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Post by Tasá on Jun 3, 2007 9:00:32 GMT -5
Calil frowned. Daemons and Engels had two souls? It was difficult enough to imagine that daemons had a soul at all, but two?
“So, all the Menace Races, umm, I mean, all the other races have two souls?” The daemons had stiffened at the name ‘Menace Races’ but Fëa managed a very forced smile. “No, witches have one soul, and Lizads? We do not know. They have never been on friendly terms with us, they are not beings of magic, just highly evolved, so we presume that they have just the one.” “You believe that they have a soul? But they’re so… so evil!” Calil spluttered. “That doesn’t mean that they don’t have a soul or believe in souls.” Calil fell quiet. She didn’t want to believe that Lizads were anything but evil, it was enough that these daemons were asking her to re-evaluate her opinion about them. Fëa, ceasing this sudden quiet as an opportunity to continue on with her story, started talking again.
“Anyway, this magical object we are searching for, not much can be learnt about it, because it was such a powerful weapon and tool, it was decreed that little should be written about it, and that it should not be used, unless it was necessary. All we do know is that it was only used once, in the Dragon War, and that was before humans came from the North to dwell in the South, and after that it was guarded by a very powerful family of witches. Now witches can live for a long time by human standards, but they are by no means immortal. They can live for about 200 years, and when one guardian died, they would pass the guardianship of the object down onto their child.” “What exactly is this thing? What does it look like?” Calil asked, and the daemon looked annoyed by another interruption. “Only two of us are old enough to remember.” She said sighing. “It is the most deadly weapon that exists, and the bearer-“ Fëa paused, considering. “It attaches onto the bearer’s hand, a green gem that glowed with power. Because of it’s potency, we cannot allow Akkor to come into possession of it. What we have guessed though, is that Ikta ordered Lizads to attack this family of witches centuries before Akkor was born.” “Ikta is the King’s sorcerer right?” Calil asked. “Yes. Although don’t be fooled by the fact that he wears the mask of servitude. He will only pretend to serve the King for as long as it suits him, he’s just using Akkor. What he really wants is this magic. As soon as Akkor retrieves this thing for him, then we are almost certain that Ikta will kill Akkor and claim his throne for himself. If he allow him to get that far, if we fail, I dread to think what Ikta will do with all that power and control of Tímtáe. He will probably enlist the help of the Lizads to take over every realm in this world.”
Calil gulped at the thought. Any man who willingly associated with Lizads had to be evil, and the thought that such a man was the King’s sorcerer and advisor was a terrible thought. Calil had always known that there were many who despised the King, a lot of people found it suspicious that anyone found continually badmouthing the King in public had something bad happen to them, like losing their business, getting found for some obscene crime, or losing a family member, but any sensible person knew enough not to say anything about it. What she had heard all her life from people probably employed by the King was that King Akkor did all he could to keep his people safe, and that he couldn’t please everybody. Now the daemons had put all these schemes and plots into her head and given her a different view on things. She knew King Akkor had lived for a long time, she had heard rumours that even the Elder’s claimed that he was King when their grandparents were alive, but she had dismissed such a notion as foolish and an over-exaggeration. Now she wasn’t so sure. Before now, she had never wasted too much thought on thinking about her ruler, he had never played an important part in her life. But still, what did the daemons want with her in all this?
It took Calil a few seconds before she realised that Fëa was talking again. “…when these witches were attacked, we think that one of the guardian’s daughters escaped. We know she did not return to the Wittwood, probably because she certain she was being followed and would be hunted and did not want to bring war on her people. So she hid the weapon and went to live in a town in Tímtáe. Once there, she knew that she would have to fit in, so cast a spell so that her life, and the lives of all her descendants would be as short as humans were, and also that her powers and all their powers would like dormant. We think that she might have had a vision, for witches have very strong and spontaneous flashes of the future, and many prophetic dreams, and we think that she knew that she and those of her bloodline would be hunted, and the best way she knew to protect them all was if they did not know of their ancestry.”
Fëa gave Calil an expectant look and Calil stared blankly back at her. “What?” Then it hit her, these daemons thought that she was a witch! A descendant of this guardian, the person they had been looking for. But that was impossible, she couldn’t be, she was just a normal, average, human being. There was nothing special about her and there never would be. “That’s just absurd!” she spluttered, her eyes running from one daemon to the next. “I can’t be…” “I hope you are, or we made a terrible mistake and the Lizads will want to make sure you’re just an average girl for themselves.” “So, you drag me away from my home, and then when you let me go, I’ll have Lizads hunting me?” “The Lizads were hunting you anyway.” The daemon called Mordae said. “The ones that ambushed Fëa, Tripp and yourself on your way here, they will have been on their way to capture you, found you gone, and realised that we had beaten them to it.” Calil paled as she thought of what could happen if all of this was actually true. “What about my mother?” “Dormant powers get more difficult and more dangerous to unlock with age. Your mother is practically useless in helping us find what she need. Also, we think you are much more powerful than your mother.” “I meant, is she in danger?” “Fëa’s eyes looked troubled for a split second. “There is no way to be sure. We think she would have been in more danger if you had stayed. When myself and Tripp arrived in Gairlich to fetch you, we went a messenger to your mother to warn her. We told the messenger to tell her the danger she was in, and that you would be safer with us. We don’t know what happened, our messenger never returned.” “Fëa, stop giving her reason to worry.” Darga warned. “I’m giving her the truth, that’s what she wanted.” Fëa replied, with a slight hiss creeping into her voice. Darga’s brow creased into a slight frown then he turned his attention to Calil. “I’m sure your mother is perfectly safe.”
Silence enveloped the room as Calil crept back into her own thoughts. “How will I know for sure?” she asked in a small voice. “If you’re right about me being a witch that is.” “A witch is coming to test you tomorrow.” Fëa replied. “Then I can go home as soon as she finds out that you made a mistake?” Fëa’s eyebrow rose and she nodded ever so slightly. “If that is the case.” She said slowly, almost cautiously. “But I would think that she will find you to be the descendant of the guardian.” “If you do turn out to be a witch Calil, you do realise that we will need your help to find that magical artefact before Akkor does.” Darga said calmly. “And you were lecturing me on scaring her.” Fëa muttered. Darga frowned and then rose to his feet. “I think that is all for tonight. This meeting has ended.” “But-” Calil stammered, as all the other daemons rose and filed out of the room. “No buts. Goodnight.”
Flinching as Fëa laid a hand on her shoulder, she allowed the daemon to lead her back to her room. Her mind was so preoccupied, that whilst she was climbing the stairs, she barely noticed the protests from her legs. She vaguely heard Fëa telling her that if she had any problems her room was the second one along from hers and bidding her goodnight. Calil permitted her tired feet to wander in the direction of her bed and she collapsed on it. She tried to concentrate on the ceiling, scrutinising every detail of it, but found doing so was extremely difficult. How could she when her mind was elsewhere? So much had happened she couldn’t possibly mull over it all. When she finally made the effort to change into the sleepwear provided, she found that sleep did not come easily. She couldn’t be a witch, and that was final. The daemons would realise this and promptly send her home, in disgust probably, but what then? She’d work something out. She sighed and screwed her eyes tightly shut, trying to will way all thought. She tried to imagine herself back in her own bed in Gairlich, but that only brought pangs of homesickness. Eventually, pure exhaustion led her into a deep sleep.
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Post by Tasá on Jun 3, 2007 9:01:38 GMT -5
Chapter 8 Calil woke up late after a night of restless sleep and the usual nightmares. She had woken up before dawn, and fallen into a deep, dreamless sleep after that. She scowled at the blinding light coming in through the window, cursing at the fact that she had neglected to draw the curtains the night before.
Groggy, she finally rolled out of the warm and comfortable bed and wandered towards the wardrobes that took up an entire wall. She found some were filled with clothes, whilst others just had areas to store things if the occupant didn’t want all their stuff cluttering the room. The clothes the daemons had provided for her looked to be just about the right size, after trying several on and making a neat pile of those that didn’t fit, she finally settled on a simple long brown skirt and simple loose white top, similar to what she normally wore back home. She had just finished combing her hair when a knock sounded on the door.
Calil made her way there, not bothering about hurrying to answer it, and as the door opened soundlessly she saw Fëa standing there, with her hand raised as if she had been about to knock again. The daemon smiled as soon as she saw her. “Good morning.” Calil greeted, if not somewhat forcefully, for Fëa was still not in her most human-like form, and Calil wondered if she was still recovering from her poisoned wound. “Good afternoon Miss Sleepy-head!” Fëa replied, then cast a sceptical look at what Calil was wearing. “For Chark’s sake get changed girl. Didn’t anyone tell you I’m going to start your training today?” “Training?” Calil spluttered, fragmented memories of the daemon’s meeting last night rushing back to her recently awakened mind, but she could not recall anyone ever mention anything about training. “Oh. Yeah I remember now…” Fëa said suddenly, her black eyes strangely seeming to be focusing on something behind Calil, as if she was remembering something. “Tripp was supposed to tell you, but he was a little, shall we say, affected by all the Azloc he’d been drinking, and then, I might have had a few too many whilst he was in no state to argue with me…” Fëa trailed off and her eyebrows rose every so slightly, before she shrugged and smiled deviously. “Well anyway, that witch isn’t here yet, but I’m sure a bit of sword practice won’t do you any harm.” “You were drunk?” Calil exclaimed, partly in disbelief. “Weren’t you poisoned already that day?” The daemon’s eyebrow rose at this unexpected chiding. “All the more reason for a celebration, I had escaped death and am healing well.” Fëa shrugged. “No one can heal that fast.” Calil scoffed, unsure as to whether Fëa’s injury was some strange ruse to turn her even more against the Lizads. Not that it was needed however, she knew the Lizads to be evil and didn’t need any more convincing. Unless they wanted her to believe that they really weren’t allies with the Lizads… her ponderings were cut off as Fëa frowned and replied to her scornful statement. “We’re not like humans Calil, but we aren’t so different that we heal any different either. Just faster.” Fëa demonstrated this but pulling up her top to show her stomach, at her side, there was her wound, but it looked as if she had been injured a month or two ago, not yesterday. Calil also noticed, before Fëa let the material fall again, was that Fëa also had numerous scars on her stomach too. As she looked at her arms, she saw the faint traces of old-age wounds, accompanied by scars obviously gained more recently. Calil wondered why she had never noticed this before, and why no one ever thought to stop her in a town. No normal human woman was ever that scarred.
“Anyway,” Fëa continued almost airily, “teaching you how to fight will be an advantage to you no matter what. I know you still think we’ve got it wrong, but think about it like this. When I grabbed you at the market I didn’t have a knife to your throat, so if you had had the proper knowledge, you might have been able to get out of my grasp and run away from me.”
Calil considered this carefully, no matter what opinion she had of daemons, if she had any solid opinion about them anymore, she could not deny that they were excellent fighters. So learning how to defend herself using their knowledge was to her advantage. She could also not deny that it was dangerous to wander the streets of Gairlich along after dark, and if these foul creatures did allow her to go home, and the Lizads would still hunt her, then knowing how to defend herself would be useful. It might even save her life. Settling her nerves with the rhetorical question of ‘what else would I do all day?’, she nodded slowly.
“Good! Now you need to get changed.” The daemon stated simply and pushed past Calil into her room. Calil followed her back into the bedroom where Fëa immediately started to rummage through the wardrobes. In the end she picked out about five pairs of trousers that looked like they would not be baggy and be well-fitted like Fëa’s were. Seven or so tops were thrown into the hasty pile on the bed, simple, quite tight, with no sleeves just small straps, again similar to what Fëa was wearing.
“Try not to pick the ones that are too baggy, or ones that are too tight. Whatever you can move best in, you wear. Oh, and eat your breakfast.” She added, motioning to the food left on Calil’s bedside table that Calil had failed to notice.
With that, Fëa stalked back into the main room to settle down in one of the armchairs, putting her feet up on the table. Frowning, Calil shut the door and alternated between eating her breakfast and trying on the clothes that Fëa had picked out. They all fitted well, but she ended up choosing a pair of dark brown trousers and a slightly lighter brown top, and she picked out a pair of soft-soled shoes that were the best fit she could find.
As she walked out Fëa gave a curt nod of approval and jumped out of her seat, flinging something at Calil as she stood, which Calil instinctively caught. “Much better, now tie your hair back.” Calil noted that Fëa had tied her own purple tinted hair back whilst Calil had been changing. “But, it’s cold out, won’t I need a jacket?” Fëa paused and then smiled slightly. “Sorry, I forget that you feel the cold. Well we’ll be in the Training House most of the time, but grab one if it makes you feel better.”
Calil nodded once and grabbed one of the little jackets that were hung in one of the wardrobes and then ran after Fëa as the daemon was already opening the door to leave.
Calil tied her hair back whilst Fëa led her down the endless spiral of steps, and then finally, out of the mountain in which the daemons lived and then out into the clearing. The air was chill and Calil wished she’s picked up a slightly thicker jacket as she hugged it closer to herself, glaring at the back of Fëa, who did not even have goose-bumps wearing that thin top that only covered her torso.
As they went across the vast expanse of grass and passed the great black building, Calil shivered, but mustered up the courage to ask Fëa something she had been wondering about. “Fëa?” “Hmm?” “What the black building used for then, if it’s not a temple. Those big doors led to something.” Fëa smiled. “Yes, when they’re open you can see a spiralling staircases on your left and right, and a big opening before you. The big opening is the meeting hall, when the entire Daemonwood needs to gather together to discuss a matter, the Firsts will take their place in their seats at the bottom. There are tiers of seating going up in a giant circle around this, which you can excess via the staircase on the right. The acoustics in there are amazing, an ancient spell was worked, you don’t even need to shout to make yourself heard to the entire hall. Go up the left staircase, and you come to the first level of our great library.” Fëa smiled proudly. “We hold one of the largest collections of knowledge and artefacts from all over the world. We may be a warrior race, but we do not neglect the power of knowledge.”
Calil didn’t say anymore as they neared the large wooden structure next to the Healing House. The Training House.
On the outside, it looked big, but on the inside it somehow managed to seem even larger. The right half house some sort of complex obstacle course, which seemed to go outside in several ways. Either through a small window with no glass near the roof, further down there was a door shaped hole through which a pole ran near the top. There also seemed to be a small tunnel to crawl through at the bottom, then, in the middle, a rather deep looking pool, which obviously had some of door to swim through underwater.
The left half of the Training house was much simpler. Here, a variety of strange looking weapons adorned the wooden walls, leaning against the walls were wooden boxes, strategically placed around the hall. The slightly padded floor was marked with circles, and different pairs of daemons were sparring in these shapes.
Fëa, having allowed Calil to have her first look around, started to move along the side of the Training House, where there was a wide walkway that went all the way around. Calil followed her and tried not to make eye contact with any of the daemons that were here. When she pulled her eyes away from the floor, she noticed that the walls on this half of the arena were decorated. They had various life-sized images of different daemons that had been engraved into the wood and painted. With the figures either looking like they were about to attack something, or depicted in combat with some fearsome foe which was either a Lizad, some mythical beast that Calil had only heard of in legends, and some she didn’t even recognise. One figure was even holding up a seemingly magical shield against the fiery breath of a dragon whose neck stretched down the wall to him. The dragon’s body and wings were sprawled over the ceiling of the Training house. Which, although outside the roof had been slanted like a prism, inside it was flat, which suggested that there was a storage area up there.
“They are all the daemons who have been thought to be worthy enough, or skilled enough, to have their image carved into the wall. Mainly those who have accomplished great deeds.” Fëa explained as she noticed Calil slow down slightly to take a closer look. “Only the very best, or the most heroic are thought to be worthy. See, they don’t even fill the entire wall on one side, they end here.” She said, pointing to a relief a little further on. “Are you on here?” Calil asked, thinking back to the way Fëa has been fending off all the Lizads on the plains. Fëa laughed. “No! There hasn’t been a daemon carved on this wall for a hundred years, and I highly doubt the newest addition will be me.” “Oh.” Calil looked away from the wall once the carvings had finished, and dared herself to glance at the daemons who were practicing. All the pairs were well-spaced out, but most daemons seemed too lazy to walk this far down the hall, so few pairs were practicing at the far end of the Training House where Fëa finally stopped. Calil even happened to recognise Mac and Tripp not too far off.
Calil was told to wait in the middle of one circle, which was the one nearest to the corner, whilst Fëa walked over to the nearest wooden box filled with the most basic weapons. But before the daemon began to rummage around in the box, she undid her belt and unlooped the sheaths containing her mighty twin swords and her deadly long daggers, and lovingly placed them safely in the corner. Calil began to wonder if Fëa had ever gone anywhere unarmed.
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Post by Tasá on Jun 14, 2007 7:33:40 GMT -5
When Fëa turned back around she was holding, what at first looked to be, two wooden sticks. But as she approached and Calil accepted the offered stick, she noticed it to be a rather crude mockery of a sword.
“This is the best you, a daemon, can do?” Calil asked, smothering a laugh at the utterly pathetic stick. “We are a race of warriors. We live to fight, protect what we hold dear, and yet the young ones, whose bloodlust can be quite strong at times until they learn to control it, learn to fight with these. What message would we be giving them if we lavished our time on making something they learn to kill with look beautiful?” Fëa shrugged. “They don’t need to look pretty; they are strong, from the trees in the Wood, and they will suffice.”
Calil didn’t reply, but gripped her wooden ‘sword’ tightly with her right hand. “Hold it with both hands at first.” Fëa instructed. “Unless you have a shield or another weapon in your other hand, grip your sword with both.” “You mean my stick.” Calil corrected with a smirk, but her smile faded quickly, what was she doing? This was a daemon! She should be running away, not joking with her. “Ok, blunt stick, a fearless weapon that deals out crippling bruises and the feared, fatal splinters.” Fëa replied with a grin, shrugging half-heartedly as the comment was lost on Calil.
Calil was taught all the simplest moves and tactics, and how to move her feet to keep her balance, how to best block an attack, dodge an attack, and then how to deal a deadly blow. She was told she’d pick up more complicated moves the more lessons she had, and would get better and better the more she practiced.
After she thought she had the hang of all these moves; she was thrown in at the deep end.
At first, Fëa moved slowly and dealt out strikes that Calil blocked easily, however the daemon didn’t seem to be holding back too much on her strength – for each blow was heavy and powerful, testing the strength in Calil’s arms and the strength of her grip. She was surprised that her stick had not broken in two already.
They continued, Fëa getting faster and faster, and each time Calil failed to block her attack, she gained another bruise from the merciless daemon. At the very beginning she had been able to strike out at Fëa, attacks which the daemon easily parried, but now all Calil’s concentration was focused on not getting too many bruises – a task she reckoned she was failing miserably at as Fëa’s stick whacked her flesh yet another time.
Calil was beginning to tire when she noticed that Mac and Tripp had ceased their fight and come to watch hers. Her lull in concentration was awarded only by another thwack on her arm. Wincing, she tried to ignore them, but then Tripp started to give her useful pointers on her defence. But still Calil’s arms felt as if they didn’t have the energy to lift her pretend-sword again to shield her from another rain of bruises and splinters. After what seemed like an age, Fëa called a halt. Calil felt her shoulders relax, and after giving Fëa her now very battered stick she let her numb arms fall to her sides.
“You’re much more of a natural than I thought you would be.” Fëa said with a smile. “Natural at getting beaten you mean.” Calil muttered half-heartedly, recalling how many times they had paused momentarily because Fëa had her weapon at Calil’s throat or chest.
Fëa grinned broadly and laughed, but in a good-natured way, although Calil was too tired to care right now, that little voice in her head didn’t even mention anything about her not being as scared of these daemons as she probably should have been.
“Hey Calil, mind if I borrow your teacher for a while?” Tripp asked. Calil shrugged and walked out of the circle, leaning her back against the wall and sliding down it to the floor. She could feel her heart hammering in her chest and she sighed, but before her mind could start to wander Fëa’s voice scattered her thoughts. “Calil, I’d watch if I were you, sometimes watching helps too.” Calil nodded slowly, she noticed that Fëa had retrieved her weapons from the corner and was now strapping them back onto her belt.
She glanced to her side as the red daemon Mac sat down beside her and he grinned goofily. “I’d watch these pair very closely. They’re both excellent fighters. I think the only better fight is when Fëa and one of the other First’s spar. Then you never know who will win. Although Fëa’s recent injury does make for more interesting odds in this one, gives Tripp a chance to best her…” Mac trailed off, speculating. Calil was too tired at the moment to say anything, so she kept quiet.
A shout rang out in the hall, but Calil didn’t understand what was said, it wasn’t in Angla that’s for sure. But as daemons from around the hall started to mill towards them, Calil guessed that one daemon had announced that Fëa and Tripp were fighting. Maybe they didn’t spar together as often as Calil had originally thought, or maybe they did but the outcome was so predictable that the other daemons never bothered to watch. Perhaps, as Mac had suggested, they were now only interested in the level of uncertainty in the outcome because of Fëa’s recent injuries.
Now the area surrounding Fëa and Tripp was encircle by daemons, who only began shouting odds at each other in earnest and discussing how much Fëa’s injury would hinder her abilities.
“Who do you think will win?” Calil whispered to Mac. A silence was building up now that the two opponents had drawn swords and began circling each other. “Well, it’s gonna be close I think. No one would be making bets if Fëa hadn’t been injured. Normally Tripp puts up a good fight against her and holds his own for a long while, but she always wins.” “Always?” “Yeah, Fëa is a First, and although Tripp is the best swordfighter of all the Seconds, Thirds, Fourths and Fifths, Fëa still outranks him because she’s a First.” Calil blinked, totally confused. She had heard talk of Firsts before, but thought they were the Daemon council or something similar.
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Post by Tasá on Jun 14, 2007 7:34:13 GMT -5
“Who or what, are these Firsts?” she asked. “Oh, I forgot that you wouldn’t know. Umm, it’s kinda hard to explain. But I’ll try my best.” Mac started. “Basically there are five types of daemon, we are all unique, but our power and abilities are limited not only by how much we practice and train, but by what type we are. Firsts are the highest, therefore the most powerful, and there are only ever nine Firsts at any one time, when one dies, another is born, and Fifth is the lowest.” Mac’s voiced was drowned out by cheering at the first clash of steel against steel, and Calil looked up to see Fëa spinning away from Tripp’s whirling sword, they danced back towards each other, swords meeting in a grate of sparks and a loud clash. Keeping one eye on the fight, and Mac doing the same, the red daemon continued. “Each daemon can go up to certain levels. Some daemons, have what we call a ‘normal state’, which means that they can look human, and things that might affect a daemon don’t affect them that badly in this state. The higher the daemon, the more levels they have. A Fifth can only ever have his or her first level, a Fourth had two levels, a Third has three, Second has four, and a First has the most with five. You can see both Fëa and Tripp now in their first levels.”
Calil squinted. She had seen Fëa like this before, but Tripp looked no different, she was about to say this, when some minor detail caught her attention. His eyes were different. No longer the deepest of browns, they now had a slitted pupil that ran lengthways across his iris and was rimmed with a deep burning mahogany colour.
The pair continued to clash, and Calil felt like her whole body was deadened, the numbness spreading to her mind as well. Mac produced a black flask from somewhere and offered it to her. “Looks like you ain’t used to fighting, so have a sip o’ this.” He said, Calil looked at it doubtfully, a quick whiff told her of a strong aniseed smell, but she swigged from it anyway. She was surprised by the taste, it tasted really nice, but Mac had taken the flash back before she could have another sip. “One will do you, it is a little alcoholic, but it also has other properties.” “Like what?” “How are your limbs feeling now?” Calil frowned, and then her eyes widened, it felt like she had been sparring with Fëa hours ago. Her limbs were recovering and a tingling warmth spreading to every corner of her body. “That is, really, weird.” Mac grinned. “It’s schwavive, very useful for long journeys.”
Calil could now pay better attention to the display of swordsmanship in the little arena. Tripp dealt out powerful precision blows, and when Fëa lunged for an attack of her own he seemed to find it more prudent to block these attacks than dodge them too much, where Fëa was lighter on her feet and kept Tripp on his toes. Her attacks were unpredictable, swift and precise, if Tripp did not have lightening reactions, he would undoubtedly be cut into little ribbons. Likewise, if Fëa was not able to dodge or parry Tripp’s sword, she too would be shredded into little pieces.
Calil’s eyes widened as Fëa bent over backwards to avoid Tripp’s swinging sword. Fëa’s hands, still gripping tightly onto her twin blades, were on the ground and she wasted no time waiting for Tripp to recover his balance as she quickly righted herself back on her two feet by performing a quick back flip. Tripp had to react quickly to avoid getting kicked in the jaw by her feet. Both combatants quickly regained their balance and composure, and, as quick as cats, they sprung back at each other, losing themselves once again in the flurry of steel against steel.
The crowd surrounded these pair of sparring daemons began to chorus something, and it was a few moments before Calil could discern that it was ‘Second Level!’ The daemons were demanding that Fëa and Tripp morph into their second levels. Calil sat up straighter, wondering what this would look like.
At the same time both Fëa and Tripp stopped and stepped back from each other. In the blink of an eye Fëa’s black eyes had fires burning in their depths, her black fingernails were even longer, flames sputtered down her blades and as she opened her mouth in a sly grin to reveal that her fangs were even longer, she flicked out a forked serpent’s tongue at her friend.
Tripp had also changed, the golden studs under his eyes had grow into small golden spikes, his dark brown skin went even darker still, till it was the deep black of deep-dark shadows. Gold threaded it’s way across his skin in small elegant lines, making him look almost as if he had scales. The mahogany of his eyes had changed to a brilliant gold, and, as he returned Fëa’s smile, he revealed his teeth to be sharp as needles and the colour of gold.
They leapt at each other in collision of metal sparks and noise, and the crowd roared, and Calil frowned, the sight of the two daemons morphing was more weird than she had thought it was going to be. Mac grinned beside her and bent towards her so that she could hear his voice against the noise. “That’s their second levels. The higher up we go the easier it is for us to do things, we are stronger, can cast stronger spells, jump higher, run faster, react quicker, see better. But the higher up we go, the more taxing a task is for us, it takes up more energy, because we are relying more on our daemon half.” “I see.” “So are there only a certain amount of every type of daemon, like there are only ever nine Firsts, are there only ever a certain amount of Seconds or something?” Calil asked. “Oh no, otherwise we would have a great restriction on how large our population could be then… no there are only ever nine Firsts and no one knows why, that’s just the way it has always been. There isn’t ever any certain number of other types, but the most common daemon here is the Third, and Second, there are few Fourths here and even fewer Fifths. The lower daemons have a habit of living elsewhere. They mainly live in Kelíthem, or some make a living up in Téthurst or as pirates in Hunntag’s Cove. Some higher daemons even join them; some even hire themselves out as assassins.” “What? Like a daemon as powerful as Fëa or Tripp being hired to do the dirty work of the rich?” Calil exclaimed in surprise. “Oh no! Sorry I meant Thirds, though there was once a rogue Second, but we try and hunt down such daemons if we can spare the time.” “Like… the daemon who terrorised the Unthar villages?” Mac looked at her in surprise and Calil shrugged. “Every child gets told that story.” She explained. “I thought you might have forgotten, but seemingly Akkor would encourage this tale. Yes, that was this rogue Second. She had grown bitter because her lover was killed before her very eyes by Akkor’s army, this was at the beginning of Akkor’s rule. It was the first of his ordered killings, by the new recruits from the villages, so she sought her revenge there.” “Still, that’s a horrible thing to do!” “I know, that’s why we stopped her, but grief can make people, and daemons, do all sorts of things.”
Calil sighed, and returned her gaze back to the fight, she watched as Fëa dislodged Tripp’s shield from his grip and sent it spinning in the air over the heads of the crowd. Scowling, Tripp gripped his sword with both hands now, and renewed his attack with new vigour.
“Do daemons always change in appearance when they go up a level?” she asked. “Always, sometimes it’s subtle, sometimes its more noticeable. It’s pretty impressive when Fëa goes all the way up to her final level though, she turns into fire, so she’s like a blazing figure of flames.” Calil nodded. “What type are you then?” she asked curiously. Mac sighed. “I’m only a Fourth, can’t even look human.” “Oh.”
Cheers erupted as Tripp managed to knock one of Fëa’s twin blades out of her hand, the sword flew high above Calil’s head and lodged itself deeply into the wall. Calil’s heart had jumped into her throat, and she risked a glance upward. The sword was buried deeply in the wood, so she didn’t feel in too much danger of it falling onto her.
“What’s Gairlich like?” Mac asked suddenly. “What?” “I’ve never been to a town.” Mac admitted. “So I have no idea what one is like.” Calil smiled, then, still keeping one eye on the fight, she began to tell Mac all about her life back in Gairlich. The warm memories of all that had been ordinary and dear to her may have made her smile, but they also made her feel suddenly very homesick. She was far from her old life right now, and she had truly never felt more alone.
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Post by Tasá on Jun 21, 2007 8:03:29 GMT -5
Chapter 9 At dusk, Calil found herself eating with Fëa, Tripp, Mac, Anca and Kanis again. She found herself instantly grabbing food from the different dishes to add to her plate, this time not fearing the ingredients or fearing that the daemons had laced the food with poison. She was not used to eating so late, and the sword-fighting had left her hungry, as well as Darga’s later lessons to patch up the holes in her knowledge on reading and writing and on history. Though some parts she had found interesting, the rest was rather gruelling and every time she made a single mistake the daemon had pounced on it and left her self-esteem at an all-time low.
But, the presence of food made her forget all of this, and the conversation was once again jovial, and although Calil refused to allow herself to join in or even smile at the various comments being thrown around, she could not stop a small part of her from being amused.
As the tables began to empty, Calil jumped at a light tap on her shoulder, turning, she found one of the daemons from the meeting last night, black skin and black hair with a shimmering blue tint. Calil managed to dredge her name up from her memory, this was the daemon called Mordae.
“The witch is here and will see you now.” She said softly, then turned her attention to Fëa. “Darga requests that you accompany her as well.” With that, she turned and left, leaving Fëa and Calil to make their way to the small hidden room that was the meeting room of the Firsts.
Once again, Calil followed in Fëa’s footsteps, suppressing a shudder as she neared the big black building. No matter what, it definitely still gave her the creeps.
Once inside however, the only thing that made her skin crawl was when Fëa made the small door appear out of nowhere. She was rather used to the sense of the presence of daemons, and it didn’t bother her so much anymore.
Tonight, only Darga and a strange woman occupied the small room. Darga smiled at her and nodded a welcome, and the woman beamed up at her from between strands of her wispy blonde hair that had escaped from the mass of curls that she had carelessly tossed behind her shoulders. She wore a blue cloak wrapped tightly around her; as if she was cold even though there was a fire burning and she was sat very close to it. Her shoes lay discarded at the side of her chair and the soles of her feet were dirty, as if she normally went barefoot. Her eyes were a piercing blue shining out from a well-defined, if not slightly rounded face, and her pale arms were covered in slender silver bangles and rings with blue gems adorned her fingers.
The woman continued to smile warmly as she stood and crossed over to Calil, she did this in such a quick, fluid motion that Calil barely had time to move before she was caught in a tight hug. Her gem earrings pressed against Calil’s cheek and static shocked Calil, but the woman’s hug kept Calil still as an intense tingling sensation rushed throughout her entire body. She felt suddenly different, the cold shivers that ran down the length of her spine were no longer there, and the cold presence that seemed to linger around the daemons dissipated, and she felt warm seeping into the very marrow of her bones. It was a weird sensation, like everything before had been a dream that she had only just woken up from.
The mysterious woman, who could only be the witch, released her from her embrace and stepped back and smiled, Fëa, anticipating that Calil was about to fall, was ready with a chair and Calil, overcome with a sudden dizziness, fell back into it’s waiting arms.
“W-what?” Was all she managed to mutter. “You’re alright Calil. I’m just guessing that our witch here has unlocked your powers.” Came the calm voice of Fëa from behind Calil’s chair. Fëa’s hand reached down to place on her shoulder, which normally would have sent a wave of nausea through Calil, but now it was nothing more than a warm hand trying to reassure and give comfort. “B-but, I’m not…” Calil began, her head swimming. “If you weren’t, then you would be feeling nothing right now.” Darga said simply. “Hello Calil!” Came the bright cheery voice of the witch, her high-pitched voice gave Calil the dreadful feeling that she would soon get very irritated by this woman. “I am Sehrsüssanmehrtellabellahkeekchébeckta, but please, just call me Keekché.”
Calil nodded blearily, her mind baulking at the enormity of the witch’s full name and blinking as the buzzing in her head quietened to a low humming noise.
“Well, you two daemons have yourselves one very powerful witch here.” Keekché chirped. Calil blinked slowly. She had not mentally prepared herself for the possibility of her being proven to be a witch, and now that she had, realisation dawned on her. These daemons would expect her to stay with them, and would not let her go back home to Gairlich. In fact, even if they did, Calil doubted that she would make it back, for since the Lizads knew what she looked like, she would be hunted by them, and even the King’s soldiers and Guard if she chose to fully believe the daemon’s story.
She paled slightly. Just what would they expect her to do now? They had already started her training, honing her into a weapon for their use. She had not minded, since the skills they had taught her today might prove useful. But would they expect her to fight against her King? Fight alongside them?
“…understand what must happen now?” came a voice, as if from far away, and Calil refocused her eyes to stare blankly at Darga. “What sorry?” “What he’s saying Calil,” Fëa started as she skirted around from behind Calil’s chair and her position near the door to kneel by the arm of the chair. “Is that, we need your help. The entire of Tíremtáe needs your aid. If you ever want your people to be lifted out of poverty and fear, and end Akkor’s reign, give the people of Tímtáe back their voice and their freedom, then you need to help us. We have no hope without you. Every living being in this whole land has no hope of freedom without you.” Calil lowered her gaze to the floor. She had never thought that the laws in her home, what had been her home, had been fair. She could not go back, staying here forever was not an option, though the Daemonwood looked strong, she had been assured that if Akkor was to unleash his full strength on the daemons at an unexpected time, they could fall. And the option of staying here did not appeal in the slightest. Going back was not an option, so could she go forward? But, alongside the daemons? Seemingly it was the only option. Going back was too dangerous, but did she really want to usurp her King?
Thinking back to the Lizads sent to collect her, she knew the answer, if only she knew for certain if she could definitely trust these daemons.
Fëa, seeming to understand her need for thought bowed her head. “Of course, we don’t need an answer right this instant. You can sleep on it. But tomorrow, we’d like to introduce you to your new routine.” “Yes, you have a lot to catch up on and learn.” Darga continued, “Your mornings will be spent learning magic with Keekché, and your letters with me, the beginnings of your afternoon will again be spent with me, but learning your history, then the remainder of your afternoon will be spent between Fëa, who will work on your swordsmanship. Tripp who will teach you other skills, such as improving your riding abilities and other skills you might need, and Mac, will teach you archery.” “W-why would I need all of this if I’m a witch? Can’t I just fight with magic.” Fëa smiled, as if to herself. “Therein lies your first mistake. Magic corrodes your will and your mind, you can become addicted to it’s power, and in defence and attack, sometimes its better to use a blade than a spell. But all of this you will learn and see for yourself.” Calil’s brow furrowed into a frown. “But, all of this you will teach me, it all sounds so…. tiring.” Fëa actually laughed at this, “It may seem like that yes, but you will have days off and no worries, you will have time to yourself. It will teach you endurance as well, which is a very useful thing believe me. But I thought you were used to hard work?” The daemon smirked at her and Calil shrugged. She had been yes, but of a different kind of work.
Fëa sighed and nodded to the door, “For now I suggest you rest and try and get some sleep.” “I’ll see you in the morning Calil!” came the high-pitched voice of the witch, Calil almost laughed as she saw Fëa’s eye twitch. Clearly she wasn’t the only one annoyed by Keekché’s voice, Fëa smiled at her, obviously sensing that Calil had noticed her irritation, the purple-haired daemon stood and turned to face the witch. “Before you retire to your rooms Sehrsüssanmehrtellabellahkeekchébeckta, I would have a word with you?” Fëa asked, with an expression and voice that suggested to Calil that she was being forcibly polite. “Oh, of course, it would be my pleasure Fëagaer Dánaysé.” The witch said, almost perturbed. Darga almost seemed to sense the air growing frigid, but as his eyes switched to Calil, he also seemed to remember that Fëa had seemingly unwittingly left him to take Calil back to her rooms. He seemed to hesitate for a second, seeing a growing danger, but as he saw Calil was looking at him, his uncertainty faded instantly to quickly become this cool-headed respectable First that he normally was. He smiled and stood, gesturing to the door. “If you would allow me to accompany you to your rooms, Calil?” He asked. Calil forced a quick smile, “Sure.”
She then allowed herself to be ushered out of the small room, although really she wanted to know what was going on between Fëa and this new witch. She would not get a chance to find out tonight at any rate, as the small oaken door shut behind her, cutting off her view to the room and disappearing instantly into black marble wall. She sighed, she would have enough to dwell on tonight at any rate, without wondering about what was going on in there.
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Post by Tasá on Jun 21, 2007 8:04:34 GMT -5
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Long after Calil had been escorted to her rooms, and long after Keekché had hurried from the small room with her head bowed biting her fingernails into stubs, a man moved in-between the giant behemoths in the centre of the forest. He had his task, and he would not fail his master. His muscles cramped already, he had been imprisoned for so long, with only a lonely room to walk around, and this long expedition had caught his muscles unawares. His breath started to come in ragged gasps and his heart pounded in his chest. What had happened to his former self? He had been as fit as a young buck once, and now he was a waste of a man.
It was his master’s fault, a small voice in the back of his mind persisted, but secretly, he owed his master so much, for without her, he would be nothing. He would still not have his strength and skill with a sword, and absolutely no magic at all. Or he could even be dead.
His long black coat snagged on a branch and he heard the tearing sound of fabric, sneering at the twisting scrub that was the culprit he allowed himself to pause for a second, inspecting the coat. The branch had caught the inner lining and a large rip fluttered in the slight eerie breeze that swirled about him. He shivered involuntarily, for that was no natural wind. It was the icy breath of the forest. It made his skin crawl, he could feel it pressing on the borders of his mind. To any being with anything less than a strong mind and an iron will, it would seep into the cracks in their natural mental defences and begin to turn them insane, usually driving them to commit suicide.
The breeze sighed about his ears, whispering malicious thoughts to him. The forest did not need to penetrate his mind to start polluting a person’s brain. He shut it out, squeezing his eyes tight shut. No, he would not listen to the ancient collective voice of the trees. It was trying to steal his sanity from him, for it only seemed to like his master.
After the breeze had retreated the man straightened his upright collar and ran a shaking hand through his white hair. He looked perfectly human, in fact, he could have easily been mistaken as an elder in any one of the human villages, but he was far from human. A quivering finger traced a few of the deepest wrinkles on his face, and clear pain etched into his faded blue eyes. This was not natural. Not for his kind. He had been cursed for so long he could barely stand it any longer. But he must, and right now, he must find his master. Forcing his aching limbs back into movement, he continued his run through the cursed forest.
Panting heavily, he burst through the trees, his foot catching a root and almost tripping him up, but as he caught himself he managed to come to an abrupt halt as he suddenly realised he was in his master’s presence.
“Always the graceful one aren’t you Nazzar?” came the sneering voice of Tasá. She had her back to him, wearing a grey cloak with her hood pulled up. As she turned slowly to face him, her eyes glowed with an evil he knew he could never best. Her hair framed a face of terrible beauty, and she licked her lips at the sight of him. Nazzar had never felt more like a piece of fresh meat being slavered over by a hungry animal. “I come at your bidding mistress.” He spoke, his voice clear from mumbling and he knelt down in the moist earth. The depths of the forest of his home were treacherous, and the weakened form of his spirit quailed at the thought of being here. Her presence made him want to crawl back to his cell and spent an eternity in there. She seemed to sense his fear and her sickly smile spread, revealing sharp teeth that threatened to tear his throat out, she stepped closer and closer to him, bending down and reaching out with her right hand. Nazzar froze, on her middle finger was a silver ring with a black gem that whorled with dark energies. Here was a part of him. He now had only a sliver of his daemon half left, the rest, the majority of his power, resided in that dark gem. He knew it, although he was almost sure that Tasá did not know that he knew. She probably thought that he didn’t know what had happened after the spell to strip him of his powers. And he didn’t, he knew only because his spirit was calling out to him, yearning for the sliver of his spirit still residing within him. They wanted to be rejoined, and join his normal spirit again.
In death, the two spirits would merge together to form one soul, it was only in life that they could be separated and give a being two separate states. Nazzar might have killed himself if he hadn’t blanched at the thought of being unable to enter the afterlife. Without his full soul, the remainder of his spirit would walk the earth until it could be reunited with it’s lost essence. As well as owing Tasá a debt he could never repay, and being loyal to her cause before he had been diminished into what he was now, this was a ring that would forever keep him in service to the evil woman who now reached out with her hand, her palm touching his cheek as if he was her lover. But there was no love in that touch, her touch was like ice, she was like a void of emotion. Her fingers trailed over his aged skin, slipping under his chin to raise his head to face her. Nazzar now found himself looking directly into her loveless eyes.
Nazzar was old enough to remember the woman she had once been, before she had been changed into what she was now. She should have died all those years ago, but she remained, bitter and twisted, a curse to the living.
“Poor Nazzar, you rightly tremble in my company.” She cooed, her voice like a thousand icicles piercing his flesh and embedding themselves in his skin. “You have a task for me mistress?” he queried humbly. He wanted this meeting over as soon as possibly. He could get out of his cell, but only rarely, and he wanted to spend the least amount of time possible in the centre of this forest. It had not been corrupt when it had been young, only the withering of years and the bitterness of life had altered it, much like his mistress. “Yes, yes I do.” She said, raising herself up like a regal Queen, “the daemons have recovered the young witch. She will lead us to the weapon that will help us achieve our final goal, but I need my servants to be able to seek her out, and to protect her as much as I can from the wily Ikta. We cannot lose her, at any point. Also, I would have a key into her dreams. The prophetic dreams of a witch as powerful like she, would be very useful. Tonight, you spend in the forest, tomorrow, when she and the low filth of a Fourth go to the archery fields, you know the one, the red one the fool Darga put in charge of the archers.” Tasá took a moment to sneer in disgust. It seemed like she was thinking of spitting in disgust, but thought better of her spittle landing on the ancient earth. “I know the Fourth.” Nazzar replied quietly. “Yes, Mac. He won’t be much of a problem for you. You still have your skill with a blade. I need blood from the witch. Fill this bottle with her blood, and bring it to me.” Tasá produced a small ornate bottle from her pocket, Nazzar remembered the like, they had been commonly used by the healers of old to keep dragon’s blood and liquids of such magical potency that they would shatter or melt ordinary glass.
With a bowed head, Nazzar took the vial and carefully put it in a pocket of his own, not that care mattered, the vial would not shatter unless under the wrath of a tool wrought with powerful magic. Tasá smirked at this, and raised her hand in the air, Nazzar suppressed a shudder as he looked up to see vines snaking down from the branches above, but his heart leaped at what was in their dark clutches. He had not forgotten his old belt and the silver pommel of his sword. The demon-ness must have rescued it before it had a chance to be destroyed.
Smiling tenderly at the vines, she whispered something to them as she took the sword and the belt from their care and handed it to Nazzar. He stood now, his hands shaking as he took a piece of his past from his mistress. Oh how thankful he was that she had salvaged this. Experimentally drawing his sword, he could not help but smile as it rang clear of it’s sheath. The blade was still sharp and savage as he remembered it – and it still fitted as snugly in his hand as it ever had, feeling more like an extension of his arm than a mere tool. His hand may look like that of an old man’s, but it still had the strength of the younger, whole version of himself. A single tear ran down his cheek at the beautiful fate that had brought him and a piece of his broken past back together. A bittersweet reminder of when he had been strong and complete.
Tasá broke him from his memories of his old prowess and power by adding the words. “And you might also want this.” Her open palm now offered him a small wooden box. As he plucked it from her hand he suppressed a shudder as he realised what wood this box was made of. His eyes darted around him. It had been made from the ancient trees that loomed about him. “Sleep powder grown from these very trees. The witch must not know that you have taken any blood from her.” Nazzar bowed his head. “Now go, prepare.” She ordered, pointing back in the direction from whence he had come. “I will not fail you mistress.” He muttered, and slipped off into the darkness, his pace more hurried than he had intended in his haste to remove himself from the evil centre of the forest. He would not fail his mistress, because last time he had, the price had been too high.
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Post by Tasá on Jun 21, 2007 8:06:10 GMT -5
Chapter 10 Although her mind had been in turmoil, Calil had still found that she had fallen asleep far sooner than she could have hoped for. Her busy day had tired her, so she had slept as soundly as possible, though her dreams were filled with dark forests and labyrinths of corridors, whispering voices. These were old reoccurring dreams, and normally she woke up with a jolt from them, but tonight, a peculiar thing had happened, a woman dressed all in white had come to her, and her dream had ended peacefully. The stranger had whispered words of comfort to her, and Calil had drifted into a deep sleep where her dreams had not troubled her.
The red disc of the sun hovered above the line of dark forest and Calil blinked blearily at it after rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She had forgotten to draw the curtains again last night. Groggy, she rolled out of bed and this time she noticed the tray of breakfast on her bedside table. She carried it through to the living room to set on the dining table in there, then scurried back into her bedroom to get changed. She did not get changed into a skirt and loose top like she had done yesterday, but into trousers and a simple top again. She donned a different jacket than the one she had on yesterday, this one being slightly thicker, and after ridding herself of the last of her grogginess by splashing her face with cold water, went back through to the living room to eat her breakfast.
The stained glass window was spectacular in the rising sunlight. The light transformed the picture into something of pure beauty; the colours danced across the room and painted ordinary objects with livid dye.
Almost as soon as she had swallowed her last mouthful of a tasty porridge that had somehow managed to stay warm for however long it had been there, there was a knock on her door. “Come in!” Calil called, more interested in finishing her drink of cool water that was miraculously clear than opening the door.
The door swung open to reveal Fëa, who smiled. “Good, you’re already up.” The purple-haired daemon said. “I’m to take you to your first lesson of the day, that would be magic with Keekché. If you wish to help our cause that is…” Fëa trailed off.
Calil paused, of course they probably wouldn’t teach her anything more if she wasn’t about to help them. Calil allowed herself a few steadying breaths. She could vaguely remember the white woman in her dream whispering words of comfort and support. She spoke of fate and destiny, and looking at the path that had been laid before her feet. Calil had always helped those in her small village, now she had been given a chance to help so many more people. And just think of all the good magic would be, she could heal people and help them in so many ways.
Quickly, before she lost her resolve she nodded slowly. “Ok. I’ll do it.” The daemon grinned widely. “That’s great!” Calil managed a weak smile. “Alright, come with me then, before we visit the witch I have something to show you.”
Calil frowned slightly, wondering what it was, but rose out of her seat and allowed the daemon to usher her out of the door.
As they descended the lengthy spiralling steps, Calil decided to ask Fëa something that she had wanted to last night. “What do you think of that witch?” “Mm? Oh, Keekché? Why? Does it matter what I think of her?” Calil frowned. Fëa was avoiding the question. “I think she could easily get on my nerves. Her voice was starting to annoy me last night.” The daemon merely laughed at this. “Yes, I know exactly what you mean.” “But, do you mind if I ask you why you wanted to talk to her last night?” Fëa glanced sideways at her, her black eyes studying her carefully. Calil had grown to notice which way the daemon was looking now, for where her iris and pupil should be, the darkness in her eyes seemed to swirl, and as soon as her gaze locked onto her, Calil could feel it. Fëa shrugged and looked back ahead as they reached the bottom of the stairs and walked out into the open. “I wanted to ask her why the High Council had sent her. I had asked for someone else.” “Oh. Maybe they sent her because she’s a better teacher?” Fëa’s expression did not alter, and she continued to stare ahead as she steered Calil on a course towards the stables. “We shall see.”
“W-what will I have to do exactly? Now that I’m helping you?” Calil asked suddenly. “Help us find the weapon, then use it to destroy Ikta and Akkor. Then we shall either destroy or hide it.” Fëa seemed to sense Calil’s growing concern because although the daemon had made it sound simple, Calil was positive that it would be harder than anything she could even have dreamt of doing. “Don’t worry Calil, I’ll be there with you all the way, as will Tripp. You won’t be in this alone.”
Calil managed another weak smile. “This is going to start a war isn’t it?” She said quietly, and watched Fëa turn her head to look at her appraisingly. The daemon halted, and Calil stopped by her. “Probably. But it will be one that Akkor has brought upon himself, and it is about time that we rose up against the evil that has sprouted in the heart of Tíremtáe.” “But, if he has so many allies, will we not be outnumbered?” Fëa’s expression was deadly serious now. “Yes. We need more allies. The hunt for those who have said they will come to our aid is now on, and by the time you have finished training and set off to find the weapon, we will be gathering our forces together.” “Who?” “The witches, some pirates, a few dragons, a few humans, some Noots.” Calil frowned, Noots she had heard of, those were humans gifted with magic called neutral magic - although she did not know much about them. Calil had been lucky to hear of so many legends and tales, since the inn she worked in was a hot-spot for travellers, they came with many tales they had picked up on their travels. “What about the Engels?” “I highly doubt they would fight, especially alongside us.” Fëa scoffed. “What happened between your two races?” “Now that is a long story, I’ll tell you some other time.”
With that, Fëa stood and continued to lead Calil to the stables. The stables were one huge wooden building set as far back in the clearing as possible. There were three fenced off fields and only one of these had only one single horse in it, the rest grazed around in groups in the clearing itself. The huge building had two huge doors that were three times Calil’s height and Calil had no idea why they needed to be that big. Into one of these doors a normal sized door had been cut, and a small green daemon rushed out of it. He had frizzy lime green hair and small green eyes and was dressed in working clothes that were covered in dirt. He must have been about half Calil’s height, but he had strong looking shoulders and there was no mistaking him for a child. He narrowed his eyes and looked about searchingly, before he noticed Fëa and Calil approaching.
“Ah-ha Fëa! Perfect!” He exclaimed with a smile. “Will you help me open the doors? Elek has run off again and I can’t manage them on my own.” “Sure thing Redrak, Calil can lend a hand too.” Fëa said pointedly. Calil raised her eyebrows in surprise, made with the same thick wood as all of the buildings were here, the doors would weigh a tonne. “Excellent” Right, you take the right one Fëa, and Miss, you can help me with this one. Grab the handle there and pull, and I shall push from the inside.” He nodded curtly once, and then scurried back inside, shutting the door after him.
Calil reached out and tentatively grabbed the thick metal handle, giving the door an experimental tug. She was right, it was extremely heavy and would not shift easily.
“Pull!” came the sudden, slightly muffled, command from the small green daemon inside, and Calil obeyed, putting all her strength and weight into it. With the help of the small green daemon inside, they managed to start the door into a slow edging motion outwards, with the hinges creaking in protest.
Glancing to the side, she saw in amazement, that Fëa, all by herself, was beating the two of them, and had now manoeuvred herself around to push instead of pull. Maybe it was a good idea, but Calil wasn’t keen on being too close to an unfamiliar daemon right now.
A dull clunk signalled that Fëa had opened her door, and the click of the latch meant that she had fastened it in place. She then went over to the strange green daemon and helped him push. With a final creak of protest at the sudden extra speed the other half of the door swung around the remaining few degrees and Calil hopped out of the way before it hit the wall.
“Phew, I hate these things, but we are expecting a visitor so we have to keep them open, and after the expedition in the caves, a couple of my Shetlands are still afraid of the dark.” Redrak explained. “Still?” “Yes. It’s Fanten and Monett. They were the ones closet to being eaten and the ones who were injured the most. Their wounds are still healing.” “How late is our visitor?” Fëa asked. “Almost a month. I fear its getting all the more dangerous for them out there, with Akkor hunting them on a regular basis. She had to choose between what she deemed as the lesser of two evils.” “Well she should know that we would let them make their own choices and that we will equip them with what knowledge and skill we possess…” “Yes, but, she still fears, not for their physical safety here, but if we force them into a war their hearts are not with.” Redrak shrugged. “I don’t think I met her…” Fëa started. Redrak shook his head. “You were elsewhere, the dark forest I think.” Fëa nodded slowly. “Anyway, I must be going, the cooks are holding my breakfast for me, and I must find that damned Elek. I swear if Darga puts any more youths on my stables, ones with their heads in the clouds, I’ll be having words. I can’t manage the stables by myself. Have you seen the little swine?” Fëa grinned. “I’m afraid I haven’t. But I can come back and help you after I have shown Calil to her first lesson.” “Oh you don’t have to do that” “No, I insist, its not much like work to me, you know I love working in here.” Redrak bowed his head and grinned. “How could I forget? Anyway, I shall see you later then, and it was a pleasure to finally see you in person Miss.” The green daemon said as he bowed to Calil, which woke her out of her reverie. She was being bowed to now? Shifting somewhat uncomfortably, she frantically searched for something to say, but it didn’t seem that she needed to say anything, as Redrak then walked off back towards the main cluster of buildings.
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Post by Tasá on Jun 21, 2007 8:07:51 GMT -5
Fëa wandered into the stables and Calil stepped in after her. Despite the doors being open it was still rather murky. The sun was not at the correct angle to do more than cast light on the floor by the entrance. Dust hovered in the air, highlighted by the razor thin slices of light that managed to filter in through cracks in the planks of wood. There were windows set high in the walls and a couple of these were open to let in light from the rising sun. Rafters worked their way across the ceiling, and half of the top of the building had been built into a loft with a ladder in the centre leading up to it, piled high with hay and straw. There were stables on both the left and right and back to back along the centre, apart from in the very middle of the building where there was a big gap in the centre from the edge of which the ladder grew. Calil guessed that this was the area that they threw the hay and straw down from. On the opposite edge of this gap were troughs filled with water, several wheelbarrows and pitchforks and buckets. The stalls along the centre were arranged in groups with gaps to act as walkways between some of them.
The stables seemed to vary in size, the most drastically were the ones along the left side, and they all seemed to be of much better quality than any of the horse stalls Calil had seen in Gairlich. Along the left, some were even too small or way too large for a horse. All had a name etched into a wooden plaque on the door. Some even had a couple of plaques on the door.
Fëa pointed out the three doors at the far end of the stables as they walked up the left side, labelling them as the feed room, tack room, and a storage area for guests so that their belongings did not get mixed up with any of the daemon’s things.
A silver daemon stalked past with hunched shoulders carrying a bucket of meat, Calil had to look again at the contents of the bucket to double-check what she had actually seen. Meat? Why would they need meat in a stable?
Fëa grinned at her obvious puzzlement. “Well it looks like Redrak found Elek.” She commented and gestured to the left at a stall they were nearing, where a large black head had appeared and snapped at the food as the stable-boy went past. He grunted in disappointment as the boy passed him by, at least, Calil certainly thought that this creature was male.
As they wandered closer Calil looked at him in amazement, a little voice in her head reminded her that she should probably be scared and run away, but she ignored it, for she thought this beast was a magnificent creature.
Mostly, he resembled a horse, but he was far bigger than any horse Calil had ever seen, his muscular bulk appeared to be able to defy gravity since large wings sprouted from his withers and the leathery skin that spread between the silvery bones that made up his wings was the darkest of greys. The silvery joints and limbs were covered in the strangest black markings, nothing like Calil had ever seen before. She also realised that the markings were identical on each wing. He had a long black shaggy mane and tail, and his coat was of the deepest black. Around his hooves and up the back of his legs he had long course hair, like the shire horses Calil knew who worked on the farms, although he also had longer hair growing at the back of his legs where his forelegs joined his body. His hooves were black with a metallic tint and from his chin grew a small beard much like a billy-goat. His left ear was pierced all the way up with thin silver rings, but on his right only a few remained as a chunk of his ear seemed to have been ripped out in a fight of some sort. On his proud head he bore six sharp silvery horns, bearing the same curious markings to his wings. They started small by his nose, then grew bigger as they went up his head, and his second-to last horn was the biggest.
Calil had the strange urge to reach out and touch the stallion, but the angry glare from his completely silver eyes warned her off. As if he knew her intention he snorted through his slitted nostrils and jerked his head forward, clashing his teeth together not far from Calil, showing that he possessed very sharp canine teeth as well as molars - made to eat both plant and meat. Calil flinched back, then her ears widened as she saw no door on this beast’s stall, his name plaque, labelling him as Shalliko, was inside his stall on the back of the wall.
“Shalliko doesn’t care much for strangers and gets grumpy that he has to stay in here with all the horses and abide by the stable’s rules. It does nothing for his temper that he has to adhere to our schedule.” Fëa explained. “B-but he hasn’t got a door, what if he gets out?” Calil stammered, worried now about this badly tempered brute she nervously backed away from him. As if in reply to this, Shalliko snorted, as if in disgust, flicked his tail and walked out of the stall, and then, with his head held high, out of the building and into the dazzling sunlight. “He’s no harm to anybody, he’s a bit temperamental and moody though, don’t say anything to offend him in his presence or you’ll never hear the end of it.” Fëa gestured to the very end stall on the left, which was the biggest by far. “This might interest you.”
As Calil approached, a scaly lizard-like head popped out to gaze curiously at the newcomers, it’s fire-coloured eyes glanced over Fëa, glittering in recognition, and then turned to regard Calil closely. Smoke blew out of it’s nostrils as it snorted at her. This creature, which even Calil knew as a dragon from countless stories she had heard as a child; some believed to be pure myth, others believed that they had existed but had since gone extinct. The dragon gave her none of the hostile signs that Shalliko had, so after a moment, Calil edged forward for a closer look. This one was very similar to most of the descriptions she had heard.
It had a long thin snout and rather triangular face, scaly like a lizard, with its large and delicate wings folded neatly at its sides. This one was a deep rusty red colour, it had long sharp talons that rent deep gashes in the wooden door as it propped itself up on it so that it was stood on it’s hind legs. It’s long snake-like neck curved back, then edged forwards to tentatively sniff at Calil, nudging at her with its nose. Strangely, Calil didn’t even flinch at this, even though the claws of this baby had just marred strong wood as if it were made form the softest butter. The little baby dragon made a deep-throated rumbling sound and began to rub its head against her side, the action reminded her of a cat. Smiling, Calil began to stroke its head, it’s scales were warm and as Calil gave it attention it flicked it’s long tail in appreciation. It had small spikes running down it’s long, slender neck, along it’s back and to the tip of it’s tail; though there was a gap in them where it’s neck joined it’s back, and Fëa explained that when the dragon grew up and if it consented to have a rider, then that would be where they would sit.
Another head jerked up, and the sudden movement caught Calil’s attention and her gaze was drawn to the corner from where a sleek ebony dragon prowled forwards, alike in stature and appearance to the red one, apart from the colour of it’s scales and it’s eyes which were a deep dark blue with an electric blue pupil. It’s gaze focused warily on Calil and she almost felt unnerved by it’s keen intelligent stare. It was like she was being judged for some terrible crime.
“What are their names?” she asked, the red one nudging her sharply as her hand paused and stopped caressing it’s neck. She grinned and rectified her mistake, and the red one rumbled in appreciation. “Their names in the Dragon-tongue, their true names, I cannot say, for I do not know. The names we were given to call them are Raynén and Súlti, Raynén is the male, the red one, and Súlti is his sister. They’re only babies, and haven’t yet mastered spoken speech, but we can communicate with them mentally.” Fëa smiled slyly as she noticed Súlti was still glaring at Calil. “And as you may notice, the male dragons are much friendlier and open than the females.” Calil smiled. “Communicate mentally? Like you did to me on that day those Lizads attacked on the Nimrokko Plains?” Calil queried, suddenly remembering the day when she had found out exactly who she had been travelling with. “Yes, like that. You’ll learn how to do that too, it can be useful at times.”
Calil tilted her head to the side as she looked at the baby dragon’s again, a question suddenly popping into her head. “Won’t these two grow too big for the stables? And aren’t you worried that they might accidentally burn the place down?” “Well, these pair are still very young, when they grow too big to stay in here they should be mature enough to be trusted in the clearing, and then later on, in the forest, maybe even the deeper parts. You haven’t seen it, but most of the trees in the depths of this forest are as big as man-made towers. Once they’re old enough they should be able to look after themselves in there, protect themselves from the predators and animals we share this forest with. When they grow too big for the forest, they’ll have to join the few remaining dragons in hiding in the Barra Hills. For now they’re not old enough to fly or breathe fire, or do anything other than eat really. In perhaps two months they’ll start learning to fly, then their training will begin.” “There are dragons in the Barra Hills? I was always told dragons were either extinct or a myth!” “That’s exactly what we want you to think, and what King Akkor wants you to think. We know he has a few dragons in his army, and we have the allegiance of, we hope, more than he does. We don’t know where Akkor is hiding his dragons, but we know there are some in the Barra Hills who have sworn allegiance to no one, there might be one in the marshes of Faera, and there are probably some rogue dragons living in Kelíthem away from their Order and allying themselves with whomever they see fit. But the dragon society isn’t what it used to be, it’s falling into decay, and will continue to do so with things being the way they are.” “But, how can they go so unnoticed? I’ve been told that they can grow to an enormous size, someone once even said as big as a mountain! Surely someone would notice a dragon roaming about Tíremtáe?” Calil breathed in exasperation, unable to get her head around the idea that dragons had managed to evade the notice of normal human beings for so long.
“They can grow to be even bigger than mountains, but no dragon has ever lived so long, save one. It is told, in the ancient tales of Dragon-lore, that the First Dragon lived to be bigger than the biggest mountain on this earth, but he was unfortunate that one of his sons, tired of being ignored and feeling that all the glory was being bestowed on his other siblings, decided to attack him in his sleep. The son, whose name I cannot pronounce, felt sure that rule over the dragon race would not be given to him, but to one of his older brothers, of whom he was the most jealous. He wanted to rule so badly, so crept up on his father whilst he was sleeping, and bit at his throat. The First Dragon awoke, shook off his son, and they fought with a fury. But the son’s devious bite meant that the First Dragon was losing a lot of blood, and eventually, he was weakened to the point where his son killed him. Now the son was still worked up, and in a state of anger, he continued to rent and tear at his father’s corpse. The fire that burnt inside of him became the biggest volcano in the lands, Mount Kallat, his blood became the rivers and the seas. His bones were shattered and the pieces spread throughout the earth, burning their way deep into the ground till they burnt no more and are now the precious crystals and jewels. One of his eyes had been damaged and this became the moon, the other became the sun. However the son’s siblings came to stop him before he could shatter their father’s head, which it is told, is crusted in rock and solid earth, topped with snow and ice, and is now the biggest mountain on this Earth. In fact, there is a mountain range whose name is commonly forgotten, but is rumoured to be his spiked tail. The mountains are called Ektíen-trikenntis, which translates from the ancient tongue to be The Dragon’s Tail. Those are the mountains surrounding the forest of Kelíthem.”
Fëa shrugged. “As for the question about them not being noticed, well, you have to remember that dragons are intelligent magical beings. Their senses are extraordinary and they can be very creative at concealing themselves. They can fly up so high that they can be mistaken for eagles. There is another story, that Tarúhan, a young and mischievous dragon, flew up higher than any dragon had done before him to escape the Golden Dragon, who had no name in the common tongue. The Golden Dragon was the guardian of the dragon’s most sacred jewels; Tarúhan had stolen the most precious of these just to prove that he could. It may have impressed his piers but it enraged all his elders. Especially the Golden Dragon who was so close to catching him, and Tarúhan had become afraid by the sight of the Golden Dragon in such a rage. He feared what he might do to him in his anger, so Tarúhan flew up so high that he flew right out of the sky and into the black vacuum beyond. The jewel he had stolen had the light of the Dragon’s goddess Káhla encased inside it. After more than two hours of being in space, Tarúhan began to run out of air, in a fit of clumsiness and in his struggle to get back, the glowing jewel was tossed from his claws and settled in with the stars. It became the brightest star in the night sky, which you would call the North Star. This is just a story passed down from dragon to dragon, but I believe there is some truth in it, a youth flew up too high and ended up in space. Whether he returned or not I do not know. Dragons are highly magical creatures and we do not know the full extent of their abilities.” “You seem to now a lot about dragons.” Calil commented. “Their history contains many myths and interesting folklore. It’s an interesting topic to read around.” Calil frowned. “But still, what if the dragon was sleeping and didn’t hear or smell you coming?” “You didn’t see the black one till it moved did you?” Fëa said, and started to walk across to the other side of the stables, when they reached the other side Fëa gestured to one of the horse stalls. “Anyway, this is what I brought you here for.” Saying this, Fëa swung open the door to one of the horse stalls and gestured for Calil to go inside. Calil grinned broadly as she recognised the occupant. “Lunacyn”” she cried as she stepped onto the straw-strewn floor of the stand, immediately heading for her mare and stroking her now familiar neck. She felt a pang of guilt that she had almost forgotten with everything that she had been told and with all her fear, that the mare had been left with Fëa on Nimrokko Plains and the daemon had not ridden her back. It was only now that she realised how attached she had got to the mare on the journey here. “Where have you been you silly mare?” she cooed, Lunacyn’s only reply being a soft whicker before she returned to her hay. “You’ve got yourself a very clever mare here, she managed to find her way here all by herself. Now she’s your horse, and your responsibility. Although the stable-hands will clean out her stall and feed her and everything whilst you are being trained, but you still need to exercise her and keep her in shape, that will come into your lessons with Tripp, but you’ll still need to look after her on the days you’re not being trained.” “Oh I will, thank you Fëa.” Calil replied with a smile.
Fëa allowed Calil a few more moments with the mare before she cleared her throat and backed out a step. “Come on then missy, I’m meant to be escorting you to your first magic lesson.”
Calil bit her lip and nodded reluctantly. Though the thought of being taught magic filled her with dread, Calil was confused by the small part of her that seemed excited about it. She had been brought up with a fear of magic and the horror that it could bring, but there was a little nagging voice in the back of her mind that was ever so curious. There seemed to be another side to the race of daemons than she had originally been told, and what if King Akkor had been lying to his people? Calil knew already that he was definitely not the most amiable and understanding of rulers, but there was still a part of her that was still cautious about whole-heartedly believing in everything the daemons were telling her.
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Post by Tasá on Jun 21, 2007 8:09:26 GMT -5
‘Lets see if this magic I’m supposed to have actually works, get a few more lessons on swordplay out of them; and since I have Lunacyn now, maybe I can escape. Or they’ll let me go once they find out I can’t work magic.’ With the anxious side of her calmed by this thought, Calil smiled and patted Lunacyn’s neck, whispering goodbye before she stepped out of the stall and followed Fëa out of the stables and into the sunlight.
Fëa led her partway back down the path they had come, but then turned left down an old overgrown path that led into the encroaching forest. When they reached the looming black wall that encased the daemon’s abode the path seemingly ran straight through it. Fëa counted eleven paces to the right then knocked seven times on the wall. Calil watched with curiosity and no longer with fear as fine cracks appeared in the wall and then part of the black structure shifted as if it was made out of liquid and a door handle was moulded out of the stone. Fëa opened the door outwards, explaining that if any enemy were to chance upon the path, then they didn’t want to make it obvious where the door was. Magic made the path look old and kept a new path to the door from being eroded by people’s feet.
Once outside the wall, they rejoined the path, with Fëa stressing to Calil that if she should ever find herself out in the forest she should always keep to the paths because unless you knew where you were going, you could easily get lost. “Parts of this forest are deceptive,” she said, “the heart of this forest is as black and chill as a winter’s night, and if you get lost the forest would like you to stay that way. It would lure you deeper and deeper into it’s depths and there you would remain until you starved to death or the forest send you mad. There is food enough in this forest to survive, but you have to know where to look and not get led astray by the forest, and not let it trick you into eating that which is poisonous.” Calil gulped at this talk of a forest having one intelligent mind, especially one as malicious as this one sounded. “But, what if I was on the wrong path, and it didn’t lead me to where I wanted to go?” she asked. “The paths here are not like your human paths, they do not always follow the same route. They will sense your need and take you wherever you need to be. Even if you don’t know exactly where that is, wandering around aimlessly can make you end up in some weird places, not that you should ever do that. I can’t stress deeply enough about you never going into the forest without an escort, going to the hut is enough, it’s not that far away and it’s safe, but once you get past there, it gets dangerous.”
Calil raised her eyebrows at the thought of paths that constantly changed and adapted to a person’s needs; musing to herself that this one didn’t seem to know quite where it was going as it was weaving through the trees just like it was wandering aimlessly about. In places it was hard to follow especially in such dark shadows cast by the aging trees.
“Well, this one wouldn’t be any good if you were in a hurry.” Calil commented. “If it sensed urgency, it would straighten and widen out so that it was faster and easier to follow.” Fëa replied simply, then added, “We’re nearly there.”
She was right, although Calil had no idea how she could tell, everything looked the same and there were no specific markers to tell her exactly where they were. Still, the path soon opened up only a small clearing where a small wooden hut stood near a small, musical stream. They crossed the small bridge over the stream and Calil saw minnows dash away from their moving shadows.
“Why is it outside the wall?” Calil asked. “In case some spell went wrong, if one went bad it could mess with some of the more important spells working in the clearing, or cause harm to us. The Wall acts as a protector against magic as well as keeping enemies out.”
Fëa opened the door to the hut and it creaked loudly in protest, and a wave of smothering heat rushed forward to greet them. As Calil took her last gasp of cool air before she stepped inside, she caught Fëa grinning at her sudden dismay at the temperature. The daemon followed her in and Calil willed her not to shut the door, but to no avail as she did from a request at the soul occupant of the hut, and the cool winter’s air from outside was cut off.
Calil turned her attention to the hut’s interior, a fire burned in the fireplace and provided the majority of the light that lit the room, as all the windows were shuttered, casting the room in dark shadows and the orange glow from the log fire. The random candles dotted all about added more brightness to the gloom. Keekché sat in a chair, and a group of candles burned on a table next to herm she gave a light-hearted laugh in welcome and beckoned Calil to sit in the chair opposite her.
“Fëagaer Dánaysé, we will not be needing your assistance.” She said in a light and airy tone, and waved her hand in the direction of the door. Fëa’s upper lip curled in distaste of being ushered out in such a way by the witch, but gave a mock bow and spoke in a tone that was perfectly balanced between sneering and politeness, so much so that she didn’t seem rude, but definitely not polite or friendly either. “As you so wish Sehrsüssanmehrtellabellahkeekchébeckta of the Wittwood.” The daemon gave a sneering smile and then left without another word. Keekché sighed and shook her head slowly. “She’s a very respected and highly regarded daemon and I fear she doesn’t like me.” “Umm…” Calil started, feeling awkward. Now it was blatantly obvious that Fëa hated Keekché, but the witch still acted like it was still only speculation. “Sure, she seemed perfectly nice last night when Darga was there, I mean, I might have turned up late, and, although I was top of my class, I think she was hoping for a more experienced witch. Or, it could be that she still remembers me.” She said, sighing again, then, seeing the puzzled look on Calil’s face she blushed and went on to explain. “When she visited the Wittwood one time, I, err, well I… I managed to set her horse on fire. It was an accident I swear! I didn’t mean to! They healed the horse as best they could, but the horse wasn’t fit enough to outrun the Lizads that ambushed her on her way back to the Daemonwood.” Even in the dim light Calil could see Keekché flush with embarrassment, and Calil had to fight to keep her expression neutral, but she still couldn’t help but fidget slightly in her seat. This was the witch that was going to teach her magic? One that managed to set a horse on fire?
Undeterred by Calil’s lack of speech, Keekché quickly overcame her embarrassment and went on to ramble on for what seemed like hours about nothing in particular, and Calil had to endure this in the sweltering heat of the hut. Most of what the witch was saying didn’t seem relevant in the slightest.
Finally, when Calil thought that she could bear no more of this nonsense, and when there was barely a half hour left before she had to go to her lesson with Darga, only then did Keekché seem to get to the point.
“You see, we witches grow up with our magic, we learn to tap into it at a very young age, it’s something we do naturally. But you’ll recognise a part of yourself that you’ve never noticed before, it won’t feel alien, it will be more like, going into a strange building and feeling that you’re home at last.” Keekché shrugged. “It’s a matter of will, mental control, and knowing the right words. I think Darga will start teaching you the ancient tongue, which is the key to all spells. But if I teach you the simple spell for lighting a candle…” Keekché leaned forward and whispered three words in Calil’s ear. “See it’s simple.”
With that, Keekché turned to stare pointedly at one of the low-burning candles, evidence of how long Calil had been in this boiling room, the witch blew it out, and then, relit it, barely moving her lips.
Calil raised an eyebrow, but all Keekché did was smile and continue to talk. “We witches are beings of all four elements. We can call on any natural thing on this earth. Beings like Daemons and Engels however, tend to favour elements, and as you grow and practice in your magic, you will also begin to favour a certain element. Daemons seem to favour fire, since they are mostly beings of flame themselves, although some are an exception to this. Noots tend to favour lightening and ice, the easier aspects of water and air, and Engels favour air and earth. But as well as calling on the powers of the earth that are linked with your blood, you can call on your Inner Power.” “Inner Power?” “Yes, the power within every being on this planet. There is power in humans, but in most it is extremely weak, though some possess psychic abilities and some healing power. Lizads? Well we simply don’t know. Some humans have Royal blood, which means they will have some power, except it will be dormant. Noots are the ones you know most about, and their power runs in families. Anyway you should go now, and practice what I have taught you and remember all that I have said!”
Calil forced a sickly sweet smile on her face, and she felt a muscle in her eye twitch, she was already beginning to sympathise with Fëa’s hatred of this witch. Practice what she had taught her indeed, Calil hadn’t the faintest clue of what she was meant to be doing!
Standing up she mockingly curtseyed at the witch, keeping her sickly sweet smile in place. “Thank you for the lesson Lady Keekché.” She said, using the title as her mother had taught her to do to people of higher status, although she didn’t regard this witch highly at all. Though with that, she turned and strode out of the hut, hearing the witch’s voice trail after her with the words “Practice, practice, practice!” Calil’s only reply was to scowl.
The chill winter’s day attacked her with it’s cool fingers and Calil shrugged on her jacket and wrapped it tightly about her. The sudden change in temperature was making her head go funny, but she didn’t let it get to her and hurried across the bridge and followed the forest path. This time the path did not have as many twists and turns and seemed much easier to follow.
“Practice, ha!” she grumbled to herself, only the looming trees leaned in closer as if in reply to her ranting, but she took no notice of their creaking limbs. She was in such a foul mood that where normally paranoia would have taken a hold of her, and maybe then she would have noticed the silent shadow flitting through the trees. “What a waste of a morning that was! I’m still none the wiser about this magic that I’m supposed to have. Pfft! I should be back home…” she sighed, and then came to an abrupt halt when she noticed that she had reached the wall already. Still grumbling to herself she counted eleven paces to the right and knocked seven times on the wall. After a while with still nothing happened Calil realised her mistake and groaned, kicking the wall in frustration, but this only led to sharp pains in her foot.
Limping back to the path this time she counted eleven paces to the left, Fëa might have gone to the right at the other side of the wall, but the door lay this way.
Already late for Darga’s lessons Calil raced towards the tower, not noticing that it did not give her the creeps anymore. For now, she would need to forget all about Keekché and try her best to concentrate on her lessons with the daemon. He was a strict teacher and seemed irritated by her lack of proper schooling at times. Lucky for him Calil had always been a quick learner.
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Post by Tasá on Jun 28, 2007 9:26:12 GMT -5
Chapter 11 During her lesson with Darga, Calil had kept quiet about her opinion about Keekché, she had noticed that the daemon had seemed to like the witch, or was a very good actor; and she answered his question about her magic lesson with a curt nod.
She had been pleased to hear that once she had fully grasped the common alphabet in which the common tongue of Angla was usually written, she would go on to learn some of the runic alphabets, and with them, some of the other languages of the land. She would not get to be too fluent in them, and she would not have enough time to learn them all, but she should at least get to know a couple of the most common ones and recognise the majority of them.
She was glad however, when it was time to go and eat, because for the last hour of her lesson with Darga her stomach had been growling, and the daemon merely glanced at her midriff with disdain, clearly annoyed that it should disturb the peace and quiet of the library.
Calil found her pace speed up as she scurried towards the tables filled with food. She went to the usual corner of the tables, not even waiting to sit down before she grabbed a plate and started filling it with food.
“Hungry missy?” came the familiar voice of Fëa, and Calil turned her head and grinned. “Little bit.” She replied. “I’d say…” Anca scoffed from her seat next to Fëa. Calil merely shrugged and took up a seat next to Anca.
“How did your lessons go?” Fëa asked, and Calil struggled to chew and swallow a huge mouthful of food before answering. “Umm, Darga’s was, alright… it seems that he still isn’t pleased with my writing skills.” Calil shrugged. “And Keekché’s was…” Calil paused, wondering how best to describe it. “Confusing.” Calil grabbed a bowl and filled it with stew and swallowed some mouthfuls in appreciation. The winter’s chill had worked it’s way into her bones in the library. Since the daemons did not feel the cold, they did not bother to even attempt to heat their giant library. Here though, the four giant oak trees were nestled in what Call could only guess was some sort of magical cocoon where the temperature was kept at a constant comfortable level, and it also kept the rain and bugs out. “In what way was it confusing?” Anca asked. Calil shrugged. “Well, she spent most of the time rambling on about nothing in particular, then at the end, gave me what felt like half a version of what really goes on, so I don’t really understand anything about it at all, and well, she expects me to practice lighting candles or something, and I have no idea what I’m meant to be doing or even how to go about it.” Calil stopped, slightly nervous by the expressions on both of the daemons. Anca’s was shocked, whilst Fëa seemed outraged. “You should never practice magic before you fully understand the concept and theory behind it.” Anca gasped. “I knew that good-for-nothing witch was trouble.” Fëa hissed, standing up immediately. “Don’t worry Calil, I’ll arrange for you to have lessons with the daemon’s magic teacher Valeh. I’ll sort this out.”
With that, Fëa turned on her heel and left, storming straight off seemingly to the black tower, which Calil had only learnt, a few hours before, was called Háft. “We were actually talking about Keekché before you came over.” Anca said in a matter-of-fact way. “You were?” “Yes. Fëa can’t understand why it was her they sent over from the Wittwood, but Darga feels that if she asks their reasons for sending her, then that will be taken in offence and ruin our fragile alliance.” Anca shrugged. “They have a history, Keekché isn’t Fëa’s favourite witch…” “I think Keekché told me about that, something about setting Fëa’s horse on fire?” Anca gave Calil an incredulous look, and then frowned. “Yes, that would be part of it. Fëa nearly died because of her. Plus Fëa is a bit passionate about this mission, she would do anything not to see it fail.”
By the time Calil had finished eating, Fëa had returned, her expression was unreadable, but before approaching Calil the daemon first went to Mac, Calil squirmed in her seat to get a better look, as the red daemon was settled amongst a group of daemons all wearing the forest-coloured cloaks that Calil had first seen Mac wearing. After conferring for a moment with the rest of this group, Mac nodded and rose, and both daemons walked towards her. Calil managed a small smile and Mac returned it with a broad grin.
“It seems we will be rearranging your lessons for today,” Fëa started, “Instead of your history lesson with Darga and then swordplay with me, I want you to go to the archers fields and learn archery with Mac. Just while Darga and I sort something out.” “Would it have anything to do with a certain witch?” Calil asked with a small smirk. Fëa waved away her question and left without another word.
“Just you and me now eh?” Mac said. “Come on, the archers fields are just round this way.” Mac said, and motioned to the point in the large clearing where the trees had grown in over the wall, the forest starting to grow together as if it were trying to cut this particular section of the clearing out. As he gestured to it, Calil noticed, for the second time, how much the colours in his cloak changed. They were no longer the dark shades of the forest, but now he was in the clearing, the lighter green of the grass mingled with the brown of the oak tables and the giant oaks that grew around them. “That is one really weird cloak.” Calil commented as they started walking. “Pretty nifty eh?” Mac chuckled. “We wear them when patrolling the borders, helps keep us hidden.” “How are they made?” “To be honest, I have no idea. I think the fabric is woven from some strange plant that grows in certain parts of the Wood. Then they cast some spell over it or something. It’s very good for keeping wind out, most water out, and keeps you warm.” “Better than this jacket then.” Calil mumbled as she hugged it closer to herself, finding herself envious of the daemons for never feeling the chill. “You can wear my cloak if you like?” Mac offered, starting to take it off. “Oh no I’m alright. I’ll be fine after I’ve been moving for a bit.” The red daemon simply shrugged, flicked his red tail, and readjusted his quiver of arrows on his back.
They had reached the point where the trees half cut off one area from the main clearing when Mac stopped. “Wait here a second, I’ll get you a bow.” With that, he jogged off to the right, in the direction he was heading, Calil thought she could see a small hut, she guessed that it was full of bows and arrows.
Calil shivered as a cold breeze swept over her. Cupping her hands together she breathed into them then rubbed them together, the friction warming her fingers a little. Before her was a field of grass, white stones lay in a line nearby, marking where the archers should stand, and targets stood at varying distances from this line. Some were close, some quite far away. It was a strange mixture of figures and circular targets. Calil sighed, her breath escaping her in a plume of white mist. At least this shouldn’t be as tiring as swordplay.
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Post by Tasá on Jun 28, 2007 9:27:27 GMT -5
Nazzar’s wizened face peered out at the witch from the cover of the trees. He had dispatched one of the hunters in the forest, rendering him unconscious with a swift movement and stealing his cloak and schwavive. The hunter had probably been out for weeks, and had finally found his prey. A rare animal found only in the Daemonwood. It was shy, hard to hunt, but it’s meat was delicious. The hunter had been concentrating too much on his prize that he had thrown caution to the winds - a very unwise thing to do in the Wood.
Swigging from the bottle of schwavive to rejuvenate his limbs from cramp after crouching in the branches of this tree for so long, Nazzar scanned the clearing. He could see the Four Oaks, and Fëa sweeping to them from Háft Tower. She left soon after, running back with a scowl on her face. Something obviously had the First displeased. Then his prey appeared, with the red daemon Mac. Nazzar’s lips curled up in distaste. He was a lowly Fourth. But whatever had been going on, the witch was ahead of schedule, he should have been waiting here for a while longer yet.
Shifting in his perch, he pulled the hood of his stolen cloak further down over his white hair and fingered the small box in his pocket. If they stopped for long enough, close to the trees, maybe he could work the winds a little to deliver the sleep powder. It would take only a small amount of magic, though it would tax him dearly, and then he could swoop in and collect the blood.
Mac might have been a lowly Fourth, and would have been no match for Nazzar when he had been in his prime, but now, he still had his skill, but his physical fitness was dire. He had been kept in a fancy prison cell for so long. His muscles had diminished, and even tracking the hunter and then running here and climbing this tree had sent him gasping. His muscles were cramped from this sudden assault of movement after being neglected for so long. He might be able to dispatch Mac, but if the daemon called for help, then Nazzar would stand no chance pitted against too many of his brethren.
His only hope lay in stealth and surprise, and here his luck was with him, for there was no one else on the fields. Last night, he had pondered his chances and decided to disguise his mission as much as he could. An attack by an animal of the Wood would do nicely enough.
Further back in the shelter of the trees, a creature snuffled in the undergrowth. Nazzar had found the tracks of a wild boar, and it had only taken very little magic to bend this animal’s will to his own. Although he wasn’t as skilled as his mistress in these matters, the hog would do his will. It would maul the witch a little, the sleep powder would make it look like she had fainted, and then the boar would go after Mac. It was under the strict instructions not to kill the girl, only to inflict a few small wounds. It could do whatever it liked to the daemon.
Nazzar tensed as the duo neared, he watched Mac turn to leave, to gather a quiver and bow for her no doubt, and Nazzar grinned. Perfect.
Summoning his boar, he sent it his instruction and the beast ambled forward. The witch was too busy trying to warm her frozen fingers and inspecting the archer’s fields to notice it until it was too late. A scream escaped her lips as the boar tackled her to the ground, but Nazzar barely noticed this, he was manipulating the wind, his fingers grasped the small wooden box and flicked the lid open, scooping up some of the white powder within. Mac had emerged from the hut now, he had heard her screams and was running towards her with sword drawn. The boar, it’s job done with the girl, roared a challenge and charged. Before the girl could scramble to her feet, the cold wind picked up the sleep powder from Nazzar’s open palm. Sweat beaded on his forehead as Nazzar fought to keep his control of the winds, but he managed it, the girl almost scrambled to her feet before she stopped, suddenly drowsy. The powder was strong, his mistress would stand for no less. It took only another moment for her to fall back to the ground in a deep sleep.
Nazzar barely acknowledged this as he strove to keep the wind’s at his bidding for this final thing. He could have no witnesses. The boar had already injured Mac, but a pained whine showed that the daemon had inflicted some form of injury on the beast. His forehead crinkled with the strain of the magic, Nazzar managed one final gust of wind, delivering the rest of the powder to the red daemon.
With that, Nazzar relinquished his control of the wind, and of the boar. The magic leaving him utterly exhausted, even though it was only a small task. He collapsed back against the trunk of the tree for a moment, allowing himself a second to catch his gasping breath, before he swung down from the branches and landed on the ground with none of his former grace. His exhaustion made him stumble, and instead of landing on his feet one of his legs buckled and he dropped on his knee, he recovered quickly though, and with a scowl on his face and as quick as his muscles would allow, he stole over to the witch, carefully brushing her brown hair from her face. She had a pretty face, it would almost be a shame that his mistress would kill her. Sighing, Nazzar wiped some sleep powder from her cheek and then took her arm. It would not do to get boar saliva in his sample, the boar’s attack would merely mask his incision. Taking a small blade from his belt he made a small but deep cut, blood welled out and his hurriedly sheathed his knife and gathered the vial, moving her arm so that the blood dripped faster into it.
Once his task was done Nazzar went over to Mac, the daemon was barely breathing, he had dropped his sword and it lay bloodied nearby, the boar had been rather brutal with him. It’s teeth had torn at his throat and his arms, chest and stomach lay shredded, and a deep bite wound marred his left leg.
Nazzar smiled grimly. Here was one Fourth that would not taint the Daemonwood any longer with his presence. Leaving him to bleed to death, Nazzar slipped back into the trees. The boar grunted as he passed nearby, Mac had dealt it a deep gash in it’s side, and for the boar to have even the slightest chance to survive from this injury it ought to be set free into the Woods lest the daemons decide to kill it. But the boar should look like it had had no help getting through the wall, and Nazzar had no love for the creature. It would either be judged mad or killed, or set loose in the Wood where the scent of it’s blood might attract bigger, more vicious creatures. Either way the hog would probably die.
“Lucky pig.” Nazzar mumbled as he continued to weave through the trees. His mistress would meet him tonight, in the cursed depths of this Wood. Then he would be back in his cell before morning. The guards that took the shift this dawn were no friends of his mistress, so would alert the Firsts if they found him gone.
Upon reaching the wall he placed his hands on the solid black mass, the stone hummed in recognition - Nazzar may not be the daemon he once was, but the wall still recognised his touch. This entrance had been known only to a few daemons, and it’s existence had been long forgotten, most of the daemons who had known about it were long dead.
Searching with his fingertips, he moved along the wall till he felt a familiar tingling sensation in his palms. Smiling, he pushed and his hands disappeared into the blackness of the wall, he moved them about in the liquid well of the wall till he found the catch, a metal pole inside the wall itself. Grabbing this with both hands, he used this to pull a section of the wall out, which then swung out, opening a way out into the dark woods outside. Nazzar licked his lips tentatively, hurriedly stepping out he closed the doorway behind him. The branches creaked above him in the wind, their fingers tapping against the black wall that loomed high above them. Nazzar allowed himself a moment to catch his breath before starting to trudge to where he would meet his mistress. A deep sense of foreboding awakened inside of him. How he hated the depths of this forest, and he would be forced to wait there for as long as it took for Tasá to appear. At least there he would be able to rest his aching limbs. But somewhere deep inside Nazzar knew that he needed to get fit again, in his current shape, he was of no use to his master. As if he was of no use, then how would he ever get the rest of his spirit back?
He heard a shout from beyond the wall, the sound only echoing out from the doorway he had escaped out of. The wall only allowing a daemon who had the right blood to be able to listen what was on the other side of the door, a useful trick if the Daemonwood ever came under siege. Nazzar snorted, it sounded as if someone had found the witch and the Fourth, which wasn’t surprising; the scent of blood was like the sweet nectar of a flower to a daemon’s spirit. Most daemons had a keen nose for it.
Smiling, Nazzar turned back to the woods, he needed to be far from here if they realised there was someone else behind this attack.
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Post by Shayla on Aug 19, 2007 8:27:48 GMT -5
Chapter 12 Fëa paced the room, Calil had suffered only surface wounds, yet still she slumbered on in a sleep none could wake her from. Mac had suffered worse, his wounds were deep and ugly, and the Healers had said that it could go either way tonight.
At least five of the Firsts were gathered in their meeting room with the fire crackling in the hearth, Fëa was in her humanoid state since she had now fully recovered from her poisoned wound. Her green eyes flitted from one daemon to the next. Shákó and Neeahl were talking in hushed whispers, and Mordae was pouring out Azloc into shot glasses.
Mordae turned and offered one to Fëa, which she took instantly, pouring the alcohol down her throat. It went down like fire, warming her insides and steadying her nerves. Akza sat in his seat, his usual silent self, and Kerrai sat tapping her foot and alternating between twiddling her thumbs and twisting her red hair around a forefinger.
“When will the others be arriving?” The red-haired First asked. Fëa merely shrugged. “Depends on whether Darga has decided to put some effort into it and increased his pace from walk to run.” Fëa muttered, meant for her ears only, but Mordae chuckled from behind her, offering yet another glass of Azloc. Amusement shone in her cyan eyes, here was another daemon who also thought Darga was making too much of himself.
Fëa, grinning for the first time since she had heard of the attack on Calil and Mac, raised her glass and the two daemons shot their drink in unison. Fëa closed her eyes, the flames that had caressed her throat before in a torrent of heat were now only ignited into a smouldering warmth. But again, it helped.
“He has been gone for quite some while.” Shákó commented. “I bet it’s Tomi’s fault.” Kerrai accused. “He’s always in the gardens on the other side of the mountains, it takes ages to walk there.” “Ages to walk there.” Fëa added and Kerrai turned her head to give her a nonplussed look before returning her attention back to Shákó, who never favoured his humanoid state, but he had nothing more to say. “They’ll be here soon enough Kerrai.” Mordae said. Kerrai merely waved away Mordae’s words. “What happened to that boar then?” “It wouldn’t have survived it’s injuries, so we shot it.” Shákó replied.
Fëa sighed. Kerrai was the weakest of them all, as well as the youngest. She had been the daemon born to replace Nazzar when his powers were stripped from him. He had been plotting against them all, and had hold of some strange magical artefact that gave him the power to warp their minds. With the Firsts under sway, none contested Akkor’s rise to power or the King’s decision. They kept themselves to themselves, and let Tímtáe rule itself, even when the former King had requested counsel from them. Maybe he had suspected dark powers were working on his vulnerable son, but Nazzar instead gave bad advice to the King, and Akkor came into power.
Darga had been the one, as one of the more powerful Firsts, to realise that he was under some sort of spell as he had wandered into the forest to search for a bird’s roost for a new quill. He might not have chosen to be a warrior, but he was powerful nonetheless. Sometimes Fëa thought it a shame that so strong a daemon wasted his life in the library. But it had been he who had rallied the daemons together, and they had performed the group spell with all their combined strength to strip Nazzar of his powers. Except the spell had not worked, probably because Nazzar still might have held some of the daemon’s in a thrall. Now, Nazzar not only looked aged; but he retained his superior strength and could still wield small spells. The original plan had been to turn him human and then banish him to Hunntag’s Cove or even the ancient tradition of banishing him to the Bannt Mountains, but because the magic had backfired they were forced to keep him under lock and key deep in the depths of the mountains.
The daemons had been unsettled for a long while after that - suspicion coursed through their veins as they began to wonder if Nazzar wasn’t working alone in his quest to rule their race completely, several daemons had been quietly ordered to leave or left of their own accord, finding new lives elsewhere.
Everyone turned their heads at the familiar click of the mechanism inside the wall, and Darga pushed the door open, smiling at them all in his usual manner, closely followed by Tomi and Illi.
“I’m sorry we’re late everyone.” Darga said, shrugging lightly, offering no explanation. Fëa clenched her fist and sat down in a huff. This meeting was pointless. “Well now that you’ve finally arrived, maybe you can tell us exactly why you called this emergency meet?” She said stiffly, her green eyes glaring deep into Darga’s. It was obvious that it had indeed been the boar to attack Calil and Mac, none knew how it managed to get inside the wall, but it had. It was something they could have discussed at the next meet. “Well, I’ve been wondering how this boar got through the wall, I mean, there are plenty outside of the Wood who would want to attack Calil…” “Get to the point Darga.” Fëa growled. She was in the mood for none of this nonsense, and Darga merely stared at her for a few seconds and then sighed. “I started thinking, who, on the inside of the wall, which daemon would want our plan to fail.” “Darga, think about what you’re saying… the boar attacked Mac the most, it could have killed Calil, but it didn’t, she is still alive, it’s Mac who is fighting for his life.” “Yes, but they are both in a strange deep sleep that none can wake them from.” Kerrai pointed out, earning a glare from Fëa. “Many of the creatures who live in the Wood venture into the depths, where they can madden, and sometimes, pick up strange magical qualities.” Mordae cut in. “Perhaps the boar was simply mad, somehow managed to get inside the wall, and, maybe the sleep is a side-effect of it’s bite. Thinking about it, if it did have something that made it’s victims fall unconscious, it would only need to bite it’s prey once and then return later when the drug had taken effect…” Fëa smiled at that comment, but Darga merely shook his head. “Maybe, these are all possibilities. But I still felt suspicious, then, in early morning, it came to me. What if it was a daemon, who had plotted against us before?” Fëa groaned. leaning her head into her hand so that it covered her eyes, Darga really needed to stop going down this route, he was obsessed with being the mastermind behind every plot and seemed highly paranoid that things could not simply happen by chance. “Surely you don’t mean…” Tomi started. “Yes, Nazzar. Well, now that thought was in my head I simply couldn’t let it lie, so I went to check on him. He was in his cell alright, but, something struck me as odd. He looked haggard and tired, he said he was simply tired of being as unfit as he was, cooped up in that cell all the time, and had been exercising himself after he couldn’t sleep-“ “Well he might have been telling the truth.” Shákó interrupted. “And he just as easily might have been lying.” Darga said firmly, Fëa rolled her eyes, she should have known that Darga would think Nazzar behind this, he always had to blame someone for everything, and most of the time it was Nazzar. “Something just did not seem right, he had a tear in his coat too, which I found strange, I mean, why would he have been wearing a coat to tear it on anything?” “Darga, Nazzar has very little of his daemon-spirit left,” Fëa stated, her patience tried, “not only does he look old like an elderly human, but he probably will also feel the old like they do, he does not have as much inner fire to keep him warm.”
At this, Fëa saw most of the heads of the other’s nodding their assent. Most were sensible enough to realise what Darga was like. “I believe this be an accident.” Azka said, in a gruff and deep voice. Everyone turned to stare at him, and the giant tipped his horns to add to his comment. Darga now seemed to see that he was outnumbered, not enough believed his story, not without further proof. Only Kerrai seemed to want to believe him.
Darga sighed, his shoulders sagging in disappointment ever so slightly. “Alright, then I’m sorry for dragging you all away from your duties.” Darga bowed his head and everyone rose to leave, though Darga didn’t move, and Fëa stayed glued to her seat. He might have seemed to let it drop, but Fëa had the sneaky suspicion that he hadn’t – not entirely. Kerrai lingered for a moment before sighing and casting a glance towards Fëa, it seemed the red-haired daemon wished to stay and talk alone with Darga, but Fëa was not budging. Her patience won out as the younger daemon left the room, with this Fëa rose to her feet, glaring openly at Darga now. “What the hell was that?” “I truly don’t believe that was any accident.” “Stop being so paranoid! Until you have proof of such things, you do not call a meet and you do not waste our time! Next time, if you have a hunch, make sure you find out facts instead of coming here with wild ideas and vague suspicions.” Fëa hissed. “I don’t see why you’re so angry, what if my suspicions had been proved correct by something someone else had found, what then?” “No one else found anything Darga, because there is nothing to find.” Fëa groaned. Darga bowed his head. “Then I am sorry for causing you so much grief.”
Fëa fought to keep her expression stern and unmoving, even though a part of her was laughing uncontrollably at this daemon. Daemons did not apologise for something so trivial, they didn’t apologise much at all unless they felt deeply shamed and the person they had wronged mattered to them. Apologies were a sign of weakness, and although one part of her found Darga funny, the other part felt nothing but shame. They were a warrior-race, and Darga sometimes let the side down. He was a First, meant to show nothing but strength, but he had too many weaknesses. If this had been the elder days, she had known some Firsts who would have simply had him killed, rather than have a weak link in the Council.
Fëa shook her head once and turned to leave, but a hand shot out and caught her wrist, with a warrior’s reflexes she tore her hand free and spun around, her hand instinctively flying to the hilt of her sword, Darga’s eyes widened and his hand dropped back to his side. He was a daemon, so it was natural that he was skilled in the ways of the sword, but his pursuit of knowledge and constant perusal of scrolls and texts might have made him more learned than the average daemon, but it deadened his warrior instincts.
“I have something I ought to tell you.” He muttered. “What is it Darga?” Fëa asked, keeping her voice neutral, though inside she was squirming with irritation. Her hand never left the hilt of her sword, even though Darga was a First as she was, she didn’t trust him. She didn’t trust many beings, but that was her own problem. “Velah warns against traitors. That is why I was so suspicious.” Fëa found herself frowning. Velah was the daemon’s magical tutor, a Second, she was powerful in the daemon magic and witch magic, for she was one of the offspring of a witch and a daemon. She had powers and gifts inherited from both races, her parents had had three children, the eldest, her brother, had died defending a family of witches from raiding pirates. Her youngest sister chose to live in the Wittwood, and Velah chose to reside in the Daemonwood, where she felt most at home.
Using witch magic drained her, the power behind her spells came from her daemon spirit, and because of the lack of demand on her witch half, she experienced strong premonitions and prophetic dreams.
“What did she tell you?” Fëa demanded, feeling her fist clench and unclench. Velah saw many paths to the future, but a word from her was never to be ignored or dismissed lightly, the witch-daemon meditated much on any vision or dream that resulted in dire news, using her better judgement on whether to alert anyone. Mostly, she admitted, she dreamed only trivial things, like who would spill their drink at dinner, or conversations she might have with people. It was only occasionally she would See something big, and usually it would be a vivid vision or dream, and if it was the latter, it would often repeat itself. A lot of the time, these recurring vivid dreams would be coded, and not at all clear, but Velah had had a lot of experience extracting their message.
“She told me that she has had several dreams hinting at a traitor in our midst.” “So that’s why you thought that the boar had been bewitched to attack?” “Yes.” Darga agreed. Fëa frowned, this still made no sense. “Still, if it was, why didn’t the boar just kill Calil? It mauled Mac, but left her with a few scratches.” Darga shrugged and sat back down, and Fëa found herself sitting down in the chair next to him. “Akkor will want the weapon, maybe he sees that he can’t possibly find it without her.” Darga mused. “But there would still be no point to this attack…” Fëa paused, yet, what if there was? She allowed herself to seep back into her natural suspicions and mistrust. Common sense should tell her that there was no motive here, but perhaps there was, to one person unable to penetrate deep into their realm, maybe he had found a slight way in, and even a small plan with a slight chance of success was better than nothing. “Fëa? What is it?” Darga asked, shifting in his seat and moving his chair so that he was closer to her, but Fëa barely noticed.
“Well, the only way I could see this having any motive, would be if Akkor wanted to unsettle Calil into running away. If he was so perceptive as to see how being plucked from her life in Gairlich and having the fate of this earth dumped on her shoulders would make her fragile and possibly flighty.” Fëa shrugged. “But it’s would be a futile plan, after this, we’ve upped our security and our guard anyway, and if she did attempt escape, and manage to get beyond the wall, she’d have to face the dangers of the forest. If he wants her alive, he’s taking a big risk at the slightest chance of his plan working.” Darga’s eyes widened. “I didn’t think of that trail of thought - scaring her into running away.” He paused, running his hand through his brown hair. “What did you think of then?” “Well, I thought if the boar had some form of magic to send her to sleep, then she wouldn’t put up a fight when she gets kidnapped. She could easily be taken, by a traitor to our cause.” “Then why wasn’t she?” “Well, maybe when Kanis smelt the blood and came to investigate, he scared away our enemy.” Darga suggested. Fëa’s eyes narrowed, there was no mistaking who Darga thought to be behind this. “Hmm, I’m still not convinced. Nazzar is behind lock and key, the guards would have noticed any escape, he has no magic enough to warp at least one of their minds, never mind both of them.” Darga shrugged. “I may have no proof at the moment, but I will do. They became brave, maybe we should wait and lay low, let them think they got away with it, until they act again, then, we will be ready.” Fëa couldn’t help but smile, at least he wasn’t talking like a scholar anymore.
“What?” Darga said, sitting up straight and looking at Fëa with a trace of suspicion as if he thought she was secretly amused by his efforts. “Nothing, I’m just glad you shook off the scholar for that split moment.” Fëa shrugged then rose out of her seat, thinking to get back to the Healing House to check whether Calil had woken up, and how Mac fared, but Darga grabbed her hands again, this time it was a light grasp that did not make her reach for her blade. “Fëa…” Startled at the sudden look in his eyes she tried to take a step back, but the back of her leg only found her seat. “Would you- do you have to go?” he asked. “My friend was attacked today Darga, my place is by his side.” “Aye…” he sighed wistfully. “And I only wish that my place was forever at your side.”
Fëa inhaled sharply, feeling her heart start to beat just a little faster, her mind fighting to keep control of her expression. Her friends had hinted at Darga’s feelings for her but it still came as a shock to actually hear it from him. She had hoped that if her friend’s speculations were true that he would move on, since he asked something of her that she could not possibly give. Slowly, she removed her hands from his and ignored his look of dismay at the gesture.
“Darga, you can’t ask such a thing of me.” “Why? Why not?” “Because…” Fëa searched for a reason, any reason, if she told him that he irritated her at the best of times it would be the truth, but not something he wanted to hear. “I just, don’t feel the same way.”
Darga regarded her for a moment longer, and then sat back in his chair. “I understand.” He uttered. Fëa raised her eyebrows ever so slightly, but Darga wouldn’t meet her eye again, fighting from grinding her teeth she silently left him to his own; quitting the room and setting a fast pace down the black stone corridor. The orange glow of the few torches that remained lit did little to illuminate the corridor as a whole, but Fëa’s eyes cut through the gloom to see even the detail in the carpet beneath her feet.
As Fëa rounded the final bend she could now see the double doors that led out into the clearing, now closed. Pushing one of these open and closing it behind her she set a brisk pace across the clearing. She would check once more on Calil and Mac before retiring to her own rooms. Tripp would be the familiar face for Calil if she woke up when Fëa was not there. When Calil recovered, she would waste no time in continuing on with her training, no boar was going to stop her from failing in her mission, and Akkor would be wasting no time.
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Post by Shayla on Aug 19, 2007 8:29:48 GMT -5
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Darkness, that was all. Darkness stretching on for an eternity, smothering, molesting, it was all she could sense, all she could think, though slowly a tiny point of light sparked in the endless abyss. Though it wasn’t so much light, as, a spot of something, something nice, and whatever it was it seemed to be the opposite of cold. With her subconscious drawn towards this thing she slowly began to become aware of things again. The beating of her own heart, and this thing that had revived her from the darkness of her coma itself seemed to pulsate as it slowly but surely filled the rest of her body with tingling warmth.
Eventually thought returned to her, memories started to come back, and Calil became aware of herself again. There was something in her blood-stream that was keeping her like this, of that she was certain, but she had no idea how or why she had come to that conclusion, and how she could be so sure of this.
Content to just lie there for a while Calil allowed whatever it was to finish working, till she eventually realised she could feel someone pressing something on her neck.
“Her pulse is stronger now…” these strange sounds, strange words, sounded as if they were coming from a great distant away. They sounded all muffled, and it took Calil a while to decipher what they meant. The pressure was removed from her neck and Calil tried her best to concentrate on the murmurings she could now hear. She found herself becoming more and more aware of herself as she concentrated on something outside of her own body. She could feel the soft material of the blanket covering her, and the heat of a fire burning close-by caressing her cheek. The air was tinged with strange medicinal smells and herbs and other strange smells Calil couldn’t place. There was a strange metallic taste on her tongue, which felt like it was sticking to the roof of her mouth and she winced as she tried moving her right arm. It felt strangely numb but there was a sharp pain as she tried moving it.
“Calil?” more words, this time they seemed to be directed at her. She recognised the voice. Slowly she tried opening her eyes, light bombarded her and she shut them tightly again. An after-image of a wooden ceiling and two faces peering down at her haunted her and she warily tried opening one eye a tiny bit. “H-hullo Tripp…” she mumbled, and tried sitting up again, this time using her left arm to try and prop herself up. “Here dear just lie down for now.” Came a gentle sounding voice, accompanied by a soft touch on her shoulder, easing her back down again and Calil surrendered without argument. “Water?” she muttered. “Yes of course, here.” Calil felt the same hand turning her onto her side and she groggily propped herself up on her left arm, trying to open both eyes to slits this time. She saw a mug of water being held up for her and she allowed the owner of the lilac hand to pour water down her parched throat. Which, as well as quenching her thirst, also washed away the taste of blood.
Calil winced and pulled away from the mug and lay back down, her eyes were getting used to the brightness of the room and she dared opening them further. Tripp was sat on a stool on one side of her; the woman who had given her water was stood on the other side. She had pale lilac skin with accents of a darker shade of lilac from the side of her face across her cheek, over the lids of her eyes, accenting her collarbone and on her neck. Her nails were a deep shade of purple and she wore a simple grey top and working trousers. Her hair was a dark shade of lilac streaked with even darker shades and it was tied back out of the way, her eyes were a light grey colour and they looked human enough.
“How are you feeling?” she asked. “Been better…” Calil muttered, her voice seemed hoarse and cracked as she spoke. The room she was in was a simple small wooden room, the walls lined with cupboards and shelves and worktops on which a variety of bottles and herbs were scattered. At one end there was a range of different sized mortar and pestles. A fire burnt in a metal grid at one end of the room where a large cauldron was perched over it. In the middle a strange little fire burnt that flickered with red flames that emitted no smoke, on which a smaller cauldron bubbled, filled with a strange green viscous mixture. The room only held two beds with space enough to manoeuvre about them with ease, one bed on either side of the small fire. Calil lay in the one on the right and she slowly turned her head to the other bed on which Mac lay. “Mac?” “Aye he’s here too.” Tripp said. “He… ok?” “He’s doing better…” Tripp replied. “Let’s concentrate on getting you better though shall we?” said the woman. “You have a few surface wounds; the deepest is there in your arm. But we have put a numbing balm on it which, unless you move it, stops the pain and helps the healing process.” “Wha- what happened?” Calil mumbled. “Well, we were hoping you could enlighten us on that.” Tripp said. “She will do no such thing, not yet anyway.” The woman scolded him, but when she turned back to Calil her face softened. “You need rest dear, go to sleep, and don’t worry; everything will be fine.”
Calil allowed herself a small nod and closed her eyes, sleep, a real sleep, was not far away and it did not take her long at all to drift off.
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Post by Tasá on Aug 19, 2007 8:31:02 GMT -5
“So, the little sprite has recovered more quickly from my drug than I thought.” A low voice muttered. Tasá knelt by the clear crystal pool that huddled in a maze of giant roots. To reach the pool you had to crawl and clamber and climb through a labyrinth of twisting roots and brambles, but once you reached it a hollow opened out, completely surrounded by the feet of the giant denizens of the forest. On all sides the roots intertwined to form a mass none could see out of, or into, but above there were but a few tentative vines that curled up out of the frenzy, thorns thrust out to the sides protectively as the shoots silently questioned the stars that shone above.
For directly above the pool was sky, clear sky, and not the overlapping branches of the forest. And when moonlight lit up the still waters of the pool, it became a window onto the world. Tasá knew well that there are magic’s in this world far older and far more powerful than the magic at the hands of the living. The ancient forest had trusted her enough to lead her to this pool, and she used it now to spy on the witch. Tasá was learned enough to know that all magical races drew their power from the wells of the earth, and since the beginning, this magic was diminishing, not that anyone knew why.
“Maybe we all underestimated her strength” Came a soft whisper that sent a cold tingle down even Tasá’s spine. Brushing away a stray strand of dark hair, she raised her eyes to look at the blank face of the wraith. Sometimes it was hard to imagine what really lay under there. Her eyes lowered to the pool and a small smirk played on the edge of her lips. Gathering a water-skin from her bag she emptied what remained in it on the ground and lowered it to the pool, filling it with a small amount of the water whilst muttering a few words under her breath. “Drink.” She instructed the wraith, passing him the water-skin. “Why have you come?” “I heard about something that will require your attention.” Tasá’s head cocked with interest. “What?” “You know a group of humans have formed a small resistance against Akkor? Well the Royal Guard caught one of them, he is of weak mind, a specimen the torturer easily broke. The heir to the throne Darga intends to replace Akkor with was a friend of theirs, and through a series of mistakes - presumably involving alcohol and the prisoner’s sister - the secret is out. The Royal Guard knows about the heir, his name, what he looks like, and where he lives.” After the wraith had delivered his message, he lifted up the water-skin and drank from it.
Tasá was too busy grimacing and cursing the weakness of humans to notice the change that came to Zeth. The water from the pool was washing away the shadows of the afterlife, and now he was the image of what he had been in life. Choppy, untidy black hair that always managed to fall in front of his pure silver eyes that always rang with mischief, and lips that always had the slightest hint of a smile. Strong arms and a torso that suited either the traditional armour of the Engels, or plain and simple working clothes. He had always preferred any clothes that didn’t remind him of his heritage. He had never been a model representation of his race.
“-it’s going to be difficult to get there without raising suspicion about how I know of this. Oh for Chark’s sake why is nothing ever simple?!”
Zeth’s now warm hand reached up to stroke away a stray strand of hair from Tasá’s face, and he felt her flinch slightly at the touch, her beautiful eyes widen at the sight of the man he had once been. He grinned, he had always loved being able to make her jump.
“How long will this last?” he murmured, enjoying being able to feel, hear, smell, and see things the way he used to. “Just tonight.” She replied. Zeth knew that Tasá could sense the disappointment that he felt, but at the same time, she knew the look that came shortly after it. The two moved into one another almost in unison meeting in a kiss that they had waited for, for too long – business could wait.
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Post by Tasá on Aug 19, 2007 8:34:14 GMT -5
Chapter 13 Fëa was up well before dawn. She hadn’t slept at all, something was keeping her awake, and it wasn’t long until she found something to do. Perhaps a subconscious reason for her insomnia.
She had soon got too restless to read, and decided go outside, anything other than keeping herself cooped up in her room. As she slumped down the spiralling staircase, she heard the sound of hurried footsteps, and soon Velah burst into sight and ran straight into her. Fëa just about managed to keep her balance and was quick enough to grab Velah’s wrist to stop the daemon from falling backwards down the stairs.
“Why such a hurry Velah? You’re gonna get yourself killed.” Velah’s shocked face broke out into a relieved smile and she brushed her brown hair hurriedly back into place. Being half-witch Velah looked very human even in her normal state, apart from her bright ocean-green eyes, and the fiery red tips of her hair.
“Thank Chark its you Fëa, I was looking for you, for any one of the Firsts. I just had a vision, one of my rare ones where I know beyond a doubt that it’s true. The heir to the throne has been compromised. The Royal Guard have been dispatched. You need to go, now! They have two days head-start on you, they’re packing as much speed as possible, switching horses at every guard station. They should be nearing Gairlich by now.” “Say no more, I’m on it.” Fëa replied, turning round to rush back up the stairs, she needed all her weapons for this. She barely noticed Velah’s footsteps following close behind her. “Wake Tripp, and the other Firsts. I want Tripp’s fighters on this one, get Kanis too, but I’ll be taking Shalliko. Make sure you wake Darga last, I don’t want his slow judgement hindering me.”
Fëa heard Velah’s quick agreement, then when the door to a corridor came up, the noise of her hurrying into it. Good, she was going to wake up Tripp first.
Fëa burst into her room and didn’t waste any time in grabbing the few extra weapons she wanted, and changing from a loose top into a leather one that would offer more protection again blade and wind. She scooped up a small bag from the corner that she always kept stocked with a few biscuits, schwavive, money and a few medical supplies, and fastened the tiny bag to her belt. Putting on well-worn leather gloves that kept her fingers free, but had spikes on the knuckles, and covered her palms, she decided to take the short cut downstairs.
Out in the corridor once again, she took the direction away from the staircase, and once at the far end of the corridor, near Calil’s room, her fingers fumbled across the stone. Finding what she wanted, she pushed in – a small area about the size of a large coin, swivelled inwards, and then the wall opened up to reveal nothing but a pole. One of the many escape routes that had been built into the mountain residence in the event that the Daemonwood was compromised.
This particular escape route however, was one of the most dangerous, but Fëa grabbed onto the pole anyway, hands gripping it tightly, but before she loosened her grip enough to slid down, she made sure her feet had a grip too, then, she loosened her grip. Gravity took the chance it had been longing for and snatched at her. Stale air whooshed past her face and whipped her hair. She heard the clunk of the door – now far above – closing, and she was enveloped in darkness.
Sensing that she needed to slow down her grip tightened once again, but the effect was minimal, and the friction was taking it’s toll on her leather gloves, she could already feel the burning heat in her palms. Gripping with her feet too, and doing all she could to slow down her descent, friction managed to take some effect, and she felt herself slowing.
In the pitch black, even her daemon eyes had difficulty seeing the floor, with the stone being so dark. She had only just noticed how close it was before she crashed into it. Wincing as she fell back on her arse she scowled at the pole. Definitely not something she wanted to try again very soon.
Wasting no time in picking herself back up, Fëa found the catch to open the door, and sped through the ground corridor and out into the clearing – shooting like a lightening bolt towards the stables. She only just managed to slow herself down enough to have time to open the door before she shot through it, the commotion waking up most of the residents of the stables, and the racket some of them made being enough to wake up the rest.
She could hear Serg whinnying at the other side of the stables, thinking it was time for him to show his prowess once again. “Not this morning my friend.” Fëa whispered, as she ran towards Shalliko’s stall. “Shalliko, I need a ride.” She gasped. The beast snorted and immediately trotted out of the stall. ‘Where can I take you?’ “The Unthar villages, and we need to beat the Guard there.” Shalliko flicked his tail and tossed his head. ‘A race! A perfect challenge!’
Together the two pushed open one of the giant double doors enough for Shalliko to slip out, and, once Fëa had jumped up onto his back, she felt the black beast surge forward into a gallop, wings spreading out, testing the air. Once the winged horse had enough motion he sprang up, wings beating, defying gravity. They skimmed over the wall and were a blur to the birds that were beginning to wake up.
Fëa gripped Shalliko’s shaggy mane and laughed, the pre-dawn winter air was harsh, but it was exhilarating and it definitely shook any lingering thoughts of sleep right out of her system. Shalliko whinnied with glee. ‘Makes me feel like a foal again.’ He commented. ‘What does? Flying?’ Fëa asked, choosing to reply mentally instead of fighting with the wind. ‘No. Racing.’ ‘Unfortunately, The Guard have a good two days head start on us. They’ll be pretty much at Gairlich by now, and they’re swapping horses at every stop.’ ‘There aren’t many messenger stops or places to switch mounts on the Plains. That will slow them down.’ Shalliko remarked. ‘Yes, but we still need to beat them with enough time to spare to get the fool out of there.’ ‘I can go faster on the ground than the ill-bred mounts the human’s call horses, and I can definitely go faster by air.’ Shalliko snorted. Fëa sent a mental sense of agreement to him, and her fingers twisted around his shaggy mane. Shalliko was right, he was the fastest; she only hoped that he was fast enough.
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