Dessic

[Noa]

Wystro
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(4/13/02 10:18 am)
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I was nothing – an orphan child in the slums of Freeport. My earliest memories are of the chaos and brutality of a city where the rule of law was for those with the means to purchase it. My focus and salvation in those years came from the Cult of Innoruuk; they raised me, made me grow strong. They taught me to convert my fear into hate, and that hate into a power that I could use to strike at those who looked down upon me.

But nightmares haunted me as a child. I would dream of people I did not recognize, but who seemed achingly familiar. They spoke in my dreams with words of affection that made me wake startled, my head burning. When I mentioned these visions to my guardians, they would harshly thrash me for my weakness. The soft life I dreamt of was an illusion, the priests would coldly say, a poisonous vision meant to make me lose my focus on hate and power. Although the dreams continued intermittently through the years of my childhood, I learned not to share them ever again with my benefactors.

I grew stronger as the years passed – I showed an aptitude for both the forbidden craft of necromancy and the art of physical combat. These two courses of learning made me a predator in my world instead of prey. I yearned that through my discipline I could grow in power and dominate a world that had victimized me. I owed everything to the Cult of Innoruuk; and, as a knight in their service, I would see my goals through.

**************
At one point, a stranger wandered through the darker parts of Freeport seeking information about the followers of Innoruuk. Although he was met with stony silence, he proved too persistent for his own good. The priests sent me along with other young ruffians to dispose of the fool who pried into business that was not his own. We came across him in the used weapon shop.

The man wore clothing of elven make and spoke in a soft manner. When we crept into the shop the merchant looked at us in alarm but said nothing. We pounced on the man, slashing and beating him with our rusty swords and splintered clubs.

He fell to the ground and his eyes caught mine – his face filled with recognition and he then spoke a single word.

"Dessic".

I froze; the other hoodlums finished the man off and pawed through his possessions. They snatched up food and coins while I managed to take a few odd papers. I was numb as we disposed of the body in the usual way by tossing it into the catacombs. Not even that familiar ritual could settle my frazzled nerves.

*****************
That night I found myself in a dream. I floated disembodied as I looked down upon myself as a young child The world was strange and twilit – strange creatures floated at the edge of view. From the edges of my vision, a woman approached the child, a tall elven woman with vines in her hair, vines that formed a sort of crown.

Depending on how the faint light fell upon her, she looked either very young or very old. In either case, she her was undeniably powerful – the air about her shivered as she passed through it. As she came upon the child, her eyes welled with deep compassion, and she spoke to the little boy.

"That man you met today was your uncle...he searched long and hard to find your whereabouts. The price he paid was terrible, but he was able to reach you, and your soul has now opened just the slightest bit. We can now speak with one another."

The dream world shifted; and, as all with all dreamers, I did not question it. The child and the woman were on a sea dotted with islands. The world was still in a perpetual twilight, and cloaked shadowy creatures drifted on the one particular island where the lady and the child were standing.

"These were once men like you," the fair woman softly spoke, "but the dark path of power consumed them, stripping them of all that was human. All that is now left of them are shadowy mockeries of hate. But you can choose to walk a different path; abandon what you have learned and start anew. I can help you."

The child turned to her with utter scorn, "How can you help me? You didn't help my momma and poppa – they died because of you! You didn't protect them, and the bad men killed them and took me away!"

I was taken aback in utter shock. The child's words carried the undeniable sting of truth. The puzzle of my life came together: that is what my dreams meant, that is why the man in elvish clothes knew my name, or part of it. I burned with shame. How could I be so utterly weak and used? How could I be so blindingly stupid that I could not have put the facts together myself?

******************
The woman and the child turned. The shadows were being pulled away by a small figure that glided over the surface of the water. The little one was not a child, but a halfling who spoke to the trees and the branches and the winds. Branches and roots grabbed the shadows at the little one's command, slowing the shadows' relentless pursuit.

The halfling drew the shadows towards a nearby island where two elves, pale and decadent, sat in meditation. Beside the elf with the darker hair stood a thing that looked like a man, but was composed entirely of earth and rock. When the shadows drew near, the earthen thing advanced and beat them down. The halfling called upon the sky, and lightning arced and seared the tortured shadows, and the pale haired elf shined with a glamour that confused and transfixed the dark ones that awaited their doom.

A great shadow emerged from the carnage – stronger and more hateful than the rest. The terrible figure beat down upon the three frail figures with fearsome might, shrugging off both elvish enchantments and the fury of nature. The halfling and the elves fought with all the magic at their command and survived only with the barest shred of life. The earthen servant approached the fallen shadow and pulled something from the dark folds of its black robes.

It was a sword! The most beautiful sword I had ever seen in my life. It looked bright and sharp and gleaming, as if it had been forged just moments ago. Runes trailed down the length of the blade, and it practically hummed with power and magic. The earthen thing presented this wondrous prize to its master. The dark-haired elf looked upon the prize dubiously.

Anger welled within me. That sword is wasted on such a weak and pallid fool. If I possessed this great prize, I would make them all pay! Everyone who sought to use me would fall beneath its unyielding might! The ones who sought to train me as their tool would learn the mistake of their ways – I would see them all dead. And then, with all my benefactors properly rewarded, I would go to Innoruuk himself and sheathe my great sword in his black and seething heart!

The elven woman turned away from the child and looked straight at me. I pulled away in shock and awoke with a start. I found myself on the moldy, bug-ridden cot. I was in the small cell that I called my home.

**********************
I saw something gleaming in the corner of my squalid room. I felt the thrill of both fear and wonder. How did it get here? I didn't care – Grab it before it fades away! It was indeed the sword. When I took hold of it, I could feel my strength grow and my mind sharpen. My destiny was changed; I would find the truth, and revenge would be mine. I was no one's tool – not of the Cult, not of Innoruuk, not of the elven woman.

I gathered my meager possessions and slipped away from the walled city of Freeport. I would not remain another minute.

*******************
As time passed, I grew stronger. I found refuge where I could. I gathered the secrets of the science of Necromancy from the scattered cults of a number of dark gods. I trained my sword hand with any shady mercenary who would accept my money, and I have hewn down many a foul creature to win favor with the local populous – at least enough so that the townspeople would not kill me on sight.

I have taken allies as I have come across them. I have helped bring order to many a domain by slaughtering the pathetic creatures that dare to trouble those with whom I seek favor. I will do whatever it takes to achieve my goals. My life is my own.


Dessicant Coradova

Knight in Shadow

[Noa]

Wystro
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(4/15/02 8:00 am)
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Worn and ragged, I stumbled into Qeynos, oblivious to the cold stares that fell upon me. Night had fallen, and most of the people of the city were fast asleep.

I was scorched from within -- I was parched and dirty. As I stumbled through the city, I came across a sign in stone: Temple of Life. I had seen this place in earlier days and dismissed it as a useless illusion for the weak and pathetic.

But that night, the words Temple of Life shined; and I crossed the threshhold, entering the courtyard on uncertain feet. The priests and acolytes that inhabited the Temple during the day slept soundly in their own homes. The courtyard lay empty.

As I walked forward, I grew weaker. The weight of all that I had done, all the hate that burned inside me, brought me to my knees. I dragged my mud-caked, armored form towards a great pool in the center of the courtyard. The water shimmered as the moonlight struck it. The Koalindl fish danced underneath its surface. At that moment, I needed that water more than anything.

My steel armor scraped against the surrounding stonework as I pulled myself to the waters edge. I drank from the pool like an animal; but it was not enough to drink. I had to be in it, be a part of it. I painfully pried off the armor that was weighing me down, and I slipped into the water.

In my last moments of thought, I felt my hate release. I asked my parents to forgive me for failing them. I told them I that I loved them. Then all was gone. My body floated in the pool weightless, like a dead thing.

Edited by: Wystro at: 4/15/02 7:08:49 am

[Noa]

Wystro
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(4/15/02 6:25 pm)
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Over the course of twenty-seven seasons, I had grown in power. Tapping into the darkness came more and more easily to me as time wore on. My sword fell heavier and more forcefully with each passing day.

Narek the Wolf Keeper was my companion. A taciturn man of the frozen north, he asked no questions and passed no judgements as long as I followed our unspoken agreement, to keep each other alive. I fought beside him in the plains of Karana and the exotic realms of Luclin. We dispatched the undesirables, and won grudging passage through many lands.

Many secret techniques of necromancy revealed themselves to me – I stole strength, I stole the ability to do battle, I could even take the very essence of life from another to feed my own. I learned to gather and pool my hatred so that, in a moment of my choosing, I could unleash a violent strike of death with but a touch.

My lust for the dark knowledge grew; I broke company with Narek with out a word and returned to Norrath. My provisions were low when I arrived at the Karanas, and I entered a merchant's cottage to take what I needed.

"We don't serve your kind here," the merchant spat at me as I entered, "I know who you are and who you bow to....Get out of here!"

I had spent so long in the lunar realms, that I had forgotten the stinging hate I encountered as a daily part of life on Norrath. In earlier days, I would slink away; but that day I was strong, and I was angry.

"You will not speak to a Knight of Shadow in such a manner, peasant!" And with that, I struck him with the back of my gauntletted hand.

He crumbled to the floor and cowered. After a lifetime of humiliation it felt so good to see fear in another's eyes. I decided to teach this ignorant fool the full, painful lesson of what results from rudeness to one's betters.

Drawing upon my dark talents, I started to rip out little scraps of his lifeforce. I grew more thrilled as I snatched more of his life away. His skin grew pale, and his eyes glazed – his shallow, raspy breath told me he was near the doorway to death. I drew forth my blade to deal the merchant the final blow, but then I paused.

In the corner of the cottage, behind one of the counters covered with assorted goods, a child peered out at us. He was the son of the merchant. In his eyes I could see great fear and hatred, but most importantly, I could feel him absorbing the way life is.

This was not what I was meant to be! This was not my destiny! I ran from the cottage in a frenzy, leaving the merchant a sliver from death. I wandered without food or water for days and, at the end of that wandering, stumbled into Qeynos in a fever dream. My last moments of consciousness were a mere blur.

My first completely clear recollection came when I awoke and found the priests of Rodcet Nife tending to my broken form.

[Noa]

Wystro
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Posts: 38
(4/17/02 5:40 pm)
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When I opened my eyes, I saw light. As the moments slowly crept by, details of where I was slowly revealed themselves. I discovered myself lying on a clean and comfortable cot, and gazed upon the ceiling of a small room. Light from a set of small windows softly set the walls aglow. A cool breeze carried the sound of birds singing in the distant hills.

I attempted to rise out of bed, but I could only twitch my head slightly. When I made my small movement, two people I had not noticed came over to my bedside. One was a man, the other a woman.

"Good morning," said the man, "You gave us quite a scare. We found you floating face down in the pool of our temple, with just the barest spark of life remaining in you. You have been unconscious for a week's time. Only the skills of Caulria here have kept you from death's door."

"Do not try to move," the woman – Caulria – said, "You have been through a great ordeal, and your recuperation will take some time"

Caulria smiled softy and reached out her hand to touch me. I felt a glow of strength and vitality flow into me, as she seemed to draw upon some source of power. I suddenly found the wherewithal to sit up in my bed.

"That's all we will do today, rest well," she said. The Priestess Caulria then walked out the door, leaving me with the man.

The man was wearing a light chain armor; but he wore no weapon, and his face was kind. He came closer to the bed, and met my eyes with his, as if he were forming some sort of assessment.


"My name is Camlend Serbold. I have looked through your possessions for some clue as to your name, and have found these papers. Is your name Arete....or perhaps Dessic?"

In the man's hands were the papers that I had taken off my uncle's battered corpse, the papers that I had kept with me through all my seasons.

"I am Dessic. Arete was my uncle – he..... met an untimely demise."

I suddenly felt weaker. I slumped back down into bed and stared at the light playing across the ceiling. For a while neither of us spoke. The man remained by my bedside for a few silent moments.

"We'll talk again," said Camlend, "Rest well, soon we will begin the process of your recovery in earnest."


Edited by: Wystro at: 4/17/02 4:47:48 pm

[Noa]

Wystro
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(4/18/02 5:50 pm)
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As days followed one another in a string of weeks, I grew stronger. In time, I regained the ability to walk about without aid. Camlend Serbold would then take me on strolls through Qeynos, introducing me to the merchants and guards as we came across them.

These were people that I had met before in darker days – people who had glared at me with cold apprehension. Somehow, Camlend's presence with me made things all right. The people of Qeynos started to warm up to me, sometimes even offering a smile.

I started to receive basic training in swordcraft. My motor skills had become weak, and I needed to essentially begin my training as a warrior all over again. The soldiers in the Temple offered me some few basic lessons in the use of my old weapons and sent me out of the North Gate of Qeynos to practice and regain some of my old expertise back.

The sight of a fully armored man swatting at fire beetles shocked a number of young students. Many of the neophytes brazenly examined me – looking openly at what I was wearing, as if I were a gypsy sideshow. To their credit, no one asked for a handout.

Something strange started to occur – not all the time, but occasionally. In certain moments, when the creatures I fought against battered me to the point of nearly losing consciousness; a light of hope from deep inside would fill me up. That light brought not only renewed strength, but also would completely heal my cuts and bruises. Each time this happened, I became new.

I was new. I was different – weaker, but definitely changed. Qeynos sheltered me from the outside world, from the life I lived before. I became Dessic; Dessicant began to fade little by little with the changing of the season.

Then one day, Camlend came to me and announced that I had a visitor. His name was Wystro of Felwithe, and he awaited me in the courtyard of the Temple of Life.


Edited by: Wystro at: 4/18/02 4:53:15 pm

[Noa]

Wystro
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(4/19/02 7:54 pm)
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"Greetings and Felicitations..........Dessic, is it?"

Wystro's voice was full of cheer, and he spoke with a cultured elvish accent. He was tall and pale – his hair was auburn, and his robe a powdery shade of blue, perfectly pressed. As he greeted me, he bowed with a slight flourish, as if to receive applause. I looked upon him, though, in stunned silence – he was the very picture of the elf I saw in my dreams many seasons ago. This was the elf that had won through battle the sword I now possessed.

"I've seen you in my dreams," I blurted out stupidly.

"How fortunate for you," was his chirpy reply.

"My long journey to Qeynos has drained me of precious energy – I must have dinner. Please accompany me, Dessic; I know of a place that can make a passable imitation of a meal. Pet! Bring my bags!"

Behind Wystro there was what looked to be a man, but barely visible and composed entirely of swirling mist and vapor. In its arms, the poor creature struggled with vastly overstuffed luggage and bags.

"Following you, master," the creature spoke in a voice that sounded like wind whistling through a canyon.

The elemental and I trailed behind Wystro as he led us to a tavern called the Lion's Den. When we walked in, there were only a few patrons there sipping stouts and taking shelter from the afternoon sun.

As the elf passed through the door he recoiled in horror.

"Humanity lost so much at the fall of the Combine Empire, not the least of which is the ability to properly bathe!"

Wystro snapped a few commands in a flurry of elvish; and his pet responded by generating a strong wind that blasted through the doorway. Glasses clattered and tables shifted as a minor tornado swept through the tavern and out the small windows. The patrons grumbled in complaint before losing themselves again in drink.

"My dear colleague Ntalliya chooses to commonly associate with humans," Wystro sniffed, "I don't know how she endures it. But then again, Gnomish discernment is a dubious concept at best."

The barmaid took our orders and dinner arrived shortly after. When our braised lion arrived, the elf took out his own eating implements and started cutting the meat into tiny pieces. He ate what he found acceptable and pushed the rest to one side of his plate. It all looked the same to me. Wystro talked continuously about the minor irritations he encountered during his time of travel. He obviously loved the sound of his own voice.

During this process, Wystro slipped once with his knife and cut his finger. He cringed in pain and his bottom lip quivered – it was as if he had no tolerance for pain whatsoever.

Instinctively, I reached out and used a trick that I had learned from the priests of the Temple: I drew a little on the power of life and healed his finger, taking away all trace of his wound.

The High Elf looked at me in utter disbelief, as if that were the very last thing he would ever expect me to do.

Wystro then looked away as he started to speak again.

"Camlend Serbold is a very protective man. I had to give my word that no harm would come to you before we could have our visit."

He paused a moment, taking a sip of brandy. He then began to speak again in his same breezy manner. I sat perfectly still.

"You mentioned that you dreamt of me? Well, I have dreamt of you. Needless to say, my sleep has not been sound. Long have I searched before finding you in Qeynos.

"If my disturbing dreams ever come back to me, you will lie dead at my feet. The Temple of Life will not be able to protect you. I hope that my words are clear – the human tongue is so lacking in precision and nuance."

Wystro then rose, leaving a handful of coins on the table. His pet moved towards the tavern door and opened it for its master.

"You must make a point of learning Elvish; it is quite a beautiful language. Sadly, I will not be the one to teach it to you. If all goes well, we will not see each other again, asleep or awake. May Tunare watch over thee, Dessic. Good day."

Again, the elf bowed with a slight flourish. He then left me still sitting at the table, staring at my plate of uneaten food.


Edited by: Wystro at: 4/19/02 7:04:49 pm