3/29/2002
Logfile from Akarian Dawn Raughir


THE DARK BORN SAGA: ALONG THE COAST AT MIDNIGHT

The Boardwalk, The Wharf -- Wharf District, Tenigul

The Boardwalk that forms the main dock areas of the wharf stretches out south 
along the shore.  Water sprays the piers, coating the docks with a thin layer 
danger.  Barnicles cling to the pilings that reach down into the harbor's 
depths, while sea birds whirl about above.  Ships sit moored here, while other 
rest at anchor further out in the harbor.  Where the Boardwalk meets the land, a 
combination of sand and mud mix together.  Yet for all the features of the 
harbor, this area hold one more special attraction.  This is where the North 
fork of the Faur Un'doji river meets the sea.  Having swept around in a hook 
from the far South, it finially comes to rest here dumping its waters Eastward 
into the harbor.  

The wide mouth of the river is swift moving, but fairly shallow.  The silt beds 
along its mouth come into view as the tide changes.  During low tide, one can 
view the dozen sandbars covered with gulls, and sandpipers seeking for food.  As 
well as garbage, and sewage that has been dumped into the river further 
upstream.  When high tide comes, the birds and the garbage are washed out to 
sea, filling this part of the Boardwalk with a foul rancid odor at all times of 
the day.  

A ferry boat carries people back and forth over the river's mouth.  The ride is 
a short one, and even shorter at night, since the ferrymen do not opperate their 
vessel after dark.  Those hoping to cross the river, need search upriver for a 
crossing point.  The Boardwalk is fairly quite at night here, atleast compared 
to other areas in the wharf.  Standing here at night, one can notice far more 
sewage passing down the Faur Un'doji than during the day.  Torches light the 
docks and piers, while city guards pass at odd hours down the wooden street.  
The great seawall of Tenigul, lighthouses a blaze, keeps safe those that remain 
on shore.  

Spring has arrived in full swing to Tenigul.  That means one thing, and one 
thing only -- Rain.  Rain pounds the nighttime docks.  Heavy clouds block the 
moon, dumping their cargo down on the port city.  The waters of the harbor are 
in turmoil from the torrent.  Waves crash against the piers, and the boardwalk, 
making travel tricky for the unsure.  Many of the night time torches that are 
normally lit, are out.  The first casualty from the rainstorm.  The river is 
swollen from several days of weather much like this one.  With such an inclement 
night, few people are out this late.  In fact there is no movement up and down 
the wharf.  Shadows cling to the buildings and under the docks.  A rat struggles 
to cling to its makeshift raft of garbage as it floats on past, down the river, 
into the bay.  


The noise of the rain is everywhere, crashing down upon the wooden docks, the 
water, and whatever might be resting on either one of those.  Stories have past 
from generation to generation, of grunlings hiding under the water close to the 
docks and pulling those that strayed too close to the water into a watery death.  
That was the Tenigul of old, and surely there are no Grunlings in the mighty 
city after the banishment of Raughir...  

Most could see or sense nothing in this weather.  The pitch black sky and rain 
making it almost impossible to see.  However, passing through the docks is a 
figure unknown to most.  His dark eyes seeing far better than they should...  

A shadow shifts.  The rain pounding down from the dark sky splashes off a 
hunched figure.  The shape is covered in a cloak of darkness, one thicker, and 
more sinister than simple nighttime.  Faceless, it sniffs the air.  The sea 
breaze, and the garbage from the river clog the air for most.  Yet there is 
something on the air, something wrong here for those that know what to look for.  
Unmoving, it sniffs again from the darkness.  Far out in the harbor the light of 
a ship breaks the darkeness far out by the Sea Gate of the harbor.  

Narrowed eyes peer toward the shadow's general direction.  Sensing the other's 
presence, indeed, whoever the newcomer is, they are wiser and keener than most.  
A step is taken in the rain, a wet puddle splashing without care, mixing with 
the rain that caused it.  

A voice rumbles through the downpour.  "Anhadet.  Anhadet." 

A snuffle, then a startled hiss.  Suddenly a pack of rats breaks free of some 
invisible prison.  The wet furred vermin scatter away from Anhadet's dark form.  
The half dozen critters squeak in terror, their beady red eyes glowing with 
their own light.  Bounding into the rain several of them head toward the saftey 
of the new arrival, others dive off, like lemmings, into the rolling surf.  A 
small puddle form under the figure's feet, the ichor is clearly not rain water, 
but something thicker.  With a hiss the crouched beast that is Anhadet 
straightens slightly, "Whosss there?" 

There is not display of emotion from the other figure, a slight turn, facing 
directly where Anhadet stands.  "A messanger," he says, head inclining, even 
through the darkness toward the old man.  The man's voice follows quickly, "You 
would do well to clear your filth from my boots..." 

His face contorts, anger obvious across it now.  "What secrets can you hide?" 
His laughter rises and falls, his meaning perhaps clear, but his knowledge 
perhaps quite unclear.  

Hisssss.  The thick cloak of the creature covers his featureless face.  Any that 
were to see Anhadet now would scream in fear and terror at the visage that lies 
exposed this night.  With a wave of a boney hand the rats scuttle and scurry 
away from The Messanger.  "There is a smell on the air tonight." One finger 
visible points out to the harbor, and the bow light on the only ship that moves 
among the turmoil of the harbor.  "Tell me your knowledge messanger, tell me 
your secrets.  I listen." He sways slightly under the pounding rain.  There is a 
hush among the area as he speak, his voice soothing the rain, but the moment he 
stops speaking the incesent spatter of the rain takes over again.  

"You are far from Tadkar, Unnaur." Stepping forward, a smile is presented across 
his face.  "You have nothing to worry," he says, waving a hand of dismissal 
toward the figure Anhadet now displays.  "I have no secrets you shall know," he 
continues, "Like I have said, I have a message.  A message from the Master's 
true servant." His voice fades momentarily, "A message from the Queen of 
Uruadum." His arms slowly cross his chest, as if waiting for a response, but 
quirps another sentance into the fray.  "My mother." 

The hunched shape begings to straighten.  Months of enchantments, and posturing 
as Anhadet has taken its toll.  And from time to time, Unaur throws off the 
disguise, and his crippled, and disfigured true form takes hold.  It may be days 
before he can cloak himself once more in the flesh of other, and gain their 
abilities.  "What does Linsaki want I wonder?" He snapes his head to the harbor, 
the ship there growing closer, "Somethings comming...." His eyes blaze like his 
vermin scouts as he turns them to stare at you, "What do you know Hez'dar?  
Don't tell me that your Mother wants me back?" 

Laughter is expelled from Hez'dar's mouth, his head thrown back.  "Want you 
back?" he asks, his head shaking as he does so.  "You would wish something like 
that.  Look at you," he scoffs, his face turning into one of disgust.  "Taking 
the shapes of ordinary men to hide from their wrath." He spits upon the ground, 
wiping his mouth with his wet sleeve.  

"No, Unnaur.  She does not want you back.  And you are right.  Something is 
coming.  That is my message.  Coming...  coming now." 

"I do what must be done to surive in these times.  You would not understand it, 
but she would.  She does.  Its unforntunate that we parted the way we did." He 
seems to grow a bit, gaining a bit of pride as he speaks.  "It has been many a 
decade since your mother and I spoke..." He glances into the harbor again, 
"...and now she sends her only worthy son to me with a message.  At such a 
time." The rats have finished their aimless wanderings and quickly fall to 
attacking one another.  Squeels and crys ring out from them as they bite into 
one anothers flesh, ripping and tearing open wounds.  

Hez'dar grunts, "Raughir failed," he says simply, unaware of his father's 
identity.  "If Linsaki was given reign over Uruadum she would have destroyed all 
of Durnalis and this Empire would be whole again." He clenches his hands into 
fists at their side.  "Either way, now we must be cautious.  You should be 
cautious..." His eyes glance to the sea, "That is a smuggler's ship.  Actually, 
one of Anhadet's.  The cargo is jewels and ancient artifacts.  Oh.  And one 
formerly known as ...  the Warlock." 

The figure lurches forward on the dock, still his face hidden as he look out at 
the ship.  "The Warlock?  I don't know him....who made him?" Kicking the 
fighting rats into the water he nears the edge of the boardwalk, dangerously 
close.  "It matters not.  Tenigul is no longer big enough for two of us.  What 
else have you to tell me?" 

"The Warlock?" asks Hez'dar, shrugging.  "He was not old during Raughir's 
defeat.  In fact, he was already broken." He smiles, "There are circumstances 
why certain of your kind survived..." Hez'dar, probably appearing younger than 
he truely is, takes a few steps forward.  "He has his.  I will not bore you with 
the details...  You are correct.  There is not room for two of you.  But you 
have the upperhand.  He is weak, and not yet aware he has returned." His smiles 
grows broader, "But he will soon...  sooner than you could have him destroyed.  
And I assure you he will seek to take whatever power he can.  Including you, 
Unnaur." 

Anhadet turns his head towards the centuries younger Hez'dar.  "I wonder why The 
Wasp would wish to warn me.  I would have found out on my own, in time enough to 
counter his arrival.  She has made it that much easier.  I hope she doesn't 
think I owe her anything now." He hisses a few times, watching the ship moving 
closer to the docks, rowing in is slow buisness, espcially in this weather.  

Hez'dar narrows his eyes, something that Unnaur said perhaps.  "You have been in 
her debt ever sense you started playing dress up." He points a finger toward the 
Dark Born, a threatening gesture for sure.  "You owe her for your survival.  She 
has allowed it," he says simply.  

His stare is strange.  For Unnaur has seen the son's and daughter's of union 
between the children of Raughir and man...  This is not what he stares upon.  
For a moment, something almost could frighten even the eldest evil.  Something 
in his past...  convoluted and unidentifiable.  

Anhadet breaks his gaze with Hez'dar to look out to the ship.  A barely 
noticible shiver run down the Dark Born's spine.  "You go back to you little 
mommy, and tell her that soon, very soon, Tenigul shall be like a puppet on a 
string, and I the puppet master.  Then we shall see how strong that stinger of 
hers is." Rain continues to pound the wharf, hundred of tiny droplets smashing 
themselve against the mantle of the hooded figure Unaur.  Steam begins to rise 
from his cloak.  

Each doplet vaporizes on contact with the creature's form.  More and more 
raindrops find their last moments a hot one.  Rolling steam begins to pour from 
him, until an unnatural fog begins to spread out in terror away from this, the 
last of Mornaur's Children.  

"Brave words," Hez'dar warns, his hand lightly touching the pommel of his blade.  
An heirloom of Lun'sar, of Linsaki.  "Your orders are of little account," says 
the man with a smile, "You will have to excuse my lack of obediance." 

His shoulders roll, "You underestimate what is coming.  You underestimate the 
wars to be waged...  The Queen can see them...  she sees clear." 

As the fog spreads it is quickly beaten down by the rain that falls all around.  
The dark face of Unaur under his cloak is entwinded in shadow, and nothing but 
two bright orbs shine out.  "I see as far a head as her Hez'dar.  She knows that 
she has no rival in the Old Arts that can match her, save for me.  These other 
Children are of little consequence to either of us.  Yet they may serve their 
roles, and do both good and ill to the causes which Linsaki and I strive for.  
It is a shame that her and I stand on opposite sides of the wall." A bell rings 
out, and shouts of dock workers breaks the silence that surrounds these two 
elements of an ancient time.  The ship loaded with good for Anhadet's Yard nears 
its pier.  "Obay my command or not, but I know that you will tell her what I 
have said in time.  You can assure her that no matter our differences, The 
Warlock shall not trouble either of us for very long." 

Hez'dar takes a short step forward, whispering, "She worries not about the 
Warlock..." His dark images coming close to the turned Unnaur.  "Akar is the 
key.  There is a seed growing here.  A Durnalian seed that is beginning to 
spread." Linsaki's son grimaces, "When Akar has defended its boarders...  
Durnalians have been present.  We are certain of this." 

Withdrawing, Hez'dar takes a step back.  "If only you would bend your knee to 
the Queen.  Give faith in her as you once did the Demon-Lord...  then we could 
fulfill our destiny and reunite the Uruadrim Empire under her mighty shadow..." 

Anhadet begins to cool down, and the steam, and vapors begin to fade.  The night 
is moving on towards day, and the rain shows no signs of letting up.  With men 
out and about, this place will no longer be hidden, no longer be safe for much 
longer.  "Hah!" He barks out, "She obviously does not tell you everything 
Hez'dar.  When you see her next, ask he why it is that we are estranged.  Then I 
doubt your words of unification would be so bold." Wrapping himself up tighter 
in his cloak he looks to the lamps on the nearby pier that are being lit, and 
the ropes that being tosses a shore.  "If you will escuse me, Anhadet and I have 
some cargo to attend to." 

Hez'dar's tatooed face peers back toward Anhadet, those entangling webs of ink 
sewed into his ashen skin unexplainably similar to those of decades past, before 
Raughir's great fall.  

"Perhaps.  Your cargo...  make sure you are not caught with that.  I have heard 
you have been quite a thief lately." He smiles, shaking his head, "Pitiful, 
actually.  A common thug." Without further word, the man turns, moving into the 
shadows of the Wharf and away from the endangered species of Dark Born.  

Anhadet lets out one last hiss, before moving off up the river bank.  "Things 
are not always as they seem my boy..." he whispers just loud enough to be a 
strain, even for the ears of the likes of Hez'dar.  With a swift flurish of his 
cloak he slips off into the darkness, a train of rats scurry along in his wake.  


To be continued....