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Post by The Forgotten God on Apr 1, 2015 17:31:36 GMT -5
The narrow ridge is between them, and the Daesh comes, impossibly fast, faster than Oriax can even really track. Stew grabs it tightly, and the demon strikes back, slashing the golem with all its might. Nyles attacks, his sword fast as lightning, strong and accurate, seeking a joint where perhaps the beast can be slowed. Fighting is nearly impossible in such thick clothes, but as the Daesh rears back, his dagger finds a kneecap and buries behind it, jutting through the thick leg, cutting sinew. Stew slams the Daesh and it swiftly knocked off the ledge, but not before making the beast bleed from his mouth. It lunges again, but the expert mercenary is more than equal, fending it off now that he has its measure, sword knocking aside claw and fang, hot black ichor spouting from the many wounds of the Daesh.
Nyles rotates around once again, and the Daesh charges, knocking the man backwards. He spills over the edge, but as the Daesh returns to consume the sorcerer, a sword stabs through the back of its head, making it look like it has a four foot steel tongue. Nyles pants as the draws the sword out. "Fuck, that thing is ugly." He looks to Oriax. "Good luck, sorcerer. Let me know when you plan on conquering the world," he says, possibly kidding.
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Kurts
Prince
Posts: 3,760
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Post by Kurts on Apr 1, 2015 17:46:19 GMT -5
Unaccustomed to actual physicality, Oriax was panting heavily when the daesh finally fell, breath crystallizing in the frigid air.
"I wish you well in Lys, sellsword." Oriax replied, seemingly genuine. Then he removed his mask, revealing his face for the first time since the Isle of Faces, and bowed his head slightly-a sign of respect rarely given in his homeland. "You were worth every gold piece."
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Post by The Forgotten God on Apr 1, 2015 17:52:22 GMT -5
"It's been a time," he admitted. He wanders off, setting out determinedly for Hardhome then to Lys.
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Kurts
Prince
Posts: 3,760
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Post by Kurts on Apr 1, 2015 17:56:42 GMT -5
Oriax put his mask back on, watching the sellsword's back as he shrunk into the distance. He gave one last passing glance to the dead daesh and glanced over the chasm Stew had fallen down.
"Alone again..." he mused, to himself, before continuing on his path, wherever it led.
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Post by The Forgotten God on Apr 1, 2015 17:58:45 GMT -5
For days the sorcerer marches, seeming immune to the needs of sleep, of food...of water. The voice calls him on and on, until at long last, when he feels he can go no further, he sees it. A black dome, hundreds of feet high. Around him he feels the presence of the Others, and as they circle him, he can't help but feel there was probably a better idea than trudging fifteen thousand miles to get turned into a wight.
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Kurts
Prince
Posts: 3,760
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Post by Kurts on Apr 1, 2015 18:04:26 GMT -5
Well...here I am., he reached out to the voice his head, blade of his dagger resting against his palm on the off chance a futile last stand was forced upon him.
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Post by The Forgotten God on Apr 1, 2015 18:06:39 GMT -5
The Others form some sort of rank around him, marching him to the dome. Inside is a strange looking mask, this one made of the same crystalline metal the creatures work with to make swords. Take the mask, the voice says. Don it. Wear it. Rule.
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Kurts
Prince
Posts: 3,760
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Post by Kurts on Apr 1, 2015 18:14:09 GMT -5
Oriax removed his weirwood mask, letting it clatter on the ground. He stared into his own reflection in the strange metal mask, the abyss in his black eyes staring back at him. He thought of all the years he had spent toiling for a golden mask and membership on the Council, consumed with envy. Now, that seemed so pointless. He had forged his own path and it had led him to this, for better or worse. Oriax of the Shadow, Adept of Asshai, placed the mask over his face-not knowing who or what he would be after.
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Post by The Forgotten God on Apr 1, 2015 18:23:05 GMT -5
As he places it on, he feels his mind expand, thousands of times over. He sees the past and present, the future in thousands of variations. He feels the dead, longing to rise from their dusty tombs or the ditches they had been buried in. He reaches out, not with hands, for no god needs hands, but with his will, seeking them, rise. He feels their slumber end....but then the power is back, and they return to their repose. The Wall. No wonder they had spent millenia building it, the Children and the First Men, and whoever else had helped them.
In his mind, he hears something, his new spirit self facing it. Others. Not one or two, but a hundred. Facing him, seeking his end, his life. The Great Other is ruler by power, and his weakness has made him bond with a mortal. One with the knowledge of a true sorcerer. One who can force the rebel Others to his will, to unite them again. To turn them against the true enemy of the cold world that circles a dead star. The humans. But the reuniting war will be long...but what is time, for those who can master death?
FIN.
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