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PostPosted: Mon May 02, 2005 3:41 pm 
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Joined: Sat Nov 30, 2002 2:09 am
Posts: 1594
Location: Calgary, AB
Alright, so for 2 days last week, i was extremely bored at work and decided to write a background story about my EQ2 character. This was my first such attempt at writing in several years, so yeah it probably sucks. Comments/critique welcome, no bashing. I'll cut you!

Code:
Stepping carefully, and yet purposefully, from the small and creaky wooden boat, the boot of Sarrik touches upon the sandy shore of the Isle of Refuge, closely followed by his skeletal travelling companion, which can only be described as something never before seen in this land of Norath.  The cruel curl of Sarrik’s lip, his uncaring demeanour in his lean yet muscular Teir’Dal frame, and his cold glare from the foreboding eyes that could stop an aggressor in his tracks – all a façade put on by this dark elf, in an attempt to forget the pain of his past.  Without breaking stride, he begins to trudge silently across the expanse of sandy beach.  His companion follows wordlessly.

Brought up in the wealthy, and ruthless family of Vakar, Sarrik was taught the secrets of arcane magic, and how to use it to force his will onto others. His life revolved around pleasure and the pleasure he got from dominating those around him.  Whether it was his “friends” whom he kept only to further his own goals, or the wenches in his personal harem, his lust for power and obedience from others drove him.

The sight of Sarrik walking down the streets was enough to make most men who knew what was headed their way, from the common family man, to the underworld crime lords, stop in their tracks and look the other way.  No one dared stand in his path for fear he would use his arcane powers against them. 

It was a genetic trait for the Men of the Vakar household to be gifted in the ways of the arcane.  His father Sveryn Vakar, was a powerful Warlock in his own rite.  He was feared and hated by most beings, including his son, and known for his ruthlessness and borderline psychotic behaviour at times.  On a whim, or just in an unpleasant mood was all the excuse he needed to summon immeasurably powerful bursts of lightning, incinerating not one, but groups of people, for one individual merely coughing within earshot of him.  His power seemed limitless, and Sarrik wanted it all, and more.

Many countless hours were spent alone in study.  Though Sarrik was as ruthless as his father, and quickly becoming as powerful, he held and gained more power through the intelligence and cunning behind his cruelty.  His thirst for knowledge was as quenchless as his thirst for power.  Through his studies of ancient scripture and tombs, he came upon writings referencing mysterious, dark and powerful arts, known as sepultures, mastery of the dead.  From that point on, he became obsessed; the power to control life and death itself was too much for a being of his character to ignore. 

For many years, the ageless Teir’Dal spent his time in study.  His only companions, the women he sent for from his harem.  He learned to quiet his spirit, and feel the energy in the world around him, an art lost long ago, meant to allow him to fully feel and control the life force in other beings.  His attunement to his environment, empowered him feel the life force building in the cadavers.

However day after day his attempts to raise the dead to serve him failed.  The frustration within him grew.  They were intended to be the realization of his lust for power, but time and again the power slipped away, often leaving the subject little more than dusted remains.

His concubines served as loyal companions throughout the years, and they enjoyed the time spent with their master.  However, his fondness for them is not to be confused for love.  It has happened that a slave had become unhappy with her situation and tried to free herself from her bondage.  Though Sarrik cared for the girl, he could not let her attempt at betrayal go unpunished.  She met her end with a whirlwind of fire in his bedchamber, and on his alters as the next subject for his decrepit experiments.  But aside from the occasional lesson, to them, he was not cruel.  For he had found from a young age that a pleased woman is far more pleasant to be around, than a terrified woman.  In this he also came to find far more pleasure from the women’s moans of passion, than screams of pain. 

Years had past, Sarrik grew more distant from his father, finding a peace within himself that he had never realized was possible.  His learning had brought him a new understanding of life, of death; the power contained within each diametric force.  And the untapped realism, that one who can control both, can have more power than any who came before.  He further learned that the power to control life, has never been forgotten, for it is this power that drives all known arcane abilities. 

Tapping into the power of death however is not something that can be done on a whim.  This power can be thought of as the exact opposite of tapping into the arcane. Though one may have an innate ability for one, the other would be as difficult as learning to breathe underwater.  Slowly though, through practice and meditation, Sarrik tuned his own energy to allow him to manipulate both.

On several attempts throughout the years at raising the dead, he had come close, only to find his creations unstable, he had difficulty binding the energy of death to the lumps of rotting flesh, and they collapsed to nothing after a few moments of feigned life.  But he could feel his efforts bringing him closer with each attempt.

His studies continued.

One evening, long past the setting of the sun, when everyone should have been sleeping, Sarrik woke startled and shaking from a deafening crash from within his father’s house.  His father’s manifestation of rage, was not uncommon to be felt around him, however this was the first time in his long life, that Sarrik has ever felt such a fury in his own home.  He threw on a robe and ran out to see what had happened.

He found his father in the main hall of the mansion.  A usually immaculate room with extravagant arches and pillars, dark colors but well lit.  A place used by his father to host parties and gatherings.  Sarrik entered the room, and a look of disgust crossed his face as he found Sveryn standing over the charred remains of three servants.  He could tell they were all women, but nothing to provide their identities. 

Ordinarily, Sarrik would have not thought any more of this, more bodies for him to continue his research on, but out of the corner of his eye he saw a group of young women cowering in the corner of the great hall.  He paused and asked his father what happened. 

Sveryn laughed at his son, while gesturing to the women and spoke in a drunken stupor: “These wenches have outgrown their usefulness.  It is time my son, to renew our stock”

A slight look of confusion in Sarrik’s expression as he looked to frightened women.  Scanning their faces, the anger and hatred towards his father grew.  He realized that these servants were his companions in the night, the women from his harem.  Sarrik grit his teeth, and replied: “These women are not yours to do with as you please,” he looked to the remaining concubines, and motioned for them to leave, “they belong to me, and I will decide when I have no further use for them.” 

The women ran towards Sarrik’s room, feeling that would be the safest place for them at this moment, but Sveryn would not allow this.  He grabbed one by the arm as she ran past him and threw her to the ground.  She looked to Sarrik, pleading with him through her eyes to help her.  As it happened, this particular concubine was one that Sarrik had a particular fondness for.  She had willingly spent much more time than any other of the women, with the charming Teir’Dal.

Stepping between his father and his servant, Sarrik poised himself in the most intimidating way he could.  “Leave her alone.” Words spoken with such calmness, hiding the fear he felt in his heart, for both himself, and his companion.  And again Sveryn responded with a condescending laugh.

“Get out of my way you whelp.”  With that he summoned a massive burst of wind, one of his more benign abilities, and tossed Sarrik across the room.

He slid to a crashing halt against the far wall, and lay there stunned, unable to gather his strength to even stand.  Rising to his elbow, he looked up and saw his father beginning an incantation he knew all too well.  Nicknamed ‘Clash of the Gods” his unstoppable lightning blast.  The terror in the girl’s eyes was obvious, for she had just seen the spell performed moments before.  She knew she was about to die.  Sarrik screamed and threatened his father not to do this, but it was too late.  His incantation completed, Sveryn directed his blast to the helpless woman

Her short scream of pain sent shivers down Sarrik’s entire body, before the silence sent an intense wave of furious emotion over him.  His ears still ringing from the deafening crash of thunder, he no longer felt the pain of his crushed body.  Pulling himself to his feet, his knees nearly gave out under his own weight, but the anger and fury in his heart fuelled him. 

Limping closer to his father, half dragging his right leg, because it would not move to his will.  The room started to go dark around him, as if the light were being drawn into Sarrik’s body, feeding him.  Sveryn not knowing what to think of this, for the first time in his life felt a slight hint of fear.  His arrogance and assuredness of his own superiority however caused him to scoff at the light show put on by his son.  “You’re such a disappointment,” he positioned himself facing his son and began his incantation movements again, “I should have ended your miserable life when you first started your studies.  You claim you want power?  I will show you what real power is.”

To this, Sarrik only smiled and said: “No father, it is you who does not know what real power is, and it is I who will teach you a lesson tonight.”  With that, he straightened himself, and turned from a wretched man barely able to stand, once again into the intimidating, confident man, who made men tremble before him from days long past, and began an incantation of his own.

Sveryn laughed out loud again at the foreign motions his son was performing, how could something so ridiculous possibly harm him?  Sarrik twisted his face into an evil smirk and directed his motions towards his father.  “You impertinent brat.  You will die where you stand.”  His summoning almost complete, Sveryn’s eyes were filled with a twisted pleasure, in knowing he was about to destroy his only son, a warlock of almost rival abilities.  However the grin fell from his face as he realized something was not right.

He felt the power slipping from his hands, being peeled away like the skin of a ripe fruit.  His pleasure now gone, he is left only with a pain, never before felt by modern man, growing slowly all over his body.  Sveryn looked to his son in horror.  None have ever caused pain to his body, and lived to tell about it.  With all his strength he resisted, trying to force the foreign energy of death from him, but never having experienced this energy before, it was impossible.  Unable to continue his own incantation, Sveryn tried in vain, to fight back against the onslaught of power, so different from his own.

“Tonight father, the house of Vakar will fall.  I have lived my life in search of power, and found far more than you could ever have dreamed.  Finding it however, has let me have a greater understanding of life and death.  There may be classes among men and among races, but every person is part of the whole of existence.  When you disturb the balance of life and death that exists, there are always consequences.  Something I will teach you now, beginning with your death, and servitude to me for all time”

With that, the hatred towards his father poured from every fibre of his being, as the life was sucked from the wretched creature he once feared.  Sveryn screamed out from the pain never before felt as his skin tore, and flesh was peeled from his bones.  His skeleton took on a life of its own, and struggled to free itself from its rotting surroundings.  One last infusion of the energy of death, and a final scream from the lungs of the once powerful warlock, and the bones seemed to leap from the flesh, as if they did not belong.

The lifeless mass of flesh and blood, lay steaming in a pile on the floor, beside it, a fully intact skeleton, held together only by the magic infused into them.  The skeleton sat motionless; seemingly weary from the explosion of life it had received.  Sarrik took a step back, not knowing what to expect.  After a short while, the skeleton stirred, and then slowly rose to a full standing position.  It looked around, saw what was left of its former prison, and its empty eyes rested upon Sarrik.  And then, with a voice unlike any you would hear from a living creature, for it seemed to come from everywhere but nowhere at the same time, the new being said to him: “How may I serve you Master?”

With a quiet, and calm voice Sarrik replied, “We will leave this place, and start a new journey.  I will teach the world the secrets of life and death as I have learned them. When we have finished, I will release you, and let you rest in peace.  Until then, you are mine.”

His minion answered with only two words: “Yes Master.”

Thanks to Talon for proofing.

_________________
~Ravage™
~I know that you believe you understand what you think I said, but I'm not sure you realize that what you heard is not what I meant.
~The problem with facts, is that sometimes they don't support your opinion.


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