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Chapter 3: Homecoming


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#61 Taralom

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Posted 20 December 2009 - 08:23 PM

“Well, we’re here,” said Azuvas to relieve the silence between the two of them. His brown eyes gazed upon the mighty gateway before them, built to protect the Maughold at all costs. It’s walls were mighty and patrols marched over them at every hour of the clock.
“What’s happening in there?” Varin queried, hoping that Azuvas knew what caused the many patrols of the Sons of Man.
“It seems like an uprising or a total revolt. I’m not sure.” Azuvas took another look and shook his head. “No, it’s neither one of them. It’s something else. Let’s go to the gate and find out. Maybe the guardians of the gate can tell us more.”
The two of them rode to the gate, gazing in awe at the formidable city. They were halted by a member of the Sons of Man, clad in golden armour and armed with a short sword and buckler. He seemed tired and with a hoarse voice he asked: “Names and purpose?”
“Varin Rax and Azuvas Eldin . We are here for business.”
The guard rose an eyebrow. “Business?” he repeated. “In this time? Are you sure?”
Varin had a feeling that he understood what was going on in the city. “These times are just like war. They provide both misery and wealth to the people, good sir,” he spoke with the tone of an experienced trader.
The guard nodded in agreement. “Yes, you’re correct. Those damned paladins try to take over again and us Sons of Man need to clean the streets of their dead and living bodies, so to speak.”
“I see,” said Azuvas. “Good luck with that. We’ll be on our way. Any tips or directions?”
The guard apologized. “I’m sorry, sir, but the streets are a mess. Try to find shelter as soon as possible.”
Varin agreed. “Well, thank you for your advice. I’ll see to it that we will not run into any Paladin or gnome.”
They rode on into the city, but they neglected the words of the guard. The streets were empty, but tiny squads of gnomes or wounded paladins crossed them on multiple occasions, asking them for their side, at which Varin politely answered that they were neutral and did not want to fight. One time a paladin noticed their weapons and demanded them to pick a side. He was alone, though, and proved little challenge to Azuvas’ astounding strength.
They searched the city for an hour before it went dark and they took refuge in an abandoned home. Blood decorated the walls and furniture. Everything was left intact, though many things were missing, pillaged by the paladins, gnomes or neighbors. It did not matter, since they did not need much. After a tiny search, Azuvas came back with some potatoes and crops of the backyard and Varin lit the timber in the fireplace with magic. While eating some soup made of the vegetables, the two discussed how they could find their target, Zhar Cadavok.
“I say we ask either the paladinate or the gnomes,” Azuvas suggested before taking another sip of the near-boiling hot soup.
“The problem is,” spoke Varin, “that if we do that, there is a certain chance that Zhar will hear of our presence. Or worse, that the entire group will hear of our presence. In either case, our mission will fail. Either Zhar or his entire group will hunt us down and kill us.”
Azuvas agreed. “Yet, it will make the search easier for us.”
A silence fell, only disturbed by the snapping of twigs in the fire.
“There is another way,” Varin said softly. “We need to find out what Vayu’s intention was for putting us upon this mission. I think he wants us to take care of Zhar, so that the mage will not be able to kill him.”
“That is a possibility, yes.” Azuvas tried to figure out where Varin was headed, but he could not see the connection yet.
“If Vayu is targeted by Zhar’s group, then why try to find Zhar? If we can find Vayu and use him as the bait of our trap, Zhar will undoubtedly fall for it.”
“Though an illusion?” Azuvas asked.
“No, we will use him. We only need to ask a paladin to take us to him. I’m fairly certain that he is present in this city.”
Azuvas nodded. “There is a certain risk. You are Umbar. They might just want to kill you before they listen to your request.”
Varin shook his head. “No, they will listen.” His eyes glistened with a fierce determination while he stared into the fire with a grin on his face.
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#62 mike_

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Posted 23 December 2009 - 04:50 PM

Morion sat alone in his cell. The Hashid had vanished without being captured, of course. He wasn't sure if they'd actually fulfill their promise when the Paladins returned, but he had their word.

Well, the word of one. The word of an Elf. The word of an Elf that he was unfamiliar with, and hadn't even gotten the name of.

Sighing, he bent back his head and stared contemplatively at the ceiling. The Sons of Man hadn't allowed for Rom to be locked up with the others, claiming that it was not really any of their - or his - business where they chose to lock up the Minotaur.

Morion had broken a Son of Man's nose, jaw, and three fingers for that.

Which was why he was here in solitary confinement, alone except for the rats. They knew him to still live, so did not waste their time sniffing him out. The gaolers had taken everything from him - his sword, baldric and all, his knives, his crossbow. Just for spite, they'd also taken his hat and coat, and his boots. No honor at all. Morion idly spat into a dark corner of the cell.

There were no windows, so it had been pitch-black ever since he'd been thrown in here. Of course Morion had no idea what time it was or how he was oriented, as he could not tell by either the sun or stars.

It was cold. He knew that. He could work with that. Then again, it had been cold in every dungeon he'd been in up until now, and this one was no exception. Neither was the one in Anvar, or the hundreds that he'd spent a night or eight in before.

Had it really been hundreds?

Shrugging, Morion put it off as an exaggeration spawned by dehydration and too much reflection. He wondered where the others were in this huge system of tunnels and prisons that made up the lower levels of the Maughold.

Eyes closed, he clasped his hands before his knees and went to sleep. He'd find out soon enough.

Or he wouldn't.

#63 Vithar-133

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Posted 24 December 2009 - 12:58 AM

Ashling leaned against the cold stone walls blocking out the scuttlebutt around her. This wasn't the first cell she'd ever been in.

:Nor will it be the last. Although...last time I was in a cell...it was for something to the effect of drunken violence...Ah well. This certainly won't be the last.

She thought more on her situation, and, somewhat, where her future was headed. Since she had returned to Maughold, she had worked along side gnomes to eliminate the corrupt Paladins inside the Maughold. Then she thought more on her future.

:What happens when there are no Paladins to kill? What will I do then?:

The thought alone of the Palatinate sent her blood into a boil as she remembered everything of the day she was kicked out of the Order.

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It was a cloudy day, and rain was falling. The square was filled with people, although they were pressed against the edges, mostly looking on in fear.

Ashling, garbed in the armour of the Palatinate, stood above a Half-Elf, Half-Furya, swordpoint at his throat.

Her orders were clear...yet she was having trouble following them.


:This halfling...his is guilty of nothing but being born half-furya...He would have no control over that. I...I can not do this.:

She lowered her sword, surprising the half-Furya.

"Go, halfling. Save yourself. There is no reason for this."

She watched as the half-Furya got up and made his way out. Two other paladins saw this, and not an hour later, Ashling found herself at the gate in little more than under clothes. She could do nothing but look on as a Paladin Commander broke her sword and then had her thrown out of the city for deliberate ignorance of an order.

She tried to move, but earlier beatings left her in no state to actually do anything. While the sun set, a figure came to her and carried her into a small makeshift hut and healed her. She looked up.

"You!"

"Indeed. I had not expected this. I felt it reasonable to return the favour you had given me. I have an extra coat that looks like it might fit you, as well as a hand-and-a-half and a seax that I...liberated from an armoury on my way out."

"You are either foolhardy...or brave. What are you? And what is your name?"

"Heh, blunt. I am a half-elf, half-furya. And I am Vithar. You are?"

"Ashling...Thank you for this favour. Perhaps we shall meet again. For now though...I swear vengeance against the Palatinate..."

"Indeed we shall, I think. In this life or the next, however, I am not sure. Stay true to your oath. It would be good for the other races."

At this, the halfling--Vithar--left her to her own devices. It was from her that she wondered. That was also a month or so before she came to a town. And almost ended up not leaving thanks to several too many ales.


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:The past...never expected to go back there...: Ashling sighed. These gnomes told her nothing of Vithar, and she knew not whether he livved or not...

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#64 {IRS}Athos

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Posted 24 December 2009 - 02:05 AM

Byron sighed and leaned against the wall of the cell. "What now?"

Astariel, sitting cross-legged on the bed, shrugged slightly. "We wait for them to realize that we aren't criminals. Although, come to think of it, we may have had a part in stirring up trouble, and in that case we deserve to be in here."

"Cheerful thoughts," muttered Byron, sitting down beside her.
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#65 Luchiaros

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Posted 06 January 2010 - 06:29 PM

A young paladin walked through the streets following a trail of blood, he arrived at a run down building that the trail ended at. Going inside he looked at the room, the walls and floor were covered with claw marks, two bodies lay in a pool of blood and in the corner there was slender brown figure curled in a ball. The paladin moved closer to examine it, as he did it twitched, drawing he sword he moved closer. The figure stood and moved quickly, before the paladin got a chance to react the figure went for his chest and left three long gashes. Stabbing at the creature as it retreated for another attack he pierced it and then plunged the sword in deeper, letting go of his sword he sat down facing away from the thing he had just killed and began to tend to his wounds. Behind him the Vyre, for that was what it was twitched again and pulled the sword out, it then leaped at the paladin and let out a piercing scream that could be heard throughout the city which was soon followed by the screams of a man having his throat ripped.

The Vyre was short compared to the human it had just slain, it also was very thin. It moved quickly into the basment of the abandoned house after feasting upon it's kill. Chiron had followed the group for many days and they had led him here, to a city ripe with food. But to Chiron it meant little, he thirsted for revenge on those that had wronged his pack. Downstairs he entered a small room that was pitch black and slept, he would track his prey the next morning.

Edited by Dark _Warden, 06 January 2010 - 06:29 PM.

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#66 Vortigern

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Posted 06 January 2010 - 06:49 PM

"You can't keep me in the dark forever!" shouted Morion at the sound of footsteps outside his cell door.

"Alas, no," agreed the guard, opening the heavy oaken frame. "There are some gnomes here who say you're worth more outside than in." Morion grinned widely. "Lady Kartaan," said the guard, inclining his head as Shava's tiny figure came into view.

"Up you get, Morion," she squeaked. "And try not to break anyone else's bones on your way out, if you don't mind," she added, offering him a crooked little smile. Then again, all her features were crooked, so maybe it was just a regular smile.

"Any word on Maximilian? Or Murad?"

"Both alive and well. I spoke to Murad and explained our situation, and he has pledged his corps to our cause as well." She paused, reflecting on the memory. "Truth be told, I think he was glad of the opportunity for a fight against a professional enemy." Morion frowned at that.

"Mercenaries are as professional as soldiers come, Shava."

"Maybe that was the wrong word. Soldiers with a genuine cause to fight for, perhaps. Soldiers who aren't in it for the money or just for the sheer grim satisfaction of killing." She beckoned him out and they made their way towards fresh air as Shava caught him up on the rest of the group and he in return filled her in on his actions of the previous days. "I came for you first," she said. "I wanted to make sure I knew the full situation before I returned to my superiors. Open the door, please." This last was addressed to the guard standing watch over the corridor of the prison in which they now stood. "Illyriel Tynar, Astariel Nomana, Byron Esk," she announced. Illyriel was the first to step out of the chamber, nonchalantly nodding a greeting to Morion as he strode into the light.

"Ashling should come with us too," murmured Illyriel, bending down to whisper in Shava's ear. "She's in there, and she was by my side in the fight. I might guess she would be sympathetic to our cause." Shava shrugged and the guard leaned in to summon her forward.

"Down here, if you please," said Shava, standing up to her full height of nearly two feet. Ashling obediently leant down so Shava could reach her temples, upon which she placed her tiny palms. Flashes of memory surged through Shava's mind as she sought to divine Ashling's purpose. Paladins, swords, combat, orders given- Shava abruptly jerked her hands away from Ashling, recoiling by a couple of steps.

"Why do I see Vithar in your memories, human?" she demanded, tingeing the question with magic to ensure openness and truth. Ashling blinked in surprise.

"I spared his life, a long time ago. He was what convinced me to leave the Palatinate. What does the Arap Datrebil know of him?"

"The Arap Datrebil has no concern for Vithar Akluun, human. I do. Or did, at least. He gave his life for me and my friends some months ago on the isle of the Vyre." Shava snapped her fingers, all traces of camaraderie disappeared from her features, replaced by imperious command. "Bring her. And you," she ordered, addressing the guard. "Have Romulus Hauntari, the Minotaur prisoner, brought up to meet us. Immediately."

"Shava?" wondered Illyriel, looking down at her, "what's going on?"

Later, Shava's voice chimed in his head. In silence they made their way hurriedly to the exit of the prison, Ashling scurrying along behind.

"I have already had your belongings brought to your quarters," said Shava in a monotone as they emerged from the gaol. "These gnomes will take you. Ashling, you're coming with me." Wait here for the Minotaur, she sent to two of the gnomish troop at her command.

"Shava?" enquired Morion before he left her presence. "What about Tom and his friends?" Shava raised a disfigured eyebrow.

"They're long gone. I imagine Tom has gone out recruiting, or at least doing his best to fill his life with action and danger in the absence of love. Oh, and one more thing. Maximilian and Murad will meet you later. These gentlemen will show you where to go. You will bring come with them to the Council, where we will be joined by King Vassingar, who equally has no wish to see the Paladins return to his stronghold." She smiled sardonically. "Maybe you should have a bath first."

* * * * * * * * *

The Maughold finally came into sight, after more than two weeks riding from Anharad. At the foothills of the mountains from which the fortress was hewn Theria and Essika dismounted in the courtyard of an inn; The White Dragon, according to the signboard flapping in the wind.

"Good afternoon to you both, and welcome to the Dragon," boomed a welcoming voice as they entered the taproom. The source of the voice was a large bearded man, nearly as tall as Essika and far broader in the shoulders.

"Humans really do come in all shapes and sizes," she murmured to Essika. He chuckled and smiled as she slipped under his arm, happy to have the comforting solidity of his burly bulk around her. Every roadside inn for the past six nights had served to strengthen their relationship, fledgling once again but every bit as intense as the day they had parted, years before. If anything, Essika had improved with age, she thought. He had kept his body in excellent condition, but his technique had improved no end. Theria had not felt this strongly in lust since the early days of her doomed relationship with Illyriel from a century long past.

Theria went to settle in at their room as Essika made small talk with the innkeeper in the surprisingly empty tavern.

"The Paladins have speeded up their march. Rumour has it they're aiming to have the Maughold back under their control by equinox." Essika grunted.

"Three weeks? That's ambitious. The Trivantes had the place under seige for five years and never got past the second ring, and it turned back the Furya before it was even finished."

"Well, hopefully they'll all just get themselves killed and be done with," offered the innkeeper. "I tell you, paying their tithe was no laughing matter. With the gnomes in charge business has been booming. People have actually been coming to visit the Maughold instead of wishing they could get up the money to flee."

"Well, this Cold Wind chap seems to have the Paladins all fired up for revenge on the little folk," replied Essika. "From what I've heard, he fancies himself something of a mage as well."

"From what I've heard, he really is something of a mage. And not the helpful kind, either. I just pray he passes me by. They're taking the coast road, so I should be alright, but I've heard there are others coming down from the north and up from the peninsula too." Essika frowned.

"Nobody's said anything to me about reinforcements from the south."

"I only got word yesterday, old chap," agreed the innkeeper. "Royal Despatch rider, headed up to Lestark, said there were near enough five thousand of the buggers camped out in Duke Ballantyde's old castle, five days march from the Hold. They're probably on the move by now if what I've heard about the Paladins from Valenti is true."

"That they've speeded up their schedule?"

"That they should arrive at the Maughold the day after tomorrow. That's why nobody's staying here. Everybody's either got the hell out of the province or bunkered down in the Hold. You sure you want to be around here?"

"No," replied Essika with a weary smile. "But I have to be here. There are lives in the balance, far more than just mine."

"Essi?" broke in Theria, coming downstairs. "I don't suppose you thought to ask about food yet?"

* * * * * * * * *

Winter Vayu rode at the head of the column, heading north towards his former home in the Maughold. The man in black rode at his side, the only figure in sight not clad in the sparkling white and gold of the Palatinate. Six hundred horse, more than four thousand foot and all the siege weapons his men had been able to build, including a few of his own design, stretched out behind him. The Maughold was less than two days' march now, whereupon they would converge with the three thousand foot soldiers headed west from Valenti and however many more had filtered down from wherever they had fled after his vanquishing at the hands of that accursed Furya in his sanctum. How times have changed, he thought.

One thousand Sons of Man, however many militiamen Vassingar could call to arms and a few mercenary groups would prove no match for the combined might of the Paladins, especially if that treacherous Umbar had completed his task and murdered Zhar Cadavok by now. Vayu spat at the mere thought of the man. Well, of what used to be a man. Then again, was he himself still a man? Doubtful. I am so much more now.

"Having a body does not make you human," said the man in black, once again showing an unnerving ability to guess Winter's innermost thoughts.

"And, pray tell, what does make a human?" The man in black did not reply, eyes lazily scanning the horizon. Just as Vayu began to turn his attention back to his introspection, the man spoke again.

"Compassion. Love. Enjoyment garnered from any source other than the sadistic. A body, of course, is part of it, but not nearly so necessary as most people would think. And a soul. You don't have one any more," he added. Winter did his best to ignore the man in black, eyes staring straight ahead. "Our master owns your soul now. You know what, though, Winter? That elf that you keep thinking about, Theria Moriarty? She's as human as they come. A perfect sample, in spite of her birth." Vayu rounded on the man.

"Do you enjoy baiting me?" he demanded. "Do you gain some satisfaction from seeing me in discomfort? Do you gain anything from watching my temper flare as you make snide and pernicious comments?" The man in black smiled gently, but with such powerful malice in his eyes that Vayu almost recoiled.

"Yes," he replied. "Equinox, Lord Vayu. Do not forget."





((So guys, you have two days before the siege of the Maughold begins. I hope you're ready. Copaman, I'm sure Tom will have been up to something awesome in the spare day or so he had while everyone else was in chains. And Vithar, this should give you the perfect chance to give your character a detailed introduction, in front of an audience of the Arap Datrebil council, some of whom know Ashling and have been working with her, if I recall correctly. Anyway, yeah, this chapter is about to begin in earnest. Make your preparations.))
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#67 Vithar-133

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Posted 06 January 2010 - 10:24 PM

((Hey, Vort, just wanted to tell you that Ashling was beaten, stripped of rank, clothes, honour and armour. Then literally thrown out of the Maughold. So, she didn't leave the Palatinate by choice.))

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Ashling stood up and began reciting her story.

"My pardon, for my rough appearance. Most of what I have was given to me by Vithar. It has been a while since I have dared recall the full events that lead to my...dishonourable discharge. I honestly think that I was looked down upon ever since I joined the Palatinate. They seemed to find a certain...joy at stripping me of everything and then throwing me out of the only home I'd known. I've never regretted my decision though. Vithar then brougt me to a lean-to and then healed me, gave me this old coat and the sword and seax I wield. After that, he left my life. We ran into each other again, but not for long. Then I began to wander, doing various jobs that barely paid for my meals, hence why I've never managed to avail myself newer gear. The same night that Vithar saved me, I also swore vengeance on the Palatinate. He told me to stay true to this oath...so, every chance I ran across a Paladin, I challenged them to a duel and rarely lost. I then decided to return...home. To the Maughold. Although, now it seems that the Paladins are not in control any longer. But until they are no longer a threat, I intend to aid in eliminating the paladins."

Ashling looked down. And then up, at the party that had adventured with Vithar. "Is there anything that remains of Vithar? I wish to honour him at least once more."

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((Hope this is ok.))

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#68 {IRS}Athos

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Posted 06 January 2010 - 10:24 PM

Rindar staggered down the street, singing loudly. "Ich wollt... meine lieb... er gosse sicht... all in ein einzig wort..." He paused to take a sip from the flask of wine he'd bought and sat down in the street with a thump. "Das gab' ich ben lustgen winden..."

"You there! What do you think you're doing?" shouted a merchant angrily. Rindar looked down and realized dully that his muddy posterior was seated firmly in the middle of an expensive-looking carpet. He took another drought from the flask.

"Sitting," he said after a pause.

"You're ruining a carpet imported all the way from the elf-lands!" screamed the merchant, tugging at his hair. There were many bald spots on the man's head; an indication that he pulled out chunks of his hair on a regular basis. "You're going to pay for this, you slimy little..."

"Elves. Don't. Make. Carpets." Rindar pronounced each word distinctly, brushing his greasy hair out of his eyes and getting to his feet. Leaving the apopleptic merchant to stare at his ruined (and most definitely counterfeit) carpet, Rindar continued on his meandering walk. Taking another deep draught from his flask, he ran slap-bang into Byron, who was emerging from a tavern.

"Oh, hi, kid," said Rindar with a wide and foolish-looking grin. "How're you on this fine day?"

Byron raised an eyebrow. "What's wrong with you?"

Rindar's grin widened. "I think," he said deliberately, "I'm drunk."

((Ooh, that was fun.))
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#69 some_weirdGuy

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Posted 07 January 2010 - 10:29 AM

Zhar strolled along, hands clasped behind his back and eye twitching. Having not much to do for now he had taken to merely following Shava. The little gnome saw to releasing the rest of the group, and with only minimal interest he noticed the woman, Ashling, seem to be the latest recruit to their little group, although weather she would stay after the upcoming siege was unknown.

As Ashling spoke Zhar took little notice.
"Is there anything that remains of Vithar? I wish to honour him at least once more", It suddenly struck Zhar that there would be no greater feeling then to be able to produce the half-furya's severed head at that moment and present it to the woman... hmmm, head? what about heart? Yes, presenting his cold, dead heart... actually no, head would be better, more recogniseable. Hearts look all the same, If he presented her Vithar's heart it would not have the same effect; a heart could well belong to anyone, not so a head. Yes, presenting her his head at this moment would be priceless.

He sighed, it was a disappointment that he had not thought to remove and keep the half-furya's head for just this occasion, but then how could he have known such a ripe opportunity would present itself? still, a severed head could have been useful in an number of occasions. He was beginning to give serious thought to retrieving a head, you know, just in case.

He started scouting the room, noting the various heads and their desirable and undesireable qualities, but stopped. No, even if he was to collect a head now, a moment as opportune as this was sure not to arise again, and how would he know which head to get now for greatest effect even if it did? Just any old head wouldn't do...
Never mind, mayhaps thou wilt have occasion to fulfill thy desires at another time. Thou shoult be glad that thy quest for Vayu is almost at an end Said the first voice in his mind, returning after so long
Yesss ssssszhar agreessss, vayhhhhhu eeehhhheeeven now approachesssss rasped the serpentine whisper in his mind
"Oh, so you're back" he sound out loud, but quietly. "are there just the two of you, or are the others just being quite at the moment?"

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((for the serpentine voice, what do you think? should i type it out that way with lots of s' and stuff, or should i maybe put some symbol to represent it, so instead of "hisssssssss" just "hiss~", with ~ denoting the extension of the sound of the previous letter.

Just i have always felt that use of lots of s' and such makes it a harder to read. So its up to you guys seen as you are the ones reading it, keep using lots of s', etc. Or use a symbol such as ~ to show an extended sound.

On the subject of the serpentine voice:
I always imagine it sounding like a hissed whisper, as if they are exhaling the words instead of saying them.Its kinda hard to describe exactly :)
Wait, I know; i guess sort like in Harry Potter movie 2 how he speaks snake launguage, that sort of way of talking. Everyone's seen that harry potter movie right?))

Edit: thought of harry potter^

VORT: I quite like it the way it is. It's easy to tell it apart from the other personalities, and you've been going with the lots of s's this whole time, so why sssssssstop now?

Edited by Vortigern, 07 January 2010 - 12:47 PM.

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#70 Copaman

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Posted 07 January 2010 - 03:09 PM

Tom's release from the prison came a few days before the rest of the groups; Erys had blown Tom's cover and the Sons of Man (and King Vassignar with them) were curious.

They came in the morning, and undid the door with a lound clank. Tom pushed himself up, just enough to roll over and see the guards motioning for him to come. In his early-morning haze he didn't fully understand what was going on. "What do you want of me?" he half-mumbled just loud enough for the guards to make out the slurred words.

"The Sons of Man have taken a special liking to you and those three you're celled with. Wake them and we're to take to get cleaned up. You've been given an appointment with the Grand Marshall of the Sons and his favorite interrogator. But don't worry; your status has been changed to political prisoner. You won't be hurt... too bad, anyway."

When Tom got them all up, he told them not to say a word. Silently they walked into the hall, where they were not cuffed nor linked together. An escort of five Sons of Man had come to greet them, and were standing just outside the hall. As they trudged past the large iron doors, Tom's mind wandered to his friends. The lack of anything but a tiny slot for the guards to peer in kept Tom from seeing anything; and so he asked. "What of my friends? The ones you arrested with me."

The Son of Man at the head of the small pack answered. "The Gnomish Council is currently arranging a deal to have you all released. They are claiming self defense on your part; I saw what happened in that courtyard and they are -for the most part- correct. You will be released; possibly charged a small fine for disturbing the peace or something of that sort. You four, on the other hand, get released today. We're to escort you to the Grand Marshall's office. If things go as we think they will in there, you will be escorted to the court of King Vassignar himself. You must be some special group to recieve that kind of attention."

"You could say that, yeah," was Tom's reply. They marched on through the prison complex and then the headquarters of the Sons of Man until the carved, figured, gargantuan mahogany doors of the Grand Marshall's office stood in their way. The knock of the escort seemed to disappear into the vastness of the slab of wood until a clunk sounded and the doors slowly began to open. There was no guard on the other side and the escort would not cross into the room.

The wastefulness of man is impressive. Quite the lavish office - or library. I'm not sure where the line is drawn here. And the keyless, handless, mechanized doors are curious. This is where they interrogate all of their political prisoners? Interesting.

===


"You mean to tell me that you are a runaway heir to a militarily powerful kingdom turned ruthlessly efficient mercenary turned born again right-doer turned traveller turned reclaimer of his own throne, who had a hand in both the assassination of Winter Vayu and the taming of the Vyre? What proof do you bring of this?" The large man had turned red in the face (a combination of embarrassment, with some anger, and a tiny bit of jealousy) sitting behind his large desk in his large room with large doors. Tom's chair was also unusually large.

Calmly, cooly, with nothing to hide and such little effort in it, Tom gave his reply. "Yes. That is correct. I can't really give you any proof beyond my birth name, which I'm sure you can cross-reference, and a sign."

"Then I shall have both."

Tom looked straight at the large man. "My name is Rethalar Aelferion Soulfyre Daggerweave. I am the inheritor to the Deathknelven throne. This is my proof." With not so much as a blink, Tom produced a flaming crown on the top of large man's desk. It was about six inches round and four high and burned with no heat nor did it leave any scorching marks on large man's desk. A small man emerged from one of the rows of books; which were apparently all records of all the information the Sons of Man could gather. "Sir Grand Marshall sir, Rethalar Aelferion Soulfyre Daggerweave is the name belonging to the oldest son of Aelferion Daggerweave, last king of Shadowfang Keep and by that right the whole of Feruila. Aelferion disappeared decades ago on some quest he was on; the Council of the deathknelven gods determined that Rethalar would be the heir to the throne in that case - note that this was after the raizing of Shadowfang Keep, so the population was being dispersed in major cities throughout Arsencia..."

Big man interrupted. "Thank you squire. Please be ready to fetch any other information I need. As for you, Tom Joad, or Rethalar"
"- I prefer Tom -"
"Very well then, Tom, I'm done with you here. Your escort will be waiting for you outside the door in approximately twenty minutes with your weapons and a fresh set of clothes which you shall all find acceptable. You will be meeting with King Vassignar after you prepare in the private quaters currently being set up for you."

===


Tom's room was actually closer to what someone would call a house; with the exception that it was inside of a building. It had all the amenities of a house, and a bedroom and bathroom for each of the four deathknelve. There was no kitchen, food was delivered to the door, but there was a study full of assorted books and volumes. Each member had a fresh set of clothes waiting for them on their bed, and there was hot water in the bathtub. They bathed and reclothed themselves in the silken articles given to them by the Sons of Man, and were ready to go in a relatively short time. Tom's items were a sheen white with purple deatils; the others', a khaki color.

This time the Sons of Man marched behind the party of four. They walked from the building which housed their house, over a short distance, and into the great marble building which Tom presumed belonged to King Vassignar himself. The floors were brilliantly polished marble with a stip of red carpet. The wood details were all beautifully figured and lacquered, polished to perfection. Statues occupied spaces on either side of the hall and a small courtyard was visible in the middle of the building. But the throne room was the only stop that the small procession made. Once again, the doors were intricately carved and decorated, but this time, a personal guard waited outside for the party. Without a sound, they parted shoulders, grabbed the massive handles on the massive doors, and gave a tug. The Sons of Man stopped outside the door and waited until the four deathknelve were inside before turning their backs as the door closed without a sound.

===


"Shall I call you Prince Rethalar or King Rethalar? You perdicament is quite interesting. I'm not quite sure how to address you."
"Your Majesty, it does not matter to me. I will be king, one way or another, it is just a matter of time."
"In that case, I will address you as if you were the true leader of your people, King Rethalar. Now. We have business to attend to."
"And what is this business?"

The two sat across from one another at a massive table. Tom's three guards waited in the corner of the room, in a small sitting area. Vassignar had a similar assortment in the opposite corner. Food had been brought out and tested, but neither were eating. The guards munched on assorted items in their corners.

"The Sons of Man have been arming themselves. Strengthening their numbers in the recent weeks, and with good reason. Initial reports weren't terrible, but recent news has swayed me. Hence why you are here."
"Yes...?"
"The paladins. They've been reassembled by a Cold Wind fellow. And are marching towards us at the moment. I've had some agents infiltrate their ranks and their plan is to take the Maughold back by the equinox. Which gives us less than three weeks to prepare. At the moment we're bringing in as many supplies as we can and stockpiling it. Our mages are fairly proficient" - and he took a bite of a piece of meat, tender and juicy - "and have begun preservation spells on the stockpile, but I don't know how long the inevitable seige will last and I wonder if we'll be able to make it. Yes, we've got a great set of defenses but we're talking about a huge force coming from all directions. We're going to be quite literally surrounded. Which is where you come in, my fellow Majesty."
"And what do you have in mind?"
"The Sons of Man - and thereby myself - understand that you currently control a fairly decent force yourself, with help from your Council. A force big enough to put the rebuilt Shadowfang Keep under seige, break their defenses, and seize the throne. A force big enough to clear a swath through the Paladin seige, reach the inner ring, and reinforce our defenses; and that's keeping a reserve army large enouigh to seige the Keep in Feruila. Given the military history and the ruthless combat efficiency of the deathknelve, I'm asking a favor."
"You want me to contact my Council and mobilize half my army in order to keep the Maughold from falling to the Palatinate again?"
"That is correct."
"What's in this for myself and my people? And I understand that their are casualties in war but I have an agenda of my own. An agenda which involves an army at full strenght."
"By stopping the Palatinate here, you'll keep them from spreading. This is a chance to stop the Palatinate once and for all. They'll take over the other human kingdoms after mine otherwise, and then march for the other powers. Your newly established kingdom being one. I'll replace every single casualty your army suffers with a man of my own, and come your reinstatement to the throne, we shall be great allies and trading partners. A treaty to make it all official, and all that. In fact, I'll go one step further. I'll replenish your army, and then give you regiments of my own to march to Shadowfang Keep; so long as you help me stop the paladins."
"Very well. This suits me decently. And my friends in prison?"
"The gnomes have had them freed. I shall pardon them personally. I feel that this is more than a fair deal to you."
"And I agree. In that case, I suppose we have a deal. Give me a few hours to communicate with the council and my army shall march. There is a chance that they will make it before the actual seige occurs, but in the event that it does not, what direction would you prefer they come from?"
"The north gate. The paladin regiment marching from that direction seems to be the smallest; coincidentally, our north gate is the smallest and least accessible gate. Thank you for you aid good sir. You won't forget it."

The two stood up from the table, and shook hands to confirm it. Vassignar gathered his guards, and marched out of the room to make more war preparations. Before finally leaving, he turned back to Tom. "You have two hours to meet me back here to share the news. Afterwards, you will be escorted to the Gnomish Council. Your presence has been requested there; you're going back to your friends."

Tom had time to reply with "Very good, King Vassignar," before the man was off again. His four guards gathered around him, and the four set off to the nearest temple to get in communication with the Council.

===


"You want us to what?"
"I want about half the army to march to the Maughold. Starting tomorrow. If you can get them here before the equinox, then perfect. But if not, then descend on the north gate and engage the paladins from behind."
"Do we have any choice in this? And what of using the army to take your throne back?"
"You do not have any choice. I've already reached an accord with King Vassignar and I'm expected to report back to him in two hours. He's promised to replenish our army and then place one or two regiments of his under my command."
"Very well then. We will assemble the toops and we will be marching by tomorrow at sunrise."
The High Preistess of Vala'ai's voice broke through, crystal clear to Tom and contrasting against the cool voice of the High Preistess of Feruilen, who led the council.
"Rethalar, I'm marching out tonight, with a small regiment of my hand selected guard. We're mounted and ready to go at just about any moment, so we should be there well before the equinox. Stay safe until then."
"Thank you, all. I'll see you in a few weeks."

===


"King Vassignar, it is done. My army marches tomorrow morning. A small set of soldiers is mounted and moving tonight, with the High Preistess of Vala'ai. What shall you have me do now?"
"Thank you, King Tom. Get to the Gnomish Council. They are wondering where you are."
"Yes. We will be in contact?"
"Yes."

Edited by Vortigern, 13 February 2010 - 12:52 PM.

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If you meet me:

Have some courtesy,

Have some sympathy,

And some taste.

Use all your well-learned politesse,

Or I'll lay your soul to waste.


#71 Vortigern

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Posted 09 January 2010 - 12:13 AM

Rosy-fingered dawn broke over the Maughold, spreading her warm rays over the sleepless citadel. Throughout the fortress fear spurred men on through the night as so many realised that a siege was now inevitable. War had returned to Envael, in the name of the Light, though whose side the source of all things would take remained to be seen. Hammers pounded, forges bellowed, casks hissed as white-hot blades were plunged into the water to cool the steel. The citizenry of the Maughold was arming itself in preparation for the coming conflict, and was taking no prisoners.

The Sons of Man marched in troops up and down the city, inciting the people to arms, rousing the rabble with fine words and fine cloaks; not that the people needed it. Their homes were under threat and, if the Paladins seized the Maughold once more, the cruelty and havoc of life under their rule would once again blight the subjects of Vassingar. Golden shields and breastplates glittering in the morning sun, the Sons of Man found the streets before them strewn with white roses, the flower that adorned the flag of Envael. Children marched along behind them, deadly serious with sticks held high in crude imitation of the blazoned soldiery. Some of the soldiers enjoyed their moment of appreciation, hoisting the young pretenders to their shoulders and parading them high through the streets before sending them scurrying back to their mothers.

The city gates were closed for the first time in more than two hundred years in preparation for the approaching armies. Atop the walls those of the Sons of Man who did not roam the roads and alleyways of the Hold waited watchfully for the first sign of the approaching Whitecloaks, making sure their crimson-and-gold cloaks, similarly embroidered with the white rose of Envael, flew proud in the breeze. Slowly the mighty gates creaked open, ever so slightly, to allow in the trickle of visitors that had been delayed or had simply found themselves without the protection of the walls come nightfall. Among those struggling for a berth in the relative safety of the citadel were Theria and Essika.

"We made it," murmured Essika to Theria as they gently spurred their horses through the gate. "How do we go about finding your friends now?"

"We find a gnome. One of the magical ones."

"There are magical gnomes now?" wondered Essika. "I guess it's a different world this far down south." Theria cast around, searching for one of the diminutive figures, by their very nature difficult to spot, but her quest was cut short by a clarion call from a wall far above them, some way up the mountainside, echoed by the walls all around the fortress.

"All right, women and children to the under-city!" shouted one of the gold-and-scarlet-clad warriors, ushering the scared and confused peasantry towards the gateways that would take them out of range of the battle that would be raging above them. A soldier gave Theria's horse a slap, pushing it along with the throng of the weak, but Theria reined the beast in, grabbing the soldier as she did so.

"You. Take me and my companion here-" she indicated Essika with a loose wave. "-to see the gnomes if they're still in charge, whoever else is if they're not." The soldier tried to pull away but found Essika had manoeuvred his horse to block his path.

"Obey the elf, lad," he advised, eyes glinting steel at the prospect of combat.

* * * * * * * * *

"Call them in, Winter," ordered the man in black, sitting as lazily as ever in the saddle, somehow managing to slouch in a seat with nothing to lean on. Vayu wondered just how uncomfortable the man must be making himself just to appear relaxed. Probably not very, he reflected. His magic is almost as strong as my own. There's probably something going on there.

Turning to face the man, Vayu nodded once and grabbed his hand, reeling in their combined magical strength and shouting out his orders for the world to hear.

MELDS! his mind roared, the words echoing across the vast infinity of space and the void in which his consciousness currently resided. COME TO ME, MY CREATIONS! For the past two weeks Vayu had gently influenced the thoughts of every meld he had ever made - those that survived, at least - drawing them in the direction of the Maughold.

His combined forces would number eight thousand Paladins, four thousand mercenaries and two thousand melds. The professional soldiers in the Maughold numbered no more than five thousand, including the mercenaries that had not signed up for his side. The single paltry legion of the Sons of Man would be no match for his Paladins or for his melds, though he still had his reservations about the mercenaries. The Variag were ruthless to perfection, but wild and untamable in combat. The Valentine Pikemen were extremely well-organised, but their potential in a siege was limited, given how little cavalry would be in use. Vayu's highest hopes lay in the hooded Drow and Deathknelf, nearly a thousand in total. The Drow were outcasts wherever they went, and once Vayu had explained how Rethalar Daggerweave would be fighting inside the Maughold, the rogue Deathknelf had been only too happy to be given a chance to put a blade through his spine. Idly Vayu hoped one of them would succeed. He had never liked the one calling himself Tom Joad. Too pretentious. Sure, he's a fine swordsman and a natural leader, but so much angst. Just relax once in a while, he thought.

A colossal psychic echo reverberated through the ether as the melds replied, howling in unison across Arsencia, or more specifically, the thirty miles or so around the Maughold.

"Let's get this party started," chuckled Winter Vayu, servant of evil and bringer of darkness.

* * * * * * * * *

All across the Maughold the gnomes fell to the ground, clutching their heads and moaning. The noise of the melds had smashed through their collective consciousness, driving them all into horrendous pain. Shava struggled to her knees and reached out, doing her best to reestablish contact. Mind sending out tentative tendrils, Shava encountered something familiar, something calm and strong. Theria?

She pushed herself upright, parting the ocean of tall folk between her and the consciousness she had thought lost to her back in that accursed village.

"Shava!" cried Theria, spotting the easily recognisable, if minuscule, figure of her friend. She climbed down from her saddle to embrace the gnomess.

"The melds are coming," whispered Shava. "And the gnomes are down." And she fainted dead away. Paling slightly, Theria nonetheless stooped to lift her friend and place her in the saddle in front of her.

"Essi, we have to find the others." The moment she turned around a commanding voice barked out at the street around her.

"All able-bodied men are to arm themselves and proceed to the second wall. The city is at war!"






((So it begins! There will be ladders, and towers, and a badass battering ram for the gates, and Winter Vayu and his cabal hurling magic around, and all the mercenaries and Paladins I mentioned above. I hope you're all ready for some fight scenes, because all we've got coming up in the immediate future. :lol: Oh yeah, and all the gnomes are unconscious, so communications are down across the Maughold. How's that for tactics?))
I hope I am a good enough writer that some day dwarves kill me and drink my blood for wisdom.

#72 Copaman

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Posted 09 January 2010 - 03:12 PM

Tom marched at the helm of his own small battalion, along with Elien, Erys, Renaliae, and the High Priestess Arestal. Behind them were a rank and file of one hundred highly trained deathknelve, dressed according to combat style. Notably missing from the procession were any Behemoths or Shadowblade Weavers; they would be on the other side of the walls, along with their ragtag loyalist comrades. The Fighters all lined the outside of the formation, with the whisperblades at their backs. Protected deep within the ranks were the soulfyre weavers, whose abilities to kill from a distance were needed. The High Priestess had not brought any Rangers in her personal guard; she felt they were not the sort favored by Vala'ai.

At once, the marching group came to a complete stop with the call to arms. Before setting out to find where they would be of most use, they marched to King Vassignar's position deep within the keep - Tom took his orders directly from him.

"King Vassignar, where would you like my - excuse me, our (to include the High Priestess) - troops to station?"
"Personally, I would prefer if you stayed with me, in the vaulted chamber, but I don't believe that you would be one to agree with that."
"You are correct. My place is in battle. My friends are out there; I can't just let them fight by themselves."
"In that case, I shall put you inside the second ring, on the ground. Please understand that if the first wall does fall, you're going to have to deal with urban combat, not wide open fields. But given your history, I don't think you will personally find that to be a problem. Nor will the whisperblades accompanying you. No?"
"Again, good sir, you are correct. Where inside the second ring?"
"I'd like to have you a few hundred meters behind the north gate. I've stationed a fairly large battalion along a path leading directly from your position to the east gate, for when your army arrives. Here, have a look;" King Vassignar motioned to the top of a great table he was sitting at. With a long pointed stick, he indicated directly where Tom and his forces would be - Tom could see faint numbers across the board, presumably the number of troops stationed at a given location. "Your friends have been found and those who wish to join the combat have been moved to your position at the north gate. Captain Darius has been told to answer to you; his regiment has been moved to your vicinity. I expect the largest force to attack at the north gate. We need the best help we can get there."
"I understand, sir. I'll see you when this is over."

And they marched.

===


At the small intersection just behind the colossus of the second northern gate, the hundred deathknelve sharpened their weapons and worked on their technique, sliver armor glistening in the sun. The four at the head of the column stood, weapons drawn, waiting for the first thing to get over the second wall.

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If you meet me:

Have some courtesy,

Have some sympathy,

And some taste.

Use all your well-learned politesse,

Or I'll lay your soul to waste.


#73 mike_

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Posted 10 January 2010 - 04:08 AM

Morion stood at a table, resting his knuckles on the hard oaken surface. Murad and Maximilian stood on two other sides of the square table, looking at a map of the Maughold. The three had insisted on taking command of the North Gate, from which the Paladin army was expected to launch its main assault, using their combined credentials and connections in the political arenas to coerce the King's marshals in granting them to post of leadership.

Maximilian muttered, "Ja ... Wir sind gegen einen Stein ... und ein Fels." Yes... We are against a rock... and a rock.

"Quite." Murad toned laconically.

Morion nodded his quiet agreement. They'd done much to secure the governing of the defense of the North Gate, not without more than a little aid from the Hashid; several of whom were also in the room, albeit unseen, their malevolent presence ambient in the candlelight.

Clearing his throat, Morion addressed Murad. "Brother; how do you plan to place your Men?"

"I intend to have the archers upon the walls, of course. They will stand one man for every length of an arrow; he will be responsible for holding that space. If each might hold, then all will hold. This is simple enough."

"And your mages?"

"They will work from behind the wall, using youths from the city as runners to give them targets to work their magics upon. Is this as suitable to your eye as it is to mine?"

Morion thought for a moment. Displacing the mages like that would limit their use in picking their own targets. However, having them safe behind the wall would protect them from wanton darts and allow them more time to prepare their magics, presumably giving them more power once unleashed. Yes; this would be fine. Morion said so.

A thought struck him. "What of your infantrymen?"

"They will be split into six groups, each led by one of my honored captains. Four groups are stationed on the walls, and one each on the flanks of the Gate. When it comes down, they will aid the pike," he somehow placed a sense of import on the word, obviously signifying it to mean Maximilian's Men, "in holding it against the Whitecloaks."

"Sounds good to me."

The words had hardly left Morion's mouth when there was a knock at the door, and harsh shouting. One of Maximilian's captains opened the door and said, "Lord Morion, you have a visitor."

Morion was in surprise more from the honorific (it being customary to name the commanding officer as Lord, despite his not having the birthright to it) than the message itself. He then replied, "Well, let them in. I'm sure it's someone important."

"It is, Lord, but... there is an issue."

"And what is that?"

"The Man is a Variag."

Silence reigned over the tavern that was serving as Morion's command post. Murad lifted his strangely-curved axe from the floor; Maximilian placed a hand weightily on the shortsword at his belt.

"That is indeed an issue."

"Orders, Lord?"

"As I said, send him in. I'm sure we're capable of handling him if he decides to turn violent." A thought hit him. "Did he name himself?"

"He did."

"And what was this name?"

"Harald Hardrada."

--------

Harald Hardrada turned out to be a massive specimen of a Man; his hair was a dirty blonde, braided with beads of glass, silver and even a few of stone. He was girt with a single-bladed long knife worn across his groin, and two slashing swords that were barely shorter than Morion's own broadsword on each hip. A pair baldrics held them in place, crossing in an 'x' across his bare chest. A massive two-handed, bearded axe was strung over his back and several curved throwing axes hung from the leather baldrics that doubled as bandoleers.He wore loose leather trousers, though bands of iron were strapped horizontally up and down his legs. Silver bands embossed with runes were on his forearms. Strangely, he did not wear a shirt of maille-coats as most Variags did; instead a complex network of blue runes was tattooed all over his bare chest and arms. Morion recognized several as seals of protection from heat, cold, and stroke of sword. It must have cost someone's fortune for this warrior to obtain such excellent protection.

Harald stepped through the open doorway, shutting it behind him. He then stood off from the three Men, a huge, silent mountain of a Man.

None of the four deigned to begin conversation. Harald sighed, then reached for his swords. Morion, Maximilian, and Murad each twitched in unison, and several shadows in the room became openly hostile-looking. However, the big Man removed them, then his axes and finally his long dagger and set them aside, out of easy reach.

He cleared his throat and said in a deep, booming voice, "I come to talk. I come to arrange an alliance, if you will."

Morion's eyebrows shot up. That was a surprise. He said, "This is a surprise. Just days ago I was attacked by some of your kin."

"I assure you, Morion, those Men were not my kin." He smiled grimly. "My kin would have left you unable to stand here. And for that I come offering aid.

"My brother, the self-titled Olaf the Holy, is both a Variag in blood and a Paladin in heart. He despises me and all swords for hire; merchants of death, he calls us, but if that is so then what is he?" Morion nodded and motioned for Harald to continue.

"The liar has declared war on me and mine, Morion. He deludes and believes himself to be a very King of the North; he will kill me and mine. And then you. Or before. But, if you will have our aid, then I and my Variags still loyal to the firstborn Son of Godwin will fight by your side and at your orders."

Morion thought hard on this, then replied, "Very well. Welcome to the party, Harald Hardrada."

#74 {IRS}Athos

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Posted 10 January 2010 - 02:46 PM

Rindar awoke with a groan, surveying the room he was in through bleary eyes. He took in the simple furnishings of the inn, as well as a makeshift bed on the floor where Byron was still sleeping. He had an unholy headache, and he said as much in a loud voice. Byron stirred.

"Nice of you to tell me."

"Sorry," said Rindar, rubbing his head. "I only had... three... mugs. Shouldn't have been that bad."

"When I found you, you were sitting in the middle of the street, telling a very angry merchant that elves don't make carpets."

Rindar winced. "Oh." He got up and stretched. "Sorry I made you sleep on the floor."

"Astariel offered you her room, but I told her that wouldn't be the best idea."

Rindar's curiousity was piqued. "And why would that be?"

"Well, I... um..."

Byron was spared the indignity of answering, as an armored Astariel entered the room. "The enemy is here!" she cried, then turned and ran off.

"So, why would--"

"No time," said Byron with relief. "Arm up, and let's get to the walls." Ten minutes later they took their positions among Murad's men on the walltops. The battle was about to begin.

Edited by mike_, 10 January 2010 - 07:45 PM.

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#75 some_weirdGuy

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Posted 14 January 2010 - 07:10 AM

Everyone was tense. Defenders all held position ready for the coming attack.

Zhar however was not sure what Vayu would do. The call to his Melds had gone out a while ago now, and he had watched as the Gnomes dropped like flies. Not dead, unfortunately, but out of action all the same. As he recalled some of the commanders were a bit distressed about that. They were relying on the gnomes method of communication to help coordinate the defense, and Vayu had thwarted that plan in one fell swoop.

Zhar knew Vayu intended to use the melds, he had not forgotten how fearsome they were, although he wondered what the gift of sentience did to them, how it changed them. Obviously Vayu still had sway over them, but did he call to arms mean he would wait till they arrived, or would he attack now, to be later reinforced by the hybrid creatures?

No matter. Zhar found himself enjoying the prospect of death that hung over the castle, either way he would get what he wanted, and the odds seemed to be in Vayu's favor. Perhaps he should just wait in Vayu's palace for when the paladin reclaimed his old home, step out and kill him in his sleep.

Vhy not 'ave a little Vun(fun)? asked the Transylvanian* accented voice in his mind
Zis is a game of strategy, a vatch(match) of vits(wits). Either vay ve vill kill Vayu, vhy not take zis opportunity to thwart his 'ard vork, before taking 'is life avay...
Thou art devious, To thwart his most hard-worked upon plans, before we taketh his very life, doth have appeal. However, thy runeth the risk that, thwarted thus, Vayu may well flee, and thou wilt loseth this most ripe of opportunities...
"Yes, it would be satisfying to ruin all his carefully laid plans... However, it is as you as" rubbing his chin thoughfully
Ruin planssss, then ensssssure cassstlesss defhhhheat. Rasped the serpentine voice,
"Yes, i could do that, couldn't i? rile the defenses and bring destruction to all but a minute fraction of his army, then when all looks lost, turn the tables and ensure his victory. Then even as i planned before, wait till he comes strutting in like the arrogant peacock that he is, and as he settles in for a cosy night sleep in his prized palace, carve his blackened heart out! Oh the look on his face. I will make sure to keep him alive just long enough to know that he only succeed because i allowed it, to see the light of realisation in his eyes as he finally pieces together the deadly trap i laid for him, and then in that moment know that he was being played for a fool all along."
Yesssssss, sssssatissssfaction will be ssszhars...
"Satisfaction indeed" rasped Zhar, a dark gleam in his eyes as he headed for the temple where the main force of the magi organising the Maugholds magical defenses even now made preparations and plans. The military fighters were only a side note in this battle, Zhar knew everything would be won or lost in that temple, as if their magical defenses crumbled then their physical ones would shortly follow.

*((i know transylvania doesn't exsist in Arsenica, but im using it as a descriptive word, to describe the accent, so yeah))

Edited by some_weirdGuy, 14 January 2010 - 07:15 AM.

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#76 mike_

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Posted 14 January 2010 - 11:02 PM

"To the walls!"

This cry rang out far and wide inside the Maughold. The Sons of Man led the rally, calling for the citizens of the city to stand and fight for their independence of the Palatinate. Many answered, taking up their arms - whether they were hunting bows, tools of trade ranging from smith's hammers or farmer's sickles - and following the gold-clad soldiers of the King to the walls.

The pike-bearing soldiers of Maximilian, joined with the many other factions of mercenaries in gear and bearing quite similar to them, were massed before the North Gate, which the army of Winter Vayu was focusing its attack on. The pikemen numbered somewhere around two thousand in all - Harald's force of fifteen hundred Varangians were focused directly in front of and among their fellow mercenaries, chanting a haunting death-song in their harsh Northern tongue. Murad's archers and infantrymen were of like number to the assembled pikemen, lining the walls and taking position to flank the Gate. The Sons of Man led the city's muster, reinforcing the Men on the walls and securing the other Gates against assault.

Morion ran through the torch-lined streets, his captains and their aides among them. He'd chosen to leave his normal equipment and clothing at the tavern, and now wore true gear of war. He was garbed in a knee-length tunic of double-layered chainmaille, which was enchanted to seal into a single unbroken seam when he stood straight and tall but to separate flawlessly when he was moving. King Vassinger's armourers had been generous. He also had on a helmet of the Varangian style, four-sided with eye cutouts lined with steel. His knives were belted at the waist, except for the one in his boot, and Morion had chosen to strap his sword on over his back to keep the sheath from being more of an encumbrance than necessary. Steel greaves protected his shins and knees, and gauntlets of similar make were on his forearms. He'd finally linked up with Rom, who had found almost two-dozen other Minotaur throughout the Maughold, whom he'd talked into functioning as Morion's bodyguards during the coming battle.

Maximilian and his lieutenants, Wilhelm, Rolf, Gregor, and Pier, each had their Beidhanders or halberds, as well as full suits of plate-armour and close-faced helmets. Murad and his chief Men, Chaptul, Anton, Mahmud, and Vladad, wore a strange corset of leather bands reinforced with foreign figures that seemed to shift and turn in the torchlight. They also bore shields made from single slabs of iron painted with circling figures not unlike those on their corsets, and leather helms plumed with tall feathers. Lastly, Harald and his sons, Steapa, Ragnar, Olaf, and one known only as Bluetooth, all wore chainmaille, even Harald, and iron bands tied around the back of their necks, forearms, and lower legs. These they said would turn aside any surprise axe blows they would not be quick enough to avoid. Morion had finally linked up with Rom, who had gathered nearly two dozen Minotaur, one of whom was an old campaigner named Belisarius, throughout the Maughold, and who now agreed to serve as Morion's bodyguards in the coming battle. They formed a tight circle around the group, keeping pace and obscuring them from view from the outside.

Several shadows bounded across the rooftops; Morion and the others had no confusion as to what they were. The Hashid were on the hunt, and had been - none of the rogue Paladins inside the Maughold had been seen or heard of since war had been openly proclaimed.

Morion spoke as they moved through the Maughold towards the Gate. "I'm sure you all know the plan of their attack. But let's just make sure we're all on the same page before we split up."

"Of course." Murad and Harald had spoken at the same time, though neither commented on it. Maximilian said nothing - evidently, he'd been away from the killing fields longer than he cared to admit.

"Each of you has four aides. You have each been given five Glyphs of Sense - one for yourself and each of your aides. Each set is tuned to its mates, which we will use to communicate among ourselves. You will send one of your lieutenants with each of us; I will take Pier, Anton, and Steapa. You can decide the rest.

"Right. As with any siege, which I know at least three of us have participated in four of, the opposing force will begin its attack with a barrage of catapult- and magic-thrown stones, as well as direct energy blasts hurled by their mages. This will be used to soften up the defenses, make holes in the defenders on the walls, or the walls themselves, and to distract the commanders while their archers and infantry move forward.

"We've had some of Murad's mages place illusions of entire regiments on empty spaces along the walls to draw fire there, while real defenders placed alongside them will draw the approaching soldiers into a crossfire. Hopefully the illusion will hold long enough to get the greatest effect.

"Our own mages and siege weapons are behind the walls, as planned earlier. I would have preferred to use the Gnomes to spot them, but that isn't really possible with them all unconscious."

The command party made it to the rear of the pike-block. The sun was beginning to set, and the first flaming projectiles were beginning to fall on the defenders.

Morion stopped and stared, then whispered to himself, "Well. I hope we're ready."

Edited by mike_, 15 January 2010 - 12:05 AM.


#77 {IRS}Athos

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Posted 15 January 2010 - 12:21 AM

Astariel watched the shadows on the rooftops through slitted eyes, and murmured to Ashling, who was standing beside her. "I don't know about you, but I feel somewhat remorseful knowing that my former brothers and sisters met their demise at the blades of those..."--she groped vaguely for a word--"assassins."

Further down the wall, Rindar tested the string of Anar's bow for the twelfth time. Byron punched him on the shoulder in a friendly manner. "Not frightened, are you?" he asked in as light a tone as he could manage.

"No. You?"

"Not for myself," said Byron, looking further down the wall to where Astariel was standing. He was afraid that the former Paladin's taste for mercy would serve her badly during the fight that was to come. He truly did not worry for himself; due to the generosity of the Sons of Man, he was better equipped than he had ever been. His worn old fighting knives were sheathed across his back, and a short sword hung at his side. From his relaxed left fist hung a morning star: a weapon similar to the bolas he had been so skilled with in his days as a robber. A hand crossbow was in the other hand, and a quiver of bolts at his side. A light helm and a knee-length chain shirt completed the martial picture. Byron had never felt so powerful in his whole life.

He would need that power. The Paladins were beginning their advance. Catapults creaked forward, throwing their stony burdens at the walls. Although the walls of the hold were impenetrable, they caused massive destruction of the buildings behind. Some skimmed over the tops of the wall, sending men falling screaming to the ground a hundred feet below. Close on the heels of the catapult rocks came the massive boulders of the trebuchets. Men ducked in vain: the ramparts, steady as they were, were beginning to feel the strain of constant bombardment.

The battle had begun.

((Hope you don't mind me getting the battle proper started...))
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#78 some_weirdGuy

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Posted 15 January 2010 - 01:46 AM

The royal palace stood at the peak of the mountain fortress known as the maughold. While its towering layout made it good for defending against troops, it also meant that the enemy catapults could be set to attack nearly any of the walls at any given time, as indeed the next wall towered over the preceding one, allowing archers and mages to wreak havoc on the enemy, even when they took the previous wall, but also exposing it to a far flung projectiles of the catapults.

The walls had been enchanted, however the enchantments were old and even now Zhar could feel the ebb of energy as magi stood in what most assumed to be watchtowers along the walls, but where actually 'magic hubs' where magi could be positioned to spread their energy along the walls, reinforcing its magical protection, or attacking from these higher vantage points.

The Temple Zhar was heading towards was adjoining the Royal palace, and Zhar could feel more than see the domed barrier of magic that protected the high palace. Indeed one of these 'magic hubs' hat atop the highest point on the palace and Zhar knew that magi had been positioned at this point to defend.

He looked out as another projectile sailed overhead. However, this one was met with a large burst of fire, causing both to explode harmlessly overhead, instead of striking the town buildings between the walls.

---
"We must extend the barriers on the walls to encompass the buildings in the ground between the walls" said the soft spoken Heilium
"While the walls themselves are protected, the structures are not. Some of Vayu's projectiles are arching up steeply to come crashing down on the ground between the walls, rather then on the walls themselves. I thank the light that the citizenry are safely below ground and not out in the open."
"I too share your sentiments, my son" replied elder Dorion, head bowed "but your bothers are hard pressed recharging the walls latent magical barriers. They have been drained over the years, Vayu knows this, as indeed he was at the very least partially responsible. He knows where the barriers are at their weakest, and strikes at these points with great accuracy"
"It is even as you say, but if we do not then the people will have no home to return to, even if we hold. Vayu strikes out maliciously, as this destruction of the homes between the walls grants no benefits in his war effort."
"perhaps, if our fellow scholars of the arcane can keep the pressure off our brothers charging the barriers, they may be able to bring them up to sustainable levels and then concentrate their efforts elsewhere. I will commune with them and see what we can do, but i fear that even as we they are hard pressed to fulfill their own duties in this siege" Elder Dorion closed his eyes, seeking communion with the other mage groups in the maughold.

"We will just have to prey that the light of all things will guide us" whispered Heilium.

--------
((this was sorta a more descriptive post, to help remind people what the maughold looks like a bit, and some of the other stuff about the mages on our side. So, there are a couple of mage groups in the maughold, not really big orders, as while Vayu was in control he would not have allowed other mages in besides his own paladins, so these are just the few who have come since his fall. These guys are white magi, and have elected to hold the magical barriers, they won't attack as they feel all life is sacred and whatnot, but they will do their best to block attacks and magical infiltration, and even now hold a barrier that stops that paladins from seeing inside the maughold with their magic. The other mage groups however aren't all pacifists like these guys, as indeed those ones under the wall are out attacking, while others still engage in other more combat-oriented tasks.))

Edited by some_weirdGuy, 15 January 2010 - 01:51 AM.

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#79 Fire Ze Missiles!

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Posted 16 January 2010 - 03:31 PM

It had been a stroke of luck to come across the stables of the Imperial Couriers inside the city but Illyriel had taken full advantage of that fact. He charged through the streets of the Maughold on his commandeered horse, racing for the great wall. Illyriel's meeting with Tom Joad had had to be cut short due to the sudden attack but Illyriel was sure his plan was understood well enough. As Illyriel thundered down the deserted cobbled streets he began his song. It weaved with his breathing, a confident striding tune that slowly became words. By the time Illyriel reached and cantered up the stairs of the first wall his magic was cast.
A terracotta pot sailed through the air in front of the stairs, crashing against the ramparts and spewing forth a cascade of burning liquid on to the defending troops. The incendiary cut a swathe through them, not through death but fear. The onslaught of siege weapons against which they could not defend themselves was too much for the untrained militia and some began to turn and flee.
"Hold the line!" bellowed Illyriel, his voice amplified a hundred-fold by his magic charm. An aura of confidence and surety exuded from him into the minds of the hapless humans and they could do nought but obey him.
"You will stand and fight! You will protect your wives and daughters! You will make this city proud of you! Now stand!"
The men rallied, drawn by the magic of Illyriel's words. A cheer rose through them which quickly became a taunt to the forces outside. Illyriel nodded and rode further along the wall. He knew these men would hold themselves now and it was well this was so. Similar events were taking place across the walls - the magical shields were too strong for a conventional bombardment to be worth the time and commanding figures were rallying the troops all over. Vayu too could see this and the siege towers began to move.
Illyriel rode along the wide plateau of the Maughold's mighty fortifications towards the North gate where most of the towers would empty. Murad's archers opened fire as Illyriel arrived, their powerful bows reaping a notable toll on the mercenaries advancing forwards around the towers, ladders clutched like battle pendants. But their numbers seemed endless - whenever a unit seemed weak a battalion of Paladins would step in to take their place. The towers themselves were also almost impregnable - without counter-siege equipment the Maughold's defenders could do nothing but look on as they ground slowly forwards. One was brought down in a blazing inferno by a cascade of fireballs from Murad's magi's concentrated fire but there were many more still standing. "Brace yourselves!" Illyriel cried out, his voice still ringing with power and authority.
With a crash that shook the very wall, the hatches of the siege towers slammed down on the ramparts and the traitor Variags spilled forth onto the walls. The screaming warriors rolled over the militia like a wave up a beach - real combat was only joined as Murad and Maximilian's troops engaged them. Illyriel leapt off his nimble horse - it would be little use in a melee like this - and leapt into the fray. Almost immediately an axe swung for him full-force, crashing into the floor with a grating ring as Illyriel rolled to one side and thrust a blade upwards beneath the warrior's armour. Recovering his feet Illyriel fought over the man, a golden-armoured Son of Man shielding his left and a fierce easterner attacking on his right.

The Deathknelve king watched with narrowed eyes from the northern gate of the second wall. He was waiting for Illyriel's signal, although what that signal would be the silly bastard had neglected to mention. Tom sighed, longing for conflict but knowing his duty was simply to observe.
A flash caught his eye. Someone was reflecting light from a shield. The figure stood atop a siege tower on the left of the North Gate, waving his other arm frantically. Illyriel. Tom turned and gave his own signal to the Detahknelve assembled in the courtyard behind him and they immediately struck up singing. Tom's powerful voice joined them, channelling the song of his people. It was a battle song, a song of blood and death and fire. It emanated forth from the Deathknelve cohort, spreading across the city with an unstoppable force. It could be heard all along the first wall and beyond and it struck great emotion in all who heard it. In the friends of the King courage welled like a mountain spring where in his enemies anxiety and unease blanketed everything else.

Illyriel smiled as he heard the strange song flow across the battlefield and, throwing the stolen shield down on a Variag beneath him, leapt after it off the tower back into combat.


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#80 {IRS}Athos

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Posted 16 January 2010 - 03:51 PM

Although Byron's heart was strengthened by the song as he threw the top of a ladder over the edge into oblivion, Rindar froze in mid-draw, the arrow slipping from nerveless fingers. He remembered the blood-song: the Deathknelve had chanted one like it as they set flames to the trees of Ebonyharrow. Dropping his bow, he held his hands over his ears, groaning. The song whispered about him, now loud and strong, now soft and seductive.

Byron's morning star whizzed over Rindar's head, striking the mercenary who was about to stab him and smashing the man's shoulder to a pulp. The mercenary screamed, a scream that was drawn out as Byron's shoulder slammed into his chest, sending him toppling through a crenellation and over the wall. Byron dragged Rindar to his feet.

"Rindar! Pull yourself together!" he shouted over the roar of battle. Rindar was insensible, moaning softly.

"Anar... Tariel... Anar... Tariel..."

~~~

Further down the wall, Astariel wrestled with the mind of a mercenary at the base of a ladder. Seizing control, she directed him to hack at its base. One leg of the ladder snapped under the blows of the Variag's axe, and the ladder slid sideways, striking another, which set a chain reaction down the wall. Four ladders had fallen, and another had snapped in half, before the carnage was complete.

"I hate bloodshed," said Astariel passionately, surveying her handiwork with a slightly sick feeling.
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