Onward to the Fortress (Chosen RP)

[Dios]

"This is the fifth village I have visited," Dios muttered to himself in fustration,"Perhaps the letter that good for nothing beggar gave me is a fake." Taking another swig of his ale, he looked around the common room of the inn at the empty chairs all around him, "How does this place manage to stay open?" he questioned,"Not many people would even dare coming out here." He took the letter out from his pocket and had another look at it"This is deffinitely his handwriting, no mistake, this was written by the hand of the gleeman who raised me, or that of a good forger," He whispered to himself,"I don't know how that beggar could have possibly known the gleeman, No doubt if he had I would have recognised his face, but even if it was a forgery how could they know of my skills?"

[Marak]

Aginor opened a Gate, and stepped through. He sought new humans for more experiments, but.. With the pitiful equipment this Age offered, his mastery could never be truly revealed! It angered him, as the Trollocs, the Jumara, the gholam, all were works of his genius.

 

Now, he was reduced to minor improvements on Trolloc stock, and plotting his rise to power. Poor entertainment, compared to what he had been. He loathed this Age. Had it not been for his immortality, he would've simply rampaged across the Borderlands, and doing what he willed. As it was, however, he was forced to wait. Patience had been his strong suit, and so, the knowledge of the Return sustained him.

 

He looked around the town. It was small, and.. it smelt. It was a haven for Friends of the Dark, however, one of few along the Borderlands, tiny villages, spared by the Blight, so that the Lightfools could be weakened.

 

He entered a common room, and looked around. He saw a man, walking around, looking.. somewhat bewildered. He smiled, a thin, taut smile. No doubt the man woul-...

 

He felt a flicker, a sense of miniscule menace. The man could channel. That changed his plans. Every channeler he could gather was vital to his Order. He had Dreadlords and Mae'shadar to serve his will, but every channeler that served him, rather than the Light, was a boon. In his Age.. Ah, he reminsced far too much.

 

He drew upon the Power, filling himself utterly. When he was young, he had taken joy from the sense of utter life, his senses enhanced beyond comprehension. Now.. it meant little to him. He wove Spirit, and slammed a Shield onto the man. That, at least, would make sure the man did not try anything with the Power, anything that would reveal him.

 

Flows of Air wrapped themselves around the man, and began guiding his legs towards Aginor. Aginor walked towards him, and jovally slapped a hand on his shoulder, and spoke, weaving a ward against eavesdropping, as he started to speak. "A channeler, are you? A Friend of the Dark?".

 

He waited for an answer. No doubt the man was scared enough to answer anything at this point, so he reinforced his ethos of truth. "Tell the truth. I'll not harm you either way".

[Dios]

Dios looked at the man, unsure of who or what he was, or why he would ask such a question so blatantly in public. "Either way I answer that question could see me killed," Dios said with a hint of panic in his voice," You could walk in the Light and see me dead for being Darkfriend, Or you could be one with the shadow and strike me down for walking in the Light."

 

Dios thought it through a bit, the letter was handed to him by a Darkfriend, and a male channeller from the Black Tower would not be this rushed to shield him, and there was something about this man, something in his eyes that said he had seen it all."I shall answer you truthfully, as my heart tells me that like me you are one with the shadow," Dios stated, "I've read much of chanelling and the power you display is said not to exist today, you are no ordinary Dreadlord, May I have a name Lord?"

[Marak]

"I am Aginor."

 

Aginor left the statement dead in the air, the name alone frightened Lightfool children in their cradles. He looked at the man's face momentarily, and then turned around, releasing the weaves of Air as he did so, as to let the man walk after him. He continued to speak, then, in a low, calm voice.

 

"You are a channeler, and thus, you possess the potential to become a Dreadlord. You will come with me, where you will be trained. Follow me."

 

Aginor began walking, and released the weaves of Air on the man entirely. He wove a weak shield of Air, though, to inform him if the man attacked. Although his senses blazed with information about the world, he was no less dead from a knife from the back then he was from one of the other Chosen duelling him to the death.

 

He walked through the dusty streets, strolling casually into out of the town. Once on the worn track, and he had been for perhaps two or three minutes, he turned around, and looked at the man, and reinforced his Shield more strongly. It would not do to have him learning secrets prematurely. He wove quickly, and inverted his weave, so that no fool Asha'man could come and follow him, if some possessed such a Talent, and opened a Gate. It led directly into the Fortress of the Shadow, near one of the stables. He would have to find someone to take the boy, as he certainly didn't intend to take him himself.

 

As he stepped through, he gestured for the other man to follow, and prepared to release the weave..

[Dios]

Dios felt Aginor release him as the Chosen stepped through the portal. He eyed it carefully,shocked at the appearance of a hole in the air itself, and catiously stepped through. He stepped through the portal and now was in completely different terrain, the shock of it causing him to stumble through and fall flat on his face.

 

Dios got to his feet and began to take in his surroundings, dark and musty would decribe it best he thought, the fortress itself made of an unnatural union of stone and black iron, twisted and sickly. It was quite different to anywhere he had been before, but luckily he never really liked any other place he had been, this place had its own distinct 'charm'and though to many it would seem a cold and terrifying place, Dios found it warm and beautiful yet deadly all at once.

 

He came up with his own nickname for it to suit how he thought of it "Dark Rose Stone", For it was beautiful like a Rose and Strong like a Stone and Everything about it said "darkness calls this home."

As shall Dios now

[Marak]

Aginor gestured to one of the nearby servants, and the man hurried foward to obey. "Take this boy, find him a room, show him what he needs to know about the Fortress. He'll find a teacher for himself, or one will find him, soon enough".

 

Aginor opened a Skimming hole, and Skimmed directly into his chambers. They were comfortable enough. He wondered, somewhat adrift in his own thought, about the Day of Return. Ever since.. that Myrddraal had.. been created, it had preoccupied him again, and again. He needed allies, and a new base, or at least somewhere to flee. He'd not lose his chance at becoming Nae'blis, or at least becoming one of the allies to the Nae'blis lost.

 

He began to plan.. If only he had an angreal, he could dominate the other Chosen. With a sa'angreal... He smiled thinly. Such wonders that had been built in his Age were scarce in such an Age as this, and finding one would be a matter of having the Great Lord's own luck..

 

His thoughts turned momentarily to the Darkfriend he had brought in.. Another channeler, who would be sworn to him. It was a thought that comforted him, after all, the forming of alliances... it had not happened, never so evenly, not in the whole War of Power. It bothered him.. was the Great Lord manipulating them, placing them in division for some reason of his own?

 

He sighed, and moved off to the side of the room, and sat down. He had planning to do. A moment of luxury, such as that one, was something one of the Chosen could afford often....