User:Rafferty

This is Andy Raff's page for doing things with links and the like. He can't believe he didn't think of it earlier.

I suggest you move along, there's nothing to see here :)

Death's Door, Suzerain's Command, Staff of Power, Hungering Wolf, Commanding Suzerain, Suzerain's Command

This is a placeholder page for content that PD are actively working on.

Description

Basic text

Rules

• Form: One-handed Spear.
• Effect: This (item) can be used three time per day. Each time you use the (item) you may make one of the following calls: (CALL 1) or (CALL 2).
• Materials: Crafting an ironbrand thorn requires twelve ingots of green iron, six ingots of tempest jade and six measures of dragonbone. It takes one month to make one of these items.

Ic Text

Unseen Encasement, Mundane beasts Legendary beasts http://empire.crew.profounddecisions.co.uk/empire-wiki/Category:IC_Text_Required

Matt's Scratchpad

Burnished Rampart

Not sure about this at all, seems too sneaky and non-Urizen-y. Also feels more like a piece of text for the DISJUNCTION spell; I can see why they need to use it instead of just smashing the shield, but I'm not sure it makes sense.

Even through the haze of an evening's drinking, Eadric could tell something was wrong. The space within his tent was filled with shadows; nonetheless, his eyes warned him that there were just too many of them, and their shapes not right.

The broad space under the canvas served the thane as his personal quarters, but also the army as its command tent. His hand immediately fumbled for his blade-grip, thinking that perhaps assassins had come for him, or spies come to steal the maps and orders.

As he stepped forwards and blinked, his eyes gaining a fraction more sight in the gloom, he saw something that frightened him far more. A hooded figure wrapped in dark silks stood over the spot where the Owl's Gaze was laid. Magic sparked and danced around the figure's fingers as it chanted spells of unmaking over the enchanted shield.

Eadric gathered his breath to bellow a challenge, only to have it knocked out of him; something slammed into his stomach, then hooked his legs and sent him tumbling to the well-trodden earth of the tent's floor. Even as he tried to twist aside, something else tapped his arm. Cold ice flared there and rushed through his limbs, leaving them leaden and unmoving.

“Curse your witchcraft,” he spat, lying there like a trussed animal.

Several more silk-swaddled figures loomed over him. He prepared for the end, but no blades descended. Instead, a whispered voice drifted down at him.

“Thane Eadric himself. You need not fear for your life, not yet. We are here for the Owl's Gaze alone.”

And that threat, more than any fear for his own safety, was what brought tears to the Thane's eyes. “You cannot!” he said, cursing his cold-gripped limbs as he lay there helpless. “The Gaze is the heirloom of my hall, the undying symbol of our victory! Without it, my men... You, your tongue is Urizen. Traitors! How dare you do this?”

One of the figures muttered a fresh chant and then, just as the frost-chill began to creep back from his limbs, a wand darted down and bound him in the enchantment again.

“The Net of Heavens warns us that your skein must not prevail, my good Thane. For the greater good, there is another thread in the tapestry that must be brought to greatness. And, Thane, your skein is so bound up with that shield that, without it, the wider world will see your weakness.”

Over by the Owl's Gaze, the spell-song ceased, and Eadric groaned in dismay as he felt his bond to the shield break.

“And so it is done. No more will the men of your hall see you stride through the thickest fighting, your shield still shining bright despite the worst of the foe's weapons. No more will you raise up your father's father's shield before battle to show the eternal strength of your line to your soldiers. No more will their spirits swell to know that, no matter how dark grows the night, the Owl's Gaze will see them through it.”

The figures disappeared from sight as they swept from the tent like the midnight breeze, a last few parting words left in their wake.

“Your time is over, Thane Eadric. Now the Net shall raise up another in your place, and their skein shall ascend over yours.”

As the icy spell finally washed away, leaving only a patina of rime across his skin, Eadric dragged himself to his knees and crawled to where the shield lay, weeping. He took it and cradled it against his chest, hating the void he felt within it; no longer would the undying shield respond to his touch with that warm surge of reassurance. The shield of his father's father, its rim threaded with precious ilium that was now lustreless and dead, victim to a scheming mage's disjunction. The engraved owl upon its expanse, bound within a cage of runes, stared at him with lifeless eyes.

Sudden rage flared within him, and the thane howled his despair as he flung the shield aside to crash and clatter as it struck one of the stout tent-poles. There it fell, a great crack marring its now-brittle face, and Eadric knew that this time its enchantment would offer no solace.

So many battles in which it had saved him, so many foes who had sundered it only to see it whole and ablaze in the sunlight at the end of the fight. So many hearts of allies lifted to see him bearing it; so many enemies dismayed to see it at the fore of the shield-wall.

All that, undone.