Stravaganza fic

[Lavita]

whoa... ..and interesting mythological basis -Ancients. Very descriptive piece. ;D

Nice work

[Vervain]

A/N: Glad you liked the first part. In case you were wondering: yes, I'm making the Ancients deliberately ambiguous. ;D

~*~

At last, he knew that he was as ready as he would ever get; his hand guiding his way, he walked the final few yards onto the great stone balcony near the ceiling of the First Sleeping Room; it was a lucky formation that gutted out of the wall, letting them gaze down upon those they swore to guard so long ago. Beyond that, the cavern was huge and echoing, walls, floor, and ceiling smoothed through natural and not-so-natural means long ago. Strange crystals set at intervals in the walls and floor glowed with a steady, faint light; Lothair didn’t know how they had come to be as such or why they still gave off their light, nor did anyone now living. He supposed, he mused as he gazed downward, a thrill running up his spine, that it didn’t matter much, so long as they served their purpose.

And then what he was seeing forced all lesser thoughts from his mind. For five centuries, the Ancients had laid side by side, not even twitching, so many of them crowded together that the floor could not be seen. But now they were writhing and thrashing as if in nightmares or active dreams, on the verge of waking. Indeed, there was evidence that some had already woken and took their leave of the cave; there was more space than usual. He had been struck dumb by the sight of them when he was eighteen, but now, he was in awe. These were their gods! Let the other Romulans bow to their Church and to the Goddess; he would honor his Ancients and nothing else!

And then one of them lifted up its head, looking about the room. Eyes like two faceted rubies fixed upon him, and he felt images shatter into his mind, as sharp and as brilliant as broken stained-glass, as hard and hot as flecks of metal beaten off a piece of iron. It was more than a little painful, but he could not turn his eyes away from that of the large Ancient. His breath came quick and harsh, his limbs trembled with the need to give way beneath him, but something held him upright, something more than just stubborn pride. Terrified though he may be, he was a free citizen of Romula, and bowed to no one, Ancients included.

And then the pulling began. Claws and teeth extended into his mind and dragged out his deepest thoughts, exposing them for the faceted eyes to evaluate. Nothing was spared, not even the secrets he hid from his closest friends. The crystal shards dug deeper into his mind, pinning him like an insect, the twin ruby eyes fixed upon him, digging into his mind with…eagerness. Ruthlessness, too, and urgency.

At last, the great head turned away, and he was released. He stumbled forward, gasping for breath, one hand on the cool stone wall to steady him. After a moment, images and ideas flowed into his mind, all muted colors and gentle angles, the edges blurring to a spiral of white underscored with greens and blues and reds and pinks and colors that Lothair had no name for. We seek a human. But that human is not you. Nor, do I think, is it any in this city. The Ancient blew a sigh of frustration, and then brushed through Lothair’s mind once more, gently this time, shifting through memories and thoughts as a miner shifted through earth to find raw silver. But perhaps…perhaps you can be of use. Yes….Remember this, Lothair!

The image he was presented with was clear and sharp, slowly turning around and around so that he could see all the intricate details. In his mind he squinted, studying the design…it wouldn’t be the hardest thing he’d ever done. Except…Must the colors be as such?

It is…preferable. If it is possible,[/b] a note of worry touched the Ancient’s voice, and Lothair realized with a jolt that it – he, rather, for the Ancient seemed to be a male – could hear his thoughts. Then, presented with this problem, he considered his answer. Perhaps it is; I do not know myself. Certainly, they cannot be painted on the metal…perhaps plated with certain alloys…?

I am not the blacksmith. If such a thing can be done, then you would know…and you do know. The Ancient was right; he did know. He had never done such vivid colors before, but the principle was the same, whether with colors of earthy hues or brilliant blue and scarlet. He nodded, and the Ancient continued, It must be perfect. Nothing less will work. Remember well. When it is done, bring it straight to me…now go. Oh,[/i] it seemed as though the Ancient smiled, if they insist on coming to see us…have them come one at a time. There is still evil among us.[/i]

Lothair knew this fact as well as the Ancient did, and so he bowed in the general direction of the Ancient before turning and heading down the passage towards the surface, his head throbbing. The sun was just vanishing from the sky; the entire ‘interview’ had only taken a few minutes. He moved towards the corresponding tunnel back to the city, and smiled, senses and mind dulled after the fierce encounter with the Ancient. He should have seen the entire consilium packed into the tunnel, should have expected that they would get as close as they dared. He raised his arm in greeting, and called over to them, “They wake!”<br>
Cheers broke out, the tension of the crowd breaking; they had worried in spite of themselves. Lothair waited until they were calm and quiet again before continuing, “One by one, you may all go and see this for yourself. Orlando, Achille, you two with me; we have work to do in the forge.”<br>
In the end, it took three days of hot, sweaty labor over the forge to produce the item the Ancients wished. It was delicate work, quite unlike what either apprentice was used to, with little room for error. After they mangled the details on five attempts, Lothair took over, ordering them to craft the basic form and some of the larger details. He himself bowed over each bar of shaped metal with the smallest forge tools he could find, sweat from the heat and pure nerves dripping into his eyes as he strove to recreate what was shown to him. At long last, he set aside hammer and small chisel and nodded to himself; but for the colors, it was complete. And that, to be callous, was not his problem; he had already spoken with some of the more artistic members of the consilium, and they had agreed to do this last step.

They all put their heads together, debating the best way to create the vibrant colors, how to place them on the smooth metal, and how to make their sheen last for years. Lothair never learned the details of what they did, only that in two more days, they presented him with the completed object wrapped in a warm, soft cloth. He felt his heart beat faster as he viewed it; it was the most beautiful thing ever to come out of his forge. His swords were lovely in their lethality, his puzzles in their ingenuity and complexity, other things carrying the slight sheen of elegance in their simple lines and perfection. But this…! It was like unto an ornament, not extravagant, but with no clear use but for whatever the Ancients intended it for. He had been careful to puncture a small hole in the slim base, puzzled by the presence of it but orders were orders. The Ancient had been specific; it must be just as he had been shown. And it was.

Leaving it wrapped in the cloth, he took it back to the Cavern of Ancients. He was greeted with nods from those awake and a gentle sweep of his mind, almost pleasurable rather than invasive, a type of greeting…or so he could safely assume. And then he was ignored by the majority as the leader glided over towards the ledge. Do you have it? Lothair felt a swell of happiness; they could have plucked the knowledge from his mind, but instead they had chosen to ask. It was beginning to look like the humans were being accepted back into the graces of the Ancients.

And in response, he unwrapped the soft cloth and extended the forged item to the Ancient. Those twin ruby eyes widened in awe as it was gently taken from him, handled with grave care. Your skill is unparalleled. We shall not forget this act…or the ones that you shall perform in the future.[/i] His unspoken question was answered by a series of images, tumbling over and over in his mind, impossible to decipher at this moment, but he was sure that he could make some sense of them, given time to think.

But then the words resounded in his mind, the feel of them familiar now, The Wanderer shall come to you, sometime in the future. Even I cannot guess when. But soon. Even now the Malevolents stir and break free, and there is naught we can do to stop them. Only a Wanderer can defeat them, they who are like unto nothing in this world. The Wanderer shall be our champion in the days to come, and you must teach him – or her – all there is to know about my kind and about this place. You shall be not just a blacksmith then, but a Mentor as well. Just as all of your people, and all the Ancients…and me as well. Leave me now; there are things that I must do that you cannot witness. When the Wanderer comes, bring him or her here, to me…[/i] He felt the Ancient hesitate, and then one last thought flowed into his mind, I am Moraion, Lord of those you call the Ancients.[/i]

Lothair bowed acknowledgement, honored that an Ancient trusted him with his true name, and turned from the passage. Behind him, Moraion’s claws closed over the elegant work of steel even as his eyes slid closed, easily sliding back into the trance he had been in for so long…his task was over in a moment, and when he reopened his eyes, the object was gone. Now all that was left was to wait for it to be found…and how Moraion hated waiting, now that he was awake and active. But that was what it had to be now. He could only pray to the Power above that it would not be long.

[Merla]

Wow, very good! I like the story line so far, bery descrptive too. Keep it up!!

[Duchessa]

Yes I agree. Carry on, it's excellent!
xoxoxoxoxoxoxxoxoxoxo

[Vervain]

A/N: Thanks for all the nice reviews! I will definatly keep writing this! Here's the first part of chapter one; our world, modern times.

~*~

“Come now, Alanna…it isn’t that bad, is it? It’s only for a semester or two…At least you’re not switching school districts again…”

The teen glared at her mother, and then readjusted her headphones over her ears, twisting up the volume on her CD player…Celtic drums pounded around her, and she settled back with a bitter smile to herself as her mother sighed at the continuation of Alanna’s ‘silent treatment’ and drifted away. ‘Don’t have to change school districts’ indeed! She thought scornfully as she fixed her hazel brown glare on her mother’s back, Only because you wised up and started home schooling me…then when you grew too busy to teach me, your own daughter, you pointed me towards online schooling…

Alanna gave a derisive snort aloud. So many teens complained that their parents meddled too much. Her parents were never around enough to meddle in her life…beyond yanking her from city to city, state to state, and recently, country to country. That’s what I get for having avid history professors for parents; too concerned with their own work to care about anyone else, not bothering to think of the consequences on someone else – say me – before decided to go on different lecture circuits halfway around the world, never home enough to learn anything about their own daughter…They know more about Attila the Hun than they do about me!

She sighed; she had been happy in Ripon, Wisconsin, where they had stayed for the past three years. She had finally been accepted into some of the circles of kids in the school district, and then…her father got offered a ludicrous offer from one of the Oxford colleges; he was renowned the world over for his knowledge of ancient times. And this one, as he gleefully informed her mother, sounded as though it might extend into a permanent job when the series of lectures were over…and so they were off to England.

GOD BLOODY IT! Alanna slammed her fist into her open palm in time to the beat of the drums. She really didn’t mind this last move, but she did mind not having her opinion asked beforehand! Like they would’ve listened, she admitted glumly. And like I won’t get used to this place in time, especially now that I don’t have a gaggle of kids gawking at me day in and day out…

She blew a sigh of frustration at the memory; she hated moving for just that reason. Other students thought that she, ‘the new kid,’ would be easy prey for teasing. It had taken five moves to stop crying over their taunts. Two more were needed to perfect the cold armor she drew around herself. After the eighth move, she never bothered trying to make friends. What was the point? She was just going to get jerked across the country again…Ocean, she amended.

Then she shrugged to herself, settling back into the overstuffed chair. Perhaps this was for the best; she’d get the house and the gorgeous view of the English countryside with its lonesome hills and forests all to herself during the week; knowing her parents, they wouldn’t be in until late and would leave at the crack of dawn to get to work…She could do her online schoolwork in peace and quiet – relative, of course, as she’d have Celtic music pounding in the background – with no other students to bother and tease her about being the daughter of two university professors…That, coupled with her natural scholarly instincts and love of reading, was enough to incite plenty of mocking. When she was done, she could wander the landscape to her heart’s content, learning the area she would inhabit like the back of her hand, just like she did for every other place she had ever lived in.

If it was ‘for the best,’ why was she still so depressed?

[Merla]

Still v. good! keep up the work!!!! ;D

[Vervain]

The next afternoon found Alanna swearing again. “Great! Just great! On top of all this, it RAINS!” She flung herself onto her bed, staring out the rain-splattered window at the thunderstorm that rolled over the promising verdant green fields…If it had been anything less than a storm of this magnitude, she would have gone out regardless; she didn’t get sick easily, and a little rain never bothered her. But lighting and winds that caused the trees to creak and moan…that was another kettle of rotten fish altogether.

She rolled onto her back as thunder made the windowpane shiver and rattle in its frame, frowning to herself as she stared up at the off-white ceiling; in normal circumstances, she didn’t mind a good storm like this one. But oh, how she had wanted to survey her new domain…it didn’t matter that she had seen the gray thunderheads this morning as she logged onto the computer to get her assignments, that she should have suspected such a storm. It didn’t matter that it would probably blow itself out by tonight, leaving tomorrow wet but clear. Nor did it matter that she would be here for at least six months: plenty of time to do all the exploring she could ever want.

No, what mattered was that she felt like a caged wolf. The move had confined her to various small areas; first their old house to pack, then the plane for twelve hours for The Move itself, then to this house to unpack and organize everything…she loved the outdoors, the wilderness, and rarely went four days without being outside….this week was the apparent exception.

Alanna closed her hazel eyes with a soft sigh; nothing she could do about it now. A sudden thought made her sit upright. If she couldn’t explore her new backyard, why couldn’t she poke through this house? It had been a ‘gift’ from the University, belonging to an old Professor who had died some years before; a place to stay for the time being, close enough to Oxford to see the many spires hovering just beyond the hills while still providing the family with privacy and space. Convenient.

Fact was, it was an old house, and most of the Professor’s belongings had remained with it; Alanna’s family certainly didn’t have enough junk to fill the empty rooms. Though she was annoyed with her parents at this moment in history, Alanna was very much the historian’s daughter; she loved old things, loved speculating as to the character of the person who had once held them, used them…<br>
She swung her feet around as she sat up, decided now. She made a face at the sight of the room; they weren’t allowed to change anything in the house without the University’s permission, and some idiot – she was placing her bet on the wife of the old Professor – had painted the room PINK! Oh, not bright, vibrant, annoying pink, but pink was pink, be it bright or soft and gentle in tone. It was enough to make Alanna’s back teeth grind together.

But perhaps it wasn’t so bad; all her things collected from various moves were here, her candles and her books and her desktop computer and all her jewelry scattered across the old dresser top like the hoard of a dragon, glittering in the light of the ceiling fan. Her full-sized bed was shoved the corner opposite the door, facing two corner windows, the dark blue comforter spread atop the mattress almost clashing with the pink walls.

The cream carpet absorbing the weight of her footsteps, she crossed over to the heavy oaken door without a sound, throwing back the deadbolt – an old iron thing that was a blessing in a teenager’s bedroom – and headed down the sweeping staircase to the first floor.

She spent a good hour poking around the dining room – complete with cabinet of glass china – before moving on to the guest rooms on the first floor, barely giving the family room and kitchen a second glance; she’d seen all she wanted of them when she help her parents move and rearrange their stuff. Except for a few ancient books, one written in what she guessed was Italian or maybe Latin, the guestrooms were barren of anything of interest. She ‘rescued’ the books anyways, dragging them back up to her room to be studied in further detail later.

The dark stairs leading down to the basement made her skin crawl, so unless she wanted to go through the rooms containing her family’s possession’s again…with a sigh, she leaned against one wall of the stairwell, wedging her long legs against the other. It was still storming, she was still bored stiff, and her search of the house had failed to turn up anything of interest beyond three old books….not what she’d call a successful exploration.

A crash of thunder made her look up, idly wondering in the roof leaked – it’d be just her luck – and her eyes fell on a distinctive crack in the ceiling…her mind snapped back to when she had first seen the house. Two stories, plus a few promising windows in the sweeping triangular roof…An attic! Bingo!

Three straining jumps later, she had snagged the chain that dropped the collapsible steps to the attic. From there, it was the work of a moment to scramble up into the large room above the house, the dust on the floorboards several inches thick, testifying to the years it had been left alone. Alanna was careful to scan the room, checking to make sure that the floor was true boards indeed, and not cheap plywood so often used in modern houses.

But no, it was an old house, made with real wood. Still, it was only when the tall teen had noted boxes and sheet-covered furniture scattered over the floor did she heave herself up into the attic, leaving the stairs down to provide light and ventilation.

Here were the treasures of the house! She was careful to disturb nothing as she checked beneath sheets to study the antique furniture, careful to dislodge only dust as she dug into the boxes in search of anything to take her mind off the rain. Most contained books like the three she had already found. But several held various knickknacks, lovingly wrapped to protect them from Time.

Alanna could only cradle the blown glass balls, the gold plated candlesticks, the polished, rounded crystals and huge conch shells, the various books, and everything else that had once belonged to the old Professor. Hold them, and speculate as to where they had come from and how they ended up here.

She took great pains to replace everything just as she found it in the boxes. But as she was doing so for the last box, content at last that the afternoon had not been wasted, she noticed a faded white piece of canvas tucked into the corner of the box…or what appeared to be canvas. When she touched it, she was surprised to find that it felt more like the pelt of some beast than tough canvas.

She could not explain why her fingers trembled as she drew it out of the box and into her lap. Could not explain why it seemed like everything, even the storm outside, fell silent as she ran her hands over it before tugging on one corner. Could not explain why her breath caught in her throat quickened even before she unwrapped it. Could not explain the warm heat that soaked through the cloth, as if it was a living thing she held….

But she could understand her gasp when it was revealed. The peal of thunder that echoed about the room was fitting as well, so loud that lightning must have stuck close to the house. With reverent fingers, she touched the cool metal.

In her lifetime, she had seen many beautiful works of bronze and steel, things her parents brought home from a dig they were working with their archeologist friends, things she had seen in a museum. But none compared to this one. It was small, perhaps the length of her hand and just as wide at its widest point, heavy in her lap, its weight soothing, but the warmth still inexplicable…as if it had just come out of the forge, allowed to cool for but a moment. It was vaguely wedged-shaped, but was widest a few inches from the back before it sharply tapered.

It was the head of a dragon!

[Vervain]

Cast in steel, the snout fluted out to two horns that swept back over the imaginary neck. Just in front of the base of the horns were two almond eyes, faceted like gemstones, brilliant sapphire in color against the gray steel…but it was not just gray. The major details – the mouth, the six upside-down teardrop-shaped scales below the eyes, the nostrils, and the sharp eye-ridges – were lined in a dark blue metal, as was the main body of the two horns. But the interior of the ridges, and the very tips of the horns, were scarlet red, again, some kind of metal plating the gray steel.

And as Alanna lifted the steel head, she noticed one more detail; a hole, drilled into the base of the last spinal ridge, far back enough from the tip to be stable. It looked, she realized with a furled brow, like the hole for a necklace chain…on inspiration, she held it up against her breastbone, feeling the comforting weight and warmth of it seep through her clothing…but it was too thick by far to conceal beneath her shirt, bulky as well. If she was to wear it, it would have to be outside her clothing.

If I’m allowed, she realized, her heart sinking. Normally she had no scruples about taking small items from the places she visited as keepsakes, particularly if something interesting had been left behind by the former residents, but this…was not what she’d call ‘small.’ Besides, it was bound to be missed. But if it’s been up here and they haven’t taken it… she silenced the thought; it just wasn’t right. But she wanted to leave it up here even less. Cradling it against her chest, she ran a slender finger down the distinctive forehead and snout, caught between the rock and the hard place. Leave it…or take it?

At last, she decided. Wrapping the soft cloth back around it, she held it close as she maneuvered her way down the stairs; when her parents returned, she would show them and ask if the University would let her keep it…It was all she could do to shove the staircase back up and retreat to her room without dancing; by hook or by crook, she would find a way!

The afternoon seemed to drag on with out end. Alanna finished up her various assignments, the dragon’s head resting atop her dresser, and found she couldn’t sit still. Her usual Celtic music pounding in the background, she paced up and down her room, glancing out the window every few minutes to see if her parents were returning. Once again, she likened herself to a caged wolf, but this time she had no idea why. The steel dragon’s head drew her; she found herself veering from the tread she was pacing in the floor to pass it, running her hand along its sharp lines. It gave her comfort, but she couldn’t explain that either.

Finally, long after sunset, the twin beams of the car’s headlights swung about as the car turned into the driveway. Alanna collected the dragon’s head, making sure the cloth was tucked all around the steel, and headed downstairs. They were – as usual – distracted by their discussion on the advantages verses the disadvantages of phalanxes, and if the ‘shield wall’ was effective or counter-productive.

Alanna had formed her own opinion on this long ago, and shut her ears to it, grinding her teeth together; they wouldn’t notice anything happening around them until they had come to some consensus…usually agreeing to disagree.

That crucial moment, while they were between debates, came just as they were putting the dishes for supper away. Alanna grabbed the object from where she’d placed it on the counter and flagged down her father. “Dad, look at what I found in the attic today.”<br>
Sebastian, her father, adjusted his glasses on his nose and smiled up at her; at five foot five, he was a good two inches shorter than she was, a most uncomfortable position in certain situations. “Rain kept you in? That’s a first.”<br>
She glared at him, “No, the rain was just fine. It was the lightning that kept me inside. But look,” she unwrapped the steel sculpture, letting the cloth fall over her hands.

Sebastian murmured in delight as he leaned over the item, inspecting it with his eyes alone for a long moment before reaching for it. Its weight seemed to surprise him, or perhaps the colors; his eyebrows shot straight up as he brought it close to his nose, turning it over and over. “Look, Alanna,” he pointed to the underside of the jaw, one long finger indicating the scaled jaw, “even this is detailed…quite exquisite despite the materials used. It looks to be modern, but this craftsmanship, and this attention to the smallest detail, is quite ancient…perhaps Grecian or Roman…though neither had the capability to plate steel, especially not with such vibrant colors and on such a small scale…And you say you found it in the attic?”<br>
In as few words as possible, she relayed the story, leaving out the mysterious circumstances surrounding it; her father had very little patience for the supernatural. But he merely nodded to the abbreviated version, running his thumb along the eye-ridge, his own eyes thoughtful. “Now Alanna, pet,” he sighed at last, “You know you’re not allowed to change anything in this house without the University’s approval…and that certainly goes triple for removing an item like this.”<br>
“I know, Da,” she whispered, feeling as though her heart was being crushed in her chest. “But it was up in the attic and in a dusty box! Surely, if the widow had wanted it in the first place, it wouldn’t have been locked away!”<br>
Sebastian’s lips tugged in a thoughtful frown, and he stroked his chin, as was his habit when he was deep in thought. “I suppose…I could get the widow’s address from the University and we can ask her. And if she allows it, then it’s yours.”<br>
“Oh, Da!” Alanna threw herself into her father’s arms, hugging him fiercely. “Thank you!”<br>
Sebastian smiled, patting his daughter’s long black hair. “It’s just as well. You need some compensation for this move…and something to keep your mind off your loneliness.” Alanna checked her snort; her father never knew, and would never understand, that she had been alone even among throngs of students her own age. She was used to keeping her own company, and preferred it in many cases. “Still,” he added seriously, “You’d best put it back until we know for sure.”<br>
“Da!” Alanna protested. “It was all the way up in the attic! No one would know the difference!”<br>
“Well,” he sighed, “at least keep it wrapped up. The last thing we need is for it to get broken…”

Alanna grinned and tapped the steel snout with a fingernail. “Do you really think steel is going to get broken?”<br>
“No. But still, be careful, if only because it is beautiful.”<br>
Alanna grinned even as she turned away to retreat up into her room, “I will Da. Don’t worry. I will.”

[Duchessa]

you know, this is excellent writing, really and truly. Hope you post some more soon!
xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxxoxoxoxoxoxox

[Vervain]

A/N: Interlude into chapter two. Should hint at a bit more of the (eventual) plot. Just a question, though: what do you think of the characters I've presented so far?

~*~

Lothair stared at his cold forge, dejected. The summer’s heat made it hard to focus on the work that needed to be done…the heat and other things. He had already dismissed his apprentices for the day, telling them to go out into the streets of Romula and collect gossip. It was likely, he admitted with a smile as he turned from the great open forge, walking across the shop floor towards the open door leading outside, that only flighty Orlando followed his instructions. But that was fine; he was quick and sharp as the blades he forged, and had a knack for finding just what the consilium needed to know.

Achille, on the other hand, Lothair mused as he stared out at the great Plaza thronged with those of the consilium, spent much of his time around ancients, both their gods and the elders of the consilium. He was noted for being steady and calm, and seemed older than his nineteen years; he was only two years older than Orlando, and yet had grown out of the wild ways so common to the younger apprentice…if he’d ever had them.

With a sigh, Lothair dismissed his apprentices from his thoughts, looking out over the waves of heat rising from the gray cobblestones. It was unusually hot for summer in Romula, not even a kind north breeze bringing relief to the press of air and humidity. As a blacksmith, he was used to heat like this…as long as he didn’t light the forge fires, he could bear the sweat on his forehead and back.

Unfortunatly, if he didn’t light the fires, there was precious little he could do all day. The basic chores around the forge completed hours ago, the intricate detailing work that did not require heating the metal insufferable on such a day, the thought of the headache he’d get from visiting the Ancients again painful to think about…Lothair sank down on the one chair in the open room, next to the cool barrel of water.

The Ancients. Had it really been three years since they’d first woken? Three years since he had forged their item? By now, that week of hard work seemed to be a hazy dream he could hardly remember…but oh, did he remember the results, still warm in his hands as he gave it over to the Ancients.

Though it had been a private thing, those in the consilium flooded his forge with requests for similar items, usually a sketch of an Ancient on a plain brass circle with a hole drilled through the top. It was becoming quite easy to tell who was a member of the consilium and who was not, besides the obvious fact that everyone living in a house or above a shop surrounding this Plaza was probably a member. They wore the medallions openly, on chains of silver or cheaper gold or even thin thongs of leather; no one beyond another member knew what it represented.

Three years. Three long, long years of waiting for what the Ancients called a ‘Wanderer.’ He closed his eyes in a private wince; they needed one more than ever now. The Malevolents, as the Ancients referred to their brethren who sought to destroy humanity, were awake as well. And they were free from whatever bonds the Ancients put on them…free to wreck havoc on all of Talia. Most of them had scattered about the world, unable to stand the sight of each other, but there was one who still hovered around Romula.

What’s the death-toll up to now? Fifteen, sixteen? Lothair reached up and rubbed his temples; the Ancients couldn’t kill the Malevolent, and despite all attempts to the contrary, neither could a Talian. It looked like the Ancients were right in this; only a Wanderer champion could. How, he didn’t know. The Ancients asserted that a Wanderer had unique powers that would give them an advantage…powers they knew of, but would pass on to no one but the Wanderer.

Lothair sighed, and lowered his head into his hands, burying his fingers in his thick dark hair. He could only pray to the Ancients themselves that the Wanderer would come soon, before another Romulan was killed…<br>

[Duchessa]

wow, excellent, i am truly enjoying this!
xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

[TruBellezzan]

where is vervain now anyway? this fanfic needs to be continued!!!! too many people aren't coming on anymore!

[arta [+]]

ooo! this is excellent! i want to know more!

[AurayaGuest]

This is fantastic! I hope Vervain comes back and writes more, i really want to know what happens. The characters are great and the descriptions excellent.

~|~Auraya~|~

Please write more!

[Rosie]

excellent peice of writing, the best i've ever seen in an amatur author. where's veravin? she needs to continue writing this then perhaps create an original novel of her own.

btw. i feel very proud of myself for knowing that the ancients were dragons halfway through the first post.

rosie