09-21-2011, 08:16 PM
Yay, a new thread.
Been trying to come up with something to write for Zalthiel for a while now but never quite gotten the right idea, something that who be an interesting story, to both read and write. Because, no matter how interesting it is to read, if it's not fun to write, it's not going to last long. The opposite is a bit less true, though, but still valid.
So, I chatted with a few people, tossed some ideas around, came up with this. It's something that makes sense IC, will be able to tie in to in game happenings, and just be fun to write. So here's the narcissistic b***h's quest for
Also, for those who care (Anyone out there?), I'm not abandoning Reflections of a Weary Soul. Just spending some time elsewhere. I'm honestly not terribly pleased with this right now either, but I need to get this posted and switch my focus for a bit or I'm going to go nuts and never post anything again.
Without further ado, let the powertripping begin.
The crypt had been abandoned for quite some time.
They were dank and lightless; all the torches had long since burnt out. Several of the coffins had begun to rot, the wood crumbling against the weight of time. Cobwebs and dust covered everything, even several of the motionless undead that lined the halls. They did not respond as she descended the steps, as they once might have to an intruder. The image of them attacking her, upon her first entry, was still laughably absurd.
She had corrected that behavior quickly.
The sound of her boots on the stone floor was muffled by the layers of dust that choked the ground. Should anyone else enter, it would be easy to see that someone had passed through recently. Her ghoulish retainers, silent and still as they were, would not remain so if a living soul approached. This place was hers and hers alone, for now. If it was discovered, it would be...
Problematic.
She descended the steps slowly, Eyestealer scuttling ahead of her to pull open the door at the base of the decline. She patted the ghoul's head absently as she brushed past, and he whimpered before dragging the door closed behind her, shrouding her in darkness. Only her witchlight eyes gleamed eerily in the shadows.
She moved to the center of the room, sliding the chair back and sitting down. She lifted her arms, placed her elbows on the table, and steepled her fingers as she always did, thumbs supporting her chin.
Planning required solitude. No interruptions.
So she sealed herself away, and she planned.
She had hit a small snag in her operations. The nest she had agitated was larger than she had originally anticipated. Riling Astia and her friend had provoked a threatening response; the trap they had set for her in the Barrens, while not terribly inventive, had forced her into retreat and given her a new understanding of what she faced.
There was an interesting duality to those women; the balance between shadow and light that, in another organization, may have been worth examining.
As it stood now...
Her shadow would swallow their darkness and light alike. But in order for that to happen, she had work to do. Once those gnats had been swatted, she could move on to the larger game.
As it stood now, they outmatched her. One on one, there was no doubt in her mind she could take care of any of them. Their magic paled in comparison to hers. Together, though...
Her gauntlets creaked slightly as her fingers tightened.
Together they were a nuisance she could not contain.
Not yet. But that would change.
She had a plan.
Her dear cousin Sagi had planted the notion, however unintentionally. Relinquishing the staff to him had been a blow; it was powerful, though she had only scratched the surface of its secrets in the short time she had possessed it. But in giving it up, she had gained the potential for so much more.
In exchange for his staff, Sagi had given her the location of a cache of magical artifacts. Ti had belonged to an 'old organization' she was sure he knew more about than he was letting on, no doubt about that. No matter, though; she would discover the secrets he hid from her, sooner or later.
She had little doubt such a cache would fail to live up to her expectations (little did), but it was a start, and it had planted the seeds of an idea within her.
It was foolish, really, that she hadn't thought of it before. But it was of little consequence; it was on the table now.
She had sent Zira out to locate an enchanter for her, a spellweaver who could bestow her with the eldritch energies she would need to swing the balance of power in her favor.
She would need materials. Resources. Tools. Equipment. Nobody did anything for free. The enchanter was certain to ask something in return, and merely sparing his life would probably not be enough, the ungrateful whelp. The magic he imbued upon her armor would undoubtedly be costly. Again, threatening his life may work for the first enchantment, but she intended to have far more than just one.
But, the armor she had now would simply not do. It served her well enough, but it was tainted, impure. It had been given to her by the Ebon Blade upon their defection from the Lich King. It was a symbol, one that was unacceptable.
She needed something different. Something better.
The magic she intended to imbue it with was suitable for a lord, a commander, not some grunt; she would need armor to match, and simply purchasing it was inadequate. It was lazy, pathetic, unacceptable.
Such a thing needed meaning. Each piece of it had to be worthy, even before the magic touched it.
It would be a masterpiece.
So many thoughts rushed through her mind, images of success and power, of victory, of defeated enemies begging for mercy that would not come.
The images were pleasing, but she could not allow arrogance to cloud her keen mind. Her great intellect must be kept clear and focused.
This project would be a resounding success, and sound the death knell of her foes.
But in the meantime, there were more...snags, that needed to be worked out. Destroying and reanimating the mindless undead who haunted these ruins was inconvenient, a terrible waste of her energy and time, not to mention a continuous strain to keep them functioning. It was inefficient, and she did not like it.
Maintaining the flow of power to them was not acceptable, as it stood. Perhaps, if she could tie off the flows, yet keep them functioning, the numbers she had would be viable. Or, perhaps, if she could substitute her own power for an alternative source...
There were a number of possible solutions that raced through her mind, but they all stemmed from one problem, and it made her bare her teeth in anger.
She simply did not have the power to do what she wanted to.
And that was absolutely unacceptable.
The armor's power would help a great deal, but such might was not yet hers. She could not rely on 'what ifs' yet, even if it was essentially a guarantee. She could not afford to base anything off of them.
Soon.
Soon, all of that would change.
In the utter blackness of her lair, Zalthiel's flayed lips pulled back in a cruel smile.
Been trying to come up with something to write for Zalthiel for a while now but never quite gotten the right idea, something that who be an interesting story, to both read and write. Because, no matter how interesting it is to read, if it's not fun to write, it's not going to last long. The opposite is a bit less true, though, but still valid.
So, I chatted with a few people, tossed some ideas around, came up with this. It's something that makes sense IC, will be able to tie in to in game happenings, and just be fun to write. So here's the narcissistic b***h's quest for
Spoiler:
[video=youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kpAcanUJX7s&feature=related [/video]
Also, for those who care (Anyone out there?), I'm not abandoning Reflections of a Weary Soul. Just spending some time elsewhere. I'm honestly not terribly pleased with this right now either, but I need to get this posted and switch my focus for a bit or I'm going to go nuts and never post anything again.
Without further ado, let the powertripping begin.
Seething Shadows
The crypt had been abandoned for quite some time.
They were dank and lightless; all the torches had long since burnt out. Several of the coffins had begun to rot, the wood crumbling against the weight of time. Cobwebs and dust covered everything, even several of the motionless undead that lined the halls. They did not respond as she descended the steps, as they once might have to an intruder. The image of them attacking her, upon her first entry, was still laughably absurd.
She had corrected that behavior quickly.
The sound of her boots on the stone floor was muffled by the layers of dust that choked the ground. Should anyone else enter, it would be easy to see that someone had passed through recently. Her ghoulish retainers, silent and still as they were, would not remain so if a living soul approached. This place was hers and hers alone, for now. If it was discovered, it would be...
Problematic.
She descended the steps slowly, Eyestealer scuttling ahead of her to pull open the door at the base of the decline. She patted the ghoul's head absently as she brushed past, and he whimpered before dragging the door closed behind her, shrouding her in darkness. Only her witchlight eyes gleamed eerily in the shadows.
She moved to the center of the room, sliding the chair back and sitting down. She lifted her arms, placed her elbows on the table, and steepled her fingers as she always did, thumbs supporting her chin.
Planning required solitude. No interruptions.
So she sealed herself away, and she planned.
She had hit a small snag in her operations. The nest she had agitated was larger than she had originally anticipated. Riling Astia and her friend had provoked a threatening response; the trap they had set for her in the Barrens, while not terribly inventive, had forced her into retreat and given her a new understanding of what she faced.
There was an interesting duality to those women; the balance between shadow and light that, in another organization, may have been worth examining.
As it stood now...
Her shadow would swallow their darkness and light alike. But in order for that to happen, she had work to do. Once those gnats had been swatted, she could move on to the larger game.
As it stood now, they outmatched her. One on one, there was no doubt in her mind she could take care of any of them. Their magic paled in comparison to hers. Together, though...
Her gauntlets creaked slightly as her fingers tightened.
Together they were a nuisance she could not contain.
Not yet. But that would change.
She had a plan.
Her dear cousin Sagi had planted the notion, however unintentionally. Relinquishing the staff to him had been a blow; it was powerful, though she had only scratched the surface of its secrets in the short time she had possessed it. But in giving it up, she had gained the potential for so much more.
In exchange for his staff, Sagi had given her the location of a cache of magical artifacts. Ti had belonged to an 'old organization' she was sure he knew more about than he was letting on, no doubt about that. No matter, though; she would discover the secrets he hid from her, sooner or later.
She had little doubt such a cache would fail to live up to her expectations (little did), but it was a start, and it had planted the seeds of an idea within her.
It was foolish, really, that she hadn't thought of it before. But it was of little consequence; it was on the table now.
She had sent Zira out to locate an enchanter for her, a spellweaver who could bestow her with the eldritch energies she would need to swing the balance of power in her favor.
She would need materials. Resources. Tools. Equipment. Nobody did anything for free. The enchanter was certain to ask something in return, and merely sparing his life would probably not be enough, the ungrateful whelp. The magic he imbued upon her armor would undoubtedly be costly. Again, threatening his life may work for the first enchantment, but she intended to have far more than just one.
But, the armor she had now would simply not do. It served her well enough, but it was tainted, impure. It had been given to her by the Ebon Blade upon their defection from the Lich King. It was a symbol, one that was unacceptable.
She needed something different. Something better.
The magic she intended to imbue it with was suitable for a lord, a commander, not some grunt; she would need armor to match, and simply purchasing it was inadequate. It was lazy, pathetic, unacceptable.
Such a thing needed meaning. Each piece of it had to be worthy, even before the magic touched it.
It would be a masterpiece.
So many thoughts rushed through her mind, images of success and power, of victory, of defeated enemies begging for mercy that would not come.
The images were pleasing, but she could not allow arrogance to cloud her keen mind. Her great intellect must be kept clear and focused.
This project would be a resounding success, and sound the death knell of her foes.
But in the meantime, there were more...snags, that needed to be worked out. Destroying and reanimating the mindless undead who haunted these ruins was inconvenient, a terrible waste of her energy and time, not to mention a continuous strain to keep them functioning. It was inefficient, and she did not like it.
Maintaining the flow of power to them was not acceptable, as it stood. Perhaps, if she could tie off the flows, yet keep them functioning, the numbers she had would be viable. Or, perhaps, if she could substitute her own power for an alternative source...
There were a number of possible solutions that raced through her mind, but they all stemmed from one problem, and it made her bare her teeth in anger.
She simply did not have the power to do what she wanted to.
And that was absolutely unacceptable.
The armor's power would help a great deal, but such might was not yet hers. She could not rely on 'what ifs' yet, even if it was essentially a guarantee. She could not afford to base anything off of them.
Soon.
Soon, all of that would change.
In the utter blackness of her lair, Zalthiel's flayed lips pulled back in a cruel smile.