Microsoft Zone Archive/Player Chronicles/Death's Herald: Difference between revisions
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| Title = Death's Herald | | Title = Death's Herald | ||
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<div style="margin-left:15%"><i>by Ariq</i> | <div style="margin-left:15%"><i>by Ariq</i> | ||
<br><font color=#FFFFFF><b>Chapter 1: Different Calls</b></font> | <br><font color=#FFFFFF><b>Chapter 1: Different Calls</b></font> | ||
<br><br>Dagador closely examines the lock. It is a simple affair, barely worth his notice; he is certainly not greatly impressed. His fingers work deftly with picks at the mechanism of the lock. | <br><br>Dagador closely examines the lock. It is a simple affair, barely worth his notice; he is certainly not greatly impressed. His fingers work deftly with picks at the mechanism of the lock. | ||
<br><br> | <br><br>"Damn," he mutters as the first pick snaps. That shouldn't have happened. He peers at the lock again, considering, carefully concentrating, until he catches the telltale remnants of the enchantments holding the lock in place. | ||
<br><br>Dagador. Some in Aluvia called him the Unlikely, his flat features and short stature causing many people to simply pass over him, his voice unremarkable, the kind of man who could vanish into a crowd. Others in Aluvia called him the Dark, because that is when he preferred to work, his silent footsteps gliding silently down halls, his skillful fingers opening doors thought secure, his dagger leaving a trail of blood behind wherever he thought to take himself. | <br><br>Dagador. Some in Aluvia called him the Unlikely, his flat features and short stature causing many people to simply pass over him, his voice unremarkable, the kind of man who could vanish into a crowd. Others in Aluvia called him the Dark, because that is when he preferred to work, his silent footsteps gliding silently down halls, his skillful fingers opening doors thought secure, his dagger leaving a trail of blood behind wherever he thought to take himself. | ||
<br><br>He chuckles, pulling a short wand from his backpack. With calm consideration, he quietly incants the words, causing a flash of rival power to spark out of the lock's mechanism. Sliding the wand into his belt sash, he peers once more at the lock, satisfied with his work. He begins to fiddle with the mechanism again, rewarded with a soft click. | <br><br>He chuckles, pulling a short wand from his backpack. With calm consideration, he quietly incants the words, causing a flash of rival power to spark out of the lock's mechanism. Sliding the wand into his belt sash, he peers once more at the lock, satisfied with his work. He begins to fiddle with the mechanism again, rewarded with a soft click. | ||
Latest revision as of 07:57, 25 August 2013
Original Link (now dead) - http://zone.msn.com/asheronscall/ASHEdeathscalls.asp
Death's Herald
Chapter 1: Different Calls
Dagador closely examines the lock. It is a simple affair, barely worth his notice; he is certainly not greatly impressed. His fingers work deftly with picks at the mechanism of the lock.
"Damn," he mutters as the first pick snaps. That shouldn't have happened. He peers at the lock again, considering, carefully concentrating, until he catches the telltale remnants of the enchantments holding the lock in place.
Dagador. Some in Aluvia called him the Unlikely, his flat features and short stature causing many people to simply pass over him, his voice unremarkable, the kind of man who could vanish into a crowd. Others in Aluvia called him the Dark, because that is when he preferred to work, his silent footsteps gliding silently down halls, his skillful fingers opening doors thought secure, his dagger leaving a trail of blood behind wherever he thought to take himself.
He chuckles, pulling a short wand from his backpack. With calm consideration, he quietly incants the words, causing a flash of rival power to spark out of the lock's mechanism. Sliding the wand into his belt sash, he peers once more at the lock, satisfied with his work. He begins to fiddle with the mechanism again, rewarded with a soft click.
The door opens soundlessly. . .
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