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  • #16
    "My father...he...was not well," Torak tried to say, holding back tears. "I told him not to over exert himself on this hunt, but he assisted on galloping ahead. He lost control of his horse, and...he was too weak to calm the beast, I tried to gallop ahead, but he was too fast- he had taken his sword out of his sheath, like he always did during the hunt...and he...it just...I..."

    "It will be alright, my prince," said Sir Mallox, putting his hand on the boy's shoulder. "Hunting is a dangerous game, even for the best of us. We should have asked the king to stay behind for his health...but who of us could have refused him?"

    "Come on, lad" said another nobleman, stepping forward to help Sir Mallox steady the prince. "Let us return to the castle."

    ******************

    Caerse stood alone in his chambers, facing a wall-length mirror swirling with evil. "Make your report, Caerse," said a voice from the mirror.

    "But of course, milord," replied the wizard, bowing. "Possessing the king with a shadow wraith was easy, due to his weakened state, but wraith's energy made it seem like the king had made an unnatural recovery. So the wraith killed the king, and entered the prince's body upon death. The wraith wouldn't have been able to control such a healthy host had I not been there to weaken the boy with my magic. We now have control over the royal family, and no one suspects a thing."

    (Tag- Veshie)
    Originally posted by Ryan_DuBois
    Usoki, you're the crankiest asshole we know. Not that it's a bad thing, it just means that you smell funny and are best left hidden in darkness.
    And it's embarrassing when you make any noise at all.

    Comment


    • #17
      "Well done," hissed the disembodied voice that made even the hardened wizard Caerse shiver uncontrollably. "Bide your time now until you receive further instruction."

      **************

      Hours ago, the nobles had removed Torak's father from his numb arms and after a little unsuccessful coaxing, had left him to his bewildered grief. With the abandoned cry that only a desperate man can utter, Torak made one last attempt to escape the clearing. Again, he felt the stab of that icy and invisible barrier just at the clearing's edge. He fell to the ground moaning as the world above seemed to turn an eerie shade of violet. The tangible presence of black magic in the air made him heave and wretch as swirls of dust picked up around him in a sudden wind storm. Squeezing his eyes shut against the onslaught, he heard the wind grow into a howl, and somewhere in the wind, a voice. No, it was not one voice, but many. It was a cacophony of hundreds of voices, all crying, all pleading for help. Then, just as the Prince felt sure that his very skin would be ripped off by the storm, everything stopped. As though the wind and the voices had never existed, Torak now opened his eyes to find himself in an utterly black, utterly still place. He knew he was completely at the mercy of whatever person, or thing, stood in front of him. And there was indeed someone in front of him because he could just eke out the sound of a slow, raspy breath.

      (Tag: Locke)
      My sanity, my soul, or my life.

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      • #18
        (are you still in, Locke? We may have to tag someone else if you're too buzy right now or want out or something.)
        The organ is grinding but the monkey won't dance.

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        • #19
          Too late. Locke is being too lethargic.

          (TAG: Poopsicle)
          My sanity, my soul, or my life.

          Comment


          • #20
            Actually, I am still around - sorry for the wait; I haven't had many spare moments in the past several days. I'll post something - unless DEP's already working on it?
            Last edited by Locke; 06-27-2014 at 12:16 AM.

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            • #21
              I haven't started on it yet, Locke. It's all yours.
              The organ is grinding but the monkey won't dance.

              Comment


              • #22
                Trailers of dust shot through with golden shafts of afternoon sunlight permeated the air of the great hall; drifted, settled around the trim mustachioed man who sat alone oiling twin argent pistols at the round oak table in a far corner of room. He coughed; it was a dry season, and the air of the northern counties, it was said, was not good for the lungs. "That's truly amazing craftsmanship, Lord Tristan," said Gilbert the falconer, pulling a chair from an adjoining table, "though given your reputation as a duelist, I'm surprised to see you carrying firearms. They're notoriously unreliable; do you actually trust them?"

                Flint gray eyes shifted up to meet his gaze and held it, unwavering, until the falconer looked away; experienced hands traced elegant scrollwork up to sights set along the barrel of one of the guns. "I trust them with my life," he said. "If you care for your tools, they'll be there when the time comes to use them. We have a forge on Orm, the western isle, that turns out hundreds like these each month, and the sulfur springs nearby make for high-grade powder. These pistols knew a master's touch; as weapons they are peerless."

                "That... may have some bearing," Gilbert said, swallowing nervously; "tell me, what do you think of the new king?" "He's worn the crown but a week; so far he seems a most capable and proactive monarch, if a somewhat heavy-handed one." "You should know I come by way of Alistair, cousin of Dormot, and several of the other advisors," the falconer said. "I wasn't aware there had been a meeting of advisors," said the other man. "Tell me, what business does the cousin of the old king have with Tristan, Duke of Isles?" "It was not, ah, an official meeting," Gilbert replied, "but that is only fitting, as Torak continues to deny our requests to form an official House of Lords."

                (Tag - DEP)
                Last edited by Locke; 10-15-2007, 12:44 AM. Reason: Forgot tag again.
                Last edited by Locke; 06-27-2014 at 12:16 AM.

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                • #23
                  I'm gonna be a bit behind on this. If anyone wants to skip me, feel free to. Otherwise I'll add the next section tomorrow evening (technically Wed morning in the 1-3am range)
                  The organ is grinding but the monkey won't dance.

                  Comment


                  • #24
                    Trails of dust shot through with golden shafts of afternoon sunlight permeated the air of the great hall; drifted, settled around the trim mustachioed man who sat alone oiling twin argent pistols at the round oak table in a far corner of room. He coughed; it was a dry season, and the air of the northern counties, it was said, was not good for the lungs. "That's truly amazing craftsmanship, Lord Tristan," said Gilbert the falconer, pulling a chair from an adjoining table, "though given your reputation as a duelist, I'm surprised to see you carrying firearms. They're notoriously unreliable; do you actually trust them?"

                    Flint gray eyes shifted up to meet his gaze and held it, unwavering, until the falconer looked away; experienced hands traced elegant scrollwork up to sights set along the barrel of one of the guns. "I trust them with my life," he said. "If you care for your tools, they'll be there when the time comes to use them. We have a forge on Orm, the western isle that turns out hundreds like these each month, and the sulfur springs nearby make for high-grade powder. These pistols knew a master's touch; as weapons they are peerless."

                    "That... may have some bearing," Gilbert said, swallowing nervously; "tell me, what do you think of the new king?"



                    "He's worn the crown but a week; so far he seems a most capable and proactive monarch, if a somewhat heavy-handed one."



                    "You should know I come by way of Alistair, cousin of Dormot, and several of the other advisors," the falconer said.



                    "I wasn't aware there had been a meeting of advisors," said the other man. "Tell me, what business does the cousin of the old king have with Tristan, Duke of Isles?"



                    "It was not, ah, an official meeting," Gilbert replied, "but that is only fitting, as Torak continues to deny our requests to form an official House of Lords."



                    “Ah,” Tristan said, settling back in his seat; “I believe I understand now.”



                    The falconer looked around nervously before leaning forward a bit and speaking in a low tone. “A king who denies a House of Lords is a king who cares not for the nobility of the land.”



                    “I see,” Lord Tristan replied. “I fail to see why this would concern me.”



                    “Your voice will not be heard by Torak, you and your people are subject to his whims. All the nations troubles in the hands of one man? How is this eve logical?”



                    “I say let him have it,” Tristan said, his grey eyes showing a lack of interest in the subject. “That’s less to worry about.”



                    “Don’t be a fool, Lord Tristan. If he fails to recognize the rightful place of nobility, how long will it be before he fails to recognize the rights to taxes, to land, to lineage? These are not minor ramblings of jealous nobles, this is a serious concern,” Gilbert explained.



                    Tristan remained silent for a while, considering the falconers words.



                    “I must ask you, Lord Tristan… Where will you stand?”



                    * * *


                    (TAG: Ves)
                    The organ is grinding but the monkey won't dance.

                    Comment


                    • #25
                      Mustering all his courage, Torak demanded, "Who dares to commit such disgrace against a Prince of the Realm?"

                      The raspy breathing continued, regular and slow and menacing.

                      "Show yourself this instant!" Torak shouted again, his voice failing as the last syllable caught in his throat.

                      "Very well," hissed the voice, laughing a little as the cavern filled with a thick violet smoke. Torak shielded his eyes against the stinging bright light. Opening them slowly, he found himself face to face with a malevolent little gnome who sat grinning up at him from his place on a large flat boulder. Torak at once had to stifle a laugh. So much turbulence caused by such a silly-looking little creature? He had half a mind to slay him then and there, but the gnome caught sight of the flicker in his eyes and snapped preemptively,

                      "My dear Prince, you are in no position to resist me."

                      "Who are you and what do you want?"

                      "I am Prostu, the most cunning and, dare I say, evil, creature in the kingdom! You, my dear Prince, are in graaaaaave danger!"

                      "Why would I want anything to do with you?"

                      "Oh, it's not about what you want. You see, my arch-rival in wizardry is now leading a plot to overthrow your kingdom and it would be most disappointing to me if he were to prove his skill with such a grand scheme! My most self-righteous and fussy prince, you may not like me, but one must fight fire with fire, isn't that so?"

                      (TAG: Usoki)
                      My sanity, my soul, or my life.

                      Comment


                      • #26
                        "If you say so, gnome."

                        "Ooh, but I do!" cackled Prostu. "In fact, I suspect that you are being possessed by a shadow wraith, even as we speak! If you don't let me help you, it'll have complete control over your body by the end of the week."

                        "Fascinating," said Torak, looking around for his horse. "But, I feel I should warn you about something, friend gnome. Caerse always told me not to take advice from mysterious woodland creatures."

                        "What!? No!" cried Prostu, losing what little composure he had. "Good grief, boy, can't you even pretend to put up a fight against the evil in your body!?" But it was no use- Torak had already left.

                        ________________________________


                        And so, that was how the evil gnome Prostu found himself in the court of Lord Tristan. Not as a warlock raining destruction down upon the castle, but as an ambassador of good will. After all, someone had to explain King Torak's new, more menacing personality.

                        (Tag: DEP)
                        Originally posted by Ryan_DuBois
                        Usoki, you're the crankiest asshole we know. Not that it's a bad thing, it just means that you smell funny and are best left hidden in darkness.
                        And it's embarrassing when you make any noise at all.

                        Comment


                        • #27
                          Contest is over. 'Tis bump time.
                          Originally posted by Ryan_DuBois
                          Usoki, you're the crankiest asshole we know. Not that it's a bad thing, it just means that you smell funny and are best left hidden in darkness.
                          And it's embarrassing when you make any noise at all.

                          Comment

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