Post by ariovistus on Aug 1, 2005 22:25:06 GMT -5
(This is the original piece in which I fleshed out the dark lord who ish about ta return... Enjoy.)
The doors opened before Grhuul, and he very nearly shrank back as the burning light from the raging fires hit his coal black eyes. The study was awash in the flickering red light, and his eyes stung as though he had rubbed glass into them. But out of respect, respect for the individual he knew was sitting in the ornately carved chair in the centre of the room, Grhuul did not avert his gaze from the flames. For if he did, he would be showing a great weakness, and would be subject to torture, banishment, or destruction. He came forward, his grey shadowy robes swishing on the stone floor, though the sound was muted by the roaring flames that made each step another further into hell. He came before the throne, and fell to his knees quite deliberately. He did not look the figure in the eyes, for to do so would have invoked a challenge that he was certain he was not ready for.
He heard the dramatic intake of breath... the figure, his dark lord, making each word as though he were brewing a storm... building up the winds slowly, spinning them in his vocal cords, and releasing them with a furious energy, the sounds tearing Grhuul's will away with each passing moment. The Tartarin braced himself as a man does who is caught out in the open in such a storm. His lord, however, spoke to him in an even tone, his voice steady and that in itself was so much worse than a furious tornado of anger.
"Grhuul..." He began. His eyes, which has been closed as though in deep deliberation, opened slowly and fell upon the stooping Tartarin before him. "You have come back." Ghruul felt a strong sensation... like a sliver of ice had entered his brain. He fought to maintain a fascade of indifference, but the cold seemed to grow. "You have... not killed your target. How unfortunate for you."
"Your Excellency, I could not..." The Tartarin began.
"Silence!" The dark lord's voice cut through the room, seemingly beating down the fires with its potence. "You have failed. You do know the penalty for failure, do you not?" He stood, clad in his warlord's armour, that which was crafted from obsidian. The stone, the legendary Stone of the Cimmeri was embedded in the armour, at the source of the lord's evil... just above his foul heart. His black cloak hung from his shoulders, straight and sleek. In Grhuul's vision he could see the plated boots just before him. He visibly shook with each word, and as the cold grew, his mind became increasingly panic filled and, in some cases, outright numb.
A heartbeat... then two. The Tartarin suddenly started to wail... a low, piercing sound. His mind felt like it was on fire yet increasingly cold. He dare not move, nor could he with his thoughts becoming clouded with each passing second.
The clinking of steps. The dark lord had come down from his dais, his natural height advantage. Grhuul knew all too well that such an advantage this one did not need.
"Grhuul... I want to show you something. Something that will make you think." His tone was even again. Grhuul shook. But then, as though on command, the Tartarin rose. Another sensation flooded his mind, and the icy chill seemed to fade from his brain... almost. He still felt a small chill at the base of his skull. He saw his lord at eye level now, which was something he had vowed never to do. A gesture, and he was walking mindlessly, like a drone, towards an arched window.
"Do you see that, out there, Grhuul?" A hideous forest spanned the land as far as the Tartarin could see. Those ugly trees, all green and noisy, with their animals, those few who remained in the area. The horde had been forbidden to harm the trees for far. He had always wondered why.
A laugh entered his thoughts. His coal eyes shifted to the holder of the stone, next to him. Remarkably, the two were almost the same height. But the dark lord's armour and posture made him seem so much more. He held out a gloved hand, and, to the captive Tartarin's surprise, a long wand seemingly flew into it. The dark lord gripped it in both hands, and as he did, Grhuul could feel the energy transmit from wielder to instrument. It was a rather fancy looking wand, impossibly long, with an emerald of sorts on one end. The gem itself was held in place by a design that reminded Grhuul vaguely of a sea creature he had once read about.
"Your kin, excitable things that they are... They have wanted to destroy this forest since we arrived." Again, the calm voice. He held up the wand, its gem shimmering with inner light. "Now you shall see why."
As Grhuul watched, his lord held out the wand towards the night sky. Dark clouds already covered the horizon, and the small remnant of moonlight that broke through illuminated the innocent trees, the pride and joy of the elves who had lived here only weeks ago. He could feel the magic eminating from the wand, and even moreso the considerable power from its wielder... it was unlike traditional magics and it made the chill in his mind seem worse. Green light spilled forth from the wand, momentarily blinding the Tartarin. In its light, he could see the face of his lord, calm and serene, like an ocean before the storm. A low hum emitted from the gem, and the room itself began to grow dark outside of its light. Then, a force hit Grhuul, and he buckled. A bolt of pure energy shot forth from the wand, and traveled into the night sky, disappearing into the clouds.
His lord turned and looked to him. The wand itself moved out of his hand and laid against a far wall.
"I would never deprive myself of the pleasure of ruining a monument to a weaker race."
Ghruul's mind spun, and the chill began to creep back into his brain. He very nearly jumped as thunder shook the walls, and his attention turned to the window.
Outside, the clouds had gathered in earnest, and lightning crackled in the distance. Rain spewed forth. As the Tartarin watched, the droplets fell upon the earth as warrriors fall upon a prone victim. And like warriors, the rain itself tore into the trees, the ground. Leaves hissed, melted, and disappeared. The age-old barks of the trees themselves was dissolved like salt in a glass of water. A strong smell hit the slitted nostrils of the Tartarin. Acid. Within a handful of minutes, as the motionless Tartarin stood there, his dark lord silent and watching beside him, the forest- as far as the eye could see- vanished under a shower of acid. Even the ground itself was boiled and corroded.
Suddenly, a spike of ice shot through his brain, and he pivoted to look upon his fell lord. His coal black eyes were almost watering, and he was holding himself up not of his own free will, but, as he now understood, the will of his master... his captor...
A gloved hand clasped him roughly on the chin, and shook him.
"You, Grhuul. You have witnessed but a sample of my power. I, who am the master of your whole miserable horde." He jerked Grhuul sharply, and broke the Tartarin's neck. Now, the ice filled Ghruul's brain, and his body was completely cut off from his captive mind. He hung there, supported by the gloved hand, his neck shattered. He knew not why he was alive.
"And now you shall see more."
Pain... pain as unimaginable as he had ever felt, seized his frantic mind. Grhuul had not one coherent thought beyond this moment, as all his mind was feeling is overwhemling pain. He felt himself several times fall into darkness, but that icy grip, so similar to the grip on his chin, would clench his brain and he would awake. He could feel his blood pumping. His heart beat in his chest like a bird in a flooding cage. He could not move. He could not breath. As each agonizing moment passed by he could feel his very mind being stripped. Thoughts vanished... memories... he suddenly could not remember how long he had been in pain. One tremedous, final spike of pain shot through him, convulsing his entire body... and then he was dead.
The dark lord laughed, his voice echoing off the walls. His eyes shone brightly for a moment, and electricity shot up his arm as he held the dead Tartarin. Grhuul may have been a terrible assassin and a pitiful officer, but his mind had been a feast. With a flick of his wrist, he sent the limp, broken body into the raging fires beside his throne. He turned his callous, dark eyes to the window and beheld his creation... a barren, destroyed plain where there had once been a forest of hope.
The doors opened before Grhuul, and he very nearly shrank back as the burning light from the raging fires hit his coal black eyes. The study was awash in the flickering red light, and his eyes stung as though he had rubbed glass into them. But out of respect, respect for the individual he knew was sitting in the ornately carved chair in the centre of the room, Grhuul did not avert his gaze from the flames. For if he did, he would be showing a great weakness, and would be subject to torture, banishment, or destruction. He came forward, his grey shadowy robes swishing on the stone floor, though the sound was muted by the roaring flames that made each step another further into hell. He came before the throne, and fell to his knees quite deliberately. He did not look the figure in the eyes, for to do so would have invoked a challenge that he was certain he was not ready for.
He heard the dramatic intake of breath... the figure, his dark lord, making each word as though he were brewing a storm... building up the winds slowly, spinning them in his vocal cords, and releasing them with a furious energy, the sounds tearing Grhuul's will away with each passing moment. The Tartarin braced himself as a man does who is caught out in the open in such a storm. His lord, however, spoke to him in an even tone, his voice steady and that in itself was so much worse than a furious tornado of anger.
"Grhuul..." He began. His eyes, which has been closed as though in deep deliberation, opened slowly and fell upon the stooping Tartarin before him. "You have come back." Ghruul felt a strong sensation... like a sliver of ice had entered his brain. He fought to maintain a fascade of indifference, but the cold seemed to grow. "You have... not killed your target. How unfortunate for you."
"Your Excellency, I could not..." The Tartarin began.
"Silence!" The dark lord's voice cut through the room, seemingly beating down the fires with its potence. "You have failed. You do know the penalty for failure, do you not?" He stood, clad in his warlord's armour, that which was crafted from obsidian. The stone, the legendary Stone of the Cimmeri was embedded in the armour, at the source of the lord's evil... just above his foul heart. His black cloak hung from his shoulders, straight and sleek. In Grhuul's vision he could see the plated boots just before him. He visibly shook with each word, and as the cold grew, his mind became increasingly panic filled and, in some cases, outright numb.
A heartbeat... then two. The Tartarin suddenly started to wail... a low, piercing sound. His mind felt like it was on fire yet increasingly cold. He dare not move, nor could he with his thoughts becoming clouded with each passing second.
The clinking of steps. The dark lord had come down from his dais, his natural height advantage. Grhuul knew all too well that such an advantage this one did not need.
"Grhuul... I want to show you something. Something that will make you think." His tone was even again. Grhuul shook. But then, as though on command, the Tartarin rose. Another sensation flooded his mind, and the icy chill seemed to fade from his brain... almost. He still felt a small chill at the base of his skull. He saw his lord at eye level now, which was something he had vowed never to do. A gesture, and he was walking mindlessly, like a drone, towards an arched window.
"Do you see that, out there, Grhuul?" A hideous forest spanned the land as far as the Tartarin could see. Those ugly trees, all green and noisy, with their animals, those few who remained in the area. The horde had been forbidden to harm the trees for far. He had always wondered why.
A laugh entered his thoughts. His coal eyes shifted to the holder of the stone, next to him. Remarkably, the two were almost the same height. But the dark lord's armour and posture made him seem so much more. He held out a gloved hand, and, to the captive Tartarin's surprise, a long wand seemingly flew into it. The dark lord gripped it in both hands, and as he did, Grhuul could feel the energy transmit from wielder to instrument. It was a rather fancy looking wand, impossibly long, with an emerald of sorts on one end. The gem itself was held in place by a design that reminded Grhuul vaguely of a sea creature he had once read about.
"Your kin, excitable things that they are... They have wanted to destroy this forest since we arrived." Again, the calm voice. He held up the wand, its gem shimmering with inner light. "Now you shall see why."
As Grhuul watched, his lord held out the wand towards the night sky. Dark clouds already covered the horizon, and the small remnant of moonlight that broke through illuminated the innocent trees, the pride and joy of the elves who had lived here only weeks ago. He could feel the magic eminating from the wand, and even moreso the considerable power from its wielder... it was unlike traditional magics and it made the chill in his mind seem worse. Green light spilled forth from the wand, momentarily blinding the Tartarin. In its light, he could see the face of his lord, calm and serene, like an ocean before the storm. A low hum emitted from the gem, and the room itself began to grow dark outside of its light. Then, a force hit Grhuul, and he buckled. A bolt of pure energy shot forth from the wand, and traveled into the night sky, disappearing into the clouds.
His lord turned and looked to him. The wand itself moved out of his hand and laid against a far wall.
"I would never deprive myself of the pleasure of ruining a monument to a weaker race."
Ghruul's mind spun, and the chill began to creep back into his brain. He very nearly jumped as thunder shook the walls, and his attention turned to the window.
Outside, the clouds had gathered in earnest, and lightning crackled in the distance. Rain spewed forth. As the Tartarin watched, the droplets fell upon the earth as warrriors fall upon a prone victim. And like warriors, the rain itself tore into the trees, the ground. Leaves hissed, melted, and disappeared. The age-old barks of the trees themselves was dissolved like salt in a glass of water. A strong smell hit the slitted nostrils of the Tartarin. Acid. Within a handful of minutes, as the motionless Tartarin stood there, his dark lord silent and watching beside him, the forest- as far as the eye could see- vanished under a shower of acid. Even the ground itself was boiled and corroded.
Suddenly, a spike of ice shot through his brain, and he pivoted to look upon his fell lord. His coal black eyes were almost watering, and he was holding himself up not of his own free will, but, as he now understood, the will of his master... his captor...
A gloved hand clasped him roughly on the chin, and shook him.
"You, Grhuul. You have witnessed but a sample of my power. I, who am the master of your whole miserable horde." He jerked Grhuul sharply, and broke the Tartarin's neck. Now, the ice filled Ghruul's brain, and his body was completely cut off from his captive mind. He hung there, supported by the gloved hand, his neck shattered. He knew not why he was alive.
"And now you shall see more."
Pain... pain as unimaginable as he had ever felt, seized his frantic mind. Grhuul had not one coherent thought beyond this moment, as all his mind was feeling is overwhemling pain. He felt himself several times fall into darkness, but that icy grip, so similar to the grip on his chin, would clench his brain and he would awake. He could feel his blood pumping. His heart beat in his chest like a bird in a flooding cage. He could not move. He could not breath. As each agonizing moment passed by he could feel his very mind being stripped. Thoughts vanished... memories... he suddenly could not remember how long he had been in pain. One tremedous, final spike of pain shot through him, convulsing his entire body... and then he was dead.
The dark lord laughed, his voice echoing off the walls. His eyes shone brightly for a moment, and electricity shot up his arm as he held the dead Tartarin. Grhuul may have been a terrible assassin and a pitiful officer, but his mind had been a feast. With a flick of his wrist, he sent the limp, broken body into the raging fires beside his throne. He turned his callous, dark eyes to the window and beheld his creation... a barren, destroyed plain where there had once been a forest of hope.