06-25-2009, 05:28 AM
2)
Bring me my robes!" commanded Balthus. Guards bolted through the draped entry to see the figure standing before them, caked in a strange grey ash. Struck dumb by the sight, the men fell on one knee and bowed to their lord.
"Get up," Olan muttered, his teeth grit together.
Balthus laughed out loudly as the men quickly, and rather clumsily, shot up. The guildmaster directed his hand and snapped his fingers at one of the guards. Immediately the soldier left the tent as the others remained. "I imagine that I am a rather surprising spectacle," he chuckled as he stepped out of the trough.
Olan barely glanced up at his lord, undeserving as he was. Stepping towards his servant, Balthus shook away the powder from his skin. A strange chill in the air affected Olan. Or was it his Master's presence that he was feeling? Shivering, he averted his eyes once again.
Resting his palm upon Olan's shoulders, Balthus commanded, "Rise my young friend." Lifting off the ground as commanded, Olan stood before the newly resurrected lord. He was taller than expected, and younger too.
Whether it was from the bones or blood the order used or from the eldrich sorcery he performed, Balthus looked to be a man of a mere twenty years. His wavy blonde hair draped around his chiseled face and his deep brown eyes trained on him like a hawk.
"You have done a great service to the order, my friend." he said. "Yet you ask for nothing?"
Olan did not like the way his lord sounded. It was almost as if he was upset... upset at his refusal.
"Truly the proof of a loyal member of the order."
A commotion grew outside. As the guard returned through the tent flap, he carried with him a large oak chest. Carefully, the chest was set it before Balthus, and the guard slowly retreated. The voices outside started to grow.
With a wave of his hand, the lid of the chest flung itself open. Among the cloth, gold and gems within lay a silver medallion, a scythe emblazoned upon its face.
Bring me my robes!" commanded Balthus. Guards bolted through the draped entry to see the figure standing before them, caked in a strange grey ash. Struck dumb by the sight, the men fell on one knee and bowed to their lord.
"Get up," Olan muttered, his teeth grit together.
Balthus laughed out loudly as the men quickly, and rather clumsily, shot up. The guildmaster directed his hand and snapped his fingers at one of the guards. Immediately the soldier left the tent as the others remained. "I imagine that I am a rather surprising spectacle," he chuckled as he stepped out of the trough.
Olan barely glanced up at his lord, undeserving as he was. Stepping towards his servant, Balthus shook away the powder from his skin. A strange chill in the air affected Olan. Or was it his Master's presence that he was feeling? Shivering, he averted his eyes once again.
Resting his palm upon Olan's shoulders, Balthus commanded, "Rise my young friend." Lifting off the ground as commanded, Olan stood before the newly resurrected lord. He was taller than expected, and younger too.
Whether it was from the bones or blood the order used or from the eldrich sorcery he performed, Balthus looked to be a man of a mere twenty years. His wavy blonde hair draped around his chiseled face and his deep brown eyes trained on him like a hawk.
"You have done a great service to the order, my friend." he said. "Yet you ask for nothing?"
Olan did not like the way his lord sounded. It was almost as if he was upset... upset at his refusal.
"Truly the proof of a loyal member of the order."
A commotion grew outside. As the guard returned through the tent flap, he carried with him a large oak chest. Carefully, the chest was set it before Balthus, and the guard slowly retreated. The voices outside started to grow.
With a wave of his hand, the lid of the chest flung itself open. Among the cloth, gold and gems within lay a silver medallion, a scythe emblazoned upon its face.