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Rabiesbunny
Seeker
USA
93 Posts |
 Posted - 17 Feb 2009 : 01:46:40
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Race: Human (Later, Plant)
Height: 5'8"
Age: 19 at campaign's start
Weight: 162 lbs
Build: Thin
Hair: Dark black, plaited back in a braid
Eyes: Brown
Accent: Mulan with hints of Rashemi
Noticeable features: Symbol of Talona on her forehead, deformed right hand.
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Umolka's appearance, once upon a time, denoted Thayan citizenship. On first setting out adventuring, searching for a Talontar Holy Book lost in the razing of Zhentil Keep, Umolka was thin and sickly. Her head was shaved smoothly bald, save for a long braid that remained at the back of her head. Her head, like many Thayans, bore tattoos; prominently blue, with black bordering. The three tear-dropped symbol of Talona was set between her eyes, which were often lined heavily with kohl, to make her pale skin appear moreso. She dressed in robes of blue and silver, and in battle donned black leather that smelt of offal due to an enchantment she had placed upon it.
When Talona had seen fit to keep the young woman safe from disease, her pallor brightened and her figure filled out, and soon she looked far more normal and attractive. As this coincided with her troupe's assignment to Waterdeep, she saw this as the perfect time to do what she had wanted to do for a few years; she had now grown out a mane of short cropped black hair accented by her waist long braid, the only tattoo visible the three teardrop symbol of Talona perched between her eyebrows. Removed from the bitter cold of the Moonsea region, Umolka's dress usually consisted of loose earth tone skirts and frilled blouses. When clothed for battle, however, the Talontar's true intentions were revealed bare -- the druid's armor was soon changed to a set of blackened plate armor, long razors sprouting from the thigh guards, bracers and other various pieces. The smell of dead flesh could still be found around her once donned, the feel of death and the buzzing of flies not there causing her presence to be unsettling.
More recently, though, a remarkable change has overtaken the woman known as Umolka, and when she is not using a magical item to disguise her appearance, it may be shocking. Her once tan skin has now taken a decidedly un-human hue, a light shade of green. Her skin is cold and spongy to the touch, almost slimy at times. Once brown eyes are now a bright shade of yellow and reptilian in appearance, shockingly bright compared to the rest of her face. Markings of a darker shade of green on her face replace eyebrows, and line her eyes as if by kohl, for the woman seems to possess no more hair on her body.
Where hair once was on her head appears to be some kind of plant matter. Long tendrils of moss-like, loamy material twist as if strands of hair, keeping her general appearance very much the same. When her shoulders are bared thin, brown spines can be seen rising out of them, four on each shoulder blade. Her right hand is much the same, though the deformed black skin seems to have become a thick bark. Now she has not so much nails as claws, each rough fingertip ending in a wicked point, translucent and appearing not unlike amber.
If enough skin is bared to show her tattoos or scars, the skin around them seems to be split and blackened.
An earthy smell surrounds her, as well as a new-found sense of confidence in her abilities.
Pox (Horrid Dire Rat Animal Companion):
This is only amplified by the horrifically large rat by her side. The size of a Pony, covered in bony plates, spikes, disgustingly large fangs, and dripping copious amounts of acid, Pox is a sight to behold. He is usually barely restrained with the aid of a red spiked collar and a reinforced leather leash. At the end of his thick and chitinous tail is perched a scorpion's stinger, dripping with viscous green fluid. In places, the druid's companion seems to be rotting -- the skin at the corner of his mouth town, revealing his huge teeth deep inside the muzzle. Small sores dot the flesh on his chitinous hide, and a deep emerald fire smolders in his hideous eyes.
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"Then I was right. Jobe has all his children killed, and Michael Bay gets to keep making his movies. There is no god." |
Edited by - Rabiesbunny on 17 Feb 2009 01:47:29
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Rabiesbunny
Seeker
USA
93 Posts |
Posted - 17 Feb 2009 : 01:54:11
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A few things about these stories, and Umolka Vhirkina:
First of all, thank you for taking the time to read this. Our "Ruins of Zhentil Keep/Zhents in Waterdeep/Zhents in the Deep Jungle" campaign is currently on hold due to the DM burned out after running for two years. These stories are collected haphazardly, but are all stories I have collected of Umolka and her past. I did just want to note on a few things, so that there is no misunderstanding.
Firstly, I did want to mention the weather: While it is true Thay has a magical weather control system, lore has shown that it does not cover all of the country, all of the time. Tyrtauros is far enough from Thaymount that I did take some liberties in assigning it as a place that the heat gets to in the summer. :) If you do have lore showing this is not the case, though, I'd love to see it! While I have a good deal of 2nd edition resources, I certainly don't have all of them.
Secondly, nearly all of these are based off of in-game stories, save for her first few background stories. While I did not want Umolka to be a 'special little snowflake Mary Sue', she does have many 'unique' aspects that make me feel cheesy from time to time. ^^ Forgive me!
That said, thank you again for reading. I hope it's not too confusing. |
"Then I was right. Jobe has all his children killed, and Michael Bay gets to keep making his movies. There is no god." |
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Rabiesbunny
Seeker
USA
93 Posts |
Posted - 17 Feb 2009 : 02:03:48
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A Strange Start
Flamerule held it's sweltering grip over the generally arid land of Thay. An oppressive heat hung over the city of Tyrtauros, as it did every year, hearkening in the Reeking Heat -- Thay is not known for cleanliness in even it's larger cities. Refuse and offal smoldered in the warmth of the season, the air becoming heavy, and unpleasant to breathe. For this reason, the Vhirkina family has retreated from the city, to a small house in the featureless wastes of the Tharch. The Reeking Heat, however, was not their only reason for retreating.
Within the walls of the dwelling a small woman sat, wiping sweat from the forehead of a girl. The young mother's lips were drawn back in an expression of worry. The room lacked windows, and it was considerably cooler because of it. The child's skin was grayed, her breathing labored. Eyelids fluttered in a state of restless slumber as the woman rose to her slippered feet and hurried from the room.
"I just don't know what else we can do...", the woman said softly to a man crouched over a small table. Both were bald, though the man was considerably more pale than the woman that was his wife, his head covered in intricate tattoos. The man raised his eyes from the table with a weary smile, motioning the dark skinned woman to sit. With a hesitant sigh she did as beckoned, hands raising to run across the smooth skin on her skull. "She's just not getting any better. Every night, her fever gets worse, and she eats less. I feel useless..."
"The required tithe at any of the temples was just too much for this time of year, dear. It's not our fault." The man broke a piece of bread in half. With a tentative smile, he offered the chunk to the woman. "All we can do is pray to the Gods she makes it." His wife wrinkled her nose and brushed away the proffered food, her hairless brows furrowed in anger.
"That doesn't work!", she spit out in rage. "Every night, I pray. Less and less, though, do I find myself praying for Talona to spare her from the illness." Licking her lips, the woman raised her hands to her eyes, taking in a deep breath. "...I find myself praying for Cyric to take her soul quickly to his realm, and get it over with."
The husband's lips drew back in a stern frown as he reached out, his fingertips touching her slender chin. "The day we give up is the day we kill her. Stop being so sentimental, we're doing everything we can." Though his touch was gentle, the voice he addressed his wife with was black with anger and disgust. "You can love her, and still accept the inevitable with grace."
Painted eyes fluttered shut as the woman heaved a sigh. "...inevitable."
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Umolka's sleep was fitful. As her parents slumbered, the perspiring girl thrashed in her small, sweat-drenched cot. Dark shapes plagued the girl's fevered dreams; spined lizards thrashed at her as she ran in the distorted world, wings flapping, the beasts squealing and roaring. She would wail and cover her head as she ran. Occasionally, she would stumble over some disgusting creature. Lumps of green and black flesh, acid and bile oozing from their mouths, would peer up at her and cackle. The moment she would take to right herself would be enough time for the beasts to descend on her, the events replaying again.
The girl felt herself being pulled from the dream world swiftly, her eyes shooting open. Though young yet, Umolka realized something was wrong. She had not woken up this easily since illness had beset her, and that face disturbed the girl. Tugging wet hair from her face she sat up, stray drops of perspiration falling on the girl's bare thighs. Her vision was fuzzy and dark as she glanced across the room to her parents, sleeping quietly in their own thin bed. Cautiously she lowered her feet to the sandy floor and moved to stand.
As she stood, Umolka's knees buckled, her breath catching in her throat. With a helpless gasp she crumpled to the ground noiselessly. The child's perceptions jarred as she caught her breath, her muscles falling lax as she stood once more. This time, the naked girl managed to stay on her feet. It was at this time she realized she was seeing herself walk, as if she were outside of her own body. This didn't alarm the Thayan child, for she had dreamed of far stranger things in the past moon. Slowly her body began to move, bare feet scraping against the sand as she made her way for the door.
A rush of warm night air woke Umolka's mother. She stirred lethargically at first, turning onto her side and opening her eyes. She found it strange that there was a breeze making it's way into the hut, but it was not until she noticed her daughter's empty bed that she thought anything of it. With a panicked whine she stumbled out of bed, shaking her husband's shoulders.
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The four year old's greyed skin crawled under Selune's light, and the chill it's wind brought to her damp form. When first the child's small feet began carrying her, it had been kind of new. But now that she had exited the hut and began towards the wilds of the desert, things did not seem so innocent and adventurous. Inwardly the child began to panic, mind screaming against the force commanding her body, and it seemed to have an effect. The girl did come to a stop, though relief did not last for long.
Her feet had brought her to a halt in the path of a snake.
The large brown serpent hissed, it's form coiling up and over it's own body innumerable times. Slowly it rose into the air and swayed toward the girl's position, crimson tongue tasting the desert air. To her parents, who rushed out of the hut at this moment, Umolka seemed serene, her face carrying a smile. The girl's mind, however, was paralyzed with fear. Beyond her own control, her body stepped forward, her right hand balling into a fist.
The snake's strike was clean and instant, and before her mother and father could react, the serpent had disappeared into the moonlit sands. Umolka felt the pain suddenly then, as the force left her thin form and allowed her to reenter. The child swooned and crumpled into the sands, unconscious.
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"Momma, Poppa..."
The woman awoke with a start at the high-pitched voice addressing her. Dried tears made the effort of blinking difficult, but she did so within a matter of moments and reached out toward the girl. Here they had hauled her to die, both holding onto her small body in a tight hug, falling asleep to the sound of one another's restrained sobs, and their daughter's failing breath. She felt, under her palm, a cool face drawn up in a smile.
"Momma, I feel good now, can I have some bread?"
Vision clearing, she could see the child's brightly tanned face. She didn't seem to be sick, and certainly, she didn't seem to have a fever. Struck speechless, the mother grabbed Umolka in a fierce hug, beginning to sob. Her husband grumbled and shook his head, confused as he came to. Tears clouded his eyes after the realization, his arms wrapping around the two females, holding them close.
Oblivious and unremembering of last night's ordeal, Umolka giggled between her parents. The illness that had nearly claimed the child's life was now a distant memory. All she had to show for it was a set of scars on her right wrist, they would later found out. Oddly enough, it seemed the snake had an extra tooth. Never, however, did the parents mention to one another that it appeared similar to the holy symbol of a goddess. A goddess they never wished to visit them again. |
"Then I was right. Jobe has all his children killed, and Michael Bay gets to keep making his movies. There is no god." |
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Rabiesbunny
Seeker
USA
93 Posts |
Posted - 17 Feb 2009 : 02:10:58
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Becoming
The girl's toes curled as she stretched out leisurely. Lathander's rays were just cresting the rough rock and sand that layered the earth in this part of Tyrtauros, the summer's air quickly warming. A loud yawn escaped her mouth as she stood -- Umolka was no older than thirteen passings of Summertide, her tanned body unmarred by the tattoos and scars of her future, almost untouched even by her coming womanhood.
Dark hair shimmered around her form as she sat, recently donned blue robes settling around a slender form. She was alone in the hut. Sometimes, during the scorching moons, her parents would allow her to come here. The city would always grow unbearable, and she would moan and complain until Mother gave in. More and more now, they sent her there without her prompting. Though she was lanky now, she was soon to be noticed by boys and men alike, and within the next few years, to be married. Probably to one of her father's business associates.
It was not as if she was denied other choices -- Thay was one of the areas on Faerun where men and women were afforded equal opportunities. What you could accomplish in life depended on your heritage, not your sex. Had Umolka the drive, her parents could have sent her to an academy, where she could be further educated, and perhaps one day, start her own business.
But she lacked the need to advance herself in such ways. Merchant or wife of a merchant? It just didn't matter. The girl broke off a piece of bread, brushing it with a light layer of honey. She washed it down with warmed water from the indoor well, taking all the time in the world to finish her breakfast. She liked it out here because the air was silent. Between the towns and cities in these wastes, there was little to distract you.
On finishing her meager meal, the girl stood, bowing her thin form in a stretch. Fingers ran through her thick hair. Her mother had been on her for years to have it shaved bare. Being of Rashemi descent, Umolka had many an official ask for her citizenship pass. With such long hair, she was often mistaken for a slave. To combat this, she began to wear her hair up in an elaborate wrap, as she had seen foreign travelers do in this warmth. But when in private, the girl preferred to wear it down, no matter the temperature. Eventually, she would need to shave her head. But she was young yet.
Umolka peered out one of the small ventilation openings in the hut, tapping her fingers against the clay. It was hours from Highsun yet, her favorite time of the day. Drawing up the heavy blue hood, Umolka opened the door carefully. A light breeze rose to greet her as she stepped, barefoot, into the warming sand. It rustled her robes as she moved to close the door behind her, the warm wind pleasant as it stirred the area between her skin and her clothing. Eyes aimed at the clearing sky above her, she began to wander.
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The time always passed quickly for Umolka in the wastes, but today was different. Each step began to feel like an eternity. She could almost hear each grain of sand as it dropped from her foot, and was displaced as she stepped down onto it. A comforting heaviness took residence in her temple, something vaguely familiar. It was around Highsun that she became exhausted, and called her body to a stop. Umolka laid herself out in a shallow pile of sand as she panted and heaved. Last she remembered, she was not so out of shape. She shouldn't be this tired. But she was. Head tilted to the sun, her eyes fluttered shut.
She had not shut her eyes but a moment -- at least, this was something she was sure of. What she came to realize would prove to be quite different. Here she was, walking. Where had her robes gone? Why was she wearing nothing? Umolka was gripped by dread fear. She was going to die of heat exhaustion at this rate! Frantically willing herself to turn back, toward the hut that she could no longer see, she realized something far more confusing. In the heat-warped air, she was not seeing through her own eyes. She was seeing herself walking from outside her own body. And she could do nothing to stop herself.
Dear gods, make it stop! Beshaba, please turn your eyes elsewhere...!
After an uncertain amount of time, she ceased her struggling against whatever force held her body in check. She could see now, if she concentrated, bloated black and green forms hobbling along in the distance, warped and twisted by the heat dancing off the ground. Something far larger was just beyond sight, a towering brown mass against the tan background of the desert. Alarms began to sound within Umolka's detached mind. This was something she shouldn't be near, something horrible. Desperately she began to strain at the invisible cord keeping her tethered to her burning body.
Her blistered feet carried her closer to the creature. She could see what frightened her so now, and it only caused her mind to rebel loudly. The massive spiked hide of the Wyvern rose and fell with each breath. It's maw was pulled back in a snarl, revealing it's sharp teeth. What was more unnerving was the state of decay this creature was in. Patches of it's frightening hide were loose and rotting, the smell of rancid flesh assailing the girl's nostrils, even as she could do nothing to move. Inwardly, she began to cry, as her form stepped closer and closer to the monster.
Please, stop, I don't want to die!
As she came to a stop, the Wyvern moved it's hulking form, wings spreading as it raised the tail. Viscous liquid pulsed from the tip of the stinger housed on the wicked appendage. The tail swayed a moment or two before curling around the beast, stinger raised only a foot, perhaps two, from the girl's face. Her right hand began to extend toward the venomous stinger, arm raising as she took a step forward.
Stop! No, what's going on? I don't want this. This is a dream, it's just a dream.
As if able to hear her pleas, the wyvern's head lowered on it's thick neck, a green fire lighting behind it's amber eyes. Umolka's ears did not understand what the creature said, in a series of snarls and draconic growls, but it reverberated deep within her fevered form.
Seal the pact, Blightling.
No, stop! She cried out inwardly as her body moved without her control, her right palm pressing down with earth-shattering pain on the barb. Her mind lurched in confusion as it was pulled back into her form, her left hand grasping desperately at her wrist. Black liquid began to pour from her upturned palm, where once blood would have. Eyes bulging, she stumbled backward into the sand and landed on her end as she watched the change overcoming her limb.
The bite scars she had since childhood were buried under the dark fluid, which began to encase her forearm as well, the flesh bubbling outward. Her nails took on the fluid, beginning to harden and extend to sharp points, her hand spasming as the skin burst under the desert sun. The fevered girl let out no more than a soft whimper as she collapsed into a heap in the sand, her nude form heaving with shallow breaths.
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The sky was dark once she awoke. She could smell the sickly sweet smell of bile in the sand beside her, and turned her head with an anguished groan. To this side, she could see large imprints in the sand, suggesting of the wyvern's existence. An exhausted moan, and she pushed herself upward to her knees. She was back at the hut, not dead. A glance to her right hand, blackened and deformed, confirmed that it had not been a dream. Something strange had just happened.
But by the gods, she wished it hadn't. |
"Then I was right. Jobe has all his children killed, and Michael Bay gets to keep making his movies. There is no god." |
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Rabiesbunny
Seeker
USA
93 Posts |
Posted - 17 Feb 2009 : 02:15:10
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Spurned
Umolka had been fighting this for years. Now, on the cusp of her sixteenth summer, she came to realize she could no longer delay it. And so she had come to this place today, dragging her feet over the cobblestones to the spa she now sat in.
"Did you have to remove my eyebrows as well?" The young Thayan let loose a heavy sigh as she peered down at the locks of ebony hair littering the floor. The woman over her snapped a pair of thin fingers to gain the attention of a bedraggled slave standing in the corner. At her beckon, the emaciated man began to sweep up the hair.
"Of course, young one. Do you wish to look like a balding slave man?" The lean woman handed Umolka a large mirror -- instinctively, the teenager recoiled. The Umolka who stares out at her from the glass seemed a different person entirely. Gone were the feet of dark hair, hair she had thought beautiful, though her kinsmen did not. Hair she had fought against her parents tooth and nail to protect. With the distracting mane now reduced to a single braid at the back of her scalp, the girl's flaws shone through all the brighter. Her face was awfully long, she could see that now -- not unlike a horse, she mused to herself. Though sporting a deep tan like many Thayans, the realization came to her that she was naturally more pale than most, as the crown of milky skin atop her head showed. Add to this the dark circles under her eyes, and the once vibrant girl seemed sickly and old. The self conscious young woman set the mirror down and slipped her fingers into the coin pouch resting at her belt.
"How much do I owe?"
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Umolka pulled down the hood attached to her grayed robes, dark eyes peering out from their shadowed depths. This time of the year Tyrtauros was filled with travelers crossing through the Tharch, and often they would stop in the city hailed as the crossroads of Thay, and the best slave market in the country. Here, not only could humans be obtained for less price than elsewhere, but also members of every exotic race one could imagine: drow, minotaur, wemic, even the large loxo. Currently as she slipped past the slave market, an extremely broken sun elf was being auctioned off. The six foot tall creature was frail, dull and nearly lifeless eyes indicating his shattered will. There was no doubt in her mind that the missing tips of his pointed ears had something to do with that. Turning her attention from the proceedings, she continued on.
Her destination, the church of Kossuth, was soon before her. The everlit braziers on either side of the door were accompanied by two Thayan knights, their tattooed heads glistening in the heat. She nodded politely to the two guards and passed through the two large doors. Being the primary church in the country may have, in any other city, made this the largest building. However the Tharchion of Tyrauros had converted to the recently resurrected Lord of Tyranny, bringing an iron fist down on the once corrupt region. Though the Kossuthian temple paled in comparison to the Banite temple being erected, it was still impressive.
At the far end of the ground room lay the altar, cut from onyx and glistening with unknown enchantments. The incense set to burn atop of layered the temple in a shroud of light smoke. In the pews before her many bald and ornate heads were bowed in prayers, looks of piety (be they forced or fervently true) locked onto the faces of every man and woman.
And though Umolka's past had shown her the way of disease as her path in life, she closed her eyes and leaned back against a wall as she offered her prayer to the patron deity of Thay. The clergy present today -- three priests -- milled about within the room seeking those who required guidance. Any in red robes received immediate attention, as could be expected. Tending the the various needs of the temple were several acolytes, one of whom Umolka was focused on.
She had known the man since she could remember. Son of the high priest, he had once been a friend of hers, a childhood playmate until his induction into the clergy some eight years previous. Since that time he had grown far more removed from their friendship, burying himself deep in the ways of the Flamelord. And so she would come down to the temple many times a tenday and offer prayers, all the while quietly fawning over Maxi.
Umolka finally managed to catch his eyes, a bright smile crossing her face as her left hand raised in greeting. She could have sworn the cold look in his eyes warmed ever so slightly, and it felt as if her heart leaped into her throat at his approach. Maxi was nearly a head taller than her and exceedingly handsome -- the Mulan man was slim and tanned, his bare skull covered in an array of designs depicting black and orange flames. His dull orange robes were immaculately clean despite their dragging along the cool marble floor, which was itself scuffed and dirty. Dark brown eyes carried the stern quality of a born and raised Thayan: cold and bitter, ready to criticize anything.
"Back so soon the Flamelord's home, Umolka?" The Rashemi blooded girl seemed not to notice the man's slightly mocking tone. "You would never know your faith lay with another deity."
"Only three times in the last tenday." She almost chirped, her deformed right hand reassuringly grasping at the holy symbol under her robes. "Beside, I know where my faith lies."
"As do I." His voice leveled to quite a serious tone. The gravity of his tone made the few years of age difference between the two very obvious. "Why did you come this time, girl?"
The smile on Umolka's face faltered ever so slightly as the condescending tone registered. "I just thought you might like to see that I removed my hair as you suggested."
"Nn..." He grunted in some form of frustration, weaving his long fingers together and pressing them our in a languid stretch. "Well, it certainly did help." An awkward pause held for longer than he expected, and when it became obvious Umolka was not going to speak, he folded his arms across his chest. "I've had quite enough of this Umolka." The girls face fell, her kohl lined eyes widening considerably.
"Enough of what?"
"Your foolish obsession with me." The Kossuthian's baleful gaze fell back to the young woman. As he stared down at her, she could feel the sting of tears. The obvious pain Maxi was causing the Talontar seemed to only spur him on, voice raising to a harsh tone. "Do you know the inconvenience you cause me, girl? While I could be tending to laymen, you come in far too many times a tenday and take up my time." He leaned forward and stooped over her. "And you come here feigning reverence, even though we all know the pathetic goddess you claim fealty to."
That said, Umolka raised her gloved hand to her face, trying to desperately hide the tears -- both of sorrow and of rage -- that slipped down her cheeks. Maxi snorted in derision.
"You show me your true weakness even now. Your family should be ashamed of you. What, in the name of Baator, could your possibly do to further your family?" The predator in the man quickly came to form, towering over her as he began to slowly chip away at her mental armor. "Why do you even bother spending so much time here? Don't y- oh, that's right. Not many people enjoy being around you. Perhaps," he prodded, "the stench of your diseased paw keeps them away."
"Well, I, you know..."
With a soft laugh, Maxi raised back to his full height, feet shuffling against the marble floor. "You do NOT know, and that is the issue at hand. You are obsessive, and not only are you interfering with my upcoming priesthood study, your presence is upsetting some of the worshipers."
"Maxi, please, I haven't done anything like that."
"Though we may have been friends once, I desire no more from you." The young woman turned her face up toward him pleadingly, her charcoal stained cheeks scrunched up in sorrow. "Get out of my sight and out of the church. I'm sick of seeing you."
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"Vhirkina."
Umolka flinched and looked toward the closed door. Sprawled out on her belly across a good feather bed, she lay in the darkness of the sparse bedroom. Laying her head in her arms once more, she let our a muffled reply. Light from the magical scones in the hall flooded the room as a woman entered and carefully shut the door behind her.
"You're shirking your responsibilities now, then?" The words were familiar, the woman's voice carrying the warbling tone of a slightly elderly person.
"No, I'm not shirking anything." Umolka raised her face from the comforter, offering the woman before her a shaking smile. "I just wasn't feeling up to it today."
"Not feeling up to it? You don't get to decide if you are 'up' for faith." The fifty-something woman stepped toward the bed, her black eyes boring into Umolka accusingly. On her head she wore a dark purple wrap accented with silver. Light purple robes of the same material accented with silvered roses hung loosely from her small form. "Faith is not something you do when you feel like it, Vhirkina." A stern quality seized her voice. "Get up."
She stood up quickly at the woman's command, head hanging. "Of course, Sveta. I'm sorry."
"'Sorry' will not please Talona if you have earned her disfavor. You have a reason for neglecting to show at the allotted time?"
"Not any good reason, no." As she turned her head up to await a reprimand, it became obvious the elderly druid was still awaiting a reason. "...a man. A stupid man. I was stupid enough to think I even had a chance." She tugged self consciously at the lone braid atop her skull, her voice breaking. "I'm so stupid!"
"Tell me, Vhirkina," the old woman queried, "if you were to be struck dead this day and taken to Talona's realm, would you or she be satisfied by your service?"
The question hit Umolka like a bulette. A sob escaped the young Thayan's throat as her blackened and deformed hand grasped at her holy symbol. No coherent response was given to the question as she degraded into tears. Gently, Sveta pressed a bony hand into the small of Umolka's back.
"That won't solve anything." Gently nudging her forward, the older woman motioned toward the robes she had discarded in favor of her undergarments in the cool, dark room. "You get dressed, and meet me outside as usual. We've things to speak on."
The door was open and shut moments later, once more leaving her alone in the dark room. |
"Then I was right. Jobe has all his children killed, and Michael Bay gets to keep making his movies. There is no god." |
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Rabiesbunny
Seeker
USA
93 Posts |
Posted - 17 Feb 2009 : 02:22:16
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Regrets
Umolka made a disgusted noise and fanned her deformed right hand in front of her face. The smell of the dead was overpowering, as she was finding out was often the case, and in the hear of midsummer it was amplified tenfold. The young Thayan adjusted and lifted her worn brown robes before bending back over to grab a hold of the arm belonging to the body at her feet, and lift. Flies rose as their resting place was disturbed and formed an all too familiar cloud of buzzing annoyance.
She ignored the few that landed atop her tattooed scalp and continued to drag the the body of the large slave. Sweat stung as it dripped into her eyes, but she ignored that as well, her eyes focused on the man. At one time he may have been considered handsome for a foreigner; he had deep tanned skin and long hair bleached by the sun, with a strong jaw line and a broad, muscular build. The perfect stock for a rich Thayan.
This summer, though, Talona had been particularly busy. The man's long and matted beard, like so many others, was crusted with bile from his last days of life. His tongue was swollen and twisted, obscenely large. Black tongue had taken this farming project by surprise as it had many others this summer. It had begun with the slave population, and then jumped to the citizens of the farm houses and estates with relative silence. It wasn't until the first slaves began dying of asphyxiation that the local populace became aware of the situation.
By then it was too late. Umolka had been actively helping the church of Talona since three years previous, when she was fourteen years old, and this had turned out to be the worst outbreak of any virus she'd seen in person. The few communities it affected were small in number, but black tongue turned out to be a deadly disease; they only managed to keep a handful from death.
Now came the messy task of cleaning up, and that came solely to Talona's church. Umolka sighed in exertion as she dropped the corpse beside the growing pile of bodies waiting to be burned. She gladly accepted a rag from the tall acolyte by her, using it to wipe her grimy face dry of dirt and sweat, and then handed it back to her with a curt nod.
Soon after the bodies were gathered from the slave quarters, the five Talontar that had done so met on the outskirts of one of the fields. A magical storm was brewing overhead, no doubt implemented by the mages who owned this area of land to keep the fields well moistened, but it would be an hour or two before the rain began to fall. One at a time the Talontar sat in the soil, in their dirtied and plague-ridden robes, offering cursory greetings.
Three represented the church of Talona proper -- Naht, a tall and willowy Mulan woman, had an appearance that would have won her any husband she may have wished, her skin dark and her features classically beautiful, hearkening back to her Mulhorand ancestry. She was young, a year younger than Umolka, and an acolyte.
Sarii was the current high priestess of the small church house in Umolka's home city of Tyrtauros; she was a plain woman, short and possibly of Rashemi stock. She carried the imposing air of any proper high priestess, but unlike the traditions of most churches she was in robes worse tattered than most. Sarii was also the only among the group who sported a full head of hair, and despite the heat and filth of their tasks it hung loose around her shoulders.
The third was Karath, one of the only men in the small church's clergy. He bore no tattoos on his bald head, but ritual scarring in whorls and skulls. His pale skin and flushed cheeks indicated, much like Umolka's, that he was less than healthy as a whole.
Across from these three sat Umolka and her elder druid mentor Sveta, representing the Lady of Poison's small druidic tradition. Unlike druids of other faiths they could easily have been mistaken for their church-going brethren, nothing but their bare feet indicating they followed a more nature-driven way of life. Sveta was an old woman, easily the oldest here, and wore atop her head a skullcap of purple cloth accented by fine silver. In fact, she was more finely outfitted than the high priestess, the only one here without soiled old robes on; hers were clean.
Sarii cleared her throat and glanced toward the two druids, the first to speak.
"We will burn the bodies after the rains come.”
Sveta nodded silently in agreement, the woman's hooped earrings jingling ever so slightly.
"Also, as the family of at least this farmstead has perished along with their slaves, we will be petitioning to the Tharchion to take control of this business for the church's profit." Sarii continued her voice soft. "As this has always been the case in the city, I only will even ask due to the price of this land. There will be many wanting it for their own use.
"I'm assuming this is agreeable to all of you?" Each head in the circle bobbed in a slow nod. "Wonderful," she stated, her voice lacking in enthusiasm of any sort, "we will sleep here for the night. As the house will be ours, it is ours to utilize."
It was at this point that Sveta spoke up, which visibly surprised the younger priestess. The druid's dark eyes looked to Sarii as she spoke, a smile twisting up over her wrinkled features.
"It is ours to utilize, but the danger is not gone. We mustn't forget that Talona's anger is easily riled, especially in these situations. Sleep and act as you wish, but show her the proper respect. Not all of us are blessed enough to avoid her attentions."
Her gaze pointedly fell to the high priestess, who straightened up considerably and returned the openly hostile stare. "My student and I have brought enough food to last us all the night. We will prepare it within the hour."
"If you would pardon me," Sarii interjected, "I would like to have a few words with her ‘druid-ness’ in private."
Sveta's wicked smile remained as she stood slowly and followed the priestess into the nearby slave's quarters. The other clergy looked between each other almost awkwardly as some kind of whispering fight could be heard in the silence of the midday sun.
Karath, Umolka and Naht shared uneasy looks with one another. After it was clear the two women would not immediately come storming back out of the small building, and the sound of the two arguing was still prevalent, it was Karath who braved speaking first.
“What in the world are they both so worked up about?” The young man tapped a finger in the dirt and glanced between the other two. Naht shrugged lazily and removed a small knife from her belt, absently toying with it. Umolka turned to Karath and smirked a tad.
“Oh, I know why. Sveta doesn’t care a whole lot for the priestess.”
“Hn? And why is that?” He leaned in closer, curiously, and Umolka did the same, hushing herself further.
“Sveta told me that she tried training Sarii into the druidic traditions once, but she decided she didn’t like her teacher and tried to poison Sveta!” A giggle erupted from the young woman and the scarred man looked at her strangely.
“But unlike your priest, my mentor is unable to be injured by the Lady’s poisons. Sarii didn’t realize that Talona has blessed her with protection so she can properly harm others with it.
“So Sarii tries killing her, and Sveta realizes what she had tried to do. She tried to be discrete. I think,” Umolka rubbed at her chin in thought, “that my mentor told me she was pricked by a needle while Sarii thought she was sleeping.
“Sveta was much younger then, so she grabbed the kid and started beating her on the backside with the staff she carries.” She paused again in her long storytelling, offering another of her strange grins to the man. “I’ve heard this story many times. Bruised the hells out of her with the thing and threatened to kill her if she was ever so stupid again.
“So Sarii left that night, and Sveta didn’t see her for years. When she came back to Tyrtauros after spending some time in the north, she found that she had been accepted as an acolyte, and took High Priest many years later when the High Priest of the time was killed.”
Karath looked surprised and laughed under his breath. “By her behavior I can’t say that I find this surprising, but it definitely gives me some things to think about. Name’s Karath.” He bowed his head slightly in a typical Thayan style of greeting. Umolka returned the greeting with another smile.
“Umolka. And your friend, what is her name?”
Karath nodded toward the silent, tall woman, who uttered her own name before turning her attention back to the small knife. “Naht.”
“Anyway,” Karath began to speak again, glancing up toward the roiling clouds, “I hope they’re done by the time the rains roll in. I don’t know about the two of you, but I don’t like the idea of being sopping wet and stuck in a dead person’s cot.”
“Definitely sounds unpleasant. Are you a priest?” Umolka offered the scarred one a sidelong glance.
“Hm? No, no. I’m in training, acolyte; I began not too long before Naht here. We’re both pretty inexperienced still. I think that’s why she brought us out here. We’re both kind of old to be starting. But from what I’ve gathered, they – we – don’t get a whole lot of ‘new recruits’.” He smiled wryly and ran a hand over his scalp.
Umolka nodded knowingly, closing her eyes. She could hear, if she strained hard enough, Sarii and Sveta’s argument coming to a close. The door creaked open and the two stepped out, all three of the students standing almost simultaneously in respect.
“Come on inside, then.” Sarii said, stiff-lipped. “Sveta and her charge will make us supper.”
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Naht’s lip curled as she looked into the clay bowl, filled with a cloudy brown broth with bits of gristly meat. She looked to the druids sitting across from her with some degree of suspicion, then to the others. All of them were silently sipping from the bowls, eyes closed. With a sigh she took a tiny sip of the amazingly bitter broth. Her face screwed up in disgust.
“You need not drink if you find it foul, high-blood.” Sveta’s elderly voice broke the silence of slurping as she looked to the dark-skinned young woman. The irony was not lost on Umolka; Sveta had obviously been born of purely Mulhorandi ancestry, and possessed the same shade of tanned beauty Naht did. The acolyte stuttered and shook her head, knowing that her mentor was glaring daggers at her.
Umolka continued with an explanation. “We don’t always have the option of decent food while we’re out in the wilds. More often than not we don’t eat this well.” Her explanation was that same sarcastic tone her teacher had used.
“Where,” Karath interrupted, obviously attempting to be the one to bridge any gap between the two sides, “will we be burying the ashes once we burn their bodies?”
Sarii placed the empty bowl down on the floor and turned her head his way. “We’ll probably just spread them over the crops. Burned bodies don’t seem to continue the spread of Talona’s touch, at least not most of the time. I can’t say I’ve ever seen it happen with black tongue, at least.”
“Not with black tongue. Sarii is correct. But,” Sveta set her bowl in her lap and looked toward the man, “if it is one of the more virulent diseases, it would be a mistake to assume that this is always the case. There are more kinds of vicious diseases out there then even our church’s handful of tomes can describe.
“Also; the three of you may sleep in here. Umolka and I will sleep outside. We do not need cots.” All of them saw Umolka’s shoulders slump ever so slightly on realizing she would once more be sleeping on the hard ground, though it was obvious Sveta didn’t care much for her student’s preference.
After finishing their broth, Umolka and Sveta excused themselves and left for the outside as quickly as possible. Once the priest and her acolytes had retired for the night, Sveta turned to the younger druid and raised a gray brow.
"Well. That job is done. I don't imagine any of them will wake up." Her voice was soft and conspiratorial, and there was a cruel smile across her face. Umolka nodded in agreement and ran her hand across her eyes, stifling any moisture before her mentor could see.
"Karath was not so bad. But this will be for the best."
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The next morning, as expected, all three lay in their cots cold as stone. The poison Sveta had placed in their broths was more swift than Umolka could have possibly imagined; their expressions still peaceful. As she dragged Karath's bed from his excrement-laden cot, she couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt. This, like others, quickly passed. She had done what was necessary, she told herself. What Talona would do. |
"Then I was right. Jobe has all his children killed, and Michael Bay gets to keep making his movies. There is no god." |
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Rabiesbunny
Seeker
USA
93 Posts |
Posted - 17 Feb 2009 : 02:25:20
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A New Friend
The cold, biting Rashemi wind cut to the girl's core. Growing up in Thay, Umolka had never seen snow until now, and she wished that things could have remained that way. Harsh snowflakes strung as the wind blew them into the druid's exposed face. The storm had come out of nowhere -- a still forest made violent, the large tree boughs creaking in it's might.
She had to find shelter, she knew that much. Unlike this land's barbaric, hairy peoples, Umolka's body was void of all hair by choice. She could no longer feel her toes or most of her feet, despite the furs she had taken from a cabin she had found momentarily vacant. Before the blizzard, she hadn't considered taking ownership of the place. Her companion, a thick and venomous snake was cold against her waist. Odds were the creature had already frozen, or if it hadn't it soon would.
Hastening over the frozen floor of the forest, Umolka stumbled. She landed hard, falling to her knees in a flash of blinding pain and cold. A startled cry escaped the girl's lips as she fell, her hands roughly slamming into the layer of snow, and the frozen ground below it. Once the initial shock subsided her vision clears. Coughing and huffing in the frigid air, she was beginning to stand when she realized exactly what it was she had tripped over. The lip of some den dug into the soil was before her.
And it definitely appeared large enough! The druid raised a numb foot, kicking against the side of the entrance. It did not falter. In the dark night she could not see it's end. It was several feet in width, though, and she would freeze come morning if she had not found a place to spend the night. her main worry was what creature had dug this human-sized den. What creature was, no doubt, also seeking shelter from the cold.
Summoning what courage remained within her, the young druid pressed her thick furred boots into the entrance. She wiggled and forced herself into the tight tunnel, grunting in exertion and fear as she entered the tight space. As she descended she could feel the passage widen, and her head was barely below the lip of the entrance when she felt the solidity of soil under her feet. She twisted and turned in the narrow tunnel, managing after some effort to pull her arms from above her, and rest them by her waist. It was wide enough here to do so, though not to do much else.
It was dark as she'd ever seen down here, and she could not see the den. The smell of rotting meat, however, assailed her nostrils. Somewhere in the deeps of this small cavern, she could hear the rasping breath of some sleeping creature, unaware of her intrusion. Umolka was unsure of what to do. Reaching out, she tested the walls around her. She could feel that about at her waist, the wall before her face was no more, no doubt leading into the den.
Rashemen and it's barbaric people and vile creatures were foreign to her. She had come here ill prepared, with little more than her orisons, and her companion. Her companion! As silently as possible she reached into the folds of her fur cloak and the thin robes beneath them. The cold serpent writhed sluggishly in protest as it was taken from it's resting place near her breast, and placed on the frigid soil. As she placed it down, she crouched in the impossibly tight place, her face exposing the the sheer darkness of the den. With a harsh whisper, she commanded the snake to attack the animal only it could see.
Her companion was hesitating, and she could sense it, it's serpentine form struggling across the solid soil. In the blackness she could hear something move closer, some hideous gurgling that became a ghastly chitter reverberated through the pocket beneath the ground. The sound sent a chill up her spine, and the druid sprang into action.
Eyes closed in concentration, the girl clasped her hands over the mark of Talona inked onto her forehead, murmuring in the Mulhorandi tongue. She pulled her hands apart with a complex gesture and flourish, light as bright as a torch emanating from the tattoo and spilling in to eliminate the enveloping dark surrounding her. Eyes opening, she raised her clawed hand and readied to speak another spell to defend herself from whatever else was down here.
The spell died on her lips as she found herself nose to nose with a creature she'd never seen before in her studies. It appeared to be a rodent of massive size, it's wiry whiskers twitching as the creature stared levelly at her. In it's maw she could see the twitching remains of her snake, woken from it's lethargy as the rat's saliva actually seemed to dissolve it's scaly flesh. From it's grayed fur ridges and spikes of chitin jutted. It's eyes glowed a hellish red.
But, for all it's ferocity, the rodent did not attack. It continued to stare at her, it's head slowly turning to the side as it consumed the remains of her snake. Umolka fell into a stunned silence as the rat sniffed her and waddled back towards the corpse of what must have once been the dire badger that had lived here, now little more than a frozen mass of fur and bones. Once she was sure the creature would not attack her, she slipped in behind it, squatting to fit in the den. Eventually, she sat down, eyes still on the rat.
Staring right at her, the rodent let out a massive yawn and fell onto it's side, falling into slumber but moments later. The exhausted Thayan could not help but follow suit, despite the most unsavory situation. She did awake later in the night, only to find the beast curled up at her side. A scarred and deformed hand pressed against the creature's greasy fur, stroking it affectionately as she fell back into a peaceful slumber. She had found a friend, after years of searching, in the most unlikely of places.
Though she still missed her snake. |
"Then I was right. Jobe has all his children killed, and Michael Bay gets to keep making his movies. There is no god." |
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Rabiesbunny
Seeker
USA
93 Posts |
Posted - 17 Feb 2009 : 02:28:29
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Umolka's Quest
The moon over Zhentil Keep hung pregnant in the cold night's air. A layer of fine snow blanketed the city proper so it seemed to shimmer. Everything was beautiful.
Even the ruins seemed so, albeit momentarily.
No one in their right mind would have entered the ruined city after nightfall. Areas of the "C" sector were deadly enough by day. This did not seem to deter the lithe, lupine form bounding over the snow. Fur black as pitch rolled over tensed and tired muscles, a thick muzzle pulled back in a frustrated snarl. Ice had begun to streak her fur, but she seemed not to care. Trying valiantly to match her pace was a shorter, deformed rat. Acid trailed behind the streak of black on the white canvas that were the druidess and her companion. It was hard to miss them.
A few gnolls, here and there, had taken shots at the pair as they bolted past. The speed with which they ran had proven too much work for the dog-men, and after a few minutes, they had all simply stopped following. This was good news for Umolka. The building she was seeking proved difficult to locate. Pox and herself checked each possible building, and more than a few housed creatures of various sorts seeking shelter from the bitter northern winds. Animals of the smaller sort were easily chased off with a load snarl. The aforementioned gnolls had, however, chased them from more than a few ruined shelters.
What if she couldn't find the building? The very reason she came to this city would be forfeit; the Zhentarim had assigned them to a mission outside the city's ruins. This isn't what she had wanted. It would be a disaster, at least to the Talontar. Frozen paws quickened their pace as she noted the large complex crowning the horizon.
Umolka knew she had found it the structure when it came over the dark horizon. The reddened stone of the collapsed structures hearkened to her own hometown's lines. Wise brown eyes searched the buildings from outside; it seemed that many portions of them were in decent shape. Other walls had been obliterated. The druidess pulled up into a slow trot and eventually came to a full stop, cold ears back against her head. Flank pressing heavily against the base of an upturned fountain, she pulled in air through her nose. She couldn't smell any gnolls here. Maybe their territory didn't extend this far?
A possibility. Satisfied with the answer, Umolka quietly slipped into what was once a great courtyard. The ornate fountain once in it's center had no doubt been uprooted by one of the giants long ago. At one time, paths would have led the consumer through the peaceful area, to the shop they had wished to peruse. Ears raising, Umolka turned her head to survey where the shops once would have been. The signs were long ago destroyed. and the druidess cursed herself viciously for thinking it would be that easy.
Maybe it wasn't here at all. Maybe some gnoll used it to wipe his ass.
Such pessimistic thoughts were pushed from her head at the sound of Pox's screech. Turning her form toward the noise she could see his tracks leading into one of the buildings. Umolka lept into a full sprint as the rat's screams were matched by those of a pair of howling gnolls. Crossing the threshold, she could now see the three. Purple mist shimmered over her lupine form as she prepared to enter the fray. Pox was viciously latched onto one of the gnoll's shins, his saliva scorching the creature's flesh and sending a rancid smell into the air. The gnoll being attacked seemed incapacitated by the pain the diseased beast inflicted. His companion, however, was just raising his axe for another strike as Umolka rushed from behind.
The shift to her true form took little more than a second, and she was on the creature. She brought her diseased hand down on the gnoll's back, tearing open across it's shoulder blades. With a canid scream, the gnoll dropped it's weapon and dropped a fell forward in shock. Umolka dodged the falling weapon with some degree of ease and took a step back after the dog began to stand.
Somewhere to her right, she could hear more screams. Pox and the other gnoll, now clashing violently. But she couldn't let that worry her now. A prayer found it's way to the front of the druid's mind, all other distractions momentarily blocked out. A muttered string of prayers and praise in Rashemi slipped from between her nearly frostbitten lips. A flickering purple flame came into existence but moments later, growing with intensity until it had formed a mass of flames. Opening her dark eyes, the Thayan let loose a yell and tossed the orb of fire at the wounded gnoll.
She noticed too late that the dog-creature was almost in front of her. The flames exploded against the gnoll's leather armor. A rush of intense heat blasted Umolka's thankfully hairless face. A strangled cry erupted from the gnoll, as his dry pelt burst into flames. Umolka had prayed that the blast might stop his momentum, but the flaming gnoll continued through with his charge. The Talontar was caught off guard. With a shrill scream Umolka fell flat to the stone floor, her desperation cut short as the breath was knocked from her form.
Pain screamed through her left arm. It had clamped it's teeth tightly around her bicep, teeth dug well down into her meager layer of muscles. With tears welling in her eyes, she began to intone another prayer. The pain running through her body made the hand gestures nearly impossible. She was almost there when the gnoll's claws grasped around her waist, seeking the woman's flesh through her dark armor.
This was agony of a different sort than she'd ever known. Wailing openly, she began to try once more for a spell. Every motion with her left hand took amazing effort through the gnoll's grip. Teeth were grinding against the bone now, the beast snarling in anger. Flames still played over the creature's burning flesh but it seemed not to notice in it's blind rage. Screaming out the last of the words, Umolka's free, deformed hand sprouted a vicious array of sharp needles. With what strength she could yet muster she pressed the dripping darts tightly against the back of it's skull. Blackened nails dug into the still burning fur as the creature let loose it's grip in a howl of pain, before falling silent.
Frantically she began to kick the huge form off of her own, the smoldering body falling onto it's side. Tears trailed down the woman's cheeks as she once more forced herself to concentrate. With a flash of purple energy from her right hand, the more serious of the wounds left on her hips and arm were now healed. Still, her left appendage was weakened. She needed to get back to the Inn. With a loud grunt she finally pulled up to her feet. Staring up at her from across the room was Pox, one of the gnoll's organs clutched between his hellish incisors. Umolka couldn't help but laugh.
Limping now, Umolka cautiously loped over to Pox. With another purple light his wounds closed, though it seemed that the gnoll had taken off nearly half her companion's tail. Not that he seemed to notice.
Umolka did notice something other than Pox's wounds. Once beautiful furniture was strewn over the floor as if it were garbage. Whole pieces of tables were missing, assumedly burned for warmth. It seemed to the druidess that perhaps this was only recently inhabited. Of course, odds were more gnolls would be here any moment. Umolka began to loudly turn over downed bookcases and tables, frantically reading the titles of the books that had somehow survived.
And there, among the few books not used for feeding flames, was what she had come seeking. The book she had set out from Thay for. With a frantic laugh she slipped the tome into her bag and once more, her form shimmered purple, to be replaced with the ebon wolf. The travel back to the city was not easy, but in her eyes? It had been worth it. |
"Then I was right. Jobe has all his children killed, and Michael Bay gets to keep making his movies. There is no god." |
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Rabiesbunny
Seeker
USA
93 Posts |
Posted - 17 Feb 2009 : 02:31:40
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Journal Entry I
Should I start this with 'dear diary'?
I do not know, since I've never before written in a journal. But learning you're being forced into the army of the Zhentarim is a life changing experience, I suppose.
Should have expected something like that from Zhents. They are tricky, backstabbing and brutal -- and you'd think I'd be used to those things from what I know of my own people! But they take it to another level. Or maybe it's just because I'm forced to work with so many of them. It's as if I were attempting to climb Thaymount. Gained a foothold, and be dragged down by guard gnolls. Or something.
But with my death a possibility in the future due to being forced into a war I did not want part of, this is the best way I can think of sharing things. Perhaps it can even calm me. I doubt it, though. The book I obtained from the ruins of Zhentil Keep is the reason I'm in this mess. I've gained wonderful powers and a closeness with my goddess, but what has the cost been? My freedom? Curos says the word with distaste, but even in Thay there is freedom. Having to carry a citizenship pass and bow to any in a red robe still left me with my life, and the ability to do as I wished as long as I did not anger the government or wizards.
Marko, Curos' father, tried to get into my skirt today. However good he is at such things, I denied him. If he thinks I am as easily swayed as that Skymage, he was obviously proven wrong. Do not misunderstand -- he is intelligent, handsome, learned and devoted to his god(All of the Banite symbols are a bit tacky, though.). Bedding him could have provided me with power over many, but how many, and for how long?
I may have lost a more powerful thing with it. That would be the kindness and affection shown to me by Rav. Until I did begin the relationship with him, Pox was my only companion and friend besides the Lady herself. I can be myself around him, and not be afraid of being insulted or grabbed by large, angry, scaled men and threatened with death. His kindness is not everything to me, but it is enough for me to go through with these Zhents plans without feeling too much the traitor to my country.
These people will all feel Talona's blight and blessing. And I swear by her claw that if I get the chance, the Dalesmen will not be the only ones taken ill by my magic. |
"Then I was right. Jobe has all his children killed, and Michael Bay gets to keep making his movies. There is no god." |
Edited by - Rabiesbunny on 17 Feb 2009 02:32:02 |
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Rabiesbunny
Seeker
USA
93 Posts |
Posted - 17 Feb 2009 : 02:37:42
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Catching Up
"You should have seen it Gastin. It was pretty damn glorious!"
The Talontar shifted her gaze to the young man before her. Once he had been a poverty stricken youth, with little to look forward to. Now under Umolka's instruction and employ, the boy was dressed in the finery of a young noble. Jewelry -- perhaps a bit too much to be considered tasteful -- hanging from his neck, dark black hair was slicked backward, curling behind his ears.
He looked up from the recent stock of salves and poisons. "Sure sounds like it, ma'am." Gastin paused then, examining a vial of green liquid curiously. "But that Tristan is back now? Boy, the Church of Bane owes you one."
The Thayan rolled her dark eyes, exhaling loudly through her nose.
"Really, you think I would ever warrant praise from those Zhents? Need to teach you more about regional politics, boy!" Umolka took a few steps toward the door, peering out into the hallway. The Plinth was dark this time of the night, lit here and there by braziers of a magical nature. Their dim light wavered across the rough stone walls, casting odd shadows. Nearly all the shrines had closed for the night. Whatever shrines had not closed were still secured, the priests within their walls busily engaging in their private rituals.
"Gastin, I would say it is closing time. I need some sleep tonight."
"Sure thing ma'am. Anythin' else you need me to do for ya?"
"Just get yourself home safely. Have a nice night, Gastin."
Umolka shooed him away from the inventory of poisons and out the door. The druid securely locked the door as the boy left, his footfalls echoing down the empty corridors. Her shrine was as dark as the hallway, the only light coming from a few small wall sconces, brimming with purple flame. In the corner lay Pox, the decaying rat's barrel chest rising with each breath.
Had anyone asked Umolka even a year ago where she'd be at this point in her life, she never would have so much as mentioned Waterdeep. Last year, when she had left Thay to seek out a single book, she barely even believed she would find it. But she had.
In order to locate the Talontar tome and achieve her goals, she had been forced to join one of her people's enemies -- the Zhentarim. While it is true the Zhentarim and Thay had never been enemies much in the open, both groups never made important moves where other could see. The looks she had received in Zhentil Keep -- sporting her Thayan hairstyle and tattoos -- had only cemented this fact in her mind. With a sigh, she lowered herself into one of the medical cots tucked away into her shrine, her deformed claw interlacing with her left, resting on her bosom as she reflected.
Umolka had not ever expected a warm welcome from anyone, and the Zhentarim troupe she was set with did not disappoint. Half seemed to be Cyric-touched -- the other half just plain unintelligent. Their encounters in the ruins proved to be harrowing enough for the druid to begin to doubt her book would ever be found. Nightly, she would slip from her room and use her Talona-granted powers to slip past the guards around the perimeter of the wreckage. She would brave the cold Moonsea winter and search areas where she had been told it may be. And one night, she was lucky enough to find it.
From that point on, her life had changed. It was not long afterward that their troupe was moved to assist in defending against attacks being made on Zhentarim caravans on the Black Road in Anauroch. On the way to aid in this, they themselves were attacked by the Knights of the North. The troupe had besieged their stronghold of Northkeep not long after. Umolka was especially proud of that battle, where with the help of the party's resident Gond priest, she had used spell to enlarge a turtle shell. They had loaded the shell into the catapult the old man had created, and taken down the keep's gates. With the Skymage Eva above on her Nightmare Ritsu and Curos and Pox scaling the walls and wreaking havoc on the humans inside, the battle was quickly over.
After winning this impromptu battle, they were given a much cushier assignment, though it was one that the druid was hesitant to participate in. The troupe was split up and sent to Waterdeep. Years ago Fzoul Chembryl, the High Tyrannar of Zhentil Keep, had made a deal with the powerful mage and Chosen of Mystra Khelben "Blackstaff" Arunsun. In exchange for a powerful artifact, Fzoul would keep the Xvimlar from entering Waterdeep's territory for some twenty years.
It was the Zhentarim's manipulation of words the Thayan couldn't help but admire. Because of the verbal contract and it's use of the word Xvimlar, it was now technically obsolete. Despite this the Zhents still decided to honor the contract for the time being, and as such, the troupe was ushered through a portal in the Zhent controlled city of Mulmaster to the City of Splendors.
Their mission there had been amazingly simple. After what the group had accomplished in Northkeep, they were simply given the mission of gaining resources and making names for themselves. For formality's sake they were removed as members of the Zhentarim, and allied with the Xanathar thieves guild. This was preferable for Umolka. She closed her eyes and smiled, turning over in the cot.
Waterdeep is where she had really begun to feel Talona's presence with her. After studying from the tome she had acquired for a long period of time, she decided to put her knowledge into action. Under Eva's leadership the group had taken a job from a local barbarian tribe to dethrone the leader of a warring tribe, The Blue Bear. Unbeknown to the others she was tasked with, Umolka hired the Shadowthieves to assist in capturing the man. While a warrior battled the barbarian smoke filled the room, and once it had cleared, the Shadowthief dressed as his shaman had abducted the Hagspawn.
In the sewers they left him, where Umolka began to experiment. All she had learned in her texts went to creating Blue Bear anew. Unfortunately things did not work out as well as they should have. The barbarian escaped his bonds and fled into the depths of the sewer system.
Blue Bear would begin to make Umolka's life Baator made flesh, the Hagspawn bent on destroying the one who had caused him to continue his life in the tortured pain of a errant and mismade Blightspawned, one of Talona's holy creatures. Despite being a Talontar creation it was soon made obvious Umolka had no control over his actions. Once Umolka's deception was made known to the group, attempts were made to capture the creature, though all failed. Their last encounter with him was then they located the shrine to Myrkul.
Umolka shuddered and raised her hands to her biceps, burying her head deep into the stiff pillow. The shrine had been shining with light that had even cause her an uneasiness in the pit of her stomach. A shrine to a god long dead, yet retaining immense amounts of power. And Blue Bear stood amidst it all unmoving by the altar. The rogue had tossed a coin at the unresponsive creature's head, a wave of light spreading through the room, carrying with it a dread wave of fear.
She remembered seeing the others flee the shrine, and followed soon after herself, slamming the doors shut. Moments later she heard the noise of a large body hitting the closed gates and broke into a dead run herself, following the frantic others.
After that point, it was as if they had all refused to remember the incident. They concentrated on far more mundane tasks, and little else had caught their full interest until Tristan Darkhope had been kidnapped. The recovery of the church member had been a great success, the blood of over one hundred Cyricists on their hands.
But judging by the new Priest's actions this night, Umolka was not to be entitled to even praise.
Which was fine. She expected little from the Banites, as they expected little from her. It really wasn't too bad of a trade. |
"Then I was right. Jobe has all his children killed, and Michael Bay gets to keep making his movies. There is no god." |
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Rabiesbunny
Seeker
USA
93 Posts |
Posted - 17 Feb 2009 : 02:40:28
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Back to the Basics
"Of course. Now I'm in my element, and can't practice my art!"
The Talontar let out a grumbled lament. She sat with crossed legs in the frost-kissed grass, the chilly morning wind ruffling the worn blue robes clinging to her form. Behind her was the Ruldak cabin, wherein she could already hear voices this early in the morning. It was hours before the sun would rise, and the air was bitterly cold. Magic was the only thing keeping Umolka from discomfort now and last night, it's invisible skin keeping the unpleasant temperature away. As they had arrived last night, they had been introduced to Mival's mother. She was a kindly old Daleswoman who was willing to accept the entire group into her meager home and over them foot, shelter, and kindness.
They had gladly accepted all of this. Mrs. Ruldak was a goodly woman, and it struck Umolka what a wonder it was that she had spawned Mival, one of the most dour and serious people the druid had ever met. As kindly as she was the sight of Pox had caused the old woman to recoil, and she was quite obviously frightened. Despite Mrs. Ruldak's insistence Umolka sleep inside with the others, she chose to take a bedroll and spending the night out front where she was unable to frighten the woman, and where Pox's noxious saliva was unable to cause harm to her floors or furniture.
The bedroll had proven comfortable, the woodland air refreshing. She hadn't realized exactly how much she'd missed being immersed in nature until she was plucked so forcefully from the city by Curos, and dragged here, to the depths of farming land and grazing cows. And though the events that had occurred the night before still upset the Thayan it helped to be back out in her domain. Nature. Unspoiled, pristine. The leaves nearly all falling from the trees, the grass beginning to brown in response to the cold. In greened area this transition made serving Talona discretely all the easier. Animals were scraggly as their winter coats set in, the trees were already bedraggled, and people get far more ill within these few moons than any other.
But! She was not here for that, not yet. Already she had been seen by a guard and noted strangely for her accent. Damn lucky she was for being able to convince the armored bumpkin that she was a Waterdhavian by birth. Doubtless as it was that whatever creature Pox had hacked up the night precious was busily running about in the underbrush claiming wildlife for the Lady of Disease, she had to be slow in her advances in this area. They were here only to retrieve Lina, Curos' daughter, and to endanger that by causing too much devastation to the area and tipping them off would be ill advised. Especially with how mad Curos was at her.
Umolka felt Pox shift beside her as the door to the cabin opened. In the dark of the morning, she could still see the huge form of Curos close it carefully and walk as silently as such a large male could into the wooded area, bow and quiver in hand. Slowly Umolka closed her eyes, a hand resting on her companion's steadily rising and falling side as she lowered her head.
In time she entered into communion with nature in it's many facets, communing then as well with her goddess in some manner or another. She was roughly aware of the sound of a harsh buzzing in her temple. The noise became dull after awhile. Then, soothing. Images that oftentimes greeted her when meditation was undertaken were now there as always; the familiar cackling creatures, vague images of rotting underbrush and devastated forests, the sight of pock-marked, plague-ridden peoples. As always they were blurry and barely visible, serving more to her as reminders of faith than anything else.
A jolt, and a flash of light. The feeling of something pressing against her shoulder and her name.
"Umolka. Umolka. Wake up."
Wincing, she shook her head and was jarred awake from the visions and sounds. A questioning, soft grunt was all she offered the familiar, handsome face of Curos after her eyes adjusted to the light of the morning -- she had apparently been in meditation for some time. He motioned just above her head, to a strangely gathered swarm of insects. The mosquitoes' buzzing was a familiar and almost welcoming sound. With a wave of her hand she dispersed the creatures and looked back to the man curiously. If anything else was said by him she had missed it, rubbing at her now sore eyes as the man entered the cabin, a huge, dead creature slung over his back.
"...is that a muskrat?" |
"Then I was right. Jobe has all his children killed, and Michael Bay gets to keep making his movies. There is no god." |
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Rabiesbunny
Seeker
USA
93 Posts |
Posted - 17 Feb 2009 : 02:42:34
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Journal Entry II
Second entry. I don't find myself tiring of this yet.
Lord (I use this title loosely) Darkhope was kind enough to allow me entrance to his magical tent to write in my journal, and just long enough for that. He's too generous (It's just too bad sarcasm can't translate well to written word).
We nearly died today. Up here on the High Ice, it's as cold as some layers of the Abyss must be, and twice as barren. Wherever Curos has us going we didn't reach it this night, and settled down for camp. That orc-woman thought to bring her own tent, as did Tristan, but the rest of us have been forced to make do with what we can. The little bald mageling thought it a bold idea to cut an ice tunnel using his magic. Caverns in the cold can be useful, as my journey through Rasheman showed me, but he apparently opened up an opening to another plane!
I pointed this out and was met with irritation until Curos did decide we should move camp. He charged myself with fetching Darkhope out of his tent. It was not just a tent, but inside, a small estate of it's own. Things ended up getting a bit wobbly, and soon the whole place fell on it's side. When I finally hoisted a wardrobe off of Tristan and left the tent, we were told why.
The Mageling had apparently thought perhaps if he were to put this tent over the opening, it would block it. We had barely escaped being sucked down to the depths of another plane -- and we hadn't even known it!
Not long after the bald one being pummeled unconscious by Curos, a creature came out of the ice hole. What happened next I couldn't quite follow. Curos and it spoke in what I can assume to be the language of Baatezu, as the language of Tanaa'ri is something a Banite may not be inclined learn. We were ordered to attack and did so, though once my spell reflected off the creature's chitinous hide I chose not to attack more.
Apparently it was a misunderstanding and the creature left. Tristan thought on his feet and covered the hole with a spell of flaming hands, and we've since made camp in a rocky outcropping a ways away.
My first lovely day in the "Zhentarim Armed Forces". My only consolation is that due to my efforts to assist Lord Darkhope, I hopefully will not be linked to his near death as the others most certainly will (it was, after all, nearly my death too!) |
"Then I was right. Jobe has all his children killed, and Michael Bay gets to keep making his movies. There is no god." |
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Rabiesbunny
Seeker
USA
93 Posts |
Posted - 17 Feb 2009 : 02:45:09
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A Quiet Night
"Why do you worship Talona anyway?" The drow looked sidelong to Umolka, a thin sheen of sweat still masking his forehead. His red eyes were half-lidded with sleep as he reached over to run his deft fingers through the druid's dark hair. The action elicited a smile of affection, as he knew it would.
"Why do you worship your god? What is it? Mask? Cyric?"
A smirk played at Rav's lips as he shifted, resting partially against the headboard of the large bed.
"If I told you, I'd have to kill you." he said in a facetious tone. "You're avoiding the question."
Rolling her eyes, Umolka nestled her head against the dark elf's well toned chest. The room around them was dark but warm, no windows within to tell the time by. They needn't though -- it was late at night still, after a difficult and confusing night of traversing the High Ice. An encounter with the chitinous and frozen Gelugon, a devil of the Nine Hells of considerable power, and a near trip down to one of the layers themselves had left the pair confused and shaken. Now they found comfort in each other in this room, the worries of their journey temporarily forgotten. Rav hadn't much to do in convincing the Lord Darkhope to offer them a room in the Magnificent Mansion he carried with him.
"It was my calling in life, that's all. Since I can remember I've been dealing with her blessings." The word, despite the druid's reverence, was spoken with an obviously venomous undertone. She flexed her warped and blackened right hand as she spoke, making it into a fist before slipping it back under the covers.
"Blessings. Hm. I've never seen blessings like the ones you have, pet, but that doesn't mean they're a bad thing." Rav's voice was as velvet, his practiced tone doing no less than melting Umolka's usually bitter heart. She sighed audibly, closing her eyes and curling closer against the cut body of the shorter man.
He was kissing her ass, she feared. Umolka did not dissaprove, but it troubled her that she had such hesitation in trusting the drow, though it did not surprise her. Despite how wonderful it all was, her very nature of distrust left a deep sense of dread in her bowels now and again when he spoke to her. She was putting so much trust in a drow -- a being who would be no more than a slave in her homeland. One who's power she couldn't help but find intoxicating, his position in the underworld of Skullport and in Waterdhavian society disguised as the gold elf Darius both quite attractive. Remaining with him long enough could attain her a comfortable position in the city and give her all she had hoped to have.
But she knew that was not the reason she was with Rav. For the few apprehensive moments she felt by him, she had sacrificed too much of her family's name to become involved with the Illythiiri. Had she married the mousey mage she had initially agreed to wed she would have had the noble name in her claws right now, manipulating the little worm of a man like the puppet she had envisioned him as. But her own pleasure had won out over the family's image. For the first time, she was truly enjoying an aspect of her life.
"Where do you think we're headed?" Rav's quiet voice jarred the dozing druid enough to cause her to start. She shifted and slipped her left arm across his torso, shrugging the same shoulder.
"With Curos leading us? Some place covered in Banite symbols, no doubt." The drow chuckled quietly, his hand remaining atop Umolka's head, a thumb playing over the only visible tattoo.
"Hardly what I asked. There can't be much up this way. And we've already seen how dangerous this place is."
Breath catching a moment at remembering how close she unknowingly had come to death, she responded with a barely-there nod. "...yes. K'nahs is going to get us all killed if we're not careful around him. The mageling has no common sense."
"This coming from you?" Rav peered down her in the dark of the room, the drow's irises glowing the soft red of one who could see far better in this lack of lighting. His tone grew all too serious. "You could learn some too. There's really not much I can do if Curos decides he wants you dead for talking back to him."
As Umolka flushed in a mixture of both anger and embarrassment, her face twisted in a frown, she silently cursed Rav's ability to see her in what would otherwise conceal her emotions. "I know. I know. I'm trying harder. My following orders almost got me dropped into that damn hole, remember?"
"I remember."
A kiss placed atop the druid's head worked to calm her easily, and the pair said no more. For the newly 'recruited' Zhents, they knew there may not be many more nights to enjoy themselves on this trip. |
"Then I was right. Jobe has all his children killed, and Michael Bay gets to keep making his movies. There is no god." |
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Rabiesbunny
Seeker
USA
93 Posts |
Posted - 17 Feb 2009 : 02:54:06
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Journal Entry III
Never before have I felt a sadness of this magnitude. I could liken it to a thousand things, all of them too poetic to sit well on my tongue or in my quill. I won't restore to the wordplay of a nancy bard to describe my feelings. So far I have tried to bury this deep within my soul with the hope of killing some of the pain, and I can't help but wonder now how deep my faith really is, because now it feels quite shallow.
I won't deny it. I understand why Talona revoked her divine abilities from me. The fact I understand, though, does not lessen the crushing and bitter anger in my heart. There cannot be a pain worse for a mortal then knowing a fraction of divine power and favor, then have it pulled abruptly from you when you have become so reliant on it. Most disturbing of all is the inability I have to even know how I should feel about these events.
Always I have heard the worst of Talona. She is weak, petty, spiteful and horrid. The business of plague and poison, her domain and therefore mine, is nearly impossible to fully understand, let alone justify and preach. That damned dead creature Amaril, in taking from me Talona's favor, showed me this much. My inability to convert even the weakest of Banite clergy angered Talona.
How can I fix this?
In regards to converts:
This might be the hardest task of all, it has proved to be in the past. How does one glorify the plague and other reagents of death?There are no real ways I can wrap my head around preaching it without treading dangerously close to the domain of other gods. Illuminating the suffering these things cause glorifies Loviatar with a misplaced word. The aspect of decay and what comes from it remains with the poncey Wyvernspur, the death of those killed by her poisons Cyric's, and from there, Kelemvor's. Only the dead taken from disease remain inexorably hers for me to claim.
What is there for me to laud? Maskarrans, Loviatans, Vhaeraunites and Hoarites... all of them are free to use my lady's blessings as they see fit, but few show the homage necessary. No wonder my lady is as angry as they say -- folks use her without thanks or prayer if they are safely tucked under their god's wing. And when they do pray, their prayers are not true by the whole -- they are begging for favors from a goddess they deeply loathe and fear, the hypocritical shits, and to be accepted in society we have to assist them, and in so nullify what we strive to accomplish.
There isn't glory to be had for most in Talona's service. We gather the dead, tend to the diseased and walk the line of death with such things every day. To tell people I wish to convert otherwise would be foolish. Even when we do achieve a goodly position it is tenuous; here we stand on the soon-to-be eve of attacking the Dalelands, it's lands swarming with the Lady's plague and I lay in bed with the worst flu I've ever had, crying over the loss I've sustained.
How could I convince people to join Talona's ranks? The argument of the ways of nature might sway the right kind; disease is needed to cull the weak from the packs and herds, and it solves overpopulation. But that, as well, comes too close to Malar's dogma for my taste. It is true that she strikes crowded areas more than those that are sparse, and this fact may convince the city-folk to pay homage more often.
Does this stem from my own doubts? I've known Talona's claw since I was young, and always I've followed. There have been times of doubt, times of anger, but she's never left me. Should I view it as I've left her? This is not at all what I wanted, and I look to prove myself to her. Trying to poison that damnable orc-kin I did so to myself, and right now a member of the Banite clergy lies in bed, of my doing. No doubt he'll recuperate with Banite help and then come to beat me as I lie here. Or perhaps laugh in my face, for his faith is so strong and his god supports him.
How I would gladly lose my life in a plague if I could unleash it upon them, these damn Zhents who have ruined my life. When I prove myself to Talona again there will be regret on their end.
More later... |
"Then I was right. Jobe has all his children killed, and Michael Bay gets to keep making his movies. There is no god." |
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Rabiesbunny
Seeker
USA
93 Posts |
Posted - 17 Feb 2009 : 02:57:51
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Journal Entry IV
Wedged in between the pages of the diary is a sheet of parchment. It appears to be a letter, soon to be sent.
Dearest Gastin,
How is business in Waterdeep? You know, I never thought I'd say this, but I miss that place very much! For all of it's annoyances (that damn Kiva, the Blue Bear, and other such things) I suppose I've come to view it as home, as I've been away from Thay for so long. Have you heard any news on Thay, and the war, by any chance? Don't suppose you have, it's not very popular conversation even inside the Embassy.
Have you seen my mother? I've considered writing her, but there's the matter of how she feels towards me. If she still blames me for father's death I'm better off not writing her. If you do see her, please tell her I do love her and wish I could see her.
The Dalelands are interesting, as I told you once before. The woods are thick and the people are simple. At night, the forest is now alive with creatures of Talona's design, including a new species I've never found in my druidic studies and experiments! To think I had a hand in creating it fills me with joy! I will describe it to you with the hopes you may be able to look it up somewhere -- you're such a resourceful young man. It is long (a little over half a meter in length) and thick, and resembles a maggot in that it appears to be segmented but is not. Where it differs is it's head. It has a maw, with large, sharp teeth inside a circular mouth, and from what I have observed they have two rows. One circle of teeth on the surface, another layered just inside. They are sensitive to light from my observations, and will recoil away if at all possible, though I haven't seen it cause them physical harm. They also have a nasty ability to burrow within one's flesh and move into the trunk of the body. I haven't figured out yet where it sits once burrowed, but after the initial movements the pain seems to stop.
Most certainly this is an undocumented parasite, one created by the Lady herself. It strips flesh from the dead creatures with speed I've not seen in nature -- it even consumes those touched by Blight. Now, I can only hope that these creatures take after the grubs they so resemble and feed only on dead flesh, and don't take after the magic that uses altered ones (I refer to a spell I'm privy to that, when cast, causes maggots that eat live flesh to spawn within a creature, slowly devouring them).
Recently I was driven from my faith in Talona. it was devastating and eye-opening, and I pray it's not something you ever go through. The pains of the flesh, wracking disease Talona can cause, are nothing compared to the sorrow of having your deity abandon you. Maybe it's worded better as the mortal doing the abandoning. You can't really fault the gods for taking away the powers they are kind enough to give us.
The ink stops abruptly here, and once the letter is started again the penmanship is shakey and the ink blotted
I was wrong Gastin, there is pain worse than your god abandoning you. Rav is dead. Funny, I was going to begin the next part of my letter asking you to tell any associates looking after him as Darius that we were enjoying our 'vacation'. No. He's quite dead.
The writing stops abruptly, the letter abandoned for now. |
"Then I was right. Jobe has all his children killed, and Michael Bay gets to keep making his movies. There is no god." |
Edited by - Rabiesbunny on 17 Feb 2009 02:58:28 |
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Rabiesbunny
Seeker
USA
93 Posts |
Posted - 17 Feb 2009 : 03:02:07
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Loss
The empty ache in her chest was the only constant since earlier in the afternoon. She could vaguely imagine a pit itself wedged between her lungs, pulsing with the raw pain of loss and the dull hatred that accompanied it. Rav was dead.
Oh, she longed to deny it, but Umolka was anything but naive. Rav had vanished - a scorch mark on the wall, and his belongings folded neatly in the Harper's trunk were more proof than if she had seen the drow's smoldering corpse herself. It had taken hours for her to come to terms with it, but she knew he wouldn't have left his weapons behind. His powerfully enchanted kukris were gripped tightly in the brooding druid's hands. She had not yet changed from her plate mail worn during the 'battle' that had taken place, and as a result she was sore from her crouch, her razored armor leaving her legs numb and her back sharp with pain.
Pain, she found, really lost its edge when faced with grief. The loss of her father only a moon or two ago had upset Umolka, she admitted to herself. The old Thayan's heart had given out due to stress that she, herself, had caused. Over her refusal to marry another Thayan. Over her refusal to leave Rav. And now Rav was dead. The realization hit Umolka suddenly, and the emotionless funk she had found herself in broke away with it. Sobbing wracked the woman's mithril encased form, bitter tears falling to the still frozen ground. The huge decaying rat that the druid called a companion pressed his maw to her armored side, chitin grating against metal as he consoled his master best he was able.
Hours passed, and with dusk came the exhaustion of one so upset, a fatigue unlike anything she'd knowing before. She'd spoken prayers to any and all who could relieve her of her grief and burden -- Shar to withstand the empty grief, Kelemvor to judge him should his spirit lose it's way. Cyric, Mask, Bane, any of the gods that her lover may have worshiped she made requests of. She had placated Beshaba, begged Tymora. Even as she loped back to camp with legs that felt to be lead, prayers remained on her lips. These prayers were to her patron, pleading to her for help to do any number of horrible things to the Zhent army she found herself lodged within.
The farmstead Storm Silverhand had once called home was now very much a soldier's camp. Smoldering ruins that were once the Mystran's cottage didn't provide much illumination in the coming night. Through eyes bleary with grief she could see a few of the Durionalix dragon warriors setting a perimeter of torches with the small, bald Kossuthian, gathering wood for campfires and preparing food.
Curos was supervising as the camp was being set up, arms crossing over his broad chest. He spared Umolka a quiet glance as she came to a stop in front of the dragonkin. The stare she returned was one of grudging respect. Her brown eyes closed and she silently bowed her head in acquiescence, then parted her lips to speak.
"Curos, Sir?"
A thick white eyebrow raised as the Banite regarded her coolly. His reply was one of almost amusement.
"Did you just call me sir?"
"Yes." Anger welled deep within the Talontar's chest, but she swallowed it and took a step backward, once more staring at Curos.
"Aww!" The Banite stepped forward in a shocking move of affection, hugging the woman, their metal armors scraping together unpleasantly until he stepped back. "You're learning!"
Her face fell from the mask locked across her features as she allowed her exhaustion to seep through. It suited this purpose for him to see her as tired as she was. "Sir. I was hoping, considering the circumstances, I might be allowed a full night of rest. I was going to head to my bedroll, and I'd prefer not to be woken up."
He seemed to consider this a moment, green eyes watching her in consideration. Then that smile. That damn patronizing smile, she thought to herself. "You do need rest. We'll see that you get first watch."
"...you're going to just discount my request like that? I come up to you, ask you politely after you," the index finger of her deformed hand shoved up toward the slightly taller man in a threatening gesture, "damn near murder Rav, and then you refuse to let me sleep?! I'm not going on watch, Curos."
The white-haired man's shoulders raised in a slight shrug. "I just asked him to see if anyone was in the house, not go in there. If he was incompetent, it was his own fault."
Umolka's jaw opened slightly in anger, brown eyes going wide. Her anger was barely contained, leashed down only by the thought of a night's rest.
"You...you son of a bitch! I'm leaving for bed. Right now."
He shrugged again.
"Then you better be prepared for a whipping in the morning."
"Fine!", a frantic laugh escaped the talontar as she motioned Pox before her, turning on her heel from the Banite. "If it means resting, I'll take a whipping. It doesn't matter to me." Boots sounding heavily, she claimed the first tent she saw without a person in it, quickly stripping free her armor and slipping into her bedroll.
_________________
A sharp tug at her arm and Umolka felt herself being yanked up, the thin fabric of her nightwear in the cold Dales spring helping to jar her awake sooner. She could see the face of one of the disguised Shadow Dragon soldiers over her, dragging her from her tent now. She also caught sight of Curos, who had somehow coaxed her rat from the tent without her noticing, and was now sating the simple thing on cuts of meat. Pox's greenfire eyes looked around with a kind of dumb curiosity, the remains of his cheeks bulging with deer flesh.
"Curos, what in the hells are you doing?" Her voice cracked with sleep as she spoke.
"Told you you'd be getting whipped for that." He offered a curt nod to the dragon soldier, who gripped the whip in his right hand a bit tighter and turned his attention to Umolka. Before the man could respond, the druid desperately wrenched her wrist free from his grasp, slashing her sharp claws up at his exposed neck. The soldier dropped the whip and touched his bleeding neck, looking unsurely to the Lance of the Zhent army. A few more steps brought Umolka closer to her tent, feet spread in a defiant posture.
"You're not whipping me."
The rat swallowed the rest of his meat, acidic spittle oozing down into the soil with his head cocked to the side as he observed. With another small shrug Curos unsheathed his massive Great sword. His strike was swift and sure. The flat of the blade slammed into Umolka's temple with a resounding, meaty 'thwack', and the woman's world fell from under her into a sea of darkness.
_________________
A buzzing in her temple was what she awoke to. There was a horrible pain shooting across her shoulders a moment after she awoke, head still swimming in blackness. Somewhere beside her she could hear her rat, snarling and frothing in rage, struggling against what could only be bindings. Great. Her vision returning, she tested her arms. They were sore and pained deeply, it felt to maybe be a long stick pressed behind her neck. She confirmed, her hands gripping bark, that he'd wrapped her arms around them to cause this pain. She snorted and shook her head best she was able, ignoring the discomfort it created.
Dizzy still, she was only glad for the support in that she had no way to fall over and appear more worthless. Above her now, Curos came into view, his brows lowered slightly in a look of frustration.
"Look," he said after a moment of long silence, "I don't want there to be any bad blood between us." The man leaned in closer, regarding Umolka with scrutiny. "But don't disobey my orders in front of the men."
A sneer slipped across her face, her tattooed forehead wrinkling in anger as she spat out in heavily accented common. "Get this thing off of me." Amazingly, moments later Curos did just that. Or rather, ordered his men to do it. Once freed from her bonds she flexed her wrists, glancing down to her left. They had bound Pox with a crude muzzle and tied all four of his legs together, and the rat was almost rabid with anger, green-hued foam covering his muzzle as he snarled and snapped as he was able, blazing emerald eyes wide. She knelt beside him and spoke soothingly in Mulan, and once he was sufficiently calmed the Talontar scooped the creature up and returned to her tent.
Her only powerful healing spell left from the day before was used on her injured head, and she did not bother wiping the blood from her face as she doted on the angry companion, healing the wound he also sustained as best she was able. Around her she could hear the soldiers beginning to prepare to move out. She had to congratulate Curos. He had successfully purged from her the grudging loyalty she had formed, and twisted and tempered it into the most perfect hatred she'd ever felt. She felt no more grief, and the pain was little compared to the new heat burning within her.
There could be no peace now. |
"Then I was right. Jobe has all his children killed, and Michael Bay gets to keep making his movies. There is no god." |
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Rabiesbunny
Seeker
USA
93 Posts |
Posted - 17 Feb 2009 : 03:04:22
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Rabiesbunny in regards to 'Loss':
You know, it's funny - our poor DM never expected us to beat Silverhand. He expected us to face her and turn tail when she destroyed us. But with our builds, levels, and experience at the game...
...well, let's just say that the builds out of the 3.0 FRCS book aren't that effective against well built PCs in 3.5. :) Storm's fine, and it only added to our characters' infamy.
Just thought you should know - no, we didn't destroy a well known character! |
"Then I was right. Jobe has all his children killed, and Michael Bay gets to keep making his movies. There is no god." |
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Rabiesbunny
Seeker
USA
93 Posts |
Posted - 17 Feb 2009 : 03:07:15
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A Return
The first thing she noticed were the voices.
They were muffled at first, the throbbing of the slowing blood rushing past her ears stifling the sound. Curos' fierce expression, crouched over her with deadly anger in his eyes, was growing hazy, and the pain he inflicted was brief and surprisingly dull. The blade locked within her breast was cold for the time she felt it. Deep within her chest a scream rose and was choked off as the world fell.
The voices became louder now.
Blinking away disorientation Umolka reached up toward her head, pressing her gloved left hand to her temple. Considering the last she remembered she was feeling surprisingly lucid, though now she found she was standing and in a very loud space. The druid gasped as her vision cleared and the grayed expanse before her became visible. Here there were more people than the druid had ever seen in Waterdeep or Tyrtauros -- throngs of people in every style of dress with every tone of skin were clustered together, crying out to above. The cacophony of hundreds of regional tongues was just as overwhelming as the sheer number of bodies, but she found that with concentration she could understand what the crowds were yelling, regardless of their languages. They were names of gods, prayers of the devout. She was dead, she realized, and was here to wait for her goddess.
"...huh. Death is less painful than I thought it would be." The amused woman pressed her blackened fingers to her preciously sundered breastplate, whole and undamaged now. The pain of loss that had driven her to commit the acts that had, in turn, caused her death at the blade of 'Lance' Curos Moradath Durionalix was nearly gone, fading from the druid's core being. She raised her eyes toward the 'sky' as it were, an endless expanse of the same shades of gray that was underfoot as well. The calling of the spirits to their deities, and the responses she sometimes saw, fascinated her as she began to walk in an indeterminable direction. Motes of light would gather above and form celestials, taking the souls of certain gods to their afterlife when enough worshipers were amassed.
She came to a stop after observing an Djinn of some sort spirit off worshipers of the goddess Akadi, her eyes drifting toward a group of people she could recognize as kin. They called to Talona in many ways - one, a spirit of decided serpentine and human origin, called out to her as "Sss'thasine'ss". With a smile crossing her face Umolka began to approach the small group.
About to raise her voice with theirs, an excruciating tugging began at the very core of her being, twisting what would have once been her bowels. Confused and just a bit frightened, the first emotions other than curiosity and peace she'd encountered in this plane, Umolka covered her face. The serpentine talontar cast her a curious look before returning to his prayer. The tug became more urgent and more powerful, until the spirit thought she might be torn in twain. Confusion gave way to anger, her powerful memories attached to the dangerous emotion resurfacing to the front of her mind.
With an anguished cry, the Thayan clenched her fist and opened her eyes, ablaze now with fury. This close to her deity, and she knew now that Curos was trying to have her raised -- the dragon-man would do all he could to make her life and afterlife miserable. She could resist the summons, she knew. But if Curos wanted her back, she would return. Revenge is a sweet thing. She allowed the magic to spirit her soul from the Fugue plane, and the voices were no more.
Instead there was stifling silence.
"...ah-...ah!" Coughing and gasping, Umolka bolted upright and pressed her palms to either side of her head. The sounds of the death plane were gone now, and pain coursed behind her eyes with each new beat of her heart. A deep exhalation through her nose and the druid dared to open her eyes. The room was painfully bright, and the decorating here expensive. "The nine hells...", she mumbled softly to herself in Mulan as she worked to regain her breath. She lacked clothing she realize, though was too tired to cover her tattooed body from any possible prying eyes. Resting her head slowly back onto the silken pillows, she glances to her bedside to see the silent Raith watching her. The Banite watched her with bright green eyes, black hair hanging loosely before them. She suddenly did feel very naked as she stared at him fearfully.
"You're awake, good."
Clasping her hands over her cheeks once more, the talontar wept. |
"Then I was right. Jobe has all his children killed, and Michael Bay gets to keep making his movies. There is no god." |
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Rabiesbunny
Seeker
USA
93 Posts |
Posted - 17 Feb 2009 : 03:10:20
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Journal Entry V
By the Lady's claw, I wish I were mad. That would explain all that has happened.
Simply put, I died. I guess I brought it on myself, but it felt wonderful at the time. A last stand, a final and grand attempt on Curos' life. He killed my Pox.
Poor Pox. He's been with me since I traveled to Rasheman to test my skills. It was just too much, losing Rav, and then having Pox die. And why? Because Curos forgot him. Left him behind. That gods-be-damned arrogant son of a gnoll. I went to run an errand for him, to show his commanders that the Purple Dragons had become involved, and left Pox to guard squishy K'nash.
And he LEFT him behind...!
It makes me still want him dead. Want to see him vomiting his innards up before me, pleading for my mercy, for Talona's mercy.
But he retreated from the Cormyrians, leaving Pox to the purple wolves. At least I know he was enjoying his last moments in life. Continuing without him or Rav is something that is going to take such effort. I skipped a lot though.
...there had been rumors that the Blight had spread to a gray render. Fortunate I was (or unfortunate, looking back on it) to find the thing in the woods as the Zhents were retreating. I awoke it and bound it to my service, and ordered an attack on my allies.
It was stupid of me to think that Curos would be downed by even such a might creature, but I was anything but rational. My spells all but bounced off of Curos' back, and I had no choice but to retreat into the forest. He followed me as I knew he would, but I had no time to call on the diseased wood -- he harmed me. Killed me, I venture to say.
By the gods, it sounds stupid, saying that I was killed. But I know I was. I can remember it -- not sharply, but fuzzy, rather like a dream. There were people everywhere, and I didn't hurt any longer. I felt good, pleased, at peace. It was a nice feeling. The people were all praying. And I found brothers and sisters in Blight, but I was pulled away before I could join Talona in her realm.
It hurt to not come back, but by all the hells it hurts to come back. I felt weak as a kitten when I awoke, sobbing and bawling. Raith, the Imperceptor in Waterdeep, had returned me to life at Curos' request. But since he spent so much of his time and money in returning me to life I owe him Raith my loyalty, the Banite said. That I will do as he wishes and obey him. All the work I've done, reduced to being a Banite's whelp.
But he says he thinks Rav may still be living, for what it's worth. Prisoner to the Harpers.
Once more, I'm lonely. He's letting me stay in this room for now, recooperate. Haven't been alone without Pox for a long time.
I can't stand it. |
"Then I was right. Jobe has all his children killed, and Michael Bay gets to keep making his movies. There is no god." |
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Rabiesbunny
Seeker
USA
93 Posts |
Posted - 17 Feb 2009 : 03:13:13
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Journal Entry VI
Pain is a funny thing.
I've never much been a fan of it. Talona's teachings say not to mind the pain, because death cannot be had without pain, nor can Talona's blessings.
Death does not frighten me, but pain does still.
Dying...I cannot still believe I'm writing this...was unpleasant, but almost welcome. As Curos' sword pierced my breastplate it was if I was suddenly aware of all things I had done wrong in life, all of my mistakes. All of my regrets (incidentally, attacking Curos was not one of them). Being faced with the end of your mortality is both frightening and enlightening. Once things went dark though, (which, as before, was welcome. Seeing Curos stand over me in victory is easily one of the most unpleasant experiences of my life) things felt much better.
I had heard of the Fugue from books, tomes and religious teachings. It surprised me once I entered how accurate these teachings really were. It is so very dreary. And crowded, uncomfortably crowded. The pain though, every last bit of it, was gone. I felt numb (or at least this is the best way I could find to describe it) and cold, but this was not a bad thing either. It made the pain stop, something I was all too eager to be free of.
The pain came back when I remembered. The sensation of the banite trying to bring me back to life was so unpleasant. As if my very soul was being torn away. I became angry. Angry they did not want me to be at peace, with Talona, after all they had done to me. Angry that they would simply not leave me alone. And so, with thoughts of vengeance and blind fury, I allowed them to return me to life.
The shock of being returned was rather substantial. I can only describe it was coming back from a long and fitful sleep. My muscles burned, my hands and feet felt as lead, and a throbbing ache behind my eyes made it hard to think. On a mental level it was dumbfounding, all of my returning thoughts, emotions and memories flooding me unprepared. Under the scrutiny of the Imperceptor Raith, knowing that now I had returned and had few loved ones waiting for me on Abeir-Toril proper, I am ashamed to admit I cried. I bawled like a child, long and hard, exhausted. When I was finally done Raith spoke with me.
He is far more polite and eloquent than I realized (remembering of course that the last time I spoke with him I left his office a bloodied mess...), and he can come off as kind. Banites do excel and concealing their true meanings and emotions, so I didn't let my guard down too much. It pleases me to know that he (at least from what he said) doesn't approve of Curos' disciplinary methods. He released me from my unwilling position in the Zhentarim, approving me to work as a free agent instead. he also informed me of his thoughts regarding Rav.
He believe my drow is not dead -- apparently, he called on Lord Bane to return him to life and there was no response of any kind. This may mean many things. But if this means that he is only capture by the damn Harpers, I'll get him back, that I vow.
More soon... |
"Then I was right. Jobe has all his children killed, and Michael Bay gets to keep making his movies. There is no god." |
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Rabiesbunny
Seeker
USA
93 Posts |
Posted - 17 Feb 2009 : 03:15:33
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Journal Entry VII
Long after the last writing, her journal picks up again. Between the two are doodles and rough sketches of a handsome drow, and diagrams of venoms and nasty symptoms listed in no particular order.
By the gods I despise sea travel.
Raith hired the group of us on suddenly, to go to Chult of all places. I did not even have the time to locate Rav to let him know of my destination. Miss him already, and I can only hope Curos' butler, Bitters, gets him the note I left behind. It's wonderful that we got him back. I feel as if a weight has been lifted from me.
We've been on the water far too long now. The rocking of the ship is making me amazingly ill, not like when we took that day trip to the stone sword tower where we ran into Amara.
The first night, Tarrik and I got into a rather nasty little scuffle over our sleeping quarters. They have only nasty little nets here, hanging from the posts, to sleep on, and it's extremely uncomfortable.
To relieve the nausea, one day I took the form of an alabatross and flew above the ship. A hungry sailor actually took out a crossbow and shot at me! He hit me, grazing, but hit me nonetheless! I refrained from harming him and reeled in my rage, a difficult task. These slack-jawed sailors are quickly wearing on my nerves, so I was almost relieved with then dragon turtle attacked us. Curos literally ran the thing's head through!
Here I was, summoning a storm cloud above the ship, crashing lightning down on the beast. And he downed it without a thought.
The ship was badly damaged though, so now I'm writing this from a nasty little Inn in Athkatla, where we'll be spending a considerable amount of time. I would write more, but I have more plans. Sunites need to be made ugly.
Another series of figures and terms, gibberish to most, follow after the text trails off. |
"Then I was right. Jobe has all his children killed, and Michael Bay gets to keep making his movies. There is no god." |
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Rabiesbunny
Seeker
USA
93 Posts |
Posted - 17 Feb 2009 : 03:18:46
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Umolka leaned down into the sudden kiss, her painted lips pressing eagerly against the shorter drow's. Graceful elven hands pressed against the druid's flushed cheeks, causing Umolka's heart to jump. The two remained locked in their embrace for only a few moments -- when it broke, Umolka buried her face in the dark elf's shoulder. Rav stroked her dark hair affectionately, a smile creeping across his face.
"Where in the Abyss have you been?"
Her voice was muffled by his black leather vest, her body shaking with what he could tell a moment later was laughter.
"I hate jungles!"
"I can't say I've been. Here." He stepped back and pressed a finger under her chin, tilting the stooped woman's head upward. The smile she gave him only reinforced Rav's knowledge of Umolka's feelings for him. Her usually bitter brown eyes were soft with adoration. "Go and head on up to our usual room. I'll get some drinks and meet you there, okay?"
A giddy laugh was followed by a smooch to his ebony cheek, and the druid took to the stairs of the Crowing Cockatrice with zeal. Rav's hands disappeared into his belt, almost immediately withdrawing one of his sharp kukris. With deftness only few possess he tossed and caught the weapon easily, smiling to the man behind the bar.
"Room seven, and a bottle of mushroom wine."
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Umolka flopped down on the familiar bed, tugging off her heeled leather boots. The rooms at the Cockatrice were spartan but well designed. Room seven had been Umolka's favorite (they had certainly had a chance to try them all!) -- the crimson tapestries and bedsheets against the black painted wall, she found, complimented Rav's skin and eyes, and so she found this room pleasing.
"All right, a glass of wine for the Talontar."
The drow's smooth voice startled her, causing her to visibly jump. This elicited a laugh as the man offered her a glass of the red fungal wine. She accepted the bittersweet drink with an embarrassed smile.
"I'd make a bit more noise entering the room, but that's generally a bad thing when you're trying to take out a mark. Are you positive you're not my next?" His tone and demeanor was teasing, mocking. He loved to play with Umolka verbally when he could. Her broken common gave him ways to weave words around and tease her in new ways. In response, she only wrinkled her nose.
"Of course I'm not!"
Rav shrugged off his leather jerkin and sat silently on the bed beside Umolka. In her customary manner, the druid pulled her legs onto the bed and curled up on her right side, nestling her head in the drow's lap. She loosely clutched the goblet of wine to her breast as a strangely uncomfortable silence fell over the two. Rav raised a slim brow.
"What's wrong?"
"I really do hate the jungle. That is where I have been, you know. Chult."
"Huh." He made an indifferent sound, resting slim fingers atop the druid's head. She seemed genuinely upset now, her nose buried against his inner thigh. "Why Chult?"
"You ever heard of Ko-" She cursed suddenly under her breath in a tongue Rav had heard her use often when she was upset or angry, a tongue she had just begin speaking in before cutting her self off. She spoke, slowly this time. "...the Night Serpent."
"Sure. Once or twice. Some kind of human boogie-man story about a snake, they tell it to little children to make them behave, right?"
"She's real. She's why we're there."
Rav's red eyes turned down the earnest druid, looking her over skeptically. She seemed all too sincere - and Umolka couldn't lie worth a damn, most of the time -- but the thought of the Night Serpent being real wasn't something he could easily swallow. Seeing his doubt, she began to elaborate.
"We left so quickly because it was urgent. Do you know much of Dendar's tale?" Rav shook his head slowly. "I did not, either. Supposedly she's a giant snake creature, who lives in a big cave. She ears the nightmares of every creature in Toril, and they say soon the day will come she will be too large to remain in her cave, too fat off of fear. And that day, they say, Abeir-Toril will cease to be."
"And who is saying this is true?" His tone was placating. Umolka's eyes narrowed. She knew now he thought it was hogwash.
"The priests from many powerful churches were given visions. They say it could be Shar's church, trying to free Dendar to end everything. Shar hasn't sent any faithful to Chult to join us. Everyone down there is under a truce until she's secured and the gate's protected."
The drow sighed and turned his face toward the ceiling, looking pensive. Most of him ached to chide Umolka. To tell her that the other priests were being played as pawns in some godly practical joke. Dendar was the stuff of fiction. But still, Umolka seemed absolutely positive.
"Is it dangerous down there, then?" He continued to stroke her hair. She seemed shaken, scared even, and didn't hide it in his presence. It was the only thing that kept him from calling the gods' bluff.
She nodded quickly. "Very. You remember Terrik?" This time, Rave nodded. "We lost him. Torn in two. Very gruesome..." Her voice shook, along with the rest of her body as she curled closer up to the drow.
"What got him?"
"Have you ever heard of 'dinosaurs'? They're like really big lizards."
"I've seen mention of them once or twice."
"Well, some horny great wyrm is running around, spawning with all kinds of them. They're huge, cast spells. Eat people." Her accent grew once more thicker as she became excited, recounting the situation. "We were looking for some in the forest, Storm suggested we split up. I didn't want to but Curos said 'Oh, I want to f*ck you, good idea!' So he sent Terrik and I with Storm and-"
She blinked widely, finding two think fingers placed over her mouth. Rav was staring down at her now, a hint of not often seen anger in his eyes.
"Who? Silverhand?"
Umolka nodded mutely into his lap. She felt his hand tense with silent anger at that knowledge. Raising her own clawed hand, she took a hold of his fingers and lifted them from her lips, continuing.
"When the dragon-lizard came to us, she flew away like a coward. Left Terrik and I to defend ourselves. I tried to, but I make a mistake. The beast killed Terrik, almost killed me, would have if it wasn't for Curos and that gnome." Her voice had grown quiet and thoughtful, and she then pulled herself into a sitting position, draping her right arm over the now stony Rav's shoulders. He glances up to her with pursed lips through strands of icy white hair. The drow was subtle and contained his emotions well, but Umolka knew him just well enough to know what he was thinking. "I don't want you to come, Rav."
A laugh pierced the quiet air; smooth, calm, and quite in control. He pressed his forehead into Umolka's cheek and let out a soft growling he knew she had a soft spot for, nuzzling his nose into her neck.
"You don't think I could take her, right? After what she did to me, she deserves her punishment, and I'm the person to give it to her." He lowered his voice even further. "Do you know the prestige that would get me?"
"I do, Rav, we're done it before. She didn't stay down for long, and now she has all the information need to ruin Curos, by association myself, and even Darius if she wanted to."
"All the more reason. I'm going." As he moved to stand, Umolka pivoted and let her wine glass fall and spill across the bed cover as she straddled the dark elf, pressing her forehead to his with a pleading look. He returned back with his own silent stare.
"Rav, please. If this whole Dendar thing is serious, stay here. The Xanathar needs your blade, and I already thought I lost you once. Don't let me lose you again."
With a deep exhale he shut his eyes tightly. His arms snaked around the woman to pull her close, lips running over her jawline as he thought.
"...fine. But only because you asked so nicely." |
"Then I was right. Jobe has all his children killed, and Michael Bay gets to keep making his movies. There is no god." |
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Rabiesbunny
Seeker
USA
93 Posts |
Posted - 17 Feb 2009 : 03:22:30
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Communing
It was early morning in the dark jungles of Chult. The makeshift temples of the gods of the Cynosure were mostly still in blackness, though the faithful of the nature deities could be seen moving quietly in the clearings, tending to their own private business and rituals.
As Umolka shut the door to the Banite temple, she did so with extreme care. She had no love for the local Imperceptor who had called then deep into this country -- to her the man was a bumbling fool, someone who was more concerned with his own pride and self image than the well being of those around him (Then again, this was how Umolka tended to view Banites, Tormish, Helmites, Tyrrans, Lathanderites, Sunites...you get the idea). In any case, she did not want the apparent light sleeper awaking, and as such was silent as she could be.
She quickly turned to her right, toward the jungle and out of the clearing. It was barely a few hours past the height of the moon and so the clearing seemed as if surrounded by a pitch-black void, the light of many ever-lit torches only amplifying the strange effect. The young Talontar paled and took a deep breath before braking the forest line, her cotton robes dragging behind her across roots and ferns. It was not too long before Umolka stopped, groped out into the darkness and placed a hand against what she felt to be a particularly sickly tree. Perhaps too many animals had drilled its bark and roots to create their dens; maybe it was infected with some breed of fungi or insect.
Either way, it would do just fine. Doing her best to tune out the faraway reptilian cry that reminded her far too much of the creature she had seen eviscerate Terrik, she grasped the trunk of the tree with her right hand which is now glowing a soft purple.
The decay was instant and would have been surprising to any observers. Umolka could smell the rot of the vegetation as it rushed past her and around her in a circular manner, the purple fire-that-wasn't evaporating immediately. Her enchanted robe shimmered as it resisted the otherwise corrosive magic. Shriveled leaves rained down to the forest floor as she put her tattooed forehead to the now soft and dead bark. Her movements were solemn and serious as she fell into silent communion with the forest and her goddess.
Fear. She could feel the fear of the forest itself. But the fear didn't come from the knowledge of her abilities, as she was so use to feeling -- in the Dales, for example, she had felt the fear of the vegetation and unaffected forest creatures. They knew threats to their normal way of life, had even an intelligent sense of it and disliked when it was disrupted, for the most part. But this time illness and decay weren't the reason, nor was her presence with Talona. It was the Dragon-lizards.
As the forest within her circle finished dying, the emotions of the plants around her began to dull as Umolka slipped into a deeper state of consciousness, her meditation taking her there. Into a content state. It was then that she heard the soft, rasping voices in the back of her mind over the usual droning of insect wings she would hear. She couldn't hear this, but at the same time, should could tell what it was saying. She had come for guidance, and her thoughts had been answered by something.
You seek help. What do you seek it for?
It was a few moments before the meditative Umolka completely realized what the situation was, murmuring aloud her response. Her voice was distinctive and sharp in the quiet forest.
I've given blight in Talona's name. I've done a wonderful thing for her service. but I'm being threatened with death by Mystra's chosen unless I undo what I have done. The Zhents are frightened as well.
The Thayan's body was wracked with a sudden and unexpected pain. She seized at the tree, knocked from her calm meditation as she cried out in surprise. A few small sores rose and popped along her forearms and back, leaving trails of blood down her robes. Gasping, she dug her nails into the moist wood beneath her hands.
You considered it. Bowing to their will for fear of your flesh and blood.
The voice-that-wasn't carried a feeling of disgust and anger, a chiding tone. Not unlike her parents, or Sveta. Pain was already fading. It had been something to shock her, she surmised. Something to catch her attention to the severity of the situation. Still in a daze, her glazed eyes slid closed as she fell against the tree for support.
I did...
That was your mistake. You have been given power only handfuls have. You have accomplished what you have so far with another's will, and despite your occasional blasphemies and weaknesses, you have excelled. This is not because you give into their demands.
And with that, the presence was gone. Whatever it may have been, its absence made the druid feel hollow suddenly. Turning and reaching out cautiously in the dark, she began the return to camp. She had to return to Waterdeep once more, she needed to find some assistance. Some kind of solution. |
"Then I was right. Jobe has all his children killed, and Michael Bay gets to keep making his movies. There is no god." |
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Rabiesbunny
Seeker
USA
93 Posts |
Posted - 17 Feb 2009 : 03:27:23
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The Transformation
Curos and Raith had decided Umolka was to go first in reading one of the most legendary books in Faerunian magic and lore. She had been skeptical at first. Research by Curos had shown that it was not only a copy of one of the oldest tomes, but the very finished and bound copy Myrkul himself had added passages to. And the two Banites had insisted she be the first to read it cover to cover.
Whether this was a good or bad sign, Umolka could not tell. She had not heard of this book before in much capacity at all – those two, though, spoke of it almost fearfully. She hadn’t paid it much heed at all until it was offered to her and the circumstances explained. It was a book of great power, and those who had read its passages were made all the more powerful for it as long as their minds were strong.
And Umolka considered herself, above all things, strong. Perhaps it was flawed thinking, as the druid was prone to fits of rage and irrational behavior, but she could little be swayed into things she did not wish to do and stubborn behavior to Umolka is not too different from mental strength. But the things the Book had shown her had frightened her. It was written in both Infernal and Abyssal, and therefore she could not read it without magical assistance; its pages were filled with horrific truths and rites. Depravity and horror were commonplace in this book and reflected in these cruel and disgusting acts, Umolka could see her own soul staring back at her.
While reading the last few pages, a curious thing happened to her. Umolka was sitting atop her cot as weary as she had been the past seven days. Her hair, oily and unwashed from days of study, lay limp just past her shoulders. The huge man that had been watching her without sleep or rest of any sort was staring at her, unblinking as always, when she spared him a glance. When she turned back to the book resting in her lap, her heart lurched.
Sitting before her on the bed was, out of nowhere, a woman. She was hideous and appeared ancient as any person the druid had ever seen, and as real as the book bound from human flesh she held in her lap – she had leathery skin pulled taut over a thin and emaciated frame, with little to cover it but rags. Her eyes were a pure and unnerving onyx, and felt as though they were boring holes through Umolka’s very soul. The druid tightened her grip on the bound tome she held, and offered a wary nod.
“…hello there.” The thin creature grinned a wicked grin at her, and the Talontar realized she really couldn’t be sure this wasn’t another nightmare. She pinched the flesh on her clavicle and twisted it with her nails, then yelped in pain at the very real sensation. This was followed by her right hand reaching out to try and touch the old Hag – carefully, cautiously.
She was real, and cold as the grave. The hag’s grin never fell from her face, even as she began speaking in lowly tones to Umolka. Secrets of diseases long forgotten and poisons rare to create; ideas and the many names Talona had been worshiped under. The things the old, decrepit creature had told her were unbelievable at first. Not the kind of unbelievable that makes you roll your eyes in disbelief at the sheer absurdity of it all. This was more along the lines of some tall tale that you have heard time and time again as fiction, and then see that it is true before your own eyes.
That was a lot like this. Normally she might have assumed she was hallucinating, maybe sick. But having just finished reading the things she had read in the all-too-infamous Book of Vile Darkness, she was a little more willing to accept these strange circumstances. She had been speaking to the woman for what felt like hours, learning secrets of the divine and disease she had never before fathomed.
“And this night,” the creature continued as she leaned forward, “your acts are going to be rewarded,” she said this word maliciously, “with something she sets on only a handful of faithful.” Her voice seemed as frail and evil as she appeared, hissing and warbling. “The Yuirwood houses many of those who have earned this classification, and the most infamous of them. But they do not all reside there.” The druid’s eyes were alight with recognition. Cackling, the hag nodded.
“Those like the Rotting Man?” Umolka’s voice spoke with a whisper in Infernal, though she seemed not to realize the language she’d turned to using.
“What do you think? Are you that thick? You are not near the Rotting Man’s skill, but she thinks you do deserve some sort of little boon.” She could feel a shred of the divine through this hag’s words, a truth that she knew was meant for her. The white-hot divine energy of Talona had been pulsing through the Talontar’s very being with a stronger force than usual – a soul that had been tempered and forged over the past week into something new. Images and sounds of horrible torment and truth had penetrated her in ways she had never though possible, and shown Umolka a truth about her soul and her purpose.
Now a creature she knew to be sent by Talona herself was laying that soul and purpose bare to her eyes.
“You are young and naïve, make brash decisions, and try desperately to justify your actions to others, when no justification is needed.” Umolka tiredly bowed her head in agreement. “Despite these things, amazingly, you have done Talona’s way great good, and assisted in harming those of other faiths enough to overlook your shortcomings, however prolific they may be.
“She can only hope that your ways were for youth and inexperience. I see no moral flaws in your soul, no deceit in your faith. She hopes that this past seven days you have grown as she believes you have, and that is why she is considering this.
“But before I do this, was there anything else you need to know?” Her tone with Umolka was gradually becoming more snide and snippy, the hag not good at concealing any amount of ire or frustration.
“Yes,” she spoke again in a groveling, almost unheard tone, “there is…”
______________________________________________
Her question was answered swiftly, and with more honesty and ease than she could have every imagined. When she had committed to her memory the complicated instructions given for succeeding in the task she had asked for help with, the creature cackled loudly. Her blue-green face pulled back in a wicked smile as she vanished shortly afterward. Deep in the pit of her stomach, Umolka felt cold.
It took her a minute to realize the coldness was not just her imagination; but an honestly chilling sensation within her abdomen. The cold spread uncomfortably, and she could feel it force itself through her veins. The strange sensation was just that; it was not painful, just new. It spread quickly up through her chest cavity, and once there, she panicked. The woman felt her heart seize. It hiccuped and started, frantically thumping in her chest before dying out and going completely still, whatever blood may have been left in her veins becoming sluggish and still.
She clutched at her chest in fear and felt at her neck for a pulse, eyes wide – but to no avail. Her heart had stopped beating, and she was alive. The hag had referred to becoming like the Rotting Man, but she hadn’t considered this could happen! Umolka stumbled out of bed, getting an odd look from the man at the door as she seized a mirror on the dresser beside her, letting the Book penned by Myrkul himself to tumble to the floorboards, unprotected.
Umolka watched in horror and shock as her body changed before her eyes. Her healthy skin took on a sickly hue, and then continued to turn shades of green until it was decidedly no longer flesh; pressing her fingers to her cheek showed that her new flesh was spongy and cold, if not a bit slimy. New markings of a decidedly darker hue of green, not unlike tattoos, came into being around her eyes and where her eyebrows once were. The hair of her eyelashes and eyebrows simply fell to the floor with the growth of her new skin.
Her eyes themselves were undergoing a drastic change; her vision went blurry and then was lost for a moment. When it returned she was able to see that her normally dull brown eyes were shifting, their irises blending and lightening into a bright yellow. Elongating and thinning, her pupils lessened to little more than reptilian slits. With this physical change her sight seemed to become crisp in the dark room.
She could feel the loamy flesh on her shoulders ripple, a set of four small spikes rising out of either shoulder blade and straining against the material of her loose robe. Umolka dropped down to her knees and grasped at the floorboards with her hands. The overwhelming sensation of all of these painless but strange changes to her physiology left the woman reeling in confusion, her eyes tightly shutting.
Skin around the tattoos on her form darkened and split, the scarring across her body doing the same, though this she did not notice. Her hand began to crawl with a strange sensation, and it was only a few moments before her right appendage began to thicken and twist. She squeezed her eyes shut even more so at this feeling, a few stray tears slipping down her cheeks as her already warped hand changed even further. The flesh became hard and rough like the bark of a fir. Thick, claw-like nails lengthened and fused with her fingertips to create true claws colored a translucent amber like dried sap.
And slowly, as the sensations faded, she felt her neck pulse with a slow and impossible heartbeat. Serpentine eyes peeked open with a quiet whimper as she stood and sat back down on her bed, looking over her body. The ‘heart’, or whatever it may be now (as she could no longer be sure she had a true heart) beat slowly, and she counted each beat as it happened. Three beats a minute of whatever the cold, thick fluid in her body now was.
Slowly she picked the book up from the floor and, after taking a deep breath, pulled it open and began to read the final pages with new found resolve. |
"Then I was right. Jobe has all his children killed, and Michael Bay gets to keep making his movies. There is no god." |
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Rabiesbunny
Seeker
USA
93 Posts |
Posted - 14 May 2009 : 05:30:40
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She was cold.
This was hardly a new development, but one that Umolka was having a great deal of trouble getting use to. The concept of no longer being a warm being, of having a heart within her, of feeling the thudding of her pulse even if she were just to press fingers against her throat - it was strange. Not inherently odd, as a two headed cat or a dog with wings, but strange in another way. In the way that knowing she would never become human again. That she was not the same species now as her very own mother.
Oh certainly, on the outside, she appeared humanoid. Her general shape remained the same, as did the function of most of her body parts; her eyes saw, her nose detected scent, her ears heard noise. She could still touch things and feel them, though now the sensation was slightly different. And as she sat at her desk, recording these observations into her journal, she sighed. It had been only two days since the Night Serpent's escape from her portal in the Peaks of Flame.
Umolka had failed in keeping the Night Serpent from escaping. The Cyricist, Baron Levinworth, had convinced the Mystrans to bring the Banites up on charges for keeping their Book of Vile Darkness a secret kept from the rest of the camp. Chaos quickly ensued, chaos which halted any progress made on the efforts to stop Dendar's release. On the final day of the Banite Contingent's "Trial", which had been drawn out further due to the work of Levinworth, a force of the hideous Dragon-Dinosaurs swept down on the encampment. Umolka and Robert were sent out by Curos, the only two not drawn into battle, to try and stop Dendar's release. She had left Curos and Rav reluctantly, only able to offer little more than a 'good luck' before she was gone.
But ultimately, she had failed. Sealing the portal was almost within her means, but without the necessary assistance to keep dispels from occurring, it ultimately had failed. She returned to camp to find most of it's inhabitants slaughtered, and many more still missing. Among the dead were Rav and Curos, as well as the Cormyrian Army's Grand Marshall Duncan. Much to her dismay, Levinworth and Mystra's chosen Storm Silverhand were among the missing. With the help of Priest Vel'dorn, who had survived with the help of his allied Pit Fiend, they escaped with the corpses to the Priest's hideaway on the second level of the Hells, Dis.
Attempts had been made to restore Curos to life, but they had made with no success. Tonight was to be Rav's turn. And she only hoped that whatever was keeping the dragon-son from resurrection was not there to block her lover's return. The future of Abeir-Toril appeared grim enough already, only to have another mark against it in her eyes.
The knock at her door was well timed, and immediately the druidess lost all interest in the journal and quill she had been lamenting the past on. She stood and quickly raced to the door, pulling it open. Before her was her Rav; her short, ebon-skinned, red eyed man. His face reflected what her own must have when, once upon a time, Raith had returned her from the world of the dead. She could see within him exhaustion at the least. Perhaps the man had seen what lay beyond, in his god's afterlife, only to return so that he could continue the struggle against Dendar. Or perhaps, she mused inwardly, he wished to be with her again.
Umolka pulled Rav into a tight embrace, pressing her lips against the top of his head. His warm arms slipped around her in his usual firm grip, his cheek pressing softly into her bosom. Without missing a beat he pulled back from the hug and offered a sly smirk upwards.
"So you did miss me, huh?"
Umolka could feel the moisture brimming at her eyes. She could no longer call them tears, she had decided, as she was no longer human and therefore had no tear ducts. No matter where they came from, they served the same purpose. The liquid slipped down the spongy, green flesh of her cheeks as she leaned down to press her lips against his.
"More than you could imagine."
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"Then I was right. Jobe has all his children killed, and Michael Bay gets to keep making his movies. There is no god." |
Edited by - Rabiesbunny on 14 May 2009 05:31:25 |
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The Continuing Story of Umolka Vhirkina of Talona
