Post by Rae Bonatti on Aug 29, 2007 13:56:51 GMT -5
How … dare they. How dare they … the refrain ran through his mind over and over again like a somnambulant tide to roll against his consciousness as he stalked his unwary prey. Part of him wanted to rest and let the words beat against his weary mind until sleep or death found him, but the outrage even filtered through his madness would not let him until blood was shed this very night.
It was he supposed partially his own fault for believing them too afraid to even furtively move against him. He had been after all in his own mind virtually unassailable in his power and plotting and those that had gathered to stop him had never in the past proven to be powerful enough. There were of course a handful of magic users in Oreitheldarin that could prove a challenge in open combat with him but of those there were only two that could possibly hope to defeat him … his own sister Zayre N’Alsia-Kinnon and the Head of the Magic School Darsh. He thought that his ally and erstwhile friend in that self-same school would have warned him but apparently that worthy soul had found it to be in his better interests to simply be elsewhere for the time being.
Fool. He acted as if his refusal to take sides would save him when Dalamar reckoned the cost of his revenge upon them all. They had done well to attack him as they had, a war of attrition against any that might aid him or lend him their powers, by killing his apprentices and children they had indeed dealt him a stern blow. But it was not enough. Dalamar had not come as far and become as powerful as he was by leaning upon the strengths of others and now they would learn this lesson as painfully as those that had stood against him in the past had so done. The defenses this current idiot had placed upon his home were less than impressive to say the least and it was with a sigh made of combined irritation and deliberation that the Arch Mage breached them to confront the man in his lair.
A nasty smile rode his thin but handsome lips as he stood above the cowering fool. He had thought that a duel would be to his advantage against the Arch Mage and he had prepared for this eventuality apparently for quite some time. Unfortunately for him Dalamar had been doing this sort of thing for a very long time and he had access to spells thought most unworthy by other Elves. Fools, they were all fools. Power was after all where one finds it. His rich low voice was lower still as he chanted the words, the roughness of the speech of the Mori’Quessir that other lesser than he called Drow still velvety from the throat of an Ithil’Quessir bred from a family with strong Bardic skills.
“Tangis' wun elghinn dos orn kla'ath uns'aa
'zil dro lassen dosst khel whol l' tresk'ri ulu kyorl
Nin ulu mumbaro 'zil natha rothe 'zil Usstan quarth
Ol zhah dosst orn nindel Usstan mir wun ussta rah.” *
The shrieks of his victim were harsh as his very soul was shredded and then lashed to the dying flesh that had once housed a vital mage as Dalamar deftly finished the Somatic components of his spell. Normally the cold hearted Ithil’Quessir would never stoop to smirking but in this case he could not help himself and allowed that small pleasure as the expression set.
“What fine music you make, my servitor. Now go and make that music in front of the manor house that Darsh lives in, I want him to know that I know.”
With that he swept out of the home of this pathetic once-mage, the swirl of his robes brushing clean the step as he moved out into the shadows. There would be more that fell to his power this night, but this was the first and thus the sweetest. He was taking a risk in sending this creation into the heart of RoseHaven in that it might well gain the attention of his sister Zayre, but the message that it sent was well worth that risk.
Do not trifle with Dalamar N’Alsia and expect to live.
*Translation of spell:
Even in death you will serve me
As life leaves your body for the world to see
Now to move as a slave as I command
It is your will that I hold in my hand
It was he supposed partially his own fault for believing them too afraid to even furtively move against him. He had been after all in his own mind virtually unassailable in his power and plotting and those that had gathered to stop him had never in the past proven to be powerful enough. There were of course a handful of magic users in Oreitheldarin that could prove a challenge in open combat with him but of those there were only two that could possibly hope to defeat him … his own sister Zayre N’Alsia-Kinnon and the Head of the Magic School Darsh. He thought that his ally and erstwhile friend in that self-same school would have warned him but apparently that worthy soul had found it to be in his better interests to simply be elsewhere for the time being.
Fool. He acted as if his refusal to take sides would save him when Dalamar reckoned the cost of his revenge upon them all. They had done well to attack him as they had, a war of attrition against any that might aid him or lend him their powers, by killing his apprentices and children they had indeed dealt him a stern blow. But it was not enough. Dalamar had not come as far and become as powerful as he was by leaning upon the strengths of others and now they would learn this lesson as painfully as those that had stood against him in the past had so done. The defenses this current idiot had placed upon his home were less than impressive to say the least and it was with a sigh made of combined irritation and deliberation that the Arch Mage breached them to confront the man in his lair.
A nasty smile rode his thin but handsome lips as he stood above the cowering fool. He had thought that a duel would be to his advantage against the Arch Mage and he had prepared for this eventuality apparently for quite some time. Unfortunately for him Dalamar had been doing this sort of thing for a very long time and he had access to spells thought most unworthy by other Elves. Fools, they were all fools. Power was after all where one finds it. His rich low voice was lower still as he chanted the words, the roughness of the speech of the Mori’Quessir that other lesser than he called Drow still velvety from the throat of an Ithil’Quessir bred from a family with strong Bardic skills.
“Tangis' wun elghinn dos orn kla'ath uns'aa
'zil dro lassen dosst khel whol l' tresk'ri ulu kyorl
Nin ulu mumbaro 'zil natha rothe 'zil Usstan quarth
Ol zhah dosst orn nindel Usstan mir wun ussta rah.” *
The shrieks of his victim were harsh as his very soul was shredded and then lashed to the dying flesh that had once housed a vital mage as Dalamar deftly finished the Somatic components of his spell. Normally the cold hearted Ithil’Quessir would never stoop to smirking but in this case he could not help himself and allowed that small pleasure as the expression set.
“What fine music you make, my servitor. Now go and make that music in front of the manor house that Darsh lives in, I want him to know that I know.”
With that he swept out of the home of this pathetic once-mage, the swirl of his robes brushing clean the step as he moved out into the shadows. There would be more that fell to his power this night, but this was the first and thus the sweetest. He was taking a risk in sending this creation into the heart of RoseHaven in that it might well gain the attention of his sister Zayre, but the message that it sent was well worth that risk.
Do not trifle with Dalamar N’Alsia and expect to live.
*Translation of spell:
Even in death you will serve me
As life leaves your body for the world to see
Now to move as a slave as I command
It is your will that I hold in my hand