Shards Of History

[*Nimiane]

---

It started as a subtle heat that bloomed within the sculpted definition of abdomen, flowing outward from central positioning in enveloping warmth. A curious thing to be felt amidst the fog-tainted sights and motley smells of the bazaar. So much so, it earned no immediate recognition from the silver-haired femme until crimson glow began to emanate from she; a scarlet illumination that settled not around her person but beneath the tan shades of flesh with inspection.

Pleasant warmth turned to heat, heat to searing flame that licked over midriff in agonizing claw to coax from full lips a gasped exhale of discomfort. It was sensation that grew all the more horrific as the minutes passed as muscles contracted to the perceive of something that shifted beneath canvas of freckled skin; an insufferable pulsing that continued to grow in intensity. Hotter and hotter it burned, the thrum of abdominal core and the beat of her own heart an tortuous sonata that drowned out the atmospheric din of surrounding locale and the attempted assault on her person.

Ripping, tearing, shredding through flesh and sinew, hands that grasped at stomach became stained with blood; crimson ichor seeping between fingertips to pool at kneed planted upon cobbled stone. Embedded shrapnel, ablaze with reactive aura, forced it's way to the surface of clammy flesh to clatter upon the ground. A shard of red crystal, bathed in scarlet fluid, that oscillated rhythmically.

The enraged actions of particular persons present, the gleam of jagged crystalline edges in the light, the surge of nostalgia that washed over she in traumatized recollection... even as she was escorted from the Bazaar, knowing not how the shard came to be embedded in her person, Odette knew she held in her hands the fractured remains of the King-Killer. How, or more specifically why activation of lodged foreign body had picked this particular cycle to flare in reaction was unclear; much less the reasoning behind it.

Something, somewhere, had changed; breathing life into anamnesia coals of a trail thought to be long since cold.

---

[*WhenWizardsWar]

"Then".

Sammaster stood upon a distant mountain peak as he watched the pyroclastic flow sweep out over Illia, incinerating almost everything, and flattening the rest. The lich stood utterly still for along moment, his hands tapping on the bone shaft of his powerful staff as he searched for any signs the thorns in his side had survived. The carefully laid plans had failed and he knew that -they- would not be pleased with him. As Illa groaned and cracked under the immense pressure getting ready to tear her apart the lich lifted a bony hand before his face to examine the vial of thick crimson liquid in his hand.

The loss of Inferno, the eldest of the dracolich twins he had created was regretable but Ignition remained, and although the undead dragon was cross at the lich for discovering his plans to enslave them both...he knew...he knew the wyrm would calm down in time...even if it was a few hundred or thousands of years.

He had time.

"Now"

Rumors quickly surface that tell of a violent scene that broke out in the market place of Sigil, very little is known unless they are given first hand information but what is known is that lady odette, the famous bardess and mercenary and now bleaker has apparently come into posession of some strange red stone that for what ever reason, appears to drive certain individuals crazy with unspeakable anger and rage....

"Elsewhere".

We are giving you ONE more chance Sammaster and the only reason you are so luck is that you were able to keep one of your three promises you made to us months ago. The speaker glared at the lich from the far end of the long table, her form floating above the ground as she studied both Sammaster and the other powerful personas gathered.

"You promised us two enslaved dracolichs" reminded another.
"And entire planet of draconic bloodline slaves" came another.
"You also promised something from -her-" remind a third.

Do not fail us -again- lich.

Sammaster sat back in his own chair at the table and his fleshless jaw somehow molded into a grin.

//Nimmie and i were talking about using this old thread since its very relevent and i agree, but I would like the name changed. Also... I know in the past i have had to length plots fall into stagnation and have inadvertently left pcs stranded on other planes. I have made a promise to my self as a em and story teller not to let that happen any more, so should anyone involved in this event travel off plane, i will ensure they are able to return home at the end of my events.

//Also...Illia was a HUGE plot which was beyond grand in nature, with the destructon of a prime and the events that followed with the asteroid remains of illia. This is going to be a big plot sure, but not nearly as big as Illias was, nothing TOO over the top here.

//Nimie, since you made this thread could you please rename it....lets see..."Shards Of History" will do just perfectly.

[*Taurus Daggerknight]

Removed as he was from the events of the past, Dace couldn't shake the feeling that this shard's arrival had not been unnoticed by the masters of the assassins who had struck years before. With that in mind, the first thing he did upon leaving the House of Healing that day was order a squad of Mercykillers to secure the building. With Odette still under the hospitals care, the risk of another messy incident was high enough as it was.

He made period returns to check on both his stationed men and the guest, all the while (for once) thankful for his "gifts". Without them, he'd probably be sharing a room in the hospital after that thrashing...

[*WhenWizardsWar]

"A Bleak Brawl".

Many planeswalkers arrived at the gatehouse recently to look into a dark ominous cloud of foul, dark and rotten energy hanging over the lair of the Bleak Cabal. When they reached the courtyard they found a sizable throng of undead milling about as they swarmed around a single solitary figure standing in the middle of the glade staring intently at the building. The group quickly dispatched the throng of foul beings and confronted the man who claimed to desire something inside of the gate house.

It became clear that he didnt know what was inside but he knew he simply had to have it and as the conversation progressed he became increasingly irritable and violent. When the bleaker Odette revealed that she knew what it was he wanted and refused to give it to him, this only pushed his anger into greater levels.

The group tried to talk him down but when Odette snuck past him into the gatehouse, the man lost all control and in a swirl of utter darkness and a powerful gust of magic it was revealed that the man, was not a man at all but in truth a very large black dragon. An immense battle ensured, where the dragon despite being very powerful and hearty was slain by the assembled planeswalkers with only a few very serious injuries.

As the dust cleared and Odette returned from inside the gatehouse she was confronted by the assembled crowd who demaned to know what was going on. She refused to be forth coming with information and as she addressed the crowd she noticed several individuals were becoming very very distressed and irritable just being in close proximity to her. Those who know of the the power of the object Odette possessed, managed to talk to the bothered individuals and with out incident, convinced them to leave before the worst happened to them.

Danae, a local devout of Kelemvor saw to the disposal of the undead remains and consecrated the area of their foul taint. The assembled planes walkers broke off into various groups to discuss the strange event, while Odette and an ally of her vanished from Sigil where they traveled to a far away place to decide what should be done with the object in question.

As for the corpse of the black dragon?

Well...they were planeswalkers after all and they did what any planes walker would do.

They skinned and stripped the dragon of what few usable parts remained intact....

[*WhenWizardsWar]

It takes some time but Odette and her companion finally make their way to the location known to be frequented by the most devout of Lathander as well as several other deities.

The scene she finds isn't one she expected however.

Instead of finding a temple or some grand bastion she finds a simple court yard occupied by three individuals. The courtyard has a beautiful statue of a muscular man holding up an ornately carved sphere of what must be some kind of prime, the massive orb resting on the statues burly shoulders. The first individual they notice is a very beautiful and exotic looking woman who currently kneels on the ground, her knees softly pressing into the lush and vibrant grass as she carefully tends to a series of plants and bushes in front of her, preening some and watering others as she hums a gentle tune to herself.

The next individual is an equally exotic looking and incredibly handsome man off to one side as he stares at a painters canvas with a thoughtful expression as he studies the prime holding statue in front of him. He gives a soft "Aha" and dips a brush into his painters board and begins to apply various colors to the sheet in front of him.

The last and third individual, a somewhat pale but equally stunning and beautiful woman as the first, stands on a wooden ladder near the stone prime world as she carefully examines and adjusts various objects that are suspended at various points in orbit around the beautifully carved stone prime. As Odette and her companion are finally noticed, the man who is painting looks up at the pair and smiles warmly.

"Hello there! Welcome! Can we help you with something?"

[*Nimiane]

---

It was an odd sight, no doubt, to witness the arrival of bleaker and shadow fiend in a place of abundant light; crimson shard despondent in gloves hands. Perhaps a choice equally strange was that of the location itself, the ever-winding infinite staircase a stepping stone through the Seven Mounting Heavens of Celestia to Bytopia and the rugged mountains and jagged peaks of Eronia. It was a strenuous effort, as per usual, the plucked weave of strings that unraveled unstable portal for travel a hefty toll. That was to say nothing of the path taken to arrive at Courtyard. No complaint left the lips of silver-haired femme, however, nor could there be found any merit of such in the wake of sufferance endured by stubborn sensate.

The decision to set foot upon the terrain of the Morninglord was one that seemed most prudent to Odette, the Torilian pantheon of her origins one most familiar. Despite attempts to keep the shard protected from the steadily growing attentions of dragon kin within the City of Doors it was fast becoming evident that even the vaults of the Gatehouse could not contain it's maddening aura; beckoning to the draconic blood en masse in melt of extradimensional bag of holding. It needed to be elsewhere. It needed to be safe. Protected, at least until the secrets of it's recent awakening could be coaxed forth. With the looming threat of cult dedicated to dragon undeath, what better place than Lathander's own realm?

It was in slender throat, marked by the scar of claws, that Odette's breath caught upon arrival. Imagery that could only be described as beautifully transcendental at the forefront of vision, bright enough to strain emerald eyes well accustomed to Sigil's artificial light. Even still, the war waged against staring was a pointless one in the wake of such comely manifestation, drinking in the artistry of locale. The warm welcome, and the sudden attention of handsome features upon them was not one expected; gloved fingers beguiled to tighten about the comet's shrapnel in hand. She swallowed.

"Hello," came offered reply, strikingly bland as any mortal could be in comparison to anything of the divine. Side-glance shifted toward Vherr, distracted for but a second in concern for accompanying woman and the unspoken query for current status. Odette stepped forward. "I'm... hopin' so, aye." the Erlkazaran spoke in accented honesty, slender digits lifted to tuck several straying strands of hair behind her ear. With both hands, she then lifted the shard ever so slightly. "Apologies for tha intrusion, but... " the words trailed off. Anything and everything that could be offered by way of explanation sounded completely and utterly barmy. Was barmy, naturally. Straightening supple shoulders, the bleaker lifted her chin with utterance. "We were hopin' ta talk ta someone about a colossal threat tha' stems from warning spoken by Elminster of Toril."


Mood killer.

---

[*WhenWizardsWar]

As the woman mentions the famed Elminster, the three individuals cease their projects for a moment before chuckling slightly.

It is the the woman on the woman ladder who speaks next.

"Old Elminster you say? That's a name I haven't heard in sometime to be sure but, the three of us are naught but simple artists visiting this place, are you sure your in the right place to discuss such a being and apparently...matter of importance?. The legend you speak of loves another goddess you know and she is of a different place then us". The woman studies Odette for a long moment before she goes back to moving and adjusting the orbiting objects around the stone prime held aloft before she climbs down the ladder and dusts herself off.

"Oh? Is it my turn now?" speaks the handsome male painter as he takes a place on the ladder and after a long thoughtful moment he grasps one brightly colored sphere in orbit of the structure and begins to somehow slide it across the circumference of the globe.

The pale woman, now seated at the painter stand smiles to Odette.

"I suppose you could still tell us whats wrong, I'm sure one of our patrons might be able to help you with what ever your dilema is".

[*Xndar]

Vherr squints through her sunglasses, eyes barely discernible slits of emerald behind the shaded glass, forcing herself to take in their surroundings. The radiance that surrounds them seems to burn away her natural concealment, leaving wisps of shadow continually trailing up into nothingness like steam rising from a body that's just left a hot spring. Her steps are labored, and her body-language speaks of exhaustion more than anything. It's fairly clear that if it weren't for her small talents as a Gatecrasher shielding her from the worst of the light's effects, she'd have been completely crippled, blinded, and immobilized from the very get-go.

Emotional and mental discomfort might also account for her silence as they trudge on, the innate and overpowering Good of the plane sparking much internal strife between her shadow demon blood and the aspects of her partially mortal soul left 'corrupted' by an errant and uncompleted 'Sanctify the Wicked' spell many years back.

So she looks around, taking in what little details her half-blinded eyes can make out amid all the light, committing it all to memory so that a Sensory Stone can be recorded later. When they reach the divine trio, Vherr would crouch close to the ground on her hooves... partially to appear as insignificant and unimportant as possible, partially to minimize the distraction her discomfort might create. She watches (what little she can) and listens in silence, letting Odette do the talking unless otherwise necessary.

[*Nimiane]

---

Elminster. The Sage of Shadowdale. Odette knew that would get a reaction. It always did, even here (and justifiably so). Over the shard in hand, gloved thumb brushed; traversing the crags of the meteor's surface with unsteady quaver. "Yes, ma'am." the Bleaker would respond to the lady upon the ladder, emerald hues tracking the movement of the orbs in brief. "I understand that our comin' here is somethin' of a peculiarity, and certainly the approach of the Mother of Mysteries would be equally if nae more fitting, but... 'tis a decision made in the midst of crisis and one I stand by."

Glance shifted, briefly, to the hooved fiend at her side. Lips thinned in thought, pressed upon the rosen tip of tongue. Had she made the right decision? Should they have ventured into the depths of Nirvana in seek of Dweomerheart and the Mistress of Magic? It mattered little, now. They were here, and neither reason nor reality had changed the decision at hand. The real question, after all, was where to begin.

"It's... somethin' of a long story, an' I won't bore ya with tha convoluted details of chronomancy," admitted Odette, responding to the latter of suggestive query. The rock in hand lowered to midsection, turning in leather-clad palms with the weave of tale's summary. "In conspectus, tha details are these: former Chosen, Sammaster of Toril, hunted tha star known as tha 'King Killer' ta forge from it's essence a serum that has tha capacity ta turn life ta undeath - specifically, tha corruption of wyrm ta dracolich as per tha beliefs of tha Cult of tha Dragon."

Drawing in a breath through bespeckled nose, several gloved digits parted in contact from the rock to weave through the roots of silver-tresses; a subconscious act for times prior to the sap of blonde colouring. "I can't say I understand how or why tha Sage enlisted myself an' others in this cause, and I wouldn't deign ta put words in tha mouth of he whom works in mysterious ways. At tha end of tha cycle, it don't matter. What I can say, though, is that a series of events lead to tha destruction of a world in tha Prime Material, known as Ilia, whereupon star forced ruination on impact."

"This shard, this... piece of rock..." the bleaker explained, voice neutral in memorium so starkly contrasted to this place of beauty and light. "...Is one of tha remaining fragments of that star; now destroyed. Yet, it retains the capabilities it had as a whole; recently activated by an' for reasons I know nae and intend ta find out before it's destroyed. It's not safe in Sigil, rampant with scale-blood and necromancers as it is. Learnt that tha hard way, and it's gettin' increasingly harder ta keep it mum. That is nothin' ta say for the assassins that have been sent in the past, tha vorpal blades that strike from shadows an' tha involvement of tha Dragon Queen."

The tip of rosen tongue peeked from the peerly veneer of teeth to wet parched lips, the bard only now realizing the cotton-dry signs of thirst. Drawing down the digits from silver crown, Odette gestured to Vherr, then herself, and finally the stone in hand. "We're here because we were hopin' ta speak with an aspect of tha Morninglord an' plead our case for safe-keepin' and aid from he whom abhors undead. Mayhap we might reveal tha secrets of this shard in tha process."

---

[*WhenWizardsWar]

The handsome man who now stands upon the ladder, moving a brightly colored sphere along the held aloft prime of stone, regards the shard for a long moment before looking to the pale woman who had balanced upon the ladder previously.

"Oh he doesn't come around here much but if such a thing is important we will certainly keep it sfe until he does come by. In fact, I think I will put it among the other objects along our stone sculpture here, right between this moon and the sun here that my friend is playing with. Yes, it will be safe there and no one will be the wiser".

The pale woman steps forward gracefully and holds out a hand for the shard. As the woman steps closer Odette would get the very distinct feeling that this woman has some kind of power, the hair on her arms stands on end and she just gets this deep inner feeling that the pale woman is indeed trustworthy.

The man on the ladder and the woman tending the garden watch Odette carefully, awaiting her reaction.