Post by Rae Bonatti on Oct 5, 2007 7:40:56 GMT -5
It had been thus that he did make what would turn out to be the biggest mistake of his long life. While in theory his spell to control his enemy and use him to warn his foe that he knew what had been set in motion against him was a good tactical move, in practice all it had done was gain the attention of his younger sister Zayre. Her magic in tandem with the wards that Darsh had set on his manor grounds had taken down his minion quickly, silencing those screams though it could not erase what Dalamar had done to the man in the first place.
It was the manner in which it had been done that sparked Zayre’s rage and perhaps it would have been in Dalamar’s best interests to recall certain circumstances that had surrounded the current life of his sister. He had after all known of the torture that her now husband had gone through in his past, he even had known of the binding inside the jar and the strength Seamus had shown in gaining his subsequent freedom and new mortal form. Yet he had sent in a being in much the same state to torment his enemy, a soul bound to a body in agony. He supposed upon reflection that it had been his only saving grace in that he had not also set the construct on fire, or the lethality of what Zayre planned would have simply rocketed off the scale.
It would be a pair of weeks before she actually struck, which had given him time to exact more of his revenge on those that had killed his get. It would be impossible to say if she had done this simply to allow him that revenge because those that had been slain were also related by blood to her, because there were few that would have dared to question Zayre’s motives on a thing in the first place. Yet what she did ultimately showed the level and depth of her conviction on the matter and how intimately Zayre knew the darkest paths of the soul. Fear, rage, and despair were to be Dalamar’s and some might have said it was a long time coming.
It was easy enough to find him, the trail of psychic and magical carnage he left in his wake he had not bothered to disguise. To his credit he showed no surprise when Zayre appeared before him, stepping out of shadow as if it were her natural environment. No, his sister’s presence was not the surprise, it was the appearance of Seamus behind her with his grim and sensual smile that had leant him a moment of pause. Such was his intellect though that he quickly recovered his voice, that instrument almost velvety and his words almost suave.
“Ah, to what pleasure do I owe this visit?”
He was quick to note the changes in her, and to see that the rumor was true, that she had a true elven bond with that dangerous husband of hers. He was also possibly one of the very few that could comprehend that this gave her even more power and for a bare moment trepidation touched his soul. They were many that often called his sister the Dark Bard, an ominous epithet to disguise that they meant something far more frightening and deadly, yet for some reason he felt that the weight of her power could never be turned against him. It would have served him far better to remember that Zayre had never, ever, been as forgiving as Shayelle towards him.
The expression that touched that beautiful face was not truly a smirk, there was something of sadness there, but her words were precise and cool, and her eyes showed the depth of her power and conviction.
“My own.”
He would never have wagered that Zayre could do what she had done. He knew she was powerful but so after all was he, and without a conscience to keep him in check … and apparently a conscience was something that his sister either lacked or held in iron control as well. She did not hesitate and her strike was just that much faster than his own, just that much more deadly, and she assaulted him on both the magical and psionic front simultaneously and seamlessly. The combination of spells and disciplines astonished him as well, showing the creativity that lay at the core of Zayre’s soul.
Even as he was astonished by her, she destroyed him. Oh he breathed yet when she was done, which he supposed was the worst part. Nothing in this life had meant as much to him as what she stripped from him and the echoing silence that was now in his mind was more crushing to him than any warrior’s hammer blow. He reached for what had always welcomed him to be greeted only with a vast sense of nothingness and loss, and his vivid eyes of sapphire showed his anguish and rage when he howled his anger at her. Where once had been vast power, magic to leap at his mere thought, psionics to dissect and direct the thoughts and fears of others there was now nothing but a gaping void that mocked him in its emptiness.
Zayre had truly killed him though he breathed yet, blood flowed in his veins, and his heart still beat. What she had taken from him crippled him and it was doubtful that there were any currently in this realm that could overcome the seals she had placed upon him. The glance she gave him when she and that husband of hers left was almost pitying, which of course simply poured salt into the wound. He was Dalamar Narathameralsia, the Arch Mage and not to be pitied! Yet his scream of rage belied this, and told the truth of the matter. Without his magic and power he was a mere shell of flesh to be at the mercy of whatever enemies that he had left.
It was the manner in which it had been done that sparked Zayre’s rage and perhaps it would have been in Dalamar’s best interests to recall certain circumstances that had surrounded the current life of his sister. He had after all known of the torture that her now husband had gone through in his past, he even had known of the binding inside the jar and the strength Seamus had shown in gaining his subsequent freedom and new mortal form. Yet he had sent in a being in much the same state to torment his enemy, a soul bound to a body in agony. He supposed upon reflection that it had been his only saving grace in that he had not also set the construct on fire, or the lethality of what Zayre planned would have simply rocketed off the scale.
It would be a pair of weeks before she actually struck, which had given him time to exact more of his revenge on those that had killed his get. It would be impossible to say if she had done this simply to allow him that revenge because those that had been slain were also related by blood to her, because there were few that would have dared to question Zayre’s motives on a thing in the first place. Yet what she did ultimately showed the level and depth of her conviction on the matter and how intimately Zayre knew the darkest paths of the soul. Fear, rage, and despair were to be Dalamar’s and some might have said it was a long time coming.
It was easy enough to find him, the trail of psychic and magical carnage he left in his wake he had not bothered to disguise. To his credit he showed no surprise when Zayre appeared before him, stepping out of shadow as if it were her natural environment. No, his sister’s presence was not the surprise, it was the appearance of Seamus behind her with his grim and sensual smile that had leant him a moment of pause. Such was his intellect though that he quickly recovered his voice, that instrument almost velvety and his words almost suave.
“Ah, to what pleasure do I owe this visit?”
He was quick to note the changes in her, and to see that the rumor was true, that she had a true elven bond with that dangerous husband of hers. He was also possibly one of the very few that could comprehend that this gave her even more power and for a bare moment trepidation touched his soul. They were many that often called his sister the Dark Bard, an ominous epithet to disguise that they meant something far more frightening and deadly, yet for some reason he felt that the weight of her power could never be turned against him. It would have served him far better to remember that Zayre had never, ever, been as forgiving as Shayelle towards him.
The expression that touched that beautiful face was not truly a smirk, there was something of sadness there, but her words were precise and cool, and her eyes showed the depth of her power and conviction.
“My own.”
He would never have wagered that Zayre could do what she had done. He knew she was powerful but so after all was he, and without a conscience to keep him in check … and apparently a conscience was something that his sister either lacked or held in iron control as well. She did not hesitate and her strike was just that much faster than his own, just that much more deadly, and she assaulted him on both the magical and psionic front simultaneously and seamlessly. The combination of spells and disciplines astonished him as well, showing the creativity that lay at the core of Zayre’s soul.
Even as he was astonished by her, she destroyed him. Oh he breathed yet when she was done, which he supposed was the worst part. Nothing in this life had meant as much to him as what she stripped from him and the echoing silence that was now in his mind was more crushing to him than any warrior’s hammer blow. He reached for what had always welcomed him to be greeted only with a vast sense of nothingness and loss, and his vivid eyes of sapphire showed his anguish and rage when he howled his anger at her. Where once had been vast power, magic to leap at his mere thought, psionics to dissect and direct the thoughts and fears of others there was now nothing but a gaping void that mocked him in its emptiness.
Zayre had truly killed him though he breathed yet, blood flowed in his veins, and his heart still beat. What she had taken from him crippled him and it was doubtful that there were any currently in this realm that could overcome the seals she had placed upon him. The glance she gave him when she and that husband of hers left was almost pitying, which of course simply poured salt into the wound. He was Dalamar Narathameralsia, the Arch Mage and not to be pitied! Yet his scream of rage belied this, and told the truth of the matter. Without his magic and power he was a mere shell of flesh to be at the mercy of whatever enemies that he had left.