lord_arfaron (lord_arfaron) wrote in manchester_rpg, @ 2010-09-01 20:25:00 |
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Current mood: | satisfied |
Intro for Arfaron
Who: Arfaron and OPEN
What: Entry onto Earth
When: Day
Where: New Hampshire backwoods. Alternatively, Farie
Rating: G for now
Status: Incomplete
I walked into the main hall and with a flair sat in my normal seat, to the right of my father’s throne. “Hello Father. I hope I haven’t kept you? And have you considered my proposal.”
My Father, duke of these lands had always had white hair, and a piercing stare. He was, as is our nature, unaging and immortal. He looked at me now with the look of exhausted patience I have seen on the face of all my friend’s fathers, and even on the faces of several peasant fathers. “What ever are we to do with you Arfaron? I have given you everything a boy could want. And you continue to challenge me.”
“It’s a son’s duty to be a challenge for his father. And it will never be said that I shirked duty” I replied with a smirk.”
“Do you really believe that learning about those primitives will be of use?” Father once again questioned my plan.
“Of course. Someday the gates will open, and it will be a new species of humanity that we face. One that has forgotten the old ways. If we are not prepared it could be disastrous for everyone involved. I plan to make sure it doesn’t happen that way. Besides, the university I will be going to is run by one of our own, from what I’ve been told.”
“Very well my son. If this is what you wish.”
“Trust me Father. This is exactly what I wish” I say with a smirk.
The forest was deep here, the leaves all around showing the colors of autumn. The crisp air was heavy with the scent of rain about to fall, and with the damp of a fog. The gentle clump of horse hooves can be heard on the paths through the forest, as three riders come in to view. All three were relaxed in the saddles, wearing leather cloaks against the mist. Slowly the three made their way to a clearing, centered on a great flat prominence of stone.
“And we had to come all this way for just one gateway? There were none closer?” the rear left rider said.
“Oh, hush Taselin” said the lead rider “this is the gateway closest to the school that won’t be noticed. The last thing I want to do is bring undue attention to the school”
“Of Course Lord Arfaron, after all, you wouldn’t want anything or anyone taking from your own grand entrance” The rider called Tamlin said.
“My lord, if you are ready? We should begin the ritual” the third rider said at last, as he slowly dismounted from his horse.
“Oh, All right Walter. Taselin, do watch out after father … and for my dear sister. She’ll have you as in her clutches if you’re not careful.” Lord Arfaron said as he dismounted his steed and removed his cloak. Beneath the leather cloak was a dark haired elf. He smirked, and tugged at the front of his red leather jerkin to seat it properly. Rubbing the palm of his right hand he walked to the center of the large flat stone. Walter had cleared a space already, and an etching could be seen in the stone of a pentagram. It was in the center of the pentagram that Lord Arfaron stood.
“If you are ready my lord” Walter asked. Upon Lord Arfaron’s nod, Walter, still hidden beneath his riding cloak, pulled out a glass vial from within the voluminous sleeves of the cloak. He then poured the silvery liquid it contained into the groove in the stone, where it seemed to glow with an eldritch light.
“Oh don’t worry about me Arfaron. I might just let her” Taselin joked back.
“I certainly hope not my friend. She will eat you alive. Literally.” Lord Arfaron said in a deadpan voice. With that he clapped his hands once, and the silver liquid in the outermost circle suddenly burst into green flame. Quickly the whole of the pentacle was filled with roaring blue-green flames – and just as quickly they were gone, taking Lord Arfaron with them.
On the top of a hill in New Hampshire, the wind begins to pick up, scattering leaves and detritus away from a flat rock. Sparks seem to dance over the stone, igniting into lines of blue-green flame. The lines form a pentacle, then the flames rush into the center. As they die down, Arfaron dusts off his hands and begins walking down the hill, whistling as he goes.