Archives 2

[ToM] The Temple of Mondain resides in the Desert of Compassion in Felucca. There, they seek the veneration and rebirth of Sosaria's darkest wizard...

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Archives 2

Post by Veritus » Wed Dec 24, 2008 2:55 am

Chapter 1
A Discovery in the Dark

Darkness had long filled the halls even before its abandon. There was musk in the air much like a graveyard that had been in decay for centuries. The stones had fallen and rubble lay all around as if a great explosion occurred in an age past. Vines and vegetation now covered any evidence of what had happened here, the castle had fallen into ruin. Hints of war were littered inside and out but now all was quiet.

In the dark of what remained of its once great halls a sound finally echoed. Perhaps a beast from the wild or maybe a sudden gust of wind, but no this sound was made by something else. An elf to be exact, looming in the dark and looking for shelter he had stumbled into this decrepit sanctuary. What he was looking for it cannot be said; perhaps food, shelter from an approaching storm, or maybe a pull from within. Whatever the reason, he entered the dark and decaying menace, and he did find something.

A sudden screech filled the main hall as the door begrudgingly opened, its hinges almost completely rusted shut. Stepping through the small crack the door allowed he took his first gaze inside. The light from the door shown a beam of light into the hall and for only this small area was there light, darkness consumed every corner ahead. Pulling his courage, he finally stepped through the main hall into what was now a large chamber and no light dared to enter. What loomed inside was unnatural, and for the first time Elven eyes experienced Darkness.

Taking an old torch from the entrance hall, he began to strike a flint stone upon a small metal dagger in an attempt to light it. It seemed almost hopeless; the air was damp and musty, though almost immediately the torch lit. Holding it up he got his first glimpse into the main chamber. There was debris all over, covered in vegetation and dirt. Barely discernable was what appeared to be four pillars blown out from the center of the room. Three stone chairs lay blasted back, broken and half buried under thick vines.

Upon further investigation he found what looked to be stone stairs and path into an upper level of the castle. Slowly making his way toward the stairs he weaved and ducked through the debris and made his way into another chamber roughly the same size as the one below. A large hole in the middle of the floor and black stone lay all around, now looking up he could see that the hole went straight through the roof of this level as well. What could have happened here? What was this place? What am I doing here? These thoughts haunted him every step he took as he searched for answers. Answers he knew would never come. Stepping through a stone doorway, he made his way to one of the four towers.

He crept slowly as he made his way towards strange tower. It was covered in shadow and he could feel his heart sink as he approached. Suddenly he felt an icy hand upon his shoulder, his heart missed several beats as he jumped around to see what had grabbed him. There was nothing there; he could feel the breath leaving his body. Fear was taking him. A shadow suddenly passed in the darkness before him, he had seen enough. Pulling himself together he ran into the upper chamber and made his way for the stairs. As he entered, the torch cast his final light into the darkness and faded to blackness without warning or reason. He didn’t care, it was time to leave. What madness drove him to this place? As he ran his feet failed him and he tripped onto the cold stone floor and stumbling right through the hole in the floor to the chamber below. The darkness took him.

Light now shone through the hole peering down on him like a hot beam. Water from an unknown source above hit his face as he slowly began to stir. How long have I been out? He though to himself. A day? A week? Moving slowly sat up, and then he felt it. His right hand had grasped a small object within the dirt. As he stood up and began to investigate what he had found, a quick moment of shock overtook him as he noticed it was a ring still attached to the bone of the previous owner. He quickly removed the bone and began to examine the ring. It was made of silver, and in the middle was a green gem which, when held to the light, seemed to encase a vortex of mist. There were etchings of what appeared to be four skulls, and engravings around each skull. All thoughts of escape and the fear that took him upon entering were cleared from his mind as he examined the thing he had found.

Chapter 2
Thoughts of Time

The sky was blue and clear like a great calm sea and the air was crisp as the first grip of fall began to take its hold. Gold’s, yellows, oranges and the colors of autumn filled almost every tree and lined the ground in a blanket of dying leaves. It had been a year since the great explosion and sundering of the temple.

He was only one of two who survived the tragedy that had befallen the once great and powerful temple. What was it that brought the temple to this point? Was it pride, or arrogance? Perhaps it was the line of Dark Lords that plagued the true ambitions of the temple. Mordain with his lust of unholy power, Fredrick with his lust of war, or Poet’s lust of magic; all these leaders served a purpose but the path they lead was of their own making and not the path for which the temple had been intended.

Durnik took in a deep breath of the crisp morning air as he admired the morning. His mind plagued with thoughts of the Temple as it had been, as it could have been.
Forced now into seclusion he awaited his brother Legato, together they were the last two survivors of the temple. Staring into the endless thicket of trees for what seemed hours until a voice that seemed to come from all around caught his attention and from a dense set of trees to the east as the figure began to emerge. “Have you been waiting all morning?” It exclaimed. Durnik turned his head to see the figure appear to materialize from the thick morning mist that still lay as a barrier to the Forrest. Legato was wearing heavy thick robes of black and red linens. His face was older more distraught, he had seen much.

Durnik turned slightly and motioned for Legato to follow him. “We have much to discuss.” As they made their way into Durnik’s small stone home, Legato noticed many items that seem to have been taken from the temple including a large collection of books sprawled out upon a large table and the floor beneath. He recognized some of the books, others he did not, however his faced turned more grim when he saw a smaller more insidious book lying open. He recognized it immediately, and it showed in his expression. It had been Mordain’s personal journal; much trouble had come from that book. It was widely known that Mordain kept a journal explaining much of his works and prophecies that led to many and it was always one conquest too many.

“Where did you find all of this? I thought everything was destroyed in the great blast?” Legato said sharply. Durnik could sense the tension in his brother’s voice but more than that, he could feel it. “Relax, and I will explain.” Durnik said in a reassuring tone. Pouring a hot cup of tea, he motioned for Legato to sit at the cluttered table. As he himself sat he cleared a pile of books and placed them on the floor and began to relay everything.


Rain pelted the sand and a sudden flash of light illuminated the clouded black of a moonless sky. The thunder moved the very ground as it roared across the sky. Members of the temple were gathered within taking seats made of old wood in the main chamber. As the Black Altar shown as the center piece and, as they had a hundred times before, the great skulls upon each of the Black Altars pillars glowed hues of red, green, white, and blue. And as before there was a sacrifice to be made, but this night would not be anything like before. Durnik and Legato were first down the stairs, each holding the arm of what was to become another sacrifice, a soul for the gem to devour and grow even stronger. She seemed almost too weak to stand, though eager for the known outcome. Her face was without hope and seemed to welcome the coming death that almost assuredly awaited her.

He seemed to float down the stairs as a wraith, his eyes fixated on the green emerald gem upon his finger. Durnik and Legato seemed to share the same uneasy look. It was widely whispered within the temple that Poet was madly obsessed over the power of the gem and the altar. Many times he has tried to control of the gem the way its maker had. Nights would be spent pouring over old spell books and that black journal and nights of failure would keep him from his goal of immortality. His obsession turned to madness which, could have been the gems intention all along. It was known that Fredrick ever feared to use the gem, and kept it hidden deep in the temples vaults only entrusting Poet to study it. Upon Fredrick’s sudden disappearance, Poet claimed the gem for himself. Now focusing his gaze at the kneeling body in the center of the altar, he seemed to peer past her. His eyes were now cold and empty, a hint of empathy that once remained glinted for a moment as he raised a small black journal from his robes and began to chant in a commanding voice. The ritual had begun…

The few remaining members of the now declining temple began to chant as Poet began to cast the soul claiming ceremony that would lead him to immortality. The ground beneath them began to shake as the altar began to vibrate with a low-pitched hum that resonated from each of the four pillars. The torches that lit the room blew out and only the green glow of the gem lit the room. Trying to brace themselves Durnik and Legato fell back against the walls behind them, their faces now in a state of worry as the temple began to shake as if the gods themselves were trying to lift it from its very foundations. They could sense the approaching doom and the realization that everyone inside was going to die. This was not the path of the temple and they knew it. Making their way to each other and toward the main hall they could still see Poet proclaiming the spell as his sacrifice, Lilly Thann, was now lying strewn upon the ground dead. It was at that moment that the gem betrayed Poet, as he made the claim of immorality upon the taking of Lilly Thann’s soul, the gem’s green hue faded and the room went dark. A scream of terror and fear filled the main chamber as the realization of the betrayal struck Poet and his roar was heard throughout the temple. The sudden silence was followed by an explosion which cracked the foundation of the temple itself. Durnik and Legato were far enough away from the main chamber, but did not escape the blast. They were thrown into the doors by the shockwave and covered in rubble.

Under the rubble seconds felt like minutes, minutes felt like hours. Durnik’s leg was broken under the weight of a large boulder; Legato was knocked un-conscious but looked unhurt otherwise. Moments later he sat straight up to see his brother attempting to mend a broken leg. He helped Durnik, now wearing a splint, to his feet and they were able to take their first look at what had happened. The temple had been shaken asunder and broken. The halls were covered in stone rubble, and dust from broken walls; furniture laid broken and thrown all about. They made their way back to the main chamber; there they looked in horror as they saw the cataclysmic damage that had happened to their once beloved home. There was a gaping hole through the stone roof that tore through both levels of the temple. The very foundation was cracked and crumbling beneath their feet. There was a circular spread of debris from where the black altar once stood, its pillars broken and strewn outwardly. There was little evidence as to what happened to others, though they did not need to speculate. Oddly, however, there were no signs of Poet’s body, or the gem.


“When we left the temple that night, I found Mordain’s journal and took it.” Durnik explained. Legato didn’t look anymore relaxed than he had when he first noticed it, however Durnik continued. “I read the journal, and found this…” Durnik opened the book to one of the last pages and placed it in front of Legato. Hesitantly Legato began to read his eyes seemed to fixate on the writing within:

When the Temple has fallen into rot and decay.
The last dark lord slain by his own lust of power.
And the Temples remnants have scattered into the shadows.
A chosen one will come with no purpose or intention.
There this mortal will find the last artifact of a forgotten shadow.
The skulls will take hold and the mortal shall rule.
Purification will take hold and the Temples old shadow shall fade.
He will return the once mighty to his rightful place.
And the true goal of the Temple shall finally come to light.

“He knew… ” Legato said as he sat back in his seat in almost amazed. “Yes” Durnik answered. “And that’s not all. After I began to skim over the pages, the journal also made mention of his secret library within the temple, which is where all of these books came from. Some talk about his notion that the temple will eventually broken, others deal with his terrible incantations. I took them so that we may keep them safe and out of others hands.” Legato began to understand and for the first time since he entered his brothers house he looked relaxed. “What are we to do about the prophecy?” Durnik smiled. “It has already begun; the signs of the prophecy are coming true. I heard rumor that lights had been seen in the temple just a week past.” Legato looked at Durnik curiously. “Couldn’t that just be looters?” Durnik continued to smile. “No, I don’t think so. With all that has happened there no one has the courage to enter its remains except the very brave and I have yet to see a looter undimmed by the thought of being attacked by an evil spirit. ” Durnik paused a moment his face turned grim as he reached over and closed the journal. “No brother, someone was pulled there.” Legato took a sip of what was left of his now cold tea. “The gem.” He hesitated as he looked up at Durnik.
Durnik sat back down. “Yes.”

Chapter 3
Rebuilding what what lost

It had been a week since they had first reunited in Durnik’s cabin. The revelations of what had been discussed were still fresh in their minds, but now, they met under a dark cloudless sky. The stars seemed to shine more brightly than ever before and reflect off the sand dunes that lay in front of them. The journey through the sands to the resting place of the temple lay treacherous. The air was crisp and cold as it had always been but the once turbulent storms that raged through the area were gone, the night was clear and one could see ahead for what appeared to be miles. As they made their way into the desert, the shape of the temple’s remains grew larger. No word was spoken and only the sound of the shifting sands filled the air. Durnik and Legato were filled with thought, but one thought alone dwelled in both their minds. It was something they would have never suspected though it now burned in their minds as a great fire…” Purification will take hold and the Temples old shadow shall fade.”

As they approached the ruins of the temple, they could see that much work was needed. Durnik and Legato stood side by side as they began to speak, the wind picked up and howled and the sand around them swirled in a cyclone. Moments later, two large golems stood before them awaiting any command. Durnik and Legato then spoke in unison. “Rebuild it.” The golems bowed and immediately began to move the large debris and started to rebuild the temple. These towering formations of sand and rock stood a full story tall and in a humanoid shape, though they had no distinguishing features. As they worked, Durnik and Legato sat in the sands giving direction to the golems when needed, but spent the majority of their time speculating to themselves in silence the meanings of the prophecy.

Ever since Fredrick’s disappearance and the rise of Poet, Durnik and Legato began to fear and hate the gem. They saw the fear Fredrick had of the gem and remember his words when Poet asked why it was locked in a vault and never used. “It is of his will that all shall suffer to that gem, only he can command it and it is him only that I fear.” These words echoed in Durnik’s ears. Fredrick never spoke of the gem again. When they saw the obsession in Poets eyes as he claimed the gem for himself, and his arrogance for thinking he could claim the power of the gem, they never realized that the beginning of a prophecy had begun. Now, however, it was all making sense. Whether it was Mordain’s will or the Gem’s, the prophecy had begun. The line of dark lords, arrogant and prideful, was gone, and now one would come who would see the temple renewed. These thoughts soon eased their pain of the gem and as if suddenly blanketed by the warmth of a fire these thoughts fell further from their mind and finally the questions didn’t matter anymore. The only thing that mattered now was to find this mortal chosen one and rebuild the temple.

The damage to the temple was severe and it was weeks before the temple was even able to host anyone for a night within its walls. The brothers had returned night after night to prepare the temple and restore it. Their magics were fading as they spent night after night without rest, summoning their golems and restoring old items to new. It was on the 76th day that the shell of the temple had been completed, its halls had been restored, the passages rebuilt, the vault secured. Room by room the temple had been restored and its foundation re sewn. For all the work done the temple was still empty, a new throne and furniture would need to be rebuilt. Worries of another day they thought. As they sent their golems to sleep for the final time, they merged into the great chamber.

The remnants of the black altar leaning against the wall close to where it once stood. A sudden fear of rebuilding it came to mind as they looked at its shattered parts. Thoughts of another dark lord claiming it for his own and a conquest not of the temples filled their minds. The blackness of the chamber seemed to consume the empty room as they looked at the broken pieces. Suddenly, without a sound or word, the pieces of the altar flew past them rebuilding in mid air as if they were watching time in reverse, and were placed where they stood before. The brothers swung around, ready for whatever awaited them. In the blackness they saw a set of green eyes that seemed to glow in the light. These were not the bloodshot eyes of a man, no, these were the eyes of an elf, but something was different. They were like deep green emeralds set in pure white crystals. His pupils were large as they soaked what little light there was in this black chamber, and it was clear from their iridescent nature he could see them perfectly. And finally a soft voice spoke, “Trouble yourself no more my friends, your work here is finished. Take rest within these walls and call them home once more.”

Chapter 4
Beginning of All Things

A month had passed and the cold bite of winter had already sunk its teeth into Britannia. Though admittedly the Desert of Compassion never truly felt the full and brutal climate changes that plagued other parts of the world, the desert still felt bitter cold. The stars were veiled by shadows of clouds that seemed to pass from the north quickly as if a purpose drove them to let down their rage in a distant land. The sand dunes shifted in the winters howling winds that always followed this season and the shapes of large desert scorpions and their orc masters could be seen in the distance fading like wraiths in the mist as they made their way to some unknown location deep in the desert.
Inside the temple it was warm and the scent of burning wood crackling in a large fire now covered the ancient stench of decay except in the darkest corners of the temple. The dark hallways were warmly lit by torches while the shadows they cast danced against the rough stone walls. Very little furniture or accommodations had been created what was there, however, was new. Voices echoed from the great hall on the second level; seemingly unintelligible except from the room from which they originated. Durnik, Legato and Meneldur sat at a sturdy but plain oak table close to the fireplace. A large pot of tea was set in the middle of the table with breads, and cakes. As they had every night for the past month, they discussed the past, and future of the temple as well as other armies and guilds in Britannia.
For the time that they had spent in the temple Durnik and Legato felt fully rejuvenated from their long nights spent using their magic to rebuild it. A soft but deep voice reverberated off the walls “It is best to bring what was left back here. They shall be put into the vaults and restricted from all who would try to use them.” Durnik stood from his chair. “I agree, in the wrong hands they could work against what we are trying to accomplish, or cause another great catastrophe” Durnik replied and continued. “I shall make haste to recover the items from my sanctuary in the wood and return here without delay.” Durnik pulled out the small black journal from his robes. “This should be the first item to go into the vaults.” Meneldur took the journal in hand and nodded. “I agree.” He said. His eyes fixed on the book for a brief moment as Durnik handed it over. Legato took the last sip of tea from his cup and as he stood placed it on the table. “I shall seek out Mirshann from Bregan D’Aerth and request a meeting as you ask, they have been allies for a long count of years. I doubt they will object to your offer.” Meneldur was the last to stand, Mordain’s journal still in hand. “I hold you both to your purpose, and will await you here. Take the shortest routes, for there is still much to do.”


As Legato stepped through the great metal doors of the temple and into the sands, the wind caught his cloak and brushed his face with sand. He could see the great statue of Mondain out front standing like a guardian to the temple. After a moment the wind died down, and Legato summoned his horse and as he mounted he looked back to see Meneldur standing at the steps to wave him and Durnik off. Durnik however had already been mounted and on his way east out of the desert. Legato made his way south. Though it was a shorter route, it was known to be a much more dangerous. Legato, however, did not fear the dangers of the desert. The Orcs who shared the sands with the temple had an uneasy alliance, for Mondain created them and to upset his greatest servants would be instant death.
When he passed the boarders of the great desert plains he continued south to the main road. Morning had come and the sun seemed to wash away the turbulent clouds that hung in the sky as he left . For two days he rode on without rest through the hills and forests until finally he came to the great castle of Bregan D’Aerth. It stood large and intimidating against the backdrop of the thicketed forest behind it. Its stones were old and rough from years of war and wear. Towers like large guarding sentries stood at all four corners and appeared to be five stories high. The large gray metal doors were decorated in blackened spider designs in Drowish fashion and all around the castle a shadow seemed to loom even in a now cloudless sky. Upon the right side of the doors a long rope that went up into the stone of the keep into a small tower and looked to be attached to a large carbon scored bell. At once Legato pulled the rope and the bell sounded, its mechanical tone echoed all over the castle and into the forest beyond scaring a large flock of birds and sending them into the air like a wisp of smoke.
It was several minutes before someone opened the door. Legato had been admiring the magnificence of the castle and in particular the Drow designs on the doors. Suddenly a large crack and pop came forth from the door as it began to shriek open. Moments later a hooded Drow answered the door though he did not say anything. Legato knew of the Drowish culture and understood that the Drow males were inferior. “I must speak with Mirshann” Legato spoke clearly and with purpose. The hooded figure looked curiously for a moment then motioned for Legato to follow him. He led him beyond the courtyard and into a large chamber. It was filled with ancient books, artifacts and trinkets of all kinds. “The lady Mirshann shall be with you shortly.” The hooded figure announced. He then disappeared behind a passageway door.
Legato, who always had an interest in magic trinkets, looked around the room until he came upon a curious rounded mirror. Its frame was made of silver and had detailed scroll work all around it. As Legato leaned in for a closer look a curious, yet humorous, male voice filled the room. “Was that the face you were born with or did someone hit you with a shovel?” Legato laughed out loud as he realized that he had stumbled upon a rare enchanted mirror. He continued to examine the scroll work as the voice rang out again. “Wow it looks like you were spared the ugly stick and hit with the ugly tree!” Legato laughed again as he continued study the mirror. Suddenly another voice filled the room. “Isn’t it great?” the voice echoed softly. Legato continued to examine the mirror as if unconcerned with the voice behind him. “Remarkable.” He replied as he finally turned around. “What brings you out into the world and more importantly to my door, Legato?” Mirshann asked with wicked smile.


Durnik wasted no time, he did not look back to see Legato mount his horse, or see Meneldur wave them off. He was headed east at all speed, no wind, hill, mountain or forest would deter his purpose. Holding his course for only about a day he decided to take a detour and headed south west. He felt an uncontrollable urge to head to the small town of Cove. Once a great mining town, it was now run down after years of turmoil in the area. Now it seemed, however, that the city had met some measure of peace. As he rode past the cities wooden gates he could see the sun glaring down upon the dusty roads that paved the way to the few shops and houses. There was nothing made of stone, one would almost think it strange that a mining town would not have a stone structure but everything in this city had been made of wood from the surrounding forests.
What am I doing here? Durnik thought to himself. “I have a mission to accomplish.” Durnik dismounted his horse in front of the inn for a moment and glanced around. His eye suddenly caught what looked to be a Drow elf talking to someone at the inn; normally he would have given little heed to the Elf however there was something odd about this Drow. He talked politely with what appeared to be the innkeeper. Durnik’s curiosity only grew when he looked in the face of the Drow; his eyes were not the normal Drow color of red or purple they were like that of a wood elf deep blue crystal. Durnik began to take a deeper curiosity of this seemingly frightened Drow who was now asking questions of a very annoyed and rude innkeeper. “Get on wit’ ya!” The Innkeeper finally yelled. “You raise your voice to a Drow? That is most unwise.” Durnik interjected with a smirk. The innkeeper took a sharp glance that turned to fear quickly as he realized to whom he was speaking. “I didn’t realize…” The Innkeeper began. “It’s all right, go back to your…various…well whatever it is you do.” Durnik cut him off sharply. He had come to stay in the small town many times, and was well known by many locals. Some praised him, others did not but, all feared and respected him. Years before he had saved several children and townspeople from a rockslide caused by several Ogres, and then proceeded to slaughter the Ogres en mass.
As they made their way to a table in the far side of the tavern Durnik got his first real look at this Drow. He did not stand tall as most elves do and he wasn’t as muscular as Drow normally are nor was he as thin as the wood elves usually were. His skin was dark blue and his messy hair was pure white with a silver tint. The tavern was usually noisy and crowded with miners who would come to drink after a hard day at digging up various ores. The warmth of the tavern today, however, seemed to be drained and only a few patrons were there. Durnik motioned for this strange Drow to sit in a rather rugged looking wooden chair. “You are not fully Drow are you?” Durnik began as he sat at on a rather uncomfortable chair across from him. “No sir, I am half Drow and half wood Elf.” The Drow replied. “Well then.” Durnik began. “What brings you out this way?” Durnik began to get a sinking feeling. Something wasn’t right with this Elf and Durnik could feel it. “Well M’lord I have had these dreams…”
Durnik listened for roughly an hour as this seemingly ignorant Elf talked at length about dreams he had about a temple in the desert and an ancient evil that lives there. Durnik first thought that the Elf was playing him for a fool and knew who he was but it soon became clear that this Elf may have been separated from more than just the world but maybe his sanity as well. Never before had Durnik seen an Elf so unaware, and never before had he heard a Drow so polite. Still, something made him uneasy about this whole thing. But it was apparent to Durnik what needed to be done and it became clear why he was pulled here and what he was to do. His thoughts turned wicked as he let the Elf finish his tale. When the Elf was done, Durnik pulled out several small scraps of paper and scribbled a quick drawing and a name under each. “Seek out these two people.” Durnik pointed to the drawings. “I’m sure they will aid you.” Durnik stifled a laugh and thinking wickedly to himself. “I have really enjoyed our chat but I still have two days ride ahead of me and I cannot be late.” The Elf arose and followed Durnik out of the tavern thanking him as they went. As Durnik mounted his horse the Elf stood watching, “I’m sorry I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Daegoth.” Durnik looked at him a moment and, then, without a word rode away.


Meneldur waved them both off, Durnik to the east and Legato to the south. As soon as both Durnik and Legato were out of sight, he returned to the comfort inside the temple. Cold as it was outside this eve, the temple remained warm and now all was quiet except for the occasional gust of wind that would sweep sand against the walls of the temple. Making his way into the main chamber, the black journal still in hand, he stopped in front of the black altar. Looking at the four pillars where the great skulls of power once stood he sighed a moment then spoke a quick incantation which revealed a secret staircase that lead under the main chamber. As he made his way down the winding stone stairs the air became colder and the warmth of the temple from above dissipated. At the bottom of the stairs was a large vault door, which stood roughly ten feet high, four feet thick and made of a strange silver metal. On the vault door there were many noticeable incantations in ancient Elvish and one in a strange tongue that was known only to Meneldur. After speaking another set of incantations and waving his hand by the door it cracked open and swung smoothly on a large hinge.
The vault was pitch black for a brief moment but as the door came to a stop Meneldur waved his hand again and the torches and candles lit to reveal a large vault the entire width and length of the main chamber above. Another entrance could be seen in the north eastern corner with the same sized and type of door, which was revealed as the way into the vaults from the library. The walls here were smooth and white and the floor was made of black and white marble. There were six large smooth black marble pillars, three on each side, that rose to the ceiling and their bases held Elvish designs. There had been no paintings on the walls or any items to speak of other than that of a few empty cases, bookshelves, a few tables and cabinets all awaiting treasures to be stored within, or upon them. In the middle of the room there were three small marble pillars standing next to each other about four feet high with square glass cases upon them and a jet black silk pillow inside each. Meneldur took the little black journal still in hand and placed it inside one of these glass cases then muttered another incantation.
He looked at the book in the case for several minutes his mind pondering. “You can come into the light, Fearun.” He said, finally breaking the silence but keeping his eyes fixated on the little black journal. A tall muscular figure standing roughly six feet emerged from behind one of the pillars behind Meneldur. His face was covered by a black skull helm of some large humanoid creature. His eyes shown like bright orange flame behind the mask. His armor was a mix of metals and leathers and completely black except for the blood rubies that had been inlaid in the chest piece. Off his back and shoulders flowed a clean blood red cloak that just barely brushed the ground. “He should be revered, not treated as a blemish.” Fearun said as he stepped into the fire light. “I have no doubt, Fearun. Mordain did great things, powerful as he was, they were terrible and destructive serving his own purpose.” Meneldur replied his face still fixed on the journal as if he were reading it. “Is.” Fearun quickly snapped. Meneldur finally broke his gaze upon the journal and looked Fearun in the eye. His gaze was stern as if to say to drop the subject. Tension and rage grew in Fearun, it was his nature to be aggressive and his thoughts grew dark easily. “Save your rage there is no place for it here, there are better uses for it elsewhere.” Meneldur now smiled warmly as he continued. “I know you revere him, and what he was able to accomplish, but he has ascended and to admire him openly will result in ill fortune for us all, besides there is much to prepare for.”
Meneldur led Fearun from the vault back into the main chamber and then into the great hall where he had spent much of his time. “In two days time Durnik will come across a rather peculiar Elf. He will look Drow but have the eyes of a wood Elf. Durnik is going to send this little rabbit into a den of wolves.” Fearun eyed Meneldur curiously. “I can only assume this den of wolves you speak of as the High Council. More than that, what good will sending this whelp into their midsts do; other than draw attention to us.” Fearun asked. He began to grow frustrated at the thought of this plan. Meneldur, however, maintained a warmly wicked smile. “You lack vision, Fearun. It is already known that something is happening here. Sending this ‘whelp’ into the lot of them will throw them off balance. They will not listen to him, the only thing they will be concerned with is prejudice for the fact that he is Drow and his dreams will be taken as the ramblings of a mad man.” Fearun looked undaunted. “And if this little plan of yours fails, or should any of them get too close?” Meneldur could see Fearun was still searching for a why, [why was this whelp so important?] and not a how. Meneldur put his hand on Fearun’s shoulder he knew what Fearun wanted to really know. “You have wisdom that compliments your years Fearun; He was a chosen and was given the sight. You know what to do.”
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-Veritus, Arch Priest of Mondain
"The softest things in the world overcome the hardest things in the world; Through this I know the advantage of taking no action." ~Lao Tzu

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