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Anguirel · 09-14-2006, 08:27 AM

Suddenly Dracomir's head swam and he felt a pulling sensation behind his navel. Skittles too, amidst her leatherclad pre-rampage state, looked rather groggy, and even Hissyfit seemed to quail.

Tom shook his head violently, and the scene began to coalesce into focus again. Skittles' stare was uncharacteristically bewildered as well as angry. The two ambassadors and the cat were now in a completely different area of the Castle.

"Have you done some magical trick again, pretty-boy?" Skittles asked idly, her hand straying to her knife collection.

"This isn't me," Dracomir muttered. "Something...darker...is at work. Have you heard, Lady Skittles, of a grim and ancient incantation of delaying, propelling and postponing known only as a save?"

"No," Skittles confessed.

"Neither have I, really," Tom said with a shrug, "but I suspect that whatever it is, it's behind this mystery." I solemnly swear to fill in my save within 48 hours. Was Abraxas' enchanted map secretly involving him in powers beyond his control?

The corridor that the three reluctant companions now found themselves in was not especially exceptional. It was dusty, and dark almost to blackness, lit only by a single window, punctuated by graffiti and trophies from the Orcish Waterpolo Tournaments.

But ahead of them sprawled the distinguishing factor.

The horrifically mauled body of a man in a cloak of elven-grey, his eyes, still open and staring piteously upwards, the cold, commanding grey favoured by brooding romantic heroes, his ancient brand smashed to shards.

"A Ranger of the North," Dracomir muttered suspiciously. "But what could have been his bane?"

09-14-2006, 08:27 AM	#229
Anguirel Byronic Brand Join Date: Mar 2005 Location: The 1590s Posts: 2,825	Suddenly Dracomir's head swam and he felt a pulling sensation behind his navel. Skittles too, amidst her leatherclad pre-rampage state, looked rather groggy, and even Hissyfit seemed to quail. Tom shook his head violently, and the scene began to coalesce into focus again. Skittles' stare was uncharacteristically bewildered as well as angry. The two ambassadors and the cat were now in a completely different area of the Castle. "Have you done some magical trick again, pretty-boy?" Skittles asked idly, her hand straying to her knife collection. "This isn't me," Dracomir muttered. "Something...darker...is at work. Have you heard, Lady Skittles, of a grim and ancient incantation of delaying, propelling and postponing known only as a save?" "No," Skittles confessed. "Neither have I, really," Tom said with a shrug, "but I suspect that whatever it is, it's behind this mystery." I solemnly swear to fill in my save within 48 hours. Was Abraxas' enchanted map secretly involving him in powers beyond his control? The corridor that the three reluctant companions now found themselves in was not especially exceptional. It was dusty, and dark almost to blackness, lit only by a single window, punctuated by graffiti and trophies from the Orcish Waterpolo Tournaments. But ahead of them sprawled the distinguishing factor. The horrifically mauled body of a man in a cloak of elven-grey, his eyes, still open and staring piteously upwards, the cold, commanding grey favoured by brooding romantic heroes, his ancient brand smashed to shards. "A Ranger of the North," Dracomir muttered suspiciously. "But what could have been his bane?" Last edited by piosenniel; 09-29-2006 at 02:43 PM.