Stories Before:
Accumulated RolePlay and FanFiction by Joe D. Machado.
A storm brews overhead in the Weard lands. It has been so long since this semi-arid desert has seen a drop of rain and now this storm looks to become something of a spectacle. For those brave enough to stay outside, that is.
As the night approaches and the first rain drops begin to fall, a crowd of menn make their way into a forgotten fort. Despite crumbled walls and shattered battlements, a force has taken shelter, lighting braizers that were meant to remain cold.
A pale Dras wearing long black robes looks at the crowd through greasy, black strands of hair and ushers them inside the main hall of the fort. Business owners, aristocrats, noblemen, all walking into a lion's den.
The door closes behind the crowd and they are brought to a stone altar. The altar, stained with blood, appears foreign in design compared to the fort. Clearly moved here from another location. Much is the same for the guards surrounding the crowd, wearing black armor and red masks.
The Dras scans the crowd and waits beside the altar. The room goes silent, waiting. Watching.
They hear the metal turn of a doorknob and the creaking of aged hinges. The door closes and the echo of footsteps comes from the stairs behind the altar.
The crowd watches as a Neran with black hair rises from the inner dwellings of the fort. They see the electric red eyes gazing at them, pairing well with a white ascot that's stiffly tucked down into a gold trimmed, crimson set of noblemenn's robes. Lord Donovan raises his arms at the altar, receiving a vibrant applause.
"My friends," Lord Donovan speaks, reaching the ears of everyone there. "It humbles me to see you all here tonight. The road has been long and our trials have been many. It is through the support and loyalty of my disciples that have brought me here to you tonight."
"My loyal followers, we gather here tonight, in presence of the Qindred, to convince these nobles to join our cause. Take heart, for their monarchs have done most of the work for us."
"Whether it be in the form of Blackheart's isolation. Tyria's goody two shoes policies of trade diplomacy. Riftwood seemed to replace its monarch all too easily. Aranor can't take things seriously enough to be a real player in the dance. Ashland's name is humorous, considering that's how it will end up. Ash. I'm pretty sure that's everybody..."
"You come to me for the truth. For the rise of opportunity. For the promise of a better future. The time for royal bloodlines is coming to an end. Instead, under my singular rule, there will be no borders and the length of a man's fortune will have no limits. The strong will take what the strong deserves. Culling the weak willed and less fortunate is simply the world's way of population control."
"It is Angelica's will that i see to the maintenance and order of this bright future throughout all of its ages. No doubt many of you have noticed my youthful appearance. Surely, I should be well in my eighties? Yet, I appear to be in my early thirties? This is because Ao himself have blessed me with life eternal! A gift I can share with all of you. Bring forth the womann!"
Two guards carry a corpse of a weard womann, loosely draped in white. They place her on the altar and Donovan looks down in sorrow. "This poor lady fell to the beast of disease just a few hours ago. Her family has brought her to me to bring her back to them. Shall I do so!?"
The crowd cheers Donovan on.
"Yes, I believe I shall! Chancellor Farris, lean the woman up to me."
The greasy haired Dras walks over and leans the woman up. Lord Donovan places a hand on her chest and raises the other up. "Great Ao! I call your golden light to shine within this poor womann. Bring back the spark that was taken from her far too soon. Bring her back to her family, back to her people. By Angelica's will, I command it!"
The woman jolts awake, gasping for breath. She wiggles off the altar and falls to the floor. The audience gasps and moves away a few steps away, eyes locked on the weard womann.
"Stand up," Chancellor Farris says, grabbing the womann's arm.
She rises from the floor, taking sharp breaths. She turns back to Donovan, glaring at him.
"Thank him," Farris says.
"T-thank.. You..." She says between exhausted breathes.
Donovan walks over and takes her hand, "You are free from Sanquine's claws, my dear. You need rest and time with your family."
The guards take her away from the altar and crowd erupts in boundless applause. The disciples are bowing from the knees, the aristocrats are cheering, and the nobles are clapping in jubilation.
"What about the Guardian!" A Brudvir shouts from the side of the crowd, which goes silent, waiting for Donovan's response.
Lord Donovan pierces the Brudvir with his red eyes and looks to the crowd. "The Guardian is dead."
A sudden spur of gasps and whispers take the audience.
"The heritic died defending his wicked ways and his wicked people. His body rots on a table below this very chamber. No one needs to worry about his retribution."
"And that is all for today," Donovan says to the dismay of his disciples. "My friends. Thank you for joining us tonight. Those willing to join our cause may meet with one of my disciples and they will bring you into the fold. Those that do not.. may leave here in peace."
Farris joins Donovan as he begins his walk back into the depths of the fort. The side of his mouth curls into a grim sneer, knowing that was a lie very well.
The two menn walk down a bright stone hallway until they reach a circular room. A four way intersection in hallways. A servant bows before the two menn and goes to fill two glasses of wine.
Donovan and Farris take the glasses without so much as a acknowledging glance.
"I believe that went over well," Donovan says. He sips from his glass casually, staring off into space.
"You will have the legions of the world under your hand in no time, my lord." Farris bows slightly then sips his wine. As he's in mid gulp however, he notices something that makes him audibly go, "Mmm"
Donovan looks over with a furrowed brow. "What is it?"
Farris pulls out a small, circular mirror from his robe pocket and holds it up, revealing to Donovan a long stretch of grey hair overtaking his right ear.
"Ah." Donovan looks around and finally takes notice of servant. "Ah, yes, you, sir."
The Neran servant looks up and bows.
"Come here, mann. I don't bite." Donovan chuckles, grasping the Neran by the shoulder. "I just wanted to thank you for your loyalty and dedication. You are truly a fundamental part of everything we do here."
"I... I am?" The mann says, looking bewildered.
"But of course! Without people like you, I would have never gotten this far! Sir... from the Qindred to you, I personally thank you."
The Neran smiles wide, feeling a great sense of accomplisment.
Then Donovan grabs him by the neck. A sudden whirl in the air whistles and the torches darken as the Neran screams silently, being drained of all life. His hair dissolves, his flesh fades, and his blood evaporates, all collapsing down in a boney, dust pile on the floor.
Donovan turns back to Farris. "How do I look?"
Farris watches the grey hair completely disappear and nods. "Like Qin Chosen, my lord."
"Thank you," Donovan says, rubbing his temple. He then snaps his fingers and points at Farris. "Why don't you go check on our friend in the holding cells? Make sure she's eating and all that?"
"I shall do so at once, my lord." The black robed Dras then departs, heading down the hallway on the right. He doesn't pay the echoing thunder any mind, nor does he acknowledge the soldiers or servants passing him. Once he gets to the holding cells however, he does simply wave at the guards. The two guards simply understand the meaning, opening the way for him.
Hearing the doors open, Anara stands from her seat. She leans back on the dresser that was provided for her, watching the bar door with fear. Well, there is fear in her, though she did not show it outwardly. She frowns upon seeing Farris' greasy strands of hair appear at the entrance.
"Hello, Anara," Farris says, unlocking the iron padlock with his key. He opens the bar door and slides the key back into his robe pocket, continuously staring at Anara and her green dress. He closes the door and gives the seer a courteous bow.
"Councilor Farris," Anara replies sternly, glaring at him with her emerald eyes.
"It's 'Chancellor' now," Farris says, stepping closer.
"Traitor, more like," Anara spits back, wishing her dresser could absorb her.
"Lord Donovan will conquer the world. All realms will belong to him. We're so close now." Farris, now roughly a few inches from Anara's face, strokes the golden strands on the side of her head. "I hope you like the dress I got you. It matches your eyes."
"What else was I to wear? You took my armor."
"A beauty such as you does not belong in a armor. You belong in silken finery."
"Finery spoiled by your rotten breath. You reek of death, grave humper!" Anara slaps Farris' hand aside and pushes him away.
Farris chuckles for a moment, but then quickly steps up and backhands Anara to the floor. "You should learn to be more appreciative of what you have, girl." The Dras strides out of the cell, closing the door, and pressing the padlock closed tightly. He looks back at Anara, who's looking down at the floor. "I don't care if your touch is warm or cold, you will obey me one day."
Anara looks up with hatred in her eyes, watching Farris vanish from view and hearing a door slam shut at the end of the hall. She gets up, using the dresser for support, and wipes a loose strand of hair from her face. She looks in the dresser mirror, hearing the swirl of the angered storm outside. She looks down and opens her hand. "Time to go," She says, twisting Farris' key in her hands.
Thunder rumbles overhead and the flash of lightning shines through her cell window. Anara looks at the rain pouring through the window bars and nods. "Thirty... twenty nine... twenty eight.."
She rushes over to her cell door and slides Farris' key into the padlock. She turns the key and it pops open. The door screeches open, like a bell tower in the storm season. "Seventeen... sixteen.... fifthteen..."
She goes over to the cell across from her, but the door is locked. She curses, running over to the next cell, but that one is also locked. She finds an unlocked cell nearest to the hall entrance and hides herself within. "Four... three... two... one."
Lightning shatters the sky overhead, making the leaving noblemen outside look up in terror. The light streaks from the clouds, striking the side of the fort and creating an impressive hole where Anara's cell used to be.
The entrance to the cell hall explodes open and a wave of soldiers pour down to the massive breach.
"She's not here, sir!" Anara hears one say.
"She can't have gotten far, get down there and find her!"
Anara pokes her head out of her cell and darts further into the fort when the coast is clear.
Anara runs down the halls of the fort, eventually making it to the central space. She slides to a stop and nearly falls, making her curse silently. "damn shoes." She kicks off her slippers, dashing them off to the side. Her spine shivers as her bare feet touch the cold stone floor.
She looks down the three halls that part from her, unsure of which way to go. The seer closes her eyes and rests her breathing. The crackling of the torches grow silent and her mind travels elsewhere. Flashes of images spark out within her sight and she sees herself traveling down the first two hallways only to get caught or killed. The third hallways reveals her destination as well as guard locking the door and standing guard by it.
Anara opens her eyes and quickly runs down the hallway on her right with utmost assurance.
Anara makes it to the end of the hall. She presses herself against the wall and leans slowly over the corner. A guard steps out room and locks the door behind me, turning to stand guard next to the door afterward.
The seer leans back and ponders what to do.
A whistle calls out to the hooded guard, causing him to look over. A dainty sun kissed leg slips out from around the corner and beckons the guard over. "Well, what do we have here?" The guardsmen says, walking over.
Just as the guard slips off his gloves and goes for a touch, Anara's leg jabs straight between the man's thighs. The guard launches a good inch off the ground, knocking his hood back. As he comes downward, Anara grabs his hair and slams his head against her knee. She then grabs the side of his face and rams his head straight into the wall.
The guard collapses, unconscious, and Anara rips the keys from his belt. "Men," She huffs, unlocking and going through the door.
She closes the door and turns to see Chancellor Farris' office. The only light here comes from window over the desk, illuminating Anara's belongings, the horrendous pickled body parts in the cabinets along the walls, and the examination table. The seer looks down at the table with a woeful sigh, seeing the Guardian lying there in his grey robes. She walks over, putting his hands together and closing his eyes. "Rest in peace, Amicus. You may bring down your shield."
She says a quick prayer then walks over to the desk. She finds her tunic and trousers and quickly changes, strapping on her boots, her bracers, and chest armor. She looks down at the desk again and see the Guardian's weaponry. The Staff, Eridian, and the Blade, Anodyne. She steps up and grabs the staff, then her vision turns white.
When her vision returns, she finds herself in the middle of a burning castle ruin. The fires of war shroud the sky with black smoke. A burning boulder soars through the sky and strikes a tower, bringing it down and sending out a plume of dust and debris. The turret of the tower falls and crashes down over the courtyard gate. Roaring erupts from beyond and an army storms over the mangled gate, sword swinging and shadows twisting. The invaders almost reach Anara before her vision brings her back to Farris' office.
She drops the staff and stumbles back, "Agravaine.." She mutters, but snaps into focus when she bumps into someone behind her. She quickly turns and freezes for a moment, staring right into the acid green eyes of Amicus. Before she has time to react, Amicus grabs hold of Anara's throat and squeezes, pressing her back over the desk. She gasps for air and reaches out for Anodyne, looking at the green haze over Amicus' eyes. She kicks at Amicus, pushing him back, then picks up Anodyne and slides the blade through Amicus' heart.
They both slowly fall down to their knees. Amicus' face is a plain look of indifference while Anara's is pained, tear ridden mess. In a few short breaths however, the green haze over the Guardian's eyes evaporates, returning to blue. He looks over at Anara and chuckles.
"I'm so sorry," Anara begins to say, but a golden light overwhelms Amicus and leaves her apologizing to a pile of white dust. She wipes a tear from her cheek and rises, picking up Anodyne and Eridian on the way. With hardly a second thought, she strides out of the office and back the way she came.
Anara rushes down the stairs to the containment cells and bursts through the door. She runs down the hall and slides to a stop at her cell. Between her and the massive hole in the wall are two knights. They turn from the whirling rain and draw their swords upon seeing the seer.
Taking a deep breath, Anara readies herself and charges the two knights head on. She ducks below a swinging blade, dragging Anodyne through one knight's abs. Raising Eridian, she blocks the other knight's attack. She swings her sword through the air, slashing across the man's chest. Smiting the two renegades, Anara stands triumphant in the fort's breach.
"You're forgetting something," Someone says behind her.
Anara farrows her brow and turns to face Farris.
The Dras waves her pair of green slippers. "A lady never leaves her footwear."
"You can not best me in a fight, Farris. Leave now while you still have a life." Anara assumes a defensive stance, holding out the staff as a shield and bringing the blade close to her chest.
Farris tosses the slippers aside and chuckles. His green eyes flicker and a sickly green mist slithers from palms, stretching out to the dead guards. "Perhaps if we were to tango alone, but as long as the dead are nearby.. I am never alone." The dead knights gasp with new life. They moan and struggle to rise, but they eventually make it to their feet. Slumped and burdened by their armor, they shuffle to Farris' side.
Anara scowls at her adversary, then thrusts Eridian into the air. Upon slamming it down, a bright light erupts from the staff and burns away Farris' necromancy. The two knights fall back down to the ground, lifeless once more.
Before Farris can react, Anodyne slashes right through his throat. The Dras covers his neck in vain, panicking over the blood pour. He collapses to the ground and crawls backward from the Seer.
Anara stands there and watch, waiting until Farris breaths his last. Making sure there was no light left in those already dim eyes.
From the top of the fort's battlements, Lord Donovan stands in the rain. He watches the seer grab a horse and begin her escape across the desert wilderness. Shadows twist and rise beside him, forming two men dressed in black robes and sheathed with blood blades. Nothing but darkness is seen under their hoods and chilled air clings to them. This did not bother Donovan though. In a way, he felt warmer near them.
"We may have to expedite matters," Donovan says with a frown. "Sonodan, I want you to leave for Aranor at once. Retrieve the Frozen Heart and don't return until you do. If we are not here by the time you get back, then we're on our way to target one." The shade on his left turns and strides away. "Elesar, send word to our allies that the time has come. Royal blood will spill across all nations this Sedicim." The shade on his right turns and strides away with equal vigor.
Donovan watches Anara ride from the fort, walking down the battlements. He drags his fingers across the little puddles of water that form over the uniquely low parapet, feeling what he can. He comes across an archer, who is trying his best to look competent. "Archer, I want you to shoot that woman." Donovan pulls a dagger from his red robes and points it Anara.
The boy watches Anara ride and bows his head. "I'm sorry, sir, but I'd just be wasting arrows. She's too far and this wind is too wild, sir. I can't hit a target like that, sir."
"Yes, you can," Donovan says with alarming confidence. He slides the dagger across his palm, drawing out his blood. "You just need proper guidance." Donovan waves his blood covered palm over boy's head and a red mist form over the archer's eyes.
The archer unsheathes his bow and notches an arrow. He inhales, pulling back the string and aims at Anara. The rain beats against wood and the string strains from the pressure. The wind turents around him, dashing his brown streams of hair around. He calmly adjusts his aim accordingly and fires.