Post by Ralwerre VonMitternacht on Jan 6, 2016 0:57:28 GMT -5
Fear not for the weak for the breath of the Gods shall touch them not. Grieve for the Kings. Grieve for the Mighty. The Gods shall consume them
- Ancient Lost Texts of Khava Dar
Ralwerre Vonmitternacht, known to any who knew her as Ral, and known to very few by the name VonMitternacht, stood before an ominous dark passage deep within the pit of a ruined temple. The light from the torch she carried danced on the walls creating eerie shadows. She stared down into that darkness wondering about possible traps that awaited her. Danger. She did everything and anything she could to face a dangerous situation. The more bloody, the better. She knew that somewhere quite far away, Maximillion was aware of every single little scrap she got into. And each time it was defiance.
It had been quite a few years since she threw her familial bonds at Maximillion's feet. Enough years that the argument leading to her walking away, faded into obscure memory. Enough years that a hint of regret followed her. But she was proud and stubborn. She would not take a dime of VonMitternacht money. Maximillion could shove his precious family right up his....
A rustling sound came from behind her. She turned her head slightly toward her two companions. Hawn Jutte, the always bitter thief and illusionist, an elf that spent most of his time with his lips glued to a bottle. Mostly useless. And Maux. The werewolf who spent so much time with his lips glued to Maximillion's ass that she figured surgery would be required to remove them. Yes, these two. One who spent every day bemoaning his very existence and the other who spent every day thinking that Maximillion could make the sun rise and set with a smile. Two bumbling idiots. Yet they were Family. And Maximillion had sent them both to keep an eye on her.
Not that keeping an eye on her was necessary. There was the bond, after all. Maximillion was always there, in the distance, like an old memory. She tried her best to fling a bit of hatred toward that link, but the years had softened her resolve and she could not hide her regret. She knew that he knew. But she would still defy him.
So here she was in the bowels of the old temple, treasure hunting. Why? Because she had no money. Forgotten temples were full of old relics, gold, and valuable things. They were also full of dangerous traps, angry creatures, and long forgotten magical curses. One day her career was likely going to kill her.
The sound that came from behind her was Hawn Jutter reaching into his pocket for his flask. He gave her a guilty look
"Do you mind," she hissed as she reached over and snagged the offending flask from the elf's grip.
"I don't know if he minds," came Maux's voice from the shadows. "But I do. We should not be here." The werewolf's golden eyes reflected the light from the torch.
Ralwerre turned back toward the passage. "There is some loot here. I can feel it." She took a tentative step into the darkness and discovered that the passage became a stairwell leading down.
"This is supposed to be the resting place of the Quarant. I don't think this is a very good idea, Ral" Maux's voice had an edge to it that was not usually there.
"What in the hell is a Quarant?" Hawn Jutte took a step too close to Ralwerre and accidentally bumped into her.
"For fuck's sake, Hawn," she turned briefly so she could thump the elf in the chest. "Could you please try not to fuck this up. Thanks asshole." She took another step down. "The Quarant is stupid religious nonsense. Something like the boogey man to keep the kiddies in line."
Maux sighed behind her. "The Quarant, Hawn," He replied, "otherwise known as the breath of God or Khava Dar was a creature created in ancient times to destroy the world."
"Why would they want to do that?" Hawn asked as they continued down the stairs
"The ancients believed that our world was created by a Goddess who was at odds with the other Gods. It was those other Gods who created the Quarant to destroy her people." Maux glanced behind him as they continued. This place felt wrong.
"Thats not quite the story," Ralwerre added as they reached the bottom. She could see something ahead. Perhaps a reflection from the torchlight. "The story went that the Goddess took a mortal as a lover and high priest which was against the rules of the Gods. She granted the priest powers akin to the Gods. When they found out, they stripped the powers from the man and infected him, so to speak To punish the Goddess, they took the powers that she gave the priest and made them into a living creature, the Quarant
"That creature was tasked to seek out powerful creatures to destroy one by one. The original priest had to share his body with this creature and the only way to get rid of it was to die." She took a step forward trying to determine what she was seeing ahead.
"Yes," Maux added, "And whomever had enough power to kill the priest then became infected by the quarant. It moved from person to person seeking someone more powerful each time and adding that person's power to its own. And the one it infected, a living hell. Unable to die unless slain by someone that the quarant wished to infect. A trap for the one doing the slaying. Thats why we really should not be here."
"Oh please," Ralwerre sighed. "Maux, do you really believe this stuff?" She continued a few more steps until she could see inside a central chamber. The glow was no reflection. There were words etched into the walls of a circular room, and they glowed slightly giving the place a dim light.
- Ancient Lost Texts of Khava Dar
Ralwerre Vonmitternacht, known to any who knew her as Ral, and known to very few by the name VonMitternacht, stood before an ominous dark passage deep within the pit of a ruined temple. The light from the torch she carried danced on the walls creating eerie shadows. She stared down into that darkness wondering about possible traps that awaited her. Danger. She did everything and anything she could to face a dangerous situation. The more bloody, the better. She knew that somewhere quite far away, Maximillion was aware of every single little scrap she got into. And each time it was defiance.
It had been quite a few years since she threw her familial bonds at Maximillion's feet. Enough years that the argument leading to her walking away, faded into obscure memory. Enough years that a hint of regret followed her. But she was proud and stubborn. She would not take a dime of VonMitternacht money. Maximillion could shove his precious family right up his....
A rustling sound came from behind her. She turned her head slightly toward her two companions. Hawn Jutte, the always bitter thief and illusionist, an elf that spent most of his time with his lips glued to a bottle. Mostly useless. And Maux. The werewolf who spent so much time with his lips glued to Maximillion's ass that she figured surgery would be required to remove them. Yes, these two. One who spent every day bemoaning his very existence and the other who spent every day thinking that Maximillion could make the sun rise and set with a smile. Two bumbling idiots. Yet they were Family. And Maximillion had sent them both to keep an eye on her.
Not that keeping an eye on her was necessary. There was the bond, after all. Maximillion was always there, in the distance, like an old memory. She tried her best to fling a bit of hatred toward that link, but the years had softened her resolve and she could not hide her regret. She knew that he knew. But she would still defy him.
So here she was in the bowels of the old temple, treasure hunting. Why? Because she had no money. Forgotten temples were full of old relics, gold, and valuable things. They were also full of dangerous traps, angry creatures, and long forgotten magical curses. One day her career was likely going to kill her.
The sound that came from behind her was Hawn Jutter reaching into his pocket for his flask. He gave her a guilty look
"Do you mind," she hissed as she reached over and snagged the offending flask from the elf's grip.
"I don't know if he minds," came Maux's voice from the shadows. "But I do. We should not be here." The werewolf's golden eyes reflected the light from the torch.
Ralwerre turned back toward the passage. "There is some loot here. I can feel it." She took a tentative step into the darkness and discovered that the passage became a stairwell leading down.
"This is supposed to be the resting place of the Quarant. I don't think this is a very good idea, Ral" Maux's voice had an edge to it that was not usually there.
"What in the hell is a Quarant?" Hawn Jutte took a step too close to Ralwerre and accidentally bumped into her.
"For fuck's sake, Hawn," she turned briefly so she could thump the elf in the chest. "Could you please try not to fuck this up. Thanks asshole." She took another step down. "The Quarant is stupid religious nonsense. Something like the boogey man to keep the kiddies in line."
Maux sighed behind her. "The Quarant, Hawn," He replied, "otherwise known as the breath of God or Khava Dar was a creature created in ancient times to destroy the world."
"Why would they want to do that?" Hawn asked as they continued down the stairs
"The ancients believed that our world was created by a Goddess who was at odds with the other Gods. It was those other Gods who created the Quarant to destroy her people." Maux glanced behind him as they continued. This place felt wrong.
"Thats not quite the story," Ralwerre added as they reached the bottom. She could see something ahead. Perhaps a reflection from the torchlight. "The story went that the Goddess took a mortal as a lover and high priest which was against the rules of the Gods. She granted the priest powers akin to the Gods. When they found out, they stripped the powers from the man and infected him, so to speak To punish the Goddess, they took the powers that she gave the priest and made them into a living creature, the Quarant
"That creature was tasked to seek out powerful creatures to destroy one by one. The original priest had to share his body with this creature and the only way to get rid of it was to die." She took a step forward trying to determine what she was seeing ahead.
"Yes," Maux added, "And whomever had enough power to kill the priest then became infected by the quarant. It moved from person to person seeking someone more powerful each time and adding that person's power to its own. And the one it infected, a living hell. Unable to die unless slain by someone that the quarant wished to infect. A trap for the one doing the slaying. Thats why we really should not be here."
"Oh please," Ralwerre sighed. "Maux, do you really believe this stuff?" She continued a few more steps until she could see inside a central chamber. The glow was no reflection. There were words etched into the walls of a circular room, and they glowed slightly giving the place a dim light.
