In the Hopewastes

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Peter Levy
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Re: In the Hopewastes

Postby Peter Levy » Tue Dec 20, 2011 4:11 pm

**She had spent so long practicing their arts. Day after day, theory after theory, experiment after experiment. Yasmin had been an excellent tutor, but the core of it was the University. If only she'd stayed inside, they would not have got to her nearly so easily. And here she found herself: deceased, then imprisoned. A great metal box, forged in a great ritual. Rituals can always be broken...**

**A great explosion tore through one of the internal walls, and the white flames swirled through the prison, ripping the front door from its hinges. Power swirled around the Golems that patrolled this steel cube, holding them in place. The inmates ran.**

Damn. Still here. Damn. Wrong wall. Damn.

**The ritualist slumped back down in her solitary cell. Partial success is surely better than failure? At least the others could escape.**


----------------


**It was all set, and the word was beginning to get around: the sages had been lost, and their free power would release eight souls. Eight souls, to be unbound by Free Will.**

**Suddenly, the hooded figure found himself surrounded. He looked upon the four faces before him, turning to each.**

**To the left was a man in a studded leather waistcoat, grinning a smug, toothless grin. The hooded figure stared deep into his eyes, and spoke:**
You took your black teeth down to the sea
Brother of mine
I washed myself in your steely gaze


**The second man stood tall, looming over the hooded figure, an expectant, longing smile on his face.**
We read your name o'er jaguar hide
Brother of mine
You saw terminus and bruised your knees


**The hooded figure turns to the third man, skin of purple flame, stern, stout, and superior.**
I lashed their bodies to the wheeling suns
Brother of mine
You tossed silent stars in the air


**The fourth face: a white mask, studded, open mouthed. The vague shadowy outline of its wearer just about distinguishable, circled the hooded figure, and raised a corroded blade above him, and struck a single blow.**
I sensed the whetstone's dark embrace
Brother of mine
Tender and rude like tiger skinned


**The hooded figure drops to his knees, staring out into the darkness.**
We sang with sages, Trout and Thorn
Father of mine
You're coming through


**He fades away to nothing**


----------------


**Three daemons look over the land, as the Yeetas slowly removes pieces of it from existence. One of them turns to the other two, and boldy announces:**

I saw this this appear. It walked straight through the snares, silly thing. The snares nearly caught us a monkey, though. That particular group of heroes were extremely helpful. They didn't seem to suspect a thing! Another fine triumph for us!

**The second daemon interrupts the gloating, to add his own:**

They were desperate to trick me into giving them all three of my artifacts.

**The thrid jumps in to correct him:**

They didn't get ANY of your artifacts! They took one old phylactery, for a champion we no longer need! I very much enjoyed their debate about who should fight my champion. In the end it was that monkey you failed to ensnare earlier!

Either way
**The first daemon interjects**
They activated two of the foci, so all in all I'd say it was a great success for Pal'Ki'Ar.

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Peter Levy
Posts: 1011
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Re: In the Hopewastes

Postby Peter Levy » Mon Dec 26, 2011 8:12 pm

**Three men sit with Kan Slaar. They each place a peacock feather on a table. A fourth feather appears; a white face gazes in on the group.**

A poem?

One verse for each of us. With a fifth his soul was taken to the Sun.

And the feathers?

Each will grant one soul impunity if it tries to break through past the Angels.

Break them... We might as well use them for the Night. Break each of them down to one quarter. If anyone manages to reassemble them, they may make their way through the portal.

**The power in the feathers is sundered, and they fade.**

Now, go to your posts: protect the portal. Show nobody your human faces again.

**With their last orders given, the three men, and the face departed, and wandered through the wastes to a small tunnel. Silently, they merged with the shadows.**



-------------



**The word is spread: the Night of the Nearly Living Dead is approaching. Each year there is an opportunity for a dead soul to earn the right to return to life, a night when the barrier between worlds weakens. A competition, a challenge.**

Night of the Nearly Living Dead 161

As is traditional, the great Kan Slaar is generously offering a chance to earn your life back.

The task is a simple one: find four feathers, and fasten them to a pendant. This will allow exit from the wastes.

In order to help with the acquisition of these tokens, a set of verses are offered as clues. These are as follows:

You took your black teeth down to the sea
Brother of mine
I washed myself in your steely gaze

We read your name o'er jaguar hide
Brother of mine
You saw terminus and bruised your knees

I lashed their bodies to the wheeling suns
Brother of mine
You tossed silent stars in the air

I sensed the whetstone's dark embrace
Brother of mine
Tender and rude like tiger skinned


Let it be known that any attempts made to leave the Wastes without these tokens will be met with severe force. One soul may leave.

If you wish to attempt this task, come to the crypt of Kan Slaar's castle upon the 30th day of this month.


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