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.

------------------------------------------------------------------

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.

[Taillus]

Blood is Thicker - Part Two

The passing hours for Allentus went quickly. Bottle after bottle hit the table until finally, our young alcoholic hit the floor. Disgusted patrons requested that he be thrown to the streets like the beggar he is and without delay, the wishes of thr majority was carried out, the same can be said about the star of the story. Allentus was cast into the back alley and dumped on his face by a strong nord that was paid by the owner to make short work of the young adult.

In a drunken stupor, Allentus pulled a short blade from his worn clothing. The blade, a gift from his father was almost pawned twice since Allentus had arrived but something stopped him, not so much the sentimental value but more a thought that it may someday come in handy. A way of protecting one's self is almost priceless and in an instant, young Allentus made his second big mistake. Before either he or the Nord knew what was happening, the inebriated Allentus tackled the taller, older man to the grass behind the Feed Bag and burried his dagger deep into the side of the Nord's neck.

In an instant, Allentus had gone from a lowly thief, to a cold-blooded killer. The young man was certainly getting his wish. He would end up writing his own name in the sand, too bad it would be accented in blood. Allentus staggered back to his feet, mortified by his act and ran. Just simply ran for his very life He wished he could goback but he knew it was far too late for that. He wanted to turn back time but he knew it couldn't be done. He dropped his dagger in the streets as his feet seldom hit the ground. Young Allentus cried as he looked at the blood that stained his hands.

Just as he rounded his next corner, bringing him closer and closer to the city's gates he was grabbed by the arm and pulled into an alleyway. With a black glove covering his mouth, Allentus was certain he was busted. Caught by the guards and seconds from getting a hanging for his crimes but to his surprise, he was face-to-face with a young man draped in a black hooded robe.

"Take this, and put it on, it will hide you from view. The robe is enchanted with a chamelion spell that activates when you pull the hood over your head. Once you get it on, I want you to follow me. I have a proposition for you." The man in black orders before walking away.

Allentus hauls the robe over his head and follows mindlessly...


Continued in Part three - the final