The Temple of Lore, Works of the Schola Options

[Black Hand]

This thread is for the stories of the members of Order of the Schola, for any questions you may have please click on the following link.

http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=3495

ANYTHING that is not a story or poem or whatever should be posted on the link that was just provided. Thank you, not trying to be mean, just trying to keep our sacred temple clean. Now then, an explanation.

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The Temple of Lore is a sacred sanctum of tomes, dreams, thoughts, abstracts, histories, stories, poems, and the written word.

It exists in the twilight, between reality and fantasy, it embraces all forms and images that attempt to define it. It is perception, and the perciever.

There exists an order of men, commonly known to the masses as the Writers Guild, more accurately called the Order of the Schola who have mastered this twilight abstract in the form of storytelling, they alone have the power to transcend to the Temple of Lore, and contibute and take from its threads of knowledge.

They exist amongst us as Journalists, Bards, Old Men sitting on a porch with a glass of lemonade recanting old experiences. If you ask nicely, and your lucky to find the chosen few, a Schola can breathe life into any illusion, any thought.

[saqin]

Sorry about the double post, but I've got another short story taking place in Rigor Mortis, and the main character ain't very forgiving(She isn't a great fan of waiting either).

Hunting party by Saqin, Scribe in the Order of the Schola

2E 145
Her steps carried her swiftly across the leaf covered ground, and she ducked beneath the branch of a tree. Hearing the sound of hoofs against the dark earth, she cast a glance over her shoulder. The riders were closing in, swords in their hands. As she ran, she reached to her quiver, but nothing more than air greeted her hand.

Suddenly, as if though to help her, a rabbit darted through the trees, scaring the horses. She spun around, drew her sword from it's scabbard, and stepped in behind a tree when the horses shied from the rabbit and the riders had to rein in their mounts.

A silent curse crossed her mind when the long black hair that was draped over her shoulders got stuck in a branch. When it was free, she climbed swiftly, hiding herself among the leaves. Pushing her back against the tree trunk, she listened as the horses calmed, and their riders dismounted.

“Yleka, come down willingly, and you will not be harmed! Our orders are only to capture you!” One of riders called out, meanwhile searching the ground for tracks that would betray her passing, tracks that quite certainly were there. His steel boots made a lot of noise when he walked through the dry leaves, and the other rider were looking through the trees.

Just as the eyes of the second rider found the silvery shimmer of her cloak, she leaped out against him. Yleka rolled around to soften the impact, and before the rider had time to react, her blade met the soft skin of his throat.

“Your orders might only be to capture me, but the orders of your general is to kill me. And your people have no right to rule our lands.” She said just as the man's head hit the ground, and his body fell backwards.

The man whom had spoken only had time to draw his sword up to block before Yleka charged at him. Her steel blade seemed almost to dance with his as they fought. She deflected his blade only to kick him as hard as she could, and the impact had him tumbling backwards. He rolled out of the way as she once again came at him, and he parried when she cut at him from every angle she knew.

But he grew weary, for his fitness was not as great as hers, and his arms became weaker. He tried to sidestep, to buy himself time. But a raised root caught his foot and pulled him down, showing to her an opportunity to strike.

In the aftermath, when she stood there looking down on the two soldiers, she felt how tired she truly were, for the strength that had kept her going had been nothing but adrenaline.

“You were good fighters, both of you. Pray the gods be as good to you.” She said, touching the forehead of each soldier with her fingers. Then she tied them to the saddles of their horses, and sent the horses on their way. And so she stood there, simply listening to the forest around her as it recovered from the fight. The faint sigh of the wind in the trees, the chatter of the birds and a snake creeping through the undergrowth, all of them masking the recent events.

Yleka looked around then, on the blood stains that covered the ground. And so she sheathed her blade, pulled her hood up over her head and began walking in the opposite direction of the horses. Mist were rolling in from the hills, and she raised a hand to remove hair from her eyes. Her cloak flapped in the wind one last time, and she vanished from sight.

This post has been edited by saqin: Nov 16 2010, 08:28 PM