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The Hidden Lord
Learned Scribe
148 Posts |
 Posted - 27 Jun 2012 : 06:45:19
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Paedric Duran was called 'Oathbreaker' amongst the vehmronni, 'Dread-Binder' in the soaring black spires of the howling Haunted lands, and 'Lightbringer' by the dwarves of Dhalthar-Lode. He was Riding with Eyes on Fire to the Varm; in Myth Drannor, on the longest winter nights, scions of Moonflower sang his song. Paedric worked the Weave with rare gift; weaving not just patterns, but winding each strand and its resonance, its wave, its possibilities. He sang the words of pattern-binding that is the Weave in perfect harmony, or in thunderous counter-stroke, with the symphony of the spheres. He had stared into the infinities, had descended into the deepest Hell, and sailed on Oceanus to the very gates of Heaven. Paedric Duran knew things.
His hand laid resting, as always, on Loros'aelen, the eldritch war blade tempered with spells of highest order. Paedric reviewed the shimmering patterns of bound spells, which he wound about himself dutifully upon waking each day. With a wave of his hand, Paedric could unleash all those spells held in stasis. With a word of spell, he was gone and away from his orichalcum holdfast sealed within a pocket he had sewn in space and time.
A chill wind blew, tossing Paerdric's long raven hair; he looked up, out of the mountain pass and up, the night sky scintillating with thousands of stars. He then kneeled down on the rough stone, and placed two fingers in a trickle of water emerging from the rock.
"The first waters of the the Unicorn Run", Paerdric smiled grimly as he cupped his hands low, managed to fill his hands, and drank deeply.
A low voice shattered Paerdric's tranquility.
"You seek the 'Librum of Halast'."
Paedric rose from the beginning of the great river, and scowled. His spells did not detect the interloper, he could not read his thoughts; nor detect an aura of life, death, good or evil. The hooded figure had no smell, and bore no magic. Under Selune's silver light, only his masculine voice betrayed some hint of what lay beneath his cowl.
"Who are you?", Paedric asked, as the stranger lowered his hood.
"I am Vainrace, I hold the Librum, and it is not for you."
"If you know I seek the Librum, then you know who I am... and what I'm willing to do to protect the innocent. Gargauth's near eradication of true priests of Siamorph has blackened every realm in Faerun. I have seen what is to come; war, famine, disease... and worse; with the Librum, I can stop this."
"If you know of pacts and rites bound within the 'Librum of Halast', then you know we have have time, is this correct?" Vainrace began.
"Yes... of course, but Gargauth's servitors are swift, and will move to track me, now that I have returned to the Toril's prime material," Paerdric drew his sword in a blinding flash, his fist lit with hellish green fire, "you will take me to the Librum... Or I will take it from you."
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The Birth of the Great Tree
