Weary
By Fadeen | March 24, 2015
The Dark City always seemed alive.. Always seemed busy.. the theater district bustled.. the inn was booked full and no room remained.. Soon the show would be in production and he would have the temporary respite such artistic diversions afforded.. It was a busy task, but one he took up gratefully.. it kept his thoughts from her, and it pleased Sursa.. These newcomers were entertaining enough, welcome distraction.. After so long away returning to play the role of the spoiled Prince was trying, but nonetheless different.
He strolled quietly past the market, his eyes lingering on the shop, closed now.. but familiar curtains hung in the doorway still.. Her vendor had long since packed his bags and left.. probably taking whatever merchandise he had remaining in payment..
He turned from the building.. too many memories, too much pain.. His footfalls fell silent upon the pavers as he continued on to the museum.. Sursa had said he had cause to go there.. to see what was displayed in the upper floor now.. And so he had gone..
He heard the heartbeat even as he entered the Hall.. the girl was upstairs.. reckless and young.. he reminded him vaguely of Her.. He slipped into the Shadows, not interested in speaking, in their antagonistic little dance. For some reason tonight it tired him, and so he stalked onto the second floor shrouded deep within the blackness... He moved in the blackness, his eyes tracing the dim view of the room, fixating briefly on her before moving to the familiar statues that decorated the top floor.. Artisans of legendary skill had placed their craft here.. craft gathered by Sursa, over the long course of centuries..
But there were no displays.. unfamiliar to him, they had not been here before.. but as his eyes fell to the statues.. No they were not unfamiliar at all.. They were the pieces he had wrought with his own hands.. For Her so many years past.. Pieces that had adorned familiar shop.. and Her home.. and yet here they sat, among the crafts of Masters.. here, in this place..
He fled the place then.. moving to the darkness of the Prison District, intent to bury the pain, the sorrow of all the things he -should- have been.. could yet have been in the familiar warmth of Blood.. the death of those who had the misfortune of crossing his path.. not that they deserved death, any more than any other had.. Only that he came upon them.. and could find no way to balm his loss, save to hurt them.. to drain them, and torment them.. Anything.. so long as for a moment he could forget.. forget all he had given up, and all he would -never- have..
His awareness returned slowly.. first he could hear the soft sounds of the village.. the creaking of the boards of the manor, her movements.. albeit few at his side.. The dream lingered yet.. his eyes damp with it.. as suddenly wound was laid bare again after so many years.. Even in the wake of what he had found here.. something.. somewhere was missing.. wasn't as it should be..
Even if he could not place it.. Somewhere within he knew.. He Always Knew.
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the tale of the Golden Dragon
By GoldHotShot4 | March 24, 2015
Deep in the mountains of a far of land, long before time was recorded is where this tail begins. He lay there at the back of his cave slumbering as the wind could be heard blowing past the entrance of his den. the soft sound of water running from a lower chamber gently fills the air as the sound of light drops fall from the ceiling of the room. He awakes. in a low roar he speaks to himself. he sighs. " hmmm another night passed and still no end in sight. this world has become so boring and meaningless to me. whats the point of my being here?" he asks himself as he does every day. "long have I lived. I cannot count the cycles ive seen come and go. and yet here I am still. the little beings below me in this world run around. such short lives. yet they waist them in war and pain. never to grow old enough to understand the meaninglessness of war. how pointless it is to kill your own kind" he says as he lets himself drift back into slumber.
~to be continued~
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The unfortunately fortunate Rouge
By Arimus | March 24, 2015
Marius placed a shaky hand on the ground trying again to force himself to his feet. Such a display of power he had never seen. Warm blood ran down his face, some of it getting into his eyes as he tried to rise.
Drip... Drip... Drip...
It was the steady sound of his blood running from a gash in his head. He'd earned it when his cage plummeted from the beam that suspended it in the air. All around him, those that were alive, were staggering to their feet. Slaves, all of them, but only their chains kept them bound to anything resembling a common cause. Most alarming, however, was that his drow masters hadn't begun visiting death upon them. After all, to a drow, it would be a slave's fault that his cage fell absent anything he'd done save sit there and hope to die.
There were screams and explosions not far off going in the opposite direction from the plaza, the place where they'd hope to sell him. The attack started in the plaza and moved off in one direction, as if intent on a singular purpose in a whole city full of damned souls in need of rescue. It was as though Selvetarm himself had blown down the gates of the settlement in seach of a battle he found worthwhile so that he might finally die.
It had not been Selvetarm though, no, Marius clearly saw a man. At least, he appeared to be a man. He wore a dark red robe. It was the same robe worn by the figure who'd hired them, Marius and several other sellswords. He'd given each of them a vial of blood and their weight in gold, and sent them off to the underdark with instructions not to open their vials. Several of the men who later went off with their gold, no intent on doing the work for their payment, were found dead before the night was out. Marius was a talented thief, and a competent mage, but he wasn't a fool. He knew then that their had been more to this man than met the eye. How much more, if he ever learned it, would be a tale worth telling all its own. When he and the sellswords were ambushed he didn't know how many of them fell, how many still lived, or if they'd kept their vials. How long had he been there? Days, weeks, months? In the endless dark and artificial light, it meant so little now and between regular beating he'd stopped counting. He hadn't kept his vial of course, they took it along with everything else he had. Though that wasn't the last time he saw the vials.
He paused as the pieces began to come together...
He rolled to his back, tired from his struggles. The bleeding may of slowed but he was too weak to do anything other than lay there. If putting the pieces together was his last solace, and took his mind off his inevitable doom, so be it. Some of the vials, perhaps his was among them, were carried by a high priestess of Lolth as she passed by with a prisoner, a woman, and her escorts. Were it not for the bruises and caked on blood, and other evidences of visited torture, she probably would have been beautiful. Just before the robed figure appeared the prisoner they were escorting somehow came in contact with one of the vials. It was then that the robed figure appeared. He seemed to materialize out of thin air, cleaving the closest drow he could reach in half with a strike so swift and forceful it cracked the very air. The woman, she cried out at the sight of him. The priestess and her guards saw him too, as they reacted to the deafening strike. Here in the heart of the underdark surrounded by the faithful and perhaps favored by lolth herself the priestess and her guards hurriedly dragged the woman away. They were not seeking to take the battle elsewhere, no, they were fleeing from him.
As a practiced mage, even if he wasn't one of stature himself, Marius knew magic's power. The magical energy brought forth in the moment the robed figure laid eyes on the woman shook the entire cavern in which the city resided. Drow, slave, friend, foe, hapless creature, those closest to him were simply gone. Had Marius not covered his own eyes, if he weren't dead, he would most certainly be blind. The torrent of spells became more intense, his blade relentlessly hacking apart anything that managed to get close to him be it drow or fleeing slave. As he continued on in the direction the priestess had fled he turned on a heel and sent a blast of energy back towards the largest avenue into the plaza, and the resulting shock-wave had knocked Marius' cage from its suspension.
That had to be it...
The vials were spelled. Perhaps Marius wasn't meant to be captured, but the blood was meant to summon the robed figure. That would also explain how the men who didn't make good on their pledge died. A powerful enough mage could siphon off some of himself therein, perhaps to bypass a barrier or transport himself somewhere, should he be killed... or to look for someone.
He was beginning to lose consciousness again. He could barely make out the faint ring of large metallic footsteps as they moved towards him. He had not the strength to roll over to see what fate awaited him. Now he would simply die. He felt heated metal against the back of his neck, armored fingers closing forcefully around his robes and then he was hoisted into the air as if he were nothing. He saw only the back of massive armored red heels as he was thrown over, what could only be a giant's left shoulder. Slave's still scurried about in all directions, some fighting amongst themselves, some arming themselves, some attempting to escape and others still taking the coward's way out. With little concern left to his own fate, he made one last attempt to raise his head to the right only enough to see his salvation or destruction. He never made it before he blacked out, but he caught a glimpse of the woman prisoner cradled securely against the creature's massive armored torso.
He woke with a start. He was in a small but comfortable room, clean and his wounds had been dressed. At the foot of the bed there was a heaping bowl of stew and bread. Lamb from the smell of it. A stinging sensation came to his right cheek as he moved about, and he reached up to grace it with his hand. There where once a slave brand had been he now had a fresh scar. He winced at the pain, but hunger was stronger. Reaching for the stew he also found a parchment rolled up next to the bowl. He unrolled the parchment, the simple enormity of the message he read there confirmed any suspicious he might have had about his escape.
I found your vial, friend. Safe travels.
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Home
By Fadeen | March 24, 2015
Yet here it was.. Home. What was more, it began to quietly stir with the idea of more then just a place for him and Her, she had found recent pet.. and his own long since misplaced had sought him out.. His mind churned with the possibilities of building a family all his own.. Absent the need for lies an manipulations visited upon him by his own long absent Sire..
What if things could be different here.. So much he had been told to be had proven false.. She had risen.. in truth less mad then he had been when he had awoken.. But she had not been baptized in blood the same as he.. lacked his brutal and bloody upbringing.. and in denying his ways, offered him view of world long since obscured from darkened eye.. and wasn't that the point of all this?
Then there was his old friend so recently arrived.. A brother perhaps? Hadn't he so enjoyed the camaraderie he had with brothers.. both in life, and in death.. He had long since considered it. Now with evidence mounting that it worked so clearly..
So what then was the future.. She yet might fill the long empty place at his side.. Servants gathering to the House.. It was almost as the old days.. Absent certain irritations from then..
Still. He stilled, peering out the window over the small village.. the nightsky dark over the township. Still.. He wondered at them. His family.. Sursa.. Father.. Brother.. and Her. It had been many years.. yet still even in these quiet moments his mind would turn to them.. to Her again. So long since parted, yet unendingly the wound that he would carry always.. Balm that She was, he doubted if it would ever truly heal..
Wasn't that just the nature of this unending night? That each one gathers more scars.. more wounds, until finally they overpower the one.. leading him to madness.. or to endless constant sleep as Sursa was oft to take.. He had slept from time to time.. but never as she.. beyond years.. So it was with any Elder he had known.. they oft slept beyond the flow of years.. leaving the events of the world to spin on as they took to the earth.. There had been times he had considered such.. but instead he had done as he had in life.. Wandered, Aimlessly.
His eyes traced the rooftops, a small smile coming to his lips as he folded his arms behind his back.. Such thoughts were welcomed.. they reminded him of where he had come from, what he had endured, that he was yet sane.. To miss, to feel remorse.. These were things that had been gone for some years.. yet that they returned.. that he wished to reminisce.. to surround himself with a Family.. these spoke to his sanity.. to the presence of -something-..
Even absent Her.. even with the memory sometimes dragging at him.. Hadn't he told her.. perfection came -from- the marks that each carried.. Not absent them.
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EVENT – MARCH 22 2015 (9pm est)
By Thresh | March 22, 2015
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A house up and coming
By Jarickson254 | March 22, 2015
*Posters are pinned up around the caves of the under dark and are written in blood*
House sinore is now up and running and together we can reclaim the underdark
Come join us I am calling all drow new and old come join house Sinore bring back what is ours
Spread fear into the hearts of all those who stand in the way
We will take heads the drow have sit back far to long
It is time to spin Lloths web She is hungery and must be fed
[ if you would like to join House Sinore there is a lot of fun stuff planned seek out Matron Zestra sinore in game]
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A trial of faith and a journey to a new queen
By Jarickson254 | March 20, 2015
As she walked into the city of Ril’uaven she noticed lots of drow who had turned
She smiled and said to herself I have work to do I must clear the traitors
She looks around and begins to chant words of power
She prays Lloth bring this city back to its formal glory
Allow me to bring the drow back to their home
And get rid of the traders as zestra walked in the city she came to the grave yard
Just as her Grandma had spoke of many times before Dhaune was quite the queen
My grandma she was strong I shall carry on the Sinore name
Zestra walked to the throne and stood infront of the spiders lurking the castle
The spiders blocked her path she looked at them and with the snap of her whip
She said move I shall be the new queen of this city I shall bring it back to prospering
She stared at the thorne because she knew one day she would sit in the throne
Overlooking the city she smiles my drow come home you will be safe.
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A drow Reunion
By Jarickson254 | March 20, 2015
I am searching for all drow to Reunite i shall do all in my power to bring back the drow to their former glory
I will do what is right in taking back our city The drow will stand strong for i will one day be Valsharess of riluaven
we drow have sit back far to long
Jal orn B'luthyrr P'los l'ilythriil ( translation( all will bow before the drow
Zestra Sinore
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Curro
By _AP_ | March 20, 2015
She tended to.
In the innocence of youth, she had raced with gleeful freedom along the shores of her homeland. In the fervor of the blossoming, she had pursued knowledge relentlessly within the halls of the Academy. In the thrill of the hunt, she had harried the bloodsoaked streets of the Prison District.
And so it was that in this unfamiliar place she set to her familiar ways. It felt good to move again; the weightless rush of the chill air against her skin, the crunch of fallen leaves and branches beneath her bare feet. The moon had begun to peek through the clouds and dappled silver touched the leaves in places to light the forming dew drops like small liquid stars.
Her flickering gaze caught each glimmering orb as she passed, each glint or shine from a myriad of surfaces sparking her cautious nature. What dangers haunted this place? How long had it been? Where was she now? Where was her Family? Where was He? She rushed on, as if the answers merely awaited patiently wherever her feet came to rest.
A gleam caught her eye, out of place amongst the baubles of starlight. She came to a halt, the tattered remnants of her dress and mat of red hair rushing forward and straining against the abrupt stop. As the red strands cleared from her view, the brilliant green of her eyes reflected off the flat surface of an axe embedded deep within the trunk of a tree.
She looked around, listening, but heard nothing beyond the ambient sounds of the forest. She looked back to the axe. Its wound seemed fresh, sticky sap still marring the surface of the bark. Not far now. With a loud crack she jerked the axe free of its place, sending splinters of bark to scatter the shadows that had begun to creep like snakes from just as many nooks and cranies as the starlight had seemed to possess.
They had been there, distant in the corners of her eyes. They dipped behind every tree, shied from every glint of moonlight, skittered out from under her approaching steps. At times they pulsed and shifted as if they would spill onto her path and then in the next moment leave the world empty as if they had never existed at all. But all the while, they were silent.
She frowned down as the last black finger of darkness receeded from the bright gaze upon it. She did not know what awaited her in this new land, but she knew enough to be prepared. And so she gripped the axe tight in her hand, a blur against the landscape as she set to her running again.
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Shard Update: 3/18/2015
By Sulia | March 18, 2015
Quote:
Runics:
The method of acquiring runic crafting tools has been changed. 25 crafting coins will allow you to buy a deed for a random runic tool in the tool type of your choice. The tool you will receive will have (1) charge and will have one of eight possible levels at random.
The lowest level tool adds 2 properties from 25%-60% intensity. The highest level 5 properties at 50% - 100% intensity.
We have also adjusted the drop rates of the high end runic tools to their original levels. This should allow for a more equal chance of the crafter receiving Damascus tools.
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