Paladins of the Radiant Hall

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"Tell me, good sirs, have any of you traveled to the South lands before? Experienced the richness of the dusty marketplaces and the magestic sands? It is truly an amazing experience. Sadly, the Hall of Lungard is located just outside of a desert town, and I fear they will have all been slain before we reach them. Our fisrt order of business is to purge the Hall of Lungard, so that Lunai may again grace the town with her presence. From there, we will have little time to pass through the portal into the Radiant Hall. We are less than a day's ride from the Hall, so prepare your selves, in body and mind."

[ January 29, 2003, 19:26: Message edited by: Muumli ]

 

By the roadside stands a tired looking figure with a dented shield and notched longsword, holding a warhorse by the reins. His armour is battered but still gleams proudly in the sunlight as he hails the approaching paladins. "My name is Bedevere!" he cries, " And I know the heraldry you bear - Sir Mathetais, Sir Dargon. Dost thou recall I did seek counsel from thee when I was but a whelp? I have travelled much now, and believe my debt is overdue."

 

"Bedevere ... I thank the gods that you have weathered the storms of life and continue to prosper. I can see the marks of hardship upon you and I wish I could offer you rest ... unfortunatly we are beginning a qwest.

"You owe me no debt, but if your heart leads you, join your sword to mine again, let us face this evil together!"

 

"We are very close now," says the old man, looking into the distance and shielding his eyes from the sun hanging low in the sky. "Hurry, we can make it before nightfall, and I fear that we have taken too long already, we cannot wait another day." Spurred on by the old man, his horse takes off in a hard gallop, with the Paladins following behind. As the hooves thunder over the hard dry earth, there appears on the horizon a town, and as they draw nearer, the paladins can see that it is a small town made of low, sand-colored buildings. The old man leads the way through the empty, lifeless streets, and the parched dirt of the street is red with dry blood. Beyond the town, there looms a great structure in the distance. When you reach it, you can see it is a great hall for a paladinic order, and there is no sign of evil's encroachment, except for the entrance. The frame is cracked, the wooden beams split from some great strain on the doors. The doors themselves are nowhere in sight, a deep blackness fills the space where they should stand. The old man dismounts and approaches the blackness. Looking over his shoulder at the paladins, his face set grimly, he says, "Ready yourselves," and throws out his hands. His simple traveling garb is instantly transformed into rich emerald green robes with silver runes running along its edges. Gripping his staff in both hands, he steps up to the door and begins tracing runes upon the door. Where the runes appear, the blackness seems to hiss and retreat, revealing gray stone beneath it. Suddenly raising the staff above his head, the old man swung it with all his might, bringing it to bear upon the door. A deafening explosion ensues, and the shadow upon the door seems to part and the stone shatters inward. The darkness within the hall is deeper than is imaginable, and there is a second of silence before the sound of hissing fills your ears and the blackness rushes over you. You can feel a terrible cold fill your very being as something grips your heart. You feel about to succumb to the blackness when you hear, "BACK, SHADOW!" and the darkness parts around you. The old man has planted his staff in the stone of the threshold and is concentrating intently. You can see that the sun has dipped below the horizon, and you see the shadow straining against the barrier. A channel through the shadow opens, leading into the hall, and the old man shouts "GO! NOW!" As you pass through the doors, the shadow cuts off your escape, and you find yourselves in an antechamber with an opening to the sky. A moment later, the moon appears, and its light shines down into the chamber, bathing the paladins in light and forcing the shadows back from the center of the room. The center of the chamber is a circular structure that holds a number of silver-white globes roughly 5 inches in diameter. Picking one up, you find it begins to glow with a light similar to moonlight, and it further illuminates the room, revealing vile creatures lurking in the corners. Unlike the moonlight from above, the creatures are not perturbed by the light, and they stand between you and the inner chambers...

 

Holding the globe aloft in his left hand, Mathetais pulled his bastard sword free with his right, holding it before him. The sword's inner light mixed with the light from the orb the way the first feathers of dawn touch the last moonbeams of night. Chanting a prayer for power in combat his gaze analyized the ranks of the fell creatures before him, looking for a leader or spell caster that would need to be dealt with quickly.

 

Two of the creatures fuse into one, which steps forward and launches his tentril-like arms out towards the group.

 

"I shall ride with thee!" declares Bedevere, saddling up,"The fight against evil is eternal, and any rest granted to servants of righteousness shall not be in this world." He rides close to Mathetais, hoping to benefit yet again from the elder paladin's wisdom.

*****

Bedevere enters the hall cautiously, sword drawn but lowered. As the light illuminates the creatures he takes a step backwards, raising his sword and drawing his shield close. "What fresh evil is this?" he breathes. He steels himself, and the tip of his sword traces a sigil in the air as he intones a prayer of protection.

 

The light in Mathetais' sword flared brightly, hopefully dazzeling the fiend as the paladin rushed forward. Striking towards the creatures' torso, he hoped to sever one of the arms.

 

Memories of battles long since forgotten bombarded Sir Dargorn's mind. His soul, twisted by the events of his recent past had oft left him with little desire to fight, talk or even eat. Sleep had been substituted for meditation and even this provided little shelter from the torment.
As his eyes darted around the room, desperatly trying to asess the situation, the old man's mind began to weaken, he could feel the pains coming on again. He knew it! He knew that aiding this quest would only endanger his life and the life of his companions.

But the inevitable did not occur. Instead, Dargorn glanced down to find renewed strength in his sword arm. There was a sharp slicing sound followed by a brilliant clink. It was a clean, powerful and most unique sound. A noise which, once, was feared throughout the amnish lands.

It was the sound of Carsomyr being drawn.

As his grip tightened, the blood began to return to his fingers. The first signs of battle were ringing in his ears. He watched as Mathetais drew his long sword and plunged it deep into the shadowed hearts. At every move he felt a certain power returned. The deep red veins retreated from his eyes, a rich tanned hue returned to his pallid grey skin and his tattered robes, though still stained with almost a century of violence appeared suddenly to hold their memory with pride.

A faint hiss radiated from the hilt of the sword, Sir Dargorn's hair began to shine a magnificent silver and for the first time since before his mind cared to remember... He smiled

And then he leapt.

[ February 01, 2003, 01:39: Message edited by: Sir Dargorn ]

 

Mathetais jumps forward, and with a clean swipe, severs the shadowy tendril, the creature hissing and jumping back. Recovering quickly, the creature launches his other arm out at Mathetais, but a flash of silver streaks out across the arm, followed quickly by a cross-slash at the creature's neck. As the arm hits the floor, the creature stumbles back and dissolves.

[ February 03, 2003, 14:22: Message edited by: Muumli ]

 

Tendril of shadow clung to Mathetais' blade and were quickly dispelled by the pulsing inner light radiating from the steel.

Holding his moon orb high above his head he looked into the shadows, feeling for more threats in the darkness.

Speaking over his shoulder to Beveder, Dargorn and the rest of his company, he said in a hushed baritone, "This evil is new to my eyes. There is no knowing what other dread beings lurk in this hall. Stand on guard."

 

As Mathetais speaks over his shoulder, Lucas gives a cry of warning, and Mathetais turns to see the severed arms of the creature have formed into to two new shadow creatures.

 

Bedevere swings his sword at the nearest beast, stopping it at the last minute as he sees the remains of a slain creature form into two new creatures. "Brothers!" he exclaims, "This foul sorcery is terrible indeed! 'Tis almost as though these fiends share blood with the fabled Hydra. Let us strike at one in concert, that it may be destroyed utterly 'ere it has the chance to reform."

 

Striking out at the creatures, the Paladins rally against the fiends, banishing many of the foul creatures with their holy blades. One such creature is ran through with one of the blessed swords, buring a hole in his chest. He stumbles backward, out of the radius of light, and for a moment the shadows all around the room seeme to recede, but grow intensly black where the shadow disappeared. Vaulting foward out of the blackness comes the shadow, fully healed and larger than before. Hissing and throwing itself at Bedevere, the creature slams into his chest and disappears. Bedevere gasps for breath and drops his sword and moon orb, which rolls away and goes out, deepening the shadows. Cluchting his chest, Bedevere falls to his knees, and then onto his face.

 

Sir Dargorn surveyed the scene with interest. He had some memory of a similar event happening before. For too many years he had spent hours at a time just 'thinking'. He had become a thoughtful, careful man, wise, even venerable. But now he had to act, and quickly.

As Bedevere arose from his twisted position on the floor, the young paladins eyes shone like the light of the world incased in shadow. His disgusting, contorted features made it difficult to imagine that just seconds before he was human.
Mathetais, nearest to Bedevere, held his sword aloft and began to intone the first sylabuls of a potent banishing spell. His fellow Paladins tried to hold the creature back, but every strike was stopped with steel, every thrust eased aside as the beast that was once Bedevere, imbued by powerful magics, moved like lighting, it's sword arm almost blurring in the half light of the great cavern. It was almost as if the creature moved in it's own time...

Sir Dargorn watched. He was not yet too old, but he was far too weak to help his comrades in the fight. But he had other qualities. Abilities that knowledge and experience brought. His taint would serve a purpose after all. All he need do, was wait...

Three swords, followed shortly by their owners were flung in different directions across the room with supernatural force. Mathetais continued with his long chant. The creature twisted the face of it's victim towards the new threat. The eyes gleamed as it leapt, and shone when it was repelled. During the fight, Mathetais had cast some sort of protection spell. A decent precaution. But it was not wholly effective.
The shadow let out a tremendous scream, the very pitch would have flattened a city let alone the volume. The three paladins, who had been retrieving their weapons ready for fresh assault, fell to their knees, clutching their ears. Even Mathetais, giant amoung men and high level paladin could not hold his concentration for long. His sword dropped and blood dripped from his ears as he too fell.
The shadow stood, arms outstreched. The beaten face of bedevere, distorted into a nightmarish pose as the hellish sound rattled his bones.

Sir Dargorn, waking from his thoughts, simply stared at the beast. His head filled with a thousand last words, he strode forward.
'I know this music'
The scream stopped abruptly, Bedevere dropped limply to the floor. A faint shadowed outline lay next to him for a few seconds, then faded.
Carsomyer was drawn cleanly again from his stomach. No drop of holy blood could be seen on the blade. It was not forged for this duty.
Dargorn sheathed his weapon.
So there may be use for him yet on this quest.

'Someone fetch a priest!'

 

A great sound comes from behind Dargorn as the chamber is filled with light. The old man, undoubtedly a powerful wizard, stands in the threshold. He holds himself high, but he winces as he moves forward into the room.
"By the Gods, Dargorn, get them into the moonlight, now."
He busies himself over Bedeveres fallen body.

 

As the moonlight washed over Mathetais' face, his eyes twitched and opened with a start. His prayer for restoration was forgotten and his head was full of clouds. Shaking it slowly from side to side, he reached for his blade and tried to see any threats looming around him.

Looking up, he could only see the concerned face of the old wizard bent over Bevedere, and Sir Daragorn's back as he guarded the fallen warriors.

The ringing in his ears finally softened to a dull roar, and he pulled himself to his feet. As the fog lifted from his mind, he remembered Beveder's plight, and rushed to his companion's side. Laying his sword next to the younger man, he watched and prayed as the old wizard ministered to the paladin's wounded soul.

Whispering so as not to disturb his concentration, he prayed his own prayers for healing over him. Upon finishing he stood up and walked next to Daragorn. "I don't know how I faltered, but thank you for vanquishing that beast. This evil is strong, stronger than I've seen in years - perhaps the strongest this realm has yet seen. Alive or dead, I will see this darkness replaced by LIGHT."

 

Dargorn gently placed his hand on Mathetais' shoulder.
'You are stronger than i' he wispered softly as he observed Bedevere's broken soul being twisted back into form. 'But, in this case, force was not the answer. I was the only one with the ability to overcome the pain.' The paladin's eyes seemed to haze. 'But aquireing it was an experience that none should suffer. For every advantage i have against the 'shadowed' i must accept a thousand tortures and nightmares'.

 

Mathetais smiled sadly at his friend, understanding his pain. "A great prophet once taught me that lesson. He said, 'Dear brothers, whenever trouble comes your way, let it be an opportunity for joy. For when your faith is tested, your endurance has a chance to grow. So let it grow, for when your endurance is fully developed, you will be strong in character and ready for anything. If you need wisdom--if you want to know what God wants you to do--ask him, and he will gladly tell you. He will not resent your asking.'

"Your pain has not been waisted. It lightens my heart to know you accompany us on this mission. I can see by the steel in your eyes that this threat is somehow building new vitality within you."

[ February 04, 2003, 21:57: Message edited by: Mathetais ]

 

Bedevere lay on the ground, face contorted in agony has he lingered between one world and the next. He struggled to draw a breath, then gasped "My sword! Let me hold my sword!"

[ February 05, 2003, 00:14: Message edited by: Ironbeard ]