The Mirror of Their Dreams

Ongoing roleplay and fiction.
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The Mirror of Their Dreams

Post by Duvessa » 03/02/05

Duvessa has left in the main room of the inn a mirror. A tall, full-length, mirror, framed in oak. When one peers into the mirror, they see two things reflected. They see themselves as they really are, and then they see themselves as they would like to be, a projection of their heart's desire. In each case, the mirror is totally honest. It reveals someone as they really are, deep inside, and brings fourth an expression of what they need the most to be happy, and how they would like to see themselves.

ooc Note: The mirror looks into your soul, and sees you as you really see yourself, despite whatever illusions or pretensions you may have. Inner fears are exposed, as are inner strengths that one might deny. When it looks for what would make you happiest, it shows a more idealized version of yourself, or of some thing that would make you the most happy. There is not sound associated with the image, and the mirror has no agenda of its own, it merely shows what is already inside of an individual, good or bad, and what they want most to be happy, regardless of practicality or taboo.

This is a blatant rip-off of both Harry Potter, and The Neverending Story. Go for it.
Last edited by Duvessa on 03/07/05, edited 2 times in total.

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Post by Duvessa » 03/02/05

That first night, Duvessa was the last person to look into the mirror. Owner's privelage was cited. Going last for Duvessa served a lot of purposes, not the least of which was the fact that many patrons had already left.

When Iryssinia had finished, Duvessa took her place in front of the mirror that had distrubed so many during the night she had made it available. She glanced around to the faces, few in joy, many in shock at what they had seen. Confronted with their true self-images, or with images that made them so happy that their loss caused a profound sadness, it was remarked more than once that the mirror was both a blessing, and a curse.

As Duvessa watched, the mirror shimmered, and for a moment, reflected back nothing but the main room at the Raven Mythic. Then, behind here, rising up full and large through the mirror's reflection of the picture window, the moon Luclin rose. Not the ruined wreck of a dead world, but the moon as it was before The Shattering. It's light shown down on the reflected Duvessa. The light seemed to have a clensing effect, washing away the years and the changes, to reveal the girl she was, so long ago.

The moonlight-bathed reflection of Duvessa was a Feir'Dal, with silverly hair, and an almost nieve expression on her face. On her wrists and ankles were bronzed, tarnished armbands, that were not worn, so much as grafted directly over her skin. Anyone who knew Duvessa fairly well could match the scars on her wrists with where the armbands appeared in the picture.

The image shimmered again, and Duvessa was surrounded by all of her friends and companions, but that too changed. The reflected image of the Raven seemed to grow, the walls receding away from Duvessa, and with them, all of her friends. The relfection of Duvessa wore a sad, isolated expression, friends all around her, but all seemingly far away, and out of touch.

The profound sense of aloneness and isolation Duvessa had been feeling came into sharp focus once again. In a way, though, the image was oddly pleasing to Duvessa, if only in the the mirrors image of her inner self matched with her own conscious self-image. More than once that night, Duvessa had witnessed shock when someone say themselves as they truly were on the inside. It may not have been happy, but at least Duvessa knew where she stood with herself.

The image of her happiness, when it came, was a jumble of images, some from her present, some from her past. Faces... friends, lovers, family... flashed into view in rapid successtion... magical formula, the Raven, her older hall of the Ancienne Noblesse. One chaotic blur.

And again, though saddening, at least it matched Duvessa's own impressions of herself. Too many things to be happy about, none of them quite making it, never quite able to settle on one thing.

Not the best reading, not the worst.

Duvessa walked up to the mirror, and reached for it's top, pulling it down, so that it turned on the rollers on either side of the center, it's back now facing the patrons at the inn.

She knew that people would come, late at night, for more private glimpses into the mirror. And she allowed it. It could wait a few days before being returned.

ooc: Last night we really had a great session taking turns looking into the mirror Duvessa brought into the inn. I'm hoping those of you who participated will try and post here, and re-create what your characters saw in the inn. People who didn't get a chance to be in the actual RP can also post here, either as coming along late at night, or perhaps the next day. If you want people to share the vision with you, post normally. If you're looking into the mirror privately, made sure you indicate that in your post

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Post by Cassidhe » 03/02/05

I shouldnt do that. I cant do that. I wont do that.

Cass was mesmerized by the events unfolding before her. Ever since Duvessa had brought the damned mirror into the room, it had been like watching an emotional disaster in the making. And after seeing Jayths demon-face in the mirror and dealing with his breakdown afterwards, the dirge had almost left the inn in panic, afraid shed be pushed into doing something she didnt want to do and paralyzed by the consequences. But she stayed long past the time when most of the customers had returned to their homes and retired to their beds. Hidden in a corner, half covered in a blanket, she fought a silent battle in her mind.

It wasnt so much that she was afraid of what others in the inn might see. Frankly, Cass didnt care all that much what they thought of her. If she had cared, she would have probably behaved better, been more polite, and kept her overactive mouth shut more often. This was more of a fear of what she herself would see and fear about how she might react to it.

Ten cups of hot chocolate and one nauseated stomach later, the dirge finally decided to simply get it over with. The time for cowardice had passed centuries before, and the people whose opinion mattered were not there to see her downfall. The fire in the hearth had died down to nothing but glowing embers, and only a couple of overindulgent patrons could be heard softly snoring from their various points of collapse. Tossing the blanket aside, the tiny dark elf made a silent trek to stand before the covered mirror.

Taking a deep breath, Cass reached out and pulled the cover off of the mirror, wrapping her arms in the cloth and clenching it to her as a shield. The mirror was dark, darker than the anything she had experienced before and she waited.

Xas, thats me. Nothing but an empty shell. I already knew that.

As she moved to toss the cover back on the mirror, she began to see her reflection in the darkness. She too was dark, but her eyes sparkled with a rainbow of colors. The green of the Faydark the red of blood spilled the blue of her passion She leaned forward, staring into those eyes, and reality spun into something else. Cass saw herself in the Faydark again, her boots sinking into fertile soil saturated with the blood of both wood elf and high elf. She stood there, heart pounding in her throat, as she saw her mirror-self collecting the souvenirs of battle. The hilt of a sword. A feather from the hair of a wood elf. A leather band from the wrist of another. A blood-covered blue gem torn from the headband of a beautiful high elf. The dark elf in the mirror was a fighter without a conscience, an unemotional killing machine trained to never question why. So why was she crying? Where were those tears coming from? The mirror image fell to her knees, clenching her stomach in her grief, destroyed by her guilt.

The image wavered again, and the image became one of beauty so soft it took the breath out of her. Water shimmered in sunlight, heat reflecting off of sand the color of cream. Warmth embraced a small naked figure standing on the sand. From a distance, images of others came into view beautiful faces, the faces of Feirdal long dead, of Koadadal spirits, faces filled with love and acceptance and forgiveness. The arms of the small figure opened wide, and while no sound could be heard, her song was clear. It was a song of apology for all the hurt she had caused them, all of the beauty she had destroyed. The ghost images faded, leaving the dark elf circled by those she loved more than life itself a fiery-haired Ayrdal girl, a green-eyed Feirdal with mischief in his eyes and a song in his voice, a tall fair Koadadal with gentle eyes and a soft smile, and finally a dark haired Feirdal with a wry grin and wise gaze. The four of them formed an ever tightening circle of arms around her, sweeping her up in a flood of love

The mirror went blank, and the dirge was left with the darkness of the reality she lived in.

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Post by Medri » 03/02/05

They say curiousity killed the cat......sometimes she was far to feline for her own good...

It was very late inside the Raven Mythic, in the time between the dawn and the deepest hour of night, when few if any patrons were awake within the tavern, if any were there at all.

Slipping through the darkened room, the cloak of Luclin hiding her from all but the keenest eyes, she was pleased to find the room devoid of any concious beings aside from the regular staff; the barmaid startled slightly when the shadows fell away from the Teir`dal woman as she reached out to turn the mirror, but quickly made her way back into the kitchen, leaving the woman alone with the strange glass.

At first, nothing happened, and she wondered if perhaps she had broken it. Closing her eyes, she pushed a few wisps back from her face and took a deep breath, opening them slowly.

The eyes that stared out at her were not her own.

Within the mirror were the eyes of a large feline, and from their golden hue, she realized that she was staring into the face of a lioness. Her perspective pulled away to show the lioness running at full speed across an open highland. As she watched, the lioness' fur began to darken until the beast transformed into a panther, its stride smoothing out further for a moment before fading back into its first form.

The creature ran past a figure, and again her vantage point changed, slowly moving closer to the being as the creature vanished from sight.

Standing before her was a younger version of herself, wearing the beautiful white and gold dress of a noble courtier. Her hands were heavy with jewels, thin and elegant bracelets rested on her wrists, while beautiful pendants hung from her throat. Long white hair had been partial swept up with strands of jewels and pearls while the rest flowed softly down her back.

Invisible hands ripped the skirt of the dress away, revealing plain black leather leggings that clung to her like a second skin. The Dreadguard boots she had restored were on her feet, the spikes gleaming even more wickedly than she remembered. After a moment, the same invisible force tore the ornate sleeves from her arms, the jewelry melting and fluttering away on the wind; the wind shook free her hair, twisting it into a long braid like she used to wear.

For a moment, she stood there, stature unchanged from the regal Teir`dal noble...and then suddenly she came alive with energy, a somehow majestic feral essence washing over her as she began to...hunt.

Ahead was a man running from her. Nimble, he too was a predator, one that she'd chased many times when he was not chasing her. This was their usual hunt, but something was different this time...

...when she finally pounced, her momentum forcing them both the the ground, she did not give him the customary kiss the typically shared...

...instead she tore him apart with her bare hands, his blood covering them both before it pooled beneath him; the white bodice is nearly black with blood as she casually lifts a hand to lick the liquid away slowly, and she was clearly content with her actions.

Looking down, the man is no longer the one she hunted, but an indistinct creature - its essence clearly darker and more evil than she was...

The world around the being shifted, the familiar beaches of the Enchanted Lands becoming visible around her. The blood was blown away like water on the wind as her familiar chainmail seeming to sprout from the bodice and cover her body. Her skin was splotched with the pitch indigo she was familiar with and the alabaster fair skin she had when taking the form of a Koada`dal, though her hair was still the vaguely streaked white long waves she knew.

Sitting beside her, one arm around her shoulders, was the man she'd killed in the previous vision. He was whole once more, and it appeared they were speaking of something off-shore, as he raised his had up to point at something. A confused smile touched her lips, and she nods to him before leaning into his shoulder; the splotches of her skin colour seem to shift constantly, as though they are battling each other for dominance.

The vision spun downward into the center of the mirror, revealing one last series of images.

First she again saw the lioness' eyes, slowly pulling away to reveal the beast running once more across the fields. Like the first time, the fur darkens and the eyes turn violet as the creature becomes a panther as it strides over the rolling hills. And then...

...the mirror fills with a side view of the woman in the torn dress. She is running, faces from her past and present flashing to her side as she continues to gain speed. Who or what she is hunting is indistinct, though the dark essence is somewhere ahead of her...

...but she clearly enjoys...


With frightening speed, the world snapped back into focus as the visions fade and left the woman to stare into the reflection of the tavern. The scenes that seemed to last an eternity had not, in fact, lasted long at all - the patrons still dozed, the barmaid was just barely returning from the kitchen, and her sense told her only a few minutes had passed.

Calmly, she reaches out and turns the mirror back around before calling forth the shadows again. Rather than returning to her room, she vanishes into the night, running as the shattered moon of Luclin begins to rise over the Raven, Mythic.

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Post by Risika » 03/02/05

Risika traced the pad of her finger down the glass. She looked at her hand, at the black fingerless glove with its metal guards sewn into the leather. Out of the corner of her eyes, she knew the mirror was shifting and blurring like a reflecting pool.

The Dark Elf had heard vague rumors about this mirror. This window into the soul, according to its reputation. It was probably worth countless pieces of gold coin. Maybe if she could break off even a shard of glass

But no. She hadnt stepped up earlier, and by Terris shed be damned if she was going to haul a piece of the cursed thing around in her pocket. A part of her mind reminded her rather cynically that Duvessa had probably ensured theft impossible, anyway. The Raven was dark. It was the dead of night, the silky tendrils of Drinal shining through the windows and illuminating clouds of dust and lingering smoke. Her hand clenched a little as the mirror settled on an image. One the girls amethyst eyes had yet to focus on.

Fear of her reflection. A rare thing, but not irrational. She hated it. Loathed it. Risika knew she was vain, but there were no mirrors in her room. Even her bright knives had been allowed to cultivate a crop of rust and dried blood. There was just something about not knowing the face in a mirror that made her avoid them. So shed come late, when they wouldnt- couldnt- see the fear. She had still come, she needed to know. Curiosity was a curse.

The rogue sighed, allowing her breath to hiss away with a puff of cold steam into the air. Violet eyes stared back at her as she turned them to the glass. The escaping sigh was drawn back in with a sharp gasp.

The reflections skin was ashen gray. A wide, rusted iron strip was inlaid into her skin, melded there and covering her mouth completely. Her long, pointed ears were tattered, gashes torn into her armor and inner thighs. Tattoos of giant double-ringed spiders were scorched into the skin under both eyes, and her hair coiled down in a white wave, pooling on her shoulders in stringy springs. The other-elfs eyes were hellish. Pyres of deep purple fire that were haunted and empty. Housing the mistress of Nightmare Herself.

Before Risika could jerk away from the mirror, its image changed quickly, as if to comfort her. The new visage was a willowy Teirdal, dusty blue skin healthy and flawless. She was older than the one before, velvety eyes grim and stained with cold experience, but serene. Confident. Clad in violet Shade Silk, the reflections eyes closed as a large centaur rounded the corner of the mirrors range. His coat was a blinding snow-white, hooves, like a horn protruding from his forehead, seeming to send shards of light across the dark room outside of their world of glass. He came around the back of the elf, wrapping his arms around her as her midnight-black hair drifted in a lazy wind.

Risika sat down on the floor, knees hugged to her chest as she watched the reflection. Both illusions had shown the same background; a field of weeds and white flowers under a nights dark aurora. She couldnt figure out which was her true self, and which was the one she wanted to be.

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Post by Nuala » 03/02/05

Nuala thought back to the images the mirror had shown her as she quickly made her way back to Qeynos. To home. It was odd, but she had thought the mirror's image would have shown her...something more...after all, the other patrons of the in seemed to be disturbed by the images they saw in the mirror. The oddest thing, she mused, was that the mirror didn't seem to have a Song of its own. What the young bard heard when she 'listened' to the mirror depended on what was being reflected at the time. Sometimes it hurt.

She didn't know when she had first started hearing the Song. It seemed as if she always had, at least a little. Vhaer had said she heard life essences, but it was more than that. The elements had their own song, as did cities and anything that was...emotionally laden enough to carry its own sense of self-identity, like the Commonlands. Or a battle. The fiery-haired Ayr'dal shook her head self-depreciatingly. No, she was but the lately more than ever. When she had played Tallis and Maluc's Songs, they hadn't drained her as much as she was used to...Seil's Song drained her more. She grimaced. That was a Song she would not play again, at least until she had a bit more control over things. Her fingers still twitched with the urge to play it. It wanted to be played. Just like the wanted to be seen...

The first image she had understood plainly enough, and a tender smile touched her lips. Well, she ammended, she thought she understood it. It had shown her, as she was, but with a ghostly image of Vailin behind her, holding her in a lover's embrace. She had been overwhelmed almost by the sheer flood of melody that poured from the mirror at that moment. She did a spin in her joy as she again felt the tug of Vailin's soul upon hers. It hadn't been by any design of theirs, and now that she would never have to deal with Vhaer again...she could almost forgive him for his meddling. Almost.

The second image puzzled her, though, for she thought there was some bit of meaning she had not understood. It had been a flood of faces, one after another, and snatches of melody. Vailin, Cassidhe, Jayth, Auntie, Elyissza, Reby...all of her family, friends, and those who had come to mean something special to her...a parade of faces. All were smiling, or laughing, or just quietly happy. Nuala nodded to herself. She understood that much. She was always happiest when those she cared for were happy, and was at her lowest when others had burdens she could not help with in one way or another.

So why was she not in the second image? The mirror had reflected everyone but her. Nuala furrowed her brow in thought, her steps taking her home...but no answers came to her...

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Post by Audina » 03/02/05

Audina stepped unafraid before the mirror and peered into it...

The mirror rippled slowly, then faster and faster, until at last, within the mirror there was the small Teir'dal girl, Audina, within it. She radiated innocence, goodness, and purity to all within the room. Behind her stood friends, companions, teachers, and her husband.

She was connected to them by a web of delicate gossamer strands. The hulking visage of Innoruuk was superimposed upon Audina. The web that shimmered between her and those behind seemed as though power flowed from them to her as the web vibrated between them.

Her eyes flickered between violet and crimson, then Audina became Innoruuk, flames lapped around the edge of the mirror as it burst into a fiery mass of flames.

Suddenly the flames died out, and the mirror went dark. Then there was Audina--alone again, this time radiating a powerful hunger that was fierce and very different from the innocence and purity that showed through before.

The companions, teachers, and friends stood behind her again, and this time her husband was conspicuously absent. Now the web strands were thicker between them as the power pulsated faster towards her.

The mirror returned to silver as Audina collapsed to the floor.

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Post by Dicey » 03/02/05

Rebia entered the inn early in the morning, well before most of the patrons were stirring from the evening before. Whispers of the mirror and its properties had reached even the hovel she shared with her sister and brother, and the gnome decided to see for herself exactly what visions of herself the mirror had to offer. As her long fingers grasped the edges of the mirror to turn it away from the wall, a tiny hesitation showed the conflict that had played itself out the night before in Rebia's mind. She knew how she saw herself, so there was no fear in what image the mirror would show of her current self. It was her inner most desires that Rebia wasn't sure she wished to see. Her logical, methodical mind won out over the fear however. Knowledge was after all power, and Rebia couldn't pass up the opportunity of power over her inner most self that the mirror offered.

The mirror's surface remained unfocused and dim in the few seconds after Rebia stood firmly in front of it, until slowly a dirty, disheveled, shrunken and malformed version of herself appeared walking through the streets of Freeport. A hideous troll shoved passed Rebia, knocking the gnome down into the muck, her robe somehow became even more dirty and threadbare then before. A stately dark elf sneered down at her with disdain giving her wide berth as if her mere presence in his vicinity somehow tainted him.

Rebia knew this caricature of herself and the feelings of nothingness that inspired this vision well. They followed her everyday since she had reached Freeport, destitute and well below the station in life she felt she deserved. This was nothing new.

And then there was nothing.

For a long time Rebia stood, staring at the mirror waiting for the second image to appear, before she finally decided that the rumors were false, and that her fears had been baseless.

Rebia began to turn away from the mirror frustrated with herself. She paused however as she realized, she was not looking at a completely blank surface. Turning back to face tthe mirror full on, the gnome confronted only a diminutive pair of eyes staring back at her: her own eyes. They exuded confidence. They were filled with a haughtiness that bordered on open pity. They radiated power. They were completely alone.

Trembling, Rebia turned and flipped the mirror back toward the wall.

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The mirror of their dreams.

Post by Dami » 03/03/05

The inn, for once, was quiet. There was the odd patron here and there, but no one he really knew. He'd been watching people step in front of the oak mirror all night. Some had dropped to the ground and broke into sobs, others faces lit up and they couldnt stop smiling the rest of the night. Whichever was the case, the alcohol flowed freely. Whether they chose to drown out the sorrow or just celebrate, all seemed to trace itself to this mirror.

Well now that he knew he was safe it was his turn. None that couldnt know his past were about. None should be nearby soon. Pushing back his chair, he stood and weaved his way through the patrons- most completely oblivious to anything that went on around them. Approaching it from an angle, Dami could see a small inscription running the full length and breadth of the mirror. Unable to make it out, he shifted his attention to the mirror itself. Not standing directly in front of it, he could see all of the tables of the Raven, Mythic. But no patrons. Turning, to make sure that the overzealous were still passed out on the chairs, tables and various other bits and pieces of furniture, Dami stepped in front of the mirror. Turning back, Dami could only drop to his knees.

((What was.))

There in the center of the mirror was a black rose. Surrounding it in a rapidfire collection of scenes were a past Dami knew well.

The theft of a set of keys. An ornate door with the Bayle name inscribed across it. The door swinging open to reveal a young Antonia.

And it went back further.

The vanishing of two parents. The lines of food. the theft of something small. The fall of a lash repeated time and time again.

And still further- to something Dami did not recognize.

A proud Tier'dal laughing in the face of another- a Koada'dal cleric. The Koada'dal smiling gently, raising his mace, and dashing it across the Tier'dal's face. The Tier'dal crumbling; felled by a single blow. A funeral procession through the forest of Nektulos and the ancient city of Neriak- with only a large and ornate golden sword as the body. A small black rose appearing on the crypt marked Corellon Larethian.

((What is.))

All of this surrounding the rose. The focal point. As Dami watched a single petal broke off and drifted slowly down to rest within the bottom of the mirror. As it touched, Dami doubled over in pain, screaming out into the inn, his own private hell becoming known to all present. Ripping off his robe and grasping desprately at his back- at a beautiful black rose running along the length to come to full bloom along one shoulder- and with a single petal falling away. The rose itself, is swollen, as if freshly inked, the skin around it an angry red. Tears dripping down, head against the cold wooden floors, the naked Assassin fails to see what comes next.

((What will be.))

The rose fades to nothingness on one half, and a beautiful Tier'dal is shown smiling. On the other, the mirror darkens and the visage of a noble and powerful queen is shown laughing, her eyes firmly locked on the form crumbled on the other side of the miror. As these two watch, the rose fades to be replaced with the likeness of Dami, Dark and twisted on the side with the queen, and fair and seemingly bright on the other. Dami's tears fall unanswered on the wood beneath him, the miror fading to black.

((Slightly shifted to accomadate my rp, but it holds to the form mentioned- what is passed and what we are now are one and the same. and what we are in the future depends on what we are now. And yes this is a heavily modified, beauty and the beast=P))

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Post by Merrique » 03/04/05

She had been gone quite a bit from the Raven, her studies in the combative arts keeping her tied up in Antonica and Stormhold for quite some time.

When she had finally made her way back to her room at the Raven, Merrique quickly put her larger weapons away, keeping a simple short sword on her left hip after the events that had been occurring recently; she did not wish to be caught off guard and without a weapon should whatever was threatening the woman Laenne return.

There was a buzz about the entire establishment, speaking of a strange mirror that Duvessa had somehow acquired - the stories there varied from it being a gift from the Foci herself to more realistic rumors that she bought it from someone who just didn't know what they had. Either way, the abilities of the mirror had her curious, and like any Ayr`Dal, she had to take care of the burning obsession before it drove her crazy.

Despite only being fourteen years of age, the aspiring knight believed she knew herself very well, and so unlike many who spoke of their feelings with this mirror, she was not afraid of what might be reflected.

The tavern was more crowded than it had been when she arrived, and with her typical confident stride, the chain-clad girl walked over to the mirror and stood in front of it, inspecting it before the glass was visible. The markings on it made her wonder about its creator, and the pivoting feature was something she found rather interesting as she turned the mirror around to face her properly.

At first, nothing happened - the tavern was reflected behind her, its patrons the same as they were when she had walked up to the mirror. The petite Ayr stared back at herself, white strands of hair falling to frame her face as they always did while the rest was kept very short and mostly black, like always. Golden eyes that sparkled with Light blinked several times as she looked over her it changed.

Rather than the thin iron chainmail she was wearing, the figure became clad in something quite different. This Merrique seemed taller suddenly, with enchanted black iron mail tunic and greaves while her arms were covered by similar colour plate mail pauldrons and gauntlets; the armour sparkled with an almost holy silver-white light, and engraved on each broad surface of the pauldrons was the symbol she'd planned on using when she became a knight...though there were a few changes on it she could not understand.

Like a mist drifting over water, another image began to superimpose itself over the Knight Mai`claire.

Standing atop a rainy, wind swept mountain side, a different figure can be seen. This woman is clearly human, her long red hair tangled in waves blown back from her face by the wind. She wears what would now be considered an ancient style of platemail, the pauldrons baring a distinct WR on them; in her hands rests a sword of power that seems to almost hum in time with the archs of lightening that dance across the skies. The image is familiar to Merrique, though she had only ever known it as a sketch within an old tome; as a child she had memorized every detail of the sketch, and in her mind's eye she would recall the picture, reminding her of why she wished to become a knight.

A smile touched the lips of the young girl as she looked at the ghostly image, the sight of her hero and the woman she longed to be something she would never forget.

The woman in ancient armour faded, but the lightning torn skies and her sword remained, becoming one for an instant before the Knigh Mai`clair raised her hand and took the sword down from the skies. A flash of lightning struck the point, racing down towards the hilt before wrapping over her hand and racing up her arm. The young knight was wreathed by the lightning for a moment before the skies and their power faded away as mist in the morning.

Holding the sword across her chest, the Knight Mai`claire smiled softly from the mirror; behind her the tavern had changed. It was slightly larger, and quite a bit busier than even the best nights now, its patronage just as varied as ever. Standing behind and to the left of her was a tall Koada`Dal woman, another knight in elaborate ebon plate armour, with pauldrons that bore similar symbols to the unfamiliar one on Knight Mai`claire's. When she smiled, two sharp teeth were visible behind her full red lips, though the woman did not look as frightful as she should.

Barely a step away from the older Merrique, a mostly human man - only slightly older than she - dressed in the dark plate armour trimmed with antique gold of a shadow knight stood, his hand lifting to rest on her shoulder. His black hair was cut short, similar to her own in many ways, and his two near-colourless eyes burn with conflicting emotions...the fires of passion and the flames of darkness.

The younger, real Merrique stands at the mirror, her mouth open in shock at the male figure. She knew him well, though she had not seen him for nearly a year now; the last they'd been in the others presence was a day she wished to forget, when he'd denounced everything they'd promised as children.

They were...happy, in a least they looked as though they were.

Fading away, the image begins to become ghostly and difficult to see. The young squire squints her eyes as the fading ghost of Knight Mai`claire smiles broadly, as she thought she saw something not quite believable, but the image has become so indistinct, she shakes her head thinking that it was just the way the image faded.

Now the Squire Mai`claire looks back at the tavern, the magic gone and the mirror silent once more. Calmly, the girl reaches up and turns the mirror back to its original position - glass away from the eyes of the patrons - and turns to walk away. Many patrons had witnessed the images in the mirror, though she did not yet wish to hear their thoughts. Instead she nods sharply and walks across the room to the stairs, once more ascending them to her room.

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Post by Kirath » 03/04/05

Kirath had been away for a number of days, and had heard nothing of the mirror before his arrival in the tavern. Even then, the mirror had been there a good while and most of the regulars didn't pay special attention to it, anymore. He did hear a few murmurs from onlookers in the fairly crowded inn as he approached the mirror out of curiousity, wondering why it was turned to face the wall.

He reached out, turning the mirror over and peering at the glass, impressed. He had never seen a mirror so large, or one that reflected so perfectly. Peering into it, he saw only himself, and the tavern behind him. The difference was rather subtle, and it took him a moment even to notice. The Kirath that stood in the mirror, he realized, was perhaps a touch younger, and certainly less experienced. He wore his weapon awkwardly, and, suddenly dressed in full, plate armor, didn't move so well as Kirath knew he could. Even still it took a moment for Kirath to realize what he was seeing, his own fear and self-doubt made manifest, the idea that he wasn't as good, as capable, as he thought he was, and that he might someday fail those he cared about through his own incompetence.

Even as he watched, the vision shifted. He saw himself, again, wearing his shining armor proudly. A blade crackling with power in one hand, a massive shield in the other, there were a number of people behind him, aiding him but at the same time depending on his protection. He had the sense that there were more people he couldn't see, but those shown to him in the mirror were those he most cared about, his family and friends. He could see his parents, even his stepmother, and the half-brother and sister he had so recently come to know. There was also a beautiful dark elven woman, who clutched a drum and played it soundlessly in the image, her mouth open in song. A tall, skinny Fier'Dal woman stood to one side, nondescript hair pulled back into a bun, even now casting what appeared to be healing magic over Kirath as he faced off nameless, formless foes who sought to do him and the others harm.

Even as he looked, he could make out more shapes, including a trio of other bards, one male, and two female. One, a fiery-haired Ayr'Dal, stood playing her lute as the other two listened. Her cheeks seemed to carry a rosy blush, for no apparent reason at all. There was also an older halfling man, and a tier'dal woman who stood on guard with a bo staff in her hands. There were others, too, even some people who he didn't even recognize. It was easy, after a moment, for him to see the meaning behind this.. he was happiest when those he cared about were protected, safe, especially when he could do something to help protect them. The foes he faced in the vision weren't anything specific... they could be any of a hundred things, from undead to orcs to gnolls, to even the spectres of the past that he knew some of his friends carried close beside them. He knew he wanted to protect them all, from anything at all that could harm them.

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Post by Makaylah » 03/09/05

(( Eeegads, sorry about the length! ))

It had been a long day for the diminutive TeirDal, wandering the broken lands of old continent of Antonica in search of.. something. She had returned late, well after most of the patrons had either left or gone to their rooms for the night. A few remained, converged around a new addition to the main room a tall, full length mirror. When she had entered, unseen by those who remained, she had lingered for a few moments, curious about this new addition. It was the owner of the inn, the one known as Duvessa, who was standing in front of it.

She watched in silence from the shadows as the image in the mirror shimmered and changed, curious at the revealing reflections. Though the images seemed sad, alone, isolated, Duvessa didnt seem especially surprised at what she saw. The TeirDal felt a momentary pang of sadness, before repressing it as sheer foolishness.

There was something odd about the mirror, some deep magical aura about it. It seemed to have the ability not just to reflect who stood in front of it as it was then and there, but how they were, how they may be, how they saw themselves, what they wanted, and what they hid from themselves. It was, in reality, a mirror of not only the physical world, but also the depths of the observers mind, a mirror of truth. Though, perhaps, a mirror of half-truths. A mirror of truth, one that searches the depths of the mind, perhaps that would help her piece more of it together. No matter what she remembered, what she thought she knew, it never seemed like enough. Too much was lost, and yet too much was known. Perhaps, then, the mirror would only add to her own confusion, her own sense of displacement.

As she watched Duvessa turn the mirror around, she shrugged, pursing her lips slightly. Silently glided over to the stairway leading up to the rooms, looking over herself critically. Even if she decided to make use of this mirror, it would be unfitting to do so dressed in a tattered, blood-splattered robe and looking like shed just crawled out of a mine. Besides, it would be better to wait until there were few, if any, people left in the main room. Even with what she remembered, what parts of her mind had been pieced back together, there were many things that no-one here should ever know. If the mirror revealed any of those dark secrets, only she should see them. And if there were any more dark secrets that even she could not remember..


The hot baths at the Raven Mythic seemed to be the only thing that could truly clear her mind. The combination of the hot water lapping against her smooth midnight-blue skin and wicking up her long, fine, slate and silver hair, and the intoxicating scent of the various bath oils that Duvessa kept stocked seemed to erase all thought from her mind. Instead, she became almost drunk from the pure sensuousness of it for a time. It even cleared her mind enough that she could often doze off for a few minutes into an empty, silent, dreamless state. It was almost enough for her to remember what real sleep felt like.

Sighing quietly, she opened her eyes and stood, letting the warm water drip off her slight frame for a few moments. She shivered slightly, the water tickling her senses as it trickled away, and stepped out of the bath. Picking up one of the fresh towels that laid next to the bath, she dried herself quickly, the cooler air bringing goose bumps to her skin. She quickly slipped on her favorite nightgown, a black, form-fitting, full-length sleeveless gown made of the finest quality silk that shimmered and whispered as she moved. It had been with her for as long as she could remember, back to Neriak and beyond, but somehow always seemed to look as new as the day she had acquired it. Though the material was thin and light, it felt in her mind to be better protection than even the strongest feysteel armour.

Walking over to a full-length mirror opposite the bath, she regarded herself with an odd sense of calm, smoothing out some faint wrinkles in her gown with her tiny, almost spider-like hands. The face and body of the woman who stared back in the mirror seemed young, barely having come of age. But as she gazed deeply into her own eyes, with the nearly-invisible wrinkles at their corners seeming to frame them, it was obvious that nothing could be further from the truth. It felt like she did not entirely know the woman who stared back at her.

The dull, diffuse light raining down from the shattered remains of Luclin cast dull, irregular shadows over the Shattered Lands. It was late, well into the morning hours, and the fires burned low in the main room of the Raven Mythic as she made her way through the upstairs hallway. She stopped for a moment, gazing up at the disc of debris through a small window, a flood of disjoint memories washing over her. It seems like only moments ago that the moon had appeared one night, rending itself into a million pieces. And a few moments before that that she was gazing back at her own world.. It seemed fitting that she put herself in a reflective mood as she made her way silently through the shadows down the stairway leading to the main room, and the mirror that awaited.

The woman who stared back from this mirror was the same whom had stared back upstairs. The wrinkles framing her eyes were perhaps slightly more pronounced, betraying the apprehension that filled her, but she was otherwise the same. She stared for a few long moments, before the image began to shimmer faintly, clouding over, obscuring her reflection from view.

When it cleared, she again saw herself, clad in a long black woven robe embroidered in red and gold symbols, virtually identical to the one that now hung in her room upstairs. Her image knelt on the ground, her hands clasped in front of her, her eyes closed and her head bowed down. Her surroundings were obscured in darkness, the scene lit by an almost ethereal, permeating light. A sense of calm and reverie filled her as she watched the figure, calm and at peace. Her breath caught for a moment, her heart missing a beat, as she noticed two figures on either side of her coalescing out of the darkness. They were as different in appearance from each other as she was from them, but were dressed in identical robes. Their faces she recognized instantly, faces long ago etched into her mind.

Rhenne and Koreena. The only two friends she could claim to have had, if one such as her could even truly make such a claim. Her eyes clouded up somewhat as she watched their lips move in unison, in a silent, whispered prayer. She blinked away the tears that were forming as she cast back in her mind for the fleeting memories of these two. Their faces were exactly how she remembered them, except they could be seen rather than remembered. They were on the outside of her mind, not the inside. The only physical remembrance she had of them were Koreenas shattered remnants, buried far beneath the dark spires of Nektulos Forest. Rhenne had died long ago, in a place that could no longer be found.

She watched in silence, straining with all her might to hold back her tears, as the figures reverently joined hands, and bowed their heads to the ground in front of them. She reached out unconsciously, her fingers brushing the mirror as she traced out the faces of her companions. Slowly the mirror went dark under her touch.

The darkness stayed for so long as she stood there, her mind awash with shattered memories and distorted emotions, that she thought the mirror was finished with her. Not great, but nothing especially terrible either. But as she stared, transfixed by the darkness, she saw a faint flickering of light in the middle of the mirrors surface. It pushed back the darkness faintly at first, then slightly more, a diffuse flickering that slowly outlined the shape of a man, the light source hidden behind him. He seemed to be sitting at a tabl

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Laenne & The Mirror

Post by Laenne » 03/19/05

The mirror was heavy, much heavier then what she remembered it being when she pushed it out of the small office. The tavern had quieted and those who had wanted to had had a chance to look into its depths revealing to themselves and to the other patrons of the Raven Mythic pictures of their true selves as they are now and pictures of what would make them most happiest. Many had chosen not to look within the mirrors depth, either to afraid of what it might reveal, to themselves or others. Now the ordeal was over and the inn quiet and Laenne had pattered back down the stairs having woken as she normally did in the early mornings, waking with a start as the waters of her dreams closed in around her filling her, striking at her with a sharp pain to the gut and head and then the red veil took her.

Oh come now, move you silly thing, she asked the mirror to cooperate treating it as if it might have an sentience of its own. The small Aydal braced herself against the mirror and shoved again. The mirror budged but only a tiny bit, seeming to be content to sit half in the office door, mocking her.

I know you would have wanted to have my gaze, but thats no reason to sit there being stubborn now. I wont change my mind, she lectured the mirror in a quiet voice so as not to disturb those who were left in the Raven Mythic Inn & Tavern. With a sigh Laenne squeezed by the mirror through a gap many would think impossible for the thrall to get through, but she had been trained by the best in Neriek, long before the place third gate had been sealed, a slave made to be able to oblige her Masters in whatever they wished and contortionist slaves although expensive were something of value so as she her body developed it was trained, tortured and taught to bend in ways that bone and muscle could not normally achieve.

With an audible sigh Laenne turned hugging the edge of the mirror to her and leaning back, her bare feet finding grip on the wooden planked floor she pulled feeling the mirror budge it moved a foot and quickly sending Laenne to her butte the cover slipping from the mirrors surface as the slave fell to the floor her eyes moving up quickly to the mirrors surface a look of fear on her face, Oh no, please say you didnt break the rest of what she would have said lost as her eyes glanced over the silver surface catching her own reflection as she was beginning to stand the cover falling from her fingers as the image began to swirl and change.

Nau, please nau, her misty green eyes locked on her own image a small framed Aydal, her brownish red cheeks peeked with red from her exertion, her shapely figure elegant even in the simple tunic and skirt shed dawned to come down into the common room. She froze unable to move her fingers moving to the dagger on her side, seeking comfort from the cursed artifact. The mirrors magic began to activate Laenne unable to draw away watched as her image grew and quivered long shadows emanating from the dagger at her side sliding up, through her, piercing her and hugging her in a sickly embrace. The tendrils moved splitting her into two images, and then the tendrils began to change into figures of their own. So much to take in so many souls, Laennes fingers reached out a hand touching one of each of her images as she moved closer to the portrait, down on her knees, her eyes locked on the portrait.

The image on the left showed a beautiful woman, her looks stately her jaw firm and determined, had other Tierdal been their to observe they may have recognized the distinguishing features of their own nobility wrapped up into this woman. Behind her reflection in the mirror were many people Laenne recognized as her friends and as she watched the figure kneeled in obeisance to those with her. This was the Laenne that was so dedicated and determined to see those who would choose to care for her succeed. Clearly she saw her Mistress and Zelthys and with them stood Tehom, Solena, Nuala, Axiroxa, Audina, Landrel, Jayth, Cassidhe, Dami, and so many others that the list went on and on. The Laenne in the left hand side of the mirror seemed to shift pulling from herself, as she did so the image lessoned fading until she was just a shadow, her being poured out into her servitude.

Laenne leaned back a bit finally removing her left hand from the mirror, satisfied with what she had seen of whom she was and then her eyes caught the right hand image. The gaze that reflected back at her turned meeting her eyes its visage cold and cruel. Shivering the thrall watched as the image of changed and shifted. She watched as this diabolical visage of herself slid from her clothing the details of her slave mark clear. In the depths of the mirror the woman slid down into an animalistic crouch, and around her neck where she Laenne had once wore a beautiful necklace collar of pristine cut emeralds now she wore a color made of pure shadow and attached to the collar spawning to the dagger at her belt was a leash. Laenne tried to pull her eyes from the mirror trying to break away from what she would like to avoid seeing she leaned in unable to stop her mirror self from pulling the black pummeled dagger.

The image continued in its story the predator Laenne became surrounded by people, again Mistress, Zelthys, Solena, Nuala, Axiroxa, Audina, Landrell, Jayth, Cassidhe, Dami, and the rest were there but among them this time where so many more that the mirror was filled by a sea of intelligent bi-peds spanning back so far that one could not identify those in the far foreground even had they tried. The Laenne in the image eyes flashed she eagerly leaned in working her fingers reaching out to those around her. She watched the predatorily vision of herself slash down with the knife the tendrils of shadow working out from her and latching into those before her threading its way through the crowd before her and as the shadows touched them they changed. As each person in turn was touched by the snaking shadows a smirk of evil pleasure would touch Laennes face, as she touched each one of the people the shadow would break off and fill them like an infection. The crowd began to turn and twist and their expressions grew bitter and brooding, hatred sprung in their features and they began to claw and bite at each other until their life blood filled the bottom of the mirrored glass the pool rising to cover Laennes feet.

Trying to pull her eyes away from the horrible picture Laenne screamed out as she watches her visage laugh a cruel laugh and stand turning her naked form splashed with the blood of those she has touched. Nau, nau, this cannot be this can naut be what will happen. NAU, THIS CANNOT BE WHAT MAKES ME HAPPY!

Trying to flee the mirrors truth Laenne finally pulls herself from the mirror scooting back and violently hitting the door frame behind her as the mirror shifted to a none reflective darkness, trying to separate herself from what must be her future happiness. Startled by the new movements in the mirror Laenne jumps a small squeak escaping her as she looks into the mirror once again. The shadows twisting and turning within the mirror she gazed forward. There is more? Why havent you stopped as you did for the others? The shadows in the mirror part displaying an image and then clashing back together again. The waves of shadows shifted again revealing Laenne with a soft smile leaning back into the chest of a pale man and then the shadows twisting shutting out that image.

Chewing her lip Laenne leaned in, hoping to glimpse another sight of the man. Who was he? Then she caught the sight of a number of Tierdal children playing on the beach near the water. Then the shadows closed in and twisted once more.

Sitting entranced by the mirror and the ocean like waves of shadow Laenne remained, seeing visions of herself caged once more serving under some unidentified master, visions of her standing in a destroyed outpost the bodies of the dead piled in a doorw

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Post by Shrilaye » 03/20/05

((Tisa used with permission from her player. ))

The dead of night in the Raven Mythic was generally a slow time of business, with most patrons either having gone home or upstairs to a rented room for the evening. There might be a lone traveller come through, or perhaps someone who fell asleep at their table, but on this night it seemed to be only Rusva who disturbed the silence of the main room.

She had been drinking whiskey earlier in the evening, trying to drown out the sermons on hate and pain and fear that she had willingly gone to listen to in Freeport. The liquor had relaxed her enough that she had even fallen to laughing and speaking a very little of her father, the memories only a dull ache to her drunken heart instead of the sober stabbing pang. When she rose from her bed in the wee hours of morning dressed only in her knee length undertunic, her head felt stuffed with cotton batting and woodpeckers. She groaned, sinking her bare feet into the plush carpet and slowly made her way downstairs with the idea of getting black ale in hopes that it would chase her headache away.

Rusva padded down the stairs and into the main room, her pale form almost ghostly in the faint light of the dying embers of the fireplace. She rounded the bar and grabbed a mug, setting it to the ale keg and watching as it filled with the brown foamed nectar she favored. When she came back to the front of the bar, a movement from the shadows caught her eye. She tensed, turning to see only herself reflected in the full length oaken mirror that Duvessa had installed for amusement.

Rusva liked the ayr'dal wizardess overall, but sometimes felt intimidated by the woman's apparent confidence and surety of her life. The fact that Duvessa understood and used the arcane powers of wizardry did nothing to calm the high elf's nervousness, this mirror being something that she ignored as being a solidified extension of Duvessa's hold over the paths of time and place in Rusva's mind.

But, tonight, with the silence draped like burgandy velvet in the main room of the wizardess' inn, Rusva paused before the mirror. She saw only herself, a tall blonde koada'dal that might have been even more lovely than her own mother at one time, but who bore the horrible reminder of her earliest lesson in life and death visibly on her face now. Almost as if entranced, Rusva turned to face the mirror fully, taking a few unknowing steps towards her reflection, curious and dreading what truths it might show her.

For a moment, nothing happened, then slowly the mirror darkened. It seemed that smoke curled and billowed beneath the surface of the glass, and then Rusva was watching a small girl running through the farmlands of Antonica. Her view was from the child's back, never was the face of this girl shown, but Rusva at first felt it was an image of herself as a young girl. The child's long blond pony tail swayed and bounced as she leaped tilled furrows in the field, her entire body language showing the laughter in her soul at in her simple enjoyment of just being able to run and dance and leap and feel the warmth of the rich soil beneath her bare feet. The child picked up a stick from the ground with a joyful shimmy as she stood again, jabbing at weeds and rocks and making youthfully violent threats of bodily harm to butterflies who played the part of flying dragons, and grubworms that turned into vicious subterranean minions of evil dark elves.

When the child came upon a small stand of trees and crouched, Rusva frowned from her position of spectator, knowing for sure that some great evil was going to come flying out and take the child. Her eyes tried to scan beyond the child into the darkness of the trees, looking for sign of gnolls or bears or wolves, but the mirror seemed to have some trick of the eye to it and no matter where she looked all she saw was the child. The girl reached and picked something up in her little hands, her head shaking in silent sorrow to see a baby bird that had fallen from it's nest. Even without the sound of her voice, Rusva's inner imagination put the whisper to the child's motions. As the girl climbed the nearest tree, the crusader heard 'It's all right little one, I will help you. I will be a great paladin of light someday, you watch! And I will help baby birds and people and everything will be all right!'

Rusva's breath caught in her throat as she watched the child put the bird back in it's nest with it's other siblings, the woman's hand going to her breast as she paled. No evil came for the child who, when her good deed was done, skipped off down the path again singing happily, satisfied that she had done a great thing. Rusva felt a stab of regret and envy of this innocent, happy reflection of herself. She recognized that she had once been this joyful child, seeking to do Great Deeds and never looking for the pain and hate that waited around every tree, rock and bend in the path.

The scene began to subtley change, so casually Rusva didn't really notice until the child had gotten a fair way up the path. The crusader startled when a tall figure stepped behind the girl, their armor a faded, unkempt black, their cloak ragged and billowing like the gathering stormclouds overhead.

"No..." Rusva murmured, stepping closer to the mirror, her face hardening into her customary scowl. The figure drew a wickedly jagged black blade, creeping slowly but somehow coming up behind the child without her notice. By the time the dark knight had spun around to stand in front of the child, Rusva's emotions had fallen into a stonewall of apathy. She knew this was the visualisation of The World, that this knight was the symbol of the harsh reality of life as opposed to the child's naive and misguided notion of always being good and able to help others. "Such is life." she whispered to the mirror, her hoarse voice cold. " So wound the child. Scar her, take away her joy now so she doesn't get used to feeling it. It's better that way."

The dark knight's cloak billowed around the little girl as the child struck her fist out towards this nightmare. Rusva's eyes widened to see the dark knight flinch, throwing their arms up and fall to their knees as if in terror of the little girl. When the cloak fell again, the viewpoint had changed, and the little child was fully visible to Rusva. It was not her, but Tisa!

"NO!" Rusva shouted, her ragged voice cutting the still air of the tavern as she fell to her knees and slapped her hands to the surface of the mirror. "Damn every malevolent spirit that made you, do NOT show me this!" She could not help but watch in horror as the knight lashed out, knocking the child to the ground and then plunging their sword through her chest and into the ground below. Rusva trembled, her breathing rapid and terrified as she watched the mirror knight back away from the dead girl almost as if afraid that she would still rise up.

When the black knight rose and took their helm off, showing the high elf's own blonde hair and pained, hateful, scarred face as she looked down upon the child she had just slain, Rusva staggered to her feet, hurled her ale mug at the base of the mirror and whimpered as she tripped and ran headlong back up the stairs and into her room, slamming the door shut with enough force to knock a picture off the wall.

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Post by Azaelin [Old] » 04/03/05

It was a late night at the Raven as Azaelin sat and nursed a drink at his table in the corner of the inn. The dark knight watched as yet another patron walked up to the mirror, peered into it and turned stark white. Watching the reactions of the people was more amusing to him than even the possibilities of what might have been shown in the reflection. He quietly sat and savored the flavor of the pain of others as easily as the glass of red wine he held within his left hand. Placing the glass upon the table he began to methodically trace around the edge with a single long finger. He waited to see if others would come forward to amuse him this day with their reactions. As the last patron turned the mirror back over and replaced the fine cloth over it, he watched it with curious eyes. Smirking, he began to wonder what would it show him.

Swallowing down the last of the blood wine, Azaelin drew forth a pristine, elegantly stitched white handkerchief and wiped the remnants of the wine from his lips. He tucked it into a small leather pouch at his side as he slowly stood, the pristine chain armor he wore creaked and clanked in protest with the movement. He walked up to the mirror, slowly making his way through the tables and patrons that went about their business with no regard for the young knight. Stepping in front of it, Azaelin grinned devilishly.

He removed the thick tapestry from the mirror and slowly while his fingers admired the fine etchings in the frame he turned the mirror over so the glass reflected himself and the patron behind him.

'Show ussa... show me what I truly am, if you can.' The mirror's image blurred and spun as it distorted the background until it was unnoticeable. The reflection cleared only to show Azaelin as he stared back at himself. The dark knight quirked a brow and grinned for it was as he figured. He was himself and nothing more. As he looked on, the reflection of himself mocked his grin but more sadistically. He watched as his reflection began to grow, the perspective changed as to keep the knight as the focus. The background of the inn faded away and was replaced with that of a grey wasteland, littered with the corpses of countless dead. Azaelin frowned as he recognized the place as the Plane of Death in all it's morbid emptiness. He watched as the reflection of himself touched fingers to his armor and caused it to melt away without scorching the skin. His reflection stood naked before him, cackling maniacally. Azaelin shrugged as he looked at the image as he was not put off by what he saw. He watched as the reflection began to darken as if put to the flame. The hair signed from his body and the reflection's skin began to shrivel and die before his eyes. Cackling, though Azaelin heard not a sound, the reflection drew its charred sword and plunged it deep into its belly, the blade cutting swiftly through bone and flesh. He watched as the blade began to glow and pulse with an brilliant azure white light and bathe the reflection in its glow. That's when it began to happen.

Slowly, piece by piece, Azaelin watched as the reflection began to crumble like so much used charcoal. The reflection began to flake and chip, the pieces falling down to its feet where it collided with the ground and spread out in a halo around it. The flesh fell away to charred ash, leaving only charred bones beneath it. The eye sockets glowed for a short time before the skeleton itself began to flake and crumble to dust. Azaelin sat and watched the image, grief slightly noticeable upon his face. He swallowed deeply as he watched the ash begin to spin and collect until it coalesced into the form of a young dark elven boy. He scowled as he realized it was him long ago. He watched as a pair of dark elves, one male, the other female, walked from the darkness and into the forefront. As they did, the background faded away and reformed into that of a room lavishly decorated in teir'dal fashion. Azaelin knew the pair to be his mother and father although he never could remember what his father looked like before now. He watched with a swell in his throat as they reached over and together lifted the young boy into the air over their heads as the smiled up at the infant. As he watched, the child reflection of himself began to glow dimly at first but then as bright as any torch. The knight frowned as he noticed the light was centered from his chest around his heart. He scowled as he realized he looked upon himself, untainted by the hate of decades and as pure hearted as any he had ever seen. Azaelin clinched his fist at his side, the skin over his knuckles straining from the pressure. He was relieved when the image faded to darkness. He took a moment and cleared his throat, not sure if he wanted to continue this any longer. Finding the resolve within him he looked back at the mirror slowly, his lips curling into a sneer as he spoke.

'Show me then, what I fear.' As if in response to his words, the image within the mirror once again swirled and spun. Once again, Azaelin saw himself but this time he was clad in his ancient Teir'Dal Crafted Armor. Upon his back was his great sword from long ago as well. He stalked along the plains of the Commonlands with what seemed to be a goal and purpose. He watched as the reflection travelled the lands, meeting with no opposition as he travelled. He easily moved from Nektulos to the Thundering Steppes then on to Antonica yet nothing jumped forth to bar his passage. Azaelin noticed that he hadn't seen anything at all... no one or nothing sentient walked Norrath but himself. He watched as the reflection stopped at a high point of Antonica and looked over the horizon. As he did, the perspective shifted to a view from the perspective of flight as if on a griffon. Nothing was alive in all Norrath... except the dark knight. His jaw tensed as he watched the scene. He looked around to notice if anyone was looking at what he was seeing. If they had noticed, they were doing a good job of disguising the fact that they had been watching. Turning back to the mirror Azaelin prepared himself for the rest of what was to come.

'And... what will make me happy...' The previous image faded from view and a new one came forth. It was a grisly scene and he knew the place well. It could be no place other than Neriak's Third Gate even if it was darker and more macabre than he remembered. He watched as a throng of bodies gathered at the edge of the river, swarming around something like maggots over rotting flesh. The view slowly closed in until he could see the face of one of the beings. Almost as if it could see him it turned and stared out of the mirror, it's twisted face a mockery of what Teir'Dal are. Blood ran down the creatures chin as it opened its maw to reveal a pair of long, bloody fangs. The vampire moved away as the view became closer and closer. He scowled at the vampires as they shrieked away and he cringed in anger. The faces became more and more familiar to him... they were his family and friends.

'Nau! Vith, Nau!' The dark knight spun the mirror rapidly and turned away as he quickly exited the inn. He did not stay and watch as the ravenous creatures pulled away from the corpse that laid mangled upon the ground. In Azaelin's mind, he was sure that he already knew who they feasted upon. In his mind he thought that it would have been himself that fed their hunger. He was wrong. Once the mirror stopped spinning in the glass could be seen the corpse of a female that laid upon the ground. Blood rushed from the corpse and spread over the concrete around it. The clothing worn by the female denote that of high status and one could see this despite the destroyed stated it was in. The mirror closed in on the face of the female and her identity could not be denied. It was Queen Christianos Thex.

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Post by Vailia » 01/03/06

ooc: the following occured a few days after Duvessa pulled out the mirror during frostfell, it just takes me forever to write anything..

The night was late when Vailia crept down from her room in the Raven, all of the other patrons seemingly fallen asleep or left for the night. The mirror Duvessa had pulled out from one of the inns corners earlier had been in her mind for the Duration of the day. While a part of her did not wish to see whatever visions the magical device might have in store her Vailias curiosity had won out in the end.

Silently making her way through the spacious main room of the inn she the slight framed Tierdal came to the corner where the mirror lie in wait under its canvas shroud. Pulling the cloth from the mirror Vailia stared deeply into the reflection as it began to shimmer and slowly all within the device faded to black.

Her reflected self surrounded in darkness, the spellblade continued to watch as the image changed once more. A smile crossing her lips as the faces of friends long lost appeared, her smile fading as her reflected self pushed some away, and killed others. Within moments she was alone again within the darkness, her reflection seemingly lost without direction.

With a silvery flash the mirror shimmered once more to reveal a strikingly beautiful blonde Koadadal woman standing by her side, holding her reflection tenderly. Vailia nearly cried out as she recognized her wife from a time long since past but eventually, she too faded into the darkness leaving Vailia alone once again.

No more she thought to herself I dont wish to see this anymore.

The mirror flashed again, as if responding intentionally opposite of her wish to leave. Vailias reflection faded from view in the mirror and was replaced by another Tierdal woman with flowing strands of silver hair framing her benign features. Beside her a male Koadadal dressed in golden ceremonial armor. Recognizing them as her parents Vailia dropped to her knees, reaching out as if to touch them and bring them back into her life. She watched in horror as a robed figure approached the pair. The figure raised a shrouded hand and her parents toppled to the ground writhing in pain momentarily before succumbing to deaths embrace.

The corpses of her parents slowly fading into the blackness, another figure slowly came into view. A young Tierdal Vailia barely recognized as herself sat alone hugging her legs in the center of the darkened mirror. The reflection wore only a torn gray shroud and simple black metal collar around her neck, the younger Vailias silver hair cropped short and matted with blood. The reflection slowly raised its eyes to meet Vailias and in that gaze she saw her soul reflected.


Vailia wept openly, doubled over on the floor as the images in the mirror dissolved and left behind only the reflection of the inn. Pulling herself together as best as she could Vailia pulled the cover back over the mirror and placed it back to its corner. Slowly she began her way out of the room, stopping once momentarily thinking she caught a glimpse of movement from the top of the stairs.

Now my eyes are playing tricks on me, lovely.

Exhausted, depressed and apparently jumping at shadows Vailia made her way back to her room and crawled in to bed to meet with whatever demons the mirror might have awakened in her dreams.
Last edited by Vailia on 01/09/06, edited 1 time in total.

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Post by Emeraven » 01/04/06

Emeraven looked over the page in front of her, the light casting her features into sharp relief, the finnished drawing representing what she had seen in the mirror those few days ago. She looked over the drawing, a mix of emotions drifting over her face, never settling on one emotion as she looked at the many images scattered on the parchment.

Small images from her past surounded the edges, the great combine spires, the temples, blurred images of her parents. Then the gypies dancing around the fire, Surefell in its ancient state, the coven she had poured so much of her life into. Her partners, her homes in Kelethin, Paineel, Nerriak and beloved Katta. She remebered all these images coming at once to her out of that mirror, images from her past flashing past, registering in her mind.

This is what she was, in the end she just survived through her life, and had nothing to show for it.

In the center were two figures to the right, Emer was in a beautiful wedding gown, a rose in her hand, a white wolf walked beside her. The other was a street whore, her hand dipped in blook, a lustful expression on her face, again a white wolf was there, beside her.

Seeing these two figures had made her look away at the time. It was not the whore, or the blood, she knew in her heart both lusts were strong in her, and they did bring her happyness, but it was the wedding. None had loved her enough to go through with a cerimony, it was always done quietly, or in secret. She was their dirty secret. It had scared her, could she brave asking another for such a commitment, when so many others had hurt her.

In her heart she wanted the offical, to be celebrated with her partner; her finger moved over the white wolf with a smile.

Below these two sat a young woman crying in front of a lodge set out on a small pound, her face covered her head, but she knew it was her as well, and she knew the place was Surefell Glade. She even knew the day, how clear the image had been in the mirror, she had seen the letter, the order to disband her coven she had given to the leader who ran the afairs of the guild. Below this was scenes of war, vicious bloody raids on many cities, and great armies being lead into battle.

Her greatest fear, the coven had disolved because none listened anymore to her words, it had become a place for the great raiders to place their younger studies. Expecting Emer and her woman to take care of them till they were willing to grow strong and move onto greater organiations. Neither past pupils nor the ones they sent to her, remembered the leasons.

They all vowed for greater glory, for greature treasure and fame. So sick did she become at this, so angry and disgusted, so cold to ones she had loved, she took up arms. She attacked their homes, their familes, who they left unprotected in their glory lust, her name turned from being loved to being hated and feared. But they did not stop, so she turned to the Ralosian Army, and as a general was going to as Karana had before, purge the world of their arrogance. She was stupid.

She feared the pain she could cause, ruining their life and lands, she didnt deserve happiness or goodness for her past actions. Better she be alone.

Emeraven griped the page the inks marking her fingers, she looked at her black fingers, she would never come clean. At a sudden urge she approached the braizer intent on burning the drawing, lifting her arm, the flames seem to reach for the page hungrily. So easy to burn this and forget, she stood arm half raised, trying to decide...
Last edited by Emeraven on 01/04/06, edited 1 time in total.

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Post by Xelanna » 01/04/06

Xelanna stared at the shrouded mirror, a slight frown creasing her dark brow, arms folded beneath her breasts. Shed heard rumors of people confronting the object, being faced with their innermost desire and fears, people often leaving it in some sort of emotional distress. A small part of her was terrified as to what might lay in store for her, if she removed the shroud, but the larger part was intensely curious.

With a sigh, she scrubbed a hand through her raven colored hair and reached for the shroud, pulling it off slowly. The mirror looked innocuous enough, simply reflecting her as she was, in her comfortable leathers, the fabric clutched in one hand.

Then, the mirror began to mist. A tall, noble look TeirDal in full chain looked down at his nose at her. He had the same black hair, pulled into a tight braid. His face was rigid, stern, and nearly cold. Then, he smiled, and the warmth of that smile seemed to melt the ice of his heart, and he opened his arms wide to her.


He was swept away, to be replaced by a TeirDal woman with a ready and warm smile, twinkling blue eyes just like her own. She was clad in black leathers and was idly tossing a coin purse in one hand; a feirdal man with dark brown hair, dressed in chain and with a bow over his shoulder was smiling ruefully at her. From the empty strings it was clear the purse was his. Could it really be?

Grandmother? this time, her hand reached out to the mirror, but before she could touch the smooth glass that image too faded away, to be replaced by a FeirDal woman in full silver plate, a gleaming scimitar gripped in one hand and a staff in the other. At her feet knelt a TeirDal male, battered, bloodied. This woman she knew, for Moirah had spoken often of her. Soliara Silverleaf, Priestess of Tunare, Keeper of Nature, her great-grandmother. The weapons she clutched in her hands fell to the ground and she knelt, taken the broken mans face into her hands. For a long moment they stood in tableau, staring deeply into one anothers eyes. The mans wounds began to close, and the two kissed, a passionate embrace that seemed to fog up the mirror as it misted once more.

And so they continued line after line, unbroken until Soliara, priestess of Tunare and their mates, elves all, back until the mirror turned pitch. It showed her then, tall, proud. She strode through a forest and where she walked green things grew. When she came across a wounded creature, she paused to lay a healing touch upon it. Then, when she across violence, desecration of Tunares sacred temple, flames erupted from her fingertips and eradicated the perpetrators, reducing them to ash and returning them to the embrace of the Mother. A sense of warm pride filled her. This was her heritage. This was who she was. Despite her questionable parentage, despite everything, she knew deep in her heart the good that could be found there.

From the blackness came the gleam of silver, a flash of a blade, and she reflexively clutched at her throat. Dreyco stepped from the darkness, the look in his eye savage as he raised his sword to strike at her once more. Then he too, vanished, to be replaced entirely by another Iksar. Tzarkus on his knees, the chains that bound him his only clothing. Her heart wrenched. Then, she came from the darkness and released him from his chains. It took him a moment to rise to his feet, his nakedness being clad in shining silver plate. The background swirled to show them standing on a hill at sunset, a crowd of friends surrounding them. Another swirl, and now they were inside their one room home in the Nettleville, a small babe of what appeared to be human descent cradled in her arms. And again, it swirled, and the girl child was older now. An infant Iksar clung to Tzarkuss leg and he smiled down at the hatchling with great affection. Then a halfing child, then a wood elf, all of the grown and dressed in black, atop the same hill theyd been standing on before.

She saw herself, surrounded by her adoptive children-hers and Tzarkuss, Berik clutched in her hand. Ahead of them a great bier rose from the earth and atop the bier laid Tzarkus, his scaled skin ancient, his face in peaceful repose. Her heart ached at the sight of it. Ached for her loss, but there was no regret. It was the way of things. He was Iksar, she elf, and she would likely far outlive her love.

With a soft sigh, she shrouded the mirror once more. Her heart was heavy, it was true, but it could not overwhelm the joy of such a full life. Even knowing that he would die, she would not end it. Better to live and love for as long as she could, then to betray her heart. The mirror had showed her precisely what she had thought. Her deepest hopes and fears.

Yes. Everything was as it should be.

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Post by Lilyrose » 01/06/06

It was very early morning when Lily padded downstairs from her room to get a drink of water. Embers smoldered in the fireplace and the room had a definite chill to it. Her satin nightgown was doing little to keep her warm and she hugged herself and rubbed her hands up and down her arms several times to try to get her blood flowing. She walked quietly to the bar and, noticing that even the servers were in bed at this time of morning, slipped behind it to help herself to a glass.

As she sipped at her water she gazed around the room blearily. It was so dim and silent, so unlike the way she was used to it being. There was a nagging eeriness that only an empty room in the middle of the night could bring and she fidgeted slightly as she drank. Her eyes absently scanned her surroundings and came to rest on a large shape in the corner, one that she somehow hadnt noticed before despite its size. Curious, she crept over to investigate.

At first glance it seemed simply some wooden scaffolding with a blanket thrown over top. Lily knew Duvessa wasnt the sort to leave odds and ends around to clutter up her inn, however, and as she pulled the blanket back for a closer look she saw the back of a long board, much taller than Lily herself, attached to a base that was on wheels. A painting? she thought. Quickly glancing over her shoulder to confirm that no one had come in unannounced she pulled the thing a few feet from the wall and snuck behind it. It was big and sandwiched between it and the wall in the dark room she felt more than a little nervous. Dismissing her fears, she pulled the blanket from it anyway.

A look of confusion was the first to work its way across her face. It was just a mirror. An enormous one, yes, but a mirror none the less, and seemed a silly thing to be hidden away. In fact, why have a full length mirror in the room at all? Many of the patrons were vain of course, but this seemed a bit much. She looked in the mirror briefly and ran a hand through her brilliantly red hair. She looked tired. Her skin had a vaguely peaked look to it and dark circles were becoming visible under her eyes. I must try to go to bed earlier, she sighed.

As she bent down to pick up the fallen blanket something caught her attention from the corner of her eye. Thinking that she had woken someone after all she quickly straightened and looked around bashfully. The room was still perfectly silent, it was the mirror that was moving. She stared as inside the mirror little shapes appeared and moved about.
It was a beautiful spring day and three tiny figures were riding across a field on horseback. A tall white city stood in the distance, spires rising from its center as if they were trying to touch the sun. The scene focused in on the riders; a pretty, but not stunning, blonde Feirdal and two girls. The girls, one with a shock of red hair much like Lilys, the other with jet black hair and bright blue eyes, seemed to be bickering. The red-headed girl had a bored, whiny look on her face and her counterpart seemed to be ruthlessly teasing her for it. Every so often the woman would turn around patiently, scold one or the other, and point toward the city with a smile.

Lily was baffled. Who were these people? Was there some sort of enchantment on this mirror that made it show moving pictures? She moved her head to peer at the back of mirror but saw nothing more than the plain board that had been there all along. A frown began to work its way onto her features. No sooner had she straightened to look at the mirror again than the scene changed.

It was the same three people, but they seemed to be within the city walls. There was water nearby and many people were milling around in twos and threes, smiling to each other and enjoying the day. Suddenly the sky brightened and the happy faces turned to terrified ones. The woman started running, pulling the girls behind her. The red-headed girl slipped, the woman kept running. Lilys horrified eyes darted from the abandoned girl to the fleeing woman. She staggered backwards and had to lean against the wall to steady herself. This is my dream. How did it know my dream? she thought to herself.

The scene faded and turned into several images flashing in quick succession. The woman, cold and stiff, lying amidst hundreds of other bodies on a dock. The red-headed girl, covered in grime from head to toe, being dragged along roughly by a burly man. The blue-eyed girl sunbathing lazily on the deck of a ship. Again the red-headed girl, this time in a clean but simple white robe, sitting at a desk and taking on her apparently common bored expression. And so many others. The images sped up and flashed so quickly, one after another, that Lily couldnt make them out.

Finally they stopped. It was the Raven. A busy night by the looks of things with many people chatting to each other and relaxing with their drinks. Lily recognized many of them as people she knew, that she had spent time with. Slowly the mirror focused on a girl in the center. Again, Lily had to steady herself. It was her! Gods I look horrible, she thought. There she sat, but looking malnourished and even more pale. She was sunk into the couch, her hands in her lap, a vacant expression on her face as she watched the floor. All around there was merriment, friends meeting each other, lovers embracing, games being played, but she was alone. It was as if she didnt exist as people milled about, not even glancing down at her.

Suddenly the door of the inn burst open. The girl on the couch looked up, obviously terrified, and stared around at all the apparently oblivious revelers. She stood, held out her hand against whatever approaching evil lay outside, and frowned in concentration. A few feeble sparks shot from her fingers but they had no effect on the thing that entered. She tried again but with the same result. The being cast her aside as if she were weightless and she lay helplessly as it entered, spreading blackness with it. The hairs stood up on the back of Lilys neck and she felt a knot forming in her throat. What sort of mirror is this? she whispered to herself. She sank down against the wall and pulled her knees close to her chest. Unable to tear her eyes from the blackness that had all but encompassed the mirrors surface.

It seemed like an eternity as Lily sat there in the cold, dark room and watched the empty mirror. At long last the darkness faded and a new scene appeared. Again, it was her, but she was barely recognizable from the girl she had just seen. She stood there confidently, with her head raised and a bright smile spread across her face. It was another beautiful day and she stood near a pond with overhanging trees and tiny white flowers growing along the bank. She wore a thin linen dress that moved gently around her with the breeze. Her hair was pulled up, away from her neck, and every time the breeze picked up the real Lily felt like she could almost feel it on her own neck and smell it all around her. She watched as a dark-haired Teirdal man came up behind her mirrored self and wrapped his arms around her. He pointed at something off in the distance and she smiled and nodded, leaning her head against him happily. Lily sat on the cold wooden floor, transfixed by the intense peace of what she was being allowed to witness.

Slowly the pond began to fade away and without even realizing it Lily was on her knees in front of the mirror, hand pressed against its glass. It wasnt long before all she could see was her own exhausted, slightly teary reflection staring back at her and she turned away suddenly. The lump returned to her throat and she suddenly felt immensely tired. Wearily she got to her feet and placed the blanket back over the mirror before returning it to its original location. She had been entirely unprepared for what she had seen, and now questions were pouring in at her from every direction. She sighed and padded slowly back up to her room and to her desk. Sleep would have to wait, her journal would

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Post by Riana » 01/09/06

Whats this? She asked the serving woman as she examined the covered mirror behind the bar.

A mirror maam. Of the enchanted sort. The server replied calmly.

Really? Can I have a look? Riana asked curiously.

Aye maam. But Ive been asked to warn ye that you will see nothing that is not already within you.

Ah.. ok. How bad could that be? Riana said to herself as she reached up a tattooed arm to pull the cover from the mirror.

The surface of the mirror shimmered and roiled like a turbulent sea at sunset. She stared into its surface, her violet eyes trying to discern the magic that made the mirror do what it was doing. Suddenly her eyes went wide as an image began to move into focus.

There before her she saw herself. Her clothing in tatters, nearly naked with a thick rusty collar around her neck. The tattoos and glyphs on her body were alive and roving the surface of her filthy, soiled skin fighting with one another like wild animals. Wherever the glyphs clashed they left boils and lesions on her body. The heavy collar had a series of chains attached to it, each going in a different direction, each thick, heavy, and rusted badly but still holding fast. At the end of one chain was her sister Katrina, on another was Xembak, smiling his toothy Iksar grin, on another was her cousin Firiel. Two more chains each led to one of her mothers, and the final one to a much cleaner, younger version of herself. Each person was pulling and tugging on their chain, trying to drag Riana toward them as the tiny wars being waged on her body by her rebelling tattoos slowly consumed her flesh. Despite her most desperate efforts the runes and glyphs would not obey her mental commands and as such she was left powerless against the wars going on around her and on her.

Recoiling in horror from the image she almost fled when she saw the image begin to roil and change again. As the image solidified once more and came in to focus, she almost didnt look at it. Afraid of what she might see this time. But something in her, some voice in the back of her mind made her look, forced her to take in the scene once more. This time she was laying on the ground atop one of ht bluffs in the Butcherblock Mountains with her sister laying next to her and both of their mothers sitting behind them arm in arm. Behind them all stood Xembak with his arms wrapped protectively around Desse. Together the happy group watched the sun set over the Faydwere, then watched the moon rise and the stars twinkle long into the night.

Stumbling away from the mirrior, tears of horror and happiness rolling down her face at once she barely managed to fall into her seat. Sipping her coffee with trembling hands she thought about the images she had seen barely aware of the server refilling her cup.

The young woman asked, Are you alright maam? Shall I send for a healer?

No. Im alright. I just. I didnt know what it was. Im sorry if I scared you.

Its alright maam. Weve seen a lot of that since mlady brought the mirror.

What. Do you mind me asking what you saw?

The server paused for a moment and then smiled faintly with a far away look in her eyes. Everything is as it should be was all she said as she made her way back to the bar and threw the cover back over the mirror deftly.

Well, at least it isnt bad news for everybody Riana mumbled to her coffee cup ass eh tried to calm her nerves.

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Post by Celanya » 01/09/06

Celanya was becoming familiar with her mistresses' ways...and the home she resided within. The mirror stood there, an unfamiliar feature of her home, and one that she had never seen before in passing as it had been tucked far in one corner and covered.

Celanya did not tilt her eyes up, but saw as she always did, out of her peripheral vision...and what she saw amazed and frightened her.

The image in the mirror swirled round and round until she beheld a small girl within, skinny with hunger, stringy-haired, dirty, and naked, but for a soft velvet collar with one diamond on her neck. The vision cleared so that she could see that this vision held her face...and the face was full of terror. Celanya shifed her vision a bit to see what the girl was terrified of...and in front of her lay a gaping chasm of possibilities, one after another flying past until the girl lay overwhelmed and insensible on the floor, sobbing with fright and dismay.

Suddenly the image cleared and another began...this of herself playing with an all too familiar tiger and...surrounding them were her happy owners, and herself happiest of all, though strangely enough, no collar bound her...and there were tiger cubs nipping at her heels vying for her attention.

Celanya turned away from the disturbing images and went her duties.

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Post by Jaxyral » 01/25/06

Jax walked down the stairs and to the bar, leaning against it and scrutinizing the room. A few patrons were up still up this late, but encased in the walls of their own conversations. The same old dart board resided against one wall, and right next to that was the new knife board. The fire on either side of the room casts dancing shadows of furniture and people. The tables were clean and chairs pushed in. Everything seemed normal except that big lump of something in the middle.

The man sighs, his curiosity beating his judgment, and walks over to the intriguing object. After circling the object and making sure it wasn't some sort of trick. Remembering the last time his curiosity got him in trouble, he cautiously removes the the cloth that was draped over the object. He drops it to the ground staring at a huge mirror.

"What the hell," the man murmurs as he circles it again slowly. Once he reaches the reflective side he pauses and stares at it. At first he seems content with what he sees, then a frown forms along his face, still starring at the mirror.

Instead of his own reflection is the reflection of another man. If that is what it is. His teath are as black as his skin, two long sharp fangs are visible. His eyes are shades of red, that seem to have a predatory glint in them, as if they're teasing you. Two bloody swords are in his hands, and his face is callous, with a blood thirsty grin. His skin is as black as coal.

The figure in the mirror grins, showing his fangs, which contrast little with his skin. His voice is filled with contempt, and mockery, "Finaly get to see what you realy are, now, Jaxy." He smiles thinly, his hands resting on the black ivory hilts of his swords.

Jax turns to walk away from the mirror without another word. His face stoic.

The man behind the mirror laughs, a geniune laugh. "Too much for you in one serving? You can't run... the farther you run the closer I come, Jax."

The man sighs and stares at the image a moment more before walking away for good, not glancing behind him for another look of the man in the mirror with the dark black skin. Fangs as sharp as sewing needles and eyes a vermillion, with a look of contempt behind them. He turns his back to the mirror and orders a drink, noding to the bartender, "Vodka." He then mutters under his breath, "bastard," and takes a sip of his drink.

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Post by Brima » 03/20/06

Brima had been skeptical when shed heard about the mirror the night before. It seemed like everyone was always trying to find some deep meaning in things that were only party tricks in actuality and she had no intention to be one of them. When asked to look into the mirror, however, shed been less than enthusiastic about doing it in public. So, since her curiosity had been nagging at her all night, shed gotten up early the next morning and walked quietly downstairs.

After retrieving a much-needed cup of coffee she finally headed for the mirror and pulled its blanket off, dropping it to the ground. She rolled her eyes at herself, rather annoyed that shed been so taken in by such a silly thing. Why did she need some inanimate object to tell her what she thought of herself? She knew what she thought. Didnt she? Gods, what if she wanted children and shed been denying it this whole time? She wrinkled her nose and quickly dismissed the idea as entirely ridiculous.

With an exaggerated sigh she turned and faced the mirror, a smirk spreading across her face as she saw exactly what she had expected: A tired looking feirdal girl who had left a comfortable bed too early and was rightfully irritated. Soon the mirror began to change, though, and the smirk was quickly replaced by a rather wistful smile. She saw herself still, but she was standing on the bow of a ship, wind rustling her then short black hair. She was smiling happily, talking with a handsome dark-skinned ayrdal man, the sun beating down on both of them. Brima suddenly scowled at the sight of the man and looked away to sip her coffee. If this was all the mirror had to offer, she wasnt interested.

Soon the picture changed, though, and Brima begrudgingly looked back. If shed gotten up this early she should at least see everything. She found herself looking at another picture of herself, still the pretty girl that she had been, but with several scars covering her face. She stood in a room that Brima knew she recognized but that she couldnt quite put her finger on. The girl looked out of the mirror defiantly, a confident smirk set on her features, but there was a sadness in her eyes that Brima couldnt help but sympathize with. A cheerful beam of sunshine shone through the window of the room, but the girl was alone. She looked around almost hopefully, but no one came.

Brima rolled her eyes again. It was just a stupid mirror, what did it know? She wasnt alone. Again the image changed and Brima thought back to what Duvessa had said. This was supposedly what she wanted most in the world. She turned a skeptical smirk back to the mirrors face and watched. It was almost exactly the same scene as the first image. She stood on the deck of a ship, wind whipping through her now long black hair. The sun was again beating down on her and a man engaged in happy conversation. She was grinning broadly and he touched her arm or hair from time to time. He was not the same man as before though, and as he turned slightly Brima recognized him fully. She bit her lip as she watched, the image eventually fading back into nothing more than a tired looking feirdal girl and her coffee.

Bloody hell she muttered and replaced the covering over the mirror. Well at least there werent any kids, I suppose.

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Post by Azaelia » 07/07/06

Standing before the large, full length mirror, Azaelia narrowed her eyes, thinking herself rather stupid for putting herself in what might be a rather vulnerable situation for the sake of mere amusement. With better judgment creeping in, she started to turn away. Just then, the mirror shimmered, drawing her gaze back to it.

Within the glass, she saw a male, a Teir`Dal, brandishing his blade at a small child, not more then 6 years of age. The child was dressed simply, but clean. Her hair was a pile of silky white ringlets, her eyes a striking pale silver.

Azaelia watched as the man turned away in disgust. Perhaps it was fear in his eyes more then anything else, but Azaelia was paying more attention to the child. The girl was crying, tears rolling down her round cheeks. She watched as the girl tried to follow the man, but he whirled around with a harsh back-handed slap that sent her tumbling backwards.

Though Azaelia could not hear the male, she knew he was yelling at the child. She could still remember his words. She still felt the sting of being cast out from her family, her home.

Rejection and self-loathing, emotions Azaelia had thought buried long ago, surfaced suddenly. But, the vision was already shifting.

Azaelia then found herself standing on a battlefield, but it was neither Freeport nor Qeynos that smoldered in blood and flame before her. Looking around, she found herself in the familiar dark caverns that sheltered Neriak. The army she walked with marched in triumph through the narrow passageways and rubble. All about, Teir`Dal bodies littered the ground. The cavern floors and narrow city streets ran with blood. Though the mirror did not eject sound or smell, she imagined the air would be thick with the stench of death and the cries of the damned.

She stooped near one of the corpses, pulling a ring from its finger. It bore the insignia of the House of Thex.

Horses passed near where Azaelia crouched, causing her to look up. Recognition was immediate. Rising and then bowing low, she waited for them to pass. Regal and perfect, the Teir`Dal king and his newly soul-bound queen gave her a nod of approval as they surveyed their reclaimed city.

She could not see their faces, but that was not important. The mirror could see the future no better then Azaelia could, but the image bolstered her resolve to continue her search for a suitable ruler for her People. Nothing would please her more then living to see the day when the Teir`Dal were again led by the True Faithful, their Nation unified under the banner of Hate. Nothing would please her more then seeing the traitor Thexians purged from Neriak along with the undead filth that had lingered far too long there.

The image faded, the mirror becoming just a mirror again. Azaelia made her way back to her table, hoping that bottle of rum had arrived.

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Post by Darknoir » 07/08/06

On a particularly slow night, Lyssa finally finds the courage to look into the mirror. She walks up to it and glances over her shoulder to see who might be watching. Its shimmer catches her eye, and she looks back into it. Shadows twist and dance in a cacophony of movement and begin to churn into a pattern, from which a silhouette forms. The silhouette is remarkably Iksar and it leers back at Lyssa. The image steps out of the mirror and stands next to Lyssa, unseen by anyone else.

Any observing very close by could hear Lyssa nearly hiss under her breath, Sentius, before her ears and lips move, as they often do when shes in a dialogue with ancestral spirits. Lyssas eyes gain a ghostly, cataract cast as she glares back at the figure and then at the mirror, taking on spirit sight. Eyes thinned and glowing milky white, Lyssa listens to the figure, seemingly somewhere in between the spirit realm and here.

Thought you were rid of me, half elf? the Iksar chuckles, Thought you missplaced your hate? Lyssa shivers cold with her breath turning to frost as she exhales. As imagery from the mirror changes, the Iksar seems to narrate to her. Asss itss no ssurprisse to anyone, fear iss what ruless you mosst. Your cat friend all but ssmelled it on you. You know youre just a pretty fish in a ssea of ssharkss.


Lyssa sees the reflection of herself shivering back at her, but in cowardice rather than cold. Where her eyes were aglow with spirit sight, they are now blindfolded and Lyssas reflection seems to fumble and stumble in some dark space, screaming and reaching blindly for help. Lyssas reflection rips the blindfold from her face, and where her eyes once were are now seared, burned out hollows. Lyssas image seems to howl in a fear induced rage at an unseen moon, arms splayed, fists clenched.The image of Lyssa seems to struggle clawing at the dark space around her, as though the shadows reach for her limbs to pull a knife and stick it in her back. Then Lyssas reflection quickly grows thin, the bones of her shoulders, elbows and knees jutting out as her skin slackens against her joints in accelerated starvation. The darkness fades, revealing Lyssas reflection struggling, weakened by an unfathomable hunger, swimming in a hellish crimson sea of human and Koadadal skulls and bones. The sun cresting on the horizon flushes, bathed in the blood of those who came before Lyssa. The air itself seems singed, smoke rises in the distance, yet tingles with an evocative power. Smoke accumulates and swirls around Lyssas ensanguined body in a maelstrom of form, lifting her skin and bones from the undulating tide. Drifting slowly as smoke would, Lyssas reflection floats in the air to a barren rocky coast where the ebb and flow of the famished nefarious sea licks the shoreline jealously. Lyssas reflection continues evolving in spite of its poverty. The blood-soaked linens that Lyssas reflection wears reveal that where her stomach was grotesquely sunk in from starvation, it now begins to balloon out in pregnancy.


You like to tell yoursself pretty liess about yoursself and otherss. I know you know you try to make yoursself believe thosse pretty liess sso no one elsse can know the truth.


The knife that Lyssas reflection was struggling to reach for in the preceding darkness has now found its way into her hand. Bejeweled with ornate tribal carvings, the knife is obviously ceremonial. Defiler runes upon the blades hilt shine as Lyssas reflection plunges it into her belly and slices across bloodstained linen and flesh. Lyssas likeness reveals a face twisted in agony mixed with some exotic celestial ecstasy, her burned eyes turned upwards. A thick, black, oily slick with a life of its own seeps from the bloodless wound and snakes its way up the torso of Lyssas image. Black tendrils reach for her images neck in a stranglehold.


Pretty liar who liess to herself and ssays sshe cannot bear children knowss the truth of itthat your children sshall sswallow you asss you sswallowed your begetterss, Defiler. Murderouss child, murderouss mother.

Standing before the mirror, Lyssa clenches both hands tightly. Her throat tightens, jaws clench, tension dances across her limbs and yet goose-pimples on her flesh unmistakably betray the seduction of power she feels.

Sentius continues whispering in her ear, Crying to your friendss, lying to your friendss and earning their ssympathiess falssely ssuitss your needss jusst fine you werent even ssure it was hiss. Blood drips from Lyssas stronger left fist as her nails digs into her palms and she hears Sentius say the word, Sslut in her left ear and then Whore in her right ear. Ssafe in her ssecretss and jusstificationss sso riteouss.


Lyssas likeness is overcome by the ichor erupting from the slice made over her womb. Her breathless skeletal hands scratch at the tenebrous ooze, pulling it back as it reaches with quiet violence between her boney fingers to swallow her whole. Tendrils wrapped in the stranglehold continue winding their way into her mouth, nostrils, ears and the singed hollows where her eyes once were.Sweeping at the reflections feet is a light mist that aggregates into a cyclone of indigo motion, swirling up Lyssas ankles and legs, reaching beneath the ooze, separating its death grip from her form. As the ward winds up towards the incision Lyssas image made, the wound seals. The oily slick begins to subside its assault, bubbling, acquiring the tell-tale viridian hue of disease and melts away. Lyssas reflection fills out as she restores herself underneath the whirling celestial dance of spirits cascading all around her. This inaudible turn of battle would indeed seem gloriously seraphic if it were not for the flickers and gleams of twisted anguish reflected in her accompanying phantasms forms.The phantoms fade, leaving Lyssas blood stained image on the barren shore to look upon the ruddy sunset over the surging tide of crimson and bone. The eyes of Lyssas reflection are no longer burned out and hollowed, but are now restored.


And yet your will remainss ressolved. Sentius quiet words, only to her, snaps Lyssa from the vision. She blinks and the milky spirit sight fades from her otherwise golden eyes. Lyssa seems to remember now that shes back at the inn. Sentius parting words become her own, As it is the Soulbenders way.

Shaken, Lyssa thinks to herself, he shouldnt have been able to see that. She looks down at her left palm and sees the wound closing up, the drops of blood that had fallen dissolving into air. Lyssa glances aside, taking on a posture like she was averting her eyes to keep someone from embarrassment, but any embarrassment was only hers to bear. The goose-pimples on her skin turn from seduced to chilled as she wears a cold sweat.

Then the mirror shimmers again.


Lyssas reflection looks about the room inside of the mirror. Rich tapestries pour from the walls recounting great acts and deeds of heroes now legend in their bright colors. Candle light flickers upon highly polished and lacquered cherry wood furnishings plushed in velvet.

There is a vanity that Lyssas image wanders over to and she looks into the mirror within the mirror and rejoices at the reflection she sees smiling back at her. Lyssas reflection appears to be the same woman, but with completely different coloration. As Lyssa begins to recall herself as she was, so her reflection begins to take on these traits.

Her hair is styled in an array of braided pearls and rubies upswept into a wide golden circlet with long brunette ringlets dancing down on pale toned skin. Lyssas coffee dark eyes widen with amazement as she touches her face while looking into the table mirror and notices her fingers heavy with orn
Last edited by Darknoir on 11/11/06, edited 1 time in total.

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