The Eldermire Vault

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The Slightly Villainous One
Original poster
Invitation Status
Posting Speed
  1. 1-3 posts per day
Writing Levels
  1. Intermediate
  2. Adept
Preferred Character Gender
  1. Female
Fantasy, Modern Fantasy
Akei-en placed a bold step across the gateway. Since nothing responded to the sound, he assumed it safe to continue. He relaxed and walked around the initial chamber. The supervisor outside had suggested waiting for a few other adventurers before delving further, and he was forced to admit that there was a limit to how far he could stretch his ability to kill things. He slammed the pole end of his spear into the ground impatiently, leaving a dent, and leaned against the wall.
A slight noise sounded in the corner of the room, as Anima popped into existence. Teleporting long distances always left him slightly staggered, but he managed this one without too much trouble. He had received the missive less than a day ago, and he hadn't had long to research his target location. Still, someone had managed to beat him here. A large, armoured figure wielded a wicked looking heavy spear. It surprised him, but it was of no real concern. He had already spotted 6 potential exit strategies if this figure turned out to be more foe than friend. Grabbing an apple from his knapsack on his belt, he started caring slices from it with his knife, before nodding an acknowledgment to the other person in the room.
The metal box turned when it noticed another existence appear in the room. Since it didn't have its weapon drawn and seemed distracted, he deemed it to be one of the adventurers. It lacked any visible armor, so it must either have been a damage-focused fighter or a magic caster. Either suited his needs. "Looks like you'll be on my team. I'm bored, so I'm going now. Others can catch up with us later. It shouldn't be too hard for them to find us; they can just follow the trail of corpses." His voice was tinny and despite being monotonous, changed volume regularly, as if it were echoing off his own helmet. He picked up his spear, and walked toward the darkened one of the two doorways - the one that wasn't the gate he had just entered through. "nigruemga". These words were similar to before in the way they were spoken, but they almost visibly hung in the air. They were followed by a blue-grey flame which appeared above his outstretched left gauntlet, and then flowed like water through the air, lighting the slowly descending corridor. The walls were bare and water dripped down them, but the lack of moss proved that no light ever naturally infiltrated this place.
Watching the metal giant head down the corridor, Anima finished the last of his apple, before throwing the core over his shoulder. Misting behind the giant, Anima started walking alongside him. Looking over the suit of armour, analyzing it for weaknesses, Anima quickly came to the conclusion that it would be impossible to dent without a very large, very sharp weapon. He had seen similar armour used by the more experienced members of the order of paladins, "walking siege-towers" they had been nicknamed, but none of them had looked this wicked.

"So, where ya from," Anima asked, casually making conversation.
The knight pondered for a while before answering. "Its hard to explain," he gave up "and you probably wouldn't believe me anyway. It's the kind of thing that I reckon only those Paladins from the south would even consider as being real." Considering they're the ones that put it there in the first place. "Change of topic but what are you expecting to get out of this dungeon and are you prepared to risk your life for it?"
The mentions of paladin piqued Animas interest. Though not from the south, the branch that had trained him was well connected.

"Give me a try. I know a thing or two about paladin and their stories. What do I want to get out of this?" Shrugging, Anima thought for a moment.
"I don't really know. I do these for the sake of it most of the time. Maybe to get more powerful sometimes."
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A third adventurer came forth from the dust and rubble, and in his left hand was a black oaken staff while placed upon his left hip was a longsword forged in the style of his people, the rare and elusive Alvs. His armor was of medium size with a hood instead of a helm completed it, while the hood itself was tucked into the back of the cuirass. He was fairly seasoned, as his facial scar displayed as it ran down his left eye. He also had a satchel at his side, mainly containing runestones and scrolls with which to record his findings. The alv spoke up, looking to the others. "I take it you two are the remainder of the expedition into the dungeon?"
Mildly irritated by the intrusion, Anima turned to berate the newcomer, but stopped short upon catching site of both the staff, and the sword. Fellow wielders of both martial and magical skill were rare.
"Quite the contrary," Anima started, "we are part of the new party sent to investigate. My money would be on the original expedition all being dead and gone by now. Who might you be?"
The armor turned to take in the newcomer. He said in a patronising tone; "This is a magic caster. See that stick he holds? That indicates magic casting. Of course, real magic casters don't need channeling rods, but that's none of my business..."
Leaning over to the armour, Anima whispered, "I think it mainly depends on the magic used. I have many spells I can use with ease, some I have to use in conjunction with my weapon, some I haven't even mastered yet. Maybe I should get a staff, what d'ya reckon?"
"Staffs should only be used if trying to use a spell that's unnatural to your specialisation since they will increase the magnitude to an adequate level. Staffs cannot increase magnitude beyond your own personal strength, so relying on one for your specialised set is suicide. If that wooden pole breaks - and that's all it is, a wooden pole - you're restricted to using only weak spells. It might take more effort to train, but being able to use all your specialised spells without aid is basic knowledge for a semi-proficient spellcaster." The armor stopped for a while and looked to be frowning in a way even behind the full helm. "Staffs do fit the whole mage thing pretty well though so I can see why you might want to use one." After finishing casually breaking the 4th wall, the armor turned back to the corridor. "Anyway, standing around here won't do us any good. I want to go kill something so I'm going to continue along this passageway."
Anima raises an eyebrow at this. For a paladin this armoured giant was surprisingly knowledgeable in the arcana. Paladins he had worked with in the past had one setting. Arcane magics were bad, divine magics, as long as they came from a good deity, were good. Then again perhaps the training was a bit more lax in the southern orders.

"You seem to know a lot about arcane magics for a paladin. If I didn't know better I'd say it was suspicious. From what I learnt, all arcane magics were frowned upon, considering the fact that they were man made, rather than heavenly inspired."
"I am an Arcane Knight, Ahlok Val. The staff in question doesn't have any magic purposes, save the crystal mounted atop that's meant to illuminate the path. Otherwise, this old staff is meant for navigation. Although, like my blade, it is equipped to channel magic if I need it to. This, however, is only meant for massive spells, such as generating a controlled tempest. But my magic varies from sorcery to the elemental forms to healing. Regardless, I hail from Tharonir, home of the alvs. As for yourselves?" He then continued to look at the others, activating his staff's crystal as the light quickly began to evaporate before them.
The owner of the armor smiled cruelly under the helmet. "Oh no, you are mistaken. I'm no paladin - the reason I said only the southern Order would understand my existence is because I am a Wraith. See?" The armor's left hand reached up and pulled back the hood of the Cloak of +2 Spellset, then removed the helmet. Underneath, there was nothing. It was simply an empty helmet. "I am currently possessing this suit of Magic Armour." The suit's helmet was reattached, and the hood drawn again to disguise the empty neck seam. "I don't suppose you'd know this, but the southern paladins are much more ferocious and frankly a lot better at being paladins than the other groups. They banished my entire city to a prison dimension because my ancient ancestors happened to be using it to become immortal."
Torgeir stood to the side of the gateway and quickly glanced down the path to make sure there was no one coming up on him. Satisfied that he was out of sight of supervisor or anyone else he slipped one of the pistol bows off his belt, pulled the bolt out, and practiced spinning it round his index finger the way the man in the bar had shown him all of two days ago.

After a couple of successful spins he paused and took a moment to compose himself. It wouldn’t do to show his nerves, because while Tor considered himself pretty tough he’d noticed earlier whilst he was signing his name on the guild registration form that some of his new colleagues looked like the kind nutcases that might tie a steak to the front of their trouser and jump in shark infested water just for a giggle.
Confident he was ready to enter Tor put one hand on the top of his axe and stared spinning the pistol bow and stepped round the doorway. He knew that he had made a grand entrance strait away. It was however diminished somewhat by the fact that his audience was composed of four rather startled looking mice.

Dejectedly he holstered the bow and took to pacing the room muttering curses against the barman who had turned him on to this so called adventure, clearly he’d been sold a pup. This continued until he stood on something that squashed under his boot. Looking down he realized what he had stood on was an apple core. His first thought was one of disgust “why did people just throw their rubbish on the floor”. This thought was gently nudged aside by another thought that said “this means someone was here”. This was quickly followed by a third thought that went “the fact that the mice haven’t got to this yet means that someone was here very recently”.

Tor spun round looking for any other signs of the room’s previous inhabitants. He spotted some heavy scuff marks in the dust leading through the dark doorway. Deciding this meant he was late for the start Tor grabbed his axe in his left hand and pulled a burning torch off the wall with the other. With these in hand he sprinted through the dark doorway and along the corridor beyond, determined to catch up with the other members of the team before all the gold and good artifacts were taken.​
Anima, surprised as he was to see a wraith working with them, smiled. The mission was looking to be much more interesting that initially expected. And an Alv. A rare species, even by half-elf standards.
"At least the paladins somehere take their job seriously," Quipped Anima. "Anyway, were am I from? A small city near the centre of the continent, though I traveled a lot when I was in training. At least, I did according to the records I found. I can't remember back then. As far as I'm concerned I was 'born' in a small cave in the north."
He took note of his companions' origins, wishing to know a bit about them if he was going to be exploring the dungeon for who-knows-how-long. Every few kilometers, he'd stick up a glowing runestone marker to mark that they had been down this path before. "I was born in a small alven village within the lands of Tharonir- specifically the mountains- called Ios. It's a small place, a practical sanctuary. Give or take the occasional dragon attack. I am mainly here to study the dungeon, for knowledge comes first and the gold comes second." It was then that the party came across three forked paths, putting up another glowing room, rubbing his chin in thought as the rune and his staff provided the only light in the area. "Hmm.... three paths. Which way should we go?"
It was at that moment Torgeir cannoned into and bounced right off the back of Akei-en. He'd been following the glow of light so intently and had become blinded by it in the darkness, having dropped his own torch after trying to run with it had left a few erratic singe marks in his hair. He lay on the ground panting, one hand cupping a now bloodying nose and tried to work out what had happened. What ever he had hit hadn't given an inch. the corridor so far had been lifeless and relatively tidy so far so maybe he'd found a corner and run strait into the wall. He used his free hand to push himself into a sitting position and then used it to shield his eye's as he tried to understand the situation. As his vision adjusted he decided he hadn't hit a wall but the side of mountain instead.
Just as his mouth was about to open, a snarky comment on his lips about the uselessness of knowledge without the power to use it, a clang sounded from the metal giant. A soft "ooomph" came from behind him, as a small sack of flesh bounced off the hollow armour, and fell to the floor.
Sighing, Anima drew the knife, still covered in apple juice, before blinking behind the new character and getting the knife round the incompetent characters neck.

"And who might you be, my small friend?"
Torgeir froze as he felt the blade against his neck. He could feel the breath of it's wielder on the top of his head. Slowly he moved his now blood covered hand from his nose and put it on the floor behind him to lean on. He thought hard about what his options were. He reckoned there was enough grip from the hobnails on the bottom of his boots that he might be able to spring up and smash his assailants chins with the top of his head at the same time as pushing the knife hand away, however if he slipped the knife would slit his throat regardless of its owners intentions.

Alternatively he could feel one of the evil little pistol bows was facing behind him, he might if he was stealthy be able to aim and fire it some where very painful, through the knee maybe and while his attacker was recoiling using one other bows to kill his attacker. It then occurred to him that that would still leave the light holder and the, well the armored troll maybe who probably wouldn't be best pleased by their companions being killed or at least maimed in front of them. The fact that he was still breathing with his throat and not gurgling blood out of it meant that whoever they were, they probably weren't actively hostile, even if they weren't very friendly.

"Well let see" he said. "I've clearly followed you down a long dark corridor which links to a room guarded by a guild supervisor who only allows payed up guild member inside. I haven't teleported to two feet behind you so clearly I'm not a scourer of any kind and I haven't transformed into some dread beast and ripped your head off, so I'm clearly not one of the horrors of this or any other realm. Oh yes I remember now, I'm from the city and I'm here to tell you you left your horse in a no stopping zone and that you have twenty minuets too move it before it becomes property of the city. Who do you think I am you clot! I'm another guild member here to explore. Now would you kindly remove your knife, and remember in the future not to just throw your apple cores on the floor, its disgusting. Don't deny it I can smell the apple on the blade."

This all poured out in one long tirade with Torgeir barley stopping to breathe.​
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