McIan
Journeyman
Damian felt the rumbling sound of magic power pulsating at his feet, below him, on a lower level of his castle. For the first time in a long, long, time he felt afraid. He believed he knew the source of the sound and he did not like it at all. He hurried from the rooftop of his castle where he had been watching another of the many rituals and oblations to the powers of darkness he served, the anti-virtues, they may be called… one, in particular… and he headed quickly downward.
He was too late.
A gate had opened into his very castle, one he believed to be impregnable. No outside, hostile, force had ever been able to penetrate within. All who had tried had been frustrated and quit, or persisted and were destroyed.
He found himself surrounded by a quartet of dark elves. He started to call for his guards but he saw them lying insensible, if not lifeless, upon the floor in the great hall… even his brute guard lay prostrate. Several poisoned darts hit him at once but he merely brushed them away, the poison doing nothing to him. But that was only the preliminaries. A mix of powerful spells, cast by powerful mages, much stronger at it than he, immobilized him. He tried to assume a gaseous form as his vampire powers endowed him at such times, but that failed too. They had come prepared for anything he tried, for they knew him well; he had bartered with them on many occasions, and they had actually aided in the castle’s construction. He merely smiled.
That was my first mistake!
Damian did not recognize the drow as they had covered their faces in the darkened cowls of their hoods, but he did know a voice – Grand Master Rassitor, when he spoke to him. “You were a fool not to have prepared for our coming, brother. Your little plan failed. Oh yes, you managed to have many of us eliminated, but once we take you back and you confess to your treachery, WE will gain the upper hand. Matron DeBleiss will have failed and will be branded a traitor for having allowed our enemies to enter the city to do her bidding.”
Damian could not speak, but he said it all with his eyes. I will confess nothing, drow!
As if reading his mind, the Grand Mage approached him, stabbing him just short of his heart with a wooden stake. One small push and his unnatural life would end. “You will confess! If you do, you will live. If not, you will die, never to return. We will remove your head and burn your flesh. Think on it. Seek no escape. I am just as happy to kill you as see the Matron die.”
They bound him both physically and magically, sealing his mouth as well, so that he could cast no spells.
For the first time in a millennia, the Elder, Scaramandine, knew fear.
He was too late.
A gate had opened into his very castle, one he believed to be impregnable. No outside, hostile, force had ever been able to penetrate within. All who had tried had been frustrated and quit, or persisted and were destroyed.
He found himself surrounded by a quartet of dark elves. He started to call for his guards but he saw them lying insensible, if not lifeless, upon the floor in the great hall… even his brute guard lay prostrate. Several poisoned darts hit him at once but he merely brushed them away, the poison doing nothing to him. But that was only the preliminaries. A mix of powerful spells, cast by powerful mages, much stronger at it than he, immobilized him. He tried to assume a gaseous form as his vampire powers endowed him at such times, but that failed too. They had come prepared for anything he tried, for they knew him well; he had bartered with them on many occasions, and they had actually aided in the castle’s construction. He merely smiled.
That was my first mistake!
Damian did not recognize the drow as they had covered their faces in the darkened cowls of their hoods, but he did know a voice – Grand Master Rassitor, when he spoke to him. “You were a fool not to have prepared for our coming, brother. Your little plan failed. Oh yes, you managed to have many of us eliminated, but once we take you back and you confess to your treachery, WE will gain the upper hand. Matron DeBleiss will have failed and will be branded a traitor for having allowed our enemies to enter the city to do her bidding.”
Damian could not speak, but he said it all with his eyes. I will confess nothing, drow!
As if reading his mind, the Grand Mage approached him, stabbing him just short of his heart with a wooden stake. One small push and his unnatural life would end. “You will confess! If you do, you will live. If not, you will die, never to return. We will remove your head and burn your flesh. Think on it. Seek no escape. I am just as happy to kill you as see the Matron die.”
They bound him both physically and magically, sealing his mouth as well, so that he could cast no spells.
For the first time in a millennia, the Elder, Scaramandine, knew fear.