#v:lostagain

outofthefadeandintotheempire

Perching on a half-broken wall, Harel watched with lazy interest the Inquisitor training with her daggers. A bystander would have maybe assumed, the man with the wild mane of pitch-black hair was simply spacing out, but his eyes followed each of her movements closely, rolling back and forth in the sockets.

Ravens often seemed idle, when in reality they never stopped paying close attention to their surrounding.

When the Inquistor finally took a break from her practise, he jumped off the wall and trotted over to her.

    There was one thing about the fade, that could be said for certain and that was, that nothing was certain here. Direction, time, distance - nothing here had to be the way it seemed. And it was worst, with the creatures living here. You could never say for sure, if you were meeting with a spirit, a demon, another wanderer, or just a lost dreamer. Some people might consider this a reason to fear the fade. But others found this the most interesting part. Adventurers of various sort have tried to venture deep into the fade. Not many lived to tell what they found there.

    Knowing these things, it might surprise that there was a hooded figure walking the shifting paths of the fade with the calm of a man walking in his own garden. What surprised even more, was the entire absence of other creatures. Apart from two ravens perching on the figures shoulders, nothing else was seen - no demons, nor spirits anywhere. However the presence of the figure’s observer was just as unexpected. So what should not be surprising, was that the wanderer noticed the presence of their observer. Turning around, the figure pulled back the hood and revealed the face of an elven man. Green eyes stared expectantly.

@fire-pixie-elf

They say the first impression you leave, when meeting someone new, is decisive for your future relationship with said person. But sometimes other factors are of far greater impact. For example the situation in which you meet the new person. Certain situations are in themselves so life-changing, so impressive that you cannot experience them together without ending up linked, for good or for worse.

Some situations would inevitably cause the involved to come out as friends, such as surviving an earth-slide together, or being the only witnesses to a breath-taking wonder.

Others, however, might make you curse the day, you have met forever.

Such as this one.

There had been reports of activity in the lost Temple of Dirthamen and since it had been the Inquisition, that discovered it in the first place, it fell of course to the Inquisitor to investigate these reports, on-site. Upon arrival, nothing unusual was to be seen, but the scouts watching the temple had reported lights in the windows at nights and shadowy figures roaming the site. Let alone the odd agitation among the ravens, both the wild ones, living in the temple, as well as the tamed ones the Inquisition scouts used as messenger birds.

So at night a small group consisting of a handful of scouts, the Inquisitor and her companions of choice entered the temple for the second time. Everything seemed to be, as they had left it. Or so it seemed. The scouts quickly found tracks of recent activity. Dust missing in places, where it should be laying in thick layers, torn cobwebs, tracks on the ground, where someone must have dragged something big and heavy.

The scouts suspected Venatori, or some other agents of Corypheus. They couldn’t have been more wrong. As they were walking towards the Chamber of Whispers, as scout noticed a movement in the hallway to their right, leading towards the big hall, in which they had “accidentally” summoned the Highest One upon their first visit. The scout immediately gave chase, the rest of the group following on his heel.

A startled cry from ahead, sounding like it came from the scout, urged the party to run even faster. They finally entered the hall and came upon a heart-stopping sight. There on the altar in the middle of the room, where they had placed the mummified remains of the Highest One, in order to summon him, was their scout lying helplessly on his back. He struggled to free himself from the death-grip an arm had wound around his neck. The arm belonged to a tall, slender elven-lady, dressed in black and red, an ornamented dagger raised in her free hand ready to finish off her prey.

When she noticed the party’s arrival the stopped in her endeavour, but did not let go of the man, she had held on the altar. Snarling at the newcomers, she shouted at them, her voice sharp, like cutting glass.

 @lethendralisandvengeance likes this

Souveri was breathing heavily by now. Sweat was making his shirt cling to his back and he really, desperately needed some rest. But this young, hot-headed elf kept on marching through the countryside like a possessed. In all honesty, if he wasn’t so confident in his own skills to sense possession in someone else, he would have been easily convinced that Fenris was possessed by something.

He had never seen such determination being born from burning anger, nor had he seen someone who’s anger could burn so hot for such a long time. He had tried to speak reason with the elf, but he was deaf to that, just kept on marching as if the ground itself had gravely insulted him.

Eventually the old god had to admit his own shortcomings. Sitting down on a rock near the path, he called out to the still retreating warrior.

And the next drabble is done. I think, my body is...

Haha 8] old