Rise of the Blade - Charles Moffat [38]
"Leaving so soon?" asked the farmer, standing and starting to hand back the nearly empty wineskin.
"Keep it friend. Have a good day!"
Marque Draque pored over his necromancy notes, checking one last thing before he cast the intended dweomer. Standing up from his stool, he walked past the fire faerie to where Gravebringer lay. "Light please," he muttered.
The fire faerie flew up and fluttered beside the mage's shoulder, shedding light over the stone-walled laboratory.
Draque nodded and sprinkled black diamond dust over the broken parts of the blade. Touching the two halves, he moved them slowly together while speaking the arcane words that would have seemed gibberish to any other.
With a plume of white smoke, the two pieces fused together.
Blinking his eyes against the smoke, Draque looked down at the flawless blade. One could swear that it had never been broken in the first place. "The question," the elf said to himself, as was his habit. "Is whether the magic fused properly?"
Removing a glass lens from its case on the shelf, Draque cast a spell that allowed him to literally see the magic that flowed around and within an object. For over a hour he inspected every magical detail of the blade, determining that only a minor magical power that allowed the sword to regenerate its bearer no longer functioned at all.
"No wonder Chev could take on a whole castle without much risk," the mage said at length, sitting down on his stool and relaxing. He had toiled throughout last night and well into this morning and the lack of rest was showing on his drooping eyelids. He let out a lengthy yawn.
"Tomorrow," he said, looking at the blade. "I will tear those enchantments off you and put them to good use. No point in letting an evil spell live." He chuckled as the blade glowed an angry red in a futile attempt to scare the elf. "I don't want to know what its like to be a blade like yourself, with thoughts that are so instinctive they go beyond the normal boundaries of evil."
The Gravebringer seethed with magical fire but could do nothing.
The mage gave it a wry grin. "I would have made a better poet, don't you think?" He sighed and sat down in his overstuffed chair and picked up a poetry book to help him fall asleep.
Valeska Ko'Ragur's poetry had long been something Marque Draque admired, but that fact he kept to himself, using spells that prevented even Pierce from finding out what he really thought about the drow bard.
Sun Slave
The sun is a burning, aching sphere.
It burns my eyes and dries out my hair.
My skin scalds red under its sheering yellow.
My mind aches and blood wants to overflow.
It has it in for me.
A hatred any blind man can see.
It tortures me continuously.
Whipping my torso mercilessly.
For long hours I toil under it.
I don't care for the sun one bit.
Draque agreed with only part of this poem and he turned the page quickly to the next. He had always found the sun to be a very powerful source of magical energy and had used that power to create his lifesyrup. Which in turn had made him a lot of gold in the past because of the syrup's healing properties.
Valeska Ko'Ragur's Return
The darkness is endless
The time clock swings on
And myself the drow bard
Am chaos' pawn
The caverns are aging
The shadows turn grey
The goddess goes on killing
Keeping me away
My lifeblood is fading
An arrow that dies
Even before the shooting
Before my own eyes
Lloth's grim hold is fragile
A web catching flame
Hark! I return from exile
To use deadly aim
The darkness has faded
The slaughter is here
The chaos is unleashed
We all smell Lloth's fear
Draque couldn't help but wonder if Lloth truly feared a rebellion among her worshipers. It seemed too far fetched. Still, the drow mage had to give Valeska credit for trying.
Lloth's Lost Gem
Kendrick Leopold,
A drow known for being bold,
Stood up to the Matron Mothers,
Ran past poisoned daggers.
His fight ended with great chaos.
Everything