An Overgrown Tomb

[Baconthief 682]

Off the path of the common mali a dark thicket awaits for the hunter who has tracked his prey too far or the curious explore to wander into its embrace. At the center of the wood, the sounds of life becomes abundant. Frogs crock at every angle, while the sounds of animals rustling through the foliage become common-place. There is a clearing here, where a structure of stone stands steadfast against the greenery that slowly inches its way closer.

 

 

The brave advance forward into the entrance of the building, passing the columns enveloped with vine and flower. A small gust of cold wind hits your face before you step into the darkness, setting fire to  a torch to light your way. As you progress down the hallway, you see a series of large symbols etched onto the wall.

 

The first you find is a large spider, a versed individual would recognize it as Mori

 

 

Further into the cave you find a second symbol, it's of obvious dark elven design. It's meaning is held by some yet unknown to many.

 

 

The third is the symbol of the old elven princedom, dating back to it's birth at the crowning of Native

 

 

The next is another dark elven symbol, meaning only known to some

 

 

The last is a symbol of an elven crown. The very old would see similarity in the detailed stone etching, and that of Haelphon's crown.

 

 

The narrow hallway ends and you enter a large room. It's walls remain barren, contrasting that of the decorated hallway. In the center a large tomb-stone juts from the center of the room. On the face of the tombstone is an etched inscription

 

"The patron's name was darkness, yet his name did not consume his heart. He fought against the evils that dwelled in his name, only to have fallen to it in death."

 

"Speak his name with question, and he will appear before you and offer what words he can."

 

At your feet you see a small bowl for an offering. You would find an assortment of old trinkets and wilted flowers in the bowl.

[Bircalin 332]

The Ranger sets foot upon the overgrown mess, oddly at home with his surroundings. He peers about curiously, the Elk of which he had been tracking apparently having lost him through the mass foliage of gnarled bark and twisted vines. He sets his gloved palm onto the stone entrance, excess of moss finding itself almost glued in an olive dust upon his fingertips. He mutters to himself as he glances about the wilderness before entering, pausing as though his words were bouncing back upon him in response. His masked gaze flicks back to the dark recesses, stringing the bow in his free hand back over his shoulders and across his back, venturing inside.

Warily, with the flickering torch in-hand, he comes before the tombstone, his mind already having dwelled upon the markings and insignia behind him. The amber glow of the embers casts a light upon the inscription, allowing the Ranger to read and thusly reach up to his chest, freeing his thick hunting knife from the leather strap across him, setting it down in the bowl lazily.
He rises, digging his gloved fingertips beneath his hood to unclasp the mask from its binds, freeing his face from concealment to murmur.

"Khel Oussanna, Patron of the Mali'ker and the settlement of Darkhaven."

He pauses, habitually adjusting the bow strung across his chest, lifting his thick-bearded face to cast his cold white eyes upon the tombstone before whispering to himself.

"So this is where you've been..."

[Baconthief 682]

The Ranger sets foot upon the overgrown mess, oddly at home with his surroundings. He peers about curiously, the Elk of which he had been tracking apparently having lost him through the mass foliage of gnarled bark and twisted vines. He sets his gloved palm onto the stone entrance, excess of moss finding itself almost glued in an olive dust upon his fingertips. He mutters to himself as he glances about the wilderness before entering, pausing as though his words were bouncing back upon him in response. His masked gaze flicks back to the dark recesses, stringing the bow in his free hand back over his shoulders and across his back, venturing inside.

Warily, with the flickering torch in-hand, he comes before the tombstone, his mind already having dwelled upon the markings and insignia behind him. The amber glow of the embers casts a light upon the inscription, allowing the Ranger to read and thusly reach up to his chest, freeing his thick hunting knife from the leather strap across him, setting it down in the bowl lazily.

He rises, digging his gloved fingertips beneath his hood to unclasp the mask from its binds, freeing his face from concealment to murmur.

"Khel Oussanna, Patron of the Mali'ker and the settlement of Darkhaven."

He pauses, habitually adjusting the bow strung across his chest, lifting his thick-bearded face to cast his cold white eyes upon the tombstone before whispering to himself.

"So this is where you've been..."

 The amber of your torch extinguishes with a cold gust of wind coming into the tomb. Only a few embers remain that can easily be used to relight the touch. For a long moment, the complete darkness persists while the icey cold intensifies. Before you, the air begins to shimmer a dull blue which manifests itself into a familiar elven form.

 

 

"My friend"

 

As Khel speaks the hairs on your body would stick upwrite. The scars and anger lines that would of been bestowed onto khel in life are now completely gone. There is now a smile on the spirit, an odd site on Khel.

 

"Long have I waited for one whom I can pass what I guarded. It's value now is meaningless to the common mali and where the mali'aheral have lead him. Yet to elves of old, who can find pleasantry in the past, it's priceless. You may find warmer memories of a forest long ago in a far off and forgotten land.

 

Khel places his spectral hand on his tomb

 

"Take it"

 

Khel would completely vanish, moments after he touches his gravesite.

[Bircalin 332]

Furrowing his brow, the Ranger sets his mask aside, placing the torch onto an empty hook upon the dark room's wall. He watches the tomb with a ragged sigh, peeling the gloves from his hands and dropping them into the dust and cobwebs about his feet, setting both hands upon the tomb. He looks to the stone as if peering to Khel on the other side, pausing to murmur to him. "You always were vague in your words..."

With that, he shifts his stance, grunting as he edges the lid of the tomb aside, great clouds of dust pluming from within to reveal whatever may be within. The Ranger steps away to allow the dust to settle, finally casting his gaze inside.

[Baconthief 682]

Furrowing his brow, the Ranger sets his mask aside, placing the torch onto an empty hook upon the dark room's wall. He watches the tomb with a ragged sigh, peeling the gloves from his hands and dropping them into the dust and cobwebs about his feet, setting both hands upon the tomb. He looks to the stone as if peering to Khel on the other side, pausing to murmur to him. "You always were vague in your words..."

With that, he shifts his stance, grunting as he edges the lid of the tomb aside, great clouds of dust pluming from within to reveal whatever may be within. The Ranger steps away to allow the dust to settle, finally casting his gaze inside.

 

The lid hits the floor with a small thud, stirring up the dust on the floor. Inside the tomb you find Khel's sword and shield, sitting on top a sea of ash and bone fragments. You also find an assortment of odd symbols you would find tattooed on Khel's body, yet what sticks out the most is the glimmering of a dusty gem attached to a crown sitting in Khel's remains. You recognize it has the crown which is etched on the stone walls in the hallway, it's the crown Haelphon wore as his time as High prince.

 

A whisper resonates about the room in a low tone.

 

"The crown, he gave it to me just before he too fell to the evil that dwelled in the darkness and frost. Carry it with fond memories, as a symbol of what once was in Aegis, that forgotten land.

 

The whisper disappears and the tomb remains silent once more, waiting for those who would wish to speak to the spirit

[Bircalin 332]

Lifting his worn, dusty fingertips to his fringe, Bircalin threads his fingers through his thick hair with a weary sigh, crouching to sit at his heels before the tombstone with his arms splayed out at each corner tiredly.
He reaches a hand inside with the behaviour akin to a man facing his hanging, wanting the ordeal to end swiftly. Rising with the crown in-hand, he brushes it off uselessly, the habitual gesture lending only more space for new dust to settle. He sets the crown into his satchel securely, returning his gear to his person, donning his form as the Ranger once more, taking his leave with the relic of far olden times.

[Birdwhisperer 1174]

Moved to the Great Library. It shall be sorted into appropriate category shortly.