The nightmares are treasured not as prophecy, but assurances of a darkened path well walked.
By carriage did the estranged Necroseer betray his colleagues vocation. In upheaval he moved from the scene of darkness as if a rising buoyant thing from deep pressured depths trapping, rising, escaping. Closer to the sunlight for want of gasping, life touched air restoring sought for denial of a drowning in the deepness of where he had swam. Too deep. A return to normal mortalfolk with sense to breathe freshly, for craving to be reminded of that instinct.
“Immediate to place pastoral, to monastery stones of Anathaeum!”, the Necroseer's commandment, slipping and floundering into carriage, leaning into transport as it did thunder out as doors sealed and windows denied his existence.
Harnesses taut from speed, no whip or threshing of leathers, all glares from driver to driving steeds sufficient. A driver that knew joy only from coin arriving to pension and family long since seen, mouth held in grimace, clad in road tested draperies of duster leathers. Host concealed and contained within sheening blacks of carriage furnishings that finally gave reflection once the road had been given some distance in strides away and ahead across mud and quarry, forest and finally cobbled road.
Without delay, with brace of weapons readied, did the driver do his duty and the beasts to their burdens delivered. Thinking only of his wife's face contented by coin more assured than their escape, and how neither wits nor weapon would fail to roll coin and carriage, on beyond this business to a different day the driver did deliver. Glaring this way to danger and to horses, availing without drawing sting of nestled weapons, the way was made, whirring wheel defying slickness of mud and shock of cobblestone to turn the day to night to day again without breaking of hub or spoke.
Servants to the driver felt the glare upon their equine necks and pressed on, heat amassing from their flaring nostril labours, mingling fear in mouths that was given as feed. Servant of the road, amassed in hunch that held the reigns and weapons, knew nothing more than the task but knew it thoroughly. Chartered course without any further consultation, the command from Netherwisp impassioned enough.
All the while Netherwisp did draw about himself, to brood and lick wounds invisible, silent, leaning against furnishings of hastened wood trappings, all for want to rest on monastery stones instead. All for want of sunlight that cleansed.
He likened this entire business like an inkwell to a damned ledger. He knew to reject it without need to test a quill. To cast it from him, from cursed writing desk in disgust into a field of fallen leaves. No matter how full of black words that holding pit to damnation's quill, the foliage would soak it up. Deep blotter that it was, the Necroseer knew, such was it's nature, fallen leaves to the falling matters. Such was their ways of the changing light of skies and seasons, he knew as his hands hid his eyes and he felt his breath speak without his willing.
He slipped into tortures as the carriage did away further.
Delving beyond the lands of the incident and the past paths towards it, the carriage barrelled true, arriving sooner than most might in fair conditions. To the stones that frame the home of knights so sought by passenger.
Slowing now, safety assured by pastoral surroundings, urgency giving way to decorums. Sheening black with the dignity of those recluse of day, the pastoral scenes were shunned by passenger, absorbed by driver. The day was not long since breaking, song of birds unfamiliar to the arrivals in how free their chirping. Their cowled face sniffed deep of cleansing air, his glares towards his horses now unneeded. Eyes upturned to clear skies that did spot diamond of feather and shimmering, circling and lingering in the awakening blue, all unhidden.
The stones were about them, vision of monastery his to steal. A glimpse of servants who did not cleave the road for Necroseer's darkness.
Carriage was met by one draped in Crimson as the servants to duty did their business to their best knowledge. No interruption from driver, who did knock his head towards door, his own boots in movement to assure the horses that all that was done by them was done entire. The fresh grass, dew coated from morning rousing theirs to feast at least eyes on, as driver would be informed by Crimson as to where to give them care. Once the passenger had been been startled from dreamless rest by Knightly glove knuckle rapping.
Permission given. Sunlight finally broached and door unsealed and way made. A quick exchange of harrowed face met with unflinching vision. Need and worry meted out, an accord made, and customs followed.
Alighting the Necroseer did, draped in blackness to the side of Valborast draped in redness who did lead on with all proper cautions. Movement of boots between the fields of greening blades to the frameworks of stones that the Necroseer sought to lean upon. Netherwisp did not look up to the diamond that circled as the driver had, so distant and awash in sunlight that his whiteness did peel away to deeds of the day becoming themselves, his part played in protection of the Monastery's Order.
The horses were given their place to feed, the driver and his steeds given reprieve from their duties, the Necroseer given a briefing room within the Sanctum of Operations and succour. Valborast did not press for information, not that Netherwisp would grant it entire to one so lowly, as Valborast had quick discovered.
But from what Valborast had inferred less from succinct word and more from locking eyes with the Necroseer, this was a torrid affair that disturbed one draped in the business of the chill of the grave and their denizens. Reality of thought seemed less processed but endured in him, Valborast thought. His talismans and trade obvious of the domain of death, of necromancy, however benevolent by profession, had been broached by some indecency. More he could not say, nor would inquire, for those of deathly ways recognise deathly ways, both being consigned towards them. Both understood without words marking the air with knowing.
The inkwell of cursed words was soon to be cast out to bleed across the leaves, how much was needed to blot the words unwritten yet? Such was the business of the Loch to peer into, and perhaps, dilute from staining too deep, and too long.
As succour was given, words spilled out, line by line the same. Upon a chair provided the Necroseer did stare into the middle distance, a quiet refrain that Valborast did notice for the Loch business it was. Repeated, hushed, turned over and over, unhurried and in quietude of the cursed. Talismans turned for protection that did not avail to shielding from the experienced.
Valborast quick quilled did write slip of note, handed to servant of the Order who did pass message as duty did direct, swiftly. The Crimson Knight dared not commit this to the Loch for fear of contamination.
“To Master Bebin at once, quickly now, quickly,” Valborast did state, pressing paper into glove. A nod, a seal of door, boots moving loyal to the stones surrounding to Master Bebin at once. Valborast did watch the words spill with a restrained quietude, watching for a worsening, guarding himself from asking more of this one.
The words upon the note outlining only the location and the utterances, other loyal members giving clearer countenance of goings on already.
Those Necroseer's words upon the page and still yet rippling from him in hushed hauntings emerging within the Sanctum this-
'The nightmares are treasured not as prophecy, but assurances of a darkened path well walked.”
@Bebin
By carriage did the estranged Necroseer betray his colleagues vocation. In upheaval he moved from the scene of darkness as if a rising buoyant thing from deep pressured depths trapping, rising, escaping. Closer to the sunlight for want of gasping, life touched air restoring sought for denial of a drowning in the deepness of where he had swam. Too deep. A return to normal mortalfolk with sense to breathe freshly, for craving to be reminded of that instinct.
“Immediate to place pastoral, to monastery stones of Anathaeum!”, the Necroseer's commandment, slipping and floundering into carriage, leaning into transport as it did thunder out as doors sealed and windows denied his existence.
Harnesses taut from speed, no whip or threshing of leathers, all glares from driver to driving steeds sufficient. A driver that knew joy only from coin arriving to pension and family long since seen, mouth held in grimace, clad in road tested draperies of duster leathers. Host concealed and contained within sheening blacks of carriage furnishings that finally gave reflection once the road had been given some distance in strides away and ahead across mud and quarry, forest and finally cobbled road.
Without delay, with brace of weapons readied, did the driver do his duty and the beasts to their burdens delivered. Thinking only of his wife's face contented by coin more assured than their escape, and how neither wits nor weapon would fail to roll coin and carriage, on beyond this business to a different day the driver did deliver. Glaring this way to danger and to horses, availing without drawing sting of nestled weapons, the way was made, whirring wheel defying slickness of mud and shock of cobblestone to turn the day to night to day again without breaking of hub or spoke.
Servants to the driver felt the glare upon their equine necks and pressed on, heat amassing from their flaring nostril labours, mingling fear in mouths that was given as feed. Servant of the road, amassed in hunch that held the reigns and weapons, knew nothing more than the task but knew it thoroughly. Chartered course without any further consultation, the command from Netherwisp impassioned enough.
All the while Netherwisp did draw about himself, to brood and lick wounds invisible, silent, leaning against furnishings of hastened wood trappings, all for want to rest on monastery stones instead. All for want of sunlight that cleansed.
He likened this entire business like an inkwell to a damned ledger. He knew to reject it without need to test a quill. To cast it from him, from cursed writing desk in disgust into a field of fallen leaves. No matter how full of black words that holding pit to damnation's quill, the foliage would soak it up. Deep blotter that it was, the Necroseer knew, such was it's nature, fallen leaves to the falling matters. Such was their ways of the changing light of skies and seasons, he knew as his hands hid his eyes and he felt his breath speak without his willing.
He slipped into tortures as the carriage did away further.
Delving beyond the lands of the incident and the past paths towards it, the carriage barrelled true, arriving sooner than most might in fair conditions. To the stones that frame the home of knights so sought by passenger.
Slowing now, safety assured by pastoral surroundings, urgency giving way to decorums. Sheening black with the dignity of those recluse of day, the pastoral scenes were shunned by passenger, absorbed by driver. The day was not long since breaking, song of birds unfamiliar to the arrivals in how free their chirping. Their cowled face sniffed deep of cleansing air, his glares towards his horses now unneeded. Eyes upturned to clear skies that did spot diamond of feather and shimmering, circling and lingering in the awakening blue, all unhidden.
The stones were about them, vision of monastery his to steal. A glimpse of servants who did not cleave the road for Necroseer's darkness.
Carriage was met by one draped in Crimson as the servants to duty did their business to their best knowledge. No interruption from driver, who did knock his head towards door, his own boots in movement to assure the horses that all that was done by them was done entire. The fresh grass, dew coated from morning rousing theirs to feast at least eyes on, as driver would be informed by Crimson as to where to give them care. Once the passenger had been been startled from dreamless rest by Knightly glove knuckle rapping.
Permission given. Sunlight finally broached and door unsealed and way made. A quick exchange of harrowed face met with unflinching vision. Need and worry meted out, an accord made, and customs followed.
Alighting the Necroseer did, draped in blackness to the side of Valborast draped in redness who did lead on with all proper cautions. Movement of boots between the fields of greening blades to the frameworks of stones that the Necroseer sought to lean upon. Netherwisp did not look up to the diamond that circled as the driver had, so distant and awash in sunlight that his whiteness did peel away to deeds of the day becoming themselves, his part played in protection of the Monastery's Order.
The horses were given their place to feed, the driver and his steeds given reprieve from their duties, the Necroseer given a briefing room within the Sanctum of Operations and succour. Valborast did not press for information, not that Netherwisp would grant it entire to one so lowly, as Valborast had quick discovered.
But from what Valborast had inferred less from succinct word and more from locking eyes with the Necroseer, this was a torrid affair that disturbed one draped in the business of the chill of the grave and their denizens. Reality of thought seemed less processed but endured in him, Valborast thought. His talismans and trade obvious of the domain of death, of necromancy, however benevolent by profession, had been broached by some indecency. More he could not say, nor would inquire, for those of deathly ways recognise deathly ways, both being consigned towards them. Both understood without words marking the air with knowing.
The inkwell of cursed words was soon to be cast out to bleed across the leaves, how much was needed to blot the words unwritten yet? Such was the business of the Loch to peer into, and perhaps, dilute from staining too deep, and too long.
As succour was given, words spilled out, line by line the same. Upon a chair provided the Necroseer did stare into the middle distance, a quiet refrain that Valborast did notice for the Loch business it was. Repeated, hushed, turned over and over, unhurried and in quietude of the cursed. Talismans turned for protection that did not avail to shielding from the experienced.
Valborast quick quilled did write slip of note, handed to servant of the Order who did pass message as duty did direct, swiftly. The Crimson Knight dared not commit this to the Loch for fear of contamination.
“To Master Bebin at once, quickly now, quickly,” Valborast did state, pressing paper into glove. A nod, a seal of door, boots moving loyal to the stones surrounding to Master Bebin at once. Valborast did watch the words spill with a restrained quietude, watching for a worsening, guarding himself from asking more of this one.
The words upon the note outlining only the location and the utterances, other loyal members giving clearer countenance of goings on already.
Those Necroseer's words upon the page and still yet rippling from him in hushed hauntings emerging within the Sanctum this-
'The nightmares are treasured not as prophecy, but assurances of a darkened path well walked.”
@Bebin
