More more more! ^_^

Sol’s reflection off the sands of Ro was blindingly brilliant. The warm rays of Norrath’s sun chased the shadows of night far into the west as it gently rose from the watery deep of the Ocean of Tears. A group of companions lay huddled together atop a sandy hill overlooking bustling, early morning docks. Hardly the place one would think to find a group of four noble Koda ‘Dal, a Feir ‘Dal, and a human. The group whispered together as they lay prone, carefully studying the docks below them.

“What else do you see, Aradian?”

The faithful wood elf squinted under the palms of his hands as the spell of avian vision continued to augment his sight.

“There are untold numbers of workers and dock hands moving about. It seems they are in final preparations for the launch of this fleet. I have noted provisions loaded and inspections made. Large numbers of Trolls, humans, and Dark elves crawl over every inch of dock that I can see. There are a few gnome there as well, engineers maybe, overlooking the last stages of construction on a few of the larger vessels. The great ships are the largest deep sea going vessels I have ever bore witness too. Their massive hulls are expertly constructed. Definitely, an invasion fleet, however I do not think that neither Kunark nor Faydwer are the intended destinations. Each ship has towering above its bow, a large gnomish contraption that I have only seen on one other sea going vessel in all of Norrath.”

Zachs shifted uncomfortably in the sand, no doubt he would be riding his robes of the tiny grains for weeks, “get on with it druid. We have no time or patience for suspense.”

Aradian chuckled, “These troop ships have been built to traverse through icy water. The contraptions on their bows are great hammer wheels. The wheels are much like that of a gnomish vessel that used to sail through the waters of the Ice Clad Ocean. Correct me if I am wrong, but there are no icebergs between here and Kunark or Faydwer. At least none, which I am aware of. The Ocean of Tears is too warm.”

“Are you sure that is what the contraptions are for, Aradian?” The magician asked.

“I can only guess, Lord Zachs. However, I am certain that I am correct. With those wheels affixed on the front of each ship, their destination can only be the far and frozen shores of Velious. I am so certain; I would bet my life’s fortune in Shadowhaven on it.”

Zachs snorted at the wood elfs reference to gambling. Arturis looked perplexed and confused.

“So if their destination is not Kunark or your homeland, then what in Norrath draws the attention of the Teir ‘Dal Empire to Velious?” the human paladin wondered aloud.

Raspla shook her head. She had been wondering the very same thing. She felt relieved that the great army in Nektulos was not bound for Kunark and everything she has struggled to build there, or for her home city of Felwithe deep in the Greater Forest of Faydwer, but there was something ominous in the knowledge of its true destination. She turned her head to Zachs.

“What does this mean?”

The magician shook his head, “I am not sure. I think I should consult with Saeinia about this. You should also send word back to Felwithe. Let them decide what action the Koda ‘Dal should take.” He whispered to her.

“What does this mean for Freeport? Surely, if these are truly the ships of an invasion then the army of Nektulos will eventually move here and board them to cross the seas. Will they bypass Freeport or will the temptation of spoils and bloodshed be too great an opportunity to pass up?” Arturis murmured.

Zachs wondered about that himself as he retrieved the royal Teir ‘Dal letter from one of his pockets. Carefully he examined the seal of the letter looking for any enchantment that he might set of by opening it. Once satisfied, he swiftly opened it. After reading the contents twice, he handed it to Arturis. The human studied the letter with a stoic face. Lines in his forehead appeared, betraying his age.

“The patrols have been ordered to keep the desert of Ro clear of any and all possible resistance. They were authorized to cut down any travelers in the area. They seem to want the desert to themselves. This does not bode well for any citizens of Freeport looking for passage through the desert for whatever reason. I wonder if the same dispatches have been made through the Commonlands as well?”

Several moments of silence passed as the group allowed Aradian further study of the docks and its ships beyond.

“There are also a number of smaller vessels. They are mostly warships that I can tell. Their armament looks to be formidable at best. Maybe an escort for the larger troop ships? None of the smaller ships seems to be equipped with the hammer wheels though. They won’t do the troop ships much good if they can only follow them through the ice.” Aradian revealed.

“Just an example of Teir ‘Dal arrogance.” Geiser announced.

“Possibly,” Zachs said, “or maybe they are extremely confident that they will cross the deeps completely unnoticed. I think the greater mystery is what their intended target in Velious might be. I think we have tarried here long enough. With your permission, Lady Raspla, I think we should return to Freeport and report these findings with much haste. I do not relish the thought of coming across another patrol. We have had two close calls all ready this morning after last nights events.”

Raspla nodded and then the entire group slowly made their way down the backside of the hill away from the docks. Tension was obviously high. Raspla had noted the concern in Arturis’s demeanor and could not help to feel uneasy herself. She felt numb and worried at the same time. Not for Freeport, even though she could understand Arturis’s concerns. “No,” she thought, “there is some greater prize than Freeport, Kunark, or even Felwithe, hidden deep within the frozen lands of Velious. But in the name of the Mother, what?”

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Lady Raspla Starblaze
75th Holy Defender of Tunare

Shadow Jatara Shadowblades
79th Shadowblade of Bristlebane

Chapter 9: Deceptions

Pabyen stared out the porthole in a tiny cabin aboard a ship called the Innuruk’s Fist. The modest window faced out over a vast ocean that he could only assume was the Ocean of Tears. He had been aboard the vessel for two days, but had spent much of that time locked within the small room. The furnishings of the room left much to be desired. A hammock strung up in a corner, a ceramic washbasin, and a metal bucket to relieve his self in was all there was. The day he was brought before Natari, the General of the Empire’s Army, replayed in his memory. Years of devotion and dedication to his god Karana, laid waste in the blink of an eye. He could still feel the words that had damned him on the tip of his tongue. He had pledged his sword and his life to Natari and the Teir ‘Dal Empire, all the result of notions of love and affection for a Dark Elf female named Jatara. He could not deny his feelings for her, but he was in doubt that she felt the same. He wondered if Dark Elves could even know love. The question tormented him even more so than what he had lost in order to save her life. Of course, if she still lived was another question. She had been captured, apparently while trying to assassinate a high elf noble in Freeport. He did not know why, but something about this particular Koda ‘Dal completely clouded Jatara’s judgment. His mind drifted through judgment clouds of his own before coming to rest on the scented memories of jasmine. He lowered his head into his palms and wept.
“What a mess” he thought. It seemed everything about his life was nothing but mistake after mistake. He was a half-elf, something that most Norrathians viewed as worthless. His mother was a Fier ‘Dal, an elf of the city of Kelethin. From what he knew of his mother, she had been beautiful but very young. His father was human, and like many humans lured to the beauty of elven women. His father was no saint however, more of a rogue or a thief than a law abiding citizen of Qeynos. The man had forced himself on Pabyen’s mother and then left her without care or thought. She had carried out the pregnancy though, with much embarrassment and humiliation from her people. Once he was born, the elves of Kelethin could never accept a half-elf among their trees. His mother gave him up to a traveling band of merchants selling their wares within the great forests and lands of Faydwer. The merchants themselves were mostly human and they, like the elves, could barely stand to look at him. They traveled back across the seas and eventually found their way to Qeynos where he was given over to the orphanage. He was raised by monks but was never at all accepted. It was in the orphanage as a young boy that he discovered the ability to wield magic. With this new ability came a sense of purpose. Nothing meant more to him than using his abilities to help others, even though no one had ever helped him with anything. He left the orphanage in Qeynos to seek out his own quests in life, but years later found himself right back inside the human city. That was when he had joined the Temple of Thunder and had devoted himself to the teachings of the Rain Maker. All had been looking so promising within the guild; he had applied himself completely to his training and the teachings of the guild masters. He thought that his future would be great, but now he found himself here, aboard this ship, in the service of the Tier ‘Dal Empire.
When the troll guards came to his room after his meeting with Natari, he immediately thought that he was to be enslaved or worse. The trolls however brought him new clothes. They were the finest leathers he had ever seen, black and intricately woven. The chest piece had the symbol of the Tier ‘Dal Empire embroided across the left breast. He was told to put them on and that they would be the only clothes that he would wear for quite some time. None of his belongings before being found in the desert were returned. The trolls waited for him to change, blindfolded him, and then led him to the Innuruks Fist.
He was shocked when one of the trolls turned to him before closing the door to his cabin and said, “Yer not a prisoner, ain’t no slave either. We can’t eat ya but were told ta stand watch outside. Make yerself at home.”
He chuckled to himself at that thought. Who could ever call this small room a home? Later that evening he felt the ship lurch and then set sail on the great ocean for some destination unknown.
The hammock was uncomfortable but manageable for a bed. Sitting in it was impossible, so he spent most of his time in the cabin pacing. The first day aboard the ship went by uneventfully. The only highlight was his meal deliveries. The door merely swung open and a plate of scraps slid inside on the floor. Apparently, the niceties of hospitality were lost on the Tier ‘Dal. Most of the time his meals were cold and barely edible, but he ate. The next day went much the same, until just after the evening meal. His door swung open and Natari walked in. The dark elf simply told him to follow. Bound by his own word, the half-elf did as he was told. He was brought above deck and led to the main mast. The entire crew had been assembled, an array of Tier ‘Dal, a few troll, and a gnome were gathered around the mast. Excitement seemed to fill the air, but Pabyen could not ignore the small tinge of resentment that echoed on the breeze as well. The resentment puzzled him though, it was not resentment towards him but rather it seemed directed at Natari from the other Tier ‘Dal. Tied to the mast was a Tier ‘Dal female, stripped completely of her clothes. She hid her face in the crook of one arm, but could not hide her sobs. Her white hair was tangled and in a mess, but Pabyen could make out what was once twin tails. The remains of what appeared to be lacy ribbon still clung to the woman’s white hair. Pabyen knew who this woman was, how could he forget her? It was the woman who had raped him, the woman named Aaeza.
Natari forced a leather whip into Pabyen’s hand before speaking to the crew of the Innuruk’s Fist. Pabyen did not hear many of the words, but he remembered the general premise of the speech. It had been a great oration of the penalties of betraying the Empire. A warning to those assembled that no one was beyond the consequences of actions detrimental to the Empress or her general. Pabyen could only stare at the whip in his hand, it was soft to the touch but barbed at the end of each tendril. Pabyen felt hate building within him. He wanted nothing more than to punish this woman, he wanted to cause her pain without mercy. He wanted to vent all the rage over the course of his miserable existence onto her.
He felt Natari place a hand on his shoulder and heard words echoed into his ear.

“She has been stripped of her rank, denied her nobility, and made the very thing that all Tier ‘Dal loathe. You Pabyen, are pledged. You are now greater than she is, fore she is nothing but a slave. Channel the pain that wells inside you, focus it and extract justice from her. Make sure that she never forgets her transgression against the Empire. Let hate overwhelm you, but do not kill her. She will want death, she may even try to take her own life, but suicide is the cowards’ way. No, death is too easy an end for the likes of her. After this, she is yours to do with as you please. I suggest you remind her as often as you can of her sins. She will be your slave and everyday she will be required to serve you.”

Pabyen felt the pain that Natari was referring to, so he filled himself with it. He looked on the woman with contempt and as the minutes rolled by with the waves, that contempt grew into hatred. Tears began to stream down his cheeks as he threw his arm backwards. With all the strength he had he lashed the woman, tied to the mast, as hard as he could. Repeatedly he whipped her, red welts rose across her back and eventually broke open, bleeding profusely onto the deck. She howled with each crack of his whip, but each time a barb bit into flesh he felt satisfaction unlike anything he had ever felt before. Pabyen did as instructed, he focused all the rage inside of him. At some point, he suddenly realized that he was laughing. He became appalled to find himself enjoying this act of pure barbarism. The woman had collapsed to her knees, arms still outstretched upwards where they were securely tied to the mast by the wrists. Her back was a bloody unrecognizable mass. She had lost senses at some point, but Pabyen could not remember when. It was then, that the half-elf stopped. He flung the whip over the edge of ship railing, disgusted at what he had done. Natari smiled, “Thus is your first lesson. Always remember, hate properly focused is the most powerful weapon that can be wielded.” Then the shadowknight turned to the helmsman, “Back water and make course for Freeport, full speed ahead!”
Pabyen slapped the wall surrounding the porthole. How had he slipped so fast into despair? It did not matter, it was done and he was lost. He turned around to gaze upon the still form of Aaeza lying against the far wall of his cabin. She was bound in iron shackles at the ankles and wrists, those shackles were chained and attached to the wall. He had spent most of the night cleaning the wounds he had inflicted and dressing them. She never gained consciousness. He could not care for the woman at all, but guilt wracked him. What he had done to her haunted him. He paused for a moment more before kneeling down beside the woman; he began to untangle her hair. She had been beaten, severely. Her eyes blackened and her lips cut deep. Her cheeks were bruised and Pabyen doubted that she would ever regain the beauty that she had once held. He continued to tell himself that she deserved every blow, but with each telling, he lost a little bit more of himself. With each excuse for her appearance, he strayed farther and farther from the path he once followed.

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Lady Raspla Starblaze
75th Holy Defender of Tunare

Shadow Jatara Shadowblades
79th Shadowblade of Bristlebane

Gah, poor Pabyen... we all do things that we later regret, and many times it is things we know are not
right by the time we do them. Thankfully, most of us don't do as horrible things as this... even though
words can scar just as bad as physical blows. I hope he gets out of this a wiser man.

The DragonSnail

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A thick fog moved across the surface of the blue-green waters of the port of Freeport. The silence that swept in with it was uncanny. Normally the harbor was full of sound and activity, even at such a late hour as this. But, this night was different. An eerie mood made itself known as the waves gently lapped against a fishing boat from Erudin. The ship was anchored in the middle of the harbor; its sails still in full trim as if ready to make a speedy escape back out to open waters. The fog swirled around its timbers lazily, seeming to wrap it in a lover’s embrace. Few moved across the docks, but on board the ship silhouettes traversed back and forth across its deck. To the untrained eye, the crew appeared as swarthy sea hands of Erudite decent, their bare dark chests gleaming in the moonlight as they went about mundane tasks. The looked more like pirates than fishermen. This vessel was something much more than what it appeared to be, something much more sinister. The captain, a tall bald muscular Erudite leaned over one of the railings on the port side and watched a small row boat of the Port Authority make its way towards the anchored ship. He studied the boat and its small compliment intently; noting each individual, carefully marking what they wore, how they conducted themselves, and most importantly the way they nervously observed his ship. The small row boat contained three individuals, two were wrapped in dark cloaks preventing wandering eyes from discovering their identities. The captain smiled, this was the company he had requested when he and his crew first arrived. The wait was over. It had taken them more time to answer his summons than he had liked, in truth they had taken more precious time than he had but they were here now and important business needed attending to.

“Down boarding ladders, our company has arrived!”

Two deckhands complied with the captain’s order as the rowboat pulled up along side the ship.

“Ahoy! Permission to come aboard?” the uncloaked Port Authority officer cried out into the dreary night.

“Permission granted.” the captain replied and immediately the two cloaked figures scaled the rope ladders tossed down.

The captain continued to watch them, even as they both set foot upon the deck of his ship. He could feel their gaze settle on him from beneath their deep hoods. He supposed that a lesser man would be unnerved, but he enjoyed the sense of unease that permeated from these two. He was in control and his two guests knew it and he could tell that neither of them enjoyed that bit of knowledge one bit. He had never really cared for formalities, but this meeting had to go perfectly. There could be no mistakes. He bowed low and gestured toward the open door of his cabin at the stern of the ship.

“Welcome aboard the ‘Innoruk’s Fist’, allow me to offer you a comfortable chair and refreshments inside my cabin.” He said as he motioned toward the cabin door.

The cloaked figures nodded and responded to his offer, moving toward the door and swiftly entering. The captain posted two guards outside the door before entering himself. As he did so, the enchantment that wrapped tightly around him faded away like layers of bedding being stripped from a bed. The muscular form of an Erudite fishing boat captain gave way to the beautiful but deadly shape of a dark elf. Natari smiled graciously, then turned and closed the cabin door behind him. His two guests remained standing. The small room was scantly furnished with only a square table and four chairs. The table had been set with freshly made sandwiches and fish rolls. Nothing else of note adorned the small room.

“Please, sit. We have much to discuss and precious little time to waste.” Natari said motioning towards the empty chairs.

A dark elf woman; clothed in grey animal hide barely covering her features came into the room, carrying a small tray holding a decanter and four silver goblets. She was leashed around the neck with a silver collar and chain. The chain connected to the wrist of Pabyen as he walked into the room behind her. The fallen paladin was dressed in black leather from neck to foot. Blazoned on his left chest was the mark of Natari’s house. One of Natari’s guests unexpectedly pulled the hood from her head in a fit of rage.

“YOU!” she hissed through clenched teeth behind a slender mouth set in the features of a slim and delicate face. Her black braided hair was adorned with small red beads, woven into each strand. She produced a dagger from her cloak and took a quick step toward Pabyen before her companion grabbed her wrist and spoke in a raspy and whispering voice,

“Xelha, you forget yourself. We are guests of Lord Natari and this is his vessel.”

The woman stopped, but Natari noticed a grimace appear on her thin red lips.

“Do you know who that half-elf dog is? He is the son of a whore that escaped me and the Dismal Rage in the sewers! He is the one that the paladins suspect had something to do with the assassination attempt! He is the one that accompanied the assassin! He is the one that is rumored to be behind the death of Slate! He should be dead! I touched him with a plague that most assuredly should have killed him! But, here he stands, on this enchanted Teir ‘Dal warship with Aaeza attached to his hip as if she were some slave!” the human woman named Xelha screamed, “What in the name of Bertox is going on here?”

Natari chuckled to himself. Pabyen had indeed made some very dangerous enemies in his short stay in Freeport.

“My lady Xelha, I see you are already acquainted with Pabyen? It seems you have extensive knowledge of his transgressions against the good citizens of your fair city. However, do you know that he falls under my protection? He has sworn himself to my service and in that, the service to our prince, Innoruk. And let us not forget the Empress herself! You would do well to control your emotions, for if any harm comes to him….well, just be aware that the implications could be unpleasant.”

Xelha glared at Natari with contempt but dared not open her mouth again. Instead she threw herself into one of the chairs, acting very much like a spoiled child.

“As for Aaeza, she will not be referred to by that name any more. She no longer exists as far as Tier ‘Dal are concerned. She is a slave and belongs to Pabyen.” Natari added.
Xelha gasped. It was not uncommon for dark elves to become slaves, but it was extremely rare that a noble such as Aaeza fall to such a low and demeaning existence. It was shameful beyond compare. Even more shameful was the fact that the once proud and ambitious cleric was enslaved to this half-elf. Pabyen clapped his hands and Aaeza began to pour wine from the decanter into each goblet. She made her way around the room, careful not to spill a single drop. After everyone had a goblet of wine she placed the tray and decanter on the table and then sat cross-legged on the floor in front of Pabyen.

The still cloaked man turned toward Natari, “What business is this, to pull me away from my duties in the middle of the night?”

Natari noted the irritated tone in the mans voice, but it was the way the man held his wine goblet and refused to drink that caught more of the dark elf’s attention. The Tier ‘Dal grinned, admiring the direct, to-the-point manner of his guest. Formalities would apparently be thrown out the window. All the rumors that Natari knew of apparently were true. This man was prudent and reportedly he lacked patience. The temperament of this man was legendary, quick to anger and easily enraged if presented with something he deemed as a waste of time. For now, Natari decided to play the diplomat game. He would sugar-coat his words and play to this mans good nature. The dark elf stifled a chuckle at that thought; the human male had no good nature. At least, he had never heard of Sir Lucan De’Lere ever having a good side.

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Lady Raspla Starblaze
75th Holy Defender of Tunare

Shadow Jatara Shadowblades
79th Shadowblade of Bristlebane

YAY, an update! (bounce, bounce) And what a twist! I can never guess where this story will go next. I can't wait for the next update!

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Shame, Jatara, you have kept us waiting far too long for this update! Now please don't let us wait as long
for the next, ok? I'm starting to forget the first parts already, thats no way to read a story!

The DragonSnail

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That just gives you an excuse to go back to the start and re-read it all...I always find details I missed the first (or even second) time round.

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“I apologize for interrupting you amidst your busy schedule, Sir De’Lere.” Natari sarcastically said while strolling to the middle of the room, “But, this meeting is necessary and could prove quite advantageous to you.”

“How dare you boy! You will show respect when….” Xelha began another of her famous tirades only to be interrupted by a leisurely wave of Lucan’s hand. The leader of the Freeport Militia motioned for Natari to continue.

“In just a few hours time, the great army of Nerriak will be arriving on your doorstep in the west.” Natari paused; he wanted to see his guests’ reactions to this news. He was not disappointed; Lucan adjusted himself in his chair while Xelha gasped in disbelief. “However, you should not worry. As you both know, I am the General of the Empire’s forces,” there was no emphasis on the Empress. “and it is my duty to carry out my orders. Our target is not Freeport, nor shall it be anytime in the near future. My soldiers are coming here because there is something in Freeport that belongs to me and I will have it returned.”

“And just what, might this item be that it would require the Empire’s forces to come knocking on my door?” Lucan asked.

“It is not so much of a question of what; more to the point is who. The Hall of Truth has in their cell block a certain agent of the Empire and it is my duty to see that she is returned. That is all the explanation you need know concerning her.” Natari answered.

“Since when has the Empire been so concerned about the fate of a single dark elf? Never have I heard of an entire army mobilizing for the sake of one Tier ‘Dal!” Xelha blurt out, gaining a disapproving glare from Lucan.

“The reasons do not concern you! Nor, do I have to explain the business of the Empire!” Natari paused again to let that statement sink in. “What I have come to propose is an opportunity for you, Sir Lucan, to gain more support in Freeport by helping me to retrieve what I have come here for.”

Lucan nodded.

Natari knew that he had to be firm with what he was about to say. He moved to the table and picked up a fish roll; calmly he bit into it, chewed and swallowed before continuing. He wanted his quests at the edge of their seats; he wanted them eager to hear his words.

“Long have the paladins of the Hall of Truth troubled your designs on this city. Your two factions have been at each others throats for years, since long before I can remember. My army is coming to serve simply as a diversion; I need the paladins out of North Freeport and on the walls over the west gate. You, Lucan, will ensure that they are there. Nerriaks’ warriors will feign attack, drawing every fighting man in your city to the walls, but no attack will come. Instead, I and an elite team will infiltrate the Hall of Truth and bring out our agent. All you need do is keep the paladins occupied. When my business is done, you will exit the gate with a contingent of your men challenging the great army of the Empire. Loudly, you will defy the strength and might of my army and you shall prevail. We will withdraw, leaving you the vaunted hero of Freeport. The paladins will be left shamed in your people’s eyes. Think, Lucan, of the possibilities, in one act of bravery, even staged you stand to gain the trust and respect of thousands. In one valiant act you can help your designs along and crush the paladins for years to come. However, all this relies on your ability to draw the crusaders from their hall.”

Lucan leaned forward in his seat, wringing his hands together. Natari knew he had the mans attention, that his interest was peaked. Xelha, however seamed ready to shed her skin.

“Why should we trust the word of a Teir ‘Dal? How do we know you will not march that army right through the gates and pillage the entire city?”

“ENOUGH, XELHA!” Lucan exploded and the human female necromancer recoiled and seemed to shrink in her chair.

“There is nothing to keep me from ordering my army to smash Freeport into the ground. The Empress cares nothing of Freeport; she is content with the confusion and chaos that seems to fester in this worthless port city. However, with just a wave of my hand I could claim this place for the empire and drive each and every human from it. Hear my words, you human dogs, you make the choice here! You decide the fate of your city, either you cooperate with me and assist me in gaining what I want, or nothing will stop me from driving every troll, ogre and Tier ‘Dal warrior from here to Innuthule through your gates! What I offer though, is more acceptable. It suits the needs of Empire, it suits the desires of Sir Lucan De’Lere, and it suits the needs of the Dismal Rage. So, what say you Lucan? Will you offer your aid? Or do you choose to become an enemy of the Empire?”

Xelha wore an absolute look of shock upon her face. The thought of someone threatening Lucan and her pitiful organization in this way must have been unfathomable to her just a few moments ago. Lucan remained calm it seemed, although he had ceased wringing his hands. He just sat there, focused on Natari from deep within his hood. Natari did not avert his eyes, he met the mans shadowed gaze with open defiance. This man, and this city would come to heel or he would carry through with his threat. The entire city would be demolished if need be. He knew that the Empress would not be pleased in the least, but his path was already set.

Long moments passed. Pabyen had been shifting uncomfortably in his chair throughout the entire exchange, but he had quietly observed every mannerism, every tell-tale sign and non-verbal communication. Natari had them; there was no way Lucan would deny the logic in what Natari offered. Pabyen even noticed a smile creep across Aaeza’s still bruised face. Anyone that might have been present in the room would have admired Natari and his ability in this diplomatic situation. Pabyen had to stifle a laugh. Diplomacy had nothing to do with this. This was an open threat.

Lucan finally spoke, “Well played, Natari Za’Drin. I see why you have gained your Empress’s favor. You have my support; I shall draw the paladins away from your coveted prize in exchange for a boost in public opinion. Now then, is there anything else to discuss or may I take leave to ready the defenses of Freeport along the western gate?”

Natari nodded and motioned toward the door. The two guests left their chairs, Lucan leaving the room first with Xelha stomping out behind him like a spoiled child who had just had her doll taken away from her. Natari turned to Pabyen, “Make ready, you will accompany me into North Freeport.”

“How could you let him talk to you in that way?” Xelha asked, quite perturbed.

“I learned long ago, Xelha, something that you should take heed to.” Lucan turned to her as they sat down in the rowboat that would take them back to the docks, “Never stand in the way of a Dark Elf and his ambitions.”

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Lady Raspla Starblaze
75th Holy Defender of Tunare

Shadow Jatara Shadowblades
79th Shadowblade of Bristlebane

Oh my! Quite a plan to get Jatara out of prison, indeed... this will turn out exciting, I'm sure, can't wait to see
how it unravels!

The DragonSnail

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Time had ceased to have meaning inside Jatara’s small, dark cell. She could no longer remember how long she had been imprisoned. It felt like an eternity, a never ending existence of day bleeding into days. She rationalized that it could only have been a week, maybe more but the amount of time really did not mean anything. A stack of mostly uneaten food trays near the door was all there was to gauge any passage of time. She stared blankly into the dirty, scab covered palms of her hands and wondered briefly how things had come to be as they were. Thoughts of escape had left her long ago. She knew that rescue was a foolish notion. Teir ‘Dal would not waste the effort to aid another without mutual benefit and besides, she was an orphan. Orphans had no place in Teir ‘Dal society, they were openly ignored and considered unwelcome anomalies. The dark elves had always believed that only the strong survived. Orphans were weak, they had no family connections and thus destined to serve those that were stronger or perish. She did not belong to a noble house of any stature. In the minds of her people, she was expendable. So, the thought of rescue from her prison was ridiculous and not worth the attention. But still; she longed to feel the grass covered earth of the Nektulos forest beneath her feet, the sweet fragrance of deciduous trees in her nostrils, and the gentle caress of a mid-summer breeze on her skin. She brushed back a wild strand of raven dark hair from her eyes, how horribly un-kept she must appear. She hated what she must look like, but the ruse of insanity had helped to curb the interrogations. “Let them think me mad,” she thought. If her wits were intact did not really matter in the end. She had been caught because of her carelessness and this only proved further her weakness. She deserved any fate that befell her. At least she would not give her captors anything to help their cause, no matter how relentless they were with their questioning. She stared into her palms again. Once they had been beautiful, unmarred and flawless but now barely recognizable as elven hands. She curled her slender fingers into fists, her once carefully trimmed nails now broken and chipped from digging into the walls of her cell. She closed her eyes, breathed in slowly and then exhaled. She had been in far worse confinement than this and managed to survive. Her scarred back served as a reminder of the brutal slavery and torture forced upon her in the Mines of Nurga. She raised a hand and lightly brushed her cheek, and remembered Saeina’s touch. As much as her ugly scars bore witness to her survival, where Saeina had touched her constantly nagged at her conscience. A strange dark elf keeping company with Koda ‘Dal puzzled her greatly. The name Saeina sparked something in the recesses of Jatara’s mind. She knew that it was an important name, a name that she should know but she could not find the significance. However, she did understand that Saeina’s touch had brought comfort and a new, unfamiliar feeling to Jatara. She struggled with how to describe this feeling but, the closest thing she could think of was what the humans called “hope”. Her eyes began to tear. “Curse the witch!” she thought. Until Saeina’s sudden appearance, Jatara had been resigned to her misfortune. Where once there had been resignation, now there was doubt. Doubt made her weak. Weakness made her worthless and therefore deserving of death. Jatara’s eyes fell again on the mangled form of her palms as the outer door to her cell opened.
The human guard held the door open for one of the Koda ‘Dal women. Jatara did not look up. She knew that the younger, blonde haired high elf female was paying another visit. She had come a few times, but her last visit seemed days ago. She never questioned Jatara or said much of anything. Mostly the high elf would just sit and study Jatara as if she were nothing more than a caged exotic animal. The first few visits, Jatara had quickly learned that screaming and spitting at the woman had no more effect than more hours of close scrutiny. Ignoring the woman was the better approach to the unwelcome presence. The Koda ‘Dal magician that had accompanied Saeina followed the woman into the room, his long green robes moving gracefully around his form. They spoke quietly in their own tongue and Jatara suddenly regretted not learning the language. She knew a few of the words, for her language was similar and could make out a few broken phrases. It was certain that the two were arguing. The magician, for some unknown reason was uncomfortable about the young female spending so much of her time in the cell room with the prisoner. The female mentioned something about the need to make the most out of the opportunity to learn as much as she could. It all made little sense to Jatara, and quite frankly she really did not care. Until, she noticed the cloak that the young female wore. Tied around her neck, a violet cloak trimmed with silver ivy and bearing a silver star centered over a crescent blade. She was not the Butcher of Kunark though. Jatara had never seen any house sign on this particular Koda ‘Dal before, but she was certain that she was the Butcher’s kin. Curiosity quickly turned to blinding hate and Jatara fought the urge to empty the barren contents of her stomach onto the cold, stone floor. Finally the two high elves ended their babble. The magician turned to leave the room but was intercepted by another human guard rushing through the door. Noticeably the guard was in full plate mail. Jatara strained her ears to hear the paladin guard, the human language she could speak fluently.

“Lord Zachs, Sir Valeron requests your presence on the most urgent of matters at once!”

The magician seemed a little put off with the request, “I am sure that Valeron can wait until I have broke fasting this morning…..”

The guard interrupted, “Lord, my apologies but this is of the upmost importance. It seems Freeport is besieged!”

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Lady Raspla Starblaze
75th Holy Defender of Tunare

Shadow Jatara Shadowblades
79th Shadowblade of Bristlebane

Pabyen had been impressed by the speed and efficiency of the dark elves as they had moved through the dark passages of the sewers under Freeport. He remembered hearing boasts of their legendary abilities to navigate in total darkness with ease, but he had attributed those tales as folklore. That was until he witnessed it himself. They moved without a sound through the filth of the sewers and he found that he had to completely rely on them for direction. He was being led, gently pushed and pulled through the muck. He could barely see anything himself, so he found himself trusting the dark elves through the gloom. His thoughts drifted back over the last several hours to the aftermath of Natari’s meeting with Sir Lucan and Xelha. The Teir ‘Dal general had masterfully bullied his way into an alliance with two of the reigning factions of the Freeport underground and had garnered the cooperation necessary to make a daring rescue of Jatara. After the meeting, Pabyen had been hastily prepared for the stealthy operation. Natari had provided instructions to the crew of the “Innoruk’s Fist” and assembled a small strike team consisting of two other dark elves, a warrior and cleric by appearances, and Pabyen to embark on the mission. The warrior had protested bitterly at the inclusion of the half-elf, but with a cold glare from Natari the warrior had succumbed without a further word. Natari had even equipped Pabyen with a modest sword. It was sharp, but nothing of impressive design. Pabyen knew that the sword was merely a formality to keep each member of the team defended, but he doubted seriously that the weapon would be of much use in a serious fight. It still comforted him to know that he was armed, even with such a meager blade. Once they had left the ship and entered the sewers, Natari had instructed them to move quickly and silently toward their objective, he had secured the exact location of a sewer grate opening into the moat surrounding the Hall of Truth, the paladin guild of Northern Freeport. The very building that Natari was sure Jatara was being held. Armed with the knowledge of the grate and the layout of the Hall’s cell block, Natari was certain that once the Army of Nektulos arrived at Freeport’s west gate, his team could extract Jatara from the paladins with ease. This however, hinged upon the paladins answering the call for defense at the western wall of the human city. Time did not afford Natari the luxury of waiting to see if that ploy had worked, they had to move quickly if all was to succeed. Pabyen came back to reality as he was held in place by one of his dark elf companions. He knew that they were receiving instructions from Natari in the silent hand language that the Teir ‘Dal employed in stealth. He could also barely make out the glow of sunlight somewhere ahead of them in the sewer tunnel. Apparently they had arrived at their destination. The grate was ahead. It was dark when they had entered the sewers. Although it seemed to Pabyen that they had not been in the sewers long, he realized that morning had dawned over Antonica. A surge of adrenaline coursed through Pabyen and he felt the muscles of his body tense in anticipation of the coming actions. His heart leaped in his chest at the thought of seeing Jatara again and he gripped the pommel of his blade. Again he was slowly herded through the sewer, and shortly the team stood before a locked grate. Through the bars they viewed the Hall of Truth. Pabyen shaded his eyes from the light flooding through the grate but he knew that luck was with them. The day had dawned with a thick blanket of fog that had rolled in from the Ocean of Tears. Natari smiled and then motioned toward the lock on the grate. The cleric in the group began to softly chant and suddenly a red spark enveloped the lock. The noise of the spark was much quieter than Pabyen had expected and the lock fell silently into the murky water of the sewer below. The warrior then grabbed the grate and swung it inward, it protested with a barely audible groan. The way was now clear.

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Lady Raspla Starblaze
75th Holy Defender of Tunare

Shadow Jatara Shadowblades
79th Shadowblade of Bristlebane

Natari was the first out into the moat and quickly moved out of the water and approached the southern side of the Hall. The warrior was next, followed by Pabyen, and then the cleric. Once together again, the team flattened themselves against the wall near a wooden door that Pabyen knew would open up into the ground floor of the Hall. Natari nodded to the warrior, who moved to the door and put an ear to it. A few silent moments passed before the warrior nodded back to Natari. Natari flashed more hand signals and then the warrior gripped the handle of the door and opened it. Natari ran inside with the cleric following. Pabyen entered and the warrior came in quickly closing the door behind them. Natari had taken up position down the hall from the door with the cleric. Pabyen moved to join them as the warrior covered their rear guard. They moved through the complex unopposed and found their way down into the bottom level. Natari stopped at what should be the entrance into the cell block. Each of the Teir ‘Dal took turns glancing around the doorway and then Natari motioned for Pabyen to do the same. Pabyen took his turn. He slowly stuck his head through the doorway to survey the room beyond. Sitting in a corner to the right was a single paladin guard. He was sitting back in his chair, propped up against the wall to his back, snoring loudly while napping. Pabyen shook his head, “how overly confident and undisciplined this Freeport lot were” he thought. He had just backed his head back out of the doorway when the warrior flew past him into the room. Pabyen heard a muffled gasp and then the crash of a wooden floor striking the ground. All went silent again and then Natari and the cleric entered the room. Pabyen closed his eyes, sighed slowly and then followed.
The warrior was going through the desk; Pabyen assumed he was searching for anything belonging to Jatara. His assumption was confirmed when the warrior tossed a familiar backpack and dagger to Natari. The cleric bent over the now dead paladin behind the desk and retrieved a set of cell keys. Natari smiled and slung the backpack over his shoulder. He then motioned the cleric with the keys into the cell hall to their left, beyond the desk. The cleric quickly obeyed and in moments the team was standing in the cell hallway before the only closed and locked door they found. Pabyen could not believe the ease of which the entire mission to this point had gone. It seemed Natari’s ploy at the gate had worked. Just like his dark elf companions though, Pabyen refused to relax and let down his guard. Nervously he glanced up and down the hallway searching for any sign that they had been discovered. For the second time during the mission, the warrior placed his ear to a door trying to discern what lie beyond it. For long moments the team stood in the hallway, waiting for the warrior to sign the all clear. Natari began to grimace. The warrior noticed the general’s unease and held up three fingers. For the first time since leaving the ship, Natari spoke softly, “Make ready.”
Pabyen flexed the fingers of his hand gripping his blade as the warrior readied himself for whatever awaited them on the other side. The cleric began to softly chant and suddenly Pabyen felt mystical armor envelope him. He then quickly added to the spell casting, giving his companions renewed vigor and added spiritual armor. Jatara was inside the locked room and Pabyen intended to see this mission through, no matter the cost. Once the casting was done, Natari gave the cleric and Pabyen a few moments to recover and then nodded to the warrior. To Pabyen’s surprise, it was not the warrior that was the first through the door after the cleric unlocked it. Instead, it was Natari that drew his scimitar like curved sword and barreled through. Pabyen charged in after him, just in time to intercept and block an overhead swing from a paladin guard from behind the now open door. The shock from the clash between Pabyen’s blade and the guards reverberated down the half-elf’s arm and caused his entire sword arm to ache. The interruption was all Natari needed, in a blindingly fast twirl the shadowknight turned and impaled the paladin through the gut. Pabyen blinked in disbelief. He had never seen anyone move that fast and he could call it nothing if not masterful. The warrior ran in past them with the cleric right behind. Both cornered another occupant in the small cell room. It was then that Pabyen noted the room’s layout. A cell occupied most of the room’s center, but there was an observation area outside the cell. It was here that the warrior and cleric were quickly subduing a blonde haired Koda ‘Dal female. She was beautiful but seemed to be quite surprised at the intrusion of dark elves. She had not even had the time to cast a spell before her attackers were on her. Apparently she carried no weapons. Pabyen did not remember seeing her before in the hall. Natari moved toward the cells locked doorway and slid a key into place, releasing the lock that held the door shut. As the cell door cleared, a battered and poorly kept Jatara leaped out. She collapsed into Natari’s arms.
“Are you mad? You risk too much coming for me!” she said.

“Even from you, I expected a bit more gratitude Jatara. I know the risks involved, but I could not leave you here after learning of your fate.” Natari replied and then glanced at Pabyen, “A fate I never would have learned had it not been for your half-elf.”

Jatara turned toward Pabyen. He returned her gaze and smiled briefly. She broke away from Natari’s embrace, straightened her hair and then regally walked the two steps to Pabyen. She looked up at him, smiled and then kissed the half-elf on the mouth. She whispered “I knew you would be useful, thank you.” as a surprised Natari could only frown. Pabyen accepted the tenderness, but wondered if it would be fleeting. He felt his blood heat and blushed after her touch. Behind Natari the impaled paladin stirred to his feet and leaped at the exposed dark elf’s back. Pabyen moved Jatara behind him and without thinking lashed out with an instant surge of hatred. He never spoke; he simply sought to rip the paladin apart with his mind. A dark red glow eclipsed the human and a look of pain came over his face. He let out an agonizing scream and then collapsed to the floor as his blood boiled from the inside. Natari turned and his eyes went wide in astonishment. He rounded on Pabyen with a wide grin on his face. Pabyen glared at the lifeless human as he held Jatara behind his left side, not even aware of what he had just done.

“Truly Jatara, your half-elf is more than useful. Tell me Pabyen, do you realize what you just did?” Natari asked.

Pabyen broke from his rage and looked at the Teir ‘Dal general, “Wha…what?”

“You, a paladin by training, just accomplished something that normally takes young shadowknights years to master. You killed that paladin with what is called a Deathtouch. Useful, indeed.” Natari laughed.

Pabyen immediately dropped his head and stared at his hands, “What have I done, what have I become?” he thought.

“General Natari, what of this one?” the cleric interrupted.

Pabyen looked toward the cleric and noticed the female Koda ‘Dal had been forced to her knees by the warrior standing behind her. He had both her arms by the wrists, bending them backward to force the woman into submission. Tears streaked down her cheeks and she prayed to her goddess Tunare.

Jatara held out her hand to Natari. Pabyen watched the Tier ‘Dal general take the dagger retrieved from the desk out of his belt and hand it to Jatara. The rogue snatched it hastily from her kin and walked patiently over to the prone high elf. With swift precision, the assassin grabbed the Koda ‘Dal's golden hair with one hand and pulled exposing the high elf’s neck. With the other dagger wielding hand, she slit the woman’s throat. The high elf’s eyes bulged out of their sockets with horror and surprise. The warrior released her, and she grasped her neck trying to stem the fountain of blood that sprang from the vicious cut that Jatara had inflicted. The young elf knew, as did Pabyen that her life was about to end. She could not speak, only gurgled sounds escaped her throat. She pitched forward and grabbed Jatara by the waist; her eyes pleading, refusing to accept death. Jatara slapped her hard on the side of the head, and the Koda ‘Dal hit the ground spraying her blood all over Jatara and the warrior. As the life faded from the high elf’s eyes, Jatara spat on her still body and kicked her hard in the face. She turned, ran into Pabyen’s arms and then erupted into sobs.
Natari frowned again and motioned for the warrior and cleric to lead them out of the room.

“Our stay here is at an end, we have what we came for. Hurry, back to the docks and the safety of our ship!” he said.

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Lady Raspla Starblaze
75th Holy Defender of Tunare

Shadow Jatara Shadowblades
79th Shadowblade of Bristlebane

Frightening

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Saeinia Dragonwraith of the Truthbringer
Fallen Shadow Knight of Neriak (EQ1)

Dreamweaver Lysandar Forsakenlight
Koada'Dal Coercer of Neriak, Servant of Hate (EQ2)

City of Heros/Villians
Gravewhisper
Fatebreaker

Awesome....

Thanks for the updates....Had feared that you had stopped writing...

Cant wait to see what happens next!!

I had missed this last update - glad I saw it today! I, too, feared you had stopped writing altogether,
which would have been a crying shame. An amazing story such as this deserves a well-worked out
end!

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From the top of the ramparts of the Western gate of Freeport, Raspla looked out upon a scene of pure horror for the brave human men that stood with her. The rumors of war and whispers of chaos had manifested themselves into a massive army of evil just out of the defenders range. Hundreds of thousands of trolls, ogres, goblins, humans, and Teir ‘Dal stood silently; arranged in ranks glared back at the defenders with a hatred that could be felt even at the great distance. The silence on the wall was deafening. The mood was somber, as if the defenders had already accepted defeat before a single shot was fired. Raspla studied the attacker’s position and put her mind to the best defenses of the gate. She noticed every small detail around her. The crude weapons and barely serviceable armor of her companions on the wall brought a grimace to her face. It was painfully obvious that Freeport had done nothing with the threat of this army so close by. Most of the defenders were either too young or too old. An elderly human stood next to her, wearing rusted chain and adorned in a cracked and dented open-faced helm. He gripped an old hunter’s bow in his shaking hands. Raspla hoped his shaking was the result of fear, but judging by his weathered and wrinkled face it could be some disease brought on in old age. He turned to her and smiled a toothless smile on an unshaven face.

“Looks like we’re in fer a long nite, me lady.”

Raspla took comfort that the old man had not lost his sense of humor. But in the end, that would not save him from this day’s business. She turned her attention back on the gathered masses beyond the wall. She accepted uneasy feelings of the coming battle, but something struck her as wrong. Something was out of place. Zachs appeared at her side and breathed a sigh at the sight before him.

“Freeport will not stand to the likes of such an enemy.” He whispered.

Raspla was about to agree with him, when finally she put her finger on what was bothering her. She turned to Zachs quickly, “Where is Valeron?”

“He is overlooking the defenses near the south tower.”

“Bring him here quickly, Zachs. There is something he must see.”

Zachs spun and sped away as Raspla looked back out over the enemy below. Moments passed and not a single word was spoken around her. Everything was still, much like it always was before open combat. No animal stirred within view, no bird song was evident. The wind did not blow, giving an eerie stillness to the gathered defenders. Zachs returned with Valeron and both men stationed themselves on either side of the Koda ‘Dal female. Before Raspla could speak her mind, a single rank of trolls began to advance toward the gate. They marched for twenty paces before splitting into two groups, sidestepping and coming to a halt. From between the two files of trolls, a single Teir ‘Dal emerged wearing gleaming black and red armor. Spider web etchings were visible along the armors seams. His helmet was winged, his cloak red. Spikes protruded from his elbows and knees. Raspla knew at once he was an officer, most likely a high-ranking one. He raised his arms out wide and motioned toward the walls of Freeport. Then with arms still outstretched he turned around to face the Army of Nektulos. Although no one on the wall could hear, Raspla knew he was addressing the legions gathered before him. Then a commotion broke out inside the gate below.

The Militia of Freeport had finally come to join the defenders. At their head, sitting upon a white charger was the man that Raspla could only suspect to be Sir Lucan De’Lere. Like the Teir ‘Dal officer, De’Lere was ridiculously dressed. A polished silver breastplate underneath a bright red tabard marked by the symbol of the militia, polished silver greaves and boots, a flowing white cape and a deep hooded cloak made him appear more ceremonial in appearance then practical. At his hip was an ornate sword. Two militia men on horseback flanked him and behind was a single element of soldiers, all wearing the red tabard. He barked orders at the gate guards, demanding that the gates be opened. Flamboyantly he put on a show in front of all of those that were gathered. Valeron shook his head and sighed. To Raspla’s dismay, the gate guards obeyed and raised the great wooden column that bared the gate. The gates moaned as they opened and the entire column of Militia moved through unhindered. Zachs could only stare in astonishment as the line of Militia took up positions just a few paces from the outside wall. De’Lere rode out halfway between his Militia and the Teir ‘Dal officer, whom had stopped encouraging his troops. The Militia leader rode his mount North to South and then South to North, his ranting and challenges could be heard.

“The great city of Freeport, a city of men, free of tyranny, blinding light of justice in Antonica will stand in defiance of the Empress and her army of evil! Be gone from our lands, flee from our righteousness!”

Lucan continued to rant and brandish his sword, spittle flew from his mouth and he very much resembled a rabid dog to Raspla and her companions. Valeron was in shock.

“Damn fool!” Zachs declared.

Raspla could not help but agree, but she broke from the spectacle and clasped Valeron’s shoulder.

“What do you see, Valeron, as you observe the enemies positions?”

Valeron tore his eyes from De’Lere and scanned the army beyond, “I see a well disciplined army, formidable weaponry. I am sure magic-users as well, hidden carefully among the ranks of soldiers and filth. I cannot even begin to guess at their numbers, wave upon wave will crash upon this wall without end. Their numbers are great! I fear our defenses will not hold long at all.”

“Look closer.” Raspla said as she pointed along the ranks of the evil races of Norrath.

Valeron followed her hand and after a few moments shook his head, “What more is there to see, other than the imminent destruction of Freeport?”

“Where are the machines of war, most honored paladin of the Hall? Where are the ballistae, the siege engines, the scaling ladders, catapults, battering rams? Where is the required equipment to take down a wall and gate such as these? Where are the engineers and the tools of their craft? Without those key instruments, this wall could hold out for weeks, possibly longer, at a great cost to the enemy, giving hope to these defenders. Any competent general or battle planer after viewing these defenses would know that this gate would fall in just a few hours, why draw it out for weeks?”, Raspla’s words rang out.

Valeron’s eyes widened just as De’Lere finished his tirade of spittle laden words.

“They do not intend to attack this city, I would wager on it. Tell me Valeron, why would they make a point of this display?” the Koda ‘Dal paladin asked.

Valeron turned to her and shrugged, “It only serves to bring our attention to this wall.”

“For what purpose? Why would they want all of our efforts here? What are their true intentions if not to level your city? What is here that they could want? What are the defenses like elsewhere throughout the city?” she asked.

A cheer suddenly erupted from the Militia men below.

“A contingent as large as this is perched atop the South Gate and wall, our scouts report nothing from the southern desert front. There is not a single Knight of the Hall left in North Freeport, save for a handful inside the Hall itself. The docks are closed, and locked down tight. All of the defenses the city can muster at this point are here and along the South wall.” Valeron explained.

“Are there any other points of entrance that could be exploited?” Zachs wondered, following Raspla’s line of thought.

“There are a few, most are well hidden, and only a small contingent could gain access.” Valeron answered.

Another cheer rose up from the Militia and the Teir ‘Dal officer disappeared back into the first ranks of the Army of Nektulos. Shouts could be heard among them.

“This is a diversionary tactic. They have intentionally drawn us out. Quickly, we must discern why they chose to bring us together here!” Raspla exclaimed.

“The dark elf you hold in the Hall! With North Freeport empty of your knights, a small force would be unimpeded. They mean to free her!” Zachs shouted.

Valeron turned and shouted orders to the nearest Paladin of the Hall, “To the Hall with all haste!”

As the trio began to leave their posts atop the wall, a cheer rang through the air all along the wall. Raspla turned back toward the plain below to witness the first ranks of troll and ogre leaving the field of battle, backing away from the defenses of Freeport. All around her men were shouting and yelling praises to the Militia and Lucan De’Lere.

“Raspla,” Zachs leaned in close, “Cyrce is with the dark elf in her cell!”

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Lady Raspla Starblaze
75th Holy Defender of Tunare

Shadow Jatara Shadowblades
79th Shadowblade of Bristlebane

Nice update....The trick has been discovered...but in time to do anything about it??

Glad to see your still going with this...

Thanks for the update!