Hands Full

[Omen Tailamont]

The air was familiar. Strange, he thought, considering he hadn't set foot in this place in nearly a decade. Still, even as much as the Abbey had changed, it remained exactly as he remembered it all those years ago. For an age, it had stood, sheltering those within it's walls that had fled in a wave a midst The Hand's occupation of the City of Yew.

The tall stone walls that had seen so much violence and bloodshed through their life now looked at once both healed... and still broken. It was an odd sensation; even for the Hand of Treachery.

For years, Mikael D'Amavir's dreaded Hand had ravaged the lands of Yew and it's people. His clenched fist had squeezed the land hard, more than once drawing blood. Omen Tailamont's mind flashed backwards to the countless years spend rooting out the resistance organizations that had sprung up against them; names mostly forgotten by those that lived here now; battles and struggles forever lost to time...

Not lost, he reminded himself. Not entirely. The Hand of Treachery still remembered them all. As the aging mage made his way towards the front door of the Abbey, he couldn't help but notice his anonymity. It was unsettling. Where once there was... at least revulsion in the eyes of those he passed, now, there was nothing; not even a glimmer of recognition. He swallowed it down; tucked it away inside.

There would be time for that later. For now, he had other business.

As he approached the high stone walls, he watched as a hooded figure atop a dull, gray horse slowly cantered towards him. A smile spread across dark lips as the figure heeled his mount to a standstill. "Hello, my old friend," the voice was low and powerful. The man pushed back the hood of his traveling cloak. His hair was darker than the Hand of Treachery remembered; his face a tad more grizzled.

"How was the trip, Mikael?"

"Dull. And uneventful," The Hand of Terror let out a bored sigh as his gaze swept over the area in front of the Abbey. "Much like this place," his gaze finally came to rest on Omen. "Why am I here?"

"There's a meeting tonight in Britain."

"I heard," Mikael waved dismissively. "What of it?"

"The... governors are meeting to discuss some pending war with Nu'Jelm," The Hand of Treachery shrugged his shoulders, "I'm not sure what that's about yet, but, I'm working on it. Anyway... the Governor of Yew is said to be in attendance."

The Hand of Terror's eyes flashed dangerously. "The Gov'nor of Yew," he spat the words. "When will people realize that I own these lands?"

"It seems they may need to be reminded of that, old friend."

"Indeed," he replied. Omen watched the man's dark eyes flash quickly, filled with dangerous intent as he nodded. The silence lasted only a matter of moments. "All right," Mikael finally answered. "Take me to see this... gov'nor. I'd like to have a few words with him."


Omen Tailamont
The Hand of Treachery >H<
ICQ: 22265202

"The only way to make good is to be bad."

 

[Aedon Durreah]

It had been an unsettling couple of nights since the Governors meeting in Britain, and though sleep might be the thing he most needed at the time, thoughts of the past, splashes of terror within the borders of Yew refused to allow Aedon the luxury of rest.


The council business had little to do with his current state of unrest. It mostly consisted of those governors hell bent on a war against Nu Jelm arguing their point with those in attendance who saw no need to be pulled into a conflict not our own. And though he could not help but wonder what some had to gain from such an undertaking, it was not this lame horse that drew his thoughts from sleep so much as who showed up at the meeting.


Sitting behind the Governors, Aedon was taking a few notes, and trying his best not to concentrate too heavily on what was being said. As so often since his term of Governor ended, his thoughts turned more to home and family. After so many years of tending the Glade he would at last have more time to spend with Jan and Kylee, and perhaps a bit of time to work on his writings. It had been a blessing to have found someone as qualified and dedicated to the region as Gillian to step into the officer of Governor, and it took little urging to convince her that Yew was a great place to raise a family.


The dark years of the past were long forgotten by most, and in fact, few who remained would recall a time when Aegis and Yew had been in state of constant danger. The Knights of Yew had long stood bulwark for the surrounding area, keeping some since of order, and an uneasy peace to Yew. These days, with the land healed of the plague, the trees flourished, and crops were once again grown in abundance. There was much trade with other towns and cities, and the people of Yew were enjoying a prosperity they had not known in the past.


As Aedon thought on the bright future for Yew, he could not help but smile. But as he had often heard, to the brightest of days all too often storm clouds gather. As he sat looking at his notes he heard a rustle in the room, and looked up to see several figures approach the table. He could not hear the voices of the others around him, so intent was his gaze on them. Then a voice, like a knife from the past spoke;


“Who represents Yew?”


He knew that voice at once. Many nights he had been in Aegis and heard its snarl disrupt the night. He had watched far too often as some of the citizens of Yew, and at times even members of the Knights recoiled in fear to words spoken by it. Again the voice Asked;


“Who represents Yew?”


With a quick glance to Gillian, Aedon toyed with the idea of standing and claiming he spoke for Yew. It would have at that time been a lie, but may have for a small time, diverted attention from the Governor. But in that split second, the eyes of evil turned on Gillian.


Time and the meeting seemed to Aedon to be an eternity of talk back and forth. Blackthorn, not knowing who when was dealing with called forth some guards to remove them. It was a wonder the guards were not simply cut down and left as a bloody calling card for the Hand.


Instead, Omen looked towards the guards, and Aedon watched as they withdrew, and stood behind the Governors table. It was clear that though age may have touched them all, that they remained unchanged by time. Omen Tailamont and Mikael D’Amavir were well known to him, and though long years had passed, the memory of what they had done sprang fresh into his mind, and were driven home anew by D'Amavir's parting words;

"There will be no peace in Yew."



The king and the council seemed almost amused at the threats they made. They looked on them as just another set of the usual crackpots who had disrupted meetings in the past. And after the Hand withdrew, they went on, at first with their plans for invasions, victories and sharing the riches of another land. When at last they asked for those in the gallery who wished to address the council, Aedon stood forth.


I implore you all not to take the threats of these people lightly. I may be one of the few among you who recall their visits to Yew. For long years the Hand had a strangle hold on the area, and few, even the boldest among of us could long stand against them. The Hand controlled the area with an iron fist and a sense of terror that permeated the people, the lands and the very air. And they will stop at nothing to assert their control over the area. Kidnapping, murder, robbery, extortion methods practiced with relish by a group of people who enjoy the pain and suffering of others. And you need not feel safe and smug in towns outside the Yew forest. Once they have that area under their sway they will reach out to Minoc, Skara, Vesper and yes, even Britain. Blackthorn listened, and then asked;


“You seem to know much of them, what do you propose we do?”


“I do not know about the rest of you,” Aedon replied, “but I am going home to sharpen my blade. You need not look to other shores for a battle sir; the fight is coming to you. ”


And then, glancing to Gillian, he simply said, “I am sorry. “


And so, though he knew that it was important, Aedon sat before the fire and tried to scribble a note to Jan explaining why he may not make it home this week. But as he looked to read what he had so far put down on paper all it said was.


The Hand is Back.

 

[Rick Moore]

"Malekai... do not forget, I want the most ruthless bastards you know. Scour the darkest allies, the dankest caverns and deepest wood. Bring me your most foul brethren, for I would have them wipe this foul stench that has overcome Yew from existence."

As Omen and MIkael watched Malekai ride off it was Omen that broke the silence. "Will he return in time?" Mikael turned to face Omen and simply nodded. "I know not what drives him nor do I care.... He will be my dagger, my bane on those that oppose the Hand."

"Omen, tell me of these plans you have set in motion. Tell me more of this Gillian... Will she bend to our will?"

Mikael D'Amavir >H<
Hand of Terror
The only way to make good is to be bad

ICQ: 8630161

 

[Jordan Thyme]

She'd been lost in her own thoughts for most of the meeting. Silent and unmoving, it wasn't the possibility of war she'd be contemplating. No, it was two rangers who'd had a huge impact on the last year and a half of her life. In fact she was so far into her own head that she didn't hear the commotion when it started across the council room. She didn't hear the question of "Who speaks for Yew." She didn't even hear Aedon's response. Not until it had been thrice requested did she look up at the line of hooded figures.

"I do." She stood up and came around the table. Thom slid effortlessly in front of her and whispered. "Don't, go back and sit down." When she didn't budge he repeated, well aware that it would take more than one request to his bull headed wife. "Please. At least respond from your seat." She released the breath she'd been holding and flicked a quick eye to the group before moving back. Disjointed, comment and counter comment trickled between the King and this contingent of hoods. The Hand. They were called the Hand. Her eyes slid from one figure to another. Aedon was irritated, Thom defensive, The King annoyed. Folding her arms across her chest as the group finally exited it was incredibly clear, peace in Yew.... was over.

 

[D'Amavir]

The old man leaned heavily on his staff as he made his way from the winery toward the Abbey proper. It was a path he had walked for many years since retiring to live among the monks of Yew's spiritual heart and one that still filled him with hope and vigor, despite his aging body.

Head down, he ignored the few visitors that still sought the guidance and support these men of faith offered, preferring to the leave the social aspects of service to those more accustomed to such niceties. Years of battle and bloodshed, both his own and that of countless others, had left him hardened and even his time here had not yet worn those mental callouses down.

As he neared the doors, he nodded politely to a man there and gave the stranger a casual greeting as he passed. The man looked familiar but that was common to one like the monk who had watched humanity pass him by for so many years. It wasn't until the mounted man approached and spoke that true recognition came to him.

An ice cold finger of fear travelled up his spine as he hurriedly made his way into the Abbey and away from the two speakers. As it had for decades when the monk lived a much darker life, that fear had turned to a controlled anger, anger that would have been used for violent acts all those years ago. Not risking a glance behind him, the monk made his way to the small room he shared with several of his brothers and gathered his few belongings. Whatever Mikael's arrival here meant, the old man knew that people would suffer. And that suffering would continue for as long as the aging brigand remained a force in Yew.

Once he felt certain that the two men had left the Abbey, the monk left and began to make his way to the small island he had once called home.