Dallorin
12-12-2006, 08:15 PM
((I was stupid enough not to state that this is open if people want to join. It's mostly just going to describe events that I don't want to RP out in-game, though.))
Desolace. A blasted wasteland, home to centaur tribes, demonic cults and scorpions the size of a dwarf. Ruined and dusty stone structures of indeterminate ages lie partly buried beneath the drab gray sands, their true purposes forgotten by most.
A lone figure clad in a cowled brown robe approached a mostly collapsed marble building from across a sandy flat, a chill wind tugging at the edges of the robe. Clutched in the figure's gloved right hand, being used as a walking stick, was a metallic staff adorned with a green crystal on each end, the smaller of the two meeting the dry sands every so often. The person's left hand, thin and bluish-purple in color, held a worn and small brown book open at his, for the figure's physique gave him the look of a scrawny man, side.
The traveler halted for a moment, raising the book up to the opening in his hood for a few moments before lowering it and continuing on towards the ruined building, his stride quickening.
He arrived at the cracked and unstable marble steps that lead into the structure's interior, now half-filled with debris from the partially collapsed roof and support pillars, and halted once more. His cowled head turned about, observing the area before he muttered something under his breath in a somewhat raspy voice. Bits of marble gave way and crumbled under his weight as he slowly ascended the small staircase and proceeded into the building. Behind him, the wind howled across the sandy gray flats as if in mourning.
The interior of the building was just as derelict as it seemed: slabs of rock were scattered about the floor, which happened to be blanketed with a thick layer of dust and gravel. There were several holes of varied sizes in both the ceiling and walls of the structure through which crept a drafty wind. The man strode forth from the stairs, dodging piles of debris until he arrived next to a particularly dusty area of the floor in the center of the room. He leaned down, laid a gloved hand upon the floor and brushed away the dust with slow, sweeping hand motions until a design, a faded etching of an eye contained in a diamond, became visible. He looked at the design for a few moments, facial features still concealed by his heavy cowl, then raised his staff high into the air and brought it down upon the pupil of the eye etching.
The floor where the staff struck gave way rather easily, causing the man to stumble. He had not expected it to break quite so easily. Regaining his composure, he leaned down on one knee and peered into the opening. It was too dark for him to see anything in the newly created hole, so he extended his gloved hand over the hole and snapped his fingers.
As the snap echoed throughout the area, a soft green glow emanated from his palm, shedding light upon the shallow hole and revealing a pitted, black metal box.
Visibly trembling, the man laid his staff and book down upon the dusty floor and picked up the box. It felt cool to the touch and gave the man a sense of calm and reassurance. Upon the top was the same symbol etched into the floor, that of an eye encased in a diamond. The strangest thing about the box, however, was that it had no lid, nor any other visible way to open it. From underneath the cowl, two emerald flames flashed into existence and a thin, similarly colored seam appeared in the top of the box. A section of the black metal moved aside, revealing a thick book with gilded page edged, plated with the same type of pitted metal and the same eye etching into the cover. Small, symmetrical grooves ran across the surface of the plating, all originating from the eye design in the middle.
With a grin, Dallorin lowered his cowl and withdrew the book from it's case, his eyes still burning their emerald color. No sooner had his hand touched the book had the eye design begin glowing blood red. Still grinning, the Forsaken priest replaced the book in its case, moved the displaced metal cover back into place and set back out into Desolace's wastes.
Desolace. A blasted wasteland, home to centaur tribes, demonic cults and scorpions the size of a dwarf. Ruined and dusty stone structures of indeterminate ages lie partly buried beneath the drab gray sands, their true purposes forgotten by most.
A lone figure clad in a cowled brown robe approached a mostly collapsed marble building from across a sandy flat, a chill wind tugging at the edges of the robe. Clutched in the figure's gloved right hand, being used as a walking stick, was a metallic staff adorned with a green crystal on each end, the smaller of the two meeting the dry sands every so often. The person's left hand, thin and bluish-purple in color, held a worn and small brown book open at his, for the figure's physique gave him the look of a scrawny man, side.
The traveler halted for a moment, raising the book up to the opening in his hood for a few moments before lowering it and continuing on towards the ruined building, his stride quickening.
He arrived at the cracked and unstable marble steps that lead into the structure's interior, now half-filled with debris from the partially collapsed roof and support pillars, and halted once more. His cowled head turned about, observing the area before he muttered something under his breath in a somewhat raspy voice. Bits of marble gave way and crumbled under his weight as he slowly ascended the small staircase and proceeded into the building. Behind him, the wind howled across the sandy gray flats as if in mourning.
The interior of the building was just as derelict as it seemed: slabs of rock were scattered about the floor, which happened to be blanketed with a thick layer of dust and gravel. There were several holes of varied sizes in both the ceiling and walls of the structure through which crept a drafty wind. The man strode forth from the stairs, dodging piles of debris until he arrived next to a particularly dusty area of the floor in the center of the room. He leaned down, laid a gloved hand upon the floor and brushed away the dust with slow, sweeping hand motions until a design, a faded etching of an eye contained in a diamond, became visible. He looked at the design for a few moments, facial features still concealed by his heavy cowl, then raised his staff high into the air and brought it down upon the pupil of the eye etching.
The floor where the staff struck gave way rather easily, causing the man to stumble. He had not expected it to break quite so easily. Regaining his composure, he leaned down on one knee and peered into the opening. It was too dark for him to see anything in the newly created hole, so he extended his gloved hand over the hole and snapped his fingers.
As the snap echoed throughout the area, a soft green glow emanated from his palm, shedding light upon the shallow hole and revealing a pitted, black metal box.
Visibly trembling, the man laid his staff and book down upon the dusty floor and picked up the box. It felt cool to the touch and gave the man a sense of calm and reassurance. Upon the top was the same symbol etched into the floor, that of an eye encased in a diamond. The strangest thing about the box, however, was that it had no lid, nor any other visible way to open it. From underneath the cowl, two emerald flames flashed into existence and a thin, similarly colored seam appeared in the top of the box. A section of the black metal moved aside, revealing a thick book with gilded page edged, plated with the same type of pitted metal and the same eye etching into the cover. Small, symmetrical grooves ran across the surface of the plating, all originating from the eye design in the middle.
With a grin, Dallorin lowered his cowl and withdrew the book from it's case, his eyes still burning their emerald color. No sooner had his hand touched the book had the eye design begin glowing blood red. Still grinning, the Forsaken priest replaced the book in its case, moved the displaced metal cover back into place and set back out into Desolace's wastes.