Chapter 4

The decisions of the council and the intricacies of magic. How does this mysterious force affect the lives of those whom dwell on/in Elszsris?

Chapter 4

“By the men whom raise us and the women who bear our flesh unto this world, I swear, I swear with all my vigor and life that ne’er will you succeed, ne’er shall joy you see, ne’er ne’er ne’er” " R’diochaus of The Starhand.

Night had fallen, but still stirred many in the capital of Moria. Among those who stirred was the queen’s knight: Raal Tjin. Eyes averted from the beauty of the night sky, he walked, already past the walls of the castle stronghold. It was an escape of sorts, but only a momentary respite. Yes, he knew this quite well.

Still, he was not alone, never alone. The whispers and the memories would never allow him that, not even in that moment, or the next.

Chitin broke beneath the blows of his blade, crushed and split by its deadly edge. Torn asunder by the precision, created by skills long since honed to near perfection. The blood, it was the blood that lit up his eyes, but again his soul dropped further, realizing once more what he was doing, the death that followed in his wake.

Rage filled the well in his chest, blocking out all else and seeping further, filtered into hatred, to shroud his mind. It all became a horrid screen of bloodlust, instigated by terror and by them. Even in his blood-crazed stupor it never ceased to amaze him. It never ceased to appall him that they would turn him to a weapon despite the danger he posed to them and theirs.

He could not fathom them, he could not put logic to their behavior and he could never figure why. That was what bothered him so. It tore at him that never could he understand the reason behind this…this torment.

He shivered in his entirety, pressing his hands to his temples and falling to a crouch. This had been painful, that was rare, but it meant something. It meant that only one thing could follow. It meant he had to find sanctuary at once. So he stood, barely able to focus, and forced himself to run towards the trees.

He would not allow this to happen here, he would do his best to contain it, even knowing that it would increase tenfold his own suffering. Such was his devotion to his kin, to the people of Moria. Such was his devotion to his own morals, even if he could not always adhere to them.

Even though his mind was not his own, even though he was, but a puppet, a tool, in the hands of his betters, of his queen, of Monea.

It was for all these things that he ran, for them and more. For his mind was not his own, but it was he who did not know to whom it truly belonged. It was he and those who thought themselves his masters that were so gravely mistaken. It was he who held a key.

- - - - -

Trudging the woodland pathways, above the others which dwelled within, ahead of them in many a way, many yes, of course. Yet he was not, he was merely among them yet not one of them. Still it was strange to hear such fast steps, even when he owned them, though he did not.

They were but a few good meters from him, though a good fifty or so as it would be. He did not mind investigating them, it was not as if there was danger to sense. At least, at the time of that thought there hadn’t been, for following that moment there was a scream, no, a howl of pain and of rage. It had the smell, or was it the taste, of violence to it. “I have said it once and I’ll say it again:

Too many times do I act before I think and too many times am I contradicted by the reality of things. Hahaha, and they say age brings one wisdom”! The shrouded figure gesticulated as if he were making his point to someone, though he was certainly alone.

Alone of course was a strange word to use, he pondered as he approached the howling, it seemed to come from a clearing far beyond his sight. Yes, he could see that much. He could taste and smell and feel far more, but that was not the point at all. No, not even in the slightest was it the purpose of his ponderings.

‘AHHHHHHHHHHH’ the figure stopped briefly in his tracks, a feeling of puzzlement and wariness overtaking him before he quickly continued. That had been a howl of the mind, a call for help, for release from torment. It reminded him of something, something he had gone through once long ago.

Shaking away the beginnings of nostalgia, the figure, who was often called Paradox, soon grew tired of walking towards the somewhat far locale. While he had not had to change his course "as he’d been on his way somewhere"he had already traveled quite far by foot and so was tired. So he raised a hand to the sky, the hidden eyes of his continence seeming to glimmer from beneath the shroud of his hood, and spoke a tongue that no one, but the most powerful and adept could ever hear.

What followed was a twisting of space, his space, and then transference as he swiftly vanished and reappeared elsewhere. He had teleported, plain and simple. Now he stood only four paces from the clearing in the center of which was a lad unknown to him, a lad who was laced with pain, and who stood at the center of what the Paradox could only guess was a phantasmal horde of…of something he rather not name.

He saw the lad, no a knight, attacking the phantom beasts with relish, a certain madness in the stranger’s eyes. Then again, who was the stranger, the knight, or the Paradox? Likely both, as neither knew the other.

It was at this point that the Paradox promptly ceased his ponderings and narrowed his eyes, eyes that, like the rest of his features, could not be seen beneath his hood, even if light were shone within.

He took action even as the knight again swung his blade, its edge cutting straight through one of the phantoms and splitting it into two more adversaries. The Paradox again raised his arms. He closed his shrouded eyes and took in a deep breath, his figure rising from a slouch to its full height.

The clearing began to light up in a column and the entire place came to life. What animals were present froze in their burrows and homes in a strange awe, neither frightened nor attracted to the strange light. The phantoms were however another story; they were quite displeased with all the brightness and instead of simply staring they lit afire, adding to the now blinding illumination within the clearing. Their illusionary screams brought a new type of horror to the situation and the knight collapsed.

Even as the Paradox sought to approach, an emanation greater than he’d seen in many years erupted from the knight’s now drooping body. ‘A barrier,’ the seasoned bard thought to himself as he nearly ran into the pulsating field. Chuckling as if the situation were not at all a dire one, the Paradox laid his hand upon the shimmering wall and simply pushed through it.

It was nothing to him, for too simple was the protection for it to impede him. As such he continued on towards the knight whose head remained bowed as he knelt upon the ground, body barely held up. Then, only a man’s length from the knight, the paradox stopped his approach and watched, his hidden eyes observant of the unmoving figure.

Mist and shadows began to spread, writhing within one another upon the forest floor. The figure shifted his weight just as he did his perception and so the world changed before his eyes.

Colors, patterns, sounds, and sensations surrounded him, weaving into and out of each other with ease as they had forever. The bard’s eyes however, remained focused upon the knight and it was here that he saw a twisting vortex that most others would not have known was there. A dangerous thing, but above all else there was something that intrigued the mysterious paradox. A clear coloration and tendrils of dark purple and black, tendrils of energy, something not of this realm, of course none of the energies he saw were of the physical realm parse.

Hogwash and blasphemy, none of it mattered, all that was evident and pivotal was the red of primal pain that the paradox saw emanating from the knight, that and the abysmal fog. It neared him now, so quick was he to act, eyes roving over the dark patterns and probes making contact with the forces as he again, slowly now, continued his approach to the knight.

The mist cried, a somber tone released, as if a child wailed, as his power hit each and every of its weak points. The mist practically crumbled and twisted in on it as its stability was removed. To the onlooker it would appear as if the writhing mist were parting before the spellcaster and withering away as he passed.

Finally, the bard reached the knight; his power "as it often, if not always, did"had triumphed over that which opposed him. Now however, came the difficult part for he had to do something for the young knight before him. Something indeed….

The man stirred slightly before him and words were uttered, words that the ancient bard could not quite hear. “Mmm…speak up lad,” the vortex fluctuated as paradox spoke and slowly but surely the knight’s head rose till the glowing eyes laid rest upon the shrouded visage of a man.

“Arcus,” the knight begun at which point the paradox’s hidden eyes widened and quickly he covered the remaining 3 feet and placed his hand on the knight’s head. A shock ran through his being, but it was the knight whose pain was greater and it was the knight whose body shook with the contact as with swift and precise control he was purged.

The knight’s shaking did not stop even as the paradox dared lift his hand from the lad’s head. The eyes no longer shone. “Good, good, you seem much improved I’d say,” the bard said with a slight smile on his forever hidden face. The knight merely stared, blank faced, empty eyed, at the man before him.

The visage tilted its head and then, in a sudden rush of energy, the knight rose to his feet, backed away several steps, and grasped his blade tightly in his hands. “Well, what a greeting this is to one who gave you aid,” the bard quipped in response, the shroud of his hood making him entirely unreadable to Raal as he stared, eyes no longer blank, at the shrouded figure.

“You…what did you?” His voice was still weak as it reached the paradox who seemed to chuckle. “Why, I purged you of whatever nastiness that was.” There was no further explanation and while Raal did not trust the strange man, he sheathed his blade, Raielna, till he might need it. However, he got the feeling that even had he faced the man, his efforts would have been as meaningful and as effective as those of a pebble in the face of a bear.

“Oh good, now at least we can talk without enmity. After all, I do think you are the perfect man for the job.” Raal frowned, eyes filled with confusion “j-job?” he questioned, his head tilting slightly.

“Why yes, a job, a message rather. To be delivered to the gracious monarchs of "it was monarchs wasn’t it"yes I believe it was, of Moria.” Raal’s eyes lit up with understanding and had he seen the paradox’s face, there would have been a smile. “What is this message then?” Raal asked the man, tone now more official and business-like than before. “Why, merely that preparations are to be made for the morrow. The council does near of course. They did send for us did they not?” The knight seemed thrown off a moment, the bard realized. “Merely tell them that preparations are to be made, that is all they must know in truth. Worry not for whom, they will know since you do not.”

Then as simple as that, the man turned from him, robes whirling slightly, and walked to the edge of the clearing. Raal, at the last moment, took several steps towards the man, and raised his hand as he moved to speak. However, just as he did, the paradox turned to him and for a moment the knight could see something utterly unfathomable. As he did words were mouthed, a smile plainly on the paradox’s face, and he vanished.

All Raal knew is that while nothing stirred in the world, as if there had been no sound, he had heard something. He had heard the man tell him to be careful, he had heard him say words that, while the knight knew not, could not have been heard by any other ears. Words that could only be heard by the most powerful and adept of bards; yet Raal was no bard so he knew not the significance of the happening.

So as he turned and began his way back to the castle, his brow furrowed slightly in confusion as his mind played over the encounter countless times. He knew then that the next day would be filled with surprises. He just hoped that they would be pleasant.

The paradox however, knew that they would be interesting, and he knew that the man who called himself a knight was far more. Far more than any other bard was or could be, any other, but perhaps he. For, he was the great R’diochaus and it had been ages since any man had come close to his might, not that he was proud of it or anything. It was simply a part of him that was all; simply a part.

- - - - -

Past the gates and their guards, within the walls and under the cover of night. While there was no true need for stealth, the knight, the queen’s knight, walked the grounds with a veiled form, skirting the darkness of corridors and moving with silent footfalls.

He allowed himself no time to admire the tapestries and other likewise decorations around him as he traversed the castle in search of his queen. Even as he did thoughts swarmed through his mind, muddling his wit with each of their movements. Who? This was the chief question that ran through his mind in these moments. He still did not know the identity of the figure that had approached him in his fit. Though, he admitted that he was grateful, the experience had not been a pleasant one "not that they ever were.

“Well good evening sir Raal,” a familiar voice chimed from his left, for he had just been passing an intersection of corridors. As he turned to acknowledge the man, for it must indeed be a man, he noted that it was Mariat who had greeted him. ‘Damn…I cannot afford to be followed, nor can I afford this distraction,’ even as he fretted within, he made no sign that he was bothered by the elf-ish man’s presence, in fact, he smiled and nodded his head to their guest. “Yes, good evening Mariat. I trust that you’re getting along well.” All pleasantries of course, but it was something he figured he’d have to do. It made him seem much less suspicious really.

“Oh I am getting along just fine, thank you for the consideration general Raal.” The man smiled, his eyes shining with mirth as they always did. Raal nodded his head and bowed slightly “well, I have business to attend my friend. I suggest the night air, it is quite pleasant tonight,” the knight then turned from Mariat and took a step before he heard “then you must join me!”

The knight ground his teeth and scowled, his face out of the man’s sight. As he turned he was again all pleasantness “I sadly must decline. The business is of much import and I’ve already tired of the night air. I took a stroll earlier you see. Have a wonderful night milord.” Bowing once more, Raal turned from the bard and quickened his pace; he’d lost good time.

However, behind him the bard looked on, his eyes narrowing slightly even as a smirk lit on his face. “Amusing,” the green-haired bard said as he weaved a pattern with his hand and quietly spoke several words. As the final word was said he decided to pursue the knight and so he did.

- - - - -

Unaware of all else, Raal reached the library’s entrance and moved through entirely unimpeded. Continuing on he found the correct place near the window and as he did he laid his hands on the stone sill and closed his eyes. Quietly, the door swung shut behind him as another slipped in.

The other felt it as a weak probe was sent out, the knight knew some magic it seemed, how intriguing. Of course, he should not have been too surprised by that. Instead, it was the knight’s next action that surprised the hidden man.

“Arcus, Kihalk Monea,” ‘a calling?’ the bard thought as he heard the knight utter words that few bards dared use. Deciding he was not close enough, Mariat tentatively shifted his position, daring to near the knight further. Not that he could be seen that is. For the bard had already cast a spell of concealment, neither sound nor sight would give him away that was for sure.

Watching closely the knight’s strange behavior, and now able to hear in his position, he easily ordained the importance of the knight’s alleged business.

“My queen, preparations are to be made on the morrow. Soon there will be an arrival. I was not told whom, that is all milady.”

It was a very simple relay of information and while it was not very much, it was all Mariat needed to know. Of course, it was not the message itself that interested the bard, no; rather it was the tone with which Raal had said it. There had been trepidation, confusion, and most of all; the knight had said it quietly. Not only that, he had made sure, to the best of his abilities, that only he would hear, as if it were to be a secret. Yes, something was certainly afoot, and speaking of such he ought be off before the knight disallowed his exit.

At that thought, Raal turned from the window, seeming relieved, and walked to the door. Mariat quietly and with great care, followed the knight out after which he took a different corridor entirely. His destination was surely not the same as the queen’s knight, he was heading for his companion’s chambers.

- - - - -

It did not take long to reach his friend and it took even less time to wake him. Even the explanation took very little time. It was the discussion that followed that appeared as if it would last till morning, much to the annoyance of the stout dwarf.

“This couldn’t have waited it seems. Still, this is difficult. While you may have known, I did not expect them so soon.” Shaking his head, the dwarf gritted his teeth as he thought while his co-conspirator watched in what seemed to be some sort of amusement. “Damn you bard, out with it!” He said with a scowl as he quickly lit several candles in the chamber that he had chosen to rest in.

It was of cold design, obviously meant for a guest of lower class, or more likely the servants of the castle. Yet, it suited G’hros quite nicely with its grey stonewalls and single low window. The bed and dresser were even plain rather than embroidered with gold and other such foolishness. No, he only needed the amenities, nothing else. “It was a secret G’hros, the knight wanted none but himself and the queen to know, as if there was some plan, some other agenda.”

The bard seemed rather excited, the dwarf noted to himself. With the candles lit, he sat at the small desk that he had made his own. “Most intriguing,” the dwarf half muttered to himself. This was important and if they could find out more perhaps they could blackmail their way to what they sought. “Yes, this will do nicely. Mariat, I want you to find out more. I’ll do my own…digging.”

The bard nodded to himself as his companion gave him his agenda. For, while they were essentially equals in their partnership, G’hros was far more used to manipulation of a grand scheme than he was. “I will do as such, it shall be fun!” the merchant waved him off, but did not quite imply that he should leave. “Do you think that they might know of what we seek?”

The merchant shook his head, but not in the negative, rather it was a habit that he had. It showed the bard that his friend still pondered the implications of it all. “This means something, but I cannot yet put my finger on it. We need more, leave me Mariat, now is not the time for discussion. I must sleep on this, we will speak…later.” The elf-ish man nodded once more and with simple motions vanished from the room, he would reappear in his own quarters G’hros was sure.

Yes, this was all going well, very well actually. They already had leads as to how they would locate the artifact. “Carnathian…yes, soon you will be within our clutches, but for now I will rest assured that you are at least coming into sight.” The ambitious merchant for once smiled, a broad evil thing on his gruff features. He had never liked his smile, and so it soon vanished, just as did the candlelight as he snuffed out each of the wicks.

Returning to his bed, the merchant laid a while in silence, eyes gazing at the ceiling and tracing the ornate patterns on its surface. He shivered and pulled the covers over himself, though he knew the sensation had little to do with the cold. Instead, he knew the feeling to come from his markings. Sighing, G’hros closed his eyes, a slight smile briefly playing his lips. “Yes, and once you are ours, once again can the might of the Akbari be known all across Elszris. Then, and only then, can she again spread her influence…” he began to drift off, and as he did the words rung through his mind once more; ‘Yes, only then can Kihalk fall.’