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Thread: Deeper

  1. #1
    Join Date
    Sep 2002

    Default Deeper

    A.k.a. The story formerly known as Convert. Re-worded, redescripted, re-choreographed, re-done practically. It's a revised Convert (Maybe)

    I finalized the title at least. Awesomeized the fight scene (used some friends for choreography) and hijacked a shipment of adjectives and dumped em all in the mix. Hope you like it.

    Deeper, a story of lies and betrayal.

    "I need a...favor..."
    Normally the worst thing you ever want to hear from a Teir'Dal rogue...ever. Any other rogue, Maelarr would have immediately said 'NO' and got the hell out, but this was different, this was his brother, his twin. Dugall and Maelarr likely trusted each other more then any Teir'Dal had ever trusted another Teir'Dal in history. Teir'Dal twin births were relatively rare, and these two even moreso...they had adapted to completely opposite skill sets. 'Normally', Teir'dal twins adapted to the same job, where Dugall failed in channeling magic...Maelarr succeeded in leaps and bounds. Dugall was a trained assassin for the Ebon Hand; Maelarr was a Templar of Innoruuk, both very successful in their fields. Dugall had returned to the Great City two weeks ago and had been recovering from an exhaustive, long-distance recon mission from parts confidential. Maelarr had recently come back home after a long stint of being the Vicar at the Overthere outpost. After a short stop in Freeport to 'assist' the clerics there, He made the last leg of the journey and arrived at Neriak but a few hours ago. Upon arrival, one of the junior members of the Black handed guild informed him that Dugall was waiting for him at the Blind Fish, the brothers' favorite bar in town.
    "What do you need brother?"
    "You went through the priest academy right?"
    "Uh...yea.... kinda gotta do that to be accepted into the temple as an initiate."
    "Weeeelllll, I need your help on a cover story. I'm going on assignment soon, relatively easy, need to find a mole in our operations abroad. Can't tell you where, no not even you. But I'm supposed to be a new priest, aaand well; there will be other Teir'Dal there.... who actually went through the academy. Anyway, I need your help with my cover story as a fresh out of the academy priest. They're going to set it up so I don't really have to do much...any casting. I just need info on the academy, enough for a good cover story. And you know how much they need."
    "Heh, sure. How recently did you 'graduate'?"
    "Next week. Graduate, party, ship"
    "Hermmmm welll..."

    * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

    Dugall sat, staring into the glass walls blankly, the constantly bending light from the moat reflected upon his face silently listening to Maelarr over the next few hours detailing the places, names, and faces of The Academy. From the horrible bitch of a channeling instructor Shessar who would never let you hear the end of it if you made the slightest error in your intonation, to everyone's favorite Arms trainer Nalfien, a skilled fighter with a heart for instruction recently earned Dragoon status in the indigo brotherhood, who's teaching style happened to be a hearty mix of heavy drinking and an endless stream of the most creative and innovative insults, hazing, long lectures and demonstrations on how to fight with our apparently unbalanced and weighty priestly weapons. Even through ALL of the dorm supervisor Discords' various deep seeded neurosis'. And the endless stream of substitute Evangelical Lore instructors due to the 'official' Tutor, Braelin's being constantly needed in an emergency elsewhere in the empire. By the end of the night, when the ale began to run low, Dugall could almost find his way around the academy and identify every person there by the back of their head, despite having only been there for less then a month during his very early childhood before they were certain that he could not cast spells.
    The talk eventually degraded into completely different subjects, ranging from complaining about the ever increasing cost of good, quality, slave work, to how easy it is to tell a "goodly" human from an "evil" human in Freeport. The good ones looked at you with a jealous disgust, unknowing and afraid. The Underground members looked upon you with awe and reverence, as a lesser race should, because they knew that you were of the children of their GOD! And they would look at you as if you were about to destroy them and the rest of the city with a thought. To dark elves it was terribly amusing, almost worth the trip to Freeport alone.

    Eventually, in the wee hours of the morning, amid an intense game of darts, Dugall was winning by...a lot. Both were actually doing quite well despite the amount of ale they had drunk that night, both brothers were remarkably good at holding their liquor. The bartender leaned over the top and shouted.
    "Tha fish is going to sleep! Clear out people! Ya dont have to go home but ya cant stay here!" Which broke his concentration and made Dugall miss a shot horribly.
    "Aww crap"
    "Hehehe, its an alright shot, I'm sure plenty of Blackhanders, the unchallenged masters of throwing daggers, stick one a gnome-length above the target all the time."
    "Oh shut the ****up"

    * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

    One Day Later...

    A heavy, unending, and needlessly loud beating of his door ripped Dugall from his pretty dream-world full of loot, slaves, and wealth. Slowly gaining full control of his dizzy head he leaned it up and looked around. Realizing it was today, and what today meant. He urged his body to motion. Standing up out of bed, the knocking still had not stopped.
    "I'm up! I'm up!" he yelled angrily at the unknown person. The knocking ceased immediately followed by the frantic pitter-patter of unlearned feet head down the hall.
    *An apprentice no doubt.... ugh...too early. * He looked around and shifted his eyes to the thermal spectrum. Looking around his room he headed over to the armor rack. Sitting down on the stool he reached for his stuff and began to suit up.

    Moments Later...

    Dugall stepped out of his room; he is relatively tall, for a dark elf, with deep red eyes. He is a perfect mirror image of Maelarr, being (as he insists) the older of the two twins. (By a heartbeat, although it should be noted, that in truth, Maelarr is the "older" amongst them) Despite that, they are quite easy to tell apart, Dugall keeps his hair short and trim, often going completely bald at times should the situation require it. While Maelarr grows his hair out long, the occasional thin braid topped off with a bone bead of some sort. He claims he adds a new braid every time he kills a great enemy of Innoruuk, and hopes to be sporting dreadlocks some day. Their body structure is quite dissimilar also, while both are in quite good shape, and have strength of arm necessary to fight in battle. Maelarr's muscles are large and piled on from wearing heavy armor, carrying around and swinging weighty hammers, maces, mauls, and shields all his life thus far. Dugall is much leaner, yet hard as a rock, from an upbringing around the Plith Salke fighting style and exercises of the Shebali guild. His body is carefully sculpted from years of stretching, deep breathing, and muscle-strengthening positions of the Khel Nizziknir, or literally, body sharpening. A system of guided meditation, mental preparation, deep stretching, and bodyweight exercises that produced a lean, yet terribly complete physique. Dugall has more muscle strength then ten Teir'Dal packed into the space of one.
    He wears a tight Panther skin vest; cutting off at the arms revealing his rippling muscled and tattooed arms. On his left bicep he has a black-inked flowing design that seemed to be made of living shadows, crawling and oozing around his arm, starting at where his arm and chest meet, swirling around his arm twice and ending in a swirl around the point of his elbow, and on the inside of his right forearm is a blood-red symbol of Innoruuk. His pants are also made of the hide of a haze panther, and were quite loose, wrapped and bound to his legs at the ankles, above and below the knee, the upper thighs and around the waist. Over his shoulders is draped an inky black piwafwai, a hood that drapes over the shoulders down to about the elbows. Over his eyes an enchanted black, silken mask, which allows him to see through most invisibility, spells out in the world, it also puts a slight glowing aura around a living creature. On his feet is a pair of gratitutiously enchanted Tabi boots, boots with the big toe separated from the rest of the toes, which were originally worn by early Teir'Dal Assassins, and still in use today, was strapped to his leg by the trio of buckles. The boots were enchanted to not only soften any impact they received to less then that of a feather falling no matter the distance, anything between a simple footfall to a leap from the highest mountain. They also allow him to cling to any surface with ease. He walked stealthily down the hallway outside of the dormitory, made his way through the city to the specified alleyway. The streets were cold, empty, and silent. Eventually he arrived at the alley.

    "You're early" came a voice from the darkness....
    "Ready to go, Sir?" came another voice.
    "Mentally, Physically, Spiritually." replied Dugall, "Did some quick Nizziknir stretches before I came here, and spoke at great length with a cleric night before last"
    "Outstanding." replied the first.
    A gloved hand reached out from the so obscenely thick shadows they had to be magically enhanced and handed Dugall a small bag. Dugall reached and took the bag, looking inside.
    "Potions," came up the second voice, "Keyed for the appearance of the good Mr. Savvras, of the K'Ton Family. The potions are designed to last as long as two days I'd rather you not stretch them that far, no more then a day and a half, the closer you get to the end the less convincing the transformation will be. You have ten of them. If your cover is blown, there is an eleventh, which will bring you back. It is not instant, once drunk, over the next minute or so you will be brought into the guild, in Mr. Tani's private office. There is also a personal package that somehow found itself in your mission equipment in there with the seal of the High Priest of the Overthere outpost, addressed to you. You will find it is still sealed. Also a scroll personally keyed to you, it contains what information we have so far."
    The first voice spoke up again, "Whether you find the mole or not, in fifteen days you must find a way to return. Faking your death is preferable; we have even prepared a body to resemble Savvras after a mauling by the local guard. Several deep sword wounds, a few bruises, you know the deal. Once you arrive we will have arranged a drop-off point for additional equipment, Armor, mace, shield, et cetera, your 'costume' if you will, a dozen dragon lengths south of the gate, off to the side there will be your equipment. Find proof, a name, and if at all possible, an apprehension, of the mole and report back in fifteen days."
    "Yes Sir."
    "Have you any questions?"
    "No Sir"
    "Then off you go, Let Hate be your guide, and the Shadows your path. Good Luck."
    With that there was the unmistakable sound of arcane chanting as the wizard prepared to send Dugall to his destination. He quickly pulled on his black facemask, which covered his face from the bottom of the eyes down and the top of them up. He pulled the hood of his piwafwai up and prepared for the intense battery of speed normally associated with translocation.

    Dugall was never a big proponent of Translocation. It is best described as not your body sent flying through the world at an immense speed, but the world flying through you. It was far from the most pleasant experience in the world. Within seconds, the magic gathered around his feet, ready to activate at a thought. He willed the magic take him to his destination. Immediately his body was encased in the powerful magic and he was sent screaming through the roof into the sky, the world passed through him in a long blur, shades of the terrain was all that was recognizable...within seconds he 'landed' at the familiar pyramid that wizards would teleport to.

    * * * * * * * * * *

    All of a sudden the hot, dry air of the desert replaced the cool, damp air of Neriak. Wind whipped around Dugall pulling on his loose cloak and piwafwi, almost threatening to take them from him. Shaking his head Dugall grabbed his cloak up and headed north to his destination. Sand flew into exposed skin, impacting like rocks on his hands, face, and arms. Despite the stinging sandstorm Dugall trudged on through the desert. Several hours later, as the sun was just started to peek over the horizon, Dugall felt something was wrong. Stopping, he looked around the area, searching for something setting his instincts off. Quickly he found it... a pair of eyes peeking out at him from under a poorly camouflaged skirmish trench. And another, and another, and another. He counted five under the sand, and noticed another four peeking out from the top of a hill. Dervish Raiders...heh, Dugall thought, with a smile. In a flash he grabbed a throwing dagger from his bandolier, had it in throwing position, and had it flying towards one of the pairs of eyes. Before it struck the poor human lying in wait, Dugall's weapons were out. A long, gratuitously enchanted dagger, and a long black sword, which was nearly weightless considering its incredible size. It seemed like forever until the raiders finally got up, minus one, and charged. A huge ogre, three orcs, and two humans.
    An orc and the two humans reached him first. The humans going for each flank and the orc rushing in headlong. Just as the orc and one of the humans was about to sandwich him he jumped up in a sideways flip over the human to his left. Trailing the sword across his face as he leaped. As Dugall landed he stabbed the dagger into the base of the humans skull, dropping the human instantly. Bringing his sword up to parry a high and center overhead slash from the orc, Dugall twisted out of the way of the spear thrust of the other human. As the spear-wielding human charged past, Dugall spun and sliced the back of the human's right knee and stuck the sword lightly into the orc. The human quickly went down screaming like a little girl, bleeding profusely. The orc kept coming at him with wide slashes of its axe. Dugall easily got out of the way of the clumsy sweeps, but couldn't get in close enough. Suddenly he crouched down and leapt high up in the sky, In a flash, he let go of his dagger, grabbed three throwing knives, threw them at the orc, and grabbed his knife up again at the apex of his jump. On the way back down, Dugall reached out with his legs slightly and landed gracefully on the orcs shoulder and face, allowing his body to sink until his knees were bent he then sprung off the orcs face into a backward flip landing a few yards from the thing, skidding towards a stop in the sand. Quickly reversing momentum, Dugall launched foreword in a thrust at the orc, whom was momentarily distracted with the knife stuck in its arm, chest, neck, and the elf landing and jumping off its face before it knew what was happening, and dove his sword into the things neck. He rolled with the orc and slipped his sword out just in time to miss the other orcs Axe slash. Quickly reaching around he stuck his Dagger in the orcs side and jumped up in a spin and sliced the orcs face and arm with his sword, continuing the spin he stuck the sword tip into the orcs back. The orc went down slowly, gushing its lifeblood all over the desert sand. He then spun around to face the ogre, a huge mass of hulking muscle, which was currently mid-swing with a club. Dugall felt the air rush by him as he leaned back just in time to duck beneath the club roughly the size of Dugall's body. To which the ogre responded with a heavy backhand that connected with the side of Dugall's face. Reacting instantly, he rolled with the punch and stopped himself a generous distance away from the thing. Dugall smiled viciously under his facemask as a plan came to mind. He switched the position of his feet from defensive to a running stance, sheathed his sword, and sped off towards the ogre. The ogre grunted and feebly attempted to swing its club at Dugall again, but Dugall saw it coming a mile away. Just after the ogre started its swing, Dugall flipped up in the air towards the ogre, landed on the club and immediately flipped up over the ogre's head. Reaching out, Dugall grabbed onto the things shoulder as he flipped over, and used the remainder of his momentum, and all the strength in his arm to dive his dagger upwards into the base of the ogre's skull. The ogre roared in pain as Dugall twisted his dagger, killing the ogre instantly. Dugall braced his feet against the teetering giant's back, pulled his dagger out, and rolled away from its falling mass. A brief sigh of relief as Dugall wiped his weapons clean and watched the remaining raiders run away over the dunes. Dugall rubbed his face in hopes that it wouldn't bruise, and trudged on towards Freeport.

    Before long, the desert began to recede, patches of vegetation became larger and more common. The soil became more and more forgiving. Eventually, Dugall was walking near the trail into Freeport staying low among the bushes and undergrowth along the trail as not to be seen by Freeport patrols. Patrolmen seeing a Teir`Dal coming towards the city would not immediately attack him, but would likely have him followed, by someone who would likely know the back ways of the city better then him. This would be bad. Shortly down the path he found what he was looking for. A makeshift "corpse" fully armored, wearing a set of glossy liche purple breastplate, greaves, bracers and boots. The helmet had rolled off and was not too far away. Dugall un-strapped the armor, took the arming doublet off the body, and picked up the helmet. Feeling adventurous, removed most of his sneaking gear, facemask, vest, and leather bracers, put on the arming doublet, and strapped on the Breastplate, Thigh plates and bracers. The rest of the armor plates he stuck into a bag, he tossed the boots. Simply too loud. He grabbed the mace, linked the hook at the end to a loop on his belt, and strapped the buckler to his left bracer. Hiding his black-sword would be tricky, but it could be done. He continued down the path towards Freeport.

    * * * Three hour later * * * *

    There they were, the walls of Freeport. The immensely thick walls guarding the city of pale skins. No-body noticed him from high up in the tree line a few hundred yards to the city. His contact, Theronna, was supposed to be around here somewhere. She was supposed to meet him, and sneak him into the city somehow. His brief mentioned she was a spell caster. And now that he got to thinking about it, she was probably waiting for him, invisible, as spell casters do. He pulled out his enchanted facemask and held it up to his face, immediately the invisible traffic of the area appeared. The place seemed much livelier. A group of adventurers went soaring by along to an impossibly fast beat of a drum, And way off to the side, was a very attractive little dark elf magette, sitting down on.... nothing, and not wearing much more either. She must be an air mage, Dugall had seen Ulie, his adopted daughter do such things with her little air elemental, as air elementals have a habit of not being seen, yet still being solid, being made of...air...and all. Dugall grinned, and started across the way towards the invisible mage. Dugall quaffed one of the transmutation potions, and immediately felt it take effect, trying his damndest to not vomit during the process of the magical potion reworking his body structure, when all was said and done, Dugall had shrunk several inches, his eyes had taken on a dark bluish hue, almost black, his ears had shrunk down a bit, his features rounded out more, and his hair darkened, taking on the youthful shade of black that a Teir'dal often has at birth. Moments later, he put up the mask and closed in, trying his hardest NOT to be absolutely silent. Just as he was about to walk into the invisible girl, she dismissed the spell and motioned for him to come join her. She looked up from her spell book, and flashed a seductive smile as she greeted him.
    "Well heey there," still smiling, she gave a little wink as she hopped off her elemental, which quickly solidified and moved between the two of them, "Don't mind him, he's was just leaving, go away Garn." The elemental immediately disappeared back into thin air. She closed her spell book and motioned for him to get closer. "Savvras I assume?", Dugall nodded in agreement. The mage took a step back, took a deep breath, and began casting. After a few seconds Dugall felt...tingly...he had completely disappeared, nothing new to Dugall, but this time it was the middle of the day and he was in the middle of a broad space. She cast some more spells then disappeared herself. Motioning for him to follow she headed towards the city.

    Dugall followed Theronna through the many twists and turns in the back alley's of the city to the slums, and an old abandoned warehouse. In a small room, likely once used as a lobby. There was obviously an anti-magic zone in the area, as they both appeared. Theronna mentioned for him to stay here and she disappeared through a door on the other end of the room. A few moments later A tall Dark elf came back through the door, he was well muscled, armored, and had the weirdest look to his face...he almost seemed...friendly. As weird as that was to a Dark Elf. He did the standard Teir'Dal greeting, bringing the right hand to the chest, fingers in the hand-signal display of one's profession, and then cutting the salute with a flourish. Dugall returned the salute, nearly forgetting that he was now a priest, and not an assassin.
    "Greetings Savrass, I am N'Ton, Liason to the humans. If they have a problem about a Dark elf here in the underground. They come to me so it can be dutifully ignored. If a Dark elf has a problem with a human, they check in with me before he slaughters it like the cattle that it is. Just to make sure the human doesn't owe anyone any money and all. I like to keep debts to a minimum around here."
    "Good words to live by," Dugall replied, "So what am I supposed to be doing around here? The brief mentioned it was going to be a teaching job?"
    "Yes Sir, you will be instructing the young, up-and-coming humans anything they need to know about surviving in an urban crawl where you are not wanted. Losing a tail, staying low, avoiding guards, and the like. The dossier said you got a bit of extracurricular teaching in a 'specialized skill-set' from an uncle before joining the priest academy"
    Dugall was surprised, this job was right up his alley. The Johnson had planned this well. Teaching pale skins to sneak in plate armor would be murder on his patience, but he didn't plan on being here for very long now anyway.
    "Extra-Curricular? Specialized skill-set huh? Heh, something like that. The title of 'thief' doesn't suit many who practice that particular area of expertise."
    "Very well, good to have you, I'm sure your 'specialized skills' will come in handy for the young trainees. Come this way, your room has been prepared for you in advance. Follow me please, and welcome to the Dismal Rage..."

    Dugall followed the elf through the myriad maze of the underground. Deeper and Deeper into the Teir'dal section. Listening intently to every place of notice that N'ton noted. Dugall had visited the underground before, even lived here once a decade or two ago. So he knew the area fairly well.
    "Humans shouldn't ever be really bothering you in your room, they are strictly prohibited from entering this section," N'ton continued with his welcome speech, "Your room is right here, feel free to drop off your gear inside. Here is your key." Explained N'Ton as he opened the door to a relatively small room, roughly cut from the rock face. It had a smooth, rock floor, rounded-off edges and corners, an armor stand, and a large wooden locker immediately to the left inside the door. In the far corner was a small nondescript cot, and opposite it, an altar in the center of a blood-red hatecircle, surrounded by candleholders, with an idol of Innoruuk seated atop the altar. Dugall never was as big into religion as his brother, come to think of it; he wasn't as big into a lot of things Maelarr enjoyed.
    "I'll leave you here for the rest of the day to unpack your things, your key is over there on the end-table, the dining hall I pointed out on the way here is the one most of us eat at, only the highest ranking humans are allowed to eat there, yet even they rarely do anyway, it will be opening for the evening meal in a few hours. In the meantime if you are famished from your trip, and I'm sure you are, they can give you a little something to eat until then. They normally have at least something available for some light snacking during the day. I'll stop by tomorrow morning and introduce you to your class. Any questions?"
    "No, I'm fine, thank you. See you in the morning."
    And with that N'ton briskly turned around and casually sped off down the hallway. Placing his pack down on the cot he opened up his pack. Immediately his nostrils flared as the spicy, burning scent of Hot 'n Spicy Toelings almost visibly filled the air like a cloud of fiery poison. His eyes watered and widened in anticipation of his favorite treats. Tearing through his pack he found the package of toelings in the bag with the transmutation potions. Dugall immediately knew who the anonymous source of the personal package...Maelarr. His brother had to be the best cook Dugall ever knew, how in the hell Maelarr managed to learn to cook was beyond him, but Maelarr was a damned good cook, despite his dogged protection of the source of his skills at the grill. Maelarr was also apparently privy to a great supply of Fennin peppers. Dugall loved his Toelings as spicy as they could come, and Fennin peppers were just that. A lesser Teir.... Man.... hell a normal, even a strong anything would have broken-down in tears crying to get away from the horrid stinging smell of the peppers, but not Dugall. No, Dugall somehow loved the things. He broke open the package, what was left of it anyway, the fumes from the peppers had eaten away most of the half-dozen thin metallic layers that the Toelings were wrapped in, and grabbed one of the tiny morsels held it above his gaping mouth. He was about to drop the toe in when he heard a pair of unlearned and definitely uncaring feet clicking rapidly, announcing their presence nearing his room. Hurriedly he covered up the transmutation potions and resumed his presumably innocent activities.
    Feigning surprise Dugall whipped his head around to face a remarkably tall Teir'Dal woman, wearing thigh-high, high heel boots, a tight skirt, corset, bustier, a collar around her neck and long gloves, all black leather, and all shinier then Dugall had ever seen. In her hand was a long wooden paddle outfitted with steel studs, some of which had a bit of blood on them. The whole-getup looked rather intimidating and she seemed quite angry. Feigning surprise was not that hard at all.
    "LANYS GANGBANGING T'VYL! WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?!?!" The banshee-woman shrieked again.
    "Hot 'n' Spicy Toelings....extra spicy....and then some. Made with the ever-so-rare Fennin Peppers. Hotter then the Plane of Fire"
    Her proximity to the toelings was obviously starting to affect her as her forehead was damp with sweat and her eyes squinted through the water welling up and running down her face. Her hand shot up to her mouth and nose protectively.
    "My eyes! Gah it burns! How could you possibly just be sitting there?"
    Sensing it was not a good idea to make enemies this early in the mission, Dugall reached for a small vial containing a rinse that a shaman once made him that allowed people, Maelarr specifically as the original intended user, to be able to function around the Fennin peppers. Double-checking the vial he effortlessly threw the bottle straight at the woman.
    "Dip your fingers in it and wipe your eyes with them, dab a little around your mouth, nose and any open cuts and you should be fine."
    Fumbling to catch the perfectly thrown bottle she eventually managed to not drop it. She quickly uncorked the wide top and dipped her fingers in, tears streaming down her face she wiped her eyes, nose, and mouth with the clear liquid. Instant relief washed over her face.
    "Next time you want to try to kill everyone with one of those, either distribute that before-hand or close your door. You must be Savvyras. I am Pheonia, Vicaress in the so-called church here."
    "That is correct, I am Initiate K'Ton. Just arrived here today, N'Ton said he would pick me up tomorrow and show me to my class."
    "You're not going to the temple? Damn I thought you were going to be under me. You want to be my new altar boy? I promise I wont hurt you as bad as I did the last one."
    "I'll pass actually, according to N'Ton I was chosen for this gig due to a certain set of special skills that I got from an uncle before joining the priest academy. "
    "Ah the new urban environment instructor. Eh, if you can do it, should be alright. Not the best place to start a career as a priest if you ask me. But the empire needs what the empire needs."
    "I guess you're right, ah well it pays decently enough at least."
    "That's always nice to get paid to do something you're good at. Although I am surprised that they didn't get a blackhander for the job. Them being trained and all to do it."
    "That's what I thought too. Apparently there was a very small graduating class this year, all the agents who know enough to do this job are busy in more important positions apparently."
    "Ah, that makes sense I guess. I'd still request for a transfer as soon as you can get one. You're not learning anything about priesthood here. Why I'll bet you'll not have to channel one spell your entire time here. Well regardless, was nice meeting you, I've got something I need to get back to. I'll see you around." Pheonia gave a wicked smile and noisily walked down the hallway.
    Sighing, Dugall leaned back and dropped the spicy morsel into his mouth. The sauce was truly incredible, Maelarr had really outdone himself this time.
    Become a minion today! Fall to the cuteness of the kitties!
    So shonen it frikkin' hurts.
    "Matter flows from place to place and momentarily comes together to be you, Some people find that thought disturbing, I find the reality thrilling."
    - Dr Richard Dawkins

  2. #2
    Join Date
    Jun 2005

    Default Re: Deeper

    Lender Adverto
    ~Starting fresh~

    *I am nobody*
    >Nobody is perfect<
    -I am perfect-


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