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PostPosted: Wed Dec 10, 2014 10:01 am 
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Well played Sir
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How does one get this publication?

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Lord Elessehta Silverbough of Ar Yvrellion, Ruler of Athel Anarhain, Prince of the Yvressi.
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These may be the last days of the Asur, but if we are to leave this world let us do it as the heroes of old, sword raised against evil!


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PostPosted: Wed Dec 10, 2014 10:17 am 
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Amazon. It's an epub, so you also need download a kindle app (they're free).

Title is The shadow prince, by Headshot Inc.

Proceeds go to the Everqueen shoe fund (or so I've been told) ;)

Rod

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Eirik wrote:
Please try to remember that, no matter how 'official' the source seems, rumours are basically just a dictionary combined with a random number generator

For Nagarythe: Come to the dark side.
PS: Bring cookies!

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PostPosted: Wed Dec 10, 2014 10:44 am 
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Well played Sir
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Amazon isn't Australia friendly, but I'll have a go.

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Lord Elessehta Silverbough of Ar Yvrellion, Ruler of Athel Anarhain, Prince of the Yvressi.
Beastly member of The Mage Knight Guild.
Narrin’Tim wrote:
These may be the last days of the Asur, but if we are to leave this world let us do it as the heroes of old, sword raised against evil!


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PostPosted: Wed Dec 10, 2014 11:56 pm 
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Vali Loecson wrote:
Even in the moment before his death it feels like the Shadow Prince is holding something back. I really hope we get to see him completely unleashed before the end.
I on the other hand am quite glad he (they) are holding something back if Tyrion as Avatar of Khaine is an example of that. Of course for that one final touch, it is not too bad to cheat the dice. As you should know given your allegiance. :D

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PostPosted: Thu Dec 11, 2014 6:56 pm 
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Prince of Spires wrote:
our lovely chronicler


Thank you! I am quite roguishly handsome, if I do say so myself. 8)

Though as the Ever Queen is a Jealous Sovereign I'm afraid that your admiration must go unrequited. My apologies my good sir! :wink:

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PostPosted: Thu Dec 11, 2014 9:31 pm 
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Aicanor wrote:
Vali Loecson wrote:
Even in the moment before his death it feels like the Shadow Prince is holding something back. I really hope we get to see him completely unleashed before the end.
I on the other hand am quite glad he (they) are holding something back if Tyrion as Avatar of Khaine is an example of that. Of course for that one final touch, it is not too bad to cheat the dice. As you should know given your allegiance. :D


We in Loec's service don't refer to it as cheating, we refer to it as redistributing blessings. It's all very noble and sacred, we anoint things, there's chanting involved, holy sacraments and so on. :lol:

See, Tyrion, to me, is Khaine defined through Tyrion's life experience, individuality (or perhaps lack thereof) and the curse of having to live in the footsteps of Aenarion. The tragedy of Tyrion, as I see it, is the railroad that he's almost placed himself on to relive Aenarion's life and mistakes.

Spite doesn't have that at all, he would become a vehicle of the power that is Khaine, but directed by the life, culture and agenda of the Aesanar/Nagarathi. The ends justify the means, so long as the elven people are saved and Nagarythe redeemed. It's the search for redemption that I believe would tether Spite and allow him to direct the raw power of Khaine better than Tyrion. Not to mention the passed down knowledge from all his predecessors.

Come on, who doesn't want to see 'SHADOW PRINCE SMASH!' :mrgreen:

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Makiwara wrote:
Smiths in Nagarythe that can repair the holiest piece of armour worn by the Shadow Prince himself... 0 apparently.


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PostPosted: Thu Dec 11, 2014 11:53 pm 
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How'd I miss this? I'm glad I came back to Ulthuan when I did, this is epic stuff as usual. Also, I'm starting to feel sorry for Tim's cheeks, Anna'lis does not like them at all :P

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rdghuizing wrote:
Besides, the battle of Finuval Plain was more a minor skirmish anyway. A good enough summary would have been "Teclis and Malekith ran into each other. Teclis cast The Dwellers Below on Malekith with IF, and Malekith failed his Strength test." Not much more to it then that really.


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PostPosted: Fri Dec 12, 2014 8:56 am 
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Karalael Moonsinger wrote:
Also, I'm starting to feel sorry for Tim's cheeks, Anna'lis does not like them at all :P

I have the feeling that it actually is that she likes them too much...

Rod

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Eirik wrote:
Please try to remember that, no matter how 'official' the source seems, rumours are basically just a dictionary combined with a random number generator

For Nagarythe: Come to the dark side.
PS: Bring cookies!

Check out my plog
Painting progress, done/in progress/in box: 167/33/91


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PostPosted: Fri Dec 12, 2014 9:00 am 
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Here I was thinking it was only Druchii who went in for that level of kink. It must be true what they say about girls from Saphery! :lol:

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Headshot wrote:
Makiwara wrote:
Smiths in Nagarythe that can repair the holiest piece of armour worn by the Shadow Prince himself... 0 apparently.


Duct tape counts!!


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PostPosted: Thu Jan 15, 2015 9:30 pm 
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Part 10 –


The door to the Waystone tower flew open. She ran inside, her eyes searching the dappled light of the interior chamber frantically. There! She saw the witch standing upon a ledge at the top of a set of stone stairs set into the tower wall. There was a feral snarl on the witch’s lips and green flames in her hand. With a flick of her wrist she tossed the flames downwards, it grew as it fell, and then with a horrendous thunder it collided with the altar set in the center of the chamber. The Warden raised her arm to protect her face and staggered back. The altar was gone, smashed into fragments. And the altar’s oil, once propped up into silver braziers, was spreading across the width of the chamber. And with it went a roaring red inferno.

She could hear the screams coming from behind a door on the opposite side of the chamber. Terrified pleas for help!

The priestess…

And the witch was already disappearing through an opening at the top of the stairs.

The Nagarathi’s black eyes were upon her. She bared her teeth.

“Go! You fool! After the witch!! We’ll save the priestess!”

Without another word or a glance back the Shadow Prince was off at a shot, sprinting up the stone stairs three steps at a time. The empty scabbard on his back flapping against his shoulder.

Now they just needed to save the priestess. Somehow. The inferno was growing as it sucked up the tapestries along the walls and the rich rugs scattered about the entry chamber. White smoke, billowing and opaque, filled the room and sent her to coughing. She could hear the screams of the priestess growing more and more shrill. And she could see the flames were already licking at the base of the door to where the woman was trapped.

She had to get through somehow! But how?!

She looked around; seeing nothing but stone and fire. The boy was standing next to her looking terrified, confused, and perplexed all at the same time. Sweat was shining on his face. He was exhausted almost beyond measure because the fool lad had continued to carry his shield all the long run up here. He just wouldn’t drop it. Damn Levy….

Wait. The Shield!

“Give it to me!!” she shouted above the roar of the flames.

“What?!” the boy shouted back.

“GIVE ME THE DAMN SHIELD!!” She lunged forward and pulled it from his arm. The boy half heartedly resisted but then she had the shield in hand. She raised it in front of her and ran full force across the room. Fire enveloped her and she screamed. Kept screaming in the heat and blinding light and terror. And quickened her step raising the shield in front of her – pushing her way past burning tapestries and flaming wooden furniture. Until she slammed into the smoldering door. She gave a yell, as she felt the wood against the shield. And then… SNAP!! The door gave way, and she was tumbling beyond into the interior.

The first thing she saw in the ruddy light was the terrified face of the young priestess standing just a few paces away. She was dressed in the formal robes of her order, a little disheveled by her ordeal. Sunlight streamed in from a window just past her shoulder. But the room wasn’t large; just a storage closet of some kind.

That’s when she noticed the barrels. Piled high in the room. Oil barrels, all there to provide fuel for the ritual services at the tower.

And the fire was already coming through the door.

“Damn you Khaine!” she snarled.

There was only one thing to do. She hurled the shield at the window. Watched the glass crack with the force of the blow, and then with her other hand seized the priestesses arm.

“C’mon!!”

She ran dragging the girl behind her and leapt at the cracked glass. Willing it to give. Willing that there be something to grab onto. Cursing every god she could think of…. Her shoulder slammed into the glass and she felt the crystal give way… And her free hand snatching, snatching around vapor and emptiness…to seize upon a trellis on the outside of the tower wall! Her jump turned as her body pivoted about her hand hold.

KABOOM!!

The world turned to flame. A thunderous roar and she was flying screaming through the air, the priestess next to her. She felt stone slam into her back as she tumbled end over end. She came to a stop at a low wall on the edge of one of the tower’s balconies. She lay there, saw the priestess sitting up nearby, her face smeared with blood, her eyes shaken. Saw the smoldering and gaping hole in the tower wall that had once been just a window. Saw the small blue flames eating at the edge of her cloak and hair. And felt like she had just been pummeled along a Nagarathi gauntlet.

She groaned. “I need a vacation.”

***

But there was no time. She staggered to her feet and brushed out the flames upon her. With one last glance at the priestess – “Wait here!” – she turned and made her way towards the balcony door. Beyond was a short hall leading out to a ledge. She could still feel the heat of the oil fire nearby, and smoke was already filling the hall. And there, at the end she saw the boy, running sword in hand.

“Warden?!”

“Where? Where is the witch?” she gasped. Her lungs felt like charred paper.

“I don’t know! The stairs collapsed. I’m trying to find another way up.”

She turned and followed the boy her eyes looking along the corridor, until, there! Yes, the Waystone towers were an ancient and elegant design, with many alcoves and passages beyond the central tower. It was built like a honeycomb, and this vertical tunnel was set with smooth stone handrails leading up. She went in and began to climb.

She stuck her head through an opening in the stone ceiling and saw that she was in another large chamber. Her eyes flicked about. It was the Heart Chamber. She could see the gigantic blue heart crystal – sister to the sky crystal set at the peak of the tower – where it hung upon magical filaments at the center of the chamber shedding a brilliant cobalt light. All about the walls of the chamber were scaffolding; wooden rafters put in place for the priestess to service the needs of the crystal.

And there upon the top of the wooden scaffolding she saw the witch. In one hand she held a vial that emitted a vapor and glowed green. With the other she made sigils. A black vapor gushed from her fingertips. And as it flowed the vapor congealed into shimmering blades of blue iron. Dozens of them! They flew out her hand and across the walkway of the scaffold…

Towards the Nagarathi prince climbing up the ladder behind. The blades hit him before he seemed even aware. She watched as the knives and swords slashed at his arms and legs, cutting delicate little swaths into skin and muscle. Opening vein and cleaving armor. Blood flowed freely from a dozen wounds about his body as he cried out. The ladder took the brunt of the spell: the wood chipped and shattered beneath the repeated blows. And then it collapsed; shattered into multiple fragments that rained down the thirty feet to the stone below.

She saw the Nagarathi hanging weakly by one hand upon the ledge. She saw the witch backing towards the heart crystal with the green vial upraised. Her other hand forming another sigil, pointed at the helpless Shadow Prince. She could see the wounds on his body already beginning to close. But it would take too much time! He couldn’t ward the next spell and heal himself at once! She had to do something.

She had only one Shakri left. If she missed the witch the witch would unleash her spell and destroy the Nagarathi lord. Then turn and deal with her at her leisure. She needed someway to counteract her magic. Someway to stop her casting. Unless she could kill her in one blow… But at this range, doubtful. There had to be another way….?

And then she saw it right in front of her face. Of course….

She drew her arm back and released the knife in a horizontal throw. She watched it twirl across the room spinning and gleaming as it flew, the heavy wedge tip pulling the body along behind it in a deadly scything rotation.

It struck. Ten feet below the witch. The knife cut through ties and slammed into the cornerpost of the scaffold, severing the wooden bands and supports. And with a terrible wrenching sound the scaffold bucked and swayed, throwing the witch from her feet. Then the entire thing leaned over and broke apart, sending its occupants tumbling towards the floor.

And the center of the room. Beneath the heart crystal.

She pulled herself up the rest of the way. And heard the boy climbing behind her. She looked past the cerulean light and saw the scattered debris of the collapsed scaffold. There was the witch, coming to her feet. The green vial in one hand, the other resting upon a dazed brow. There was fury and murder upon her face. And she could feel the venom of the witch’s hatred directed her way.

But before the witch could act, a portion of the scaffold debris shifted and fell apart with a clatter. And from the ruins….

Rose the Shadow Prince.

He was blood soaked and dressed in tatters. She could barely see an elf past that gore. Just black eyes, filled with a hatred that completely dwarfed that of the witch’s eyes.

The Druchii spun and raised her free hand, a new sigil in place.

And nothing happened. The woman frantically tried to twist her fingers into a new formation. But no vapor emerged. No flame licked her palms. She was within the heart stone’s power now, and all the winds of magic were being directed upwards and away… to the skystone above, and ultimately to the vortex many leagues away.

Suddenly seeming aware of her danger, the witch pulled a knife from her belt and quickly backed towards the stone with the green vial raised to toss. But the Nagarathi was upon her almost before she finished moving. She saw the tall elf lord reach out and almost nonchalantly seize the beautiful woman’s arm, locking it within his own. To twist, and then snap in twain. White bone protruded below the elbow, as the witch gave a cry of agony. And then the gore covered Nagarathi kicked out her legs sending her to the floor. The vial fell with a clatter and rolled across the stone floor. The Warden swept out and seized it, carefully covering it with a bit of her cloak. When she looked back she could see the elf lord kneeling above the body of the writhing witch, both hands locked about her head. And in between the woman’s shrill cries and the sound of her body thrashing, she heard the stomach churning sound….

…of a pair of thumbs being pushed through something soft, and gelatinous.


***




Ok, epilogue coming up!

(Wait! Epilogue to a Prelude! Isn't that just the main body?? Man, breaking all the rules here! :D )


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PostPosted: Fri Jan 16, 2015 5:48 am 
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Well played Sir
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Already?

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Beastly member of The Mage Knight Guild.
Narrin’Tim wrote:
These may be the last days of the Asur, but if we are to leave this world let us do it as the heroes of old, sword raised against evil!


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PostPosted: Fri Jan 16, 2015 7:20 am 
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Great read, well worth the wait. And the last bit made me shudder, goes right through me, that does, ack.

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rdghuizing wrote:
Besides, the battle of Finuval Plain was more a minor skirmish anyway. A good enough summary would have been "Teclis and Malekith ran into each other. Teclis cast The Dwellers Below on Malekith with IF, and Malekith failed his Strength test." Not much more to it then that really.


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PostPosted: Fri Jan 16, 2015 7:44 am 
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@elessehta

I'm afraid so. This was originally intended as a short intro to a longer story that I was going to tell next year. But with the end times developments (and my own confusion/business/drifting attention!), I'm not sure if I will ever get around to that now. Sorry. :?

Perhaps a teaser to a what might have been?

@Karalael

Not over just yet! Cameo coming up! :)

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PostPosted: Fri Jan 16, 2015 7:45 am 
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Well played Sir
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Mate, I can wait until you have free time again hey.

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Beastly member of The Mage Knight Guild.
Narrin’Tim wrote:
These may be the last days of the Asur, but if we are to leave this world let us do it as the heroes of old, sword raised against evil!


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PostPosted: Fri Jan 16, 2015 7:57 am 
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@Elessehta/Tiralya

Thanks buddy, I appreciate it. And I don't want to sound overly dramatic, but I do think that this time might be my retirement (finally). I feel that with the ESC story I have managed to send Tim off in style, and saw the last of my Nagarythe. Not saying that more stories might not emerge - but just that they probably won't be from this chronicler's pen. I hope others will tell the further adventures of the Nagarathi as the warhammer world develops and changes.

Still, every time I think I've walked away from these black clad miscreants, they just pull me back in. So I suppose I have finally learned to never say never. :D

But first, have an epilogue to finish before all the goodbyes! :)

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PostPosted: Fri Jan 16, 2015 8:38 am 
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You can't leave yet headshot, the elves haven't gone through their darkest hour and where would they be without Narrin'Tim and the indomitable Nagarathi to lead them through into the dawn!?

Nay, more, more I say Great Chronicler!

=D>

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Makiwara wrote:
Smiths in Nagarythe that can repair the holiest piece of armour worn by the Shadow Prince himself... 0 apparently.


Duct tape counts!!


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PostPosted: Fri Jan 16, 2015 10:58 am 
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If I find some armour baroque enough I'll make a Shadow Lord mate, count on it, not sure if it'll be Spite or Tim though, I'll have to wait and see.

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These may be the last days of the Asur, but if we are to leave this world let us do it as the heroes of old, sword raised against evil!


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PostPosted: Fri Jan 16, 2015 2:20 pm 
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I don't have a Shadow Prince, but I have Palin'Tanith-trained scouts, so you've impacted my little corners of Ulthuan and Elthin-Arvan :D

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Besides, the battle of Finuval Plain was more a minor skirmish anyway. A good enough summary would have been "Teclis and Malekith ran into each other. Teclis cast The Dwellers Below on Malekith with IF, and Malekith failed his Strength test." Not much more to it then that really.


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PostPosted: Sat Jan 17, 2015 10:22 pm 
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I certainly hope the dust will settle and there will be more to write about.
I have a Shadow Prince, perhaps I should repaint him a little, but overall I am happy with the heroic look (figure stolen from the WE range). Is the armour baroque enough? :D

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PostPosted: Sun Jan 18, 2015 12:47 am 
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Haha. Yep. That is my old Spite model. Though he kept the greatsword. Still nice axe conversion. :)

Ah, as I take a closer look I realize that this Sapherian can't be a Shadow Prince! The armor isn't black and gold! He is some imposter! Better check his credentials again! :)

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PostPosted: Sun Jan 18, 2015 7:46 am 
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Headshot wrote:
Ah, as I take a closer look I realize that this Sapherian can't be a Shadow Prince! The armor isn't black and gold! He is some imposter! Better check his credentials again! :)

Headshot
That is because there can be only one true Shadow Prince at one time. ;) But it is one of my favourite GW models.

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PostPosted: Tue Feb 24, 2015 7:37 pm 
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EPILOGUE –


She stood upon the river-dock. There was a mist upon the river, thin and wafting in the mellow afternoon light, and with it came the strong scent of honeysuckle and a myriad of other flowers upon a current of pine and toadstool. For just beyond the mist rose the great boughs thick and towering of the Avelorn forest. Even in the distance of some half-mile she could make out the dappled light in between the limbs and canopy of that ancient enchanted forest. She studied it with an appreciative eye.

But then the boy was climbing down the gangplank from the boat now. She shook her head at the sight of his ill-fitting tunic and awkward shuffle. He shouldered a travel bag, and a new kite shield across his back.

She chuckled and stepped forward. “Sorry about your shield.”

“Warden!” the boy greeted and looked equal parts pleased and uncomfortable. “It’s alright. I mean, I have a new one now. And… I’ve been promoted! By Lord Fellanon himself! I am Sentinel of a company now. He said, ‘for my courage…that night.” The boy finished almost apologetically.

She managed to not shake her head. It wasn’t the boy’s fault – but it bothered her how thin the ranks of Tiranoc were now spread. To promote the youngest, albeit only, survivor of that massacre…. Still Lord Fellanon, like all of us, had to make do.

She clapped the boy on the back. “How are things back home?” And then pushed-pulled him to fall-in beside her as she began to make her way down the dock.

The boy glanced about as if for the first time taking in his surroundings: the mighty river, the mist, the rock and tree strewn shore before them; behind them, the behemoths of Avelorn…. “Some confusion,” he began, “They have doubled patrols in the northern reach. All of north Tiranoc have contributed soldiers to the effort I have heard. Oh, and they are garrisoning the towers of the Waystones. By soldiers from the Southern League. Though I understand some of the garrisons of the cities of the plain have been near emptied by the effort.” The boy looked puzzled, and frowned as he walked. “But why, Warden? Why did the Druchii spend so much in the attack? What did they want with one of our Waystones?”

“That is why we are here to find out,” she answered grimly and her eyes drifted up to the castle built atop the hill towering above the shore. There upon one of the outer walls she could see a trio of dark shadows….

In a few minutes they had passed through the Sapheri guard (unusually colorful and overly formal in her opinion!) and found the steps leading up to the outer wall. There she could see the figures more clearly – two lean feral almost-elfs, lounging against one lip of the wall, powerful longbows sat between their shoulders, and knives and hatchets hung from their belts and harnesses. And before them….him.

He stood separate from even his own kind, his hands upon the lip of the wall, facing the river and the forest to the north. The black eyes were inscrutable as always; but there was something about them – almost as if he watched the north with a longing. A hunger. Still it was strange to see him standing there – wrapped in a new woolen grey cloak, standing tall and straight, with his greatblade affixed like a part of him on his back – just a little over a week after he seemed to be passing the silver line between life and death. If he remembered those moments, lying upon the loam in that Tiranoc forest, he did not show it. He just looked to the north. Looked and longed.

She cleared her throat as she approached. The two guard-elfs or whatever they were, gave her the eye. But she didn’t care; she had a brace of new shakri across her chest and if these Nagarathi wanted to test her, they were welcome to. Instead she ignored them and walked straight up to their chief.

“Look who finally showed up,” she said and thumbed at the boy in tow. “And it looks like the precautions you wanted put in place have been made. At least in Tiranoc.”

He nodded. But didn’t turn to look. And didn’t offer a word of greeting to the boy.

“Now what in all the hells are we doing here? In this primcock Sapheri palace?” she snarled

“Finding answers.”

“So you said before. But to what?” she scowled.

“The Moonsinger has a gift for the amber wind,” was the answer.

A figure was approaching across the battlements. A page by their dress. The tall northerner turned to watch the youth’s approach.

“Excuse me sir,” the boy page greeted. “My lord will see you now.”

“Lead on….”

***

In a few minutes they were standing in a room within the fortress. The Sapherian prince, his hair fixed in long tails, stood before a table spread with alchemical apparatus. He turned as they approached and his face looked especially grim.

“It is as you feared,” the Prince said as they approached. “The Druchii concoction is mixed with the congealed winds. Warpstone, as it is known in the tongues of men.”

The northerner nodded as his eyes rested on the green liquid in one of the Sapherian’s beakers. The same liquid that had most recently resided within the vial of a Druchii witch.

“Is there naught else you can tell us?” the northerner queried.

“A great deal. None of it pleasant.” The Sapherian responded, his face drawn and serious. “In short, it is some variant of the ‘Madness’. The Druchii poison that is known to drive its victims into a murderous rage that will turn them against their own brothers. But, Shadow Prince, I have never before seen an example of this…potency. Laced with warpstone, no less. If it had have touched the Waystone crystal… I fear that the venom would have been spread upon the winds of magics running through the crystal. Spread for scores, perhaps hundreds, of leagues. Untold thousands would have been affected! It would have created a frenzy throughout the north, as father slew his own children, wife her own husband, in a blind rage!” He shook his head in disbelief. “It is truly one of the most evil concoctions I have ever witnessed.” The Sapherian finished without a hint of exaggeration.

“Dear Gods….” The boy beside her whispered, apparently once more in shocked disbelief.

She however felt a burning anger within. “How?” she snarled the one word. The Sapherian prince looked at her. “How?” she repeated. “How did the Druchii make this vile creation?”

The Sapherian looked thoughtful. “The ingredients of the basic potion are there. But they are mixed with a bevy of other catalysts. Besides the warpstone, there is Green Mandrake, the Dragon Iris, Black Lotus, and Sinew of the Catacoli. Each designed to enhance its effect, and its delivery. But how and why, they discovered this formula… I cannot say. Even though it disturbs me greatly.”

“Thank you, Lord Karalael,” the Nagarathi uttered, then turned and walked out of the room. She swore and hurried to catch up.

“That meant something to you,” she challenged once they were alone in the corridor. “Tell me.”

Without stopping the northerner muttered, “Those ingredients – Green Mandrake, the Dragon Iris, Black Lotus, Catacoli – they are all exceedingly rare, and come from the same source. A stretch of tropical forest in the hinterlands of Ind, nestled within the shadows of the Haunted Mountains there.”

She frowned as she heard that. “But how did the Druchii get a hold of them then, if they are so rare?” There was no response. The Nagarathi kept walking at his ground eating pace. “Wait! Where are you going?”

A gloved hand of the northern warrior clenched into a fist.

“To find Spires….”


***


Elsewhere…..


The alcove in the upper halls of Prince Elessehta’s palace was nearly deserted at this hour. The Prince of Spires strode carefully across the carpeted hall, his eyes probing the shadows. There. A table secluded amongst a collection of bookshelves built into the alcove. He saw the lone occupant waiting there. He turned his gait towards the unoccupied seat across from the small table set there.

Lord Bavel of Eataine was heavy-set for an Asur, with broad, plain features beneath ringlets of oiled hair.

“Welcome, illustrious Prince of Spires,” the Eatainian greeted with a broad condescending smile. “Or should I say ‘Administrator’?” he finished with a chuckle.

Spires took the empty seat. He felt an eyebrow arch up his forehead. “That greeting then at the beginning of the festivities was your doing?”

“Haha!! Of course. Just a jest old boy! Nothing to be concerned about,” Bavel guffawed. “I’m surprised you even remember it. Haha. Administrator. Haha!! What with a week of these tiresome Yvressi festivities behind us. For the marriage of some outland noble no less! Bah. There is scarce here fit to bedeck the tables of Eataine! And not once an orgy! So…provincial these Yvressi!” He laughed again.

The information now in his possession, the Prince of Spires turned, his eyes sought out his attendant in the shadows down the hall, and gave a curt nod. The attendant disappeared without a word. Then he turned back to the sweat-faced Eataini and laid a wrapped parcel upon the table.

The Eataini stopped his convulsions and fixed the package with a hungry stare. “Finally!” he gasped, and reached out and began unwrapping the parcel. Inside, a simple ring, of silver and black, twisted together in an endless weaving. “It is more beautiful than I imagined!” the Eataini admired.

“It is as you desired. An ancient ring of power, one fit to grant life and vigor,” Spires answered simply. “Locating it was not a trifle, however,” he added pointedly.

“Yes, yes,” Lord Bavel responded. “The cargo we agreed to is waiting for you at the docks here. You will be well paid,” he finished with a dismissive wave.

Spires blinked, slowly.

“You do realize that this ring was located within the ruins of Anlec,” he said softly. “Found within the ancient manor home of one of the elder houses there. Your agents were forced to enter the place in secrecy.”

“Yes, yes,” the Eatainian answered, eyes still fixed upon the ring in his palm. “It is of no concern to me.”

“It belonged to one of the ancient peers. One Petra’Sif, I understand,” Spires continued, his voice flowing slowly and smoothly, eyes narrowed as he watched the Eatainian in the candlelit gloom across from him.

“Interesting,” Lord Bavel said without meaning and without looking up.

“That means that relic is of ancient Nagarythe,” Spires whispered.

“Yes, quite. And now it is mine.”

“Yes. Now it is yours.” He waited a long moment, tasting the air. “But of course to take one of the ancient relics of Nagarythe is to break one of the most ancient of Asur laws. Writ in the Compact of Aenarion itself. You are now an enemy of Nagarythe.”

Finally, the Eatainian paused in his admiration of the ring. He looked across the table, a faint note of concern finally in his eyes. “Why say you this? It was your…”

“It was your agents that entered the city. Your men that broke the palace wards, and took the relic,” Spires interrupted softly. “I simply located the artifact, and provided passage on ships. None of my…administration…” he savored the word, ironically, “Ever set foot in Nagarythe. No, the responsibility is all yours, Lord Bavel.”

“Well,” the Lord began and swallowed. There was a hint of sweat on his brow now. “That…that is something. But…. But it is nothing to be concerned about. There is no way that anyone will know.”

Spires watched the Eatainian, and a slight smile spread across his face; the first genuine one in nearly a fortnight. “Actually, Lord Bavel. They do know.”

“What?! How?!”

The smile grew, twisting into his cheeks. “How? I told them of course.”

The Eatainian’s eyes were wide now. “WHY?” he gasped.

“It was my duty as a citizen of the Empire,” Spires answered simply. “This act is high treason. I could not simply ignore it.”

“But…but we agreed… The cargo!!!”

“I agreed to find an ancient ring of power, Lord Bavel. I never agreed to steal one from Anlec.”

“But you never…” Lord Bavel stopped in mid sentence, and shook his head. “No, its fine. I will just explain. They couldn’t care much. Perhaps a bit of coin.”

Spires felt the smile grow and twist further into his cheeks. “I do not think you understand, my lord,” he finished with an ironic venom in his voice. “With the breaking of Aenarion’s Compact, you are no longer Asur in the eyes of the Nagarathi. You are Druchii. Nothing more. Nothing less.”

The Eatainian stared at him, the dawning horror slowly passing about his face.

“And you do know what the Nagarathi do to Druchii, don’t you?” Spires finished, and felt a warm glow in his chest. He stood from the table. “If I were you, I would start running now. It may give you a week or two before the Shadow Warriors find you.”

He turned and began walking down the corridor.

“Wait!! There must be something. Wait!! Spires!! SPIRES!!!!”

The colonial descended the steps without a backward glance.


***


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PostPosted: Tue Feb 24, 2015 8:37 pm 
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Well played Sir
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That took longer than expected, but at last it is done. Thanks Headshot.

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PostPosted: Tue Feb 24, 2015 9:39 pm 
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Damn, Headshot you are the Rickson Gracie of Warhammer fluff.

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Smiths in Nagarythe that can repair the holiest piece of armour worn by the Shadow Prince himself... 0 apparently.


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PostPosted: Tue Feb 24, 2015 10:34 pm 
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It reads more as a prelude than epilogue (which is probably all right, given the title of this story). And Spires! Again! :lol:
Hope you are enjoying your new title. We decided the proposed one was crazy enough, as expected from a Sapheri.

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PostPosted: Wed Feb 25, 2015 5:21 pm 
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Spires... so crafty, can't help but cheer for the guy haha

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PostPosted: Thu Feb 26, 2015 12:52 am 
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Well, you know you've made it on Ulthuan when you're in a Shadow Prince tale :D

Excellent work as usual, absolutely cracking read. Though the Tiranoci had me spluttering with outrage, primcock palace? Honestly, make something out white marble and throw up a few tapestries and wall hangings and suddenly its a primcock palace :roll: :lol:

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rdghuizing wrote:
Besides, the battle of Finuval Plain was more a minor skirmish anyway. A good enough summary would have been "Teclis and Malekith ran into each other. Teclis cast The Dwellers Below on Malekith with IF, and Malekith failed his Strength test." Not much more to it then that really.


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PostPosted: Fri Feb 27, 2015 2:04 pm 
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Headshot wrote:
Still it was strange to see him standing there – wrapped in a new woolen grey cloak,

He got a new cloak? I thought they were handed just one set to last them for their entire service period. (and that one usually a hand me down of some previous, unfortunate owner). Things must finally be looking up in Nagarythe if they are starting to hand out new cloaks... ;)

Great story, as usual. Though I do agree with Aicanor that it's more prologue then epilogue. Which gives a suspicion that the host will be dragging you back (kicking and screaming if they have to) somewhere in the not to distant future.

And I've said it before. Spires might be a plotting, self-serving, conspiring and power hungry elf, but at least he's a honest one. Though locating him at the moment might be a bit tricky, since he someone managed to get himself (and half an army) lost in a reality bubble somewhere. Which reminds me, I'll head over a few topic down and see if I can get him out.

Rod

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