View Full Version : World of Daslin (IC)
The night was cold. Winter had just begun, the old trees already covered in their snowy blankets. The winter was deadly, but not quite as bad as the elven lands in the north. Vallan glanced around, his arms trying to keep his body warm. This night was especially cold, he thought. The wind only added to the weight on their shoulders as they trudged through the 5 inches of snow. At last, as they ascended a hill, Vallan could see a light on the other side. A small bit of vigor arose him and he stepped ahead of the rest. There it was. He dropped to the ground in a laying position, as the shadow-knights behind him did likewise at the top of the snowy hill overlooking this camp. Wildermen, some sharing the same affinity for nature as elves, were they to really be trusted? A faint smell of cooking pork blew by his nose. It made him hunger for it, he had only tasted it once but he loved it. Elves, these days though, couldn't usually eat something like that. He slowly rose to his feet, shaking off the snow accumulated from the ground, before pulling his hood from his face, motioning for the others to do the same.
They descended the hill, now, pine trees (uncommon and odd to an elf's eyes) surrounded the camp. Vallan could not help but returning his glance every now and then to the massive wall. It took some skill and well-placed spells to pass it, though most of the guards were sloppy anyways. The young captain wondered how it might look to these people. 10 shadowy figures, black skin, pointy ears, approaching the camp. Vallan foretold them of his coming but he's sure it wasn't public news. Or most likely, he hoped.
Once they paced across the last 30ft, immediately a few of the men sprang up, weapons in hand. Vallan held his hands up, as to encompass he has come in peace. His men did likewise. It all baffles him as to why he was sent on this "diplomatic" mission to the wildermen. "The Enemy of my Enemy is my friend", perhaps? They would need help for the first step into reclaiming freedom and hopefully, these men would be the ones to give them the strength they needed..
OOC: All the wildermen characters would be at this spot, while the other human characters may be elsewhere or have been called to this wall to examine the disturbance of 10 mysterious people crossing over successfully and without even murdering any of the guards. But, if you prefer to be elsewhere, then so be it. Elven characters may be one of the 10 sent with this diplomatic group. Since we have no dwarves yet, I won't worry about it.
27th Aug 07, 7:36 PM
Tall and terrible was Dante as he fell in step behind Vallan. His skilled hand gripped the hilt of his sword, his wine-colored eyes roved around, looking for any sign of ambush or disturbance, though none was found. He opted thus to breathe in the air, look at the stars, enjoy the night. Night was his element, and it had been so long since he'd stopped to admire it. Beautiful.
Ah. There they are, he thought to himself as smelly, tangled shapes crept through the woods. Weapons slid from sheathes, but then Vallan's hands elevated themselves, showing peace. His sword had slid an inch from its hilt, no farther. Farther would mean death for the Wilder's.
28th Aug 07, 9:01 AM
OOC: I had this prepared as an intro post before the boardwar began. I'll arrive at the meeting point, just a little late, 'kay? :) I intended to split it into two posts (hence the length), but since you have other intentions I'll speed it up and include it all here.
Consider me to be located at another camp, but I'll be at the one you guys are at soon enough. Presume I was delayed.
“Why are you here?” Arylac asked again, though it was as useless as the first time he had asked. This was the fifth time.
“I’m not telling you anything, human!” The elf spat the word as if it were an insult. From where he was standing – or rather, hanging, bound on leather straps from the ceiling – Arylac supposed it was.
“I am not your enemy.” Arylac iterated, slowly this time, though honestly his patience was wearing thin. It had been wearing thin for a while now, ever since the elf had spat at him and hit him in the eye. That had been the second time he’d asked, and the notorious elven penchant for resisting interrogation was still holding true, just as surely as the notorious elven penchant for shooting with ridiculous accuracy.
“You’re human. You’re no friend of mine.”
Arylac leaned closer and pulled down the black cloth wrapped around the elf’s face (he had decided to put it there so the elf couldn’t spit at him again) and glared into unflinching jade eyes.
“I never claimed to be your ‘friend’, elf. If I were your friend I would already know why you were here, and I wouldn’t have you strung up here as my prisoner.”
The elf stilled and became silent, dangling and twirling aimlessly for a moment. Short of underclothes, the elf was entirely naked, revealing pale but well-sculpted muscles. Preternatural beauty and youth were other hallmarks of their race, but noble poise and bearing – which this elf had in spades – were not. He was told by the loremaster that it used to be, but he found most elves in this day and age to be thoroughly unpleasant creatures. They tended to be either aloof and arrogant or simply bitter and spiteful.
He understood, of course – he hadn’t been spoon-fed the diluted history given to the bastard Westerners – but it didn’t make the elves of today any more sympathetic as a species, if he was honest. This elf was somewhat different, though still unpleasant. Though he supposed he’d be unpleasant too if he were strung up in a stranger’s cell.
“What’s your name?” Arylac asked.
“Swiftwind.” The elf replied immediately, not missing a beat. Arylac sighed audibly. Elves always chose such pretentious last names, when they chose them. Though hubris was a trait of his own kind, he supposed. That didn’t make it any less irritating.
“I asked for your name. I meant your first name.”
“You never said that.”
“Are all elves as petty as you?”
”That depends. Are all humans as artless as you?”
“I’d contentedly exchange insults with you all afternoon but frankly, neither of us have the time, do we?”
The elf moved slightly – something imperceptible, in the eyes. A twitch, but Arylac knew he’d hit a nerve with that one.
“What are you really doing here? Looking for a fight?”
Swiftwind looked at Arylac as if he was stupid.
“Alright. So that’s not what you want. What do you want? What’s your purpose in coming here? Look. I am no more a friend of the Empire than you are. I despise them, in point of fact, but that’s beside the point. I tolerate them, though I’m sure you can’t afford that luxury, can you? They’re trying to kill you all, and I suspect that you’re here for something related. Now the Wilds are the last place someone looking to run is going to go, even for an elf.”
“It’s dangerous here, and not just because of us. It’s why the Empire builds their walls and their fortresses to contain us. They can’t conquer us because this place would tear them apart as surely it would have you. You go too far in this place and you’re never coming back. You wouldn’t come here to run. And as arrogant as you elvish bastards are, you know that well enough. So you’re here for a purpose. Might it have something to do with that blank scroll in your pack?”
Swiftwind’s eyes flared open in alarm. Arylac smiled. He’d called it right. He could all but have ripped this elf’s organs out and he’d never have talked. He could have called in a mage – in the event he knew any skilled enough – to rip out the information from the elf’s mind and he doubted he’d have gotten so much as a whisper. But surprise… now that was different. Swiftwind had been trained but he’d not lived a life that would let him conceal everything he felt so easily.
So neither slave-born nor nobility, though he carries himself nobly enough… hmm. That he is a revolutionary goes without saying, most free elves these days are. A noble revolutionary? Now that’s an oddity. Swiftwind… it’s a warrior’s name, or a runner. A messenger, perhaps, but surely a fighter of some kind. And that axe on his belt wasn’t made for cutting trees. Not that elves do that anyway. That he’s carrying a bow in itself means nothing; anyone out in the wilds would have one. The blank scroll, though. Old elf trick. A message that can be read only by the ones it’s intended for. We could try to break the enchantments but we don’t have anyone precise enough for that. Odds are we’d just end up burning it to shreds.
A torch, too. Sure as sure, he was sent here. But he doesn’t know the wilds, so he came from far away. We’d never have caught him if he knew this place.
He had been consistently misjudging everything. In the end, Arylac’s rangers had caught him because a branch had snapped and the elf had fell. He’d landed on his feet but that hadn’t really mattered by the time they’d sighted him. He hadn’t been able to judge accurately what would hold him, what wouldn’t, and what would make a noise or stay silent. He hadn’t known the wilds and so they had very nearly claimed him.
“Who’s the message for and where did you come from?”
Another look of alarm, but still silence.
“You want me to guess. Alright.”
“It’s for Thaloc and you’re from Andosslan Isle. Am I right?”
An empty stare bereft of energy. He’d called it.
“… are you going to let me go?”
Oh, I’ve got you now.
“That depends if you tell me what this message is. If you don’t tell me I’ll have mine poke it until it explodes, and you’ll be left with nothing. You’ll have failed.”
The elf opened his mouth to speak but Arylac cut him off.
“Even if you know what the message says, it makes no difference. If you were all that was needed then you wouldn’t be carrying a message at all. There’s something in it that makes all the difference, isn’t there? Some kind of seal of authenticity. Something that lends you validity. Someone from Andosslan Isle. Now I’m not too learned on elven politics so I don’t know who.”
All but an invitation to fill in the gaps.
“This isn’t what you think it is, human.”
“And what do I think it is?”
”We’re not trying to manipulate you, we’re trying to help you!” He snapped.
Oh, how self-righteous.
“What makes you think we need help?”
“Your inability to take a single fortress held by the Empire makes us think so, human. If Sel-”
A heated pause. So close. You nearly lost it there.
“If… if the ones who sent me did not have an inflated opinion of your worth, I would not be here.”
Arylac said nothing.
“We’re offering to help you take Helgarde, human.”
“You were wrong before, elf.”
“This is a manipulative attempt. You want us to open up an entire front for the Empire to focus itself on. A war that will ravage both us and the Empire.”
And, by Seltine, you’d kill us all after we were done grinding each other into bloody dust.
“You yourself said you have nothing but disdain for the Empire.”
“Not so, but that’s beside the point. You don’t have the strength to fight the Empire head-on, and even if you won’t admit it you know I’m right. If you don’t know it then you’re an idiot and I’m wasting my time with you. You need us to fight this war for you. Without us, frankly, you’ve already lost.”
“Don’t you rail against your captivity?” The elf seethed with rage, though he probably thought he was inspiring and clear. “The Empire confines you, imprisons you, sneers and derides you at every turn. Don’t you rage at that? They built those damn walls all around you to keep you caged, like animals!”
“No. Because that derision is a shroud for their fear. They know that a war with us is one they might lose. We’re the one power that can stand up to them and by Seltine, they know that too. We’re human like they are. We think like they do. We understand them like you never can.”
Besides, I like the wilds more than I like their prim cities. Life’s more exciting here. I can’t say I care much if they want to separate us from them, I haven’t met a wilder who wants to be like they are and wasn’t a bawling sycophant to boot.
“Are you going to let me leave here or not?”
I suppose I’ve bored the poor child. Ironic, since he’s probably older than I am.
“If you like.”
“Are you going to follow me?”
“Do I really have to answer that question?”
“You won’t catch me.” He threw out boldly.
“Like we didn’t catch you before, child? You betray yourself and your masters with your inadequacies!”
More silence. Swiftwind was clearly struggling to restrain himself. Arylac wondered at the potential for violence within the elf. They were a strong species, of that there was no doubt – they were fast, and graceful. And for all their slender frames, they had a curious physical strength that came naturally to them. And immortality, and magical potency – they discovered it, and as such it followed that they were better at it, or were at lest more sensitive. Which then lead into them being better.
Arylac wondered at the elves’ myriad gifts. It was a curious thing, then, how readily they failed against the Empire. Perhaps their individual powers, their potential stretching off into infinity along with the potential years of their lives, which made them fall. They lost their community, their ability to rally to a banner and fight. Perhaps that was it. Or perhaps it was hubris, that same critical flaw that claimed so many. It didn’t matter much.
An errant, curious thought flickered in his mind. He had already made up his mind to let Swiftwind go. But first, he wanted to prove something. A cursory sweep with a hunting knife let Swiftwind down, and he quite easily righted himself with sleek elven grace. He grabbed another hunting knife from an opposite table and tossed it to the elf, who flicked a hand out and caught it, before giving Arylac a questioning look.
“Try it.” The human smiled, and assumed a fighting stance.
I’m either going to prove a point or be really humbled here. I wonder which one it’ll be.
He studied Swiftwind’s motions, the catlike agility and the near-perfect balance. He wondered just how much of that was due to racial ability and how much was down to practise.
It has to at least be a balance. Elves are gifted, there’s no denying that. But how gifted? But their potential has to be vast, and they have rather a long time in which to realize that.
Swiftwind reversed his grip on the knife, which he held in his right hand and surged forward in a burst of speed that surprised Arylac, who was caught momentarily off-balance.
His first thought was: Seltine, that was fast.
His second was: I expected faster.
He flicked the knife from his right hand to his left, and taking advantage of his innate ambidexterity, parried and locked knives, which was honestly a rather odd thing to do in a knife fight. But they were more “short swords” anyway. Wilder weapons invariably tended on the larger side. They were uniformly a tough people.
Both combatants wanted the lock, to test their strength.
Swiftwind was an elf, uniquely gifted, strong, with very little body fat and dense muscles by dint of nature. He had lived seventy-six years and had all but mastered himself, but he had always been languid.
Arylac was wilder, born strong but far from gifted. He had been slightly chubby as a child but as the years passed, he had transformed himself into a hard, muscular man through sheer will, passion and training. His strength had come through pain, not nature. He had been through and endured more than the elf, and that made him strong. He knew himself. And he knew he was the stronger, here.
The elf shoved, trying to break the lock, but Arylac didn’t even flinch. He ran forward, holding the lock, and then simply sucker punched the elf in the face, felling him instantly. The elf looked at his knife with distaste and tossed it aside, before accepting Arylac’s proffered hand and lifted himself up. A trickle of blood ran down his mouth.
“Sorry.” Arylac said amiably.
“I was as willing as you were.” The elf replied stiffly. “No apologies are necessary.”
I hadn’t expected it to be that easy. But Swiftwind was still stronger than he had any right to be.
But, with a slight flush of pride, he noted that he hadn’t even been moved.
“Terasar.” The elf said.
“My name. Terasar.”
“It was… interesting, though I doubt I’ll see you again.”
“There’s a man waiting outside, he’s got your gear and you’re free to go from here. We searched your possessions but they haven’t been tampered with. Deliver your message.”
“Syliés.” Swiftwind said, as he walked out.
“Goodbye to you too.”
Later that evening, Arylac maintained a silent vigil near the edge of his tribe’s camp, at the tip of a sharply declining slope. Swiftwind had left hours earlier, and Arylac wondered as to his success. Thaloc was reasonable but sensible enough not to let himself get dragged into careless plans too easily – he’d learned that lesson not long ago, and Arylac had helped teach him it, in fire and pain.
But Arylac had known it would be him, simply because Thaloc had always been known to be sympathetic to the elvish cause. He was the obvious choice for them and for good reason. But he wouldn’t assault Helgarde by himself. There weren’t any particular laws or such against it – no one would especially care if he attacked it, to be honest, except maybe the Empire – but it would be foolish to attack it. True, the warband that went out every ten years to assault it always failed, but they were far from the sum war potential of an entire clan. But his clan would suffer horrendous losses. And no leader wanted to decimate his clan in such a way.
In all honesty, the life of Helgarde hung by a perilously thin thread. The truly frightening thing was that the Empire didn’t know it. No one knew enough about the actual size and disposition of the clans to reasonably make calculations as to their strength. Tacticians and strategists could guess, of course. But it was only ever a guess.
It was frightening, of course, because the fall of Helgarde, more likely than not, would lead to open conflict between Empire and Wilders. The current state of undeclared hostility was preferable – at least to Arylac – to actually finding out which side would win.
Because finding out could very well kill them all.
28th Aug 07, 9:21 AM
Elan wasn't a diplomat at heart, when working for the Shadow Justice he preferred scouting missions and assassinations. It was however a fact that he had good relations with the Wildermen. By relations he meant acquaintances, he'd visit a few clans per year on his travels, across the centuries, and through that time pick up contacts and familiarity with families. He'd seen human children grow up and die, and prosper. For Elan it was one of his mellowing thoughts, that life is fleeting, and so too are the communities we stand by. That was one of the reasons he was with the Shadow Justice in the first place, even his long Elven life was caught up in the destruction by Helorian hands, the community he had been born into had been broken asunder. Now with the help of others he and the Justice hoped to rid the world of the threat of extinction, and eradication. The Elves faced extinction, the Wildermen eradication, they just had to be convinced that their state of small border conflicts was not going to last after the Elves had been wiped out.
His cloak bustled around him in the cold caress of the wind in these chilly parts of the land. He was used to it, and took some merriment from the discomfort of his fellow diplomats. Out ahead the Wildermen saw the party, already deep into their territories.
Elan raised his hands and wondered how he was meant to defend himself in that state, but then, perhaps, that was the point.
First Vallan spoke in elven, a melodic and beautiful language few wilders had ever heard before. He knew he made a mistake when they gave him a puzzled look before clearing his throat before speaking again.
"Greatings....Greetings? I am..not as strong in your tongue...I have come to make talk with..your kings." It was rough and a bit clumsy. Many elves had studied it before for war purposes these days but he'd only had a few weeks of experience himself and rarely made use of it. He smiled, hoping that would offset his bad influent dialect. The wilder on the right laughed but his comrade on the left was not laughing and backed off for them to pass through. He did so and another man stepped forth as they entered, leading them to the center of the camp. The camp smelled of freshly cooked meat and foods of all kind. Whiskey was not uncommon as well, many wilders were about and most of which had many scars. A good presence was about this camp, a presence of merriment and joy. Even singing could be heard from a group that had drank a bit much. After a bit of walking, they reached the outer-edge where much older and serious looking men sat in silence around a large bonfire. Vallan knew these were who he had come to see. He gave a short bow before speaking.
"My name is Vallan...emissary of the Shadow..." He paused, trying recall the human word... "..Justicars, sent by Vorn."
There was a pause, all of the men turning to look at him, sizing him up. These were supposed to be some of the clan leaders, greater and lesser. Vallan became unsure whether he'd used the right words..
28th Aug 07, 2:08 PM
Anaba snorted in frustration, breath frosting in the air, shaking his shoulders and head to loosen the snow that had gathered on him. He was told to wait outside of the wilder camp, as he was not exactly the image of peaceful intentions. The large beastman looked down at the Wilders standing curious guard around him, they were large men, but not one of them even came up to his chin.
With another snort of frustration, Anaba sinks down cross legged into the snow, not feeling the cold, and pulls a throwing dagger from one of the numerous sheathes adorning his battle harness. The Wilders react in alarm, some going for weapons, some taking a step or two towards him, as Anaba ignores them completely and produces a whetstone from a pouch at his waist. He begins to calmly sharpen his axe, and the guards settle back into their watch.
"I was given a task, and I will always be prepared for it. On my honor" he mutters in elvish, a language he has grown more comfortable with as of late. His accent was horrid, but he could speak it.
28th Aug 07, 2:51 PM
A shrill wind parted the trees, scattering a hail of freezing snow onto the small band of wilders descending the mountain. The howling echoed in Arylac’s ears and the wolf next to him rumbled a low growl, clearly irritated. He patted the large animal’s head and it stilled somewhat, stalking back off into the mountain. The animals of the mountain, at least, were friends of the wilders. They wouldn’t touch them even if they walked right into their midst.
The one upside of all this is that we won’t leave tracks and even if we yell it’s not going to carry far. Which helps when orcs are skulking about.
They’d seen some of them not far back, piling bodies onto a fire, looking desolate. He almost felt sorry for the beasts. Almost. Then Arylt appeared from a bush and made a beeline for him.
“More of them, down there about fifty metres from us. They haven’t heard us. Not that you can actually hear anything in this.”
Or shoot anything; at least not with any reasonable degree of accuracy.
“Can we go around?”
“Best not to. The ground’s steep as hell and slippery. Through them is the best way.”
“I don’t suppose they look like they’re going anywhere anytime soon?”
“No such luck.”
Arylac drew Varygar and sighed.
“Then I guess we’re killing them.”
The six wilders descended down the mountain, hooded and cloaked and at least partially shrouded by the bushes. There were eight orcs, gathered around a fleeting fire that was alight only due to the partial shelter afforded by a clutch of trees. Even so, it would probably go out fairly soon, and the orcs looked particularly miserable about it. Five of them were sitting on the ground, their hulking limbs folded. Two others were by the fire, trying to shelter it from the raging weather, and a last was staring into the distance, a hand running through its long hair in a surprisingly human gesture.
They could almost be mistaken for wilders at a distance, Arylac sighed. But they weren’t human. Not even close. They wouldn’t just let humans walk right through them. They’d scent the blood and go mad at it.
“Take them!” Arylac yelled and burst from a fairly small bush. Honestly, he was surprised it had even concealed him at all. The orc closest to him stumbled to his feet too slowly and Arylac’s boot smashed into his head, knocking him back down to the snow. The second was faster, and received Arylac’s spinning hatchet in his neck for his efforts. The crazed Wilder was still running and crashed his sword against the third orc’s in a tumultuous rush of flesh and steel without pause.
The orc’s strength was tremendous, and he was a full head taller than Arylac. It pushed, and Arylac fell back, parrying two successive swings from the orc’s broadsword but giving ground anyway.
The green-tinted monster roared angrily, baring its fangs. Hatred flared in the creature’s red eyes; it squared its shoulders and charged, barrelling straight into the impudent human before it. Varygar stabbed into its shoulder, drawing thick blood, but it wasn’t even slowed, and Arylac was tossed down to the ground beneath the orc, which descended, thrashing and growling like a feral animal.
Arylac rolled back onto his shoulders and kicked upwards with both feet, moving the orc but not enough. His right arm fumbled for Varygar but the hilt was too far away, and the orc’s broadsword was descending. It missed when Arylac decided to punch the orc in the face several times, breaking its nose and spattering blood across its face. Of course, that just made it madder – but Arylac decided that its state of rage was irrelevant when it was trying to smash his face in. It was stronger than him anyway.
He just needed to distract it long enough for someone else to stab it in the back. He rose to his feet when someone finally managed that, shoving the barely-living orc off him and looked around. Six of the orcs were dead, as were three wilders. Arylac looked up into empty eyes, and the man who’d saved him slumped down, a bloodied sword protruding from his abdomen. He gasped and gasped for a breath that would not come; his lungs emptied in a shrill wail and he clutched at his stomach as his guts poured out onto the freezing snow.
Arylac stared into the hate-filled eyes of the orc before him and charged. This one was smaller, and was suddenly confronted with the new sensation of fighting someone bigger and scarier than himself. Arylac smashed his sword down against the orc’s high guard, not bothering with finesse – he just wore down the orc’s endurance with battering blows and clubbed his defence aside. When the sword dropped he rammed Varygar’s pommel into the orc’s head and then fell on it as it hit the ground, caving its skull in with successive blows.
The last orc was dead when he looked up; the surviving two wilders cleaned off their weapons before sheathing them or putting them away. Arylac retrieved his hatchet and then asked for their named. Valt was the first – wielding a curved sword and a shortbow, and the other was Srynt, carrying an obsidian-embossed warhammer. Together they descended, leaving the corpses behind them.
28th Aug 07, 5:59 PM
Dante cleared his throat, drawing attention to himself. A smooth, confident...perhaps arrogant voice rang out clearly through the wintery night.
"We have come as emmisaries, to make common cause against the Helorian's, who would have both of us bled to extinction. I am Dante, and this is Vallan. He is charged with being the leader of this delegation, though he does not know your language as well as I."
He spoke with little accent, saying each word and syllabel with near practiced perfection.
28th Aug 07, 11:18 PM
Vicros stands a distance away from his companions, indeed, his presense is disturbing even to the other elves. His image is obscure even in plain sight and he moves swift and soundlessly as if he is hovering above the ground.
Unlike his other comrades, there is no tension in his stance or his heart. For if any of the savages dare to show their aggression, his magic will cripple their mind in no time.
He originally consent this mission with Vorn, dealing with these feral heathen is much a dishonorable deed, even in such dire times. He never trust these barbarians, for they have also destroyed many elven lives, plus a lot of his brethen and gave him the crimson scar that marks his face. But he trust his liege lord, for Vicros has fought alongside with him on so many battles and he would carry out his orders, even if it would cost his life.
He remains still and observes the conversation of the two Shadow Knights with the Wildman, the ferals stear clear of him, frighten by his baleful gaze.
"Thank yoo, Dante. As we both know, the Helorian...Republic serves only theemselves. Though our numbers are...small, we can be of great aid to the wildermen in their fight and Helor may no longer be unassailable. If you would just unite, to fight your gree...greatest foe, then victory would be..possi..possible. Do you not agreet?...Agree?"
He had used his hands somewhat to illustrate a few words he was saying that felt wrong or words with heavy elven accent. He realized, however, the message got across. The Wilderchiefs dismissed them, telling to leave their part of the camp and wait elsewhere as they "discuss". As they joined the rest of the wilders, Vallan looked to each of his companions silently, as a few drunks behind them could be heard seeing, quietly asking..
"I don't know what to think. The lot of them remained silent through what I said and they dismissed us so quick. Chances seem unlikely at best, to me." He spoke quickly in the elven tongue, glad to use his language again than the awkward human speak.
29th Aug 07, 7:42 AM
"The Wilderman have become used to their state of constant war, small skirmishes here and there, nothing ever too forceful apart from the combined clan attacks every ten years. The Helorians know they can't take this land without heavy losses if at all, and the same goes for the Wildermen. They aren't just scared of losing, they are scared of those losses, the people here are comfortable, despite the level of tension. It will be hard convincing them that the sacrifice will be worth it, or indeed successful. However they listened to us, and have been quite accepting of such a large group getting so close to them. Trust has been attained, it can only get better from here." Elan said, he hoped as strongly as the next Elf that the Wildermen's strength could be gained.
29th Aug 07, 2:14 PM
"Fight or Flight, Sword or Shield, I find it hard to believe that such a warlike folk would not entertain the formers rather then the latters," spoke Dante quietly in the elves' own tongue. He closed his eyes, listening again for some movement or signal, as if some feral animal more attuned with the earth and the air than anything else.
"Be onguard, for the Helorian's may realize what is taking place, or else the Wilder's think it best to kill us and wipe out all trace of our presence."
"I find it unlikely they'd slaughter us, if not just for the fact we're a thorn in their enemy's side. But, of course, that is still a possibility or we might have left our weapons outside ya know." He grinned as a small fist-fight broke out between the 4 drunks that had been livening up the party, all others laughing and watching.
"The fact they decided to listen to us, as Elan said, is proof enough that they're interested. We have that, at least. Worst case scenario is they're waiting for something...or someone, before they actually talk to us.."
29th Aug 07, 5:54 PM
"Then that thing they're waiting on had best be positive," answered Dante with a slightly morbid tug on his lips, trying to twist his darkly handsome face into a smile. The drunk's fight was finally being broken up by two bigger, but not as drunk men. They all dispersed, turning away grumbling.
Dante muttered the elvish word for 'animals' under his breath.
"Alright. I guess I'll go check on Anaba. Shame we couldn't bring him in, but a minotaur might frighten the people whom barely trust us..." He spoke the last part of the sentence in a half-whisper as he strode quickly, a very natural thing for elven warriors, toward the entrance to the camp. He saw some riders and torches in the distance. At first, he assumed it was wilders until he noticed...The falcon-shaped helmet, of the...
"RAVENWINGS!" He yelled, the guards immediately scrambling from their spoiled laze and he quickly noticed some others take their post. They knew this camp did not have more than 50 men and he could see over 2 flights in the distance...this would not end well. He called for Anaba to follow in the elven tongue before dashing back, to warn his allies, the entire camp being roused around him...
29th Aug 07, 7:29 PM
Anaba rose with a grin across his features and a gleam in his eye, tucking his throwing axe away and loosening his two swords in their sheathes as he stands, turning to face the charging horsemen at the edge of the camp. With a snort he turns to the nearest fleeing Wilder, snatching the spear off of his back and turning to plant it in the ground, point first. He roars out curses in thickly accented common, casting doubts on his foes ancestors and their fathers sexual orientation.
Common sense eventually prevails over his sense of superiority, as the charging knights get closer and their numbers more apparent.
"Its not retreating...its finding a more defensible position" he mutters to himself in elvish as he grabs the spear from the ground and, taking a half dozen quick steps forward, casts his spear into the horsemen's ranks. A shout of shock is heard and he grins in satisfaction as he retreats into the woods, attempting to find Vallan.
29th Aug 07, 9:14 PM
Dante walked quietly to the forefront of the horseman's charge, standing like some robed wraith from times long forgotten. The horses spurred forward, meaning to charge the elf down. Harsh shouts and calls from the ranks of the advancing cavalry followed in tandem with the murder in the eyes of each and every man. Dante merely raised his hands, very slowly, very deliberately. And then like some great black smoke darkness blacker then the blackest night crept through the woods, engulfing and surronding the men and frightening the horses.
Seemingly from nowhere a knife found a chink in the leader's armor, driving into his neck and silencing him forever. The Shadowdancer was upon them.
29th Aug 07, 9:48 PM
With a wave of his hand, Vicros conjure a strong mist in the camp, concealing his companions from the enemy.
Then he shadow shift right next to the shocked Ravenwings
You will all pay for your tresspasses in blood. He said magically into their ears.
Halllucinations of terrifying horrors emerge as he speek, horses are frightened and their riders lost control of them. Several Knights fall to the ground as their horses ran free.
Vicros slays one of the downed Ravenwing with his Relic Blade, before backswing and cut down another. The eldrich weapon glows brightly as it slaughters.
As the first flight struggles with the magic, the second flight is seen going around the right as the third flight goes around the left. Within moments, the majority of the wilders crash into the second flight, seemingly as intended. Meanwhile, the third flight seems to be going near the outer-edge, where the Chieftains might be..
Vallan dashed to the back, not engaging at the front and saw the chieftains, their weapons drawn. He yelled at them, not realizing it had been in elven until it was too late. They all stared at him and the third flight squeezed between the trees. 8 chieftains now stood against 50ish Highly skilled cavalry. Their deaths might very well mean the loss of any chance of alliance...
He wasted no time and with a shrill yell in the arcane language, a fireball flew from his hand, exploding on impact in the first rank of the cavalry. The second rank crashed through, going right over their fallen comrades. He had hoped for more disruption. Without hesitation, he drew his blade and shield. This would be one wild night..
30th Aug 07, 3:47 AM
Elan looked to the sun for a while as his allies ran around him to their positions. There was not enough shadow for Elan to work well here. But as that thought dawned on him, Dante cast a very good darkness spell, followed by Vicros' concealing mist. Elan smiled.
The shadows in his cloak seemed to twist unnaturally, fighting for a life of their own in the sun's rays. Then he darted forward, past the horsemen that had made it out of the spell, reeling in the mist, and into the darkness. A place where he could see quite well, and knew the humans could not. His shadow blades grew quite long, barely visible even to Dark Elven eyes in the black mass.
Here there were only a few Helorians still struggling, but he would see an end to them swiftly alongside Dante. Elan jumped up onto the horses, through the shadows and stabbed quickly as many as he could. Not fatal blows, just safe ones, poisoned ones. Many of the horses and their riders began to slow, their wild flurries becoming lethargic sweeps of their blades in the air. Easy work for Dante, even Elan could strike with more ease.
It was nothing compared to the fight outside the darkness though.
30th Aug 07, 5:18 AM
Ekros curses as he realize they are being outflanked by the superior number of enemies. Lacking any of his brethen to resonate his spell, he could not expand its protection too far.
Turning invisible with a gesture, he swiftly comes around to the right flank, where the wildmen are being press back by the better armed knights.
Invoking the whisper of Doom again, Ekros emits a sharp shriek of banshee in the ears of the attacking knights. The human solders cover their ears against the terrifying voice, giving the wildmen a chance to fight back.
He goes on a cleaving rampage against his demoralized enemies, while the wildmen follows his example and do the same.
OOC: Just so we're all clear, the current situation is...
Elan, Raven, and a few wildermen guards are at the front of the camp, disrupting and cleaning up a lot of the ravenwing 1st flight. On the right flank, ekros and the rest of the wildermen, even with his magical aid, are struggling somewhat. Vallan and the chieftains, along with a few guards, are fighting the third flight and are struggling just not to get killed.
Vallan made good use of his speed, often blocking a rider coming to strike and pass with his shield before spinng around, striking him in the back before he was out of range. He spent, however, most of his time keeping the chieftain's alive. Blocking blows to their back, disrupting a charging soldier when they didnt see him... He repeated to himself that if they died, it might mean the loss of support to the elves completely. The chieftains weren't any pushovers themselves but most of them were quite old for a wilderman. they continued fighting but, it seemed futile. There were so many more, better armed, very skilled and he knew if he blacked the area here, it'd hurt the chieftains as much as it hurt the ravenwings. "Guess we'll have to fight it the old fashioned way..." Vallan mumbled under his breath, after a cutting a man clean across the throat before moving on..
30th Aug 07, 6:38 AM
“So, they bring their warriors and their horses trampling down on us from up high…” Tsintar murmured, his voice a low, ominous rumble. Clear blue eyes met Arylac’s green, and he smiled a feral smile. “Have they gone mad?”
“Clearly,” Arylac replied, casting an eye back at Tsintar’s guards – three dozen heavily armed wilders. The angry howl of a wolf pack resounded in the valley, beneath the moonlight. He was told that the sound terrified the Helorians. For the wilders, it was a source of strength and inspiration. Arylac lowered the dead ranger they had found back to the ground, returning him to the wilds, where his spirit would rest easy.
His muttered warning had reached the warlords, and their wrath would not be abated easily. The Helorians were moving in the distance, scattering the leaves and moving in with full strength on the wilder camp. A few Ravenwings sure as hell weren’t enough to take the wilder lords. No one held authority in the Forsaken Lands without the strength to hold it.
“Horribly outnumbered against a bitter and dangerous foe.”
“What the hell are we waiting for?”
With a clamorous roar, the wilders raised their weapons and screamed exaltation to the skies and descended on the Helorian footmen like frenzied madmen, surrounded by a swirling whirlwind of white fur and fangs. The Helorians were well-drilled troopers with the best weapons, the best armour and the best training.
Arylac and Tsintar led their warriors from the front, towering and furious, fighting side by side. The wave of wilders hit a wall of shields and tore straight through, baying and roaring. Swords clashed, and screams and yells erupted from the front; blood spattered, limbs flew and the lines of warriors coalesced, mashing together in a tumultuous circle of blood and pain.
One wilder smashed a Helorian’s helmet in with a massive hammer; another was skewered on three spears, as a pair of wolves ducked under and tore the legs of the spearmen to shreds, leaving them a pile of incoherent, bloody chunks drowning in inchoate screams.
Tsintar was a laughing berserker; he ripped an arrow from his collar and smiled cheerfully at the archer before smashing a two-handed axe into his chest, ripping apart the man’s heart and lungs. Losing himself in the heat and sound of battle, he killed everything around him, soon amassing a steady pile of corpses around him.
Arylac was more conservative – and to be honest less skilled than Tsintar was – but he still carved a bloody swathe through his foes as only a wilder chief could; backed by a coterie of his fellow warlord’s ‘zerkers that carved apart half the warriors that came at him. Over half the guards were dead already, of course – they were pitifully few compared to the Helorians, but that wasn’t the point. When the noise of battle carried over far enough, it’d bring half the wilder camp down on the enemy and it would turn the entire thing into a total rout.
The presence of he and Tsintar sent a single, crystal clear message: we are crazy and you are going to die.
And then Tsintar was dead, and half the wilder army bore down on the Helorians and the world became lost to Arylac, a baleful screeching echoing in the back of his mind, etching and gnawing in a grotesque reminder of times of terror long past. A torrent of bitter hatred, grown deep and malefic across the ages, seethed, even the mere presence of it casting pools of unholy resonance across those sensitive to it.
And Arylac was sensitive to it. Oh, by Seltine, so very sensitive. Everything became an incoherent blur and Arylac was sickened to his stomach, the forms of soldiers sweeping left and right before him, no longer able to distinguish friend from foe, no longer able to see anything but the burning, seething after-image of a violet blade that parted the war before it.
The world was silent. Arylac listened as the void spoke.
30th Aug 07, 7:14 AM
Anaba roared out a minotaur war chant as he cleaved his way through the enemy, in one hand he had his smaller sword and the other was often releasing his supply of axes and blades into the enemy. He was a tangled mess of cuts and gouges, but he noticed none of them.
The minotaur had been steadily working his way through the human forces, his strength unmatched by one or even two men as he smashed through guards and broke necks with his off hand.
"Beast!" yelled a hate filled voice, allowing the minotaur to turn in time to grab a lance just beyond the head that was angled for his throat, the under captain wielding it screaming insults at him, horrified at Anaba's appearance yet eager to end his existence. The minotaur sidestepped to the outside of the spear with startling fluidity, using sheer force to retain his grasp on the lance and fling the man off of his horse and onto a group of his fellows. With a laugh...and now a very long stick of metal, he laid into the calvary, heading towards the sounds of battle at the other side of their formation. The elves and elders could take care of themselves, but he could see over most of the battlefield, and his new allies were sorely outnumbered.
Vallan let a short howl of pain as the blade slashed across his back, barely missing his neck. He turned and yanked the Ravenwing right off his horse, stabbing into his exposed neck upon hitting the ground. Vallan was breathing heavy, he had many cuts and now an open wound. He had also used some of his best magic, he was growing weary and his vision started to blur ever-so slightly. The first signs of true fatigue... He regained his posture just in time to see a Ravenwing charged at one of the chieftains unaware. Vallan, with unearthly speed, ran to intercept him. Too late, he already knew. He would be too late. The Lance stabbed into his back and he let out a howl of anger, more than pain, and Vallan's blade had met his neck at the same moment with a jump. The man fell limp and Vallan pulled the lance out of his back. The chieftains as a whole, had all taken many wounds, and all rallied around the body of a wilder chieftain who they had once called enemy. Purely for survival, they would rally together and fight side-by-side. A thing not known once in the history, however small...
Vallan tried to bandage his wounds and did so, though roughly, manging to stop the bleeding. This man, however, had a good chance of never walking again. His breathing became heavy, as Vallan's, and he demanded a weapon. Against Vallan's wishes, they gave it to him and he stood, willing to fight as long as he could. Why, he thought. Why would he do this? Surely he must know he will die if he continues like that...Why?
Honor? Pride?...or simply because he has no choice? The wounded wilder struggled to even walk, much less fight, but there was not much Vallan could do, as he now understood. These people would fight because they had to. They could not sit back and die. If they were going to stop fighting, it would be because they were hacked into a million pieces. Admiration swelled up in Vallan before rejoining the fray, guarding the chieftain as best he could...
30th Aug 07, 1:54 PM
Elan stalked through the darkness, he could sense the magic, its ties to this world fading. With his own fading shadow blades he finished the last of the Helorians within the spell as he crawled to the darknesses centre, completely lost. As soon as the human was dead the noise of the world outside filtered back into Elan's ears. He heaved himself to stand straight, he hadn't exercised himself as much in a long time, no doubt it was more rigorous outside the darkness.
Just before the last tendrils of darkness snaked back to a centrepoint Elan made for one of the nearby trees, bounding up its vertical surface then launching off it into the air and to another tree's branch. In his fatigued state he could barely retain balance, but did so, before looking out to the battlefield, the Wilder camp.
Off to where they had all first met with the Chieftains he saw Vallan, fighting side by side with the Wilder Elders. Then to his flank, a side still teeming with Helorians he saw wolves and Wilderman, a new assault, and a bloody one. Elan knew his allegiance lay with his fellow Elves, no matter how momentous this battle was in its simple combination of Man and Elf against Man. And so he bounded through the trees form branch to branch, a fleeting shadow the only sign of his presence.
As he neared his compatriots he cursed himself, as he had many times, for not bringing a bow.
30th Aug 07, 2:12 PM
Dante irreverently pulled his soiled blade from the corpse of a slain Helorian, flicking the blood away with a twist of his wrist.
"They aren't as good as they used to be."
A sidelong glance fell to Vallan and the chieftan's, fighting against the Ravenwing's, though reinforcements were fast approaching. He decided they'd had it covered, and so turned his thoughts and senses to the surrond once more, as was his won't.
30th Aug 07, 3:42 PM
Ekros wipe blood off his pale cheeks, he is almost entirely drench in the blood of those who are slaughter by him.
Around him scatter the corpse of those who he slained, a pile of flesh and blood.
But as he look on, more Helorians are coming towards him.
He open his arms, pointing his relic blade up towards the coming soldiers, who are hesitant to charge him, seeing the fate of their late comrades.
He calmly reach for his helmet and take it off lightly. The Ravenwing Knights are surprised to see the Elven feature beneath the armor, most of them had made comsumption that they were fighting against a dread unholy creation summon by foul necromical magic.
Then for the first time on this journey, he speaks, in a sturm and righteous tone, his deep voice seem to be unhamper by the chaos of battle around him.
"I am Lord Ekros Darksbane, servent of the Shadow and companion of Prince Vorn himself!" He shouts out at them "I challenge the best amongst you! Do none of you possess enough courage to accept my challenge? Your false lords will certainly reward handsomely for the person who can claim my head."
He glare into the eyes of the humans like a tiger at its prey, ready to strike and slaughter at any moment.
Vallan, near at his limit, struggled for his own life now, much less protect the wounded chieftain. 2/3rds of the Flight dead, but their strength was breaking. Still, they came again and again as if the Will of the Gods drove them to the breaking point. As if something inside of these riders would not allow them to flee, their relentless attacks...Vallan wouldn't underestimate them again. His weary body held him almost to the ground, the shackles of mortality binding him. He struck home at yet another, sliding his sword right through his face before slitting his throat. Vallan noticed the wounded chieftain was nowhere to be seen and 2 more were missing, most likely trampled under the horses. Only 4 remained, the wilder warriors they had as guards long slain.
As Vallan strode slowly toward his next target, he simply fell, all going black...
He opened his eyes to see great knights in blood-stained armor from many years past stabbing and beheading soldiers, men, women, and children alike. As if it did not even matter, as if they were all armed combatants ready to strike and kill. Wait, no, they were elves...a vision of a past battle? No, Vallan thought, this was no battle. This was merciless massacre. He could not look, as children grabbed for their mother and cut down before they could reach her corpse. At once, all the knights turned and looked at him. Red eyes, eyes of fire that spoke only of death and pain. Blood for blood, man for man, all your children will die to my very sword, as it is already coated with the rest of your kin. We will show no mercy to the feykin and you will die for expecting such a pointless courtesy. the knights all said in a unified, somewhat ethereal, voice.
"Revenge may be an endless cycle of pain and wanton slaughter, but...I'll gladly take my ride on it." Everything went black again.
All at once, he opened eyes, Ravenwings closing in on the last wilders. The first flight seemed to be eliminated except a few who managed to escape, the second flight was struggling and preparing retreat. Vallan knew not how he knew this, it came to him as if some kind of message that only he could read and was meant for that. He stood up, some strength regained, and charged at the nearest Ravenwing rider. The wilders cheered, having thought their comrade dead. They kept cheering, letting out vicious battlecries.. The fight was almost over. Their morale hangs by a hair and something would have to snap it if these men were to live. A great rage awoke in Vallan, a kind of battlerage he had never known. He had always killed with precision and calm, which was best, but he was angered now. It is most likely why he did not notice the wound in his back was bleeding immensely...
31st Aug 07, 2:05 AM
Elan did at least have one ranged weapon, his web spell, combined with poison it would make for a good imprisonment for one of the Helorian warriors, and the poison didn't have to kill if he didn't want it to. With both hands he began to weave the spells, augmenting one with the other. His eyes in the meantime picked out targets, shifting to another when one was slain or engaged. When the spell was complete he literally cast a tight ball of webbing from his hands, hitting a Helorian in the face. The soldier was bowled off his horse and into a tree where the webbing exploded onto the nearby surfaces.
As this happened another Helorian looked up only to see a dark mass of cloak and Elf drop down from the trees onto him, and feel somtehing cold enter his spine.
Elan looked to the Chieftains, and amongst them Vallan, not quite able to tell who was who in their rage. Elan picked up a Helorian blade, lighter at least than a Wilder blade and joined them.
31st Aug 07, 9:51 AM
"Fools... I will get my revenge someday"
A looking young elf in a metal mask on his left, covered his mouth and nose with black cloth muttered to himself in elvish, chuckling observing the suffering Helorian soldiers on the ground speechless and helpless from the poison of his magic. With an evil look and malicious smile, he took one of the Helorian soldiers from the ground and grabbed him by his hair. He was amazed and was happy in what he saw, finally being able to avenge the people who killed his family ages ago.
"Foul beings deserved to be punished, you vile and wicked yet weak must be wiped out in this world."
He gave the man an angry stare then let him go and stood up. He began casting his black flame in his left hand then counts on the soldiers who were lying on the ground.
"One, two... three... ten... twenty, thirty, fifty!"
He grinned evilly after he count and then threw the fireball on his left hand, burning on the lying soldiers in the ground. He laughed loudly after seeing them burned, and continued to laugh after hearing them scream of pain moments later after the burns spread to their bodies.
"Die, die you wicked humans! You deserve that, feel my judgment!" I won't stop until your whole race cease to exist, I won't stop until I get my revenge on you!"
He continued to laugh over and over, seeing the huge gray flames burn the bodies of the fifty soldiers on the ground, slowly corrodes them to ashes and dust.
31st Aug 07, 11:34 AM
Henrietta frowned and closed her eyes. "What's the situation?"
Scryer-Mistress Seldine brought her hands together and nodded. "The folds of magic are tangled at this moment... the elves, and their mastery of the divine wind, disrupts everything under my sight. However, the basic facts cannot be in doubt. The elves and the wildmen alike have allied and are aiming to bring down our empire. To that end, they have fought a successful battle. More than that, I cannot say at this time. The slaughter was great..."
"Damn then and their eldrich trickery." Leonard slammed a palm against the table. "We told them! We told them that our true foes were the wildmen, not the elves! Did they listen? Did they strengthen the border forts? Only the wildmen have the strength to carry the entire empire or even attempt that venture. We should be there now, fighting, not stuck here, confined while they inspect our army! What is this nonsense? Their beaurocratic masturbation will kill our empire!"
"You're right," Henrietta agreed.
Leonard blinked. He wasn't used to her agreeing with him.
"Now is the time to move. If the Alor Host is of no use now, it might as well not be." Henrietta smiled. "My suspicion is that they'd rather it didn't exist, though. The council is mad. In any case, we'll move. I'll be put under the command of whatever disgraced functionary is in charge of the borders, but I'll live with that condition. If it comes to it, I'll make sure I have my way."
Leonard nodded. "You're right. We'll show them the strength of the Empire!"
"So we will."
"Mistress, surely you don't intend to go out yourself?" Cedrick shook his head dubiously. "I can command the forces myself. You are needed here."
"Of course, general, my army will be in your hands. But I'll come. It is my duty to raise the sword in the defence of the people." Henrietta smirked. "Even if that's rather contradicted by the remit of a Sublime Dreamer. But I will not have it said that the Duchess Alor sits in luxury at her ancestral home while the empire falls into chaos and destruction! I will stand and fight by my men, and die by them if I need be."
"As a leader, your duty is to stay behind. I beg you to reconsider, Duchess."
"I am decided, General. This is final."
"And quite right, too. If there's to be any worth in the aristocracy, it is here." Leonard grinned. "We are the defenders of civilisation, after all. We won't let the wildmen destroy all of mankind's progress at their leisure!"
Henrietta stood decisively to cut off any further argument. "In any case, we will go. Seldine, stay in contact with me via your familiar. I will need to borrow her. General Cedrick, assemble my army and prepare them for war. If the inspectors stop you... take whatever action is necessary. Armehan, manage affairs here, and contact Rithwal. Tell him to handle things in the council. The Empire is at war and we must go to war with full force, without hesitation and without delay. That's what is necessary in this time. Nandre, Rigelo, pleasebeg the strength of the cults. I would appreciate their assistance. Everyone else, prepare to leave. I want our forces to be on the march at dawn."
"My lady." Her followers bowed, enraptured by her absolute presence.
Henrietta nodded. "Good. We shall move. We shall save our empire."
The area reaked of death. Vallan had never been in a battle with more than 30-40 combatants total and this was a new experience for him to see bodies littering all sides of the camp. As the few surviving ravenwings escaped, he helped the wilders gather their fallen and burn their bodies in a great pyre. Their time was out. Soon, the helorians would known elves made it to the Forsaken Lands, even fighting with the wildermen against them. They had to make north immediately on the seperate route. It would be the easy part but would the wildermen officially join them?
The very next morning, Vallan lazily awoke. He scratched his head and rolled out, donning his clothes and armor, strapping his hilt around his waist...
Stepping out, to his surprise, the chieftains sitting around the fire as before. 6 remained, 2 of the severely wounded ones managing to survive while the one Vallan helped seemed to have not made it. Along with another one, who he had not seen the night before. Much younger than the rest, a hulk of a man indeed. They all looked at Vallan when he came out and he took his seat in their circle around the fire. He noticed his comrades were awaking as well.
"We've come to a conclusion....We will join you in alliance, once we decide who will lead our clans. Once that is decided, it will be easy for the new Wilder-King to influence most to join....However, we will not blatantly take the wall and our alliance will seem hidden for a time. When the unified assualt is to begin, we will know...we have our ways."
31st Aug 07, 8:11 PM
"There's nothing more interesting thing to do in this place." Sagan said turning back from the burnt carcasses on the ground.
"From dust you were made, and ash when you die... Miserable creatures, humans... you are the cause of my very suffering. Once I believed that both of our races can prosper and unite, however I was wrong and in the end it was you who caused all of these troubles. I shall not forgive you, Helorians... I won't stop until I will get my revenge on you."
Leaving the sight, Sagan was met by his men more than thirty in number who were waiting for him for hours. They immediately stood up in his presence. Sagan looked at them one by one, then walked in front of them.
"We shall move south, and join with the others who waged war against these humans. Anyone who wishes to live or does not want to be involved can go, I will not be stopping you at this point nor blame you." Sagan said to them.
None of his men stepped back, Sagan standing in front of them then said "So, all of you are willing to stay by me in the end..." He paused for a while and then continued, "Then it is settled, we shall join the alliance of the Elves and the Wild-men who were against the Helorian republic." Sagan ended his speech with them and then walked away.
31st Aug 07, 8:13 PM
"A great army is approaching, Wilder's, and you must flee this place or feel the cold fingers of death. But take heart, the elves have waned but not fallen! We will return."
He inclined his head to Vallan, locking his eyes with the younger elf's.
"We must leave soon."
Vallan nodded before quickly grabbing his cloak and his shield from the ragged tent he had slept in. With a very heavy elvish accent, he said in the human language..."Goodbye and may the stars watch over you." An ancient human goodbye, when man worshipped the stars themselves, but a goodbye nonetheless. Without another moment of hesitation, the company was off again, to return North where the Shadow Justice movement truly lay. With a little bit more effort, they slipped over the wall. With the use of windwalker spells this time, allowing them the invisibility they needed for as long as they kept moving. Mostly, to get out of guard-range of Hel's Wall (as to some it was known) before traveling normally and on the outskirts of the Republic. A long journey, some would say, but they would need to be quick. They had to be. Hope finally in their hearts, they would have a chance at last at victory. One other allie was still possible, far more ancient than the humans. "Dwarves, next, with some luck," Vallan thought. Dwarves next....
OOC: If you wanted to say anything or do anything specific before the departure from the Forsaken Lands, simply post it in and make it obvious it was before they left.
1st Sep 07, 3:36 AM
Cutting down the third human warrior who dares to fight him in the challenge, Ekros strikes away back towards his party. He suffer a few wounds during all the fighting, consider he was fighting alone against foes of superior number with no aids from his own comrades.
He now re-cast the concealment spell he had lift before the challenge, Ekros does not use magic in challenge, unless his opponent is using it.
Then he swiftly disappear from the sights of men. Wilder and Pelorians alike.
1st Sep 07, 11:42 AM
Elan smiled, then the smile quickly turned to a frown. The caves were his forte, dark dank, sometimes crampt, sometimes vast, he excelled in combat in those shadowy expanses.
On the other hand, the Caverncrawler was a feared and hated monser of the caves. He'd killed many a Dwarf over the decades, too many. He had no casual acquiantances there, knew no familes apart form those he'd torn apart.
The next leg would be safer for Elan at least, but not light on his conscience.
2nd Sep 07, 12:11 AM
"I trust you've considered your report to Vorn."
The lovely scent of pine and the gentle sheet of black sky, occasionally showing through the canopy of tree's was peaceful. It was as if set there to distract from the very real danger that the group had entered. Sentries were all around the small band of elves, though none could be readily seen or easily discovered. Their bows were strung taut as they watched the every move of Dante and his followers.
The point where they'd meet with Vorn was drawing ever nearer.
2nd Sep 07, 1:49 AM
The idea of going to those dirt-loving and greedy dwarfs irritates Ekros, but he had sworn before Vorn to ensure the safety of this expedition with all his ability and he would never fail his liege on his task.
Silent he marches alongside Vallen, he had once again create the illusion of mist and darkness around the party, to ensure the human wont find them like last time.
"Vorn, eh? About time we met this guy."
Vallan ran how he would explain what had happened far south, in lands elves had never been for thousands of years. He removed his hood now, as he knew they'd arrived. A small cave in a rather solitude mountain, right near helorian borders. All magic quickly dispelled when they came near a tall elf at the back of the cave, several guards standing next to him. This mysterious elf had his blade drawn but not in a threatening way...maybe that dispelled the magic? He removed his hood likewise, revealing a slight smile on a young elf's face.
His voice, however, was deep and commanding.
"My brothers, what news have you brought from the deep south?"
Vorn's eyes, however, did not seem to leave Vallan often.
5th Sep 07, 8:43 PM
Vicros drop down one knee in the presence of his lord. who he sworn to protect and fight for with his life.
"The humans manage to track and attack us, my lord, but their efforts are futile."
Daki stared up at the stormy skies, eyes still burning with barely-contained power. The battle was won, though it had been an unnecassary fight. The Wildchief had taken offence at Daki's refusal to join the great alliance, and so sent his men to destroy her tribe. They weren't, however, expecting the Thunder-caller to be so powerful. Walking down the pile of corpses that had built up around her feet, Daki wondered what had befallen the world. The Elves had returned, or so it was said, and a war was looming. The power of the Sun-people, bright of so long, was fading. The Wildmen had joined with the Elves to bring the Sun-people down; something that had not happened in many years. The Wildmen were a proud people, they rarely accept help from anyone that isn't another Wildman.
She walked back into her village, a sudden gust of wind closing the wooden gates behind her. All around warriors were resting, some tending to their wounds, others drinking and celebrating a victorious fight. Daki felt nothing; no sense of victory or satisfaction. Fellow Wildmen had been killed unnecassarily, and all because the Wildchief was angry at Daki keeping her tribe separate from the rest of the alliance. On the other hand, the young Shaman knew that wasn't the only reason. The Wildchief was a lecherous aging man, who had tried to force Daki into "joining" his tribe on more than one occasion. She didn't fear him anymore, but her continued refusal of both his advances and his military propositions had led his emotions to get the better of him. He had sent Wildmen to their deaths, and Daki now knew that the old man's grip was tenous. The Wild-people needed a new champion, one who could lead them to greatness, one who could lead them to victory against the Sun-people without any help from the mythical Elves.
She walked into her hut, smiling. That champion, fates willing, could be her. Her tribe was a strong tribe, possibly one of the strongest. She was a Shaman of immense inner strength, and had her entire life ahead of her. She was young and full of vitality, which is what the Wildmen needed in a leader. She was their future.
Vallan quickly interrupted after a quick bow himself.
"Rather, the Wildermen, with some reluctance, will join us once a Wilder-King or Kings is decided...my lord."
He finished by kneeling, Vorn acknowledging Vicros, but was however troubled.
"They joined so easily? I think they might be using this as an excuse to find a Wilder-King. We will see, I suppose." Vorn took a drink from a rather common mug.
"It is good to see you all again, mostly, but I am afraid I must divide your company now and take leave myself. 2 nights I have stood here, you were a bit late and I cannot remain. Vicros, I require you and Elan to take control of the regiment here in Dante's absence. This is the closest one to Helorian borders and is most vital." He stopped to notice the puzzled look on Dante's face. "Yes, that's right, Dante. You and Vallan are to make your way into the Rothgard, the dwarven city...Our family line, long ago, when the dwarves fled into the mountains from the barbarous orc hordes gave us a map of a single path. It leads deep, into the darkest parts of the Gonlith Mountains. Much evil lies in that place, held back only by the hardy dwarves. You must avoid battles, whether it seems simple or not, and make for the dwarven city down this dark path." Vorn pulled a scroll from his cloak and tossed it at Dante.
"It is our only copy and is many years old...do be careful." Vorn grinned, as his bodyguard tapped on his shoulder. It was time to leave. As he exited the tent, Vorn whispered silently to Anaba in the ancientest form of elven..."I trust you, Anaba the Steadfast."
Vallan could only sit there and wonder..."Why me again? I want to fight, leave the diplomacy to the wizards.."
6th Sep 07, 4:46 PM
Dante snatched the scroll, hiding it amidst the ebon folds of his garments.
"We musn't tarry long then, the journey is far and perilous," was all the usually quiet Dante said. He exitted the meeting place, expecting Vallan to follow him as he started off down the lightly trod path. Already the waning moon held full sway over the silk sky, and would for several more hours.
6th Sep 07, 11:55 PM
"I will see to that, my lord." he bowed again before marching out of the cave, summoning his brethens of the order.
His retinue of Wraith Knights emerge without warning, just as silent as he is and they march in formation around him without a word.
In front of him, the Shadow Knights are assembling, some of them are quite awed by the ethereal presence of their commander.
"Patrol this border regularly and send out the Rangers." Vicros says blankly to his subordinates "The humans will be on their move after the last incident. Dont engage them if encountered, retreat away in to the deep of the forest, we will kill them if they pursue us in the trees."
Quickly the Elven soldiers mobilize themselves and carry out his orders.
7th Sep 07, 6:25 AM
Sagan with fourty five men took the forest path leading to the south, thinking it was the safer and faster way there. He was on his horse went first and then was followed by his men who wore light chain armors and weapons with them. His men were not of pure elves, others were human, wild-men and dwarves walking in two straight lines. Sagan paused for a while, sensing some strange presence deep in the forest. He raised his left hand open and his men prepared their weapons in reply called two of his men and relayed an order. The two began patrolling on the area, while his men never blinked their eyes waiting and watching preparing themselves if an ambush would occur. Sagan closed his eyes, feeling the strange presence in his surroundings knowing that there were some beings who were behind the woods, planning something malicious against him.
"It is close, keep your eyes peeled men..." He said to his men while focusing on his surroundings.
(note, profile pending acceptance)
Gestho stood uneasily, his rangers wavering behind him as he weighed the pros and cons of the orders he had been given. Indeed, mobility would be the wisest course of actions, but confrontation might be beneficial if it is dealt with properly. A surprise attack will allow enough time for reinforcements and cause considerable damage to any forces foolish enough to come into these woods. This, however, could not be done without knowing the location of the enemy. A search would not be a violation of orders, but at least this time, these commands would serve Gestho well, and he could remain mostly free to do as he wanted. Gestho decided to split his twenty rangers in two groups; two groups of ten could cover more ground than a single group of twenty. Gestho urged the other justicars to do the same before disappearing into the woods to supervise his forces.
22nd Sep 07, 6:34 PM
Tyr walked accross following the footsteps of the battle which had just occured. For him, tracking was quite difficult, and these "dark elves" which he had never encounted, were more cautious then the usual wildmen or humans he ran into during his marks. Poor girl, loosing her father and having his only memento taken from his cold body, prehaps these elves don't have as much honor as I initially thought, he thought to himself as he slowly walked with the morning light heating his back. The sun was just begining to peek over the mountain ranges, begining it's own battle against the night.
Coming to a stop, Tyr took a bite of the roll he received from one of his friends back in Helos, but immediatly spit it out. A few motions could be heard in the bush, prehaps it was some of these elves, hopfully with the item he was looking for. He cocked his head listening for a slight breeze, which thankfully, presented itself today. Standing tall and lonely, he pulled his longer training sword from it's horizontal position accross his back and pulled it into a ready postion. Crouching down, his eyes remained shut as always as he drew his massive sword inbetween his legs allowing for a quick leap should it come to it. He was now ready to face whatever may exit the bush, or possibly pursue it deeper into the woods if it came to that.
((These/this would be one of your patrol men Jackster, so naturally, I will let you play the actions of whomever it is.))
23rd Sep 07, 8:00 AM
Sagan lowered his hand after minutes of deep concentration, he suddenly felt relief that the strange aura in the forest suddenly vanished. He faced his men and then said to them, "Things have quite calmed down a little in this place. But still I recommend to you all to keep your guard up, we may not know who or what may be lurking in this forest." He said then continued on his way, his men followed him as he continued on his way south.
Afternoon somewhere in a southern province of the Helor Republic. Shnekiel the famed white knight arrived at the southern province where Sagan is heading. Along with him are his knights and officials who escorted him all the way from his home. In front of the governor's palace he and his top officials got off from their horse and bowed at governor.
"We apologize for our late arrival my lord." He said.
"No... you are not too late, currently we are glad that you arrived this early. It is kind of rude of me to let my visitors wait. Now let's get in so that we could discuss your duties of the upcoming defensive. I heard that the damned elves, dwarves and the wildermen are starting to move now and are currently heading on their way here." The governor, the shortish fat bald man said.
"I will be honored my lord." Shnekiel said in reply.
(yo... duno if you approved my NPC character. but for the meantime, it's kinda boring if there will be no interactions between the two aint it? so for now (the admin) if you would permit it, i will use him for a while if that is ok with you.)
23rd Sep 07, 11:59 PM
Ranger Talgessin slowly move through the undergrowth of the dense forest exportly with his elven-craft longbow in his hand.
Around him scatters five other rangers, either hiding on the trees or deep in the trees, they have spread in a wide scouting formation, allowing them to increase their combine field of view.
As the experienced ranger slowly shift around another tree, he can sense a sudden disturbance in the trees.
Distance away, a group of birds fly up into the air suddenly and hastely as if their instinct sense certain danger, a normal person would not register the difference, but for an elf that spend most of his life in the wilds, the sign is quite clear to him.
He makes a hand sign to the ranger closest to him, who in turn relay the information to the next.
They string their arrows and draw their bow, although they've been order not to engage, they will have to confirm the threat before they can retreat back and report their findings.
1st Oct 07, 6:02 PM
Tyr moved his head towards the sound of bowstrings being drawn. The slightest breeze was barely allowing Tyr to pinpoint the location of the nearby foliage. Standing taller, he didn't hear anymore noise from them, which could only mean they were alerted of his presence. He slowly moved into the edge of the forest, trying to avoid as many little sticks as he could, but the small sounds of cracks could not be extingushed under the weight of his foot. Jumping with the direction of wind, he quickly hopped up into a low hanging tree branch and followed with three more jumps, each one taking him forward and up. The only noise he was making to peirce the silence was a very quite "woosh" noise.
Coming to a stop just above the last location he heard a bowstring stretch, he put his sword in a face down postion while he remained as still as possible waiting for a motion to trigger the messy aftermath.
((Hopped into the upper leavels of the trees as quietly as possible. Stopped above one of the locations where noise was heard.))
Powered by vBulletin® Version 4.2.0 Copyright © 2013 vBulletin Solutions, Inc. All rights reserved.