August 23rd, 2010 §
In Hareez, the golden age of prosperity was long forgotten. The gods had fallen into a deep slumber, unaware that demons roamed their lands, and the Palymfar Order no longer protected the people. In those days all men feared the palymfar while the palymfar feared only their Grandmaster, and his Slayer.
~THE SAGA OF PAWAN KOR~
“Hear me, O Goddess! What must I do?”
There was no response, no sound at all except for the golden leaves crackling in a brazier on the altar. Their aromatic smoke swirled through the ancient shrine and coiled around Zyrella Anthari, the last true priestess of the White Tigress, as she lifted her hands beseechingly towards the statue of the goddess on the dais before her. She had begun her ritual upon arriving with her templars but still had no answer to the dream that had led her here. Her knees ached from hours spent on the flagstones.
As she called on the goddess again, desperately now, faint sparks danced in the amethyst channeling stone that hung around her neck. Instinctively, she now knew what she must do. Unbidden dreams and unexplained urges—this was all she had ever had to guide her. It would have to be enough this time as well.
With a gesture and a few arcane words, Zyrella activated the witch-sight spell that allowed her to see into the Shadowland. Her azure eyes turned milky white and she gazed intently into the smoke, her mind focused on the Tigress and the future. She expected to see a vision that would give her instructions for a ritual that could free the goddess from bondage. Instead, her spell uncloaked an enemy spying on her through the Shadowland.
The man wore the rust-colored garb of a palymfar assassin, and at his neck was a jet qavra stone pulsing with malefic energy. His mask was lowered, revealing a scowling, hawk-like face. Zyrella had never seen him before, but his amber eyes were lit by zealous fire, and by those eyes she instinctively knew who he was. Her muscles tensed. Her heart pounded. If he could observe her in this way, then he was near, no more than a few hours away.
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February 15th, 2010 §
Somehow Zyrella held herself together as the powers she summoned burned within her. She held a slight advantage over Grandmaster Salahn who was fatigued from months of sorcery, and unprepared for what Zyrella was attempting.
The Slayer entered the shrine. Zyrella immediately felt his presence, but she maintained focus on her ritual. To do otherwise would invite disaster and assure failure. Zyrella could only trust that Ohzikar would delay Bavadi long enough.
~~~~
Jaska stepped into the sanctuary. As he rolled his weight onto his lead foot, he sensed danger. He sprang back and a tulwar chopped through the space he had occupied.
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February 21st, 2010 §
Jaska tumbled through raging waters, scraping the canyon walls. Though wide horizon and starry sky appeared at the canyon’s end, he gave up. Much of his blood now flowed within the Gasrah and willpower could carry him no further.
But as he sank, the White Tigress shot from the muddy north bank. Water surged around her as she navigated the currents. She reached Jaska, grabbed his arm gently, despite her massive jaws, and pulled him ashore.
The White Tigress licked his face and pawed at his chest but to no avail. So she channeled some of her spirit into him until he breathed again, hoping her gamble would pay off.
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March 16th, 2010 §
The eastern sky brightened as dawn approached while the west remained dark with retreating storm clouds. Along the riverbank, the swollen waters sloshed as they receded. Wind sighed through brakes of reeds and the leaves of three stunted palms. In a nearby stream, Jaska caught two fish barehanded, despite the pain that tunneled deep within his mind and the limited range of motion in his neck and left arm. His barely sealed wounds burned with punctuating waves of needle-sharp stabs.
With cold-numbed fingers, he ripped the flesh from the bones of the fish. He swallowed more than chewed for his jaws would barely open. He was exhausted, but he wouldn’t let himself fall asleep again. He couldn’t bear to face more nightmares of carnage and torture.
He needed to get help. Lying here for days would only expose him to enemies and predators. It might also mean succumbing to his injuries. Jaska splashed his face and drank from the stream. Then he gathered a few half-rotten dates that had fallen to the ground and stuffed them into a pocket.
He was ready to move on, but where to? » Read the rest of this entry «
March 18th, 2010 §
A warm glow emanated halfway up a rock wall on the north end of a dry canyon. Along a narrow ledge was a cave not visible from the canyon floor. Firelight flickered on the walls inside and illuminated hunting scenes and animal lords painted by tribesmen centuries ago. Many of the scenes depicted species long extinct from the region, their populations decimated by the inexorable approach of the northern desert.
Zyrella chalked her own symbols onto the walls: twisting runes that channeled the geomantic forces in her surroundings and called upon the divine powers of the great deity Kashomae, the Gentle Savior. After Zyrella finished, Ohzikar fastened a sheet of canvas over the cave entrance. Then he joined her at the back of the cave where water, shimmering like liquid fire, trickled into a small pool.
“That should mask our firelight.” He frowned at the small pile of brush, dung, and coal. “Not that we’ll be burning much.”
“I’ll conjure sunlight into a stone tomorrow.” Zyrella didn’t let on to Ohzikar that she was utterly spent. Making a sunstone would tax her, and an apprentice sorcerer could handle such a task with ease.
Ohzikar turned his gaze to a pallet set into a nook two-thirds of the way back into the cave. » Read the rest of this entry «
March 23rd, 2010 §
When Jaska next awoke, the dim sunstone barely illuminated the cave. Zyrella slept on a pallet along the opposite wall; Ohzikar was absent. Jaska’s stomach churned, demanding food. So with creaking joints and trembling muscles, he retrieved dried meat and dates from the supply packs. He sat by the pool and ate.
Jaska was dressed in a grey shirt and pants that cinched at the ankles and knees. His pack, weapons, and uniform lay stacked nearby. No, he thought, those weapons can’t belong to me. Mine fell into the river. These … must have belonged to my students.
He nearly wept as he thought of the young men he had trained for the last few years. But then what sort of men had they truly been? » Read the rest of this entry «
March 30th, 2010 §
A horde of faceless children shuffled toward Jaska. He tried to back away, but Grandmaster Salahn loomed behind him and whispered into his ear: “Kill many, Jaska, so that we may bathe in style tonight.” Jaska tried to resist, but his arms moved of their own accord and drew his weapons. Then, even with his eyes closed, he conducted his grisly task.
Hours later, he was in a shallow, marble-tiled pool filled with blood. As he slid between Mardha and Salahn, gasping in orgasm, Zyrella suddenly appeared, chained to a column rising from the middle of the pool.
Mardha left Jaska’s embrace and took a scourge from the poolside. » Read the rest of this entry «