleaxes. Beneath their black metal armor adorning their chests, forearms, and legs was blood rea leather. Runes adorned the metal for strength, cunning, and protection.

The bound, naked elf pleaded again in High Aturan between his sobs. The one in the black robes raised his hand, a white line appeared upon the obelisk then two doors materialized opening outward. The prison fell over weeping even louder. “I beg you uncle, please!”

The chamber within was empty save for a strange sarcophagus that looked like a man with his arms outreached head up screaming towards the heavens in agony. It opened in the same manner as the obelisk revealing a skeletal arcane apparatus. The elf’s shackles and bounds were removed, save the silver band upon his neck.

“Why me?! Why?!” He shouted as the robed Aturan used the One Power to place the young elf inside. Closing the metal ribcages to hold him in place, there was a circular hole in the metal exterior over his heart. Using the long nailguards the Valaerin inscribed an arcane symbol. “There is still time, uncle! Please! Choose another!” He begged in vain, his pleads had gone unanswered since his selection.

The Aturan mage held out his hand to receive a disc with one face full of spikes. He took the disk and as he plunged it into his nephew’s chest it was met with another agonizing scream. The crystal on this side of the disc began to glow red as blood trickled down the boy’s body. The Valaerin waved his hands and dozens of small talons, which could be described as the legs of a centipede, began to close onto the boy’s outstretched arms

“No! Still me! Make me a shadow! Anything! Anything but this!!” The black veiled and robed Aturan removed the silver band stepping back as the young elf began to convulse, his head shaking rapidly as the sarcophagus closed, otherworldly screams of the poor victim began to fade then silence as the obelisk sealed shut. The white light disappeared, the smooth black stone hiding any appearance of a door.

Around the obelisk runes and geometric lines began to glow in a myriad of colors and hues followed by a soft hum. The Aturan glanced behind himself, eyes piercing into the wilderness. There was something, someone there. He signaled to the Qunari to investigate.

The geometric lines began to pulse, the rhythmic hum became louder and louder all culminating into a large jet of blue and white light that shot up high into the sky before it dissipated in a crackling roar. The obelisk lost all its color save one blue rune that shined dimly where the door once stood. The ritual was complete.

He heard the grunts of a soldier as he flew through the air hitting the obelisk, bones shattering. He fell to the ground lifeless. The Valaerin spun around, using his arcane senses to feel for what was out there. He heard a slash as another solider fell dead. Another went flying hitting branches, twisting about until he, too, fell dead. He saw another solider clutching his entrails as he toppled over. The Aturan only saw a blur as the figure moved around from one target to another.

He extended his arm and the earth tore open, trees splintered, in a straight line from where he stood, the air became hot as the one he knew was out there halted where he tore the earth open. It was a woman. She was quick, agile. Strong. She was able to avoid the onslaught of the earth’s upheaval with relative ease. He answered her defiance with another weave as azure flames burst out spinning, twirling majestically towards her. In a movement faster than he thought possible, even while embracing the One Power for quickened speed, she moved grabbing the Qunari to her left tossing him in the line of fire. The solider barely let out a faint, guttural wheeze as his body ignited in a spectacle of blue fire; as quickly as it wrapped around him, it consumed him as it extinguished. He was impressed, angry at her defiance, but impressed.

She then made the foolish mistake to look his way. She seemed surprised, off guard. It mattered not what it was, he took the opportunity. In a quick movement a searing light flashed from his open palm, it illuminated the twilight in the light of a hundred suns followed by a thunderous boom that resonated with such force it knocked the woman unconscious. He told the reaming soldier to bring the fallen, her and her spoils. He opened a Gate and stepped through it.



The Aturan noticed the strange woman had awoken. She seemed confused, assessing her surroundings. She looked at him and was met with old eyes set against youthful features that stared back at her with curiosity as he moved towards her with the haughty grace only a Valaerin could. He was wearing the same style of clothing from the Ritual site, though instead of black and silver, he was adorned in white and silver with diamonds. He wore no veil and his long white hair was bound in intricate braids twisting around his head that was adorned with many hairpins and ornaments. The blackness around his eyes stretching like smoke to his temples was far more pronounced now that his fair, pale skin was visible without the metal veil.

“Nosane iro gavane domorakoshi?” He said to her in High Aturan. She eyed him skeptically, but did not respond. Like many of his kin, he was tall and outstandingly beautiful. She was not shackled and had awoken on a rather comfortable bed. He was oddly fascinated by this woman and – strangely enough - he wanted to know her story, an uncommon curiosity for a Valaerin.

“Ettai alaan gum’telundi?” He said in the language of the Avarin, a people that did adventure into the Darklands from time to time. She ignored him scanning the room. It was well lit, but the light did not flutter like candles would have it. It was steady, unwavering. She noticed her belongings were meticulously laid out on a table to her right. Her clothes had been washed and folded; her leather tunic, bracers, and the like had been repaired and varnished. She was now wearing a simple grey dress with black accents. Her wounds had been attended to.

“Ydych chi'n deall y geiriau rwy'n siarad?” He asked in the tongue of the Khazad. Again, no response. He could tell she did not understand him; her gaze was fixated around the room. It was mostly immaculately polished black marble, with traces of white. The room did not take the likeness of a dungeon. Tables with various arcane instruments were laid about in an orderly fashion. Tomes and scrolls filled the many shelves. It had to look of an arcane labatorium.

“Nee maingba’i wo shuo’o dehu’a ma?” Insufferable woman, he thought. Why will she not answer him? She speaks none of these tongues; the ignorance of the vett’janah. She was looking at her prize, the beast she found and killed. It was hanging from the ceiling; a golden bowl was collecting its blood. He had encountered her in the Darklands. She must be from the far south.

“Do you understand the words I speak?” She still did not respond, but her eyes moved quickly to him, narrowing. He smiled broadly showing his perfect white teeth, they seemed preternaturally white. “Ah. You are far from home, Arunayan. Have you wondered the Darklands all this way to mighty Atur from Arunaya? You must have been in there weeks, perhaps months. Was it death you were seeking? No surprise, considering...” He gestured to her; the Taint has taken quite the toll on this woman, “But he did not heed your call. Did he? Take it as a sign, Arunayan. It is not yet your time.”

A servant approached her with a tray of steaming meat; the servant was clothed from head to foot in shades of grey. A dark grey tunic that was fitted well to the body that fell almost to the floor, it was draped around cut down the sides from the waist. Black pants and shoes were worn underneath. The tunic had long tight sleeves, the servant wore black gloves, head was covered by a black hood that was connected to an onyx mask displaying a solemn face. Docile red eyes peered through the mask. The servant set the tray next to her departing to stand next to another who was dressed in the exact same fashion.

“Eat. You must be famished. And know that you are no prisoner here. You may leave at your leisure. In the meantime, you are safe and no harm shall come to you.” Her hands went to her neck, “A mere precaution, nothing more.” He waved his hand assuringly, before gesturing to the creature. “However, I will be confiscating this ghar’gheal hatching that you have caught, a compensation for the Qunari that you killed. Impressively, I might add. Most impressive.”

Edited by Arda Tuluva, Mar 25 2018, 01:13 PM.
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
tama
Member Avatar

The Arunayan scanned her surroundings cautiously, the decor was unfamiliar, the man's voice even more so. The tongue he spoke to her sounded vaguely of the idle chat of Aturans when she'd drag her kills into civilization past the northern edge of the Darklands. While examining the room, she took note of her hunting gear restored to pristine condition, laid out closer to the pale one who spoke. Not only had her equipment, but as she felt around her face, something pricked her hand.

Her horn. The horn, around a finger in length, had been broken in half during a hunt years ago. She stroked it as the elf continued talking in words she couldn't bother trying to understand, the broken stump that sat on the edge of her hairline had been restored to the sharp point that once was. "Incredible." she thought. The wild patterns of discoloured, pale skin had not disappeared from her arms and chest, snuffing out her excitement as quickly as the return of her horn had built it up.

Her continuous surveying of the room around here were again interrupted by familiar words, coming from the same elf she assumed was talking to his comrades. He spoke Arunayan now, directed solely at her. She sat quietly and listened, his tone was one of reassurance; but an Aturan's words of reassurance were seldom effective, she felt as though she was being tested by the regal-looking elf. In this condition, she could lunge and attack the unarmed elves, but at the same time, vague memories indicated that this one was not to be underestimated. The spiral of overthinking was interrupted by the arrival of another servant. A steaming platter of food in his hands, the elven servants seemed a ubiquitous sight in the land of the pale ones. Their uncomfortable gaze tended to follow her and whatever "merchandise" she had slain beforehand; it was impossible to tell whether her presence inspired terror... or disgust in the common Aturan.

She felt incapable of either at the moment, however. The elves were meticulous in taming her wild appearance, the grey dress concealing much of her toned physique and markings left by the Burn. Even her wild, beige hair had been trimmed and styled to fall flat against her body. She looked back up at the one who was speaking. Her latest prize was forfeit, hardly a price to pay considering someone of his power could have easily taken her life instead, after such a brief confrontation as well.

"You give a lenient punishment, khadamat. I will not ask questions if that's all you have for me." Minding the fact that she was well outside of the darklands and now a guest to someone else, she carefully, albeit awkwardly dug into the meal presented to her. There was little reason to act like she was still on the hunt, even if that is what she was accustomed to doing. Carefully setting her utensils down, she was ready to ask the questions she felt to be most important. "Still, I want to know where we are now. And why you have tended to my wounds and appearance." She could only speculate if there was some ulterior motive involved, among dealings between the pale ones they were seemingly guaranteed. For an Arunayan hunter, the uncertainty was dreadful.
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Arda Tuluva
Member Avatar

The Aturan chuckled. Khadamat, ignoring any negative connotations she might have insinuated. After all, she wasn’t wrong naming him such; his unblemished skin could be considered extremely pale, he’d say that it was fair. Like starlight. He turned and issued commands in High Aturan to the Shadows in the room; they responded deferentially and went about their tasks assigned to them quickly, yet demurely.

He looked at her as if he was offended by her question, “You think us barbarians, Arunayan? Hmph. This is civilization, this is Atur the Radiant. Here we have a distaste for foul odors and filth.” He couldn’t help but chuckle, a vett’janah might mistake his claims for them. “Cleanliness is next to godliness, my dear.” He smiled gesturing grandiosely to their surroundings. “I did not bring you here just so you could succumb to your wounds, what sense is that? Besides we could only mend so much in your unconscious state. Some afflictions require special care.”

She touched her horn again; he looked at her curiously reading her features carefully and then he saw it, a glint in her eyes: hope. He smirked with a slight indication of his head. Indeed the Aturans knew how to help her with the Taint or the Burn as she knows it. Help cure it – for now. The discoloration on her skin, the nausea, the creeping madness: all of it gone. But, that was a discussion for another time.

He turned dramatically before she could ask anything else walking out the door gesturing for her to follow, “Come, vett’janah. I shall show you were we are.”


The corridors were mostly empty of people; save for a few Shadows that walked meekly by always next to the walls, he walked elegantly down the hallway, it had high ceilings that arched together in a distinct Aturan look; almost skeletal - like a rib cage, but did not have a sinister feel. Aturans had a love for moving, circular, geometric design. He had not looked back but new the Arunayan was a few paces behind him. The Quanari guards that were randomly stationed saluted some saying, “Venerable Lord,” in High Aturan as he walked by. Everything was black; the walls, the floor, the ceiling. On the walls lamps were glowing a bit dimmer than from the Study were they had been, but the light had the same unwavering affect. The White Flame of Atur hung every now and again. They walked and walked, turning left, then right, then left again; following a long corridor ending at a doorway that lead into a small room. The room was cylindrical with three door equal distant from one another. The Aturan grasped onto a baton attached to a metal statue on a pedestal at the center of the room. He closed his eyes exhaling; it sounded like a myriad of swords unsheathed as the entire room shook and began to rise upwards.

As they ascended the room slowly swiveled clockwise until they were facing the opposite direction. It came to an abrupt halt; a sound akin to swords being sheathed echoed as he removed his hand from the stature opening his eyes once more. The door opened as they emerged onto a grand balcony, banners fluttered wildly in the howling wind. The Valaerin waved his hand lazily. The banners fell still, the hissing sound of the wind vanished. The balcony was a bubble of harmony compared to the tempest beyond.

“The Fortress City of Imfaral.” He said arching his arm out over the city. Like the room and corridors the fortified-city was all black stone and marble. “The Towers of Midnight,” He said, “in all there are twelve. We are in the South Tower of the Citadel” The city was built like an eight pointed start, one tower at each of the protruding points of the walls; four towers each facing a cardinal direction surrounded the massive domed citadel. The walls, the towers, the citadel were all power-wrought stone; infused with the One Power to maintain their integrity, hundreds of gifted (most unwilling) died pouring all their power into the very fabric of the stone.

“This overcast has lasted unseasonably long.” He looked towards the grey heavens as he approached the railings, “There. Do you see that dissipating vortex in the clouds?” He pointed, then, towards the southwest. It was leagues away, at least a day’s journey of hard riding. “That is where the Tributary lies. By what fates brought you to it this morning is a coincidence I shall not ignore.” He eyed her curiously again; there is something about her that intrigued him. Her strength with the One Power was immense, he wondered if she knew. “The Darklands are a mysterious, confounding place. The Machin Shin should have claimed your life, yet you evaded it. And here you are. Alive and well. What horrors you must have seen, such tribulations you have over come. Fascinating.”

He gazed into Darklands for a time in silence. From their vantage point one could see a perfect straight line separating the dark forest and the colorless fields stretching east and west to the horizon. Servants had set up two long chairs and a table for them. The Aturan Amyr fell into one of the seats, taking a relaxed lounging posture. He gestured for her to take the seat next to him and took one of the small porcelain cups, “Ah, the aroma is delightful. Is it not?” He inhaled deeply from the steaming cup. “Kaf, Arunayan. It is a warm drink with the smallest hint of cinnamon brewed from the roasted beans of the kafalea plant." He allowed the ambiance to heighten before inhaling again, "Simply delightful. If it is too bitter for your taste I suggest adding honey or sugar.” He took a slow drink.

“I have given you sanctuary, answered your questions, and served you kaf. You are protected by our customs.” He chuckled, “Your apprehension is valid, as is your guarded attitude. I take no offense at your caution. I have put an a'dam around your neck and this is truly a rarity bestowed upon a vett’janah.” He smiled, genuinely. “But rest assured and try to relax. Enjoy this absurd weather.” He said dryly gesturing dramatically to the sky. Aturans were a very animated people, always moving their hands as they spoke.

“I can continue to refer to you as Arunayan or Hama N’dore as we call your people, or vett’janah. But I think you might find that distasteful, yes? You emerged from those dreaded lands, so perhaps, Amela’an Shadar; Friend of the Dark. Ah, but you are right.” He said answering no one’s question, “Too long indeed. Hmmm. Perhaps, Lanfear; Daughter of the Night. Much better, yes?” He shrugged, waving his hand dismissively. “There are a thousand and three names to call one another and more. Always changing are names and titles to suit our needs when they must.” He took a another sip of kaf with a relaxed and satisfied expression.

“I shall call you as you wish. Names and titles are abundant. We Atruans are fond of threes, I have three names and three titles: address me as Lord Atreyan, Archon vel’Aedris, or Amyr Kel’Bashar, for all three are me and I all three.”
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
1 user reading this topic (1 Guest and 0 Anonymous)
ZetaBoards - Free Forum Hosting
Free Forums with no limits on posts or members.
Learn More · Sign-up Now
« Previous Topic · FanTeria · Next Topic »
Add Reply