(Originally posted in 2004 and lost in the attack. reposted from alternate archives - Kelryck)


The Hand of Fate
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His staff slapped against the ground, bringing soft, earthen thuds as he walked briskly towards the stone. The insignia of Traldor ran down its length, and as he walked beside his friends, a pulse of power came out of it to wrap lovingly around the group, heightening their minds.

His cloak flowed behind him, ripped from the hand of Eramai himself, floating in the light breeze. The blue-grey pattern adorning it was echoed in the three identical cloaks of legend adorning the backs of the three compatriots walking by him, as the breeze ruffled the hoods, almost for a moment revealing their eyes.

Their cloth armor glowed to the arcane eye with a spell-adorned aura, shadowed by their robes overlaying them all, taken carefully from the dead body of Sebak and his minions. The blue-grey dye on the Nailah's Robes that they wore shimmered in the magical folds, complimenting their cloaks.

Another trio walked behind the four, two Strati from Aerus City flanking another staff, this one Tartaros' Gift. All three wore the billowing Healer's Embrace Cloak on their backs, hoods trimmed back enough to allow their piercing gazes to fall upon the Cloudsongs before them, but hiding the rest of their heads.

And finally, a Harp-wielding figure walked behind the seven ahead of him. His swords strapped to his back and the Harp of Phoebus in his hand, he wore a Guard of Valour and carried sword and shield on his back.

The adventurers walked up to the djinn stone and amidst its pulsing glow, they dissapeared into the mists of the morning. The three Avalonians first, then the Briton, dissapeared to lands far. The second row, then, and finally the Song wrapped around them as the eighth met them far away, Harp in hand.

The Hand of Fate had no insignia. They needed none to announce their presence, for their enemies knew them by the Briton at their head, by the fact of their kills. They stepped outside the keep, shaking their heads to clear them from the teleportation dizzyness, and looked around at eachother.


A Sorcerer, Oda Hikaru. Feared throughout the Realms of Hibernia and Midgard, a mesmerisation at his fingers as he ran through the fields at the head of the column.

Three Wizards, still young in their powers but bringing the loving touch of Ice to their foes. Caput, Fuach, and Fiegg their names, they focused their powers as they ran, preparing for the fights which might be just around the corner.

Two skilled Clerics, still working out their own parts as well. Lumina and Andrist look at each other and sigh as they run behind the Wizards that they would soon be busy trying to keep alive, sometimes barely succeeding, sometimes barely failing, but always doing their best. The Warlord keeps her abilities primed, always ready to use her Leadership in battle to increase their powers, or even to Sacrifice herself to heal the others.

One Friar, Tiernae. She runs with her staff in hand, ready to tackle and pin down to the ground anyone that jumps her friends.... or her lifemate. The Battlemaster keeps her skills at the ready as she prepares to use whatever abilities she needs; to heal or to fight.

And lastly, a Minstrel, butt of many a meatshield joke. Quadrah but touches fingers upon the harp to bring forth skilled, glorious sound to speed the Hand on its way or to Ameliorate their wounds.

They are the Hand of Fate. And they now begin to step forth, bringing forth Fate with the Hand to rain the destruction of Ice upon their enemies.

A whip cracks, a shield Slams. A body is hurled to the side, landing within the Icy hands of Death Incarnate. A whip wraps itself lovingly around a throat and rips it out, while a blow is blunted on Masterwork chainmail.

The whip takes the form of a snake as it blurs through the air, Asp'ing a fleeing Hibernian or Midgardian... by this time, it is almost hard to tell. The blood coating the whip clears itself as it brushes almost lovingly against chain armor, ripping off links.

A plea to Arawn brings forth poison to fill the veins of an archer, so that he fumbles and drops his bow. A shout of Arawn's glory brings forth life to the crier.

The Reaver stands within a pool of blood and gore, his whip seeking and finding, his Shield Slam'ing all that dare come near his compatriots, Slam'ing for the Wizards that will finish the kill.

The weeds and grasses of the field grow thorns, deadly and sharp, suddenly. They grasp the ankles, the legs, even the chests of the enemies that dare attack him, bringing them down onto the ground.

His name is Vonrictus, and he brings forth Fate's Hand to his enemies.


A staff cracks, a wound is healed, a dead person comes to life miraculously. Her spells of enhancements shield and abbet her friends' efforts, and her Wards bring forth health and power to all those around her.

She jumps into the fray one moment, only to hop out and heal the next. Her cloak flows behind her with the blue-grey of the Healer, and her staff is a Gift from Tartaros.

The Friar focuses her energies to bring forth a blaze of healing glory for her group, and then to bring a tempest of mind-numbing static to freeze her enemies in place. And as they freeze, she gestures to the Wizards, who grin wickedly. And the hands of Icy Death envelop them all.

Her name is Telsa, and she brings forth Fate's Hand to Enhance, Heal, and kill.


Two Avalonians stand together, Ice permeating their being. The cloaks of the Clouds flow from their backs, and they, too, bear the blue-grey Robe of the Hand. Their belts are the Sash stolen from the Cyclops, and they are the equals of any of their kind in the lands.

They step off in conjunction, falling to the ground beneath them, so far beneath... and as they land, they almost crumble upon themselves, feet and legs snapping like twigs. But the magicks of healing bring them back to full health, and when an observer would look again, nothing but bodies upon bodies surround the two as they grin fiercely at eachother.

They bring forth the Earth to shield them and to enhance their friends' weapons, and they bring forth Fire to absorb blows and strike at incredible ranges. But the Wizards are most comfortable killing up close; working with the Thorns and the Static to bring forth death to the multitudes, or simply boiling alive masses of enemies.

They are Peip and Vanylah, Wizards of Ice, and they bring forth Fate's Hand to slay their enemies with the Ice of Hell itself.


A drum pounds out a strenuous rhythm as feet fly across the lands. The rhythm brings forth Sound so pure that it speeds their way, and at the same time he focuses his will to keep the Sage behind him in check, obeying his every command.

A shout, another pair. An enemy would clap his hands to his ears in pain, was he not stunned immobile, only to meet his relief in Ice.

A spear thrusts, impaling. A javelin is launched, turning into flame on its way. A blow is blunted by armor, for better chain than cloth take the blow.

And a Minstrel named Asosh speeds forth the deathdealers of Fate's Hand, being in no ways not one himself.


The Elf looks up and begins to flee. But the thing so large is faster than he is, and in but three blows he crumples to the ground, dead.

A cluster of enemies finds themselves poisoned twice over, Matter coursing through their veins, bringing the cold of eternal nothingness to their eyes.

Another foe is weakened and dies in moments to the tapping spells of a skilled foe.

And two friends grin at each other as they tear through enemy after enemy. One Matter, one Spirit, they both respect each other and are equally skilled at their work. And they both bring death.

For they are Clarabella and Seiji, Cabalists, bringing Fate's Hand to bear.


An egg cracks open, golden light flooding forth. A spell seeks out newly reborn people, healing them to their fullest. And the force is reborn and filled again.

A spell of healing adorns the Wizards about to die and restores them to health. A chorus of angels seems to float about him as he Ressurects someone. And finally, the cloak on his back is the Embrace of a Healer, taken fom a Lion in Stygia.

The Cleric brings forth shielding to make his friends more resistant to magicks, as he heals them and Enhances their efforts. He stuns and Smites when he can, for all that serve the Hand deal death, but he excels in keeping his squad alive.

He is Pods, and he is a Cleric, allowing others to bring forth Fate's Hand.