Teasery Goodness - Printable Version +- Drunkard's Walk Forums (http://www.accessdenied-rms.net/forums) +-- Forum: The Drunkard's Walk (http://www.accessdenied-rms.net/forums/forumdisplay.php?fid=21) +--- Forum: Drunkard's Walk XIII: Glory Hound (http://www.accessdenied-rms.net/forums/forumdisplay.php?fid=29) +--- Thread: Teasery Goodness (/showthread.php?tid=6230) |
Teasery Goodness - Bob Schroeck - 09-25-2009 Svata Orosia, Czech Republic July 2000 A lone man, clothed in brown monk's robes and sandals, knelt shivering in the middle of the room and stared, almost unseeingly, at a small casket set on the floor before him. Candles in the sconces along the stone walls and large freestanding iron candelabras provided meager light in the open, empty space. Once this dark room, with its low multi-arched ceiling, unpainted walls and rough statues of saints, had been a chapel. Most importantly, though it had fallen into disuse over the long years as the number of monks in the monastery dwindled, it was still consecrated ground. Perhaps that would provide some small measure of protection and stave off disaster long enough to ensure they completed their imperative task. Brother Esven had spent nearly all his adult life preparing for this day. Even so, he had hoped never to see it. He had hoped against all hope that their translations and calculations were wrong. After all, there had been disagreement in the community over several salient points in the codices. Some said that the fated day was not due for another twenty-seven years. Still others insisted the passage read as one hundred and twenty-seven years. They asserted that there was still time. He had known in his gut that they were wrong, were merely frightened children hiding under bedclothes, and so he had plotted and planned accordingly. To his unending regret, today he was proved right. Earlier today, *It* had been sighted. As soon as word reached him Brother Esven had contacted the head of the Orosian Knights, asking for their intervention, and by so doing had knowingly sent that good man and all those who served him to their deaths. The lives of those martyred men had secured them very little time in which to perform the rite... But, surely, it would be enough. It must be. He had cleansed the area, first with holy salt water and then with incense, chanting the required prayers and incantations all the while. He had arranged four ritual candles about the casket, lit them using a Word and his will, then set four guardian seals around each of the candles to prevent their failing during the rite. There was little more needed, just his remaining brothers to add their strength to the work, and they would –- must! -– arrive soon. Everything was ready. Brother Esven wished then that they had been able to find a place above ground secure enough in which to do their great rite. He would very much have liked to see the sky, to feel the wind upon his skin, to hold the song of birds in his ears... Just to *know* the presence of life in the world once last time. He had no illusions. He would not leave this room alive. Then he heard them coming. Their sandaled feet slapped frenziedly against the stone of the corridor as they ran. Their breath came as frantic gasps and little moans of fear. *It* must be close behind them! All the sacrifices he and his fellows had made might yet be rendered meaningless. Brother Esven reached out and opened the casket, resolving, whatever else might happen, that the culmination of his life's work would not be failure. Drawing in power from the world around him, he began internally reciting the Words. He worked quickly and deftly from long practice, shaping the power pulled from the rocks and air of the monastery and feeding it into what lay hidden in the casket. Redolent with the strength, gentle solidity and ineffable pain of hundreds of lives spent over hundreds of years in worship and peace, the power itself steadied him and lent him focus. He began to weave the Words and power together, building... No, this was more organic, more natural... He was *birthing* a new form to hide the precious object. A form that would, perhaps, allow for growth and change. Or, even better, it might just offer a chance at true salvation. If he could only make it more real, more human... That was right, he suddenly knew. That was the approach he must take. He started to add pieces of his own life to the pattern... Then inspiration moved him to reach out to their eventual target instead. It was hard for she was so far away. His brothers stumbled, panting, into the room. Two of them. Only two when at least six had been expected. No matter; it must be done. They slammed the double doors shut behind them, clawing the thick locking bar into place. "It's coming! It's going to kill us!" "Our lives aren't important! We have to protect the Key!" They made him proud. So scared, their number so diminished, and yet determined. He pulled the mingled terror and resolution off them and threaded it into the working. The fear did not, as such emotion can, cause instant disintegration and chaos. Rather, the urgency of their emotions quickened the flow of the pattern, made it easier for him to reach out, across the great gap of miles, to the life he sought. The door was as secure as it would ever get and there was no time. They rushed forward to join him on their knees around the box. As they did so, they discarded the extra, now obviously useless, supplies they had gone to fetch. "Help me perform the ritual!" He ordered brusquely and they stretched out their arms over the open casket with him, beginning to chant aloud. The minute they joined him the spell just seemed to click into place. He was startled at the ease with which it came together –- almost as if his missing four brothers were in fact there, lending their power. Whether it was his meticulous preparation, their endless rounds of practice, their combined determination -- or possibly Deity smiling on their endeavors -- something made the working go absolutely right at this the necessary moment. Now if only they had time to finish! The doors shook suddenly in their frame, bouncing under a brief, testing pair of blows. The doors were not as strongly built as they might be, but the locking bar, a young telephone pole made from oak, was strong and should hold long enough. God above, hold it long enough! However, the pounding distracted Brother Miklos. He turned, frightened anew, to stare at the increasingly feeble barrier between him and the ravening Beast without. His voice and energy wavered. Brother Esven could feel the whorl of energies faltering and starting to fragment in response. "Concentrate! ...Concentrate!" Brother Esven adjured. They were so close now! Miklos jerked around, wide eyes flying to meet Brother Esven's. Taking visible grip of his emotions, Brother Miklos gulped down his fear and returned to chanting. The work came right again instantly, almost miraculously. The hammering continued, growing in intensity. Dust from the mortar around the stone frame of the door floated in the air. The doors began to sag under the punishment and the bar began to creak ominously at having to support both the pounding and the doors' weight. A wind suddenly rose from nowhere, whipping around the laboring brothers. It grew in forcefulness until it tore at their clothes. As it did so, a light rose in the casket, making the wildly dancing flames of the guardian candles inconsequential. It flooded over them in a brilliant green incandescence. The light and wind together washed over the room so powerfully that they overwhelmed the sound of the assault on the entrance. While the brothers could still see each other chanting, they could only feel the chants inside their heads and hearts -– there was no way their ears could possibly hear anything over that wind. At the heart of the chaos a tight glow of magical energy rose slowly from the casket. They chanted more intensely, more urgently. Then, in a last, tremendous burst of light and sound, the energy fired itself upwards and simply vanished. Their voices failed in the sudden silence and calm. The brothers, half-blinded, half-deafened, and absolutely drained, sagged with relief. It was done. The Key was gone to someone who could protect it better than they ever could. Their triumphant mood lasted but a second. The locking bar abruptly surrendered its unequal resistance with a hard, sharp report. It broke in two and the doors flew wide, bouncing off the walls forcefully. *It* stood framed momentarily in the doorway. There was blood on its hands and face, but, strangely, none on its clothing. "Copak to deláte zde? (What are you doing here?)" *It* inquired, and its voice was young, bright and disturbingly pleasant. -- Bob --------- Then the horns kicked in... ...and my shoes began to squeak. - Evil Midnight Lurker - 09-26-2009 Glory: god she may be, but she worships fashion. --Sam "I never seen a cow eat a guy that fast." - Star Ranger4 - 10-07-2009 .... WAIT A SEC.... *suffers an epeliptic ephany* Why do I have a feeling we've... er.. 'SEEN' the key before... Hear that thunder rolling till it seems to split the sky? That's every ship in Grayson's Navy taking up the cry- NO QUARTER!!! -- "No Quarter", by Echo's Children - Bob Schroeck - 10-14-2009 Well... if you've seen a picture of Michelle Trachtenberg... Seriously, Helen and I aren't quite sure what you mean by that. -- Bob --------- Then the horns kicked in... ...and my shoes began to squeak. - Star Ranger4 - 10-16-2009 Eh... Think about what broke the wards the last chapter of the temple at the end of the last published chapter of DW-5. Prolly wrong, but thats what suddenly came to mind. Hear that thunder rolling till it seems to split the sky? That's every ship in Grayson's Navy taking up the cry- NO QUARTER!!! -- "No Quarter", by Echo's Children - Bob Schroeck - 10-16-2009 Aaah. No. -- Bob --------- Then the horns kicked in... ...and my shoes began to squeak. - robkelk - 10-17-2009 I'm not a big Buffy fan, and even I know that this scene recounts the Dawn of a new era for the Key... I think. -- Rob Kelk "Governments have no right to question the loyalty of those who oppose them. Adversaries remain citizens of the same state, common subjects of the same sovereign, servants of the same law." - Michael Ignatieff, addressing Stanford University in 2012 - Bob Schroeck - 10-17-2009 Correct, Rob. And just to make it clear, the Key and the staff Doug wounded Mara with are two completely separate, um, entities I guess is a good enough word. -- Bob --------- Then the horns kicked in... ...and my shoes began to squeak. |