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Tenshi
Supernova
- Joined
- Jan 30, 2010
- Location
- In the Moonwood, chasing unicorns.
In a vast, black chamber, light emerged from the pure water poured into a great, gilded stone cauldron. Red and gold scales shimmered in the arcane glow, revealing the head and taloned forearms of a truly massive dragon. It's arms danced over the cauldron, weaving and tugging at varicolored ethereal threads.
Where are you, Thalog?
Images formed and dissolved in the cauldron, some the dragon lingered on for a time. Others he dismissed quickly and moved to the next. Sometimes, he simply peered at an image while lost in his own thoughts.
What are you looking for?
A mixed band of dwarves, orcs, and humans descended a small stone chimney. They carried small, luminous crystals to light their way throuhg a chamber so tight, even the dwarves could ooch down it with back against one wall, feet against the other, should their footholds run out. A single, dragonfly-winged windling girl followed them, carrying a final light.
Ublix'arath'mar still lives in that Caer, Thalog. You're sending those freelancers to their deaths.
A great hose raced across a grassy plane. It's hooves fell like thunder, and the horses behind it were a storm on a clear day. Orcs road atop them, fierce and proud and free, but vicious and vengeful. The man on the lead horse was half again as tall and twice as broadin the shoulder as any of his followers. Though clad in black plate with a full, horned helm, he could only be a troll.
Mars. You style yourself a god or war. You gather armies at Thalog's command and throw them away with the same ease.
A loan dwarf—seemingly an assitant librarian from his garb—stole quietly through a vast library. Masque. You've been searching the Library of Throal for almost a year now.
A buxom redhead in little more than a black leather corset and boots strode with determination through a deep pit where hundreds of orcs—chained and collared—chipped at the bedrock while the sun beat down on their whip scarred back.
Siff. You always did know how to motivate people. What's so important about this quarry that one of your profane skill has been set to overseeing it.
The wyrm gave a frustrated rumble and changed the image once more. Smoke rose from the chimney of a riverboat sliding down the serpent river towards Throal. Tskrang sang a cheerful drinking tune as they polished up the boat. An old, green scaled woman in a black cloak draped with fetishes leaned quietly on her staff as she watched from a doorway to the aft. The centuries have been kind to you, Arindalise.
The ancient tskrang smiles softly and replied in a whisper, “I've done much, Nightrazor. There is much still to do, but that does not fall to me.”
The dragon smiled softly, Enjoy these years, Rindi. You've done much to make the world green again. These youths you're teaching. Are they prepared?
“Not yet, old wyrm. Not quite yet.”
Where are you, Thalog?
Images formed and dissolved in the cauldron, some the dragon lingered on for a time. Others he dismissed quickly and moved to the next. Sometimes, he simply peered at an image while lost in his own thoughts.
What are you looking for?
A mixed band of dwarves, orcs, and humans descended a small stone chimney. They carried small, luminous crystals to light their way throuhg a chamber so tight, even the dwarves could ooch down it with back against one wall, feet against the other, should their footholds run out. A single, dragonfly-winged windling girl followed them, carrying a final light.
Ublix'arath'mar still lives in that Caer, Thalog. You're sending those freelancers to their deaths.
A great hose raced across a grassy plane. It's hooves fell like thunder, and the horses behind it were a storm on a clear day. Orcs road atop them, fierce and proud and free, but vicious and vengeful. The man on the lead horse was half again as tall and twice as broadin the shoulder as any of his followers. Though clad in black plate with a full, horned helm, he could only be a troll.
Mars. You style yourself a god or war. You gather armies at Thalog's command and throw them away with the same ease.
A loan dwarf—seemingly an assitant librarian from his garb—stole quietly through a vast library. Masque. You've been searching the Library of Throal for almost a year now.
A buxom redhead in little more than a black leather corset and boots strode with determination through a deep pit where hundreds of orcs—chained and collared—chipped at the bedrock while the sun beat down on their whip scarred back.
Siff. You always did know how to motivate people. What's so important about this quarry that one of your profane skill has been set to overseeing it.
The wyrm gave a frustrated rumble and changed the image once more. Smoke rose from the chimney of a riverboat sliding down the serpent river towards Throal. Tskrang sang a cheerful drinking tune as they polished up the boat. An old, green scaled woman in a black cloak draped with fetishes leaned quietly on her staff as she watched from a doorway to the aft. The centuries have been kind to you, Arindalise.
The ancient tskrang smiles softly and replied in a whisper, “I've done much, Nightrazor. There is much still to do, but that does not fall to me.”
The dragon smiled softly, Enjoy these years, Rindi. You've done much to make the world green again. These youths you're teaching. Are they prepared?
“Not yet, old wyrm. Not quite yet.”
