Lysimachus
05-06-2009, 04:01 PM
"Listen, Children, to a story that was written long ago, 'bout a kingdom on a mountain and the valley far below.
On the mountain was a treasure buried deep beneath the stone, and the Valley people swore they'd have it for their very own..."
The Marquess was pleased. His Scrying had paid off; he'd finally caught up with the courier of a small organization he was convinced was working to advance the homosexual agenda within Silvermoon. Unlike Sanctuary, this group was more secretive. They passed messages to one another in a very conspiratorial manner, and had caught the attention of the leader of House dej Dynastus quickly.
Though he hadn't placed a name for them, it didn't matter. "Who could possibly be working so furtively," he had reasoned, "and NOT be an agent of the gays?!"
This courier in particular, a small elven fellow, practically screamed "deviate!" in the eyes of Lysimachus. His (probably dyed) brown hair was kept short, and he pranced with a gait so terribly unbecoming of a proper Quel'dorei. His clothes matched curiously well, with various pastel-shades causing his pursuer to seethe even more.
He was carrying a package, and Lysimachus had to have it. Thus, he now watched the messenger, carefully concealed by means of an Invisibility spell. They were in southern Eversong, far past the careful eye of the Sin'dorei road guards. The messenger was singing, "a tune surely reminiscent of a little girl's STORY rhyme. God."
The courier stopping at a nearby brook to drink, the Marquess finally showed himself. "Good afternoon," he began. "I see you are traveling alone."
The messenger turned with a gasp, clearly startled. "Oh! I didn't see you there." His soft, sing-song voice grated at Lysimachus, who scowled. "A bit of companionship would not be uncalled for. I am Versahn." He smiled.
"I'm sure you would LIKE that, wouldn't you?" Stepping forward, the mage swung his cane in the other man's direction. "You are delivering something, then? I am curious as to the contents of the package."
Versahn frowned, gripping his parcel more tightly. "Indeed, friend. It is truly a treasure; I am afraid it must first be delivered before opened, for it to effect appropriately its purpose."
Lysimachus would waste no time with games, this time. "You shall not be completing your errand, I am afraid. I have been observing your group for some time, boy, and I am not pleased with what I have seen. No doubt you are some dooms-day cult, meaning to sow your lifestyle amongst the helpless of your destination!"
"I..." Versahn was taken aback. "Is this some sort of jest, sir?"
"It isn't." The Marquess moved forward, swinging his bejeweled cane in a circular motion. "Nor should it be. Your efforts toward evil are for naught; GIVE me the package."
The courier stood up straight. "No. I see that you are of those that mean to cause discord amongst good people, and I will have none of it. I am going to my way, now." He turned, stomping off along the stream, thinking to rid himself of the mage. He was cut short when Lysimachus teleported in front of him, a foot away.
The Marquess spat. "Then I shall extract it with FORCE, you helling faggot." He swung his cane, cracking it hard alongside the unsuspecting man's skull, dazing him.
Staggering back, Versahn invoked a spell, shielding himself. He began to chant, "clearly calling upon the powers of his Dark deviancy to aid him, no doubt!" Counterspelling him and dispelling his shield, the Marquess lunged forward, grasping at the man's throat with one hand and driving his cane, now transmuted into a dagger, into his opponent's gut. A skirmish ensued, Versahn barely managing to defend himself against his raging attacker. "Please!" he pleaded between gasps, "it is something to be shared with all!"
"NEVER!" Lysimachus shrieked, pummeling Versahn. He stabbed and struck at the man beneath him, again, and again, and again. Though his victim had ceased struggling, the noble's furious attack continued, having dismissed entirely his arcane prowess for this primal savagery. Eventually, Lysimachus stopped, his robes spattered in another's blood. He caught his breath, his countenance still curved into a ferocious snarl. Glancing about, he noticed the parcel thrown off to the side.
Crawling towards it, he quickly cast away its minor magical seal and burst it open, eager to claim the treasure within...
A white dove fluttered out of the box, erupting suddenly into a prismatic display of color; the magic rearranged itself into a single, comprehensible word:
PEACE
Lysimachus sat for a long time, watching and listening to the brook's steady flow of water over stones. That day, he did not return to the Hall.
On the mountain was a treasure buried deep beneath the stone, and the Valley people swore they'd have it for their very own..."
The Marquess was pleased. His Scrying had paid off; he'd finally caught up with the courier of a small organization he was convinced was working to advance the homosexual agenda within Silvermoon. Unlike Sanctuary, this group was more secretive. They passed messages to one another in a very conspiratorial manner, and had caught the attention of the leader of House dej Dynastus quickly.
Though he hadn't placed a name for them, it didn't matter. "Who could possibly be working so furtively," he had reasoned, "and NOT be an agent of the gays?!"
This courier in particular, a small elven fellow, practically screamed "deviate!" in the eyes of Lysimachus. His (probably dyed) brown hair was kept short, and he pranced with a gait so terribly unbecoming of a proper Quel'dorei. His clothes matched curiously well, with various pastel-shades causing his pursuer to seethe even more.
He was carrying a package, and Lysimachus had to have it. Thus, he now watched the messenger, carefully concealed by means of an Invisibility spell. They were in southern Eversong, far past the careful eye of the Sin'dorei road guards. The messenger was singing, "a tune surely reminiscent of a little girl's STORY rhyme. God."
The courier stopping at a nearby brook to drink, the Marquess finally showed himself. "Good afternoon," he began. "I see you are traveling alone."
The messenger turned with a gasp, clearly startled. "Oh! I didn't see you there." His soft, sing-song voice grated at Lysimachus, who scowled. "A bit of companionship would not be uncalled for. I am Versahn." He smiled.
"I'm sure you would LIKE that, wouldn't you?" Stepping forward, the mage swung his cane in the other man's direction. "You are delivering something, then? I am curious as to the contents of the package."
Versahn frowned, gripping his parcel more tightly. "Indeed, friend. It is truly a treasure; I am afraid it must first be delivered before opened, for it to effect appropriately its purpose."
Lysimachus would waste no time with games, this time. "You shall not be completing your errand, I am afraid. I have been observing your group for some time, boy, and I am not pleased with what I have seen. No doubt you are some dooms-day cult, meaning to sow your lifestyle amongst the helpless of your destination!"
"I..." Versahn was taken aback. "Is this some sort of jest, sir?"
"It isn't." The Marquess moved forward, swinging his bejeweled cane in a circular motion. "Nor should it be. Your efforts toward evil are for naught; GIVE me the package."
The courier stood up straight. "No. I see that you are of those that mean to cause discord amongst good people, and I will have none of it. I am going to my way, now." He turned, stomping off along the stream, thinking to rid himself of the mage. He was cut short when Lysimachus teleported in front of him, a foot away.
The Marquess spat. "Then I shall extract it with FORCE, you helling faggot." He swung his cane, cracking it hard alongside the unsuspecting man's skull, dazing him.
Staggering back, Versahn invoked a spell, shielding himself. He began to chant, "clearly calling upon the powers of his Dark deviancy to aid him, no doubt!" Counterspelling him and dispelling his shield, the Marquess lunged forward, grasping at the man's throat with one hand and driving his cane, now transmuted into a dagger, into his opponent's gut. A skirmish ensued, Versahn barely managing to defend himself against his raging attacker. "Please!" he pleaded between gasps, "it is something to be shared with all!"
"NEVER!" Lysimachus shrieked, pummeling Versahn. He stabbed and struck at the man beneath him, again, and again, and again. Though his victim had ceased struggling, the noble's furious attack continued, having dismissed entirely his arcane prowess for this primal savagery. Eventually, Lysimachus stopped, his robes spattered in another's blood. He caught his breath, his countenance still curved into a ferocious snarl. Glancing about, he noticed the parcel thrown off to the side.
Crawling towards it, he quickly cast away its minor magical seal and burst it open, eager to claim the treasure within...
A white dove fluttered out of the box, erupting suddenly into a prismatic display of color; the magic rearranged itself into a single, comprehensible word:
PEACE
Lysimachus sat for a long time, watching and listening to the brook's steady flow of water over stones. That day, he did not return to the Hall.