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9/23/2012 14:46:49

Mister Stone
Member

Wanna discuss this story? Go ahead!

Chapter 1: Hyze

A pull.

It was that pull. The pull that indicated my summoning. The pull freed me from the binds of my eternal prison and into the living world, of Lore.

I felt it. It was always this peculiar feeling. Like my entire being was being fragmented and re-formed 20 times over. My vision saw two different things, this decrepit hellhole I’ve been forced to settle for since my Creation, and this world…this…fog?

Ah yes, it was coming to view now; the surroundings of the caster who summoned me. I, the Shade Hyze, have been summoned! I, above all other Avatars, have been called forth to do this duty, this duty in which the caster pours his solace entirely into me. For I am a Shade, the most powerful, the most dangerous of the Avatars, and my mere presence indicates yet another is willing to give up his life to fulfill his dream. I am a wish maker. A crafty genie. My deeds are final; his word is my bond, his parting will. With Lore in full view, now, I look down to my next Summoner, prepare for my introduction and—

It’s Zaxon. Of course.

He must have sensed my discontent and smirked. “Hyze. It’s good to see you, again.”

I’ll bet. “Summoning me so suddenly, Zaxon? What, am I requested because another carbon copy of the Désordre has amerced?

“No. This is for something entirely different. Related, but different, rather.”

He kneeled behind him in search of some papers in a container. I took the opportunity to look around myself. We were on a canoe, eerily secluded. Not a soul was near us, in this dense fog. Not a shadow of a building, a land area, the clicks of nearby crickets, or even the croaks of some frogs. And he couldn’t have casted a spell to make it this quiet either. He would have to have used most of his resources summoning me. He turned back around with two papers in his hand; I eyed each one peculiarly.

He held up the sketch of a sword. “You are to fetch me this, from the Kingdom of Laam. It is in the center of the palace, which a cloth adorned with this symbol.” He held up another sketch with a picture of a blue crest punctured slightly by an orange staff, white stars in the middle of the crest. “You are to burn it before you leave as well.”

I spoke up. “You’re right. This is related to the Désordre; with you trying to get yourself executed. You want me to raid a palace…for a sword, is that correct?” This is one of the reason I didn’t like Zaxon. He asks me to do some of the most bizarre and treacherous things I’ve ever committed. Not that I have much of a conscious, but he’s just so out of the norm. I get summoned normally to get revenge on that person who murdered my master’s wife and kids, from the general to change the tide of the battlefield in ongoing war, to save my master’s lover from a disastrous fate. That kind of thing. I don’t know much about the hierarchical aspects of Lore, or anything of royalty’s honor, but for his sake, that better be one damn important sword.

“I don’t need the sword, myself.” See what I mean? “But it’s the outcome that matters to me. You don’t deserve to hear the details, but what you do deserve to do is to listen for the rest of your duty, my Shade.”

I silently rolled my eyes at his tone; very well.

“After we depart, I will head off back to Terboaches in law of my own affairs. If you see me talking to a person after you come back to me, Translate into my shadow and wait until I finish to await further orders.” He went on to natter about more specifics in his orders, how I am to be treated as a Fetch around company, that this Bond of his does not end with the raiding, that kind of thing. He reached into his pocket and took out another parchment.

“Take this with you on your mission; it’s a detailed map of the palace, in case it will be of use to you. The sword is in the center of the map as well, along with the symbol as I’ve stated. The Kingdom of Laam is due south; you’ll know it when you see it. Farewell, Hyze.”

Doesn’t take too much time for him does it? Fine with me. I snatched the parchment out of his hand, hurtling my Shade into the waters, like a furious oceanic predator. After us Shades receive a mission, it gets done, period. I didn’t have a problem with raiding a palace because it would seem difficult, and Zaxon knew that. Guards? Artillery? Ha! Childsplay. His master’s orders are complete the moment he hands his life to me.

< Message edited by Mister Stone -- 9/27/2012 17:26:58 >

Post #: 1

9/23/2012 14:52:23

Mister Stone
Member

Chapter 1: Barthlemont

The fairy ported. I stepped from the suite onto the dock, greeted with confetti and cheers in parties of crowds of the Terbochians.

I’ve arrived.

And oh, have I arrived! Such an important day for me this is! It is my 16th day of birth. My critical Selection day, my coronation, the day I chose my own destiny.

And as a prince, no less.

Indeed I, prince of Laam, Liege of Manners, grace Terboaches by picking my Uncle’s fair kingdom as the residence of my archive.

Mother and father could not be here of course. Today is an important day for them as well. It is the day that their treaty with the Dragonslayers get appealed. The conflicting thread that Lore has hung over since that Désordre debacle is beginning to dwindle, my father once told to me. Distrust was spread all over, a cold war was steadily forming, but now, now, things have been settled. Things are well. I stepped off the dock, bradded with questions of wonder, yelps of rejoicing.

Things are perfect.

“Barthlemont! Glad you could make it!”

The guards tore the crowds away from me. My Uncle, Makkad, stood neatly amid the center of the chaos, arms open, embracing me.

I accepted his embrace. Uncle Makkad is a large man, not overly stout, per se, but in his bulk. He carried around a red sash wherever he went, flowing it in his step as if to match his regale swagger. His dress always matched his presence; royal, important. He took great pride in himself and was not afraid to make himself known.

“I have things to tell you, Nephew, stories to re-tell,” he told to me, “but for now, it’s your Selection day.”

“Is it starting already?” I asked, surprised. I expected at least some trivialities first. Dinner, perhaps, a welcoming before-party, something in preparation.

He sensed what I was thinking and chuckled. “Don’t worry, the Selection is not as complicated as it might seem. During the festival’s climax, we will begin the ceremony, then we can go on to meet the townsfolk and what not.”

It didn’t seem like something that could have been protested. I was in his kingdom, after all, and his tone made me think preparations had already been finalized. He led me into my chambers to get dressed for the ceremony.

****

As I suspected, the festival was in full throttle by the time I arrived with Uncle.

He stopped his story-telling once we arrived to point the events his royal guard set up. Shining lights in every which way, dancers, performers of the Fire, magicians, the performing and real kind decorated the stages and booths. There were a couple of gambling tables, some drinking bars, parading all about the streets. It looked more of a personal party than ceremonial, except for the alter with the two Sphinxes in the center where the Centaur was supposed to have me perform the ritual.

For now we skipped that. I met with Cousin Stewart and Aunt Slypsis at the Summoning display after Uncle Makkad showed me the sights. They were putting on a humorously excessive display of oohing and aahing after the Summoner merged his Avatars together in harmonic synchronization.

“Hoh! Barthlemont!” said Steward, “glad you could make it!"

“Greetings, Cousin,” I said. Steward was 14, two years away from his coronation.

“Come to get a lesson before your Selection?” That was Aunt Slypsis. “I’m sure you understand what a Summoner does and their importance in the magical world?”

I nodded. I did. I was taught this at length in Laam; Summoners, instead of using spells to the battlefield, summoned creatures to overwhelm their enemy in power and leadership.
“I’ve never seen an Avatar Summoner in person, though,” I admitted.

“Hmm…well yes indeed. They used to be pretty common before the Désordre,” Aunt Slypsis said gravelly, “the only one’s really left that aren’t really amateurs are Zaxon, Viaum, Lokaox in our kingdom. That’s why their business has really become a commodity afterwards.”

“Maybe you’ve decided to become a Summoner yourself, Barthlemont?” Steward chided.

The truth was I haven’t decided yet. I’ve read tale that most figure it out as soon as the centaur gazed at them knowingly. Though I didn’t know too much about Summoners, especially Avatar Summoners, so that’s probably out of the picture. “Doesn’t seem my forte, honestly,” I confided.

“Well…what is your forte,” he pressed “Pressing to be a righteous Paladin who protects the innocent, a shady necromancer who dabbles in dark arts? Come off of it Barth, what’s your flavor?”

I knew I didn’t have to answer him, since he only called me Barth when he got drunk. Though, for some reason I felt compelled to. As if telling him would finalize my decision. Necromancy and Avatar Summoning seemed such shady occupations to me that I never thought about it. I figured a noble prince should go along with the regal path to virtue, so I’ve thought about becoming a part of the Paladin Order at length. My uncle was a proud Paladin, so was my father, so it already seemed like a good occupation. And it looked good for my people on the recommence to becoming adored in my future crowning. I opened my mouth to tell him—

A horn sounded.

The Centaur horn.

Everything stopped. The people looked around, searching for me, the subject. Steward, Slypsis, and Makkad urged me to step forward, and I hurried to the alter, stopping at the center of the gate.
There he was. The Centaur; approaching. He was still blowing his horn on the way, a steaming path forming in his own debris, getting denser with every hoofing step he took into the path. He came to me, ceased blowing his horn, and stopped, less than a foot away from my person, scrutinizing me.

Everything was silent.

The Centaur boomed. “Barthlemont,” he said.

I stood silent, waiting.

“Barthlemont, your time of Selection has commenced. Here I have on my chest the Crest of Wizard, the Skull of Necromancy, the Dagger of Assassin, the Helm of Paladin, and the Beast of Summoning. You are to take the Blade off the Altar and cut through the palm of your hand, so that I may engrave the symbol on your palm for eternity. Do you accept whatever fate comes to you with this decision?”

“I do,” I said. I unsheathed the blade from the pocket of the altar and observed the design briefly; a phoenix, then I poised the blade into my skin and—

Another horn sounded.

But it wasn’t one of ceremony.

It was one of alarm.

Massive shuffling and chaos commenced; could it be that we were under attack? An intruder in the palace? Uncle Makkad appeared at my side, and two Knights appeared soon after before us and the Centaur.

Knights? It must be a grave manner at hand. Uncle Makkad noticed it as well because his voice was shaky when he said, “What is the meaning of this Blutton? Sir Yunive? Why has an alarm sounded on this important day for my nephew? Did something happen in the palace?”

One of the knights spoke up. “The palace here is fine sir, but this is a matter about Laam. Their entire kingdom is in disarray. Their royal majesties have been murdered.”

< Message edited by Mister Stone -- 9/23/2012 16:35:18 >

Post #: 2

9/23/2012 20:01:37

Mister Stone
Member

Chapter 1: Makkad

Makkad shuffled hastily through the crowds, pushing all bystanders out of the way. He was in a rush to get to his throne table to consult with the Knights about the how and the why.

He had left Barthlemont behind.

Damn those Knights. Coming to the boy at such a crucial part of his life. And the timing; just magnificent. How? And why? They were appealing a treaty! A treaty of all things! Who would want to deface peace? How did it occur, with both the Dragonslayer and the Paladin guards lined up at each door, each hallway, armed for the just slightest glimmer of treachery?

He reached his palace now, passing through his own hallways. Was it treachery? Could it have been a scheme to eliminate the Laam government, to extend the order of Dragonslayers? Could the Dracomancers have had anything to do with this? Was it a hired Assassin to instill chaos amongst the nations? What if, the thought just occurred to him, this event had anything to do with the Désordre?

He turned the final corner. The doors, twinkling gold and massive, signified the importance of this room. This room was where war begun, where distrust instilled, where arguments waged.

Where lives were gambled.

He pushed through. “I’ve arrived,” he boomed, festered, cautious.
.
“Glad to see you King Makkad.”

What?

Seated before him was not the Consulting Knights of Terboaches but rather the Knights of Order; Zephyros, Kalanyr, Radagast, Lord Barrius, and Aelthai.

“What is the meaning of—“

“Have a seat, Makkad,” Kalanyr spoke softly but he seemed impatient.

He sat in one of the chairs, scrutinizing the situation This was unheard of. What were the Knights of Order doing at his Consulting Table? Where were the Consulting Knights? Never before have they been gathered altogether in this room, and uninvited, at that!

He was about to speak up but instead Radagast beat him to it: “You look a bit uneasy, ‘Kad. Calm down, we’re just here to consult in this Consulting table.”

The audacity! He was even angrier now, he was about to express his discontent, but, again, Lord Barrius intervened: “From what we know of the situation, it was not only the king and queen of Laam that was killed, but everyone appealing the treaty. And it also seems that everyone who tried to stop the impending attack, everyone with an unsheathed sword, with a dagger in hand, even the Wizards and Mages in the background, they all died. It seemed whoever committed the act was trying to cover up who did it pretty badly.”

Makkad had calmed down by now. “The act?”

“Yes.” This was Aelthai now. “Whoever did it not only killed the witnesses but stole the Royal Moon Blade of Laam, burned their sacred Crest on their most cherished quilt, and scarred the floor with black flames revealing the letters ‘HZ’”

Zephyros continued: “This leads us to believe that someone didn’t do this for a sword but rather to cause a stir, or an excuse for war, as you’ve probably guessed. We are gathered here because with the alliances set up between nations and the conflicts by the Désordre a year ago could make a possible conflict global.”

It was as he feared. This had to be the work of the instigator who organized the Désordre. All he wanted was a spark to set the fire, then everything would become ablaze. But their presence here still confused him. “But why are you here instead of another, more centralized palace. Telling us the news only created pandemonium.”

“Well…about that,” said Radagast, “You’re really the only person we could trust to do what needs to be done.”

Kalanyr spoke up. “Since Barthlemont is your nephew, and the victim’s killed were your sister and brother in law, we don’t really think you’re responsible, or rather, on the side of the person who did it. But there’s another reason. We’ve kept this matter quiet to every other Class and Order on Lore, and we would like for you to do the same, for we would like for your Avatar Summoners to perform an investigation on the subject.

“Since the Désordre, only six Avatar Summoners remain in Lore; three of them in your own Kingdom. This puts you at less of a disadvantage if your palace is attacked, than if we took three Wizards from a recovering Kingdom. Furthermore, Avatar Summoners are very tricky to figure out, meaning being shifty wouldn’t be that difficult for them. We would like all of your Avatar Summoners to go to Dragonspine, Granemor, and the Dragonslayer Order to find out if there’s any leads to any of those places, as there is a high possibility that the person behind the Désordre resides there. If we can find the person responsible, all this tension can finally be released.”

“I don’t understand why you think he is in one of those places,” Makkad confided, “or why you’re bringing it up now.”

“Why not now?” said Radagast. “Now’s a better time than any. Besides, if you think about it, they’re the only kingdoms with a conflict against Laam, seeing as they were thought to be the ones responsible for the Désordre initially. But now, though, we've come up with a new theory on the subject, as for the why it happened.”

Makkad waited for him to say more. He didn’t.

“Why do you think it happened, then?”

He smiled. “Trade secret.”

He banged his fist on the table “Insolence!—“

“It’s only a bit of a speculative theory, anyway,” said Aelthai, quickly. “Besides, in retrospect, none of us can guarantee that we aren’t being watched at this very moment.”

Silence hung in the air for a while.

“Keeping this manner quiet is our primary objective,” she continued, “We need to be able to count on your forces to be able to stop a possible bloodshed in the future. We can halt Laam from taking any direct retaliation but we need to find the head of the person creating all this madness. Can we, King Makkad? Can we count on you?”

Everyone’s eyes were on Makkad, scrutinizing him, looking for a reaction, a sign. He submitted; there was no getting around the Knights of Order. They would have thought up of every possibility before they even gathered at the Table. Whatever scheme they would have devised would have more merit that he’d ever realize, he’s sure, even if they told him in exact detail the benefits of their plan. He sighed. “Very well. How will you achieve this goal exactly?”

Lord Barrius grinned, victorious. “Excellent. Here’s what’s going to happen.”

< Message edited by Mister Stone -- 9/23/2012 21:51:57 >

Post #: 3

9/23/2012 20:07:15

Mister Stone
Member

Chapter 1: Hyze

I was going to Laam.

The lake had never lost its eerie feel, no matter how far I darted away from Zaxon. The dense fog was endless. Trees, algae infested from root to branch, polluted the lake and spilled dark green shrubbery that flowed into the slow moving current. I was a serpent through the muggy water, my shadowed form whizzing past the current, to my mission, my mood apprehensive.

Well, not exactly.

My mood was more of a mixture between irritation, confusion and frustration. It was always like this, since after the first time he Summoned me. Confusion. Objective. Confusion. Completion. Go to; repeat, in that order.

If you didn’t catch it before I will happily confirm that yes, I said after the first time he Summoned me.

After the first time! Haha, good one, Hyze! That would imply that he actually lived through the first Summoning!

He did.

That wasn’t unheard of; unheard of would leave a person with the assumption that it was a rare occurrence, something that happened once in a millennia or century, something some rare exceeding prodigy could overcome with enough perseverance, wit, and control.

It wasn’t. It was impossible.

This is how Shades work. We serve, you pay: That’s our Code Law, our agreement. Our deal. Myself, splendid Hyze of the Soulless, am an Avatar of such excruciating talent that the very act of having me set foot upon this world must be paid with a Summoner’s life to fill the lost rip in the continuum! Why, my very breathing brings dead lilies abloom, my gaze incinerates the air into smoke! Certainly, for Summoning such a blessed creature, in your own guise, in fact, for you to aspire to be in afterlife, the mere price of a human life, with so numerous a human besides, is very negligible, isn’t it?

Not for Zaxon it isn’t.

This is his fourth time summoning me. Fourth. That’s more than three. Certainly, there were some who lived after the first time; plan didn’t go as planned, cousin killed in process, instructions weren’t clear enough, but my treatment usually leaves them so helplessly feeble that I’d just kill them myself to save them a heart attack later. Zaxon looked about as healthy as an Asgir after the fourth go-around.

Which leads me to believe I shouldn’t trust him.

The lake was beginning to subside, and the city of Laam was viewable on the horizon. The fog was beginning to lighten, and I could faintly make out the shape of an ornate structure that exceedingly outshone the rest of the already visibly dilapidated…shops…or are those booths..?...that centered beyond the dock.

Shops. And booths, too, all lined up in huddle around the highly ornate building that had to be the palace. Everything was in full view now.

I jumped as Zaxon’s form onto the port from the lake. Nobody in the crowds noticed me, and there were enough people for me to blend in without looking obscene in these ridiculous dark blue robes he inherently never took off.

Fortunately I wasn’t in a far walking distance from the palace. When I got there around 100 meters of the building, I did some shadow Translating from person to person until I got to the doors, mattered with men wearing silvery plates, looking astute as could be.

As humans could be, anyway. I Translated further down from each hallway. Only Summoners and Wizards could detect if they were being Translated, so this technique garnered me plenty of success through my larcenous career. I skulked off into a corner undetected in Zaxon’s form to read the map he gave to me on the palace, a couple rooms back, and continued, until I met with the most grandeur of the rooms, opened wide as if in welcoming. Then I immediately saw why.

The room was filled to the brim with people. Hundreds of people. A grand table in the center a sapphire cloth faintly covered the shining wood, a jaded carpet design covering a fair amount of the entire room. Dozens of chairs were seated there, and dozens of people were seated in them, some standing and discussing idly, I myself in the shadow of someone among the discussers. Some were scattered, impatiently awaiting the proceedings. There were more guards in the room, mostly on the stairwell; Wizards on looking from above, some floating by the chandelier. Some knights stood as ornaments, as still as statues, swords pointed upward, mostly by—

The cloth. The Crest. The sword. Right there.

The door closed. A horn sounded for the proceedings.

Now I knew why he wanted me to get the sword. He knew that there would be this many people there, this many guards. I wondered what sort of event this was. There were mainly different outfits; the majority looked like Paladins, and the other looked more like Knights, or Dragonslayers, one of them. Shades couldn’t get their masters killed. If I were to take off with the sword, I’d be seen in my master’s guise, he’d be found, and then executed.

If I can’t sneak off without being seen, everyone in the room has to die.

Oh, god damn it, Zaxon, having me to do something like this. I could wait until the night to do the deed, but he’d probably just Spawn me to his side, thinking I got captured or something. He never actually said kill, so it wouldn’t be disobedience if I didn’t—

My shadow ruptured, spiraling—

A Wizard stood above my shadow, stepping near it—

Shuffling. Activity—

“It’s a coup!” one said—

Uproar, onlookers faced my direction—

I had one opportunity remaining. Smoke seeped into the room, grey haze layering from the chandelier to the linoleum. Coughs and wheezes. Someone cried out they couldn’t see—

But I could. I was moving. I was breathing. I was running, Zaxon form. My opportunity had presented itself to me and I was driving through it.

There it was, inches away! I automatically incinerated the cloth before I did anything, as per my bequeath, reached for the sword and—

I got it! Rushing to the door now, smoke subsiding, coughs lightening, visions returning. My chance was evaporating. I pushed forward, preparing to Translate into my escape—

I dodged a dagger aimed towards me. I was spotted! I quickly grabbed the dagger before it hit the ground and hurled it in his chest, killing him instantly—

My opportunity was still there; the door could easily be kicked and shoved by me with the explosion a rupture for my grand exit. Only feet from the door at the critical juncture when I realized—

The smoke completed subsided. Everyone was looking at me. Looking at Zaxon. Looking at the sword.

I had no choice.

In an instant I was between two Knights, the sword with which I was holding a prominent weapon in my hand. I lodged by blade between their armor, slicing through their polished mail. Zaxon’s body was weak, but I made it strong. I jumped up from the floor to the top of the stairwell, a Wizard my next target. I defeated him before he was able to cast a spell, but more were approaching, and quickly. A horn sounded, of alarm, panic.

I rushed into the approaching, my blade hacking into their armor, more force than human, and their points slashing and ripping at my robe’s cloth. But I felt no pain. I felt nothing, not any morose for Paladins gushing blood from their decapitated heads, not for the Wizards who imploded themselves at the shock of my swift appearances and its futility, not even from the crowds of warriors I’m battling and slaughtering at once.

Pandemonium. The royal pushed forward for an exit, but they couldn’t escape. I couldn’t allow them to. They huddled in groups, shivering and whipping their bodies incoherently, hoping. I skittered away from my scale to scale battle and reached for the defenseless, to put them out of their hopelessness and to ensure they didn’t escape amidst the conflict. I saw a man and women with regal costumes, staring at my blood mattered face, wide eyed. I killed them, then the others that were next to them soon after. Bodies littered the floor in limbs, like remnants of shredded debris. The jaded carpet and sapphire cloth on the table was splattered in blood and gore. Blood and gore.

Blood and gore.

Blood and gore.

BLOOD AND GORE. Bodies. Fire. Hell. Weeping. Sorrow. Death.

How? Why? Is it redemption? Have I done something…something …bad?

It was everywhere. Death. Clustered. Wedged and squeezed into a vacuum. The walls were decorated with entrails, the ceiling held splotches that dripped after each demise like candlewax. The floor wasn’t visible anymore.

Can’t they see what’s happening? Why are they still fighting? Is it out of honor or something? Can I be that valiant? Can I?

Should I run? Should I? Is it hopeless? Will he come for me next? Should I keep standing here? Does he see me? Should I look for mom? Should I play dead? What will he do? Should I be bleeding? I have blood on me don’t I? I think so. What if… maybe if I roll around in some and play dead then! Would that work?

The people that were alive were thinning. I should do this now! I looked at him. His eyes flitted to mine.

Oh no! Did he see me? Am I going to die? Will he kill children? What did I do?

I go to him. I don’t know why. My face has blood on it, right? Maybe he’ll think I’m a ghost! A spirit? A Shade? My mom used to tell me stories about those thingies. She said daddy didn’t like them. Maybe he doesn’t like them either.

I’m here to him. Nobodies near him. He stopped killing for a moment. He looked at me. He smiled. Is he still going to kill me? Is he scared? Is that a fake smile? My mom told me about those too.

Is he happy I came to him? Should I ask him about it? Should I speak to him? He hasn’t done anything yet. Does that mean—?

I blacked out.

I came to, alert. Is someone coming to me? Did a person escape—?

I focused. Nobody escaped. Nobody was coming to me. Nobody was cowering anymore. Nobody was running anymore.

Everyone was dead. The table was broken. The chandelier was destroyed. The ceiling was torn to pieces. I was in the center of the room, at the table’s epicenter. In the center, right where I was standing was black flames, organized flames, in the strait lines and corners.

I jumped up to the stairwell again, on top of a corpse. Where I was standing was the center of two letters engraved in the jaded carpet saying ‘HZ.’

< Message edited by Mister Stone -- 9/27/2012 16:50:56 >

Post #: 4

9/26/2012 22:22:12

Mister Stone
Member

Chapter 2: Hyze

My business in Laam done, I made my way to my designated randevú point with Zaxon in Terboaches.

And oh was it a way.

It took me two days, two days to get to a neighboring Kingdom only about a dozen miles away!

I’m no good with the land of this world, at all. All its changing, rebuilding, movement; it’s all so very wearisome. And I swear it just completely rearranges itself every single time I’m summoned as well! Why must people feel the need to always readjust themselves every little time a person died or something? Human life should just be instilled in a burning catacomb filled with the agony of unresting spirits. I’m sure if it was they’d have as marvelous and static a personality as I did.

Disguised in Zaxon’s form, having already made it to Terboaches, I was navigating through the entryway point at the inner gates, satirizing as the dubious Wizard of Trickery I was!

The city looked a lot less devious than the last dilapidated wreck I was last in in called Laam. It actually had class. People walked about nonchalantly, like they didn’t have single worry in their lives, whistling in tunes in such. Market vendors were excited; amateur. Even the poor were in bliss, dancing with crowds who threw coins by his jacket during his performance. The street was very straightforward and newly carved, unlike the jagged crisscrossing in Laam. The palace actually didn’t stand out as much among the tall houses and graceful scenery.

It was all so cute.

Not to worry though, I knew where to go this time around. Zaxon served as a prominent leashed hound for King…Mackay..? (was that his name?) and frequently stayed cooped up in his study, like a lab rat, doing who knows what, and researching boring, tedious documents about…something. I never asked. Never cared.

I was to the palace now, looking amongst the crowds I scanned the area in search of hi—oh…is that…that’s him! Right there, talking to his king, I’m sure. I zoomed in closer, Translating into his shadow. He shivered involuntarily, noticing my presence inside him, then relaxed.

In my caster’s shadow, I’m able to be him completely; see what he sees, hear what he hears, feel what he feels.

To an extent, at least.

“…will be accompanying you,” King Mackay was saying.

Zaxon was looking at a dark skinned, dark haired boy with wrappings around his right hand wearing abnormally decorated clothes. Must be of the royal family. He was sitting on a brick exterior, looking down, drawing something with a stick in the dirt, as if he were bored out of his mind.

“But he’s royalty,” Zaxon was saying. Called it. “And he needs to be crowned still, where he’s needed. I’m sure the Kingdom’s in disarray without a proper ruler.”

“He’s personally requested that he come along with one of the Summoners going, and I’m not going to disrespect his wishes, especially if they’re reasonable and understandable.”

“Very well, my Lord,” said Zaxon. “But what is he to do? I’ve heard ‘round the palace that the Ceremony was never finished, so he’d be powerless against someone of skill were my guard dropped. Not to mention his inexperience would probably jeopardize the point—”

“Zaxon, enough.” Mackay sighed. “He says that he has an ideal course of action in mind, and as I’ve said, I won’t disrespect his wishes on a matter like this, so that is that.

“But besides, you have your own objective to rectify, and without complaints. The ferry Dragonspine will arrive later today, I suggest you finish packing your wardrobe, and prepare your summoning equipment for your journey.”

“Already have, my sire,” smiled Zaxon. “Nuvert, appear!”

Silence.

Oh, is that supposed to be me?

I guess so. I Translated out of his shadow and appeared full view as Zaxon, standing beside him like I was his twin. That is what we Avatars do to be comical.

“Nuvert my Fetch will be guarding young Barthlemont with his existence, so you need not worry about his safety, my sire.” So I was a Fetch and Nuvert, now; perfect. He turned to me. “Get acquainted with him, Nuvert, be accustomed to his all that he does and says, and monitor him always during the venture. Stay with him while I prepare for our journey.” He turned back to the King and bowed. “Farewell your Majesty.”

The King departed as well, sashaying in his step, not a glance at anyone.

It was me and the boy, Barthlemont. He was playing with his bandages now, tangling his fingers in the blood and drawing more out of his wound. He was still looking down, even when I went up to him, still running his fingers through his hands like he didn’t see me.

I decided to have some fun with this one.

I grabbed his right arm, the one with the bandages on the hand, and pulled him up. He looked up, shocked, confused, like he didn’t see I was standing there for 30 seconds.
“Who are you?” He asked. Wow, did he honestly not see me? Zaxon’s about two meters tall at least. Was he drunk or something?

I tilted my head to look at his eyes, searching for any signs of stupor; all I saw was annoyance.

Oh, he wanted an answer. “You should listen to royalty, royalty. It’ll help you get far in your position.” I bowed and stood at attention. “Greetings, sir Barthlemont of Manners! My name is Nuvert, and I am a Fetch, who is to accompany you and Zaxon to Dragonspine! Now if you would please stop spewing blood from yourself and simply go with me, not only will I be able to promise you an adrenaline ferry ride, but all the tantalizing red liquids you can relax with!”

He didn’t notice my sarcasm. “Where is Uncle Makkad?”

“Oh that was his name!” I thought aloud. “He had left already, but this ferry will be arriving and we need—“

“Do you happen to know the direction? I have urgent matters to discuss with him.”

“Yes, in fact, he was heading in the direction of the ferry that I’ve already mentioned. See look at that. Listening skills.” I shook my head, curtly.”

“Oh, I see.” He didn’t. “Which port did he say he was going to?”

Hmm…I think I remember Zaxon pointing to—

“The Baets Bay, of course!” Barthlemont said suddenly. He grabbed my arm and rushed me eastward. “We must hurry before we miss it!”

What? “Is King Makkad coming as well?” I asked, confused. He never gave any indications he was, just me, Barthlemont and Zaxon.

He was still running with me. “What are you blathering about? Of course he is!” He said, a bit too unconditionally. “Can you use magic to scry on him in case we are too late erm…Narvon?”

"Nuvert.” How do you miss a fake name? “I…suppose I can,” I said. I could, but I’m at this point quite certain he’s misunderstanding the situation. I decided to ask to make sure.

“So…” I mused, still running, “What’s Dragonspine like?” Not the best approach, I'll admit, but he fell for it.

“What? Why? What’s at Dragonspine?” Who is Sir Clueless, he is Sir Clueless!

“Oh, nothing. I was just going there soon and wondered what it’d be like.” Going with you that is. I didn’t care much about why the King had lied about him, but I suppose the particular situation is making my job easier, since I didn’t know where the port was. I almost wanted to say something to him, as preparation for Zaxon’s chicanery, but I the intellectual Shade I am, waited until after he lead me to the dock at the ferry to remedy his ignorance:

“You’re coming with us,” I said, sharp, clear, with volume, for his apparently appalling attentiveness.

“Pardon?" He asked. Oh goodie, he listened! "What do you mean by that—“

“Barthlemont! Nuvert!” Zaxon said, already there with two others, miraculously, and in spite of our running. “The ferry’s departing!”

“Hmm…I’ll explain on the way, Sir Royalty,” I grinned. I grabbed Barthlemont in an arm, and hauled him atop the deck with the others.

The anchor lifted, the boat churned, and sashayed for a moment for picking up and drifting rapidly into the sea.

We were going to Dragonspine.

< Message edited by Mister Stone -- 10/3/2012 20:57:45 >

Post #: 5

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