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1995-04-18
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Path: usenet.ee.pdx.edu!cs.uoregon.edu!reuter.cse.ogi.edu!uwm.edu!cs.utexas.edu!news.sprintlink.net!uunet!not-for-mail
From: v073pzuy@ubvms.cc.buffalo.edu (Signs of Chaos)
Newsgroups: rec.games.frp.archives
Subject: STORY: The Lords of Midnight (Chapter the Fourth)
Followup-To: rec.games.frp.misc
Date: 17 Apr 1995 10:04:02 -0400
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This 'chapter' is, as previously noted, very rough, very short, and very
tentative (though I'd like to open the chapter with something similar, if
not with this thing itself).
Again, all questions/comments/suggestions as to where to lead the story are
welcome.
{Chapter the Fourth}
-==-
_The orcs are charging hard, and even before he feels the first shaft streak
past his head, he realizes he isn't going to be able to outrun them_.
_He spurs his horse on down a side alley anyway. They went their separate ways,
he and Argoth and Darius, and the young priest's only hope as he desperately
tries to outrace the doom galloping down upon him is that his friends are
faring better than he is_.
_He passes a familiar row of houses for what seems like the third time. He
hears the orcs shouting, closer now, closing in, but he pays them no mind.
Another arrow whizzes by, but he doesn't care. His attention is on the
buildings, the windows, the *faces* in the windows. Tens, hundreds,
thousands...all blank, all faceless, all motionless. Their mouths do not move,
no sound cuts the air, but he can hear the voices anyway. They break into the
cell of his mind, a dissonant cacophony of accusation calling to him_.
You killed her...your fault...your fault...
_He buries his head in his hands to escape the noise, the pain, but it is of no
use. The din grows louder, consumes, becomes everything, *is* everything, until
he is no longer conscious of his hands, his steed, the town, the faces, the
orcs that are barreling down, almost upon him_...
_And suddenly, all is quiet. He isn't conscious of moving his hands away from
his eyes, but when he opens them, the town is gone. He is standing in the
middle of a barren, desolate wasteland. Alone. His steed is gone. The orcs are
gone. Even the population of slack-eyed demons have vanished_...
_Alone. And yet not alone. Because something else is in the air. Something
evil, watching. Waiting_.
_And that something is laughing_...
{X X X}
Amel Talic crawled out of his tent and stared across the vast emptiness of the
Great Southern Desert. There was no need to stretch, but he did so anyway -
more force of habit than anything else. His eyes felt as if they were caked
with dirt. Coated with grime. Kept open simply because closing them would
require too much effort.
He was tired. The dreams kept coming back, each night more violent and more
vicious than the last. The nightmares wouldn't end. By his estimate, the three
outlaws had traveled more than four hundred miles from Torin.
But he had a feeling it would never be far enough.
The dreams were still there, that laughter still echoing through the empty
caverns of his sleep-starved mind, and that vague uneasiness sat upon him
still, a remote tingling still pattering in the fog on the edge of his spine.
Which meant the orcs were still following them.
Talic's eyes passed over the vast plains of sifting sands and scattered storms.
It was definitely out there. He could sense it - a *presence*, roaming the
desert sky. Searching. Hungering.
He had felt the touch as they were departing Torin. The three had retrieved
their horses and split up, each taking a separate path out of the sprawling
desert city. They had left the horses in the slums, where pursuit was easily
lost in the twisting labyrinth of wooden catwalks and abandoned buildings. But
the pursuit had proven more difficult to lose than one's shadow beneath the
desert sun. Talic had hoped to draw most of the attention himself.
He hadn't been disappointed.
What he had been, though, was touched - tainted. He had felt the searching,
invisible eyes the moment he had left Dorn's hovel. Her magic had obviously
been efficient in screening most magical seers.
But not this one.
The eyes had locked on him shortly after the three had retrieved their horses.
The young man had been aware of the viperous hands sliding through the desert
sands, sifting through the dunes, until they had finally brushed against him.
The touch had been almost accidental, like that of a shy lover. A spider,
blind but for the vibrations of the web, that suddenly rears up on its hind
legs, having found its prey underfoot. A gentle caress of slender fingers one
after another after another...
Then the hand had tightened. The fist had clenched, and for the briefest
moment in time the world had stopped turning and started spinning. His mind
had poured itself empty upon the thirsting desert sand, and it had lapped up
his reason as greedily as it bled the life from the bleached bones scattered
amidst the universe of dust.
And he had felt that terrible, terrible stare, looking into his very soul.
Tugging at the frayed edges of his mind, seeking to unravel. To unwind. To
learn, consume, and then destroy...
The orcish priest sent after them had channeled the energy of his god and sent
it spiraling outward over the desert sands to do his bidding. Talic had been
prepared to feel the touch of the enemy - the odd sensation of one mind
impressing its patterns upon another as the spell was worked.
But he hadn't expected this.
He felt it surge forward again in his mind, relived it as he looked up into
the sky at an uncaring sun - the burning intensity, the fierce glare, the
terrible hatred of humanity that had boiled over him like a river of venom.
The touch of Tarkan.
Talic's mind struggled to rise to the surface, to break the water and breathe
again. The air was suddenly too warm, too impossibly *hot*. He gasped in pain.
He pawed the air, seeking some way out of the sun, into the shade, *any*
shade...
His drowning thoughts turned to Reykalt. The old teacher had been his shade in
another time, beneath an earlier sun. The student sought refuge once again.
He was not denied.
The pain passed slowly, like the choked crawl of the sun across the cracked
dome of the desert sky. It would be back again tomorrow, of course - but for
now, the young man had his shelter. He had his peace.
He cleared his mind and began to think.
--
-=-Chet Zeshonski
v073pzuy@ubvms.cc.buffalo.edu