((well, all my allies done ran off to other servers! Grin))

 

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<coughs and blushes> well. well.. you know.. she was never supposed to be so dark and insiduous.. she was just a nasty avalonian with an attitude and hunger for power.. I don't even know what you did to her, poor thing.


Oh, if it makes anything funny, the name Moryan was once a char I had on a MUD, she was the 'queen' very good, sweet ruler.. but her full name was Moryan D'vena <cackles>

((She might survive this, D'Vena I mean. See what happens when you go off and I have to make it all up on my own? (grin) Miss ya Mory!))

 

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The door sqeaked open, and Judan looked in on his two daughters, who had been sitting on the bed chatting about little things of no particular import. He smiled at them, and instantly Azi knew something was afoot. It was a stiff smile, though anyone else wouldn't have noticed.


"Lexi!" he bellowed with a grin, throwing Azi a nervous glance. "I've just discovered something very interesting! Come to the forge and I'll show you." Lexi's face brightened with excitement, and Judan stood sideways in the door, allowing Lexi to pass and make her way downstairs.


"What is it, Pappa?" Azi asked with a low voice after her sister had gone. Her armor glinted as she came to her father's side. Judan's face paled, he handed Azi a yellowed scrap of parchment and kissed her on the forehead.


"Be careful, angel," he said softly, knowing full well the meaning of the note, for Azi had finally spilled her heart of the entire story to her Pappa. If it came to a bad end, she had wanted him to know the full story. Judan sighed and looked down the stairs, then made his way down to meet Lexi.


With shaking fingers, Azi looked at the hastily scrawled note. Suddenly all of the elation of the past day left her. Jashen. He knew, too. Azi clenched the paper in her hand and threw on her cloak, snatching up her helm and sword. Enough of this delay.


Quietly, she slipped past her father's shop, hearing Lexi gasp with amazement at whatever Judan was showing her. She turned toward the League hall with purpose. She'd look for any of them, Tobyas, Jashen, even Crispian who she'd been angry with. It was time to move, she swore she'd see D'vena's end before long.

Martial Square, so called because of the weapons merchants who crowded it with stalls, was a bit busier than normal as she turned into it. All the recent battles against Midgard and Hibernia, and the success of them, had renewed the fervor with which Albion opposed them. Many more people, a notable number of them paladins of the church, were about buying weapons or considering it. She gazed about the square. The purity of some was disturbing, and baseness of others a warm welcome.


D’Vena looked around. She felt very little, all things were only coming through the gauze of Mirth in her mind. She giggled when Mirth wished it, and felt less and less control over her own self. But, at moments like this when Mirth was pondering something else, she had her moment of control or at least some freedom. She let her attention go, considering those she had brushed. The little girl was happy about something. The man-boy was deep in thought. Oh, he should know better than that.


She had taken great pains in the past weeks to ease him deeper into misery and depression. Yet now he felt as if she were no longer with him. She sent a flick of thought in his direction, intent on changing that certainty. The grim chuckle that came after was her own. He had almost been home, back among his mewling friends, full of praise and their own goodness. Those were now the hardest times to get at him, and she had tried.


But she had her little reward. Just before Mirth reacted to the slumping form of her retainer, she saw him raise a tankard in a shaking hand. D’Vena laughed her own laugh at that. So much for him as a threat.


As Mirth turned Its attention to the retainer, they both knew what was wrong. He was looking at a nice, even slice across the tendons on the back of his hand. Through her dual senses, she watched him, as did Mirth. “You will die soon,” Mirth said dryly in that odd shifting voice. D’Vena could not even bring herself to feel anything as they turned and left the square. Both men followed, one shaken and the other trembling, waiting for what would cause his demise.

 

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Lexi looked onto Judan, the two had already bonded through the ways of a smith. Yet... Judan looked distracted as he talked. Lexi could not tell what it was, then out of the glimpse of her eye she caught Azi in her armor run off down the street. She gasped in amazement as Judan put together a shield using only half the parts she had been using. Yet, something was amiss, though she couldn't leave her new father without reason. Thinking of a quick way out she then had an idea. 'Father, I just remembered I have someone I need to help at the forge. You know how it is... but I'll be back soon!' She reached up and kissed Judan on the cheek and before he knew what she was doing, she trailed after Azi. She noticed that she had not been wearing her chain armor, but her smithing robe. But Azi was making great haste, and realizing that she at least had her twin daggers tried to keep up, yet tried to stay back far enough that Azi would not notice...

/bump cuz its not allowed on page 3.

Arcalan stood back and admired her new trophey. An ornate banner decorated one wall of her chamber in the League Hall, bearing a slightly faded design that had not been seen in Albion for many many years. Her Master would like it, she knew.

Sappy hammered in the final nail to hang it properly while Arcalan busied herself tidying away some things. It was night now and Crispian was blethering away down stairs about his tragic life. She'd heard QUITE enough of that to last her a liftetime, and didn't have the energy to fake sympathy. She would need to prepare to work her magic properly. The force she held was very powerful, and quite probably dangerous to manipulate. So far she'd done little more than stir it's sleeping essence, and that was quite enough to awe her.


She slipped over to her bed and took off her garments, folding them carefully and draping them over a chair nearby. Chill night air came through a small window above and washed over her lithe body. She undid the braids in her hair and let the blond locks cascade down her back. Sappy placed one heavy hand against the door, ensuring nothing short of a bettering ram would disturb her privacy. The Golem was a natural extention of her body, her control over it had grown ever finer as she progressed in her arts. Now at meals she could allow her companion to cut and feed her meats, lift the wine to her lips, all as simply as using her own hands. She shivered slightly in the air, but carefully discarded all the dewomer laiden clothing and items she used in daily battle. Her jewlery was placed carefully in a beautifully crafted little box she had found when seeking the help of Durgen.. at least she thought that was his name. Some foolish crafter at Caer Witrin who had it stolen from him by a wretched goblin. When she laid eyes on the gem-encrusted box she instantly emptied the worthless tools from it and forgot all about the totem he promised tocarve her. Who needed his magic?

Her staff was laid aside, but close enough she could grasp it if things took a turn for the worst.


She mentally prepared herself, and adopted a cross legged position on her bed, breathing carefully and slowly as she had been taught. She relaxed and let herself delve deep into her inner spirit. Unlike most people, Cabalists regularly touched their own spirits in order to work their craft. Unlike most Cabalists Arcalan discovered there was something else there, nestling at the depths of her own soul. She had felt this presence ever since she could remeber, and knew it was something special.. she was marked for a great destiny surely.

She found the glowing pool of light that ebbed and flowed in gentle rhythms at the bottom of her own spirit. Like molten gold, or liquid fire, it shone and rippled with a lazy motion, and she knew instinctively it was in a deep slumber. Her mind dipped a mental toe into the lake and immeadiately a result was felt. Pure golden energy flooded up like amber mercury, enveloping her, bathing her.. drowing her.

She struggled to break free as a torrent of the stuff engulfed her body, she fought to pull up feeling panic at the incredible surge of power. Breathing hard she forced herself free of the energy and tried to force it out.. out towards the place where her Master resided in his long exile from the mortal realm. She felt reality bend before this shining force, felt the astral plane tremble.. what WAS this?

Her Master's prison was breached, his soul reached out to her and caught her like a butterfly, carefully in one hand. The waves of Golden light subsided, but as they did she saw in her Master's face a look of terror.. did even he know the depths of this thing? Nothing had ever caused him fear...


Soon she was a vessel for his mind, and he poured his vast learning into her. He rifled through her mind and soul like a student flipping through a tome at the Academy. Instantly he knew all she could tell him of the past few days, and he engraved a spell upon her mind as though jotting down a note on parchment. All the time she basked in his affection... he was pleased with her, and would grant her great power when his reign came.. he lightly ruffled her soul with a caress. The ecstacy of it filled her with a joy she clung to and savoured. He had considered all things, wise beyond measure as he was, and all was well. And she knew.. he DID like the banner. It reminded him of a time when he trod the earth, and the world was a bauble he could almost hold in his hand. All this she knew in between seconds, the bond was so deep.


He set her gently back upon he bed, alone in her own body once more, and retreated into his dwelling place. Her body trembled with cold and exhaustion, but she had learnt much. The Master had tasted the rage and hate of both Crispian and Jashen, when they fought with her so bitterly. All her prodding had made them bear the depths of their psyche to her. Now she held in her mind the spell, a key to unlock what she wanted, when Jashen stabbed deep into the soul of his twin. The pain would be amazing, their defences would melt away and Arcalan could implant the seed that would ensure her future success. Only Azi remained an obstacle.. but the plan had much further left to go before she'd need to be taken care of.


The night brushed against her body in her solitude. The candle had guttered out, and Sappy still stood motionless blocking the door. She was covered in goosepimples, and the hair on the back of her neck was on end. She threw on a robe, and climbed under the sheets of her bed. The effort had taken all she could muster, but tommorow would be difficult too. She'd have to convince them that she was firmly in the grasp of D'Vena...

She yawned.

Her mind began to trip over itself, the hall and that man she'd meant to follow home from market... Jashen when he took off his armor and she could see the scars and the muscle of his torso.. that wretched Apolexia jabbering at her.. the sunset in barfog...

the darkness of a deep sleep engulfed her.

Crispian arrived at the League Hall in due order, and Tobyas was close at hand. He saw that Arcalan was there, and ducked around the back to enter and head upstairs. He did not want a confrontation with the cabalist at the moment with so many other things on his mind. The hall was a bit vacant for the time of day, and for that Crispian was grateful. He wanted a few moments to gather his thoughts and then he would seek Azi out again and try to make things right with her, to explain how he had acted and why. But he had to be sure that he could convince her first.


Suddenly, he felt the oppressive touch of D’Vena, as he had not for some days now. He did not feel her as Azi did, but he knew what it was as it hit him. All the doubts welled up in him. Why was the hall vacant? Where were some of the familiar names and faces? Darnyk? Kromly? Galold? Daeya? Aellona? Bruin? Asotrem? They were gone because of him, of course! The League would fall, and be forgotten.


The effort to stave off the growing feeling of vertigo was too much. He quavered, almost shaking. His eyes screwed shut in pain as he put out a hand to steady himself. No, the League was strong! The League was doing well! But there were those that had left, he could not deny. Such was the way of her twisting. She rarely employed the outright lie when she could warp the truth to her purpose.


Arcalan watched from her seat and guessed at what must be happening. She stood, her own steps faltering. “Lord Crispian!” she cried out as she lurched into the chamber. “She is...you must not let...Stop her...before its too late,” she gasped out, her face contorting into a countenance of sheer agony, and she fell to the ground.


Crispian shuttered off his own misery to cross to her. “Someone get a healer!” he snapped, kneeling at her side. He checked for her heart beat and found it strong. She had already shown one fainting spell just a day or two before. This could just be another, but she had seemed to be talking about D’Vena. She must somehow be connected, or influenced by her. Crispian did not want to think that about any in the League, yet here was a type of proof for at least suspicion. “Have her taken to her room, and find Tobyas or Rhizzia,” he said to Ardy, turning toward the barrel-keg that stood to one corner.


With a shaking hand, he drew a full tankard and sat wearily. Only in his mid-twenties, and such a malaise over him. He lifted the tankard and drew off a healthy drink in two long swallows. A good ale, he noted mentally. He would have to commend Phalos on procuring it. The pressure let up on him and he sighed audibly. How long until she did it again? Or tried to at least. If only he could figure out an attack plan, then he could strike. He closed his eyes in thought.

 

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He pushed the tankard away and turned to survey the hall. It seemed so empty, so barren. The objective truth was that over twenty members of the League were present. Subjectively, Crispian just noticed those who were missing. He mounted the stairs and went up to his room with a weary tread. His armor felt heavy on his shoulders and even his great cloak seemed a burden. The latch to the door gave to his hand and he stepped into the semi-darkness of the room.


“Crispian?” called a soft voice. He knew it instantly, even before the lantern light revealed Toby’s face. “I’ve been waiting. I would have talked to you downstairs but I didn’t feel like putting up with Arcalan,” he continued with a wry grin. “We need to do something about her.”


Although Tobyas had not said it, Crispian knew the her he referred to was not Arcalan. No one was as concerned with the cabalist as they were with D’Vena. She was the pressing matter, the target of opportunity. “I know, Toby,” he said wearily as he sat on his cot. Normally, Tannir would be here to help with his armor, but he allowed Tobyas to stand in his stead, helping to unfastened the thick leather straps that held the armor in place. “It just doesn’t seem like we can beat her.”


Toby hurled a greave across the room. It clattered against the wall and thudded to the floor. “Damn it, Crispian!” he said, standing before him. “You sound like a recruit on a relic raid, you know that? It is almost like you WANT this to continue, or at least you’ve learned to be helpless before it. How dare you!” The genuine anger in his eyes startled Crispian greatly. “What if I had thought like that? Do you know where I would be now?” He held the wounded look of Crispian with iron resolve. “I would be a whore in a shadow quarter brothel, that’s where.” He sank to his knees, taking Crispian’s hands in his own. He could feel the burn scars of the forge, small and round from where embers and sparks had landed and burned through his leather smithing gloves. He could also feel the scars from battles, the thin hard lines of scar tissue.


“But I’m not. You gave my opportunity to leave, and I took it. You have friends who want to aid, who will risk all,” his fingers caressed the soft palm of Crispian’s hand, tips touching the callus ridges, “even their life, their love of you,” his voice broke, “to set you free, to end this.” Tears gleamed unspilt in his eyes. He had said one thing he had not intended to. “I love you, Crispian, but you have to take action to end this. Or you’ll be lost to me because of her, and that I can’t bear. It would be too much for me.”


Crispian was stunned. In truth, he was not sure if his feelings for Toby, as intense as he admitted they were, were solely the product of this curse or not. He couldn’t divorce the two any longer. “Toby, Toby,” he said, grasping the cleric’s hands, “I don’t know if she can be beater.” His voice was weak with strain, with the helplessness he felt.


“And you won’t, Crispian,” Toby said as he let tears fall, “if you don’t oppose her. I can lose you through ending the curse, Cris. But not through this.” The sheer agony on Toby’s face was plain to see. He had not felt this much pain when his father died. His heart was rent in twain with how he wished it could be, but there was only one choice with which he could live.


As Crispian’s own tears started to come, a corner of the room shifted in the light of the lantern. Jashen, feeling very abashed to have overheard this, was suddenly standing there. “He’s right, brother,” he said quietly as he crossed the room accompanied by the whisper of leather boots. “She must die, even as her retainer is.” It was the first time the two had been together since their very public falling out in the hall.


“Jashen!” Crispian yelped and stood quickly, disentangling his hands from Toby’s. A flush of embarrassment spread over his face.


Jashen shook his head. “I know about you two, Cris, and I don’t care. No one does, it seems, but you, and maybe Arcalan.” He leaned against the battered desk where much League business was done. “What we all care about is ending this madness with that woman. I took my first blow at it today. One of her retainers should be dead by now.” His voice carried the quiet gravity of fact.


“Dead?” they both asked together. Tobyas had risen gracefully from his squatted position and now stood, and Crispian gaped at his brother from his seat on the cot.


“Aye, dead.” Jashen’s face was a mask of blankness. “I poisoned him down in Martial Square earlier with a gauche. The poison is lethal.” He swallowed, then passed his hand over his face, then massaged at his neck with it. “I’ve never poisoned someone before. But it’s done.”


“My God, Jashen,” Crispian whispered. HE had made that gauche, he knew. He made almost all of Jashen’s weapons. It was the only way he felt sure of the tools his brother used. But poison?


“What, Cris? It’s what an assassin uses, and that is what I’ve become, to aid you,” he added. Maybe if enough was said to show Crispian how many were with him he would realize that D’Vena was at least worth a shot. “And I don’t mind, honestly. There’s a,” he paused for the right word, “thrill to it. And someday, it will be a Troll or a Lurikeen I fell with it.”


“Jashen, poison is...” Crispian could not press on with how he felt.


“No different than your magical sword, Cris,” Jashen stated rather plainly. This could derail the topic at hand he knew, and when a knock came at the door, he was grateful. Being closer, he crossed to open it before either of the other two could. In the light of a hallway lantern, resplendent in her armor, was Azi.


Clad head to toe in heavy plate, a great sword on her back, she looked a formidable foe. But her expression made her seem even more so. “Good, Crispian, you’re here,” she said to Jashen and pressed into the room, immediately feeling a bit embarrassed when she saw Crispian sitting on the cot. By the Almighty, she REALLY could not tell them apart, no matter how often they pointed out the differences. “Milord,” she said with a formal bow as she stood in the room.


Crispian rose and bowed to her, as he did to all women of the League, or the Realm. “Azi,” he breathed quietly.


“Milord, I apologize for my anger earlier,” she said levelly. This was not a meek apology, but was one none the less. “I was angered by your tone. When are you going to do something about her?” Her blue eyes pierced into Crispian like a Celtic spear. Here she was, one he knew had suffered from curse and control, madness and usurpation, hurling the gauntlet of action down to him as his brother and his lover both had.


“Soon,” he said with an air of defeat, “soon. But her magic is great, and she is powerful, more powerful than I am, or we are.” He included all of them in his statement, for he knew he would not go alone into this confrontation.


Tobyas face filled with an ephinany moment. “I know one who would oppose her magic, Cris! Ah, Milord,” he caught himself, smiling shyly at Azi. “He is here in the city, her teacher. He hates what she has become. I can enlist his aid.”


Crispian closed his eyes. Another soul to be recruited for his fight. Another person whom he would disappoint in the end, leave dead or worse in the face of the foe. “Alright, talk to him. See if he will meet us in say two hours, at your church.” He had done it; he had set a time and a place.


Lord Almighty, he thought, it was easier to call up forces to Castle Sauvage for an assault on Odin’s Gate! “And we’ll be ready for her, as ready as we can be.”


The door to the chamber opened without knock or preamble and Apolexia stepped through. She had tried to stay in the hall and wait, but it was too much for her. She hated not knowing what was about, after so many years of being deceived and misled about what was really going on. “Whatever you’re planning, I am part of it,” she said, closing the door and leaning against it.


“No.” Crispian’s voice left no room for debate or consideration. He would not risk Lexi in this, not with what he knew of her life, which he was certain was not all that had gone on in it. “You will not, Lexi.”


Apolexia straightened herself up and met Crispian’s stern gaze. There was steely resolve in her own, and her expression was as hard as a netherium blade she had forged herself. “Where me sister goes, I go!” she declared.


Crispian chuckled suddenly and shook his head. “Between the four of you, I doubt even D’Vena would stand a chance. I yield! God protect from the likes of you in the future!” he declared with an impish grin. They just might pull this off. They just might.

 

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