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Chapter 3: Homecoming


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#41 Copaman

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Posted 28 November 2009 - 06:55 PM

Weeks passed as the small vessel moved along the shoreline. The first few days on board the boat were gloomy at best - every member of the rag tag crew had lost two companions, a loss which could not go unnoticed. However, as the boat drew nearer to the Maughold, everyone became more focused on the task at hand: final elimination of Winter Vayu.

==

As the small boat docked once again, the crew members lined up to get off the boat and onto solid ground once again. One by one, they hopped off the craft and made their way down the dock. "What now?" said an anonymous voice that Tom couldn't pinpoint to any particular person.

"We still have to take Vayu out. I'll find us a place to stay, and then we can head for the fortress in the morning."

==

With the deathknelven quarter burned to the ground after the exodus, Tom looked to the humans for lodging; it took several hours to find a place with enough room to house the rag tag group including two minotaurs, but he eventually found a place.

The innkeeper was monotonous and uninterested in everything but the nature of the group and the money behind it. "Yeah, we have room for you, but what kind of fucked up group are you leading? And how do you plan on paying board for all of you?" was the answer he had for Tom, who at this point had been through more than half of all inns in the predominantly human district.

"I'm not exactly leading it. I'm the one who volunteered to find us a place to stay. We're a group of travelers, just out to see the major cities of the world before we pass. And I think that I have enough to pay... wouldn't you say?"

The deathknelf lobbed a drawstring pouch of coins onto the counter, and let the innkeeper open it. He pulled out a few coins, examined them, poked around the rest of the pouch, and then shoved it into his apron. "Just a group of travelers my ass. Just don't cause a ruckus; I'd prefer if my inn was still standing after you all left."

"Don't worry. We're fairly polite," Tom replied with a smile as he walked out to find those who hadn't gone with him.

Posted Image

 

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.


#42 Vortigern

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Posted 28 November 2009 - 09:25 PM

Essika climbed unceremoniously down from his horse, surveying the dismal scene before him. An entire village, laid waste by bandits and... something. Right at the gate he could see a body, dead in no usual fashion. Blood had poured from the eyes and ears of the victim as well as the nose and mouth. Poking experimentally at the corpse with his sword, he wondered just what monster had committed these horrific acts. Behind him rode in the King's Guard, the policing force of Anvar, come to seek justice and deal retribution for grievances aired and crimes perpetrated.

Swords drawn, the uniformed contingent spread out through the remains of the village, looking for any evidence of guilt, or simply of presence. Essika looked around himself, curious more than infuriated as the guardsmen seemed to be, but nonetheless determined to find the source of these tribulations. Houses had burned to nothing, bodies lay strewn wherever he cast his eyes, the very air of the place tasted of ash, despair and death. More of the bodies dead from the curious affliction that had them streaming blood from every orifice lay here and there, though others had been decapitated, butchered, impaled, eviscerated... Essika struggled to think of a time when he had encountered a more gruesome scene than that which lay before him now.

"Sir!" came a call from the waterfront. Essika strode on down, leaving his mount in the capable hands of the few fortunate guardsmen not sifting through wreckage and spilled guts. The soldier who had summoned him stood by the jetties, the heavy wooden planks slick with gore. In the midst of it all lay a dwarf, claymore still in hand, pierced multiple times by crude weapons that lay around him, though the creatures that had once wielded them were nowhere to be seen.

"That's interesting," murmured Essika, peering down at the dwarf. "What was one of his kind doing in a village like this, armed and armoured as he is?" The guard at his side made to turn the body with his foot. As the face was revealed Essika's mind sounded a little bell of recognition, though the where and when eluded him. "Look for anything else that seems out of place. That'll be what we need." The soldier saluted and turned away, heading for the houses that still stood.

A shout attracted Essika's attention. A woman's voice, he thought, though he could not be sure. The river masked any detail of the sound and the returned shouts of his men further clamoured the air. He headed in the direction of the sound, but a moment later the source of the disturbance came to him, carried struggling in the arms of his soldiers. A woman, he confirmed, dirty and covered in blood. As the guards dragged her forward, she stumbled, and one leant down to lift her back up, but the woman smashed her elbow into the guard's face, sending him reeling back. The man's partner made a grab for her loose arm but she caught his hand, twisting his wrist and forcing him to the ground. At that point Essika thought it might be wise to intervene. He loped forward and seized the woman by her arm. She turned to face him and, with a start, Essika let go. Suddenly he realised where he knew the dead dwarf from.

"Theria?" She spat in his face and lashed out at his knee with her foot, catching him a sharp blow that knocked him off balance. She twisted away from him and began to run, feet slipping in the mud and blood that had soaked the earth. "Theria!" he shouted after her, but either she did not hear him or, more likely, she was in too frail a state of mind to recognise him as a friend.

She only made it a few yards before her leg gave way beneath her and she tumbled to the ground, letting out a howl of pain and fear. Essika ran to her, gently but firmly taking hold of her arms.

"Theria, it's me," he tried, hoping to crack through the shields her overwrought mind had erected to keep out the horror of her surroundings. "It's Essi, it's alright." He repeated the final part like a mantra, holding tight to her arms as she struggled, looking deep into her eyes for a sign of the elf he had once known, even the lady he had encountered so recently, different though she was to that with which he had once fallen in love. After a minute or so her struggles died away, her strength, both physical and mental, sapped from her body and mind. Then something in her eyes changed; she recognised him, and tears began to fall down the sides of her soot-blackened face. Essika lifted her gently, tenderly, into his arms and carried her away from the carnage.

* * * * * * * * * *

The unit's chirurgeon looked over Theria's wounds, examining the deep damage done to her leg, as she lay unconscious and unmoving on the grass outside the murdered village.

"She'll be alright," he informed Essika, hovering anxiously nearby while the physician tended to the patient. "She's suffered a great deal, so be careful with her, Captain." Essika nodded, sitting down by her side to wait for her to awaken. The soldiers at his command continued to look through the wreckage of the once-thriving riverside town, looking for survivors, corpses, anything. Essika had two of them bring out Bazric's body and lay it out on the grass near where Theria lay. He had known her once, and that elf would have wanted to pay her respects to a fallen comrade. He wondered how much she had changed.

As darkness began to fall over Anvar, the soldiers decamped and laid fires, knowing full well that their job here did not end until the facts of the slaughter had been ascertained. Finally Theria began to stir, hours having passed as she recuperated from the torment of the past few days. Essika was by her side as she opened her eyes.

"Hello, Essi," she whispered, pushing herself up into a sitting position. He smiled broadly, happy just to see her alive and, if not well, then at least not in any great suffering. For a while they made small talk, Essika subtly making certain that she was alright, and ready to talk to him.

"Theria," he said, eventually, the smile fading from his face. "I need you to tell me what happened here." He had expected tears, sadness, despair, but all he saw now was a fierce determination backlit by rage, a burning fury he had never seen before in her.

"Winter Vayu happened here," she spat, speaking as though the name alone was filth to her.

"Winter Vayu? The Paladin? The one who mysteriously disappeared last year, presumed dead?"

"He was dead. Now he's not. He's alive and he's powerful and he came after me and my friends." Essika raised an eyebrow.

"Why would he do that? What do you mean to him?"

"We killed him before. One of my companions cut his head off. And I think we're the only ones who know that he's back from the dead." Essika ran a hand through his beard, thinking over Theria's words.

"Promise me this is the truth," he ordered, looking her straight in the eye. She met his stare with conviction.

"Every word is true. He calls himself 'The Cold Wind' now, but he's the same man."

"The Cold Wind? The magus who's roping together what's left of the Palatinate?" Essika sighed. "I guess that's not surprising. So what's your next move?" Theria frowned, considering.

"I don't know," she eventually offered. "My friends all carried on towards the Maughold. They had to. All except..." She trailed off. Essika laid a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"We found your dwarf friend. The doctor's been patching him up before we bury him." He stood up and took her hand, leading her to where Bazric's body lay. Essika stepped away for a moment, giving Theria some time to say goodbye to her companion. When she stood up Essika noticed a small item on the dwarf's chest: a little tobacco pipe, the end heavily chewed, the wood aged and the bowl stained with the chemicals of the plant. No doubt it had been used a great deal.

"I have to carry on, Essi," said Theria. "I can't just let my friends face Vayu without me."

"I wish I could offer you my soldiers, Theria," he replied, with feeling. "But their authority ends at the border, and if Winter Vayu is in the Maughold there is little they could do. I, on the other hand..." He paused, sizing up the situation. "I can come with you. If everything is as you say it is, Vayu is a threat to us all. Besides, we can't have you off riding through these parts on your own and with a bad leg," he added, tone slightly more upbeat. "You wouldn't last five minutes." Theria smiled slightly. "My men will provide a proper burial for your friend here, and they can finish the clean-up for this place without me. You think you'll be alright to ride with your leg?" She nodded, seeming just happy to have some company for the road ahead.

"We'd best get started, then," she said. Essika smiled. That was more like the Theria he remembered.





((Essika's back! And in on the mission! Yeah, we'll be on your tail, so my advice to you is this: go hang out with the Maughold gnomes for a bit and do some recon. Your forces are somewhat depleted, after all. Perhaps some alliances could be forged?))
I hope I am a good enough writer that some day dwarves kill me and drink my blood for wisdom.

#43 Fire Ze Missiles!

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Posted 29 November 2009 - 11:13 PM

((Yet again, apologies for the extended inaction on my part. RL is, as we all know, a bitch. Anyway, go fight scene!))

Illyriel couldn't help but think of the last time he had entered this foul city. He had been awed by the magnificent scale of the defences and the huge scope of the city within. Now all he felt was disgust. All he saw was grime, dirt, poverty and blood. The very land moaned in mourning for the aeons of suppression and slaughter in that place.
Illyriel's black mood darkened further when they finally entered the shadow of the outer walls and the slums that came with that illusory protection. All races could be seen in the filthy streets and they all looked at Illyriel with equal hostility. A heavy silence lay over the group as they made their way towards the city proper. Eyes were cast low and hands idled over weapons. But there was no occurrence, no event, no great happening. That was the way in the slums; the eternal doldrums of life. Nothing ever happened, nothing ever changed.
"Halt!" called out a strong voice as they approached one of the smaller but still mighty gates to the fortress, "there's a toll on entering the city limits." An armoured man stepped from the gatehouse onto the path before them.
"Don't waste our time," Morion scoffed dismissively, "we won't pay any toll."
"'Ere, don't you try intimidating me boy," spat the man, pointing a finger at Morion, "or you and your bull-men can pack off home." More armoured warriors emerged from the gatehouse, clearly sensing a confrontation. It looked to be an irregular militia of some sort that had somehow managed to secure themselves a hold on this section of the walls. It cast a grim reflection on the situation behind the walls that the great edifice itself was contested.
"So that's how it is," continued the man, "either you pay up or we make you." He smiled a grim, joyless smile. "Simple."
Illyriel watched in the corner of his eye as Tom's hands edged up to his swords, unconsciously doing the same thing. Tom caught his eye and nodded, almost imperceptibly. Morion's cold, mocking laughter confirmed their plan.
"The day you scatty band of morons force us to do anything is the day I roll over and die."
"'Aye," growled the man, drawing his sword with a slow rasp, "that is is."
Of course I don't look busy; I did it right the first time.
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Oh for fuck's sake!

#44 some_weirdGuy

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Posted 30 November 2009 - 12:12 AM

The coin bag bounced off the mans chest to land at his feet. Everyone was surprised.
"Will that be enough?" asked Zhar with a hard gaze, turning then to stare up at the maughold.
The men looked from him, down to the bag. He opened it and his eyes went wide at the golden contents,
"erh, yeah, that should just about cover it" said the man, somewhat surprised sounding, as all had expected a fight.
"But don't expect any change after the foul mouth of your friends."
Everyone in the group was looking at Zhar
"we have no time to screw around with these pests, lets go" he hissed sideways at the others, by way of explanation. Still surprised, the group followed as, with determination, Zhar walked on in. Zhar looked back to see the man pulling out a coin, then pushing out his hand and pocketing the bag as his companions eagerly closed in.

They rounded a corner out of sight, and Zhar glanced back, then with a wave of his hand the coin bag that he had thrown to the guard appeared in his grasp.
Illyriel just looked up him, one eybrow raised
"what, do you really think i would waste such rare artifacts, my wonderful cursed gold, on that sorry sap?..." Zhar paused "although, i did leave one coin for the poor bastard, not that he'll be needing it for long" he continued with a nasty little grin on his face.

---
At that same time as this the guard fell convulsing to the ground. His veins stood out over his skin, his eyes rolled back in his head and he started foaming at the mouth, (the one coin clutched tightly in his hand). The other guards rushed over to him, but with one final convulsion the guy was dead. His hand fell open and the coin dropped to the ground, rolling away a little. While the others were fussing over their suddenly dead captain, one of the group saw the coin and discretely made his way over to get it. He bent over to grab it but when he lifted his hand to examine the golden treasure, there was nothing there.
---

Zhar had walked along, and while they strode away, oblivious to what had happened at the gate, Zhar rubbed his forefinger and thumb together. The final coin materialised between the two fingers, and with a clink he dropped it back into the bag before burying it the confines of his ornate robes. Before any of the gate guards got their wits together to try and go after the group, they were already out of sight.

((sorry to ruin your fight scene, but i wanted to do this instead :p we'll be fighting paladins and stuff alot soon anyway, and maybe we could run into the gate guys again some other time(on our way out?) where they try and get us then))
((VORT: Alternatively, they might well track you down. The underworld has eyes and ears everywhere, and every piece of information can be bought and sold. And you guys aren't really incognito, you know? :p))
((FZEDIT: Eh, it's cool. That was pretty awesome so I don't mind.))

Edited by Fire Ze Missiles!, 02 December 2009 - 06:18 PM.

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#45 mike_

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Posted 03 December 2009 - 04:25 AM

((OOC: Just don't call anyone 'guy' in-character :rolleyes:))

Morion turned to the rest of the group and announced, "Given our scarcity in numbers, I'm going to get some help - provided none of you mind, eh?" The grim mood of the group, particularly in Illyriel and Tom's gaunt countenances, was a poignant enough answer for him. The Man continued, "Does anyone wish to come with me?"

Rom stepped forward, though the rest stood in place, unsure of whom to follow. Realizing they were looking to him for some form of permission (except for Zhar, who was holding staring contemplatively at a bloated rat carcass in the middle of the street), Tom shrugged and gave them an answer. "I don't care what you do, so long as you can drum up some support for taking now Vayu. Again." Still, none followed the pair away from the group.

An hour passed as Morion wove through the crowd, Rom maintaining a watchful distance behind him. Soon they came to a courtyard among the middle-class homes of the city, old buildings of Dwarven make, evident in their low roofs and column-lined walls.

In the middle of the open space, around an ornate well of clear water, stood a ragtag group of Men in motley dress. They wore huge, broad-brimmed hats with peacock's feathers in them. These were complemented by puffed shirts and coloured leather jerkins, the outer layer cut extravagantly so that the under layer, dyed with a contrasting colour, could be pulled out through the cuts in a rather dashing manner. All the Men were armed with short thrusting swords and many bore bucklers painted with the faces of laughing daemons. The larger portion of them also bore tall pikes with coloured pennants hanging from the hafts, though a handful deigned to carry overlarge two-handed swords or halberds.

Spotting their captain, Morion smiled broadly and walked up to him. He greeted the somewhat-portly gentleman, who was chatting with some of his soldiers by the fountain. His name was Maximilian the Twenty-First; he claimed to be descended from a long and noble family, dating from years beyond the memory of any now alive. But it was unknown just how truthful that claim was.

"Maximilian! Mein Freund, wie geht es Ihnen?" Maximilian! My friend, how have you been? The pair were old comrades from Morion's days as a freelancer on the killing-fields in the East.

"Ach, Morion! Es hat eine lange Zeit vergangen, seit ich mein Unternehmen mit eigenen geteilt haben, und da wir gesprochen haben, abgesehen." Ah, Morion! It has been a long time since I have shared my company with your own, and since we have spoken, besides. Maximilian had an immense brown beard, which he tucked into his belt.

"Ja, mein Freund, hat viele einen langen und harten Weg mich von Ihnen und dem Land von gehalten, in denen wir uns trafen auf den ersten. Sie selbst, ob es ratsam, eine einfacheren Weg gefunden zu haben. Der Reichtum von Ihnen und Ihrem eigenen ist viel attraktiver als das, was ich mich erinnere." Yes, my friend, many a long and hard road has kept me from both you and the land from where we met at first. You yourself, though, seem to have found an easier path. The wealth of you and your own is much more appealing than what I remember.

Maximilian nodded in agreement, his countenance jovial in any manner imaginable. He replied, "In der Tat Morion, machen Sie Ihre Augen nicht verraten. Ich habe viele gute und wertvolle Vertrag, einen Weg aus diesen Bereichen der Hölle gefunden und hier, um das Maughold. Hier mich und meine eigene Position haben als Wächter für diese Herren da sind, die mehr in Gold als im Leben der Menschen bezahlt. Es ist gut, nicht wahr?" Indeed Morion, your eyes do not betray you. I, through many a good and valuable contract, have found a way from those fields of Hell and here to the Maughold. Here me and my own have position as guards for such noblemen as there are, which pays more in gold than in lives of men. It is good, no?

"Es ist sehr gut, Maximilian, obwohl ich dunkle News ertragen, dich zu," The mercenary raised an eyebrow, and several of his Men near-by stiffened, becoming more attentive to the conversation at hand. "Bitte, höre mich, mein Freund. Ein alter Feind von meiner eigenen Kameraden ist von den Toten zurück, aus dem Abgrund der Hölle, wie sie behaupten. Er bringt die Paladine wieder an die Macht, und Sie wissen, was sie mit den Menschen von zweifelhaftem Loyalität zu tun." It is very good, Maximilian, though I bear dark news to you. Please, hear me out, my friend. An old enemy of some comrades of my own has returned from the dead, from the pit of Hell, so they claim. He is bringing the Paladins back to power, and you know what they do with men of questionable loyalty. At that Maximilian grimaced, and wrung his hands. A scar that appeared to be a rope-burn became prominent on his neck, almost as if a noose had been round it.

"Für Ihre Hilfe bei unserer Jugend, Morion," he pointedly touched the rope-burn on his neck, "wen dieser Mann ist, werde ich dich und deine Hilfe im Kampf gegen ihn. Ich schulde dir mein Leben und mein Vermögen für Ihre Handlungen in unserer jüngeren Tagen, und das ist, wie ich Ihnen zurückzuzahlen ist. Senden Sie mir einfach eine Nachricht, wie kann ich helfen zu können, und ich werde einhalten, wie gut ich in der Lage bin." For your help in our youth, Morion, whomever this Man is, I will help you and yours in the strife against him. I owe you my life and my wealth for your actions in our younger days, and this is how I shall repay you. Simply send me a message for how I may be of help, and I shall comply as best I am able.

Morion bowed deeply at that, and came up laughing with a face of deep relief, "Ich danke Ihnen, verehrter Freund! Dies ist mehr Hilfe, als ich von dir erhofft hatte. Bitte, nimm's nicht übel, dass. Ich werde eine Nachricht zusenden lassen, sobald die Zeit reif ist, bitte, machen Sie Ihre Männer, die bereit für einen harten Kampf. Ich habe eine Idee, wie Sie vielleicht von Nutzen sein, aber ich muss mit meinen Verbündeten zu sprechen, bevor sie bestätigt wird. Jetzt muss ich gehen, ich habe mit einem anderen gerecht zu werden, und zwar bald. Have a good day, kann Ihre Gold weiterhin mit keine Steine in den Weg fließen." Thank you, my honored friend! This is more help than I had hoped from you. Please, do not take offense at that. I will have a message sent to you as soon as the time is right; please, make your men ready for a hard fight. I have an idea for how you might be of service, but I must speak with my allies before it is confirmed. Now I must go; I have another to meet with, and soon. Have a good day, and may your gold continue to flow with no rocks in the road.

Maximilian waved off any chance of offense or disloyalty to his friend, and nodded at Morion's need to go elsewhere. He turned to the officers near him and began making hurried orders; they scattered, relaying orders to their subordinates, and them to theirs.

Smiling at his work, Morion turned on his heel and sprinted out of the alley, running past Rom. The Minotaur had remained silent throughout the encounter, content to patiently watch and see how the events played-out. Apparently he was pleased at the proceedings, though questioned Morion when the Man in a black coat leapt up to an empty windowsill, stretched up to a window above it, and scampered onto the roof of the building.

He grinned broadly at Rom and said, "I have another Man to find. I do not know how long I will be; please, return to the others and let them know of what I am doing and who I have contacted. You know what to tell them."

"What Man do Morion go to find now?" Rom questioned.

In answer the Man in black folded his hands in the shape of an 'A', laughed again, and ran away out of Rom's vision. The Minotaur sniffed loudly and muttered to himself, "Varkaiden jan Elämä..." He turned away, and trudged back to where the group had planned to meet again, stomping alone through the milling crowd of various races.

Thieves of Life. Assassins.


((OOC EDIT: Sorry about the huge-ass long post, hopefully it was worth the read :p and it's only half... you'll have to wait until I can properly reveal the second allies Morion will contact :ohmy:))

Edited by mike_, 05 December 2009 - 07:19 PM.
jesus long post


#46 Copaman

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Posted 05 December 2009 - 03:26 AM

Tom looked at the ragtag group and its significant lack of numbers. Morion was right - we need more people. We need help. I can find that help. He turned to Illyriel. "Keep everyone in line. I'm going to get us some help."

Before Illyriel could produce a response, Tom was gone. Off to the dark areas of the city; off to find the haven in the slums. Despite the fact that the deathknelf-dominated area of the city was raised when the Council left, there would still be at least one small temple left. One small temple was all Tom needed.

==

Shapes bumped into Tom. Voices begged him for money. The slums were disgusting; feces and other wonderful things on the streets and sidewalks. The buildings were decrepit and black with rot. But he caught a glimpse of a striped figure and he saw the mark he was looking for crusted into the facade of one particular inn-looking building.

He knocked on the door and was surprised when a slit slid open and a guard confronted him. "Kronaie's Hymn. Line 5." was the prompt the guard gave. After a moment's thought, Tom recited the requested line and was allowed admittance to the tiny temple. Once inside with the door safely closed behind him, Tom flipped back his hood and looked about himself. The humble temple was minuscule but had all the necessities; including a priestess in proper attire. She approached him and began to speak. "We are glad to have you here, good sir. Kronaie has missed you. Shall I bless you?"

Tom looked straight into her eyes and allowed his spirit to flow freely, lighting up his eyes and burning the bright blue crown above his head. "I need help. How can I contact the council?"

She had stopped breathing - never in her life had she considered the king a potential visitor to her temple. "How can I help?" she replied in a hushed breath.

"Stick with me now. It's an unlikely story but I promise you every word is the truth."

He told her the story of the fall of Vayu's Maughold, the trip's jaunt to the island of the Vyre and the temple with the drake, and how Vayu had mysteriously returned from the depths of hell and was reuniting the Paladinate under a pseudonym. Her eyes grew wide as she came to grips with the situation.

"I know who you'll be wanting. I'm afraid that I don't know very many people who will be able to help, but I do know some people you want. I'm one of those people. My name is Priestess Elien and Feruilen has blessed me as a Soulfyre like yourself; I shape my flame to defend myself if need be but I suppose I could use it offensively. My service to the gods has also blessed me with a limited knowledge of healing magics. Erysel is frequent visitor and received training as a whisperblade for several years; he is loyal to your reclaimer cause and will be more than willing to help. His brother Renaliae was also a whisperblade, but trained as a dweller first, and will aid you as well. If you can wait a few hours, they come in for the evening hymns. I think they would like to hear this from you."

And so the two waited for two more to arrive.

((Hooray for deathknelve recruits with mad skillz, yo!))

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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.


#47 some_weirdGuy

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Posted 05 December 2009 - 05:57 AM

"ppffft, more people? we don't need more people, we had, and still do have, to many as it is. Even with our recently loses the new recruits have evened out the difference. we might as well just call the new woman theria and the minotaur a new hairier bazric... although now that i think of it, maybe he's a slightly less hairy bazric" he said, closing one eye and looking at cassius with his head tilted to the side "after all, the little bastard was a hairy one... had enough to make wigs for the whole maughold on just his arms alone"
Shava just shook her head
"come, we should report in to the gnomes, they will know more about whats been going on here then anyone. Atleast there isn't open brawling in the streets like last time"
They started walking, zhar piping up behind them

"Oh i know, if you must have more people, then instead of bringing in more new faces, how about we just go collect the ones we lost? i could bring them back good as new!..." his eccentric prattling gave way to a suddenly serious, monotone voice
"...that is a complete lie, they would be mindless revenants or worse in the bodies of our lost friends..." his gaze remained intently fixed off to the side of the street, his eyes glazed over (not that the milky white orbs ever looked like they were anything but), sunddenly he snapped back out of it into the eccentric voice
"...which would make them even better then before! not nearly as obnoxious, no complaining, having to eat all the time, needing to sleep. The more i think of it the more it appeals to me"
Byron bent over to illyriel "seems he has alot in common with the animated corpses he is scheming over... or is he just very sneaky about eating and sleeping? cause i have never seen him do either this whole time... not that i care much for his like, would do the world good if dark ones such as he starved to death more often"
"Yeah. None of us have ever seen him sleep or eat either. I don't think he can, probably something to do with the demons he works with... sometimes i almost feel sorry for him, but then i remember who he is and stop. He is a horrible person and i would certainly rather be rid of him, but he can be useful at times"

They feel back into silence as Shava lead the way. Morion and Tom would know to go to the the gnomes, who could lead them to the group wherever they were. Even as they walked Shava was in communion with the other gnomes of the maughold.

"I reject your reality and substitute my own" -Adam Savage, Mythbusters
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#48 Vortigern

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Posted 06 December 2009 - 04:11 PM

Winter Vayu stared into the mists of the illusion the man in black was projecting before him. His enemies, alive and well, here in the Maughold.

"They look somewhat depleted to me," he commented.

"Not nearly enough," replied the man in black sharply. "Cadavok is alive, that accursed Deathknelf is as strong as ever and that little gnome is more of a threat than you realise." He snapped his fingers and the illusion shifted, moving to an image of Morion chatting idly with brightly-clad mercenaries.

"Maximilian? He won't be a problem. I can have him dead by this afternoon."

"Good," replied the nameless servant of darkness. "See to it." With another click of the fingers the threads of the picture began to unravel, twisting away and falling to the floor as they faded away.

Just as well he doesn't know that she-elf is still alive, Vayu thought as he left the room. You're not the only one with greater plans in motion.

* * * * * * * * *

Shava passed through a low door at the rear of a human tavern, and was immediately engulfed in darkness. Three steps forward, turn right... Her little fingers found purchase on a handle and she pressed down. Light flooded into the corridor and she headed down the steps before her, down into the underbelly of the citadel, down towards the hidden city in which the gnomes of the Arap Datrebil dwelt.

Who goes there? came the question, pounding through her consciousness as the sentry picked up her presence.

The Lady Shava Kartaan approaching, she replied. A moment's silence ensued over the mental airwaves as the sentry sought confirmation and, finding it, granted his acquiescence. Shava made her way past his position, giving him a little psychic nod as she walked, soon coming to the chamber she sought.

"Representative Kasav," she announced, and the gnome before her turned, smiling warmly.

"Shava, my dear," he replied, sending her a sense of pleasure at her return and the happiness of a campaign proceeding well. "You'll be pleased to hear the Paladins are almost gone from the Maughold."

"You'll be less pleased to hear that there are some thousands on their way here now." Kasav started, pushing himself to his feet.

"What are you talking about?" he demanded.

"I passed a Paladin in the street outside. Not in uniform, but I could sense what he was. I searched his mind, and he knows there is an army on the march."

"Maybe he felt your intrusion and provided you with lies to scare you?" asked Kasav, more in desperation than in hope.

"I doubt it. I was careful not to alert him to my presence, and besides that, there is something else you should know." Shava leaned in, lowering her voice. "Winter Vayu has returned." Kasav paled.

"I knew it," he murmured. "I recognised his consciousness the moment he re-entered the Maughold, but I..." he paused, struggling for words. "I suppose I just didn't want to admit we might have failed."

"We didn't fail," corrected Shava. "He has returned from the dead. We could not be expected to prepare for that."

"So how do we fight him? And his army?" Shava looked at him, staring deep into the fearful politician's eyes with the strength of a warrior, the hardened soldier she had become.

"We will not be alone."

* * * * * * * * *

After ten days on the road, Theria and Essika were nearing the Maughold. Traffic was heavy in both directions, maybe slightly more so towards the mighty fortress city. They stopped one night at a roadside tavern, seeking the shelter of a roof and a sea of nameless faces this close to the stronghold of their enemy. Essika found them a room, though one bed was the best he could do with so many travellers seeking to stay somewhere comfortable. As the sun set he set out to make some new friends amongst the travellers and hear what news he could.

Essika strode into the drinking room below the bedrooms of the inn and settled in comfortably around a table occupied by a gaggle of merchants, busily discussing the prices of their various wares. He made small talk for a short while, posing as a merchant of fabrics and dyes before slowly turning the conversation to matters more pertinent to his quest.

"Well," began a man who had been introduced as a weapons dealer, "I sold my entire stock in the Maughold in two hours. I got approached by some big lad in a leather jerkin who wouldn't tell me what he needed a hundred and fifty swords-and-armour for, but he paid up front in gold, so who was I to judge?"

"Why would he need all that?" asked one of the others.

"Maybe he's outfitting his own private army," joked another.

"Or maybe he was a Paladin," put in a fourth. The chatter around the table suddenly ceased as the name was heard.

"No, he's probably-" began the second merchant, but Essika cut him off.

"Why would you say that?" he enquired, shifting to face the man who had brought up the Paladins.

"They're mobilising. I spoke to a Royal Courier yesterday, on his way west from Valenti to the Maughold, and he said that when he left the entire garrison was gearing up for war, then he saw maybe two thousand of them camped half a mile off the main road west." He paused, sizing up Essika. "They're heading for the Maughold, by the look of things. Those gnomes are out of control in there, that's probably why they're moving. So," he added, trying to lighten the mood again. "Will you still be heading for the citadel?"

"Absolutely," replied Essika, standing up. "Thanks for your time, gentlemen." He turned away and headed back up to the room he and Theria were sharing. He gently pushed open the door and peered into the gloom of the chamber. Now that the sun had set and night descended over Arsencia, the dim light of the ox-horn lantern was all that lit up the room. Closing the door behind him, Essika called out for his companion, and Theria replied from the little washroom adjoined to their chamber.

"Big news, Theria," he began, but broke off as Theria emerged from the bathroom, damp and naked. Flushing slightly, Essika looked away, searching for a towel, or a cloth, or anything. Catching his embarrassment, Theria smiled.

"Why so shy, Essi?" she asked. "It's nothing you haven't seen before."

"And it's nothing I ever thought I'd see again," he amended, taking a deep breath and turning back to face her. Theria's smile widened, and she crossed the room to his side, putting her arms around his neck. "Theria," he said, but she silenced him with a kiss, her perfect face tilted up to meet his scarred, hairy features. For a second Essika held back, but then his inhibitions gave way, and he returned Theria's kiss with all the passion that had once defined their relationship.

His arms encircled her slender figure, drawing her in close, and she removed her arms from his neck, hands sliding down to undo the buttons of his shirt. They tumbled down on to the bed, and slowly began to forget all the troubles that had plagued them both for so long.




((Woo! I was going to write a massive erotic sequence, but then I thought "Nah, Revora's kinda PG, best not." So I apologise if I got you all excited. :p Anyway, the more important message to take from this story, unless you're Tom Joad, is that there's a pretty hefty army of Paladins on their way towards where you guys are. For all those of you who are Tom Joad, it seems Soulfyre can't compete with an old flame. :santah:))
I hope I am a good enough writer that some day dwarves kill me and drink my blood for wisdom.

#49 mike_

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Posted 06 December 2009 - 08:05 PM

Morion stared down the Elf before him. Most of the Hashid were Men, though due to their way of life and business more than a few Elves (and even a handful of Drow) had become members of the cult of assassins. It was several hours after he'd talked with Maximilian. The Hashid were the second group that Morion had chosen to contact for aid against the Paladins; he himself had served among them in his youth, and to this day wore the long coat commonplace among the assassins.

The Elf that he'd managed to corner was a small specimen, standing half a head below him. Like most Elves it was altogether androgynous, though by noting the peculiar, winding braids hanging from the Elf's temples Morion could tell it was a male.

This was confirmed when he spoke, "Well, you've caught me. What do you want?"

"A word. Acceptance of an offer. And dead Paladins." With the last statement Morion bowed at the waist, sweeping his hat off in an elegant flourish. He hoped that the Elf would notice the braids Morion still wore at his own temples, and take the clue for what it was. "In that order, preferably."

The Elf sniffed and said, "I know who you are and where you are from. But not where you have been or why you have come here, Morionquetil. Brother to Darkness. It would serve you well to fill in the blanks for me."

Morion flinched inside at the use of his full, true name but did not show it physically. He knew better than that. Straightening, he related how he'd found company with a troupe of travelers on the warpath with one Winter Vayu. The Elf before him nodded at the mention of the mage's name, and his features turned still and cold as granite when he was told that the Paladin leader had returned from the dead.

Clasping his hands before him, Morion asked, "Will you help us?"

The Elf stared contemplatively at the sunset behind Morion and said, "I will see, what I will see. I must speak to the Grand Masters. But if what you say is true... when the Paladins ruled here, there was no place for thieves of life to ply their trade. If the Paladinate is outlawed and broken..." He smiled wolfishly. "Then we will be fruitful indeed."

Morion bowed again and said, "I am thankful for your aid, brother. How will I repay you?"

"As I said: If the Paladins are here defeated, then there will be much work for us. That will be pay enough."

Smiled satisfactorily, Morion turned to go. The Elf spoke up, "Incidentally, are you aware of one... Cold Wind? I was contacted earlier today by an associate of his, seeking for a contract to remove one Maximilian, a mercenary captain in the South of the city. Did you know him?"

Morion whirled around, face pale and eyes wide. "Did you say Maximilian?"

"I believe so."

The Elf had not had time to respond, for Morion had fled away, sprinting haphazard across the rooftop. He came to the edge and leapt over the gap, legs spread wide, and hit the roof running. He didn't know how much time he had - if an Assassin, a member of the Hashid, was after Maximilian then there was no doubt the Man's life was in danger.

----------

Maximilian strode through the bustling crowds, the mass of sentient races dividing around him, partly due to his bulk but mainly due to the armed Men accompanying him.

A dark figure watched him from a nearby window; in its hands was a small crossbow. Its face shrouded by a deep cowl, the shade took aim at Maximilian. Several Men of shady look had their eyes glued to Maximilian and his small troupe of allies.

Suddenly, there was a commotion behind the Man in the window. He turned in surprise, and was promptly thrown out of the window and into the street below. People screamed and ran, trying to get away from the body. It had been a Man, yes, but a massive wound, cutting from the right shoulder down across the torso and ending at the left hip gave answer enough to his fate.

Morion stood in the vacated window now, trying to spot the other Men. They'd vanished when he'd thrown the idiot out of the window, blending in with the mass of humanity. He didn't know where the Assassin was - the Man he'd killed was not him. Wiping his broadsword on some hanging drapes, he then sheathed it and climbed out of the window, then leapt down to the street.

Maximilian took his sword from one of the Men accompanying him - it was what he called a Zweihander, a huge two-handed sword with a sixty-six inch blade. The Man then wielded his halberd with two hands, his colleagues doing the same. They tried to search the crowd for their apparent assailants, but saw only confused and frightened faces.


((OOC: Alright, join in if you want. Some guys (hired goons :lol:) are after Max, and he's our connection to the mercenaries, so he needs to be kept alive if at all possible. Oh yeah, there's a crazy-ass Assassin of equal skill to Ezio from AC2. So we're in some trouble ;)))

#50 Taralom

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Posted 06 December 2009 - 08:59 PM

"You'd think he'd leave us some directions, right?" Azuvas noted with a stern look in his eyes. His gaze went over the lands before them. They had quite a view from the hilltop they were camping on. Down the hill was a small stream, making some noises as if it was talking while it rolled over stone and sand to the east. In the distance was a rocky land, filled with tiny trees and bushes, with a large forest at the horizon. They were heading north for quite some days now and they had left a mountain range behind them. Nothing happened, since they had only passed some curious travellers.
Varin looked up from the fire that he had been trying to get going for ten minutes. "Yes, it's odd that he only wanted us to kill the group of Zhar." He grinned as he remembered their small encounter in Anharad. An encounter that resulted in a battle, that is. "But I have no intentions of joining that Vayu person just yet. I'm just following his orders because I have a matter to settle with that mage... And the rest of his group."
Azuvas rolled with his eyes. "Great. Another revenge, then?"
Varin shook his head with a smile. "Nope, more like a test of my power."
Azuvas' eyes refocussed upon to small dots that seemed to get closer. He had been following them since they appeared in the distance. "What do you think they are doing?"
Varin closed his eyes and made contact with the illusionous bird that soared in the sky high above. It's red eyes tracked the two strangers and descended to check them. They carried no weapons and were male and female. They were definately human, but were they magicless or not? "I have no clue. They seem to approach us without knowing. A matter of bad luck, I suppose." He stood up and opened his fist, where a tiny sphere of purple energy levitated above his palm. It cast an eery light upon him, when he grinned and said to Azuvas: "If they pose any threat, I'll kill them."
Just about then, the two travellers noticed the smoke of the fire and hastened their pace. The female started to wave at them and yell some greetings. Azuvas laid his hand upon his sword. Varin joined his side, with the sphere hidden behind his back.
The two travellers stepped upon the hill, greeting happily and cheerful, but their cheers were greeted by naught but stern looks.
"Great gods, I thought we'd never encounter friendly faces here," said the man with a northern accent.
"It's too early to say that, friend," Azuvas noted. He showed the man his hand, ready to unsheathe his sword.
The man swallowed in fear, but his appearant wife did not seem to notice the threat. "Say, can we make use of your fire? We caught a rabbit yesterday and it's still fresh, but we need to cook it first. We do not have a tinderbox anymore. Mr Wise-guy seems to have lost it, somewhere," she said with some discontent towards her husband.
Azuvas stepped forward with intention to kill, but was stopped by the hand of Varin, who had closed his eyes and focussed upon the two with his mind. He could see their energy clearly, coarsing through their vains. They had an affinity towards the light, but where not Paladins. "That depends. You can use the fire, if only you can give us information."
The wife smiled like only woman can. "Of course! What do you want to know."
Varin grinned. "Where can we find the stronghold of the paladinate?"
The man finally overcame his fear and started talking. "Well, the Maughold, of course! Everybody should know that! It's a three-day travel from here. Just head north, you'll be sure to find it."
Azuvas turned to Varin and rose an eyebrow. "Why?"
Varin nodded to him to make him understand he would answer the question. "Just a moment." He waved his hand and cast an illusion upon the two strangers. A thousand illusionary birds flew over their heads and made so much sound that they could not hear the conversation of the others. "Azuvas, while I was travelling with the group of Zhar, I heard the name of Vayu and how he was supposed to be in hell. Well, we can see that he was not, or he has returned. Either way, he was a big chief of the Paladinate, perhaps even the greatest. Zhar's group must want to finish what they started. They want to chain him in hell. I say we go to the Maughold and wait in ambush for Zhar to show his rotting face. Then, and only then, we strike."
Azuvas nodded. It made sense. "Fine. Let's go." He grabbed his bag and started walking to the north.
Varin stuttered. "Shouldn't I dispell the illusion first?"
Azuvas stopped dead in his tracks and turned around to look at the two strangers. "Nah, they'll manage."
Varin grinned once more and followed Azuvas' example. The two of them left the strangers alone, but before they had even crossed one mile, they heard the screams of madness behind them, caused by the never-ending shreeks of illusionary birds.

((edit: the Maughold was north, right?))
((VORT: That depends where you are. :lol:))

Edited by Vortigern, 06 December 2009 - 11:08 PM.

If the above post offended you in any way,
please take note that, until further notice, I don't care, so get lost.

#51 {IRS}Athos

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Posted 06 December 2009 - 09:03 PM

((Aaaawwwwww, Vort... :lol:))

Astariel and Byron had been making their way through the crowds when the body came plummeting out of the upper window. Byron drew his knives with a curse as Astariel ran over to the body. He was already dead, bleeding from a massive gash in his chest. Astariel frowned, and Byron swore again softly, urging her to get up.

"My lady, it's useless! He's dead, and good riddance. If he wasn't, one of our friends over there would be," he said, jerking a thumb toward Maximilian's company. He saw a pair of dark-clothed figures emerge from the frightened, teeming masses and leapt towards one of them, engaging the assailant with his knives. As the other slipped towards Maximilian's force, he was suddenly seized by a sudden burst of Astariel's magic. Laying down his weapon placidly, he was promptly knocked senseless by a swift kick from the former Paladin.

Byron's assailant had managed to press him back. With a nimble kick, he knocked the former highwayman's legs from under him, dumping him on his back. Byron's leg moved in a blur, kicking the assassin's hand as he stabbed with one knife. Before a second blow could be readied, the enemy fell decapitated.

Morion flourished his dripping blade and smiled coldly. "Try to stay on your feet," he quipped.

~~~

Rindar put down his third mug of ale, drained almost to the dregs, and sighed. Three mugs. Three dead. How ironic... He briefly considered drinking a fourth mug, but hazily decided against it. That's Theria, Bazric, and Vithar dead. Who will the fourth mug be? Better... not... risk it. His head sank down onto the counter of the bar, striking his mug and tipping the bare remnants of the ale out. He began snoring gently.

"Tha' elf can'd hold 'is ale," said an equally drunk patron before passing out.

((There's my explanation why Rindar won't be involved in this one... ;)))
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#52 Copaman

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Posted 08 December 2009 - 04:28 PM

After a span of time, the door to the temple sounded again. The guard repeated his request for a particular hymn, and the door opened to welcome two well-built males.

Elien looked up to greet the visitors and instead addressed them personally. "Ers, Ren, please. Sit down. Your king has words for you." They looked to her, then to the visitor sitting besides her, and each raised an eyebrow.

Erysel opened his mouth to speak, but Tom cut him off. "You probably think there is no king. You probably think the heir to our throne disappeared about eighty years ago. You probably think Shadowfang Keep is an abandoned shell of its former glory, rotting where it stood. You, my brother, are sorely mistaken."

He paused for a moment and focused to produce the crown above his head. The two brothers dropped to their knees and looked up to him.

"Now listen very close because you're going to be helping me for a little bit..."

He filled the two brothers in on the current situation and what they were going to do, and the two in turn pledged their aid. The three set off to find the group Tom had been travelling with.

((Half-baked post from me for continuity...))

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Have some sympathy,

And some taste.

Use all your well-learned politesse,

Or I'll lay your soul to waste.


#53 Vortigern

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Posted 13 December 2009 - 12:03 PM

((Well, as you guys all suck, I'm going to prod things along. Imagine a small electric charge up your collective arse, and get writing! Mike, I'm going to be stealing one of Maximilian's friends for the purposes of this post. I assume his mercenary buddies are all based on the various medieval mercenary bands? I'm also going to be hijacking Morion a tad. 'Tis necessary.))


Morion, now standing back to back with Maximilian in the centre of the street, gave the situation a quick overview. He, Astariel and Byron stood with ten or so of Maximilian's men, facing down against twenty men in black, trainees or employees of the Hashid. Whichever, Morion wasn't bothered. Bracing himself for the impact he could sense was ahead, he shifted his balance and held tightly to his sword.

A vibrant shout echoed through the street, and the Hashid came forward. Maximilian decapitated the closest with a single heavy stroke of his Zweihander, but the colossal blade was not meant for close-quarters fighting like this. Morion found himself duelling with a pair of fresh-faced, blacked-up assassins, but to say they were skilled with their blades would have been an understatement. At his side, he found the lad Byron fighting hard to protect Morion's off-side from a stray blade.

Screams and shouts began to carry down the street as the fighting escalated. In his peripheral vision Morion caught sight of a uniformed band marching over the cobbles towards the carnage, breaking ranks to charge the black-clad Hashid the moment they decided they were close enough. A scimitar sliced through the throat of one of the two Morion and Byron were facing down, and the former assassin found himself looking at a moustache. A large black drooping moustache attached to a dark-skinned face attached to a powerful, muscular body holding an axe and the aforementioned scimitar.

"Maximilian!" shouted the moustache. "What trouble is this you bring down upon our town?"

"Bastard assassins, Murad!" replied the colourfully-clad mercenary leader cheerfully. "Lend us a hand, would you?"

"I thought I already did," muttered Murad the moustache, swinging his heavy curved blade round behind him into the stomach of an encroaching Hashid. Three black-clad figures remained standing now, and Maximilian's survivors had them at halberd-point. "Does this not seem finished to you now, Maximilian?"

A roar erupted from behind them all, facing the three known hostile figures as they each were. The sound rippled across the street and courtyard, growing in intensity. Maximilian sighed.

"Famous last words, Murad. Bastard sheep-fuckers," he added, catching sight of the source of the sound. A troop of soldiers, one of the thousands constantly encamped within the Maughold and always spoiling for a fight, had apparently heard the sounds of battle. The newcomers each carried a long blade, a polearm with an almost straight blade running as long again as the handle, and wore what Morion's practised eye could discern as leather padding over chainmail.

"Their weapon is called the falx," commented Murad, idly twirling his scimitar as he waited for their arrival. "And they the Variag." He spat on the cobbles as he said the name. "Cultureless northern fiends. Form up!" This last he shouted, his moustache vibrating under the force of the decibels. Maximilian was similarly ordering his few survivors into a ragged formation. "These unshaven fools will seize any opportunity for battle," continued Murad. "No honour."




((And let battle continue! Anyone else feels like showing up for this, you're more than welcome. If you're curious, Murad and his fellows are based on the Ottoman Janissaries (based, note you, not carbon copies thereof) and the Variag are loosely based on the Byzantine Varangian Guard. Copaman, this might be a nice way to introduce the epic skills of four Deathknelve in concert. FZM, if you show up in time, Illyriel hasn't been mentioned since passing those lads at the gate, so he could be anywhere. Why not here? Anyway, enjoy, you'se all.))
I hope I am a good enough writer that some day dwarves kill me and drink my blood for wisdom.

#54 {IRS}Athos

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Posted 13 December 2009 - 08:41 PM

Byron sighed in irritation. "This is why I hate cities," he growled as the yelling soldiers drew nearer. "You may want to draw your sword, milady," he added to Astariel, who had kept the weapon sheathed during the entirety of the fight. "Things could get ugly."
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#55 Copaman

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Posted 14 December 2009 - 02:02 AM

Tom, Elien, Erysel, and Renaliae walked in a diamond through the crowds, searching for any signs of anyone from Tom's travelling group. As they neared a large common, people began running past them, fleeing the area as if a catastrophe was about to occur. The four broke through the sea of people and came face to face with ranks upon ranks of warriors from different corners of the land. On one side, recognizable faces belonging to Morion and a few others, with friends by their side. On the other, armored warriors with intimidating blades. From what Tom could tell, they were the Variag. He had had a Variag mark one time... but before his mind could wander further, he brought himself back to the task at hand.

He turned to his small escort and drew his blades. "Welcome to the party. This is what I've been doing since I left Shadowfang Keep. Hope you've all been practicing your respective skills..." He broke into a run, and the three followed close behind - in a few moments, he was beside Morion. "Well. I don't have as many friends as you do, I guess, but I found these three and I have a feeling they'll be quite valuable. Quickly, Ellie, Erys, and Ren. Now. As I see it those bastards are in our way. Would you like to clear them out?"

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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.


#56 mike_

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Posted 17 December 2009 - 09:28 PM

"Well, don't everyone hop to it at once, now," Morion dryly announced. Sheathing his sword, he took the crossbow from his back and stepped forward, to stand between Maximilian and Murad. Nodding a welcome to the mustachioed man, Morion took a knee, brought his crossbow to his shoulder, aimed and fired. The lead Variag fell, pierced through the skull, his polearm beneath him. Morion calmly reloaded and fired twice more, dropping another warrior and wounded a third.

Then the Variags threw shields aside and drew their huge axes, and charged the little line of mercenaries. Morion replaced his crossbow with a knife in each hand and leapt forward, silent and grim. Ducking under one warrior's outstretched arms, he kicked into the Man's heels and leveled him, then hamstrung him and left him for dead. Jumping over the thrashing warrior he found another's back and drove both his knives into it, one in the small of the back and the other into the neck. The mail was no match for Morion's blades, and the Man fell, convulsing. Drawing his sword, Morion found himself in the middle of a knot of the Variags.

Three of the Variags locked shields and shield-charged him, trying to knock the agile warrior to the ground. Morion pulled his sword back to rest horizontally at his shoulder, then lunged forward and thrust it through the middle-Man's shield, arm, and into his chest. The black blade turned red when he pulled it out. There was a harsh shout, and then one of Maximilian's lads slammed the hammer-head of his halberd into the shoulder of one of the Men, mangling it and the mail above it. The Man screamed.

One of Murad's companions was fighting with a wickedly-curved tulwar, not unlike a Drow's fighting knife. Except it was more than twice the length of it. He drew the sword in a line across the chest of one charging Man, from his left shoulder to the right hip. Mail-rings sprang off, ruined and covered in blood. The soldier spun his weapon around his head and then into his foe's neck, beheading him.

Morion stood before a pair of Variags, each bearing a falx. It was a strange, foreign-looking weapon, with a long hilt and the thin blade curving towards Morion rather than away from him. One of them lunged forward, bringing the fierce blade down in a two-handed arc. Morion dodged it; there was a flash of blue as it struck the paved stones at their feet. The stones were pulverized, and a strange device glowed up and down the sword's length.

"Magic runes, laddie," said the grinning Variag. He and his companion renewed their assault, taking a corner from Morion's cloak.

Snarling, Morion locked blades with one as Maximilian cut the other, who was distracted by Morion, in twain from neck to groin. The two halves fell to the ground, twitching.

The Variag roared and brought a hand away from his hilt. There was still enough strength in the one hand to hold Morion at bay. He then punched the Man in black in the nose. It wasn't enough to kill him, but it did knock Morion on his ass.

The warrior stood above him victorious, eyes wide and gloating. Half a breath later they turned glazed and unfocused, and Morion realized that the Elf from earlier stood behind him, a small blade in the Man's neck. Blood flowed from the Variag's throat, who fell thrashing to the ground. Another Hashid was with the Elf, who stared down apologetically at Morion. He climbed dazedly to his feet, and watched as the Elf drew the hidden blade back into his wrist-sheath, hidden under a vambrace.

Snorting, Morion led the three back to the fight. More armed Men (and some others beside), sensing good pickings among the dead, entered the fray, eager to scrounge something of worth from the combatants.

#57 {IRS}Athos

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Posted 17 December 2009 - 09:55 PM

Byron's first instinct was to search the fallen for weapons, but then he noticed Astariel, still unarmed, in the midst of the fray and cursed volubly. Seizing a falx from the dead fist of the Variag he had been about to plunder, he rushed to her aid; but he could tell as he ran that it was already too late. The Variag warrior's blade was already on its way down. He tried to shout a warning, but, choked by the rising dust in his mouth, coughed uselessly instead.

At the last possible moment, Astariel leapt aside. The Variag's falx missed her by a palm's breadth, although the left-side hem of her robes was cut cleanly through. At last the Paladin drew her sword. As Byron rushed up to help, a second Variag appeared in front of him, cutting him off from Astariel. His eyes could no longer descry Astariel, only the massive bearded warrior in front of him. Wielding the unfamiliar falx, he was easy prey for the Variag. He managed to block the blade, but his legs were swept from under him by the haft of the warrior's polearm.

With an ugly grin, the Variag raised his blade for the kill, but before he could strike he suddenly cried out and fell dead, his neck half severed. His falx, slipping out of his limp hand, fell wide of its target, but it still cut deeply across Byron's right shoulder. Astariel offered Byron her left hand, with a dripping longsword gripped in the left. "Get out as quickly as you can," she instructed, hauling him to his feet.

To shed blood is an abomination... yet now it must be shed, lest the blood of my own friends mix in the street with the blood of these barbarians. Thus Astariel thought as she gripped her longsword again. The weapon was as perfect as she remembered, though the last time she had drawn it in attack had been years ago. There is no problem that can only be solved through bloodshed... but at this point, bloodshed is inevitable. May the Eternal Light watch over us, and make the penalty to us small...
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#58 Copaman

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Posted 18 December 2009 - 01:01 AM

The four deathknelve moved forwards into the fray as a single unit - one swordsman at each apex of the triangle, and the pyromancer in the middle, away from prodding blades. Without fear Tom led them forward, pleased as the eyeballs in front of him burst into flame beneath the helmets of the approaching Variag. The green aura of Preistess Elien gave the grim battlefield an interesting hue; as the sea of Variag closed in, Tom took note of the runed blades and let his own runes show freely.

Mere moments after burning their way into the ranks of the Variag, the deatknelven delta was surrounded by Variag, all hungry for striped blood and anxious to avenge their fallen comrades. The three swordsmen of the triangle set to preventing that.

With cold efficiency, Tom Joad was able to utilize his practiced techniques to their maximum potential; his sides and back were protected so there was no need to focus on anything but what was out in front of him. The large blades wielded by the Variag were long and cumbersome - with a parry, Tom was able to buy himself enough time to lunge forward, slice upwards from the knee to the groin and into the stomach of whichever poor fool was trying to end the king's life. Occasionally he would block an unexpected attack only to look and see the Man's mouth open and belch green flame. He personally repeated this process with very little variation; occasionally, he would change his striking method to involve both swords, or a downward stab, or a lateral slice, but other than that Tom stuck to what worked. In the close quarters he found that he lacked the space to become creative with his technique.

Erys' technique for dispatching the armored northerners was, not surprisingly, similar. From what Tom observed, his technique was less than perfect, but it was apparent that Erys was quite a bit younger and did not have the opportunity to truly receive the swordsmanship training that his potential needed. Every once in a while Tom would wince as he caught the youngster's mistakes and waited for the Variag to take advantage - Tom could see the unavoidable loss of an arm or a head coming towards Erys. Luckily the Priestess seemed to have more than a firm grasp on the group's whereabouts and her soul flame saved Erys from excruciating pain more than once.

Ren took a much more interesting and exciting route to dispatch the Variag. While his particular technique wasn't as physically flawed as his brother's, his was much more risky. Tom watched one particular engagement as the Dweller leaped up into a Variag's breast, pushed himself upwards and forwards, and plunged his sword down through the chest cavity between the clavicle and shoulder blades.

Slowly the three worked their way back towards Morion.

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#59 Vithar-133

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Posted 18 December 2009 - 03:04 AM

Ashling stood, watching as the battle ebbed and flowed.

:Last I was here...: Ashling began to think, and anger welled up within her. :The Palatinate so delicately removed me from their services. Now I return...for blood. My blades will taste the blood of Paladins this day...:

Ashling started walking slowly towards the battle, torn overcoat billowing behind her. She drew her hand-and-a-half as well as well as her seax, the latter in a backwards grip. She slowly picked up speed and soon was running towards the battle.

:They may not be paladins...but I can always work my way up.:

As soon as she was within striking range, she brought her seax up and thrust it forward into the back of the neck of a Variag. She twisted the blade and then swung up, a trail of blood specks following her blade. Two Variags turned to face her, flourishing their weapons.

:This fight has just gotten more interesting.: Ashling grinned, but her slivery eyes still burned.

Edited by Vithar, 18 December 2009 - 05:19 AM.

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#60 some_weirdGuy

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Posted 18 December 2009 - 05:02 AM

((firstly Vort, if you have a problem with any of this then i can change/remove it. I don't think it really interfears with anything, but it might seen as it has to do with the maughold and the Sons of Man and stuff))

Of cause open brawling in the streets could not be expected to go on for too long before the authorities stepped in. The gnomes may have emerged and all but taken control of the maughold, but none the less it was still the seat of power for Envael. While the paladins were in disarray king Vassingar 's Sons of Man were not. They had flooded out of the barracks when word of open fighting reached them and had now arrived. They moved in to surround the trouble makers. While on hand they could act as a more than sufficient policing force.

"This has gone far enough" said the captain, stepping forward "You are all under arrest. Those who would seek bloodshed within these walls are not welcome out in the streets. You can come quietly, or not. Either way you will be walking with me to the dungeons." everyone had stopped fighting and were eyeing each other off nervously. One of the Variag near Ashling saw this as an opportunity, and attacked, meaning to go after one of the dwarvern mercenaries. Ashling intercepted, and at the same time this caused a couple others to take action. Byron smashed one of the Variag in the head, two others of the Variag went to attack, one going for one of the sons of man, while the other went for Morion.

None of these resulted in bloodshed as the Sons of man quickly pounced. Most of the group decided not to fight their arrest. Even if they did escape the Sons of Man would case them down within the Maughold, and they had business to attend to that didn't involve fleeing from the city.
"Don't worry, the gnomes have gained quite a bit of influence here, Shava can help us get out. Besides, we were just acting in self defense so they can't keep us locked up for long" Said Tom as he allowed a two Sons of man to approach
"But you are a king! you can't be sent to a dungeon like some common- " began Erys, but Tom cut him off
"yes, i am, so do as i tell you" his harsh glare gave no room for argument, and the deathknelve submitted. I don't like it either, but its the best way, we don't want to make enemies of the sons of man too, We'll have enough trouble with the paladins, he thought as the Sons of Man carried them away, while others blockaded off the street and saw to the injured and dead still lying there (most of them Variag).

"Don't worry Morion" said Tom, looking over at his companion being lead up a few paces in front "This will all be sorted in no time, its best if we just go along with them for now" Morion snorted his agreement, looking up at the son of man leading him along "you know, you don't have to twist my arms quite so much". The man didn't answer, just stared long and hard at Morion till morion turned back with a little 'fine, have it your way', adjusting his arms into a more comfortable position.

A gnome walked along beside the captain, no doubt a member of Arap Datrebil. The gnomes had pretty well intergrated themselves into the maughold society, although they still tended to go unnoticed underfoot. Even as they walked he was reporting back the news. Soon enough Shava and the rest of the group were informed of what had happened
"assasins eh?" said Illyriel
"yes, but apparently as the Sons of man were escorting them to the dungeons a number managed to escape, leaving only your friends and a couple of others to be locked up in the dungeon. However we have influence within the Maughold now, shouldn't be to hard to get them out" said the member of Arap Datrebil that was reporting it to them
"well, i guess we'd better go get them out of jail..." Shava said with a sigh couldn't they just once not end up in a fight? atleast not so soon
"or should we?" said Zhar in a contemplative manner, rubbing his chin as if deep in thought, after a long pause he seemed to let whatever scheme he was formulating drop "nah, you're probably right, we should. By which i mean you should. I quite frankly don't give a damn".

And so they set off to free their incarcerated friends.

((See OOC topic for my occ part of this post))

((edit: and sorry for the long post :X ))

Edited by some_weirdGuy, 18 December 2009 - 05:04 AM.

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