Little Piddling's Ritual Circle.

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Peter Levy
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Joined: Thu Oct 08, 2009 5:52 pm

Little Piddling's Ritual Circle.

Postby Peter Levy » Sun Jun 09, 2013 8:08 pm

There's always been a ritual circle within the walls of the village. From time to time groups would come to use it; on Eremine's day a few of her cult, and a few of Onlurin's faithful held a few ceremonies. It has been fairly quiet in the last few weeks. The portal next to the circle -the gateway to Fae- occasionally flickers as Fey wander in and out of Velmaneth, going about whatever their business that day may have been. Sometimes a humanoid figure in shimmering grey robes would step out of the portal. Whenever the figure wandered, somehow the word 'understand' became a lot more noticeable.

Then, one day, an ethereal form casually strolls up the road into the village. The locals have learnt very quickly how to avoid the roving bands of undead, so immediately took cover when this wraith-like entity approached. The visitor wore a mask. A white mask with a star over one eye and a large hole where a mouth should be. The masked wraith entered the ritual circle, and held out an arm. A high-pitched screech emanated from the masked spectre. A terrifying noise, like nails along slate; a shrieking, tortured whistle. The sound ended, and a few local eyes fixed on the creature.

A few moments passed, while he just stood there. A tiny shadow appeared in the sky, slowly arcing down to the earth. A bird or sorts. Its body was made of stone, its wings seemed ghostly, shadowy, unnatural. It perched on the newcomer's outstretched arm. If he has a face, the spectre would probably be smiling. The stone bird hops down from the arm, landing on the ground in the centre of the circle. Its wings fade, and the Birdstone topples onto its side.

The spectre shrugged, and pale blue robes appeared over his shadowy form. He patted the Birdstone on the head, and rested it upright. The earth seemed almost to swallow the feet of the Birdstone. The spectre wandered over to the tavern. Ignoring the closed door, he entered to have a chat with whoever was in.

User avatar
Peter Levy
Posts: 1011
Joined: Thu Oct 08, 2009 5:52 pm

Re: Little Piddling's Ritual Circle.

Postby Peter Levy » Mon Jun 17, 2013 12:07 am

The visitor was no longer alone. A group of men and women, dressed in grey and white and armed to the teeth approach the Piddle Inn. They stand outside as one of them bangs on the door.


After a couple of moments, the spectral figure steps through the door to face the angry man. He looks him up and down, and then over at the others. They are uneasy, shuffling about, perhaps preparing to attack.

"Can I help you? Of course I can. How would you like to save the world?"
"Shut up, beast. We're here to end you. We won't let you bring darkness to Velmaneth. We won't let you call the To'Krein. We can't allow this."
"Interesting... Why would I 'summon' these creatures?"
"Are you not of the darkness?"
"I absorb light, it would seem. Is there a specific darkness you have in mind?"
"On the twenty-first day of the sixth month of the one-hundred-and-sixty-third year, a Darkness will rise. Its army will be seven beasts. Only Ch'Wan will stand before the To'Krein. We are Ch'Wan, and you will not survive us."
"Oh dear. A 'Darkness will rise', you say? Sounds bad. But you've got the wrong man. I'm not some terrible enemy. I am the Herald."
"The Herald? Of what?"
"Opportunity. Perhaps I can direct you to a way to defeat your 'Darkness'? It seems to great a coincidence that the Darkness you seek to combat is going to rise on the same day as my master..."

The man swings his mace at the Herald, but his weapon passes straight through him. The others leap in to the fight, but none can touch the Herald. He stands, staring blankly through black eyes as they flail around.

"Stop this, please."

One of the Ch'Wan lays his hands on the Herald, life magic flowing into him. The Herald reels in pain as the magic tears into him. The cultists all begin to incant, preparing healing spells. The Herald extends his right arm, and a sword appears in his hand. A weapon seemingly made from liquid bronze. He deftly swiped at the cultists one by one. The first falls to the floor, his soul shrinking second by second. The second curls up on the floor in agony, while the third is unaffected. She reaches out to heal the Herald.


He vanishes. The Ch'Wan cultists tend to their leader as he rapidly deteriorates on the ground. They cannot heal his soul quickly enough, and they lose him. The cultists take up his body and head out into the woods.

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