He cocks his eyebrow, a bit taken-aback by the sudden and quick answer, and then nods his understanding. Or not really understanding, perhaps. Acknowledgment, since the terms she seemed so confident to use were a bit too abstract for his paradigm.
He timidly steps forward, toward the fighting band, and then slips behind them and towards the edge of the bridge, taking a good look down. His somewhat small and lithe stature attributed to his stealth- or perhaps they did not think that an aging, small shell of a man like himself would have any business with their weapons. "Quite a fall...," he mumbles to himself, looking over the bridge's railing.
"Praeses, Alia, Fero," he whispers, trying to avoid notice, as he flicks his wrist at two of the light-armored fallen paladins, then cocks it quickly upright and watches second-handedly as the two are brought promptly to the air.
"Hm... Where would we be without magic-?"
With that, he jerked his arm sharply and released the spell and the two victims, flinging them from the bridge and off the side, screaming to their quickly-impending deaths.
He nearly choked on his words, his body and mind suddenly wracked with nauseating pain. The strain of the spell was a tad bit too much for his oldened mind. He stumbled backward and little and dropped to his forearms. "Damn! Damn this!" he harshly whispered to himself as he struggled toward safety.
Tel-Silgulwath inclines his head slightly to see Cinara shrug. Not a very divulgent lot, the whole of them-
And then he barely catches site of Bowen, sliding first to his knees and then to his face. And I wouldn't want to get on any of their bad sides, either...
Tel-Silgulwath glanced critically at Sir Elric, inquiring him what to do. When the words did not come quickly enough, a pike jetted through the air and into his right shoulder and the opponent crudely tore it out. Tel-Silgulwath fell to his knees, his hand groping the hole bleeding crimson and scarlet over his battered, brown robes. He turned to see the face of a manic fallen Paladin.
Do they not see? Look at the strength he draws from his hatred! There is no question that the furnace of power that burns in the deepest Hell is by far superior to the frail light of the High Heavens.
As he thought that, he tried to stand up, only to be shot through again, this time in the thigh. He fell to his side.
If I only had the power, these idiots would all have Hell to pay. He inwardly chuckled at that unintentional pun. Is this madness? To be lost in thought in your dying hour?
He lay there, blood streaming from his body and in to the crevices between the cobblestones of the street.
"Light is such a fickle thing, Carloseus," budded-in Tel-Silgulwath, "I've studied it for years because it is the most openly-available and because it's free- you can find access to holy tomes and scrolls at any monastery, church, cathedral, or guild hall that is founded on the principles of the Gods of Light."
He looked at him sternly, "You know where the real power lies; you have direct access to its main source. Why don't you take it?"
Tel-Silgulwath glanced quietly and unobtrusively across the table to Cinara, who seemed lost in a world miles gone from this time and place. She seemed heavily concentrated, lost in her... her vision?
Is she telepathic?
He filed that possible tidbit away for the future, took one last look at her noticeably sobered yet fine face, and slid his chair back.
What an odd bunch, he thought for not the first time, and then walked out the room.
Tel-Silgulwath stepped from the wall and approached Sir Elric. "I do not sympathize with your kind very often, Sir Elric, though I believe you are different from many would-be worshippers and paladins of your light."
He put his slightly-aging hand on the paladin's shoulder and held his gaze heavily, "But, a certain times, I believe that it is necessary to do so, simply from a human standpoint, even if said subject does not immediately realize that sympathy can be good for the soul."
He let go, "I do not envy your new task- I must say that a hypocrit of any ideal sickens me. I worry that because of the mistakes of a few bad men your religion may fall to ashes some day, but as you stand here, ready to do the work of your masters despite the great moral conflict that is immediate, I tell you that I believe you are of great courage, and I would be foolish to say that you will not draw great strength from it. You are a good man in face of many bad ones- do not ever let the evils of the world make you sorrowful."
He stepped back a few paces, "And that is all." He stepped from the room.
Tel-Silgulwath kept mainly to himself the rest of the day, besides occasional questions to the residing priesthood and guild members on locations of things within the town- book shops, enchanters, libraries, and the like- for studying purposes, and also for one other thing which had suddenly become an item of interest- channeling his magic through his staff to amplify output power.
Dreams of the demon-world plagued his waking mind, but he dared not dwell on it- it would destroy him. Regret always did that.
Tel-Silgulwath could wait no longer that night. He went quickly to Carloseus' sleeping quarters and neared the bed. He arrived to see a priestess snuggled restfully in the blankets.
He shook her urgently awake, "Where is he?!"
She looked confused and a little scared, "I don't know- something came over me, and I fell to sleep..."
He grunted with annoyance.
"The gate can only open when I will it to."
And then it hit him. He summoned up a bit of Divination magic, "Accla, Callis, Dispicibo", to see his foot steps.
Shreds of light instantly flared to life leading to and from the door, the most recent being his, the second most recent being Carloseus'. He followed them as if they were a bridge to immortality.
He was too late. As he passed an open window, his aging hands grasped the frame as his staff fell to the marble floor in a clutter.
"Damn... Damn it all!"
He watched as Carloseus vanished in to nothing, along with all of his hopes and dreams.
After a few minutes of quiet contemplation, he silently slipped off back down the hallway, through the guild, and in to a quiet room to brood his failings.
As the others prepared for their various tasks and quests, Tel-Silgulwath took a few of the Order's prime tomes of teachings, disciplines, and quazi-spells and read them over in a shadowed window overlooking the courtyards in all their flowered and neatly-trimmed beauty.
The books contained nothing of interest- at least, not the kind he cared about. His interest in unfaithful and temporal gods diminished with the death of his family and his isolation in the world. The "spells" that he found occasionally (and magic methods) were novice at best, aside from some healing spells and sealing enchantments for use only in the face of demonic magic.
Demonic magic...
The thought was so beautiful. The forbidden magic. Its abilities could be limitless. The demons knew the better part of the world of magic far more comprehensively than did the angelics, or man. Weak man. Pitiful, mortal man. A curse.
He noticed he was starring at the spot where he and Carloseus had traveled to a demonic plane, by way of some manner of strange mental wrapping of Carloseus' mind. Why should such a gift go to the unsearching?
He let the thought pass. He would be there soon enough. And when he got there, he would help rescue Bastrom. And then, well...
He might well stay.
The world was now empty of anyone he cared to be with- his family, friends, colleagues. There was less and less he could discover that meant anything to him. The possibility of the answers to his ancestral past and the promise of powerful magicks was too good to pass up or resist.
He put his hand inside his robe and pulled out his father's journal and wrote down all he had thought, wary of his vanishing and aging mind. And another thought hit him.
Age?
Do not the demons live eternally? Do they have some secret? Would I care the price I would have to pay for it?
From outside, he could vaguely hear the clangs and slashes of those practicing their melee skills. He watched as the flower beds waved in the breeze like a pool of water, as the trees and bushes rustled with contentment in the sunlight.
Tel-Silgulwath stood in the grove a while longer, lost in his memories.
He stood at the foot of the great tower hewn of a single stone, the wide steps before him and the threshold open wide like the maw of a hungry beast. He watched the great windows far above spew out magic fire and lightning, thunder rippling from the sagging frames as pages and parts of chairs and tables flew out. He heard the screams far above- those of his brother and father. He had used a vision displacement spell and watched the battle from below- the Aggermawg, Keeper of Ennead Magicks, throwing all manner of forbidden spells and curses at his last family members from its torn and twisted fingertips. He had watched as his father writhed in pain on the stone floor slippery with his own blood, his bones being twisted slowly about in his body, ripping muscles and tearing organs apart. He had watched as his brother Tel-SareggIther was shot through by a vicious bolt of lightning, the Aggermawg's eyes alight with pleasure.
He had watched as his father fell to his death, untold volumes of Ennead secrets falling to pieces as they fell with him. He had landed on a disfigured statue beside the steps, a single journal still in his hand, as blood poured down the statue's irregular surfaces.
"T-T-Tel...-gulwath... There are still things...to be found... Do not let our people die with your... last breath!"
And there he had died. And there, Tel-Silgulwath had made his decision.
He shook his head and took one last look at the spot where the gate used to be. Briefly, the temptation to abuse Carloseus' mind passed through him. He quickly dispatched the thought.
Tel-Silgulwath felt a certain pang of disappointment as his hopes and dreams dissolved around him, then gathered his thoughts and turned to the miserable-looking Carloseus.
"Bastrom saved my life initially- he had healed me in the dark of the buried temple. I could not do my conscience justice by walking away from him when he is in such dire need, and is undergoing who-knows-what kind of torment. So, to save him would be only natural."
He thought a moment, leaning heavily against his make-shift staff.
"As for the condition of the gate's stability and our inability to pass very far under the divine protection of the church... It is a both a gift and a barrier. We must figure out how to breach it, but at that moment we would also need protecting from the hosts of that world."
"I would imagine that we only need you to have the gate stable for the time we need to pass through it and out of the influence of the holy power of the guild hall, at which point it could be closed. Perhaps once it is closed entirely the influence of the guild hall will vanish at the point of the seal in Otherworld and we would be thus able to move out and about."
"If that does not work, we might need to make ourselves seem to it as residents, by way of some enchantment. I favor the medium of the enchantment as a small thing that can be hidden away so as to keep it from being stolen from our persons- perhaps a dull-looking ring or amulet, or a charm of some sort."
I will not let this opportunity pass me by, he thought to himself, My searching could well be absolved within this gate, and I would be a fool to let it slip.
A thought briefly passed through him, "I do know of some enchanting that could do such a thing, come to think of it. There was a mage, I believe of the Horadrim in a far away land, that tampered with the power of transplanar and demon magic. He fastened his in the manner of arch ways with pendants embedded in their crux so as to act as a source of magic for the gateway to spread within its boundaries. However, in this case there is not a solid gateway- we probably would not want one so that demonkind would not be able to pass through the breach indefinitely- so perhaps we could apply the same magic and theory to our own selves, so that we are the receiving object. I do not know what the effect of having the enchanted object taken off would do to us while in the Otherworld, but I do not think we should chance it should we use this method."
"I know that Bastrom must be under incredible pain at the moment, but you must be strong enough to allow us to test the limits of your gate. You must rest tonight- first thing tomorrow morning we shall begin work. I will notify Sir Elric that we must part ways momentarily."
His eyes were wide and bright, his hands trembling as swiftly as his lips.
"This...This is..."
All the world was cast in hues of sunset- scarlet, garnet, fiery orange- as well as those of the darkest smoke in the deepest cavern- black in all its beauty.
"We stand at the threshold of Hell! Do you realize- no, can you fathom what powers the loremasters store in their hellish libraries? The demonics were the epicenter of the more powerful offensive magicks- many that the High Heavens could not even, nor wanted to, dream of!"
The pain that coursed his mind felt now like a sharply warm yet invigorating pool of water upon flesh on a cold morning.
"And the demons- they are eternal! Surely they would have records of the disappearance of my people and their magicks- this is a gift you have been chosen to discover!"
He turned to face Carloseus, "Tell me, what is this place called?"
(To the Dungeon Master- will this require a different thread or is there one in existence that can hold it? Or PMs strictly?)
Tel-Silgulwath could faintly hear the conversations of Sir Elric, Belgarath, the soft-spoken Cinara, and the others in the entry hall as he quietly stepped through the courtyard gardens, past flowers, shrubs, and small trees of varying colors and species, and to where Carloseus had vanished-
He stopped dead in his tracks.
Vanished?!
He quickly looked all about the spot- two trees placed side-by-side- for a trap door or hidden entrance, but there was nothing.
Tel-Silgulwath had studied the ways of the Druids and the old ways of the primal magicks, but he could find no explanation for what had just happened.
His mind instantly broke in to flames it seemed- fowl power surging through the membranes and crevacices. The demon magic from the temple- the power that recoiled on me when I tried to attack the wraith with my power- it feels as strong as it did that night!
He tried his best to shrug it off and stumbled between the twin towers of nature.
Tel-Silgulwath stared for a long moment out the threshold and into the outer brightness of the city lights.
In the dark of the tunnels I could not distinguish man from man, but here in the guild hall he seemed somehow... Different from other people.
He stopped his mind a moment and took a step from the support beam, anchoring himself on his supporting staff. And what if he knows more of the forbidden magicks of demonkind? Did not the Ennead dabble in such restricted yet potent fields? What if he knows more of the Enneadan magicks, themselves?
It was an opportunity he could not resist. His whole purpose of existence at this moment was for the documentation and revival of the ancient and lost Ennead ways. He slipped out the door behined him.
He timidly steps forward, toward the fighting band, and then slips behind them and towards the edge of the bridge, taking a good look down. His somewhat small and lithe stature attributed to his stealth- or perhaps they did not think that an aging, small shell of a man like himself would have any business with their weapons. "Quite a fall...," he mumbles to himself, looking over the bridge's railing.
"Praeses, Alia, Fero," he whispers, trying to avoid notice, as he flicks his wrist at two of the light-armored fallen paladins, then cocks it quickly upright and watches second-handedly as the two are brought promptly to the air.
"Hm... Where would we be without magic-?"
With that, he jerked his arm sharply and released the spell and the two victims, flinging them from the bridge and off the side, screaming to their quickly-impending deaths.
He nearly choked on his words, his body and mind suddenly wracked with nauseating pain. The strain of the spell was a tad bit too much for his oldened mind. He stumbled backward and little and dropped to his forearms. "Damn! Damn this!" he harshly whispered to himself as he struggled toward safety.
And then he barely catches site of Bowen, sliding first to his knees and then to his face. And I wouldn't want to get on any of their bad sides, either...
Do they not see? Look at the strength he draws from his hatred! There is no question that the furnace of power that burns in the deepest Hell is by far superior to the frail light of the High Heavens.
As he thought that, he tried to stand up, only to be shot through again, this time in the thigh. He fell to his side.
If I only had the power, these idiots would all have Hell to pay. He inwardly chuckled at that unintentional pun. Is this madness? To be lost in thought in your dying hour?
He lay there, blood streaming from his body and in to the crevices between the cobblestones of the street.
He looked at him sternly, "You know where the real power lies; you have direct access to its main source. Why don't you take it?"
Is she telepathic?
He filed that possible tidbit away for the future, took one last look at her noticeably sobered yet fine face, and slid his chair back.
What an odd bunch, he thought for not the first time, and then walked out the room.
He put his slightly-aging hand on the paladin's shoulder and held his gaze heavily, "But, a certain times, I believe that it is necessary to do so, simply from a human standpoint, even if said subject does not immediately realize that sympathy can be good for the soul."
He let go, "I do not envy your new task- I must say that a hypocrit of any ideal sickens me. I worry that because of the mistakes of a few bad men your religion may fall to ashes some day, but as you stand here, ready to do the work of your masters despite the great moral conflict that is immediate, I tell you that I believe you are of great courage, and I would be foolish to say that you will not draw great strength from it. You are a good man in face of many bad ones- do not ever let the evils of the world make you sorrowful."
He stepped back a few paces, "And that is all." He stepped from the room.
Dreams of the demon-world plagued his waking mind, but he dared not dwell on it- it would destroy him. Regret always did that.
He shook her urgently awake, "Where is he?!"
She looked confused and a little scared, "I don't know- something came over me, and I fell to sleep..."
He grunted with annoyance.
"The gate can only open when I will it to."
And then it hit him. He summoned up a bit of Divination magic, "Accla, Callis, Dispicibo", to see his foot steps.
Shreds of light instantly flared to life leading to and from the door, the most recent being his, the second most recent being Carloseus'. He followed them as if they were a bridge to immortality.
He was too late. As he passed an open window, his aging hands grasped the frame as his staff fell to the marble floor in a clutter.
"Damn... Damn it all!"
He watched as Carloseus vanished in to nothing, along with all of his hopes and dreams.
After a few minutes of quiet contemplation, he silently slipped off back down the hallway, through the guild, and in to a quiet room to brood his failings.
The books contained nothing of interest- at least, not the kind he cared about. His interest in unfaithful and temporal gods diminished with the death of his family and his isolation in the world. The "spells" that he found occasionally (and magic methods) were novice at best, aside from some healing spells and sealing enchantments for use only in the face of demonic magic.
Demonic magic...
The thought was so beautiful. The forbidden magic. Its abilities could be limitless. The demons knew the better part of the world of magic far more comprehensively than did the angelics, or man. Weak man. Pitiful, mortal man. A curse.
He noticed he was starring at the spot where he and Carloseus had traveled to a demonic plane, by way of some manner of strange mental wrapping of Carloseus' mind. Why should such a gift go to the unsearching?
He let the thought pass. He would be there soon enough. And when he got there, he would help rescue Bastrom. And then, well...
He might well stay.
The world was now empty of anyone he cared to be with- his family, friends, colleagues. There was less and less he could discover that meant anything to him. The possibility of the answers to his ancestral past and the promise of powerful magicks was too good to pass up or resist.
He put his hand inside his robe and pulled out his father's journal and wrote down all he had thought, wary of his vanishing and aging mind. And another thought hit him.
Age?
Do not the demons live eternally? Do they have some secret? Would I care the price I would have to pay for it?
From outside, he could vaguely hear the clangs and slashes of those practicing their melee skills. He watched as the flower beds waved in the breeze like a pool of water, as the trees and bushes rustled with contentment in the sunlight.
I don't think I shall be coming back.
He stood at the foot of the great tower hewn of a single stone, the wide steps before him and the threshold open wide like the maw of a hungry beast. He watched the great windows far above spew out magic fire and lightning, thunder rippling from the sagging frames as pages and parts of chairs and tables flew out. He heard the screams far above- those of his brother and father. He had used a vision displacement spell and watched the battle from below- the Aggermawg, Keeper of Ennead Magicks, throwing all manner of forbidden spells and curses at his last family members from its torn and twisted fingertips. He had watched as his father writhed in pain on the stone floor slippery with his own blood, his bones being twisted slowly about in his body, ripping muscles and tearing organs apart. He had watched as his brother Tel-SareggIther was shot through by a vicious bolt of lightning, the Aggermawg's eyes alight with pleasure.
He had watched as his father fell to his death, untold volumes of Ennead secrets falling to pieces as they fell with him. He had landed on a disfigured statue beside the steps, a single journal still in his hand, as blood poured down the statue's irregular surfaces.
"T-T-Tel...-gulwath... There are still things...to be found... Do not let our people die with your... last breath!"
And there he had died. And there, Tel-Silgulwath had made his decision.
He shook his head and took one last look at the spot where the gate used to be. Briefly, the temptation to abuse Carloseus' mind passed through him. He quickly dispatched the thought.
"Bastrom saved my life initially- he had healed me in the dark of the buried temple. I could not do my conscience justice by walking away from him when he is in such dire need, and is undergoing who-knows-what kind of torment. So, to save him would be only natural."
He thought a moment, leaning heavily against his make-shift staff.
"As for the condition of the gate's stability and our inability to pass very far under the divine protection of the church... It is a both a gift and a barrier. We must figure out how to breach it, but at that moment we would also need protecting from the hosts of that world."
"I would imagine that we only need you to have the gate stable for the time we need to pass through it and out of the influence of the holy power of the guild hall, at which point it could be closed. Perhaps once it is closed entirely the influence of the guild hall will vanish at the point of the seal in Otherworld and we would be thus able to move out and about."
"If that does not work, we might need to make ourselves seem to it as residents, by way of some enchantment. I favor the medium of the enchantment as a small thing that can be hidden away so as to keep it from being stolen from our persons- perhaps a dull-looking ring or amulet, or a charm of some sort."
I will not let this opportunity pass me by, he thought to himself, My searching could well be absolved within this gate, and I would be a fool to let it slip.
A thought briefly passed through him, "I do know of some enchanting that could do such a thing, come to think of it. There was a mage, I believe of the Horadrim in a far away land, that tampered with the power of transplanar and demon magic. He fastened his in the manner of arch ways with pendants embedded in their crux so as to act as a source of magic for the gateway to spread within its boundaries. However, in this case there is not a solid gateway- we probably would not want one so that demonkind would not be able to pass through the breach indefinitely- so perhaps we could apply the same magic and theory to our own selves, so that we are the receiving object. I do not know what the effect of having the enchanted object taken off would do to us while in the Otherworld, but I do not think we should chance it should we use this method."
"I know that Bastrom must be under incredible pain at the moment, but you must be strong enough to allow us to test the limits of your gate. You must rest tonight- first thing tomorrow morning we shall begin work. I will notify Sir Elric that we must part ways momentarily."
"This...This is..."
All the world was cast in hues of sunset- scarlet, garnet, fiery orange- as well as those of the darkest smoke in the deepest cavern- black in all its beauty.
"We stand at the threshold of Hell! Do you realize- no, can you fathom what powers the loremasters store in their hellish libraries? The demonics were the epicenter of the more powerful offensive magicks- many that the High Heavens could not even, nor wanted to, dream of!"
The pain that coursed his mind felt now like a sharply warm yet invigorating pool of water upon flesh on a cold morning.
"And the demons- they are eternal! Surely they would have records of the disappearance of my people and their magicks- this is a gift you have been chosen to discover!"
He turned to face Carloseus, "Tell me, what is this place called?"
(To the Dungeon Master- will this require a different thread or is there one in existence that can hold it? Or PMs strictly?)
He stopped dead in his tracks.
Vanished?!
He quickly looked all about the spot- two trees placed side-by-side- for a trap door or hidden entrance, but there was nothing.
Tel-Silgulwath had studied the ways of the Druids and the old ways of the primal magicks, but he could find no explanation for what had just happened.
His mind instantly broke in to flames it seemed- fowl power surging through the membranes and crevacices. The demon magic from the temple- the power that recoiled on me when I tried to attack the wraith with my power- it feels as strong as it did that night!
He tried his best to shrug it off and stumbled between the twin towers of nature.
In the dark of the tunnels I could not distinguish man from man, but here in the guild hall he seemed somehow... Different from other people.
He stopped his mind a moment and took a step from the support beam, anchoring himself on his supporting staff. And what if he knows more of the forbidden magicks of demonkind? Did not the Ennead dabble in such restricted yet potent fields? What if he knows more of the Enneadan magicks, themselves?
It was an opportunity he could not resist. His whole purpose of existence at this moment was for the documentation and revival of the ancient and lost Ennead ways. He slipped out the door behined him.