Zethrin
07-17-2007, 04:02 PM
Silvermoon was veiled in the twilight shadows of a moonless night. Even so, vague forms could be seen wondering the streets, shadowy figures, nobles on discreet business, whores with business of their own, foolish children out late, unawares of the knife about to be put to throat. The unseamly night life of a city, overshadowed by the low burning light of the dark green crystals that stood ever present virgil, watching with silent malevolence.
The white haired blood knight turned quickly into the alleyway, began to run, looking behind him, then veered into a doorway. He watched as his shadow, a brown cloaked blood elf wearing a wide-brimmed hat, walked past the doorway. When the coast was clear, he went back the way he came, strolling leisurely back onto the street. For a while he walked in circles, then turned to another side street, and entered the back door to an old, run down tavern.
At a door carved with the letters "LF1M" he knocked. He whispered to the door. "A true paladin respects the light."
"For in secret it is our salvation," came the muffled reply as the door opened. Inside, a group of what looked like soldiers, their bows and swords concealed beneath dark cloaks.
"You're late Brother," said a dark haired elf in far back, shrouded in robes of a Magister.
"I needed to misplace my shadow," replied Zethrin. He took a seat in vacant chair in the corner.
"Fair enough."
They gathered in a circle, pulled swords from their sheaths, saluting up high with a clatter of steel, and turned the grip so that the blade was facing down and away from the thumb. With sword tips pointed down, they struck the same spot on the floor in unison, shouting "For Quel'Thalas! May the Sun King reign eternal!"
After they had returned to their seats, the Magister turned to the others. "Brethren, our time is soon at hand. It is only a matter of a willingness to play your part. This poisoned blood shall soon be purged from our forlorn lands... Tomorrow we shall strike! Aedryn, you have prepared the charges?"
A tall ranger stood up. "Assuming fel crystals burn in alchemic fire, we shall have a grand fireworks display. It shall be a diversion worthy of the Prince's birthday."
"Excellent. Zethrin, you have the guard schedules?"
Zethrin pulled a scroll from his pocket and handed it over.
"Well done, even the shifts of Magisters and their food preferences..."
"We can prepare their last meal too," remarked Aedryn, smirking.
"If possible we should refrain from unnecessary civilian casualties," said Zethrin, narrowing his eyes. "That is not our objective."
"Indeed, let us remember our mission... The Liberation of M'uru!"
They were interrupted by the sound of banging against the door.
"Open up in the name of the Prince!" yelled a voice from the other side of the heavy oak door.
"Blasted hells! It's the secret police!" said the one closest to the door, drawing his sword.
"No we must hold from spilling blood Kalder, tomorrow you shall have plenty to spill. We shall continue this elsewhere."
The Magister quickly pulled out a rune and began to perform an intricate series of arcane gestures.
Zethrin and others piled chairs and tables to the door as pounding caused cracks to form in the oak.
A brilliant flash of light and a large circular sphere appeared in the centre of the room, as shiny as a mirror, but reflecting not the surrounding room, but another place.
The door crashed open with a blast of arcane energy. Soldiers charged in with sword and spear drawn, to find only empty tables and chairs...
The white haired blood knight turned quickly into the alleyway, began to run, looking behind him, then veered into a doorway. He watched as his shadow, a brown cloaked blood elf wearing a wide-brimmed hat, walked past the doorway. When the coast was clear, he went back the way he came, strolling leisurely back onto the street. For a while he walked in circles, then turned to another side street, and entered the back door to an old, run down tavern.
At a door carved with the letters "LF1M" he knocked. He whispered to the door. "A true paladin respects the light."
"For in secret it is our salvation," came the muffled reply as the door opened. Inside, a group of what looked like soldiers, their bows and swords concealed beneath dark cloaks.
"You're late Brother," said a dark haired elf in far back, shrouded in robes of a Magister.
"I needed to misplace my shadow," replied Zethrin. He took a seat in vacant chair in the corner.
"Fair enough."
They gathered in a circle, pulled swords from their sheaths, saluting up high with a clatter of steel, and turned the grip so that the blade was facing down and away from the thumb. With sword tips pointed down, they struck the same spot on the floor in unison, shouting "For Quel'Thalas! May the Sun King reign eternal!"
After they had returned to their seats, the Magister turned to the others. "Brethren, our time is soon at hand. It is only a matter of a willingness to play your part. This poisoned blood shall soon be purged from our forlorn lands... Tomorrow we shall strike! Aedryn, you have prepared the charges?"
A tall ranger stood up. "Assuming fel crystals burn in alchemic fire, we shall have a grand fireworks display. It shall be a diversion worthy of the Prince's birthday."
"Excellent. Zethrin, you have the guard schedules?"
Zethrin pulled a scroll from his pocket and handed it over.
"Well done, even the shifts of Magisters and their food preferences..."
"We can prepare their last meal too," remarked Aedryn, smirking.
"If possible we should refrain from unnecessary civilian casualties," said Zethrin, narrowing his eyes. "That is not our objective."
"Indeed, let us remember our mission... The Liberation of M'uru!"
They were interrupted by the sound of banging against the door.
"Open up in the name of the Prince!" yelled a voice from the other side of the heavy oak door.
"Blasted hells! It's the secret police!" said the one closest to the door, drawing his sword.
"No we must hold from spilling blood Kalder, tomorrow you shall have plenty to spill. We shall continue this elsewhere."
The Magister quickly pulled out a rune and began to perform an intricate series of arcane gestures.
Zethrin and others piled chairs and tables to the door as pounding caused cracks to form in the oak.
A brilliant flash of light and a large circular sphere appeared in the centre of the room, as shiny as a mirror, but reflecting not the surrounding room, but another place.
The door crashed open with a blast of arcane energy. Soldiers charged in with sword and spear drawn, to find only empty tables and chairs...