Staring the Bay of the Imperial Cairn, the gaze of the Chancellor pierces the night’s shadow, a blackened mist that settles upon the velvet ocean. The courtyard lamps below barely illuminate the chill cascade as it patiently adds its weight to the deepening dark sea carpet, wave upon wave. Figures move slowly in their nighttime duties, as distinguishable as ants to the eyes of the observer.
Puffs of condensing moisture infrequently escape the mouth of the solitary figure. These breaths are the only clue that Chancellor Arin Fenevor is not just one more of the many enigmatic sculptures decorating New Imperial College eroded crenellations. Deep in personal reverie, he notices the small winged silhouette in the sky only moments before the raven alights upon the stone railing of the balcony. A voice, startling in its bass rumble, issues from the diminutive intruder, "Aulander’s discovery proved false, the boy was not the marked one. The boy was surely blessed by the power of the Gods, but still he was not the one that the prophecy foretold.
Chancellor Fenevor remains motionless for a heartbeat more, then sighs. A subtle hand wave calls his raven familiar to his shoulder. The Chancellor continues to stare through the blackened sky another few moments before he addresses his companion: "This failure is not yours, Forder, nor do I blame Aulander. However, if the Crown is ever to be reforged, the god child must be discovered, its power needs to fill the gems of the Emperor’s Crown, it’s the one thing that will solidify his sovereignty. Too long have we labored in these halls.. We must redouble our efforts, all of us, else war will come to our doorstep and we may pass from this world forever!"
"You will succeed. If you do not, who else has the skill of mind and hand to succeed us?"
"No one, my friend, make haste summon my apprentice, we have so many things to " sighs Lord Fenevor. The chill sea breeze continues to whistle over the Imperial Bay as his familiar departs the high balcony.
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The conversations, spoken in hushed tones as if they were secrets, proved to be stunningly mundane. Krystal wondered if they might be speaking in some kind of code, but quickly dismissed the notion as ridiculous. It was obvious that the chattering of the circle was nothing but small talk about the new coming initiate. Her target was in sight now. It was a large, stone platform, some twenty yards across one side. The rock appeared to be a single piece, and carved into a flat, rectangular shape, its top surface above the ground at about the height of a standing young boy. There were no notable marking or engravings, at least on the edge that was visible to Krystal, but two opposite sides of it were lined with lit candles. Black candles.
In the center of the dais – she had decided that’s what it was – sat her. She wore no cloak, giving the brown haired woman a good view of her snow white coat and less than usual under garment. Her thighs appeared to be escaping the covering shroud of the coat, but that is something she really wanted. She was facing away and to the right, from Krystal’s perspective, and her hair fell in a way that made the expression on her face unreadable. She couldn’t decide whether this was meaningful or mere coincidence.
A rune, drawn in what appeared to be white chalk. Surrounding it, a circle, some fifteen feet in diameter. Surrounding it, writing, made in another language, most though ancient but Krystal knew what it was all about, and extending around its whole circumference. Finally, the whole arrangement was enclosed in yet another circle. She was sitting near the center of the strange rune, and, if the borders of the dais were used as reference, in the near-left quadrant of the inner circle.
The runes were difficult to decipher; a situation not helped by the non-optimal view Krystal had of them. Her spiritual studies had focus on less mystical and more trivial aspects of the religion. Ancient magical transcription they were, and she knew she was not even close to understanding them yet. Still, she knew just enough to discern the overarching theme in the inscription. Something was going to be used up in order to create something else.
The symbols describing the end result were utterly alien to her, aside from the suggestion that it was a thing of great power, value, and importance. She did, however recognize two of the runes that formed the “ingredients” of the ritual. One was simply “animal”, in its adjectival sense. The other, she knew, could be translated in one of two ways. She was uncertain which presented the more frightening option.
“Life or Soul”.
All at once, she became aware that Illyana was standing in front of her on the dais, not more than a few yards away. Krystal managed, somehow, to contain the frightened gasp that by all rights should have escaped her immediately. Likewise, she was able to suppress the trembling that her body yearned desperately to engage in. She could do nothing about her heart, which she suspected was now beating loudly enough to be heard by anyone nearby. Instead, she concentrated on remaining stock still, sure and aware that this was the first passage and step to revenge.
To her immense relief, Illyana was not looking at her. From her vantage point, Krystal could still not see the animal’s expression as Illyana gently placed her hand under its chin, lifted its head, and smiled.
“You’ll do just fine,” she said knowingly…….
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Only a few other people knew of this hidden chamber.......Richard, stepped into the windowless room and walked unerringly in the dark towards the ambo where a large blue leather-bound tome sat. A chest-high candleholder topped with a fat white candle stood beside the ambo. With a simple gesture, a flame appeared, giving the room some illumination. He stared at the tapestry that graced the wall before him. It was the only other furnishing in an otherwise bare room. It had been the very first time he had the feeling that magic was coursing strong in his veins. It had been both exhilarating and frightening — exhilarating, because he was just becoming aware of the true purpose for which he was chosen; frightening for the same reason.
He sighed, and glanced idly at the tome before him, running a finger lightly across its embossed cover. Impressed into the leather was a seal: within a double ring was the Crested Eagle of the Imperial Arm and within the ring were the words: Mens quod Veneficus ut Unus. How many wizards were oathed on this room, how many abide by and honor the oaths. A small smile quirked at the corner of his mouth. The Great Spellbook, in fact, was not necessary, but it served a purpose as a visual reminder to the practitioners of magic. He had to admit to himself that he rather enjoyed it.
None of that was necessary. He had perfect recall and every oath ever uttered was indelibly imprinted upon his memory. It was fun nonetheless. There were times though.....He sighed again, shaking his head. He stepped towards the ambo and kneeled before it…….then with semi trembling voice he began to utter…
“Ego solemny sudo Ego mos non vendo ordo of Imperiosus veneficus super poena of nex”
“Ego mos servo quod pareo meus Imperator per pectus pectoris quod mens”
“Ego mos servo quod pareo meus excellens quod docui quod dictum ut meus improbus”……
Richard recalled all ten oaths by heart, so great was his pride that he wanted this to be done flawlessly, and thus he thought and a smile came upon his face….and the oaths came over and over to his mind filling the depth and the emptiness of the Chamber of the Oaths.
Puffs of condensing moisture infrequently escape the mouth of the solitary figure. These breaths are the only clue that Chancellor Arin Fenevor is not just one more of the many enigmatic sculptures decorating New Imperial College eroded crenellations. Deep in personal reverie, he notices the small winged silhouette in the sky only moments before the raven alights upon the stone railing of the balcony. A voice, startling in its bass rumble, issues from the diminutive intruder, "Aulander’s discovery proved false, the boy was not the marked one. The boy was surely blessed by the power of the Gods, but still he was not the one that the prophecy foretold.
Chancellor Fenevor remains motionless for a heartbeat more, then sighs. A subtle hand wave calls his raven familiar to his shoulder. The Chancellor continues to stare through the blackened sky another few moments before he addresses his companion: "This failure is not yours, Forder, nor do I blame Aulander. However, if the Crown is ever to be reforged, the god child must be discovered, its power needs to fill the gems of the Emperor’s Crown, it’s the one thing that will solidify his sovereignty. Too long have we labored in these halls.. We must redouble our efforts, all of us, else war will come to our doorstep and we may pass from this world forever!"
"You will succeed. If you do not, who else has the skill of mind and hand to succeed us?"
"No one, my friend, make haste summon my apprentice, we have so many things to " sighs Lord Fenevor. The chill sea breeze continues to whistle over the Imperial Bay as his familiar departs the high balcony.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The conversations, spoken in hushed tones as if they were secrets, proved to be stunningly mundane. Krystal wondered if they might be speaking in some kind of code, but quickly dismissed the notion as ridiculous. It was obvious that the chattering of the circle was nothing but small talk about the new coming initiate. Her target was in sight now. It was a large, stone platform, some twenty yards across one side. The rock appeared to be a single piece, and carved into a flat, rectangular shape, its top surface above the ground at about the height of a standing young boy. There were no notable marking or engravings, at least on the edge that was visible to Krystal, but two opposite sides of it were lined with lit candles. Black candles.
In the center of the dais – she had decided that’s what it was – sat her. She wore no cloak, giving the brown haired woman a good view of her snow white coat and less than usual under garment. Her thighs appeared to be escaping the covering shroud of the coat, but that is something she really wanted. She was facing away and to the right, from Krystal’s perspective, and her hair fell in a way that made the expression on her face unreadable. She couldn’t decide whether this was meaningful or mere coincidence.
A rune, drawn in what appeared to be white chalk. Surrounding it, a circle, some fifteen feet in diameter. Surrounding it, writing, made in another language, most though ancient but Krystal knew what it was all about, and extending around its whole circumference. Finally, the whole arrangement was enclosed in yet another circle. She was sitting near the center of the strange rune, and, if the borders of the dais were used as reference, in the near-left quadrant of the inner circle.
The runes were difficult to decipher; a situation not helped by the non-optimal view Krystal had of them. Her spiritual studies had focus on less mystical and more trivial aspects of the religion. Ancient magical transcription they were, and she knew she was not even close to understanding them yet. Still, she knew just enough to discern the overarching theme in the inscription. Something was going to be used up in order to create something else.
The symbols describing the end result were utterly alien to her, aside from the suggestion that it was a thing of great power, value, and importance. She did, however recognize two of the runes that formed the “ingredients” of the ritual. One was simply “animal”, in its adjectival sense. The other, she knew, could be translated in one of two ways. She was uncertain which presented the more frightening option.
“Life or Soul”.
All at once, she became aware that Illyana was standing in front of her on the dais, not more than a few yards away. Krystal managed, somehow, to contain the frightened gasp that by all rights should have escaped her immediately. Likewise, she was able to suppress the trembling that her body yearned desperately to engage in. She could do nothing about her heart, which she suspected was now beating loudly enough to be heard by anyone nearby. Instead, she concentrated on remaining stock still, sure and aware that this was the first passage and step to revenge.
To her immense relief, Illyana was not looking at her. From her vantage point, Krystal could still not see the animal’s expression as Illyana gently placed her hand under its chin, lifted its head, and smiled.
“You’ll do just fine,” she said knowingly…….
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Only a few other people knew of this hidden chamber.......Richard, stepped into the windowless room and walked unerringly in the dark towards the ambo where a large blue leather-bound tome sat. A chest-high candleholder topped with a fat white candle stood beside the ambo. With a simple gesture, a flame appeared, giving the room some illumination. He stared at the tapestry that graced the wall before him. It was the only other furnishing in an otherwise bare room. It had been the very first time he had the feeling that magic was coursing strong in his veins. It had been both exhilarating and frightening — exhilarating, because he was just becoming aware of the true purpose for which he was chosen; frightening for the same reason.
He sighed, and glanced idly at the tome before him, running a finger lightly across its embossed cover. Impressed into the leather was a seal: within a double ring was the Crested Eagle of the Imperial Arm and within the ring were the words: Mens quod Veneficus ut Unus. How many wizards were oathed on this room, how many abide by and honor the oaths. A small smile quirked at the corner of his mouth. The Great Spellbook, in fact, was not necessary, but it served a purpose as a visual reminder to the practitioners of magic. He had to admit to himself that he rather enjoyed it.
None of that was necessary. He had perfect recall and every oath ever uttered was indelibly imprinted upon his memory. It was fun nonetheless. There were times though.....He sighed again, shaking his head. He stepped towards the ambo and kneeled before it…….then with semi trembling voice he began to utter…
“Ego solemny sudo Ego mos non vendo ordo of Imperiosus veneficus super poena of nex”
“Ego mos servo quod pareo meus Imperator per pectus pectoris quod mens”
“Ego mos servo quod pareo meus excellens quod docui quod dictum ut meus improbus”……
Richard recalled all ten oaths by heart, so great was his pride that he wanted this to be done flawlessly, and thus he thought and a smile came upon his face….and the oaths came over and over to his mind filling the depth and the emptiness of the Chamber of the Oaths.
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The language of the posts must be in plain English in order to be allowed due to the fact that people from different countries cannot converse in the mother tongues.