Oria - October 17, 2006 04:55 PM (GMT)
The world sounded as if ocean waves crested and smashed against rocks. The swirling power of the depths risen as a fist to rail upon rock in thunderous strokes that shook the earth. The air filled with the sound as rain fell. Among the temples, the bloodsworn of Hakkar stayed within their huts. None wished the displeasure of the skycaller Shango. The hunters called to their chosen as the priestesses wailed and moaned begging forgiveness unto the altars.
The skies wept. The ground was a charred thing from Shango's stormspear. The trees shook until leaves and fronds fell to cover the jungle floor in a sea of green. But even this was dangerous, the edges sharp as axe blades honed for the rituals of sacrifice. Nothing in rage was ever blissful.
Yet one walked among the rain that seared, the flashes of angry lightening, the leaves that cut as diamond. And as he past, this loa of legend's waking, the trolls spat and hissed their curses. Traitor they called him, the back marked in yellows, the face without paint of blood, yet always he was Zanza. And of them all, he understood the anger of his brother.
With slow deliberate steps, he moved among those trolls that hated him. Yet it was mandate of their god and all the loa that he was not to be touched. To touch the traitor would be a curse upon them. For in his magics were the tools of Hakkar's destruction. Step by step, he neared the temple's steps.
"Zan'ha la dee..." His words began. The prayer of insight, of foretelling, of power. "With each step, the hero be born. Blood o' da mothah, sweat o' da fathah, and the cries o ' da village." He stopped, knelt, and kissed the stone steps. It was ritual of his ways, protections aganist any other spirits upon his sacred altar. His voice was a whisper lost in the din of thunder that continued to roil the skies. "The wind call ya, speak ya name and send it about dis world. De stars burn as ya eyes, the promise o' de callin'." Onward he continued, until finally the summit was reached. Opening his hands, palms outward, he hummed in tune with the heart's beating.
Winds died down slowly, though the rain continued. And the terror of Shango's skies, the humming of Zanza, was broken by a new steady rythm.
War drums.
Opening his eyes, the father of heroes, the loa of the warrior's heart, look into the distance. Shango's terrible clouds broke and turned, leaving sated at the prmise of battle. And from the temple of Hakar, a terrible screech filled the air. A spinning dark cloud of bats moved as a cloak about their mother, this loa in flesh that returned to her altar with orders. "HIR'EEK!" The voice of splintering bamboo cried. "Give me wings of vengeance!"
"An' so it begins again. Dis war. Will it no end." Zanza knelt upon the stones of his temple. "Ya face dat changes, ya evil dat swallows all tings. Ula'Tek, how do ya let dis one rise again? Sistah, why let dis Hakkar come again?"
It seemed perhaps she answers as the far gates opened. And new blood was scented upon the air. "Da heroes...finally ya come."
Oria - October 17, 2006 05:18 PM (GMT)
"Look this place is filled with relics. And I think we need to take them. Like...ones of snakes...on shields...totally." Xerxces leaned back against a pylon as the thunderous sound of the stone gates closed behind them. It seemed a wise action to close them in case of patrols finding the way into their lands wide open.
Eirik and Stunty moved up to the lead, sweat pouring down their faces. This led of course to the popping open of ale in new gnomish containers. Nice and cold, crisp and clean. Ah ale. "Well we be done with that. Now! Onward, aye?"
Vond tapped his pipe dreamily watching Kathrynne for a moment before shaking back to the reality around him. "Hm, yes."
Oria kneeled with the other hunters, quietly placing bets on the beasts within, the best paths to take, while sniffing at the wind for any remaining patrols.
Yet of them all, gathered and assembled, one seemed rather pleased in a strange bitter way. Lotan folded his wings around him, body coiled around the limbs of a vine covered tree. The failing sunlight shimmered briefly on his scales, now bleached to silvery white from what none could say.
But he knew, all too well. Eyes once golden now flared in crimson light, bloody light. The visions were his now, gained in the temples of the Ata'lai. The damned druid with the gathering had watched him closely with those eyes, face hidden by a mask. During that journey, he feared she would sense the truth that his "keeper" could not.
Hissing in annoyance, he tried to gain a higher vantage, to listen, to sense. Split tongue flicking the wind, he scented and sought the new secret he held. Perhaps it would take ages for them to best Hakkar. But soon...ohhh soon...he would have the blood of that fiend's heart. Such things his patron promised if he became blooded of the soulflayer.
Slithering from his perch, wings catching the drifts of air, the once-son of Hakkar returned to his gathered heroes...to kill his father.
Oria - October 17, 2006 10:20 PM (GMT)
"Spiders! Horrible, horrible Spiders!" the warlock in her strange hood screeched and wailed, swinging her menacing jade blade. Lotan knew the name of this witch doctor called Khandra. This one and the priestesses of pure shadow he felt a strange kinship to. For they were like the women that would dance for him, spilling blood, offering themselves clothed in beads and lotus blossoms. Ah sometimes it was good to be the king's child.
The journeys within the jungle fortress of Hakkar were a painful thing for Lotan. Within his veins was the blood of Hakkar's mortal coil. Always he could hear the song of death and torture of the Soulflayer. At times, his thoughts fell away, replaced with base desire and the old ways of these people, the Ata'lai. And others, he tasted the sweetness of freedom. His first thoughts untouched by the once fallen were of simple things...when the priestess Anwynn smiled, touching his feathers not for the glory of Hakkar but to simply feel their softness. The offering of mana bread by his chosen Oria. The fashionable acceptence by his vain shadow Janlith.
Shaking his feathered head, the serpent coil his tail reflexively around his chosen. The bloodsong was growing stronger in the war drums. The Kaldorei growled low as his scales pinched too tightly as she sought to fire wave after wave of arrows. And the pale one, her mate, gave an offhand glare at him. Once he thought to strangle the life from this Theonalas, the hatred of his birth overwhelming him. Now, he simply did not care. And that was a sobering, welcome thing.
With a bonk upon his head, Lotan cringed closed his eyes, hissing with a flick of lightening along his spine. "I know your thoughts, Lotan," Oria whispered. "Leave those times behind you. Now let's deal with these hmm?" She ran fingers over the part of his head she whacked, healing away every pain. Eyes of red met the huntress', only to bow in submissive acceptence.
His tail loosened, slipping senously down her spine. Lotan understood. They both knew. A return to Hakkar would mean death or perhaps something worse. The night of mayhem, one of many, would be a triumph. If they followed the whispers, if they sought the enemies in just the right way, Hakkar would fall. And Lotan would gain true freedom. But the other thought passed between their eyes. If they failed, his scales would crumble into midnight and violet despair, forcing his soul to become nothing more than a keeper of the blood. A host of Hakkar like those in the swamp temple. Never to have his own desires and voice.
As the gathered heroes continued their onslaught through the denizens of Mar'li, Lotan turned his plumed head to the temple that stood only a little higher than Hakkar's. Can you see me, Zanza? Have I not sought all that you demanded? Am I not worthy of your blessing?
But his heart lurched, the hatred of Hakkar's bloodcall reaching out again. And for a moment, he raged, attacking every spider and troll in his path. Perhaps called by Oria...perhaps by Hakkar. But Lotan was beyond knowing.
Far in the temple, Zanza did indeed see. He watched them all. And again he sighed and waited. "Why does it always rain here... I canna see a ting!"
Oria - October 25, 2006 06:46 PM (GMT)
The rain would not stop in the constant cold drizzling. The sun's warmth had long since faded from the sky, bringing a murky gloom to the world. Mist rose from the ponds and rivers wending through the vale as ghosts. Tricks of eyes could make it seem they rose as trolls long since given unto Hakkar's altar, dancing to some song of the woeful chanting priestesses and witch doctors.
The gathering had made camp in the leeway of knobby trees and wide fronds. Every member of the war party hunkered in their armors together, making a repast of the meals they could. It took time to find a place among the jungle that might serve them best.
"Not worth hiding here. Hakkar's blood and eyes see all things. Harm nothing of the plants of this place. Through them, who can say what the soulflayer can do." Time to time, Elonwe's voice distrantly spoke as if from sleepwalking. At times, many thought she did.
Stunty and Eirik tossed bits of carved cork to the ground among their drinking. "All this here sneakin' is giving me a right chill. Aye, Stunty, let's just rush through and be done with."
The gray brows knit under his helm. "Aye, lad. That would seem right. But maybe this battle not something rushed. Reminds me of the time fancy pants an' I made land on the Savage Coast." The two continued their tales as others gathered to listen, seeking something of civilization in the wild land.
Rustling up into the trees, Lotan watched them all. Those that clung together would be the easy prey, and not worthy of the lord's altar. Flicking his forked tongure towards the edges, he spied others. Their backs turned to those within the knotwork of trees and vines to peer into the distance. These Hakkar would want.
With a snap, his wings took to the currents of breezes, looping and falling to some of these that gathered and spoke. Kathrynne sat on her feathery haunches, claws working at gears and whistles of something large and explosive. Vond's pipe puffed cicles of smoke around him, seeing things, or perhaps wishing himself blind. Slitting his eyes, Lotan knew his brain would be sought and devoured, how foolish trolls could be.
Landing upon the sandy ground, he pulled his wings close, slithering beyond. Through thick leaves and tumbled stones, he made his slow way. At times, he felt watched, considered. At others, it was simply shadow and old fears around him. Onward he left, deeper into the ruins of a place ancient even to these Ata'lai. They could never understand the realm of gods.
One step and then another, the world played in Lotan's vision as he finally unfurled his wings to rise in arcs to the mount.
"Zanzzzza." With each step he gained, he felt weaker, tired and heavy. Runes flared softly of gems inset in the steps. "Zanzzzza, we must sssspeak."
A ghost of a troll moved to the edge of the altar steps. Lights of blue fire burst to life around his head as a diadem of power. And those eyes, the amber of newly risen suns. Lotan shrunk from it, curling upon his tail, wings flexing outward to hide himself from it.
"Wat brings ya here, serpent? Hakkar dun have no powah in dis temple."
A whimpering hiss crept from Lotan's maw as he felt the weight of the loa's regard. "Once I wass serpent. But no longer. I have tasted it. Sought the tale sung from this place. I have begun the change." A wing pulled back ever so slightly, revealing one ruby eye. "Can you ssssee me Zanzzzza?"
Pain lanced through the serpent's head looking upon the loa as the globes of light crackled then disappeared. Blinking in the sudden gloom, Lotan was unsure what had happened.
"I see many tings, serpent. Ya dun changed. Scales white as bone. But dat dun mean ya changed inside. Der be a lesson in blood you dun understand. It because ya HIS blood. Not ya own. Return to ya fathah, serpent."
Blinking, flicking his tongue as quick as a hummingbird, Lotan could not find the spirit. The words were nothing more than a whisper on the wind. Bending low his head as his body coiled on the steps, he pondered the meaning. "Perhapsss he is right. Yet...I have a name! Lotan! I do...do I not?" Raising his head, he turned it to the temple's height, ready to try again.
Fingers and pain exploded around his head as if caught in a tiger's maw. The grip was steel holding his jaws from biting.
"So...snake. Why are you here, hmm?" The sweet voice of Janlith...how Lotan knew it all too well.
Oria - October 25, 2006 07:06 PM (GMT)
Rolling his eyes this way and that, tongue flicking when he could slip it between his jaws, Lotan regarded Janlith. Heat...blood...fear and rage! Feelings and emotions burned through the serpent as the hand held his head, the other flicking forth a dagger that gleamed of a jade death's head locked in a hollow scream about the blade.
The kaldorei was speaking, yet Lotan could not hear it. Blood pounded in his head, as the heavy drops of rain, the distance of drums. His body coiled, wrapping in deadly speed around Janlith's arm, along his shoulder, seeking his neck as scales changed into a fire of blood red. The ruby eyes envenomed in a haze of bloody mist as lightening crackled and sizzled through them both. Lotan could not sense Janlith rationally, wishing only to strangle, kill, devour.
Pain lanced through the membrane of wing as he was thrown down upon the steps of the altar. Such wounds might have turned him before, yet this blood rage would not be quelled. Rising before Janlith as he had against many foes before him, the serpent poised to kill. His prey moved into a deft dance, the ghost of death moving in slow swings to near for another marking on him.
How dare any of our mortal enemies of old touch my blood. Vengeance! KILL! The call sang in him, demanding. The very air hummed as blossoms openned around them from vines. In that moment, the soft pollen touching his tongue, sanity returned to Lotan. Flowers...flower. She called him her flower. Chosen...I..I am Lotan.
Slithering to the ground, folding his hurt wing close, Lotan lowered his head to the ground before Janlith. Closing his eyes, he simply waited. Zanzzzza...you are right...
The dagger pressed upon the scales behind the fallen plume of Lotan's head, readying for the strike--
--as explosions rocked the ground around them.
Both serpent and rogue turned to the encampment.
"HISSS!" Lotan cried!
"Damn!" Janlith huffed.
Elf or serpent, they spoke the same language.
Oria - October 25, 2006 07:46 PM (GMT)
The two looked to each other, regarding with long slitted looks.
Janlith moved his dagger tapping his chest then pointing it to the serpent. "You and I will continue this afterward. But do not for a moment think you are safe from my blade."
Lotan hissed, tongue rolling with a flick as his tail coiled under him then smacked outward in mockery of Janlith's motion. For just a moment, the rogue stopped. Perhaps to engage his lethal promise...perhaps something else.
Fire blossomed among the trees as the rain froze in elegant crystals in the trees above. Kathrynne's bombs were being tossed one after another as Stunty's own were pin pulled while still strapped to his body, as he chopped away and embraced enemies.
Blinking from sight to appear elsewhere with a concentrated eep, Vond gathered and moved the trolls to hold them in ice, ripping through their bodies with the arcane force of his will. At times, that power overwhelmed him as Kathrynne laid her clawed hands upon his shoulders.
Calls were given from others to defend the healers as mystical light enveloped Branwinn and Kellessa, answering their prayers to bind wounds and bring peace to hearts. A war party neared behind the healers raising spears...only to suddenly disappear amid the growls of cats and shaking of foliage. As Vervienne laid waste with swipes of paws, her roars that of the mighty bear spirit, Keja pounced and held those that ran with the verocity of the cat spirit.
A blooddrinker raised a horn to her lips, giving cry for reinforcements as she leapt from her raptor. Sliding free her serrated blade, Theonalas' wolf Ranad stood in her path, fur of midnight, eyes of the moon. With a mornful howl, a rain of arrow shot pummeled into the troll, holding her feet to the ground as a grinning human all girth and terrifying grins laid into her. "Got another one!" Xerxces yelled.
It was into this fray, Janlith slipped into shadows. They would need his aid, for the trolls had their own sneaky ways. Lotan floated behind him, rising into the treelimbs. War had come, wave upon wave. Blood washed into the waters of the river as he spied the unfolding scene. As it entered the water, it would feed Hakkar. And yet...tilting his serpentine head low, something of those that entered and how they simply railed into death spoke of...of...the knowledge sparked in his mind. Hissing as loud as he could, he dove among the trees seeking his chosen.
"Where have you been, Lotan? Nevermind! I've never seen patrols such as these in these walls. No beasts roam with them." She notched arrow after arrow as the hiss became more insistant. Although bound, she was still learning his voice. Corelua had ages upon ages to learn to speak.
CHOSEN! Oria's eyes watered from the pain of the voice. Turning her eyes to the serpent, she noticed the rip along his wing. Holding forth her hand, the power welled within the touch, bonding them tighter. Chosen! Thessse are of Jin'do! They die to rise! BUUURN them!
Eyes locked, she sensed for a fleeting moment something of the serpent's thoughts. A puzzling mystery and inner conflict, images of blood and death...rising from the ground.
"Hunters! Lay traps of fire! We need to burn these! Do we still have any bombs left?" Working in concert, the gathered heroes dealt with the trolls. They hacked into them, pulling those they could to fires set. Choking clouds rose around them.
Lotan waited, coiling carefully around his chosen as the deed was done, whispering hisses of how to deal with remains, ashes, and bones. Althought strange, it seemed perhaps best when dealing with things in the territory of gods. Yet meeting eyes again, the two knew it would only lead to more questions.
"How do you know these things, Lotan?" Moving apart, Oria ran her bloodtinged fingers over his crown of scaled feathers. Flicking his tongue, he sensed the rogue near.
Moving to view her eyes, he pressed again to her, as before. Sensing something of his need to communicate, Oria tugged away a glove, pressing her hand to his jaw. Murmuring words under her breath, the spirit bond was formed between them.
"I wasss not just a serpent. Chosen...I am...hissss blood. I know becassse he wishess usss to know. It isss the way of being a son of Hakkar."
Eyebrows rising, the huntress settled upon a rock. "This is going to be a long night hmm?"
Oria - October 30, 2006 09:04 PM (GMT)
Theonalas brooded with concern. Watching the two locked in stares, the beast hissing, Oria grunting, gave the hunter a sense of a conversation. Long ago, he had learned those things beautiful in nature were far more deadly than those ill kept. With scales that glimmered as mooncloth, eyes of deepest ruby, this beast was truly majestic in such beauty. Yet there she sat, his heart talking plainly with the beast she rescued from this place. Testing the line of his bow, he made way near, wondering at her naivete sometimes.
Feeling a hand on her shoulder, Oria turned her eyes to Theonalas'. Her lips turned into a smile though he could see concern etched along her face. "What troubles you, love?"
Oria reached out a hand, seeking his. Leaning her head against Theonalas' shoulder, she murmured to him as Lotan curled around her shoulders. "Lotan...something is strange in his tale. I'm just a little tired. Speaking with him is still a new thing. His mind is quick and strange, at times bloodthirsty, at others..so...serpentine? He slithers so between thoughts and ideas, not so simple a beast."
Her head tilted slightly. "Not too long ago, I sought a windserpent with wings of gold and orange. I called him Coralfyr. For a time, we wandered, though he was never talkative, never so...opinionated? He was a rough beast only, nothing of him beyond a need for survival." Her fingers trailed along Lotan's scales that moved as water around her shoulders. "Yet Lotan...his thoughts...he thinks like you and I. I don't entirely understand, my poet, but he calls himself a son of Hakkar. As if...is blood and bond is born of the godling." He eyes searched Theonalas' for a moment. "How can such a thing be?"
Touching her cheek, he wished to give her some answer. But this was a new thing to them both. Yet in him, a wonder and concern rose. If they faced Hakkar, would the beast turn upon them? Had he already? "I have no doubt of your skill, star, but I am troubled of him. Perhaps you should call Corelua to your side?"
Yet they both knew. This was the test of the beast, a testament of what may come.
But Lotan could care less. He had coiled about, laying his head under a wing, slipping into sleep and dreams.
Oria - October 31, 2006 07:34 PM (GMT)
Fingers were on his feathers. They touched at the base along his forehead, sliding along to the edges, making them rise and flutter into a crown of silver. Soft cooing and purring voices velvety moved around him, as waves of the ponds against rocks. Lilting, strong, like the touch that slowly woke him.
Blinking ruby eyes, the serpent slithered up in an arch. Every muscle stretched and turned as the fingers continued their movements along his backscales, around his coiled body, to the length of his tail's tip. Hissing in his delight, Lotan flexed his wings, the membrane and soft scales a glimmering of silver and pink in the firelight.
And such fires were built around him in braziers. Lotus and blindweed burned long into the night. Smoke rose around the bodies of the ladies as sinuous as their dancing.
She of the Crimson Tears...Anwynn...moved her hips this way and that. Robes of midnight hues swished around her feet. Her hands rose above her as if reaching to the moon that shown upon them. Her lips remained in a strange meloncholy smile. As she neared him, bending low to again preen his feathers, he hissed a welcome.
And soon, another beauty appeared. Shorter, heavy with child, yet skin flushed in that beauty of creation, the dwarven Branwinn in flowing mooncloth neared. She moved in slow curves, turning and turning, beads of wooden frogs hanging around her neck.
Among them came the seer, Elonwe. She swayed in wraps of leather, held by simple jutting bits of bone. In her hands she held a skull with flowers set in the eyes. From the carved out space was nector of many blossoms.
Ahh...how they touched his feathers and danced. The druids were all near, in their catlike forms, beating on drums with their paws and the men were subjugated into service, bond and forced to the ladies' whims. And that pompous one, Janlith, with his hair all a mess, no where near the beauty of Lotnan---
COLD. SO COLD!
Lotan woke sputtering as a large leaf dumped its held waters from the rain. Gasping, staring about, he realized there were no fires, no dancing women. Just himself, these heroes, and stale sogy cookies.
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