Shadows 7.3
Dec. 12th, 2006 07:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
measured_wordsAnd with this, I return to real studying. Well, maybe after I have dinner...
Chang reined his horse to a stop. Matteo grit his teeth and carefully slid off with a controlled fall. He landed on his back on a cushion of pine needles and soft earth, and lay there for a moment. The southerner stood over him with a look of apprehensive concern. After the hard forty minute ride, perched precariously on the back of a small horse, his leg was killing him. The muscles had been seizing for that last half of the trip, and the effort to stay mounted and not cry out had left him short of breath. His eyes were watering like mad, and it felt good to stretch out for a moment. Or maybe until the spasms stopped and he could breath without feeling like someone was stabbing him in the chest. He balled a fist, trying to beat some of the pain out into the ground, but the impact just set the stubs of his lost fingers to throbbing. At least it was a bit of a distraction.
“Will you be alright?”
He nodded. Chang seemed dubious, but his main concern was probably for his children and not his crippled ally.
“Stay here.”
Like he was about to head off anywhere. He’d have killed for some of the bitter white drug Shuang used to slip into his food. Of course, then he wouldn’t be able to think very clearly, and the point was moot in any case. He propped himself up on his elbows to get a better view of what Chang was up to. Nothing in the area looked at all familiar.
The warden had drawn his axe and seemed to be looking for something just off the path. A few minutes later, he stopped and cut down a straight-trunked sapling. He trimmed the top and branches, and presented it to Matteo when he returned to the clearing.
Matteo smiled and pulled himself up. The staff was fairly heavy, and could probably stand up to use as an improvised quarterstaff as well as a walking aid. He felt a little better for having some kind of weapon. When the cult had come to the lodge, he’d been in a deep drugged trance. He’d barely snapped out of it in time to hide. They’d already had Shuang and Chang’s kids. He hadn’t been entirely sure what was happening at the time…. But he’d make up for that now, if he could.
Chang led the way, picking his way carefully through the woods. He was clearly impatient, looking back constantly over his shoulder to judge how far Matteo was lagging behind. They were still making pretty good time, and presumably the Shrine of the Fallen couldn’t be much further. I less than ten minutes, they hit the transition to the blight. Matteo considered himself more worldly than many Aldryn, but he was nevertheless bound some cultural conditioning. The overwhelming wrongness of the forest’s desecration stopped him dead in his tracks and made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. The trees looked dead – should have been dead – but somehow seemed to thrive on the decay that infected them. Mottled grey leaves curled on branches covered in sickly white fungus. It covered the ground in patches, bleeding into black spoor covered moss. The air was heavy with the cloying smells of mildew and rot, and he choked back a coughing fit as the foulness filled his lungs.
“Be careful of your footing – the moss is treacherous and conceals pits in the earth.” Chang signed a ward in the air before crossing into the blight. Matteo followed, using his staff to test the ground before as he progressed. It was easy to stay concealed, at least, in the long and shifting shadows.
Chang held up his hand as the trees thinned near the edge of the Shrine’s clearing. A red-garbed guard stood near the passage through the ruin, fingers drumming boredly against the hilt of her sword as she stared out into the blighted wood. The warden reached for an arrow, but Matteo stopped him by holding up a hand. They wanted to give as little warning as possible, after all. Instead, he indicated for Chang to hold where he was, and crept closer alone.
He’d already learned to spot firmer patches of ground, and the fungus helped cover the sound of his approach. The guard looked his way, but saw nothing until he was in striking range. He clocked her once in the side of the head to stun her, then whirled the staff down to sweep her feet out from underneath her. She slipped backwards, fumbling for her weapon as two arrows sprouted from her chest and cut off her cry of warning. She tried to rise, but Matteo knocked her down again, and ended her struggles with a solid jab to the throat.
Chang gave him an inscrutable look as he crossed into the clearing, but said nothing s he proceeded cautiously into the passage. Sparsely spaced torches provided dim lighting, and Matteo removed the cloth covering his right eye. Everything on that side was blurry, but it was better than nothing. The pair crept along carefully, keeping alert for traps or additional sentries. It was fairly quiet at first, but as they advanced they heard footsteps and other signs of people moving up ahead. The passageway opened into a wider, better lit, area. As they entered the hall, the screaming began.
“Mei-Li!”
A look of horror spread across Chang’s face as he turned towards the sound. But something was wrong. Matteo’s instincts screamed at him, warning him to be on alert for an unknown danger. The Southerner was too far ahead to reach, and ignored or didn’t hear his grunt of warning. It might not have mattered, he reflected as he limped cautiously down the corridor after his companion. Whether or not it was a trap, it was hard to get past the idea of a little girl getting tortured.
Despite his sympathetic horror, however, the idea of progressing towards the screams filled him with dread. He didn’t like to think of what might happen if they were caught here, but he’d always had an active imagination and it was hard to suppress. Where were the other cultists? What about the prisoners – were they already dead? It was hard to hear anything over Mei-Li’s wailing, but was that accompanying shriek of manic laughter just his imagination?
Chang was fairly far ahead now – close to where the hallway split off. He paused there, looking back and waiting for Matteo to catch up. His face was pale and grave, eyes brimming with concern. Matteo placed a mangled hand on his shoulder and gave what he hoped was a stern look. They couldn’t afford to go running into this situation so blindly – their odds weren’t great as it was. Chang nodded, but his attention was clearly fixed on the left hand passage from where the sounds emanated. A thick wooden door blocked their progress.
Chang listened at the barrier, quietly drew his bow. He nodded to the door, then stepped back into the shadows close to one of the guttering torches. Matteo took his cue, leaning his staff against the wall in easy reach, and crouched to check the door. It wasn’t locked or trapped that he could tell – again, it was too easy. He got into position, and when Chang gave the signal, he pulled it open. The door swung back towards him with a slight groan, but the sound was lost in the increased volume of the screams. They had to be close now, but he couldn’t see from his vantage point.
Grabbing his staff, he slipped back out into the hallway just in time to see Chang step into the room and launch a volley of arrows at an unseen target. A familiar voice rang out, calling in the arcane tongue to summon his evil magic. He air before Chang shimmered and the warden joined his scream to his daughter’s chorus as he keeled over, dropping hs bow and clutching his chest.
Shit. What now?
Matteo flattened himself against the wall, calling the shadows to cover his presence. He was paralyzed, heart pounding, lungs suddenly feeling close to bursting as a new jolt of adrenalin shot though him. He had to get away. If Chang wasn’t dead, he would be soon, and there wasn’t anything he could do.
Geron stepped into view, flanked on his left by a tall Southerner in red robes, his entire face covered in arcane tattoos. An unmasked Mask, then – Matteo had heard descriptions from the Fall of Trylith. Its eyes darted around wildly, and its mouth was covered with blood and gore. An arrow shaft protruded from its shoulder, though it seemed oblivious. The screaming from the room beyond had dulled to sobbing cries. Geron scanned the corridor more carefully, but his gaze passed over the wall where Matteo hid.
“I know you’re out there.” He flashed a satisfied smile, reaching into the sleeve of his own Crimson robes. “But if you want to hide in the darkness…” He broke again into the language of magic. In response to the torturer’s commands, the hallway shadows lengthened and condensed. They blocked out the light, the magic overriding Matteo’s ability to see though normal darkness. And then, he was enveloped in a black cocoon of evil which penetrated painfully into his core. This was something worse than a normal Darkness spell – Geron had somehow summoned the cruelest elements of the Plane of Shadow.
He staggered back along the wall, trying to escape the area before the malignant power overwhelmed him, but he could hear the Mask coming for him. Just as he slid out of the blackness, red robed arms reached out and grabbed him, shrieking in laughter as they wrestled him to the ground. He fought back with panicked vigour, but the demon granted its host unnatural strength. It cackled, running its rough tongue across his face. Its breath reeked of blood. It wasn’t armed, but the longer it trapped him inside the spell, the more of his life bled into the unholy shadows. As his consciousness began to fade, he saw a figure, blacker than the blinding evil, reaching out its hand to him.
Chang reined his horse to a stop. Matteo grit his teeth and carefully slid off with a controlled fall. He landed on his back on a cushion of pine needles and soft earth, and lay there for a moment. The southerner stood over him with a look of apprehensive concern. After the hard forty minute ride, perched precariously on the back of a small horse, his leg was killing him. The muscles had been seizing for that last half of the trip, and the effort to stay mounted and not cry out had left him short of breath. His eyes were watering like mad, and it felt good to stretch out for a moment. Or maybe until the spasms stopped and he could breath without feeling like someone was stabbing him in the chest. He balled a fist, trying to beat some of the pain out into the ground, but the impact just set the stubs of his lost fingers to throbbing. At least it was a bit of a distraction.
“Will you be alright?”
He nodded. Chang seemed dubious, but his main concern was probably for his children and not his crippled ally.
“Stay here.”
Like he was about to head off anywhere. He’d have killed for some of the bitter white drug Shuang used to slip into his food. Of course, then he wouldn’t be able to think very clearly, and the point was moot in any case. He propped himself up on his elbows to get a better view of what Chang was up to. Nothing in the area looked at all familiar.
The warden had drawn his axe and seemed to be looking for something just off the path. A few minutes later, he stopped and cut down a straight-trunked sapling. He trimmed the top and branches, and presented it to Matteo when he returned to the clearing.
Matteo smiled and pulled himself up. The staff was fairly heavy, and could probably stand up to use as an improvised quarterstaff as well as a walking aid. He felt a little better for having some kind of weapon. When the cult had come to the lodge, he’d been in a deep drugged trance. He’d barely snapped out of it in time to hide. They’d already had Shuang and Chang’s kids. He hadn’t been entirely sure what was happening at the time…. But he’d make up for that now, if he could.
Chang led the way, picking his way carefully through the woods. He was clearly impatient, looking back constantly over his shoulder to judge how far Matteo was lagging behind. They were still making pretty good time, and presumably the Shrine of the Fallen couldn’t be much further. I less than ten minutes, they hit the transition to the blight. Matteo considered himself more worldly than many Aldryn, but he was nevertheless bound some cultural conditioning. The overwhelming wrongness of the forest’s desecration stopped him dead in his tracks and made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. The trees looked dead – should have been dead – but somehow seemed to thrive on the decay that infected them. Mottled grey leaves curled on branches covered in sickly white fungus. It covered the ground in patches, bleeding into black spoor covered moss. The air was heavy with the cloying smells of mildew and rot, and he choked back a coughing fit as the foulness filled his lungs.
“Be careful of your footing – the moss is treacherous and conceals pits in the earth.” Chang signed a ward in the air before crossing into the blight. Matteo followed, using his staff to test the ground before as he progressed. It was easy to stay concealed, at least, in the long and shifting shadows.
Chang held up his hand as the trees thinned near the edge of the Shrine’s clearing. A red-garbed guard stood near the passage through the ruin, fingers drumming boredly against the hilt of her sword as she stared out into the blighted wood. The warden reached for an arrow, but Matteo stopped him by holding up a hand. They wanted to give as little warning as possible, after all. Instead, he indicated for Chang to hold where he was, and crept closer alone.
He’d already learned to spot firmer patches of ground, and the fungus helped cover the sound of his approach. The guard looked his way, but saw nothing until he was in striking range. He clocked her once in the side of the head to stun her, then whirled the staff down to sweep her feet out from underneath her. She slipped backwards, fumbling for her weapon as two arrows sprouted from her chest and cut off her cry of warning. She tried to rise, but Matteo knocked her down again, and ended her struggles with a solid jab to the throat.
Chang gave him an inscrutable look as he crossed into the clearing, but said nothing s he proceeded cautiously into the passage. Sparsely spaced torches provided dim lighting, and Matteo removed the cloth covering his right eye. Everything on that side was blurry, but it was better than nothing. The pair crept along carefully, keeping alert for traps or additional sentries. It was fairly quiet at first, but as they advanced they heard footsteps and other signs of people moving up ahead. The passageway opened into a wider, better lit, area. As they entered the hall, the screaming began.
“Mei-Li!”
A look of horror spread across Chang’s face as he turned towards the sound. But something was wrong. Matteo’s instincts screamed at him, warning him to be on alert for an unknown danger. The Southerner was too far ahead to reach, and ignored or didn’t hear his grunt of warning. It might not have mattered, he reflected as he limped cautiously down the corridor after his companion. Whether or not it was a trap, it was hard to get past the idea of a little girl getting tortured.
Despite his sympathetic horror, however, the idea of progressing towards the screams filled him with dread. He didn’t like to think of what might happen if they were caught here, but he’d always had an active imagination and it was hard to suppress. Where were the other cultists? What about the prisoners – were they already dead? It was hard to hear anything over Mei-Li’s wailing, but was that accompanying shriek of manic laughter just his imagination?
Chang was fairly far ahead now – close to where the hallway split off. He paused there, looking back and waiting for Matteo to catch up. His face was pale and grave, eyes brimming with concern. Matteo placed a mangled hand on his shoulder and gave what he hoped was a stern look. They couldn’t afford to go running into this situation so blindly – their odds weren’t great as it was. Chang nodded, but his attention was clearly fixed on the left hand passage from where the sounds emanated. A thick wooden door blocked their progress.
Chang listened at the barrier, quietly drew his bow. He nodded to the door, then stepped back into the shadows close to one of the guttering torches. Matteo took his cue, leaning his staff against the wall in easy reach, and crouched to check the door. It wasn’t locked or trapped that he could tell – again, it was too easy. He got into position, and when Chang gave the signal, he pulled it open. The door swung back towards him with a slight groan, but the sound was lost in the increased volume of the screams. They had to be close now, but he couldn’t see from his vantage point.
Grabbing his staff, he slipped back out into the hallway just in time to see Chang step into the room and launch a volley of arrows at an unseen target. A familiar voice rang out, calling in the arcane tongue to summon his evil magic. He air before Chang shimmered and the warden joined his scream to his daughter’s chorus as he keeled over, dropping hs bow and clutching his chest.
Shit. What now?
Matteo flattened himself against the wall, calling the shadows to cover his presence. He was paralyzed, heart pounding, lungs suddenly feeling close to bursting as a new jolt of adrenalin shot though him. He had to get away. If Chang wasn’t dead, he would be soon, and there wasn’t anything he could do.
Geron stepped into view, flanked on his left by a tall Southerner in red robes, his entire face covered in arcane tattoos. An unmasked Mask, then – Matteo had heard descriptions from the Fall of Trylith. Its eyes darted around wildly, and its mouth was covered with blood and gore. An arrow shaft protruded from its shoulder, though it seemed oblivious. The screaming from the room beyond had dulled to sobbing cries. Geron scanned the corridor more carefully, but his gaze passed over the wall where Matteo hid.
“I know you’re out there.” He flashed a satisfied smile, reaching into the sleeve of his own Crimson robes. “But if you want to hide in the darkness…” He broke again into the language of magic. In response to the torturer’s commands, the hallway shadows lengthened and condensed. They blocked out the light, the magic overriding Matteo’s ability to see though normal darkness. And then, he was enveloped in a black cocoon of evil which penetrated painfully into his core. This was something worse than a normal Darkness spell – Geron had somehow summoned the cruelest elements of the Plane of Shadow.
He staggered back along the wall, trying to escape the area before the malignant power overwhelmed him, but he could hear the Mask coming for him. Just as he slid out of the blackness, red robed arms reached out and grabbed him, shrieking in laughter as they wrestled him to the ground. He fought back with panicked vigour, but the demon granted its host unnatural strength. It cackled, running its rough tongue across his face. Its breath reeked of blood. It wasn’t armed, but the longer it trapped him inside the spell, the more of his life bled into the unholy shadows. As his consciousness began to fade, he saw a figure, blacker than the blinding evil, reaching out its hand to him.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-12-13 03:58 am (UTC)(and I suspect it's "Chang was fairly far ahead now", not Vhang - but I think Vhang would make a cool evil dude's name ;)
no subject
Date: 2006-12-13 04:00 am (UTC)And thanks!
no subject
Date: 2006-12-14 10:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-12-15 01:03 am (UTC)Eventually things will get better...