Intro: I think I scared off participants from the last RP I started with my very descriptive method of roleplaying fights. Hopefully this time people will be able to find it easier to get their characters into the story. Please, let's keep the number of participants at the maximum of 6. If this gets too confusing people will start losing interest.
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The lush forest was thick with tall oaks and strong elms, a perfect cover for an advancing army. The sun was barely able to penetrate the abundant foliage high overhead, casting a dark green shade on the rocky moss-covered ground. The gold beads of the intricate necklaces around the necks of the grawl captains gleamed as they stood around an aged shaman. The undisputable leaders of the tribal creatures, shamans commanded respect even among the Ascalon soldiers that fought tooth and nail to keep the infestation limited to the southern forests. This particular shaman had built his army slowly but surely over the past decade, and theirs was the most feared in the constant tribal war between the savage race.
Though their guttural speech was alien and incomprehensible to the ranger, Ristaron crouched low near the top of the tall rock used by the grawl Shaman as a backrest and listened to the leader's perplexing words. The language barrier meant nothing here, though, for Ristaron knew what was happening. He was aware of the advancing army of grawls to the place he had come to call home after years of solitude in the wilderness, the place he loved too much to lose.
Midnight eyes scanned along the top of the giant rock that served as a second wall for the private meeting between the shaman and his captains. Among the green moss and brown trees he could barely distinguish, and only because he knew where to look, the shape of his giant gray wolf companion.
Watching for a signal from her master to attack, Morgan kept a green eye on the grawl gathering ten feet below. The enourmous five hundred pound animal kept low, and in the darkest shadows, ready to leap into the fray should her ranger companion decide on that choice of action. She had been though countless battles with him since he took her in as a pup, rejected and cast from her mother's den. His gentle hand and undying loyalty had led her growth, and together they had forged a friendship deeper than family, deeper than love. Either would give their lives to save the other.
Down below, the meeting broke, and the captains left quickly. Two grawls guarding the entrance to the private corner of the giant encampment looked in for orders, and began at a fast pace after their leader as the shaman emerged brusquely.
Slightly disturbed with the speed the initiative was moving at, Ristaron glanced over to Morgan and tilted his head gently to the right. A moment later they met on a sidepath that went along the camp's borders.
The ranger lowered to Morgan's level (not much of a difference from the level he stands at) and began scratching the wolf behind the ears and along the side of her jaw. Morgan's jade green eyes turned to her master as her tongue lolled out in contentment. Ristaron marvelled at her eyes, which seemed to hide a deeper intelligence than many gave her credit for.
"We must go", he whispered to her, "this army won't stay put for long."
Leaving the path, the pair went along a less-used trail that may as well have been a road to them, having lived in the wilderness for so long. This path took them up along a high, moss-covered, rocky ridge heavily concealed yet moderately clear.
"I counted at least three hundred", Ristaron said as they went, a low growl from Morgan gave as much confirmation as could be expected. As intelligent as the wolf was, counting was something that was still beyond her.
They began to pick up the pace until they were almost at a run. Ristaron's hood fell down, and his long white hair flew freely behind his head.
Then, Morgan stopped. Ristaron quickly did the same and looked back to see her fly from a crouching position into a headlong charge that ended in her bounding into the thick vegetation along the right side of the path. The sounds of growling and yelping spurred the ranger, and he took a running leap through the green flora. Emerging on the other side with minimal hinderance, Ristaron drew his trusted rapiers from their places at his hips as he landed beside a grawl, who like his three companions was preoccupied staring in disbelief at their fifth party member who lay broken at the base of a nearby tree. Morgan was crouching, her bloodstained teeth bared.
Taking advantage of his surprise appearance, Ristaron quickly elbowed the unexpecting grawl in the face before he could react to the ranger's arrival. Stumbling back, the savage gripped his halberd with both hands and went to set his feet for fighting back. But Ristaron was too quick, already on the creature. A two-weapon rend put deep scratches in the wood of the halberd, knocking it aside. The agile ranger followed up with doing a complete rotation to keep his momentum and parting his arms. The first rapier cut a deep diagonal line in the grawl's unarmoured body. The second an equally deep gash along the creature's neck.
Turning to the rest of the battle, he watched as Morgan leapt on her second target and tore at the poor creature's throat. The last grawl obviously felt he stood a better chance against the ranger, and he was quickly approaching. A large, bulky falchion in his left hand.
A left-handed fighter, Ristaron smiled. He stepped back a moment later as a powerful lateral swing sliced through the air. He leant aside to avoid a second, knowing it would be easier to let him miss than try to block such strong attacks. The grawl went for a running charge, and Ristaron turned so his left shoulder was between the rest of him and the grawl. At the last minute, the ranger's left-hand scimitar made a circular motion and swooped the bulky falchion out from in front of the charging grawl, who ran into Ristaron's right-hand scimitar which the ranger held behind his back, point facing the savage.
But Ristaron underestimated the grawl's determination, and stumbled back slightly dazed a moment later, the savage having swung his head forward into the ranger's face. The grawl looked down at the blade protruding from his stomach, but before he could reach for it a gray blur took him to the ground, and a powerful maw ended his misery.
Retrieving his weapon, Ristaron cleaned his blades and turned to his faithful friend.
"Let's go before another scouting party finds us. These bodies will take too long to hide, we have to get to the town quickly."
Not bothering to loot the bodies, the pair quickly left the scene at a fast trot. Straight towards the edge of the forest, and for the town of Cayven.
The Grawl Invasion
Ristaron
Brother Doug
[This sounds like fun. I think I'll do some experimenting with a Ritualist, if that's allowed. Otherwise, I'll be a Monk.]
Relius Espirin (Ritualist)
Age: 42
Sex: Male
Eye Color: Unknown
Hair Color: Unknown
Description:
Relius Espirin was born in Serenity Temple long before the Searing scarred the land of Ascalon forever. His parents died fighting the Charr while he was still a boy. Raised by the temple’s elder monks, they quickly learned that Relius was an unusual child. Unlike the other children, he seemed…different. There was an aura about him, but not the holy aura of Dwayna the other monks had. Still, his restoring powers were equal to the other monks his age, so the elders thought they had nothing to worry about.
As Relius grew, he became even more mysterious. Staying up in his room for hours at a time, studying from books in the old libraries, chanting deep ethereal chants, and practicing who knows what kind of magic. The elders began to worry when they heard otherworldly wails coming from inside his room. Although the elders respected the other monks’ privacy, it was urgent to see what Relius was up to. When the elders suddenly opened the door to his room, they gasped at what they saw.
The room was piled with books caked with dust. Occult candles lit the area, casting an eerie navy shadow on the walls. In the center of the room sat a very alarmed Relius, chanting the words to a spell that would bind his very first spirit. As the final words were spoken, a ghostly form emerged by his side. In an instant, chains latched to the spirit’s arms and torso. It was forced to do his bidding. The elders were shocked and terrified by what Relius was doing. They demanded that he explain himself immediately, for surely this magic was forbidden.
Relius turned around, and the elders gasped. He wore a thick sash of maroon and black cloth around his eyes. His body was covered in leather and fur, with silver beads and other jewelry around his legs, arms, and neck. The elders stepped back, but Relius simply stretched out a hand, saying “Do not fear, elders. I have found my calling, but it is not here with the monks. After much study, I have become…a binder of sorts.”
“But…you cannot see! How can you expect to get around in the world?” the elders asked him.
“One does not need eyes to See what I can,” Relius spoke in a calm, soothing voice, “for when one can See into the spirit world, he Sees all and nothing. Something, and everything. Living and dead. Mortal…and immortal.
My path lies somewhere else. I thank you for your many years of kindness. Yet, I must leave this land. I will return, though it may not be for some time. My path takes me across the seas…to a place called Cantha.”
[Unless this interferes with some kind of hidden plot, Relius would have returned to Ascalon a year or so ago, after completing his mission in Cantha, whatever it may be. (Factions Campaign)
I'm gonna wait for the OK before I type anything else.]
Relius Espirin (Ritualist)
Age: 42
Sex: Male
Eye Color: Unknown
Hair Color: Unknown
Description:
Relius Espirin was born in Serenity Temple long before the Searing scarred the land of Ascalon forever. His parents died fighting the Charr while he was still a boy. Raised by the temple’s elder monks, they quickly learned that Relius was an unusual child. Unlike the other children, he seemed…different. There was an aura about him, but not the holy aura of Dwayna the other monks had. Still, his restoring powers were equal to the other monks his age, so the elders thought they had nothing to worry about.
As Relius grew, he became even more mysterious. Staying up in his room for hours at a time, studying from books in the old libraries, chanting deep ethereal chants, and practicing who knows what kind of magic. The elders began to worry when they heard otherworldly wails coming from inside his room. Although the elders respected the other monks’ privacy, it was urgent to see what Relius was up to. When the elders suddenly opened the door to his room, they gasped at what they saw.
The room was piled with books caked with dust. Occult candles lit the area, casting an eerie navy shadow on the walls. In the center of the room sat a very alarmed Relius, chanting the words to a spell that would bind his very first spirit. As the final words were spoken, a ghostly form emerged by his side. In an instant, chains latched to the spirit’s arms and torso. It was forced to do his bidding. The elders were shocked and terrified by what Relius was doing. They demanded that he explain himself immediately, for surely this magic was forbidden.
Relius turned around, and the elders gasped. He wore a thick sash of maroon and black cloth around his eyes. His body was covered in leather and fur, with silver beads and other jewelry around his legs, arms, and neck. The elders stepped back, but Relius simply stretched out a hand, saying “Do not fear, elders. I have found my calling, but it is not here with the monks. After much study, I have become…a binder of sorts.”
“But…you cannot see! How can you expect to get around in the world?” the elders asked him.
“One does not need eyes to See what I can,” Relius spoke in a calm, soothing voice, “for when one can See into the spirit world, he Sees all and nothing. Something, and everything. Living and dead. Mortal…and immortal.
My path lies somewhere else. I thank you for your many years of kindness. Yet, I must leave this land. I will return, though it may not be for some time. My path takes me across the seas…to a place called Cantha.”
[Unless this interferes with some kind of hidden plot, Relius would have returned to Ascalon a year or so ago, after completing his mission in Cantha, whatever it may be. (Factions Campaign)
I'm gonna wait for the OK before I type anything else.]
Ristaron
Go right ahead, bro.
Brother Doug
(I'll wait for some more stuff to happen before I introduce Relius. I want to know a bit more of what's going on before I add him in.)
Mentalmdc
I might have a go too.
Rhiannon The Holy (Monk)
Age: 17
Sex: Female
Eye Color: green
Hair Color: blonde
Description:
Meanwhile a serene sanctuary lay just off of the coast of Cantha. It was a quiet place but was the home of the Teng-hui monks. Rhiannon the Holy a young, intrigued girl had devoted her life to the Teng-hui. Her fondest memory of her time there was a brief visit from the Zai-shen. They had offered a brief class in martial arts training and Rhiannon had excelled in her class. Something was certainly special about Rhiannon. Her priestly garments flowed down her sleek hips as her blonde buns swayed in the wind. Looking out to the coast she noticed a small diplomatic fleet of ships approaching bearing the Ascalonian banner. Rhiannon has risen quite high through the ranks of the monks, a rare achievment for one so young.
However she knew she could not stay forever on the simple secluded Island. She longed for something more. All she knew of her parents were that they were brave warriors who fled the Guild Wars of Ascalon, Kryta and Orr. Unfortunately upon arriving in Cantha they were forced to put Rhiannon into hiding. At the time the faction wars of Cantha had gotten unusually violent, resulting in the swift deaths of strangers. Rhiannon seized her chance and waded into the waters and swam for the nearest boat.
(Sorry its a little rubbish but its my first time, is it ok?)
-THE M-
Rhiannon The Holy (Monk)
Age: 17
Sex: Female
Eye Color: green
Hair Color: blonde
Description:
Meanwhile a serene sanctuary lay just off of the coast of Cantha. It was a quiet place but was the home of the Teng-hui monks. Rhiannon the Holy a young, intrigued girl had devoted her life to the Teng-hui. Her fondest memory of her time there was a brief visit from the Zai-shen. They had offered a brief class in martial arts training and Rhiannon had excelled in her class. Something was certainly special about Rhiannon. Her priestly garments flowed down her sleek hips as her blonde buns swayed in the wind. Looking out to the coast she noticed a small diplomatic fleet of ships approaching bearing the Ascalonian banner. Rhiannon has risen quite high through the ranks of the monks, a rare achievment for one so young.
However she knew she could not stay forever on the simple secluded Island. She longed for something more. All she knew of her parents were that they were brave warriors who fled the Guild Wars of Ascalon, Kryta and Orr. Unfortunately upon arriving in Cantha they were forced to put Rhiannon into hiding. At the time the faction wars of Cantha had gotten unusually violent, resulting in the swift deaths of strangers. Rhiannon seized her chance and waded into the waters and swam for the nearest boat.
(Sorry its a little rubbish but its my first time, is it ok?)
-THE M-
Ristaron
I don't mean to seem rude, but can we skip the drawn-out introductions after this and get to writing? I'll sign in again when I get back tonight, if nothing is posted I'll write more.
Selerious
Ill get straight into it as it seems you dont want 500 word backstories, but if you want i can provide.
The first Selerious knew of someone, or something else in the area was a quiet growl from Ebon, perched high in the tree which Selerious was leaned against. It was only a small growl but still it brought him from his nap, the years of Comradeship between Selerious and the Stalker honing each others senses to communicate like actually talking to one another. Rising fluently from the ground Selerious moved to the left slightly as Ebon pounced out of the tree aiming for where he had been moments before, they had been together for almost five years but Ebon still thought he was the boss; bloody cat had to play at a time like this.
It took around second for Selerious to stow his longbow in a secure but easily reachable place in the small of his back under his quiver before sliding a long hunting knife out of his left boot scarab, he had another in his right but one was good enough for now, with an unknown enemy, he had to see if it was friend or foe, for the only things that Ebon would alert Selerious to were either enemies or the smell of blood. Ready Selerious kneeled down beside the stalker and whispered a quiet "Find" to the cat before bounding after it as it took off North-East towards Cayven, neither human nor cat making much more than small scrapes as they raced along through the undergrowth where both were at home, even though Selerious wasn't a regular to the area with his cottage further North, he still knew enough to go fast with sure footing.
It didn't take long for the pair to catch up to the disturbance, the other going at a slower but still brisk pace. Slowing down to about the same speed, Selerious glanced over to Ebon, relying on his nose now they were closer downwind of them. "Many or few?" Ebon gave a small grunt, so a small band or a singular, "Human?" Another small grunt escaped the Stalkers belly. Glancing over a last time Selerious questioned, "Another with them?" There was a Large growl this time so it was a small group or a single human with another animal, Relaxing Selerious slowed and put his boot knife back before speeding up, if the group was human then Ebon had first smelled a tinge of blood and Selerious was going to see if anyone was hurt as they started to shadow the others, gaining but still being moderately quiet.
The first Selerious knew of someone, or something else in the area was a quiet growl from Ebon, perched high in the tree which Selerious was leaned against. It was only a small growl but still it brought him from his nap, the years of Comradeship between Selerious and the Stalker honing each others senses to communicate like actually talking to one another. Rising fluently from the ground Selerious moved to the left slightly as Ebon pounced out of the tree aiming for where he had been moments before, they had been together for almost five years but Ebon still thought he was the boss; bloody cat had to play at a time like this.
It took around second for Selerious to stow his longbow in a secure but easily reachable place in the small of his back under his quiver before sliding a long hunting knife out of his left boot scarab, he had another in his right but one was good enough for now, with an unknown enemy, he had to see if it was friend or foe, for the only things that Ebon would alert Selerious to were either enemies or the smell of blood. Ready Selerious kneeled down beside the stalker and whispered a quiet "Find" to the cat before bounding after it as it took off North-East towards Cayven, neither human nor cat making much more than small scrapes as they raced along through the undergrowth where both were at home, even though Selerious wasn't a regular to the area with his cottage further North, he still knew enough to go fast with sure footing.
It didn't take long for the pair to catch up to the disturbance, the other going at a slower but still brisk pace. Slowing down to about the same speed, Selerious glanced over to Ebon, relying on his nose now they were closer downwind of them. "Many or few?" Ebon gave a small grunt, so a small band or a singular, "Human?" Another small grunt escaped the Stalkers belly. Glancing over a last time Selerious questioned, "Another with them?" There was a Large growl this time so it was a small group or a single human with another animal, Relaxing Selerious slowed and put his boot knife back before speeding up, if the group was human then Ebon had first smelled a tinge of blood and Selerious was going to see if anyone was hurt as they started to shadow the others, gaining but still being moderately quiet.
Mentalmdc
Rhiannon was hauled aboard the boat by firm arm. A simple yet handsome soldier gazed down upon her soaking ruined robes. Crates and ropes lay scattered around the deck but as Rhiannon looked around she noticed the lack of many crew members. The man was intrigued to why such a person had appeared on the boat. He had a weary forlorn look in his eyes and was dressed in the finest brand of Ascalonian armour. Without asking questions Rhiannon was taken to a room to dry off, once ready the man returned.
"Erm, what exactly were you doing?," the soldier enquired.
"I'm a member of the Teng-Hui monks, we live in the sanctuary on a nearby Island. I was hoping to hitch a ride," Rhiannon replied.
"Well thats certainly a different way of asking. Normally I'd be quite willing however as you can see these are unusual circumstances. I'm on a very important mission to Cantha. Ascalon has been facing very troubled times as of late and I am enroute to Cantha to find help."
"Maybe i'm the help your looking for."
Looking and the tiny figure of the girl the soldier could not help but laugh. For a mere child she had quite a presence about her.
"Very well then. Unfortuantely the place I am going in Cantha may not be safe for you and you could put my mission into peril. However one of my men will be more than happy to sail you to Ascalon where you may be of more use. The Grawls of the north have been getting rather restless as of late. Maybe your new monking techniques may be of use. I hope I see you again Rhiannon, but for now we must part our ways."
With that Rhiannon changed ship and was taken into the hands of the crew of the A.S. Char Slayer. It was a swift journey back to Ascalon, albeit a rather treachourous one with the raging seas swarming with Snarleck beasts and menacing Teratoota Snakes. However the journey was a safe one and within a week Rhiannon found herself looking upon the scarred, tortured barren world of Ascalon. She walked into the nearest town anxious to find out what was going on. It was at that moment that two people hurried into the town.
Que: Ristaron and Morgan
(Hopes that is alright to bring my character into the story)
-THE M-
"Erm, what exactly were you doing?," the soldier enquired.
"I'm a member of the Teng-Hui monks, we live in the sanctuary on a nearby Island. I was hoping to hitch a ride," Rhiannon replied.
"Well thats certainly a different way of asking. Normally I'd be quite willing however as you can see these are unusual circumstances. I'm on a very important mission to Cantha. Ascalon has been facing very troubled times as of late and I am enroute to Cantha to find help."
"Maybe i'm the help your looking for."
Looking and the tiny figure of the girl the soldier could not help but laugh. For a mere child she had quite a presence about her.
"Very well then. Unfortuantely the place I am going in Cantha may not be safe for you and you could put my mission into peril. However one of my men will be more than happy to sail you to Ascalon where you may be of more use. The Grawls of the north have been getting rather restless as of late. Maybe your new monking techniques may be of use. I hope I see you again Rhiannon, but for now we must part our ways."
With that Rhiannon changed ship and was taken into the hands of the crew of the A.S. Char Slayer. It was a swift journey back to Ascalon, albeit a rather treachourous one with the raging seas swarming with Snarleck beasts and menacing Teratoota Snakes. However the journey was a safe one and within a week Rhiannon found herself looking upon the scarred, tortured barren world of Ascalon. She walked into the nearest town anxious to find out what was going on. It was at that moment that two people hurried into the town.
Que: Ristaron and Morgan
(Hopes that is alright to bring my character into the story)
-THE M-
Symeon
Right, here goes, with the same character I was trying to put into that other one you (Ristaron) did and the internet messed up...sorry I didn't post in that again, I really didn't manage to find the time.
Mylena Swiftwind
Ranger/Elementalist - kindle arrows + conjure flame bow spike
Age: 22
Shortening of bio: Originally from Ascalon, got caught up in events that took her to the Maguuma Jungle where she learnt the ways of her professions properly, and decided to return to Ascalon to help defend against various enemies.
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Mylena ran through the trees and bushes, trying to get as far away from the path as possible. If there was any enemy army, they would be following the path. She knew there was a village up here, and perhaps she would find at least some other adventurers who had been notified of the grawl movements. If not, she would seek some food and a brief sleep before warning the inhabitants and moving further away to seek others.
She soon arrived at a bent wooden sign pointing down a narrow path to 'Cayven'. This was the village. There were no trees and small bushes to run amongst...either side of the path there were nettles and thick bushes. She would have to take her chances.
At one point she thought she heard movements in the bushes, and was close to stringing her bow when she noticed that the path took a turn beside a fence not very far ahead. She continued running and found herself coming into the village. She sat down and took a swig of water from her pouch, and then looked about her for the village inn.
Mylena Swiftwind
Ranger/Elementalist - kindle arrows + conjure flame bow spike
Age: 22
Shortening of bio: Originally from Ascalon, got caught up in events that took her to the Maguuma Jungle where she learnt the ways of her professions properly, and decided to return to Ascalon to help defend against various enemies.
----------------------------
Mylena ran through the trees and bushes, trying to get as far away from the path as possible. If there was any enemy army, they would be following the path. She knew there was a village up here, and perhaps she would find at least some other adventurers who had been notified of the grawl movements. If not, she would seek some food and a brief sleep before warning the inhabitants and moving further away to seek others.
She soon arrived at a bent wooden sign pointing down a narrow path to 'Cayven'. This was the village. There were no trees and small bushes to run amongst...either side of the path there were nettles and thick bushes. She would have to take her chances.
At one point she thought she heard movements in the bushes, and was close to stringing her bow when she noticed that the path took a turn beside a fence not very far ahead. She continued running and found herself coming into the village. She sat down and took a swig of water from her pouch, and then looked about her for the village inn.
Ristaron
(Hm... by the description I gave of the lush trees and mossy ground, I thought I made it clear this was before the searing... With no offense intended, I'm going to continue with it being before the searing, with no scortched landscapes and perpetual gray skies...
And I don't object to 500 word introductions, just so long as people post story after it...
)
Exploding from the thick forest, Ristaron scanned the great field before him. It took him a moment to spot Morgan, loping along -- already halfway to the town of Cayven resting on the mountain slope on the other side of the meadow. A moment later, Ristaron's cured-leather well-fit boots were soundless as he ran along the open field.
Up ahead Morgan had stopped and was sniffing at the ground, she waited until Ristaron caught up and looked up at him with the familliar shining green eyes. A gloved hand scratched behind her ears, then the two were off again.
Ristaron didn't bother pondering how he would convince the town council to take up arms, even among the reclusive ranger population he was less than welcome. All for the colour of his skin.
(delayed introduction: Right, now that the story is about to come together with everyone, here's my character's introduction:
Ristaron (Ranger)
Age: Over one hundred
Sex: Male
Eye Colour: midnight blue
Hair Colour: silvery-white
Skin Colour: ebony
Description:
Ristaron is not human, in short. He is one of a highly reclusive race surrounded by much superstition. This race is known simply as the mountainfolk. Those who believe the mountainfolk exist believe they are a savage war-bound race. Those who don't believe in the mountainfolk tell horror-stories about them around campfires in the dead of night.
This race has a rule that governs their society: none of their race shall kill another. It was such a rule that it became engrained in the very essense of their beings. But Ristaron's father was human, and therefore Ristaron was not completely of the mountainfolk race.
When he was about thirty, mountain grawl came to attack his village. They were led by a Shaman who had exceptional knowledge of the town's defenses, knowledge that could only have been provided by an insider.
Ristaron knew who the insider was, and in the battle he sook out the traitor and slew him.
Though Ristaron had killed an enemy, he had also killed one of his own kin, and the mountainfolk exiled him.
The rest of his history is too long to go into, the highlights are:
-He knew the Druids before they dissappeared
-He made friends in Kryta and for a time served as a combat instructor in the Lionguard barracks.
-He is no friend of Adelbern, but a good friend of Barradin, who he defended when the Duke was but a boy and his carriage was under attack by Grawls.
-He rescued his friend (not his pet) Morgan when she was a starving cub in the South Shiverpeaks. He raised her after that into the five hundred pound (ENOURMOUS) wolf she is now.
Yadda yadda)
And I don't object to 500 word introductions, just so long as people post story after it...
)Exploding from the thick forest, Ristaron scanned the great field before him. It took him a moment to spot Morgan, loping along -- already halfway to the town of Cayven resting on the mountain slope on the other side of the meadow. A moment later, Ristaron's cured-leather well-fit boots were soundless as he ran along the open field.
Up ahead Morgan had stopped and was sniffing at the ground, she waited until Ristaron caught up and looked up at him with the familliar shining green eyes. A gloved hand scratched behind her ears, then the two were off again.
Ristaron didn't bother pondering how he would convince the town council to take up arms, even among the reclusive ranger population he was less than welcome. All for the colour of his skin.
(delayed introduction: Right, now that the story is about to come together with everyone, here's my character's introduction:
Ristaron (Ranger)
Age: Over one hundred
Sex: Male
Eye Colour: midnight blue
Hair Colour: silvery-white
Skin Colour: ebony
Description:
Ristaron is not human, in short. He is one of a highly reclusive race surrounded by much superstition. This race is known simply as the mountainfolk. Those who believe the mountainfolk exist believe they are a savage war-bound race. Those who don't believe in the mountainfolk tell horror-stories about them around campfires in the dead of night.
This race has a rule that governs their society: none of their race shall kill another. It was such a rule that it became engrained in the very essense of their beings. But Ristaron's father was human, and therefore Ristaron was not completely of the mountainfolk race.
When he was about thirty, mountain grawl came to attack his village. They were led by a Shaman who had exceptional knowledge of the town's defenses, knowledge that could only have been provided by an insider.
Ristaron knew who the insider was, and in the battle he sook out the traitor and slew him.
Though Ristaron had killed an enemy, he had also killed one of his own kin, and the mountainfolk exiled him.
The rest of his history is too long to go into, the highlights are:
-He knew the Druids before they dissappeared
-He made friends in Kryta and for a time served as a combat instructor in the Lionguard barracks.
-He is no friend of Adelbern, but a good friend of Barradin, who he defended when the Duke was but a boy and his carriage was under attack by Grawls.
-He rescued his friend (not his pet) Morgan when she was a starving cub in the South Shiverpeaks. He raised her after that into the five hundred pound (ENOURMOUS) wolf she is now.
Yadda yadda)
Mentalmdc
(Sorry, about the pre-searing muck-up lol)
Rhiannon was still a stranger in this town and was suprised by the strange folk who lived in the town. The streets were bustling with crowds browsing over the various stalls. It wasn't long before she bumped into a tall looking Ranger just outside the village Inn.
"oh, well. Hello there young, um, monk. My name is Mylena."
"I am sorry, i'm Rhiannon. I feel a little lost I'm very new to these parts. I'm from across the Tyrian sea. I'm trying to find a place for the night. Apparently there are some Grawl disturbances. I was hoping to help out."
Mylena feeling sorry for the lost girl offered to take her inside the Inn and show how things in Ascalon worked. However in the back of her mind she knew something was drastically wrong outside and would have to find a council member urgently. Something triggered a deep feeling within her about Rhiannon. Maybe it was not a coincidence they had met. Before much could be done however, Mylena needed to find more experienced party members.
Cayven was too deep in its daily affairs to even notice what was about to happen. So many arrows were fired, today in the poems about the day it is stated that the sun was blocked out. Grawl appeared from every corner, mercilessly tearing down the road. Their clubs knocked over stalls as unfortunate women and children ran down the street. The few Ascalonian guards struggled to put up a fight. A mighty Grawl champion known as Teruk de Leim towered above the stools. He shattered the stalls with his strength. A miracle was needed to save the town.
Rhiannon was still a stranger in this town and was suprised by the strange folk who lived in the town. The streets were bustling with crowds browsing over the various stalls. It wasn't long before she bumped into a tall looking Ranger just outside the village Inn.
"oh, well. Hello there young, um, monk. My name is Mylena."
"I am sorry, i'm Rhiannon. I feel a little lost I'm very new to these parts. I'm from across the Tyrian sea. I'm trying to find a place for the night. Apparently there are some Grawl disturbances. I was hoping to help out."
Mylena feeling sorry for the lost girl offered to take her inside the Inn and show how things in Ascalon worked. However in the back of her mind she knew something was drastically wrong outside and would have to find a council member urgently. Something triggered a deep feeling within her about Rhiannon. Maybe it was not a coincidence they had met. Before much could be done however, Mylena needed to find more experienced party members.
Cayven was too deep in its daily affairs to even notice what was about to happen. So many arrows were fired, today in the poems about the day it is stated that the sun was blocked out. Grawl appeared from every corner, mercilessly tearing down the road. Their clubs knocked over stalls as unfortunate women and children ran down the street. The few Ascalonian guards struggled to put up a fight. A mighty Grawl champion known as Teruk de Leim towered above the stools. He shattered the stalls with his strength. A miracle was needed to save the town.
Selerious
Name : Selerious Taren (Ranger)
Sex: Male
Eye Colour: Hazelish yellow
Hair: Long, Dark red, short Beard (look at character pic)
Ill reveal parts of his history through the RP.
It wasn't long after Ristaron had gone through into the town when Selerious and Ebon bounded out of the trees into the field where the town of Cayven lay, sunlight blinding both of them while their eyes adjusted. The town looked peceful enough from where they were but getting closer there were signs of a scuffle. The noise of destruction was filtering out from the other side of the town, closer to the woods. Taking out his longbow and notching an arrow as he ran Selerious spotted the first of the enemy, a grawl with a Hammer rushing around the side of the village. Skidding to a halt whist drawing back the arrow, selerious tracked the Grawl for a second before letting loose, watching as the arrow flew true slamming into the base of the Grawls neck and dropping it in a crash. Seeing no other Grawl, Selerious ran into the village replacing his bow and taking out both daggers as he went, this was going to be some close quarter fighting.
Sex: Male
Eye Colour: Hazelish yellow
Hair: Long, Dark red, short Beard (look at character pic)
Ill reveal parts of his history through the RP.
It wasn't long after Ristaron had gone through into the town when Selerious and Ebon bounded out of the trees into the field where the town of Cayven lay, sunlight blinding both of them while their eyes adjusted. The town looked peceful enough from where they were but getting closer there were signs of a scuffle. The noise of destruction was filtering out from the other side of the town, closer to the woods. Taking out his longbow and notching an arrow as he ran Selerious spotted the first of the enemy, a grawl with a Hammer rushing around the side of the village. Skidding to a halt whist drawing back the arrow, selerious tracked the Grawl for a second before letting loose, watching as the arrow flew true slamming into the base of the Grawls neck and dropping it in a crash. Seeing no other Grawl, Selerious ran into the village replacing his bow and taking out both daggers as he went, this was going to be some close quarter fighting.
Ristaron
Ristaron had been well into the crowded streets when Morgan leapt down from the rooftops above. A low growl told the ranger he was running out of time, fast.
Abandoning secrecy, Ristaron threw away all chances of getting to the town council without being identified. He picked up his pace and climbed a stack of lashed wooden crates.
"People of Cayven!" he called out, but his small voice only attracted a few listeners. His audience grew greatly when Morgan, who had come to be beside him, unleashed a cacaphonous bark from her mighty lungs.
"People of Cayven!" he called out again, trying to keep the attention of the busy merchants and consumers. "There is little time, but you must believe me when I say this: there is an army of Grawl in the forests just North of here. They pose a serious threat to the city. Take up arms-"
He was cut off by a soaring tomato, which he evaded easily but lost his credit to the flying fruit. Morgan barked again, but not enough attention was regained by it.
Desperate, Ristaron continued to yell until his voice crackled and his breath was short. It was futile, he came to realize. Trembling, he knew the only way he could get the audience he needed. A gloved hand slowly went up to his hood.
The ever surprisingly wise Morgan brushed against him, knowing what he was about to do. Thanking her silently for the comfort, he flung back his hood and let his white hair fly in the breeze, contrasting his ebony skin.
Morgan barked loudly again, and some people looked up in irritation for the constant interruption of their daily lives.
Their eyes widened and many people screamed to see a mountainfolk standing in their town's streets.
"People of Cayven", Ristaron began again, "the Grawl are on your doorstep!"
But his efforts were ultimately useless, for the flaming arrows began flying into the city at that very moment.
"Take cover!" Ristaron yelled out, seeing the barrage before anyone else below. Barely seconds had passed since he called out that the distance-delayed sound of hundreds of bowstrings letting loose their shafts rang through the city, succeeded by the whistling of arrows as they sliced through the air.
Ristaron leapt from his perch and landed lightly, then rolled to be underneath a nearby awning. Better some protection than none at all.
A second barrage assaulted the town, and still some of the people on the crowded street were out of doors, there simply being no room to defend everyone.
A third barrage, the streets were now filled with blazing merchants running around like maniacs. The ranger grabbed a blacksmith's bucket of water used to cool superheated blades, and doused the nearest flaming fanatic.
The man fell over, and Ristaron bent down, pushing him along in a roll to extinguish the remaining flames. The ranger avoided looking at the charred, blistered face.
Instead, Ristaron looked up to see a party of Grawls come around the corner, into the street.
Any onlooker would later describe that they hadn't even seen Ristaron's rapiers leave their sheathes, or his enormous wolf companion cross the distance between where she had been and that of the approaching Grawls. What they would see was five hundred pounds of gray lupine barrel into the savages, breaking their ranks. Teeth and claws slashed and wounded, keeping the six Grawl distracted long enough for the dour-handed ranger to close the distance and begin slicing expertly through the tribal warriors.
In ten seconds, the Grawl party was destroyed.
"Everyone take up arms!" the ranger called to all who would hear. He pointed to the smithy he had borrowed the bucket of water from. It was the perfect armoury for untrained soldiers.
"More will be coming!" he pressed when all he got was dazed looks. The people snapped out of the trance and decided to question the ranger later.
Abandoning secrecy, Ristaron threw away all chances of getting to the town council without being identified. He picked up his pace and climbed a stack of lashed wooden crates.
"People of Cayven!" he called out, but his small voice only attracted a few listeners. His audience grew greatly when Morgan, who had come to be beside him, unleashed a cacaphonous bark from her mighty lungs.
"People of Cayven!" he called out again, trying to keep the attention of the busy merchants and consumers. "There is little time, but you must believe me when I say this: there is an army of Grawl in the forests just North of here. They pose a serious threat to the city. Take up arms-"
He was cut off by a soaring tomato, which he evaded easily but lost his credit to the flying fruit. Morgan barked again, but not enough attention was regained by it.
Desperate, Ristaron continued to yell until his voice crackled and his breath was short. It was futile, he came to realize. Trembling, he knew the only way he could get the audience he needed. A gloved hand slowly went up to his hood.
The ever surprisingly wise Morgan brushed against him, knowing what he was about to do. Thanking her silently for the comfort, he flung back his hood and let his white hair fly in the breeze, contrasting his ebony skin.
Morgan barked loudly again, and some people looked up in irritation for the constant interruption of their daily lives.
Their eyes widened and many people screamed to see a mountainfolk standing in their town's streets.
"People of Cayven", Ristaron began again, "the Grawl are on your doorstep!"
But his efforts were ultimately useless, for the flaming arrows began flying into the city at that very moment.
"Take cover!" Ristaron yelled out, seeing the barrage before anyone else below. Barely seconds had passed since he called out that the distance-delayed sound of hundreds of bowstrings letting loose their shafts rang through the city, succeeded by the whistling of arrows as they sliced through the air.
Ristaron leapt from his perch and landed lightly, then rolled to be underneath a nearby awning. Better some protection than none at all.
A second barrage assaulted the town, and still some of the people on the crowded street were out of doors, there simply being no room to defend everyone.
A third barrage, the streets were now filled with blazing merchants running around like maniacs. The ranger grabbed a blacksmith's bucket of water used to cool superheated blades, and doused the nearest flaming fanatic.
The man fell over, and Ristaron bent down, pushing him along in a roll to extinguish the remaining flames. The ranger avoided looking at the charred, blistered face.
Instead, Ristaron looked up to see a party of Grawls come around the corner, into the street.
Any onlooker would later describe that they hadn't even seen Ristaron's rapiers leave their sheathes, or his enormous wolf companion cross the distance between where she had been and that of the approaching Grawls. What they would see was five hundred pounds of gray lupine barrel into the savages, breaking their ranks. Teeth and claws slashed and wounded, keeping the six Grawl distracted long enough for the dour-handed ranger to close the distance and begin slicing expertly through the tribal warriors.
In ten seconds, the Grawl party was destroyed.
"Everyone take up arms!" the ranger called to all who would hear. He pointed to the smithy he had borrowed the bucket of water from. It was the perfect armoury for untrained soldiers.
"More will be coming!" he pressed when all he got was dazed looks. The people snapped out of the trance and decided to question the ranger later.
Mentalmdc
Rhiannon ran out into the street as the flames erupted from the Inn. She grabbed her staff and let a beam of blinding light shoot out of it. The wind drastically picked up. A grawl lunged at the young girl, she was nearly knocked flying as Rhiannon held up her staff and locked it with the battered old sword of the grawl. Again and again they clashed in battle, but Rhiannon being so small managed to out step the clumsy grawl and get it from behind.
As the hundreds of injured fled down the street Rhiannon did her best to heal those she could. Many were saved that day because of her magic, however it was nowhere near enough. Rhiannon climbing over bodies was healing a young child as 6 grawl charged down the street. With a fierce intent in their eye it looked as if she was done for, but before they could even move Ristaron had slaughtered them where they stood.
For now the fighting ended, but it was all to obvious this had just been a scouting party. As Rhiannon took in the burning surroundings she wept for the sudden severity of the violence. Having come for adventure, this was far from what she had anticipated. Rhiannon continued to heal the injured for hours into the dark of the night. She never rested and so the people of that town still remember her kind actions. However no matter how much she healed, in the coming of dawn, it would be useless.
Finnaly Ristaron approached Rhiannon and told her to rest, for he smelt on the wind, the coming of more enemies. They would need all the energy they could muster. There had to be something larger at work than just an invading Grawl army. Small grawl attacks were common but something on this scale had never been seen before. As they gazed into each others eyes, a sense of deep understanding was felt, this journey would take them far across to unknown parts of Tyria. But for now, the defence of the town was at hand.
As the hundreds of injured fled down the street Rhiannon did her best to heal those she could. Many were saved that day because of her magic, however it was nowhere near enough. Rhiannon climbing over bodies was healing a young child as 6 grawl charged down the street. With a fierce intent in their eye it looked as if she was done for, but before they could even move Ristaron had slaughtered them where they stood.
For now the fighting ended, but it was all to obvious this had just been a scouting party. As Rhiannon took in the burning surroundings she wept for the sudden severity of the violence. Having come for adventure, this was far from what she had anticipated. Rhiannon continued to heal the injured for hours into the dark of the night. She never rested and so the people of that town still remember her kind actions. However no matter how much she healed, in the coming of dawn, it would be useless.
Finnaly Ristaron approached Rhiannon and told her to rest, for he smelt on the wind, the coming of more enemies. They would need all the energy they could muster. There had to be something larger at work than just an invading Grawl army. Small grawl attacks were common but something on this scale had never been seen before. As they gazed into each others eyes, a sense of deep understanding was felt, this journey would take them far across to unknown parts of Tyria. But for now, the defence of the town was at hand.
Brother Doug
A few minutes earlier...
After saying a friendly hello to the guards, Relius entered the city. He had never seen Cayven before, and was marveled by its beauty. The streets were crowded with people buying and selling their wares. A few yards ahead, Relius could hear the merry laughter of a group of friends drinking in a nearby tavern. The people here were obviously very content with their lives. A breeze picked up scattering leaves around. He bent down, taking a leaf. Through the cloth, he Saw what most people wouldn’t: a few drops of dried blood on the leaf. He gave a small sigh.
‘The wind is calm, yet there is a sense of anxiousness lingering…something isn’t quite right,’ he thought.
“Hey, pal…you alright?” A young man had walked up to Relius while he was scrutinizing the leaf. As Relius turned to face him, the man quickly looked away. He paced back and forth, averting his gaze from Relius’ wrappings, and suddenly ran off towards a loud voice. The voice seemed to be shouting something about Grawl. Relius was about to wander closer to the voice when the flaming arrows set the city ablaze. The city’s people were drawn into chaos, running into any safe dwellings nearby.
“Looks like the calm winds are over,” Relius said. Picking up his ochre staff, he spun it around. He began chanting in a mysterious tongue, preparing a ritual to summon a spirit that could fend off the unknown invaders. Unlike the other spirits that Relius had to bind, this one (for reasons unknown) had grown a strange liking to the ritualist, and needed no chains. The spirit appeared in a flash of navy light, a wry grin on its almost human face, save for the lack of a left eye.
“Greetings, o mighty binder. What be the task?” it said in a misty voice.
“I am not sure, spirit. We shall know-” the heavy clank of armor and the rattle of beads interrupted Relius’ thoughts. “Here they come. Prepare yourself!” The spirit’s hands glowed a light teal, sparks of energy emitting from them.
Two hammer-wielding Grawl leapt out from behind a nearby inn. The spirit let loose the energy stored inside of it, burning a three-inch hole through the first’s chest. As the Grawl gasped its dying breath, the other gave a guttural roar and charged at Relius. He quickly dodged the blow, hitting the beast square in the stomach, and then bringing the rod straight down on its skull, knocking it unconscious. A few short blasts of eerie green light from his staff, and it was dead.
“Come, spirit,” Relius shouted. “This battle is not over yet.”
After saying a friendly hello to the guards, Relius entered the city. He had never seen Cayven before, and was marveled by its beauty. The streets were crowded with people buying and selling their wares. A few yards ahead, Relius could hear the merry laughter of a group of friends drinking in a nearby tavern. The people here were obviously very content with their lives. A breeze picked up scattering leaves around. He bent down, taking a leaf. Through the cloth, he Saw what most people wouldn’t: a few drops of dried blood on the leaf. He gave a small sigh.
‘The wind is calm, yet there is a sense of anxiousness lingering…something isn’t quite right,’ he thought.
“Hey, pal…you alright?” A young man had walked up to Relius while he was scrutinizing the leaf. As Relius turned to face him, the man quickly looked away. He paced back and forth, averting his gaze from Relius’ wrappings, and suddenly ran off towards a loud voice. The voice seemed to be shouting something about Grawl. Relius was about to wander closer to the voice when the flaming arrows set the city ablaze. The city’s people were drawn into chaos, running into any safe dwellings nearby.
“Looks like the calm winds are over,” Relius said. Picking up his ochre staff, he spun it around. He began chanting in a mysterious tongue, preparing a ritual to summon a spirit that could fend off the unknown invaders. Unlike the other spirits that Relius had to bind, this one (for reasons unknown) had grown a strange liking to the ritualist, and needed no chains. The spirit appeared in a flash of navy light, a wry grin on its almost human face, save for the lack of a left eye.
“Greetings, o mighty binder. What be the task?” it said in a misty voice.
“I am not sure, spirit. We shall know-” the heavy clank of armor and the rattle of beads interrupted Relius’ thoughts. “Here they come. Prepare yourself!” The spirit’s hands glowed a light teal, sparks of energy emitting from them.
Two hammer-wielding Grawl leapt out from behind a nearby inn. The spirit let loose the energy stored inside of it, burning a three-inch hole through the first’s chest. As the Grawl gasped its dying breath, the other gave a guttural roar and charged at Relius. He quickly dodged the blow, hitting the beast square in the stomach, and then bringing the rod straight down on its skull, knocking it unconscious. A few short blasts of eerie green light from his staff, and it was dead.
“Come, spirit,” Relius shouted. “This battle is not over yet.”
Selerious
Selerious rested his head against the door he was lounged against, recounting the battle that had been fought earlier that day.
Selerious had rushed through the gate into the town, sidestepping the corpse that he had stuck an arrow through the neck of, the beast was still convulsing. Ebon was ahead by a few meters, eyes intent to find some prey. Turing down a street that led to the main square, the screams of those caught by arrows during the first assault rising up around those still standing and the grawl trying to destroy them. A group of four turned the corner, racing straight for Selerious, he went straight for them.
Ebon hit the group first launching itself at the lead member, teeth clamping around the left leg of the beast, hamstringing it whist Ebon’s body mass carried its prey and ebon into another of the beasts, knocking it down. Selerious followed up by blindsiding the grawl that were now concentrating on the Stalker, slicing his right hunting knife over the back of its neck before spinning and bringing both into the body, left knife into the heart, right into the neck. Kicking the grawl off the lodged knives Selerious turned to face the grawl left which consisted of a crawl captain, hammer in hand; Ebon had finished the first and was mauling the second. The captain glared at Selerious, it knew it couldn’t escape. With a great roar it charged, raising its hammer high above its head for a crushing blow. The blow just missed as Selerious rolled to the right, jumping to his feet he was again put off balance as he avoided a swing at his head. Ebon took the chance to strike having finished his feed on the grawl, jumping on its back, digging in with its claws distracting it enough to let Selerious get both knives and stab them into both sides of the neck before twisting the knives and decapitating it.
There were only a few more grawl between Selerious and the main square and they stood no chance against Selerious and his feline companion. By the time the town was clear of the enemy it was nearly sundown. Selerious hadn’t seen many people fight, mostly because they were either stuck with arrows of hiding indoors, but he had seen a small monk tending to the wounded the best she could, a strange fellow with wraps over his eyes that summoned a spirit and a strange white haired, ivory skinned ranger that had gone berserk on a bunch of grawl as Selerious was approaching the square.
Jolting back to awareness at the scream of a wounded civilian, Selerious noticed the number of wounded still spread along the side of the road, Selerious was slightly wounded himself, but his Troll Ugnent had taken care of the wounds. Rising to his feet Selerious prepared a healing spring, delivering the water to people around him to help in their recovery.
Selerious had rushed through the gate into the town, sidestepping the corpse that he had stuck an arrow through the neck of, the beast was still convulsing. Ebon was ahead by a few meters, eyes intent to find some prey. Turing down a street that led to the main square, the screams of those caught by arrows during the first assault rising up around those still standing and the grawl trying to destroy them. A group of four turned the corner, racing straight for Selerious, he went straight for them.
Ebon hit the group first launching itself at the lead member, teeth clamping around the left leg of the beast, hamstringing it whist Ebon’s body mass carried its prey and ebon into another of the beasts, knocking it down. Selerious followed up by blindsiding the grawl that were now concentrating on the Stalker, slicing his right hunting knife over the back of its neck before spinning and bringing both into the body, left knife into the heart, right into the neck. Kicking the grawl off the lodged knives Selerious turned to face the grawl left which consisted of a crawl captain, hammer in hand; Ebon had finished the first and was mauling the second. The captain glared at Selerious, it knew it couldn’t escape. With a great roar it charged, raising its hammer high above its head for a crushing blow. The blow just missed as Selerious rolled to the right, jumping to his feet he was again put off balance as he avoided a swing at his head. Ebon took the chance to strike having finished his feed on the grawl, jumping on its back, digging in with its claws distracting it enough to let Selerious get both knives and stab them into both sides of the neck before twisting the knives and decapitating it.
There were only a few more grawl between Selerious and the main square and they stood no chance against Selerious and his feline companion. By the time the town was clear of the enemy it was nearly sundown. Selerious hadn’t seen many people fight, mostly because they were either stuck with arrows of hiding indoors, but he had seen a small monk tending to the wounded the best she could, a strange fellow with wraps over his eyes that summoned a spirit and a strange white haired, ivory skinned ranger that had gone berserk on a bunch of grawl as Selerious was approaching the square.
Jolting back to awareness at the scream of a wounded civilian, Selerious noticed the number of wounded still spread along the side of the road, Selerious was slightly wounded himself, but his Troll Ugnent had taken care of the wounds. Rising to his feet Selerious prepared a healing spring, delivering the water to people around him to help in their recovery.
Ristaron
"a strange white haired, ivory skinned ranger that had gone berserk on a bunch of grawl"
* ebonny skinned, not ivory skinned. Ebon = blackish, ivory = pinkish.
-------------------------------------
As villagers armed themselves with borrowed blades, Ristaron and Morgan made their way to the town wall, and looked for signs of more parties. Less than fifty had entered the city, at least five times that amount still waited in the cover of the forest.
"At least this time we'll be ready", Ristaron said to Morgan. He had long ago done away with the notion that speaking to the wise wolf was pointless. Many nights he had found himself with only her company, and she had been better conversation than he had ever known. After several minutes passed, the ranger was satisfied that the rest of the army was staying put for a while, the reason for it beyond his understanding of the mechanics of the movement. He truly didn't care when they arrived, only that the town was ready for them.
Descending the stone stairs, Ristaron met a small group of Ascalon soldiers who had been approaching. The posture they walked with, their hands motionless at their sides in case the need to draw weapons arose, the cold stares from their young faces, alerted the ranger this was no conversation of friendly banter. Ristaron came to a halt several paces from the four guards, who spaced themselves evenly so as to impose their greater number on the ranger. The mountainfolk held his arms slightly out from his hips, palms exposed. A sign of peace.
"Who are you?" one questioned.
"Right now", Ristaron began, "it doesn't matter."
"It does to me", the same man pressed. The guard's muscles tightened slightly, and though he had been trained not to make it visible when he was on-guard, the slight shift was obvious to the ranger. Ristaron made no aggressive action, the last thing this defence needed was fighting amongst themselves.
"I am a friend", the ranger said simply, "that's all that is important."
"Your name, then, friend", the one beside the Captain said.
"Ristaron", the ranger answered. He said it slowly, so that they heard correctly. "May I ask why names are required?"
The Captain licked his dry lips. "I would like to make this meeting more personal". Ristaron knew there were other reasons, but for the moment he was willing to accept that explanation. The conversation was now in the Captain's hands, but the ranger now knew the man was better than to send away any help he could get.
"I am Captain Gylhan", the soldier said plainly, "and I have a word of advice that I give to you in friendship." The man took a step forward, not to be imposing but rather to made it clear that the information was specialized.
"Your kin rarely walk these streets", the Captain said, "I suggest you give the townspeople room, not everyone recognizes an ally from an enemy so easily."
"Thank you", Ristaron replied softly, bowing gently to the man.
The ranger decided not to press his company, and began walking. Morgan leapt from the wall and landed gracefully beside him. Her five hundred pounds of muscle causing a slight tremor as she met the earth.
Ristaron wandered for an hour or so, surveying the developping defense of the town. Guards rushed to and fro, parents bid their children stay hidden in the house while they took up arms - some swords and axes, others knives and rakes. The ranger watched as a young monk went all about tirelessly, mending cuts and bruises and stretching her divine favour onto the seriously wounded, speeding their recovery greatly. On the fifth hour, when he saw her still tending the hurt and maimed, he approached.
"You shouldn't keep wasting your energy on the minor injuries", he said. She looked at him with green eyes, almost hurt at the statement. "You need to rest, the morn will arrive with serious injuries and we need you to be on your feet."
As the two of them locked sights, Ristaron felt a distant tug at his heart. He knew he would see this one again.
* ebonny skinned, not ivory skinned. Ebon = blackish, ivory = pinkish.
-------------------------------------
As villagers armed themselves with borrowed blades, Ristaron and Morgan made their way to the town wall, and looked for signs of more parties. Less than fifty had entered the city, at least five times that amount still waited in the cover of the forest.
"At least this time we'll be ready", Ristaron said to Morgan. He had long ago done away with the notion that speaking to the wise wolf was pointless. Many nights he had found himself with only her company, and she had been better conversation than he had ever known. After several minutes passed, the ranger was satisfied that the rest of the army was staying put for a while, the reason for it beyond his understanding of the mechanics of the movement. He truly didn't care when they arrived, only that the town was ready for them.
Descending the stone stairs, Ristaron met a small group of Ascalon soldiers who had been approaching. The posture they walked with, their hands motionless at their sides in case the need to draw weapons arose, the cold stares from their young faces, alerted the ranger this was no conversation of friendly banter. Ristaron came to a halt several paces from the four guards, who spaced themselves evenly so as to impose their greater number on the ranger. The mountainfolk held his arms slightly out from his hips, palms exposed. A sign of peace.
"Who are you?" one questioned.
"Right now", Ristaron began, "it doesn't matter."
"It does to me", the same man pressed. The guard's muscles tightened slightly, and though he had been trained not to make it visible when he was on-guard, the slight shift was obvious to the ranger. Ristaron made no aggressive action, the last thing this defence needed was fighting amongst themselves.
"I am a friend", the ranger said simply, "that's all that is important."
"Your name, then, friend", the one beside the Captain said.
"Ristaron", the ranger answered. He said it slowly, so that they heard correctly. "May I ask why names are required?"
The Captain licked his dry lips. "I would like to make this meeting more personal". Ristaron knew there were other reasons, but for the moment he was willing to accept that explanation. The conversation was now in the Captain's hands, but the ranger now knew the man was better than to send away any help he could get.
"I am Captain Gylhan", the soldier said plainly, "and I have a word of advice that I give to you in friendship." The man took a step forward, not to be imposing but rather to made it clear that the information was specialized.
"Your kin rarely walk these streets", the Captain said, "I suggest you give the townspeople room, not everyone recognizes an ally from an enemy so easily."
"Thank you", Ristaron replied softly, bowing gently to the man.
The ranger decided not to press his company, and began walking. Morgan leapt from the wall and landed gracefully beside him. Her five hundred pounds of muscle causing a slight tremor as she met the earth.
Ristaron wandered for an hour or so, surveying the developping defense of the town. Guards rushed to and fro, parents bid their children stay hidden in the house while they took up arms - some swords and axes, others knives and rakes. The ranger watched as a young monk went all about tirelessly, mending cuts and bruises and stretching her divine favour onto the seriously wounded, speeding their recovery greatly. On the fifth hour, when he saw her still tending the hurt and maimed, he approached.
"You shouldn't keep wasting your energy on the minor injuries", he said. She looked at him with green eyes, almost hurt at the statement. "You need to rest, the morn will arrive with serious injuries and we need you to be on your feet."
As the two of them locked sights, Ristaron felt a distant tug at his heart. He knew he would see this one again.
Mentalmdc
Whilst Rhiannon slept and recovered, the night passed increasingly slowy. The impending doom and looming threat that would imerge from the forest struck fear deep into even the stoutest heart. Throughout the night villagers mustered anything they could to create a defensive barrier. At least this would prove a helpful line of defence.
Ristaron paced backwards and forwards calculating in his mind a plan. This battle would have to be one of wits and tactics. Relius decided to approach Ristaron after having seen him play a key part in the battle. Perhaps together their cunning skills could yet devise a plan.
By the time the first peaks of sunlight pierced the treetops everything was set. Blocking all the main roads were piles of furniture where long pike men would try to hold back as much as they could. Further back were more stockades built from junk. Bowmen albeit very inexperienced would attempt to offer what cover they could. Once overrun they would retreat. It was hoped that this would provide enough time for the other main group to set up in the main square. Catapults which would fire cutlery were being constructed. Meanwhile hidden traps were being planted by the two skillful rangers.
However the main attempts at survival would not be witnessed until during the battle. When morning finnally came, to the suprise of the village, nothing came. Looking out to the forest only dust blowing in the wind could be seen. The villagers began to grow restless with Ristaron. Someone so strange and different telling them what to do! The grawl never normally attacked in such huge numbers, maybe it was over. They would rather run for it. These untrained soldiers thought they knew best. Ristaron tried to keep order. When it looked like things were going to fall to pieces, the largest tragedy of the day occured...
...The town hall collapsed revealing a series of tunnels. Out of these tunnels eurpted the Grawl main army, thousands and thousands of them. The Ascalonians were caught from behind and the shock and surprise cost the lives of many. Rhiannon was still wiping the sleep from her eyes as an arrow slammed into the pillar next to her. A grawl jumped up and slashed her arm sending her flying. Again it picked her up and sent her through a pillar of wood. Dazed and injured, Rhiannon fell unconcious. There would not be enough healing today.
Ristaron paced backwards and forwards calculating in his mind a plan. This battle would have to be one of wits and tactics. Relius decided to approach Ristaron after having seen him play a key part in the battle. Perhaps together their cunning skills could yet devise a plan.
By the time the first peaks of sunlight pierced the treetops everything was set. Blocking all the main roads were piles of furniture where long pike men would try to hold back as much as they could. Further back were more stockades built from junk. Bowmen albeit very inexperienced would attempt to offer what cover they could. Once overrun they would retreat. It was hoped that this would provide enough time for the other main group to set up in the main square. Catapults which would fire cutlery were being constructed. Meanwhile hidden traps were being planted by the two skillful rangers.
However the main attempts at survival would not be witnessed until during the battle. When morning finnally came, to the suprise of the village, nothing came. Looking out to the forest only dust blowing in the wind could be seen. The villagers began to grow restless with Ristaron. Someone so strange and different telling them what to do! The grawl never normally attacked in such huge numbers, maybe it was over. They would rather run for it. These untrained soldiers thought they knew best. Ristaron tried to keep order. When it looked like things were going to fall to pieces, the largest tragedy of the day occured...
...The town hall collapsed revealing a series of tunnels. Out of these tunnels eurpted the Grawl main army, thousands and thousands of them. The Ascalonians were caught from behind and the shock and surprise cost the lives of many. Rhiannon was still wiping the sleep from her eyes as an arrow slammed into the pillar next to her. A grawl jumped up and slashed her arm sending her flying. Again it picked her up and sent her through a pillar of wood. Dazed and injured, Rhiannon fell unconcious. There would not be enough healing today.
Rilder
OOC: I'm New to this whole thing so give me a chance, if I should pm you before I post then I'm sorry, but here I go. =/
---------------
Zarda Markazo was one of the many levies in Cayven, given leather scraps as armor, a couple nailed together boards with a handle for a shield, and slightly rusty short sword and given minimal training during the night, he understood he would probably die in the attack, but he had held himself firm, during the whole chaos of the town and all the soldiers thinking they knew best, he stood waiting, on guard his sword and shield held. Then the town hall collapsed, shocking him from his stance but he recovered quickly and started running through the shamble of confusion towards the Grawl. His charge must of put will in some of the other levies and soldiers because before he knew it he was leading the charge into the hoard of Grawl.
The battle line hit, Zarda sliced left and right at Grawl, evading hammer attacks, he ducked another hammer attack and tried blocking another which shattered his shield in half, he didn’t stop though, the less weight he had to carry meant that he could evade attacks better; but even so, he was weakening; exhaustion was taking its toll, and he backed off from the battle. Then the arrows hit; as he was just clearing the battle several well aimed shots hit him in the back, their burning arrows sent him into a screaming pain as he dropped to his knees then fell forward once more, passing into unconsciousness.
---------------
Zarda Markazo was one of the many levies in Cayven, given leather scraps as armor, a couple nailed together boards with a handle for a shield, and slightly rusty short sword and given minimal training during the night, he understood he would probably die in the attack, but he had held himself firm, during the whole chaos of the town and all the soldiers thinking they knew best, he stood waiting, on guard his sword and shield held. Then the town hall collapsed, shocking him from his stance but he recovered quickly and started running through the shamble of confusion towards the Grawl. His charge must of put will in some of the other levies and soldiers because before he knew it he was leading the charge into the hoard of Grawl.
The battle line hit, Zarda sliced left and right at Grawl, evading hammer attacks, he ducked another hammer attack and tried blocking another which shattered his shield in half, he didn’t stop though, the less weight he had to carry meant that he could evade attacks better; but even so, he was weakening; exhaustion was taking its toll, and he backed off from the battle. Then the arrows hit; as he was just clearing the battle several well aimed shots hit him in the back, their burning arrows sent him into a screaming pain as he dropped to his knees then fell forward once more, passing into unconsciousness.
Ristaron
OOC: Thousands? Not to seem too realistic (since this is fantasy), but that's a lot...
-----------------------------------------
Ristaron swerved around from his position at the front wall with several soldiers, startled by the clamorous crashing. He had taken the hints that the town did not like him, and for most of the morning had stood watching the fields for any sign of advance, the collar of his longcoat unfolded so it stood on his shoulders, hiding most of his face. It was not shame that made him secretive, though, just the desire to escape the scrutinizing glares of many townsfolk.
The town hall itself Ristaron could not see, for it was behind many rows of wooden houses, but above the numerous thatched roofs he could see a cloud of dust rising. Something large had fallen. Morgan growled beside him, and rose from the place she had been lying down in for several hours. Her powerful muscles were tight in anticipation.
"Alright", Ristaron said, shouldering the longbow and quiver of arrows he had retrieved from a dead ranger. He had vowed to put it to good use.
The pair jogged along the main road, but picked up their speed to a run when they heard screaming and the sounds of battle. Moving to the opposite side of the road, Ristaron grasped the bow and notched an arrow, ready to find a target when one became visible around the corner.
But before he got there, a pack of Grawl appeared. One carrying the head of one of the townsfolk Ristaron had seen a few hours ago. A moment later, the Grawl with the trophy lay dead with an arrow in its neck.
A gray blur barrelled into another of the savages. Powerful paws pinned the creature's shoulders to the ground when Morgan had taken it down, and in a flash, a strong maw had torn out the Grawl's throat. A third went down in the confusion, the arrow piercing its lung. Then a fourth to the mighty gray lupine. But by now, the remaining four were running straight for the lone ranger.
Ristaron tossed aside the bow and quiver and drew his rapiers. He took a running start at the advancing pack, and then swerved left. The Grawl on the end was fast enough to get around and swing his mighty warhammer in a lateral attack, but the agile ranger ducked this, and as he passed sliced out with a razor-sharp blade. The beast fell to the earth clutching its calf. Ristaron fell back slightly, not allowing the progression of the other three to get the full effect. But their loose ranks were put into a state of confusion again when five hundred pounds of Morgan collided with the party, taking two off their feet. The third kept its concentration, and swung with a large falchion in a wide attack that was easily avoided. But in the short time it took for the creature to recover, the nimble ranger moved in, cutting two long gashes in the enemy's tough hide. One along the massive chest (following the same direction as many scars on the creature's torso), and one severing a few of the tendons in the creature's wrist. Enraged, the Grawl reached out with its remaining usable hand and grabbed Ristaron around the neck. With a heave of the creature's mighty arm, the ranger's light body was sent through the air. Hitting the wall before hitting the earth, Ristaron shook his head to ward off the daze and looked up to see the creature charging.
Thinking quickly, the mountainfolk forced himself to his feet, and gripped his rapiers so that the blades pointed down. He then lifted his arms and put his thumbs against the wall, so that the points of the weapons were aimed at the advancing creature.
Realizing the danger too late, the grawl was unable to stop, and he ran straight into the metal blades of the ranger's rapiers.
The two of them fell to the earth, the wind knocked from Ristaron. He got up slowly, and saw that Morgan had dispatched of the other two from the original party. The ranger retrieved one of his blades, but felt pain along his side as he tore the weapon free of the dead creature's flesh. Running his other hand along his side, the ranger was sure he had broken a few of his slender ribs.
With no choice, he ignored it and reclaimed his other rapier, and went to aid in the rest of the battle.
-----------------------------------------
Ristaron swerved around from his position at the front wall with several soldiers, startled by the clamorous crashing. He had taken the hints that the town did not like him, and for most of the morning had stood watching the fields for any sign of advance, the collar of his longcoat unfolded so it stood on his shoulders, hiding most of his face. It was not shame that made him secretive, though, just the desire to escape the scrutinizing glares of many townsfolk.
The town hall itself Ristaron could not see, for it was behind many rows of wooden houses, but above the numerous thatched roofs he could see a cloud of dust rising. Something large had fallen. Morgan growled beside him, and rose from the place she had been lying down in for several hours. Her powerful muscles were tight in anticipation.
"Alright", Ristaron said, shouldering the longbow and quiver of arrows he had retrieved from a dead ranger. He had vowed to put it to good use.
The pair jogged along the main road, but picked up their speed to a run when they heard screaming and the sounds of battle. Moving to the opposite side of the road, Ristaron grasped the bow and notched an arrow, ready to find a target when one became visible around the corner.
But before he got there, a pack of Grawl appeared. One carrying the head of one of the townsfolk Ristaron had seen a few hours ago. A moment later, the Grawl with the trophy lay dead with an arrow in its neck.
A gray blur barrelled into another of the savages. Powerful paws pinned the creature's shoulders to the ground when Morgan had taken it down, and in a flash, a strong maw had torn out the Grawl's throat. A third went down in the confusion, the arrow piercing its lung. Then a fourth to the mighty gray lupine. But by now, the remaining four were running straight for the lone ranger.
Ristaron tossed aside the bow and quiver and drew his rapiers. He took a running start at the advancing pack, and then swerved left. The Grawl on the end was fast enough to get around and swing his mighty warhammer in a lateral attack, but the agile ranger ducked this, and as he passed sliced out with a razor-sharp blade. The beast fell to the earth clutching its calf. Ristaron fell back slightly, not allowing the progression of the other three to get the full effect. But their loose ranks were put into a state of confusion again when five hundred pounds of Morgan collided with the party, taking two off their feet. The third kept its concentration, and swung with a large falchion in a wide attack that was easily avoided. But in the short time it took for the creature to recover, the nimble ranger moved in, cutting two long gashes in the enemy's tough hide. One along the massive chest (following the same direction as many scars on the creature's torso), and one severing a few of the tendons in the creature's wrist. Enraged, the Grawl reached out with its remaining usable hand and grabbed Ristaron around the neck. With a heave of the creature's mighty arm, the ranger's light body was sent through the air. Hitting the wall before hitting the earth, Ristaron shook his head to ward off the daze and looked up to see the creature charging.
Thinking quickly, the mountainfolk forced himself to his feet, and gripped his rapiers so that the blades pointed down. He then lifted his arms and put his thumbs against the wall, so that the points of the weapons were aimed at the advancing creature.
Realizing the danger too late, the grawl was unable to stop, and he ran straight into the metal blades of the ranger's rapiers.
The two of them fell to the earth, the wind knocked from Ristaron. He got up slowly, and saw that Morgan had dispatched of the other two from the original party. The ranger retrieved one of his blades, but felt pain along his side as he tore the weapon free of the dead creature's flesh. Running his other hand along his side, the ranger was sure he had broken a few of his slender ribs.
With no choice, he ignored it and reclaimed his other rapier, and went to aid in the rest of the battle.
Mentalmdc
The battle raged on, but within the first few hours it was evident the Cayven would be overrun. The villagers that had once been so eager to fight for peace, truth and justice lay dead with their weopons shattered on the floor. Blood ran like rivers down the street and buildings collapsed frequently from the billowing flames. The central street became the scene for the final meatgrinder.
Ristaron ran down the road but tripped over two bodies. Looking down upon them he realised them to be two key figures he had seen before. Looking at the girl he remembered it to be Rhiannon, she did not appear to injured so he chanted a few words of the moutainfolk and sprinkled some old herbs on her forhead. Touching her, a lightness flowed through her and she began to come to. Unfortunately for the other, now recognised as Zarda, it was looking bad. The arrow had surely well and truly planted itself deep in his back and if something was not done soon, he would truly die. Thankfully, Rhiannon came round in time and managed to heal his injury. However it would be some time before he would be back to full health.
The Grawl knocked the scattering Ascalonian guards aside. The square was overrun and the central street became a face off. At one end an increasingly large amount of Grawl. At the other only a simple barricade of piled up chairs and tables. Behind this barricade were Ristaron, Rhiannon and the other heroes backed up by only a few remaining villagers. The grawl charged waving their weopons savagely in the air. The noise was an unbearable buzz. Rhiannon had a bow thrust in her hands from an unknown stranger. All the archers took a step forward, but instead of sending a barrage at the appraoching army they fired sideways into a building. This severed a rope and barrels of tacky oil crashed into the grawl coating their coarse skin in thick black ooze.
The grawl unswayed by this disturbance carried on to charge. Rhiannon pulled out a dagger and cut another rope. This released to large logs either side of the road, covered in spikes they sliced into the Grawls cutting them up. But still more came. An overeager archer fired a shot.
"Hold your fire! Wait until they are closer," cried Ristaron.
The grawls were within 200ft when finnaly the Ascalonians fired a barrage of flaming arrows, with that the oil burst up into a blaze, sending fleeing grawls into one another screaming cries of pain.
"Fire at will!"
The twanging of bows filled the air as wave after wave of arrows flew into the Grawls. A few of the traps had been delivered but there would have been more had the battle gone according to plan. Before long the Grawls were diving over the barricade, hand to hand combat took the place of the archers. Rhiannon was wielding a slightly overlarge Flaming sword. She thrashed it into a nearby Grawl but still more and more clambered over.
Rhiannon looked around hoplessly as the heroes found themselves completely surrounded facing overwhelming odds. Back to back they struggled cutting down Grawls, diving forward and never giving up.
Ristaron ran down the road but tripped over two bodies. Looking down upon them he realised them to be two key figures he had seen before. Looking at the girl he remembered it to be Rhiannon, she did not appear to injured so he chanted a few words of the moutainfolk and sprinkled some old herbs on her forhead. Touching her, a lightness flowed through her and she began to come to. Unfortunately for the other, now recognised as Zarda, it was looking bad. The arrow had surely well and truly planted itself deep in his back and if something was not done soon, he would truly die. Thankfully, Rhiannon came round in time and managed to heal his injury. However it would be some time before he would be back to full health.
The Grawl knocked the scattering Ascalonian guards aside. The square was overrun and the central street became a face off. At one end an increasingly large amount of Grawl. At the other only a simple barricade of piled up chairs and tables. Behind this barricade were Ristaron, Rhiannon and the other heroes backed up by only a few remaining villagers. The grawl charged waving their weopons savagely in the air. The noise was an unbearable buzz. Rhiannon had a bow thrust in her hands from an unknown stranger. All the archers took a step forward, but instead of sending a barrage at the appraoching army they fired sideways into a building. This severed a rope and barrels of tacky oil crashed into the grawl coating their coarse skin in thick black ooze.
The grawl unswayed by this disturbance carried on to charge. Rhiannon pulled out a dagger and cut another rope. This released to large logs either side of the road, covered in spikes they sliced into the Grawls cutting them up. But still more came. An overeager archer fired a shot.
"Hold your fire! Wait until they are closer," cried Ristaron.
The grawls were within 200ft when finnaly the Ascalonians fired a barrage of flaming arrows, with that the oil burst up into a blaze, sending fleeing grawls into one another screaming cries of pain.
"Fire at will!"
The twanging of bows filled the air as wave after wave of arrows flew into the Grawls. A few of the traps had been delivered but there would have been more had the battle gone according to plan. Before long the Grawls were diving over the barricade, hand to hand combat took the place of the archers. Rhiannon was wielding a slightly overlarge Flaming sword. She thrashed it into a nearby Grawl but still more and more clambered over.
Rhiannon looked around hoplessly as the heroes found themselves completely surrounded facing overwhelming odds. Back to back they struggled cutting down Grawls, diving forward and never giving up.
Symeon
(earlier)
After meeting Rhiannon in the village inn, Mylena had wandered out of the village. Maybe she would find others that she could tell about the grawl...for now she would make sure she kept a look out for anything incoming while getting some rest.
She sat down beside an oak tree, and for a while watched the bushes beside the path which she had come along sway in the wind. Then she began to sink lower and lower, and eventually fell asleep.
When she awoke, it was to hear panicked noises. She turned and ran into the village, to find people running about, grawl turning corners with their hammers above their heads and archers firing from behind them. Over the market stalls towered a very large grawl who looked particularly menacing. Mylena could see several people on the ground, wounded, and two or three grawl were bashing their hammers on the door of the inn which had been closed. The grawl had come on the town swiftly, it seemed.
Mylena drew her bow and bent down to kindle her arrows. She then brought on the extra power of the flame that she could, and looked around to choose a target. That one swinging his hammer around in the middle of those people will do, she thought, and aimed right at its head, letting the flaming arrow fly and stick straight in, bringing a singeing sound and a loud moan from the beast.
But she knew carrying out heavy arrow fire was not ideal in crowded areas. She would need to find a high point to fire from where others could not reach her. Running along the street, she spotted a mossy stone ledge beside a wall that led around to a stone slab on a small high mound a fair distance above the street. She leapt up and ran up to the slab. Kindling her arrows again, she knelt down and peered around. Aiming at and archer, she came up slightly and fired, then went back down. She began to get into a rhythm of doing this, taking out a large amount of grawl.
As she did this, she noticed others fighting. Some were clearly levies, village men who had been mustered at the town hall and given basic weapons to give a tiny amount of defence. However, one fighter caught her eye - a dark skinned ranger who was fighting the grawl up close, clearly with much experience. He had a pet alongside him to deal good damage to the enemy. Mylena began to work with him, firing her arrows at nearby grawl so as for him to take out others while not being exposed. The grawl just seemed to keep coming, and they were clearly dealing a large amount of destruction. As well as the ranger, Mylena could see a female monk running around tending to people, another ranger, and someone that looked like a ritualist who was bringing up spirits. With the few fighters there they seemed to be holding the grawl back. Eventually it seemed like the army was beginning to move off. There had not really been that many, evidenced by the few that they had actually brought down on the streets. But Mylena saw the ranger heading to the wall. He was looking out and pointing into the forest, talking to someone. The female monk continued to move around, healing people, and guards seemed to be moving around, sorting out more defences. Mylena decided to take a stroll, and then she lay down to rest at her high spot. She figured if she were woken up then she would be ready to fight again.
She slept well into the morning, and when she awoke it was as she expected. There was a commotion coming from the town hall...after a while Mylena saw people running out onto the streets. The grawl had returned, and this time in larger number. She began to fire from her position again, and watched as some tired levies tried to hold off the relentless enemy. It was clear this time that the defences were losing...guards were retreating, and the other experienced fighters were struggling on. Cayven was being overrun...the fight could not go on forever...there were too many...Mylena was becoming tired. The routine of kindling her arrows made it that little bit harder for her, and made the arrows heavier. Though she did more damage, especially to these unarmoured padded-skin beasts, she could not keep up the continuous loop of firing for long periods. She found herself resting, then firing a few more arrows, then resting...all the while seeing others in retreat...
After meeting Rhiannon in the village inn, Mylena had wandered out of the village. Maybe she would find others that she could tell about the grawl...for now she would make sure she kept a look out for anything incoming while getting some rest.
She sat down beside an oak tree, and for a while watched the bushes beside the path which she had come along sway in the wind. Then she began to sink lower and lower, and eventually fell asleep.
When she awoke, it was to hear panicked noises. She turned and ran into the village, to find people running about, grawl turning corners with their hammers above their heads and archers firing from behind them. Over the market stalls towered a very large grawl who looked particularly menacing. Mylena could see several people on the ground, wounded, and two or three grawl were bashing their hammers on the door of the inn which had been closed. The grawl had come on the town swiftly, it seemed.
Mylena drew her bow and bent down to kindle her arrows. She then brought on the extra power of the flame that she could, and looked around to choose a target. That one swinging his hammer around in the middle of those people will do, she thought, and aimed right at its head, letting the flaming arrow fly and stick straight in, bringing a singeing sound and a loud moan from the beast.
But she knew carrying out heavy arrow fire was not ideal in crowded areas. She would need to find a high point to fire from where others could not reach her. Running along the street, she spotted a mossy stone ledge beside a wall that led around to a stone slab on a small high mound a fair distance above the street. She leapt up and ran up to the slab. Kindling her arrows again, she knelt down and peered around. Aiming at and archer, she came up slightly and fired, then went back down. She began to get into a rhythm of doing this, taking out a large amount of grawl.
As she did this, she noticed others fighting. Some were clearly levies, village men who had been mustered at the town hall and given basic weapons to give a tiny amount of defence. However, one fighter caught her eye - a dark skinned ranger who was fighting the grawl up close, clearly with much experience. He had a pet alongside him to deal good damage to the enemy. Mylena began to work with him, firing her arrows at nearby grawl so as for him to take out others while not being exposed. The grawl just seemed to keep coming, and they were clearly dealing a large amount of destruction. As well as the ranger, Mylena could see a female monk running around tending to people, another ranger, and someone that looked like a ritualist who was bringing up spirits. With the few fighters there they seemed to be holding the grawl back. Eventually it seemed like the army was beginning to move off. There had not really been that many, evidenced by the few that they had actually brought down on the streets. But Mylena saw the ranger heading to the wall. He was looking out and pointing into the forest, talking to someone. The female monk continued to move around, healing people, and guards seemed to be moving around, sorting out more defences. Mylena decided to take a stroll, and then she lay down to rest at her high spot. She figured if she were woken up then she would be ready to fight again.
She slept well into the morning, and when she awoke it was as she expected. There was a commotion coming from the town hall...after a while Mylena saw people running out onto the streets. The grawl had returned, and this time in larger number. She began to fire from her position again, and watched as some tired levies tried to hold off the relentless enemy. It was clear this time that the defences were losing...guards were retreating, and the other experienced fighters were struggling on. Cayven was being overrun...the fight could not go on forever...there were too many...Mylena was becoming tired. The routine of kindling her arrows made it that little bit harder for her, and made the arrows heavier. Though she did more damage, especially to these unarmoured padded-skin beasts, she could not keep up the continuous loop of firing for long periods. She found herself resting, then firing a few more arrows, then resting...all the while seeing others in retreat...
Brother Doug
(OOC: Mentalmdc- No offense meant by this, I know it's your first time, but Ristaron and Ristaron alone should really be decidng what his character does.)
Relius was shocked. It had all happened so fast, and in only an evening. Yesterday’s battles had been nothing but a quick skirmish compared to this. This was the might of an army, an army too large to defeat by only a few skilled fighters. Many of the Cayven army had fled, leaving terrified villagers huddled inside their homes. As Relius ran through the streets, he saw a burly, scarred grawl splinter a wooden door, madly swinging its axe. There was an ear-splitting shriek from inside, and the grawl returned, its axe imbrued with blood. Relius’ own blood boiled, and he began to summon his ally. Yet even before it could appear in front of him, a giant gray blur smashed into the grawl. It was dead when it hit the ground, a huge gash across its stomach. The gray blur Relius had seen was actually a wolf; not an ordinary wolf, but a giant, snarling beast that was definitely lethal to anything that got in its way.
“A rare animal, that is,” the spirit who had now appeared before Relius noted. “It must have an owner, otherwise you’d be dead by now. Of course, I’d still be-”
“Spirit, this is not the time for idle chatter,” Relius quickly cut the spirit off. “An army of grawl has breached Cayven’s walls. We must try and defend these people at all costs. I will summon more spirits. Protect me!”
“As you wish, binder,” the spirit bowed his corporeal head slightly, charging up the energies inside him. Relius began chanting, summoning spirits of fire, earth, and lightning to destroy the intruders. As he chanted he looked up, seeing the owner of the giant wolf step into view. He looked in pain. He was like no human he had ever seen before, with ebony skin and silver hair. Relius watched him slice open the stomach of an unsuspecting grawl who had just come around the corner. This man, or whatever he was, was clearly an experienced fighter.
After some time, the incantations were complete. Ghostly pillars of fire, stone, and air erupted from the ground, and a spirit of each type materialized in its place. The fire spirit burned bright yellow. It was lizard-like in shape, with blazing red holes for eyes. The earth spirit was made of the very ground itself, with stone, dirt, and vines all cluttered into one massive hulk. The misty air spirit swirled into being, crackling with energy and mischief in its amber eyes. Chains inscribed with runes leapt up, binding the spirits to Relius’ will. The spirits moaned from the weight and power of the chains.
As the spirits were summoned, a large band of grawl around fifteen in number strode smugly into the street. Relius realized there was more where they came from, and called to the ranger nearby, a slight panic in his voice.
“Sir! I know there is not much time to talk, but we must flee! There are too many grawl. This city is doomed; we cannot save all of the villagers. We must gather up all the able-bodied heroes in this city and escape. My elemental spirits will fend off these monsters, but only for a time. We must move! Cayven may fall, but we can still stop these beasts! What do you say?” Relius waited anxiously for the ranger’s reply.
Relius was shocked. It had all happened so fast, and in only an evening. Yesterday’s battles had been nothing but a quick skirmish compared to this. This was the might of an army, an army too large to defeat by only a few skilled fighters. Many of the Cayven army had fled, leaving terrified villagers huddled inside their homes. As Relius ran through the streets, he saw a burly, scarred grawl splinter a wooden door, madly swinging its axe. There was an ear-splitting shriek from inside, and the grawl returned, its axe imbrued with blood. Relius’ own blood boiled, and he began to summon his ally. Yet even before it could appear in front of him, a giant gray blur smashed into the grawl. It was dead when it hit the ground, a huge gash across its stomach. The gray blur Relius had seen was actually a wolf; not an ordinary wolf, but a giant, snarling beast that was definitely lethal to anything that got in its way.
“A rare animal, that is,” the spirit who had now appeared before Relius noted. “It must have an owner, otherwise you’d be dead by now. Of course, I’d still be-”
“Spirit, this is not the time for idle chatter,” Relius quickly cut the spirit off. “An army of grawl has breached Cayven’s walls. We must try and defend these people at all costs. I will summon more spirits. Protect me!”
“As you wish, binder,” the spirit bowed his corporeal head slightly, charging up the energies inside him. Relius began chanting, summoning spirits of fire, earth, and lightning to destroy the intruders. As he chanted he looked up, seeing the owner of the giant wolf step into view. He looked in pain. He was like no human he had ever seen before, with ebony skin and silver hair. Relius watched him slice open the stomach of an unsuspecting grawl who had just come around the corner. This man, or whatever he was, was clearly an experienced fighter.
After some time, the incantations were complete. Ghostly pillars of fire, stone, and air erupted from the ground, and a spirit of each type materialized in its place. The fire spirit burned bright yellow. It was lizard-like in shape, with blazing red holes for eyes. The earth spirit was made of the very ground itself, with stone, dirt, and vines all cluttered into one massive hulk. The misty air spirit swirled into being, crackling with energy and mischief in its amber eyes. Chains inscribed with runes leapt up, binding the spirits to Relius’ will. The spirits moaned from the weight and power of the chains.
As the spirits were summoned, a large band of grawl around fifteen in number strode smugly into the street. Relius realized there was more where they came from, and called to the ranger nearby, a slight panic in his voice.
“Sir! I know there is not much time to talk, but we must flee! There are too many grawl. This city is doomed; we cannot save all of the villagers. We must gather up all the able-bodied heroes in this city and escape. My elemental spirits will fend off these monsters, but only for a time. We must move! Cayven may fall, but we can still stop these beasts! What do you say?” Relius waited anxiously for the ranger’s reply.
Ristaron
Ristaron's muscles complained as he forced himself to trudge along. Hours of fighting had caught up to him, and his movements were becoming more and more lethargic. Morgan too, was tiring, her enormous frame requiring more than simple muscles to keep moving. The ranger swung his head back quickly, sending his bloodstained mane of silver hair from his face. Though he heard it distantly, the ranger managed to move his attention to the sound of someone calling his name.
His surprise couldn't have been greater to find a Ritualist standing a mere thirty feet away. The hatred of generations sparked inside the mountainfolk, seeing one of the blood enemies of his people. But his tired muscles would not act as fast as he wanted, and he was forced to think over the situation again before he acted. It was in this second assessment that he noticed the unchained Spirit. Midnight eyes fixed on the demon* for a moment, and then shifted to the Ritualist.
Indeed, something was different about him. No binder ever kept a spirit unchained, it was the first rule they were taught.
The rest of the words the Ritualist had yelled to him sunk in when he saw through the translucent spectre, the advancing party of Grawl. He and Morgan had decimated at least a dozen today, but the ranger knew in his heart that this one would probably be the last.
The thought was not an unhappy one.
"Go!" Ristaron bade the Ritualist, whom he had to trust in these circumstances. "I'll hold them off."
A moment later, he was knocked from his feet by a gray blur. It wasn't a blow meant to harm him, he realized when he looked up to see his lupine companion's muzzle over his own ebonny-skinned face, merely to knock some sense into him. The Grawl were approaching fast, and the ranger was torn between his places. His inner battle was ended a moment later when Morgan bit into the collar of his cloak and began dragging him.
"Alright, alright!" the ranger conceded. But before he could begin to get to his feet his wolf companion raised herself to her hind legs, dragging her master up with her.
Standing as she was, the lupine was taller than the mountainfolk ranger. Her forepaws rested lightly on his shoulders, though he still felt the pressure in his knees until she slid off and led their quick retreat.
"We need to get everyone out of here", Ristaron said in a defeated voice, "the town is lost."
* a demon is defined as a creature from another dimension
(OOC:
I understand that you didn't know about the golden rule in roleplaying, Mentalmdc, but Brother Doug is correct in bringing it to your attention. I won't hold it against you, but please remember that only the character's creator should control him or her (lest it be a non-first-level character (first level: main characters)). No harm done, though, please keep up the posting - you have talent as a writer.)
His surprise couldn't have been greater to find a Ritualist standing a mere thirty feet away. The hatred of generations sparked inside the mountainfolk, seeing one of the blood enemies of his people. But his tired muscles would not act as fast as he wanted, and he was forced to think over the situation again before he acted. It was in this second assessment that he noticed the unchained Spirit. Midnight eyes fixed on the demon* for a moment, and then shifted to the Ritualist.
Indeed, something was different about him. No binder ever kept a spirit unchained, it was the first rule they were taught.
The rest of the words the Ritualist had yelled to him sunk in when he saw through the translucent spectre, the advancing party of Grawl. He and Morgan had decimated at least a dozen today, but the ranger knew in his heart that this one would probably be the last.
The thought was not an unhappy one.
"Go!" Ristaron bade the Ritualist, whom he had to trust in these circumstances. "I'll hold them off."
A moment later, he was knocked from his feet by a gray blur. It wasn't a blow meant to harm him, he realized when he looked up to see his lupine companion's muzzle over his own ebonny-skinned face, merely to knock some sense into him. The Grawl were approaching fast, and the ranger was torn between his places. His inner battle was ended a moment later when Morgan bit into the collar of his cloak and began dragging him.
"Alright, alright!" the ranger conceded. But before he could begin to get to his feet his wolf companion raised herself to her hind legs, dragging her master up with her.
Standing as she was, the lupine was taller than the mountainfolk ranger. Her forepaws rested lightly on his shoulders, though he still felt the pressure in his knees until she slid off and led their quick retreat.
"We need to get everyone out of here", Ristaron said in a defeated voice, "the town is lost."
* a demon is defined as a creature from another dimension
(OOC:
I understand that you didn't know about the golden rule in roleplaying, Mentalmdc, but Brother Doug is correct in bringing it to your attention. I won't hold it against you, but please remember that only the character's creator should control him or her (lest it be a non-first-level character (first level: main characters)). No harm done, though, please keep up the posting - you have talent as a writer.)
Rilder
Zarda ached but he felt no arrow anymore, the last he remembered was being dragged away from the lines and vaguely remembered the small monk healing him, but this was no time for pondering... though weakened and tired he lifted his body up and grabbed a small sword and shield lying near him and strapped the shield to his arm and readied his sword, when he got up he noticed the entire unit of levies had been decimated, many must of ran into the woods in horror, and he still saw Grawl coming out of the tunnels.
“There’s to many, we’ll never hold them back, our remaining men must be exhausted, ” he whispered to himself; examining the area.
Noticing an ebon skinned ranger standing next to a rather large wolf panting, he ran that way coming around a corner only to see a group of Grawl Charging forward, and several weird looking demon like beings next to an individual. Making a small prayer to Balthazar and tightening his grip to the short sword, Zarda pushed himself forward and met the Grawl in combat, stabbing one before it could even get its hammer raised and in the same movement used his shield to knock one another to the ground. He ducked as one Grawl swung its hammer and the inertia of the hammer slammed into another Grawl, his short sword allowed him to get up close to the Grawl, preventing them from getting enough swing with their heavy hammers without getting there arms sliced off in a slash by his blade, before long there was only one Grawl in the party; a brute of a Grawl wielding a vicious looking axe. The Grawl began the battle by lifting its axe above his head and charging at Zarda, evading by a hair, cutting a slash in his arm, Zarda ignored the slash and tried moving behind the large foe who countered by swinging side ways at his exposed side and Zarda jumped backward tripping backwards and smashing into the ground, when he looked up he saw the large Grawl charging straight at him his axe raised high above his head preparing for the death blow. Closer, Closer, Closer, he was now swinging at him, and in the last possible second Zarda threw his legs into the belly of the Grawl sending it back a bit, getting up Zarda walked over to the Grawl trying to get up and pushed the short sword deep into the chest of the foe, it twitched several seconds and died. Zarda walked over to the axe the Grawl had wielded, now lying several feet away, picking it up, it seemed lighter then the way the Grawl had used it, perfect for now…
“There’s to many, we’ll never hold them back, our remaining men must be exhausted, ” he whispered to himself; examining the area.
Noticing an ebon skinned ranger standing next to a rather large wolf panting, he ran that way coming around a corner only to see a group of Grawl Charging forward, and several weird looking demon like beings next to an individual. Making a small prayer to Balthazar and tightening his grip to the short sword, Zarda pushed himself forward and met the Grawl in combat, stabbing one before it could even get its hammer raised and in the same movement used his shield to knock one another to the ground. He ducked as one Grawl swung its hammer and the inertia of the hammer slammed into another Grawl, his short sword allowed him to get up close to the Grawl, preventing them from getting enough swing with their heavy hammers without getting there arms sliced off in a slash by his blade, before long there was only one Grawl in the party; a brute of a Grawl wielding a vicious looking axe. The Grawl began the battle by lifting its axe above his head and charging at Zarda, evading by a hair, cutting a slash in his arm, Zarda ignored the slash and tried moving behind the large foe who countered by swinging side ways at his exposed side and Zarda jumped backward tripping backwards and smashing into the ground, when he looked up he saw the large Grawl charging straight at him his axe raised high above his head preparing for the death blow. Closer, Closer, Closer, he was now swinging at him, and in the last possible second Zarda threw his legs into the belly of the Grawl sending it back a bit, getting up Zarda walked over to the Grawl trying to get up and pushed the short sword deep into the chest of the foe, it twitched several seconds and died. Zarda walked over to the axe the Grawl had wielded, now lying several feet away, picking it up, it seemed lighter then the way the Grawl had used it, perfect for now…
Mentalmdc
(OOC: Sorry wasn't sure about that rule, won't do it anymore Sorry for any spelling mistakes, my hands are icy blue as i just got in and i'm very cold so its a little hard to type :S)
After hearing the call to abandon the town Rhiannon took a final solemn glance around her. Grawl stampeded through the streets on every corner. Rhiannon looked to her right and saw a poor Levie in combat about to be cut down. Rhiannon said a quick prayer to Dwayna and lept forward her heart racing, pumping, thumping. She arced her sword high into the air and brought it back down to earth with tremendous power onto the back of the grawls head. The levie looked relieved.
"Thankyou monk, you have saved my life. My name is Fillis. We have to get out of here. I used to be the stablemaster, a horse should be just round the corner, come on!"
Rhiannon and fillis ran through a pack of Grawl using shear strength to break the ranks. Rhiannon glanced back at a few of the heroes making their own ways out of town. Rhiannon before she knew it was hoisted upon a large shimmering black stallion, it jumped up a little frightened of the commotion. Rhiannon spoke some of the language of the monks of Teng-hui;
"Telah ti kuroom ti la toono di alak de koom," instantly the horse was calmed.
Rhiannon gripped the back of fillis for all she was worth. Resorting to a bow she fired at surrounding Grawls whilst the power of the stallion sent them flying as they charged through. The exit of the town was in sight. Safety and freedom were near. But it was not to be.
The Grawl Chieftan was covered in his tribal headress of flowing red feathers and the most intricate shell necklaces. He turned the corner to see a horse with two people on it come right for him. A giant of a grawl he grabbed a hammer and took an almighty heave.
The horse slammed into the ground and rolled over, quickly recovering it darted off leaving Rhiannon and Fillis on either side of the road. The chieftan turned on Fillis.
"Rhiannon run! You are need yet further in this conflict, I will attempt to hold him," cried Fillis.
Unfortunately Fillis' heroic words barely left his mouth before he was severed in twoo by a Grawl from behind. Rhiannon screamed and chanted a prayer of speed. Dramatically Rhiannon began to speed up with a blinding holy light erupting from her. The light blinded the nearby Grawls allowing Rhiannon to get to safety. The town was lost.
Rhiannon was panting as she clambered up a grassy mound, distant from the town. Rhiannon was gladly met by a familiar face. Rhiannon due to the extreme exertion of the day and emotional strain burst into tears and fell into his arms.
The soldier of the A.S. Char Slayer (A.S. = Ascalion Ship) who had taken her to Ascalon stood once again staring down at the girl. He had returned from Cantha. Rhiannon now knew his name as Duruk.
"Todays fighting is over but times are going to get worse. Upon arriving back to Ascalon I heard devastating news. The attack on Cayven was not the only one. All over Ascalon key towns have fallen. The Ascalonian Imperial army was caught of guard and we are now down to a measely 12% of our origional number. Whats worse is 89% of Ascalon is in enemy hands. You are certainly a lucky one to be alive. You can still be of great help though young one, we need to once again travel into the mountains and revive the alliances of old. United we can defeat this force and find out what is driving it." Duruk informed.
Rhiannon looked over at the smoldering town. So this was to be her role in the dying Golden Age of Ascalon. She had studied the alliances of old including Dwarves, Krytans, Orrians and the Surukata of a forgotten province. It would quite a task to pursuade them to return. That is if they weren't the ones behind the disaster that had befallen Ascalon.
In the meantime an anxious Rhiannon the Holy waited eagerly to see whether any of the other heroes she had met in Cayven had managed to make it out alive when the retreat had been sounded.
Sorry for any spelling mistakes, my hands are icy blue as i just got in and i'm very cold so its a little hard to type :S)After hearing the call to abandon the town Rhiannon took a final solemn glance around her. Grawl stampeded through the streets on every corner. Rhiannon looked to her right and saw a poor Levie in combat about to be cut down. Rhiannon said a quick prayer to Dwayna and lept forward her heart racing, pumping, thumping. She arced her sword high into the air and brought it back down to earth with tremendous power onto the back of the grawls head. The levie looked relieved.
"Thankyou monk, you have saved my life. My name is Fillis. We have to get out of here. I used to be the stablemaster, a horse should be just round the corner, come on!"
Rhiannon and fillis ran through a pack of Grawl using shear strength to break the ranks. Rhiannon glanced back at a few of the heroes making their own ways out of town. Rhiannon before she knew it was hoisted upon a large shimmering black stallion, it jumped up a little frightened of the commotion. Rhiannon spoke some of the language of the monks of Teng-hui;
"Telah ti kuroom ti la toono di alak de koom," instantly the horse was calmed.
Rhiannon gripped the back of fillis for all she was worth. Resorting to a bow she fired at surrounding Grawls whilst the power of the stallion sent them flying as they charged through. The exit of the town was in sight. Safety and freedom were near. But it was not to be.
The Grawl Chieftan was covered in his tribal headress of flowing red feathers and the most intricate shell necklaces. He turned the corner to see a horse with two people on it come right for him. A giant of a grawl he grabbed a hammer and took an almighty heave.
The horse slammed into the ground and rolled over, quickly recovering it darted off leaving Rhiannon and Fillis on either side of the road. The chieftan turned on Fillis.
"Rhiannon run! You are need yet further in this conflict, I will attempt to hold him," cried Fillis.
Unfortunately Fillis' heroic words barely left his mouth before he was severed in twoo by a Grawl from behind. Rhiannon screamed and chanted a prayer of speed. Dramatically Rhiannon began to speed up with a blinding holy light erupting from her. The light blinded the nearby Grawls allowing Rhiannon to get to safety. The town was lost.
Rhiannon was panting as she clambered up a grassy mound, distant from the town. Rhiannon was gladly met by a familiar face. Rhiannon due to the extreme exertion of the day and emotional strain burst into tears and fell into his arms.
The soldier of the A.S. Char Slayer (A.S. = Ascalion Ship) who had taken her to Ascalon stood once again staring down at the girl. He had returned from Cantha. Rhiannon now knew his name as Duruk.
"Todays fighting is over but times are going to get worse. Upon arriving back to Ascalon I heard devastating news. The attack on Cayven was not the only one. All over Ascalon key towns have fallen. The Ascalonian Imperial army was caught of guard and we are now down to a measely 12% of our origional number. Whats worse is 89% of Ascalon is in enemy hands. You are certainly a lucky one to be alive. You can still be of great help though young one, we need to once again travel into the mountains and revive the alliances of old. United we can defeat this force and find out what is driving it." Duruk informed.
Rhiannon looked over at the smoldering town. So this was to be her role in the dying Golden Age of Ascalon. She had studied the alliances of old including Dwarves, Krytans, Orrians and the Surukata of a forgotten province. It would quite a task to pursuade them to return. That is if they weren't the ones behind the disaster that had befallen Ascalon.
In the meantime an anxious Rhiannon the Holy waited eagerly to see whether any of the other heroes she had met in Cayven had managed to make it out alive when the retreat had been sounded.
LaserLight
Never mind. Looks like I managed to miscount somehow. My apologies for interfering, please enjoy your game.
Rilder
Zarda was in a fighting retreat, trying to hold his best while the villagers ran off, his arms burning in soreness, dispatching another mob he panted heavily, barely having the strength to carry the axe anymore, let alone kill Grawl, as he looked up; he saw yet another mob of Grawl coming his way. Openly yelling a prayer to Dwayna to heal him and Balthazar to give him strength, Zarda charged in, cleaving his axe left and right ripping Grawl to pieces and ducking and dodging hammer attacks the best he could. Dispatching that group he finally decided that if he continued he would surely be dead within minutes and proceeded to limp his way towards some of the barricades set up near the settlement.
Upon reaching one of the barricades, Zarda noticed a small figure on a distant mound.
“The monk girl, I must get to her”
Limping in a hurried fashion Zarda finally, after what seemed like hours arrived at the mound, but was too exhausted and collapsed into unconsciousness right there and then, the last thing he saw was the monk and another person running over to him…
(ooc: sorry for shortness)
Upon reaching one of the barricades, Zarda noticed a small figure on a distant mound.
“The monk girl, I must get to her”
Limping in a hurried fashion Zarda finally, after what seemed like hours arrived at the mound, but was too exhausted and collapsed into unconsciousness right there and then, the last thing he saw was the monk and another person running over to him…
(ooc: sorry for shortness)
Brother Doug
(OOC: Hmm...the party seems to be getting kind of big. I think 6 was the maximum, and Laserlight makes 7...since Ristaron's leading, I'll let him decide. As for an update on Relius...not yet. Sometime later today, hopefully. 
)
)
Ristaron
(OOC: Thank you for backing out, Lazerlight. Perhaps next time.)
As the ranger forced himself through the streets with determination alone, he searched for survivors in the rubble and chaos. Open fires burned around every corner, barrels of hay and thatche-roofed houses alike played fuel to the elemental display. Ristaron's hands were gripped like a deathlock around the hilts of his elegant rapiers, the blood not yet cleaned from their silvery blades.
Ahead of him, Morgan's tongue was lolled out much longer than usual -- a sign she was dehydrated. The ranger felt thirst as well, but surrounded by so much blood, his appetite was more than lost.
The next street they turned revealed to the pair a troubling scene. A horse toppled over, sending the riders to the earth. Among them was Rhiannon, the young monk who Ristaron had cautioned to conserve her strength last night when she had continued tirelessly to mend the many minor injuries. Ristaron's midnight eyes narrowed when he saw the reason the horse spooked: the Grawl Chief stood in the middle of the road -- looming dreadfully large now that the ranger could see him up front.
As Ristaron watched, Rhiannon's companion was brutally cloven in two by one of the Shaman's guards, and the young monk was alone.
All weariness left the ranger, his mind set. Too many had died this day, an innocent healer would not join that list. Ristaron exploded into action, Morgan joining him. The enormous lupine cleared the thirty feet between the ranger and the guard in a few easy bounds, taking it down from behind. The poor savage never stood a chance.
The ranger sped past the kill, and caught the attention of the Shaman who had been preparing to attack the fleeing Rhiannon.
"For Great Justice!" the former soldier yelled, and he set his charge straight for the gigantic Grawl. The Shaman took its massive hammer and made a lateral swing for the advancing mountainfolk. But Ristaron had already increased the speed of his steps and let his body fall behind, so that when the enormous weapon came at him like a meteor he had fallen into a slide. As he glided past the Chief, his left rapier came out and bit deep into the Grawl's calf. Roaring in pain, the Shaman swung his massive hammer above his head, and down at the ranger. But the agile mountainfolk had already rolled to the side, and all that was to show of the powerful attack was a crater in the earth.
In a flash, the ranger was up, rapiers dancing wildly. Minor cuts accumulated on the creature's tough skin, and its tattoed fur became stained with red. A viscious attack cut along the Grawl's face, through its right eye.
A grip of rage overcame the Shaman, and it lashed out with hammer, claws, and teeth. On any other day, the nimble ranger would have easily been able to avoid the slow attacks, but Ristaron was lethargic with exhaustion, and the beast managed to catch him with a scratch that cut three parallel lines along his left shoulder.
His concentration lost, Ristaron tripped and fell backwards, not even managing to roll and absorb any of the force of the tumble.
And as countless times before, his life was taken from the grips of death by his massive lupine companion.
Even the gigantic Grawl Shaman could not stand strong when five hundred pounds of muscle collided with him, and the savage was knocked to the ground. The earth shook as the two beasts hit the ground. The Chief's hammer slid along the scortched earth to rest several feet away as the Shaman and the giant wolf clawed and bit visciously. Finally, they rolled apart, and it looked that no victor had been declared. Morgan's teeth had bits of the Shaman's flesh dangling from them, but a nasty gash ran along the wolf's side.
Forcing himself to his feet, Ristaron readied to attack again, but he was relieved as he witnessed a huge spirit soar in, unleashing an otherworldly fury on the enemy.
(cue: Brother Doug)
EDIT:
:O I made Sancho Panza... been a while since my last rank upgrade.
As the ranger forced himself through the streets with determination alone, he searched for survivors in the rubble and chaos. Open fires burned around every corner, barrels of hay and thatche-roofed houses alike played fuel to the elemental display. Ristaron's hands were gripped like a deathlock around the hilts of his elegant rapiers, the blood not yet cleaned from their silvery blades.
Ahead of him, Morgan's tongue was lolled out much longer than usual -- a sign she was dehydrated. The ranger felt thirst as well, but surrounded by so much blood, his appetite was more than lost.
The next street they turned revealed to the pair a troubling scene. A horse toppled over, sending the riders to the earth. Among them was Rhiannon, the young monk who Ristaron had cautioned to conserve her strength last night when she had continued tirelessly to mend the many minor injuries. Ristaron's midnight eyes narrowed when he saw the reason the horse spooked: the Grawl Chief stood in the middle of the road -- looming dreadfully large now that the ranger could see him up front.
As Ristaron watched, Rhiannon's companion was brutally cloven in two by one of the Shaman's guards, and the young monk was alone.
All weariness left the ranger, his mind set. Too many had died this day, an innocent healer would not join that list. Ristaron exploded into action, Morgan joining him. The enormous lupine cleared the thirty feet between the ranger and the guard in a few easy bounds, taking it down from behind. The poor savage never stood a chance.
The ranger sped past the kill, and caught the attention of the Shaman who had been preparing to attack the fleeing Rhiannon.
"For Great Justice!" the former soldier yelled, and he set his charge straight for the gigantic Grawl. The Shaman took its massive hammer and made a lateral swing for the advancing mountainfolk. But Ristaron had already increased the speed of his steps and let his body fall behind, so that when the enormous weapon came at him like a meteor he had fallen into a slide. As he glided past the Chief, his left rapier came out and bit deep into the Grawl's calf. Roaring in pain, the Shaman swung his massive hammer above his head, and down at the ranger. But the agile mountainfolk had already rolled to the side, and all that was to show of the powerful attack was a crater in the earth.
In a flash, the ranger was up, rapiers dancing wildly. Minor cuts accumulated on the creature's tough skin, and its tattoed fur became stained with red. A viscious attack cut along the Grawl's face, through its right eye.
A grip of rage overcame the Shaman, and it lashed out with hammer, claws, and teeth. On any other day, the nimble ranger would have easily been able to avoid the slow attacks, but Ristaron was lethargic with exhaustion, and the beast managed to catch him with a scratch that cut three parallel lines along his left shoulder.
His concentration lost, Ristaron tripped and fell backwards, not even managing to roll and absorb any of the force of the tumble.
And as countless times before, his life was taken from the grips of death by his massive lupine companion.
Even the gigantic Grawl Shaman could not stand strong when five hundred pounds of muscle collided with him, and the savage was knocked to the ground. The earth shook as the two beasts hit the ground. The Chief's hammer slid along the scortched earth to rest several feet away as the Shaman and the giant wolf clawed and bit visciously. Finally, they rolled apart, and it looked that no victor had been declared. Morgan's teeth had bits of the Shaman's flesh dangling from them, but a nasty gash ran along the wolf's side.
Forcing himself to his feet, Ristaron readied to attack again, but he was relieved as he witnessed a huge spirit soar in, unleashing an otherworldly fury on the enemy.
(cue: Brother Doug
)EDIT:
:O I made Sancho Panza... been a while since my last rank upgrade.
Brother Doug
(OOC: I think I'll take that cue. )
Leaving the elemental spirits to do their work, Relius ran, following the ranger from a distance. The fires still burned hot, and the rotting stench of death and decay filled the ritualist’s nose. He resisted the urge to throw up his breakfast and ran on, the unbound spirit at his side. Turning a corner, Relius saw a black stallion fall to the ground, sending its two riders flying. Before he or the spirit could act, one of the riders was split in half by a menacing Grawl. The other, a young monk who Relius did not know, managed to get on her feet and begin to run.
The ritualist watched as Ristaron lunged at the Grawl, rapiers at the ready. He believed no assistance would be needed, as he knew Ristaron was a powerful person. Perhaps, Relius thought, he would make a strong ally.
The Grawl chief swung his hammer above its head at the ranger, but he dodged the blow before it could make contact with his skull. As his twin rapiers slashed down on the Grawl with less and less force, Relius knew he was tiring. A quick swing of the Grawl’s hammer knocked the ranger to the ground. Luckily, his wolf companion tackled the monster. After a bit of a tumble, both combatants lay sprawled on the ground. Neither of them was dead, but they weren’t in the best of shape, either. Relius decided that it was time to interfere. Alone, the ranger was tired. He ordered the spirit to attack the Grawl chieftan.
The spirit rushed forward towards the Grawl and let loose a bolt of superheated lightning. It missed the Grawl by a few inches, but it was enough to get its attention. The Grawl gave an inhuman roar, grabbed its hammer, and raised it high above its head, behind its right shoulder. The spirit flew to the left, dodging the blow. As it flew, its nails began to lengthen in size, becoming more like claws. It thrashed at the Grawl’s cheek, leaving four red scratches. Howling with pain and rage, the Grawl swung its hammer in a full circle, knocking the spirit in the jaw. The incorporeal jawbone broke off, flew away, and landed at the ritualist’s feet. Relius jumped backwards in surprise. He decided to assist the spirit, throwing five otherworldly blasts at the Grawl. Two hit in the Grawl’s stomach, making it double over in pain. The spirit then shoved it to the ground in its moment of weakness, knocking the hammer out of its hand. The spirit clawed more at its face, slashing left, right, left, right. Its claws struck true; the beast was blinded. Moaning in agony, the Grawl stumbled about, looking for its hammer. Taking the opportunity, Relius walked up towards the Grawl and slammed the staff into its head. With a loud crack, the Grawl fell. Before the spirit could deliver the final blow, Ristaron’s wolf had ripped out its throat. The spirit floated over to Ristaron, popping the jaw back into its head.
“That’s certainly one way to deal with it,” the spirit said. It gave a light chuckle, and then looked at the ranger. “You’re lucky we arrived, or you’d be dead. You owe us… mountainfolk.” It gave a satisfied grin, looking from wolf to ranger.
“Spirit, this is not the-” Relius paused. “Did you say mountainfolk?”
“Yes, I do believe that’s what I said. This one’s most definitely a mountainfolk. Probably allied with those pitiful Kurzick, he is,” the spirit spat out the word “Kurzick” like a bad taste.
Relius thought. A mountainfolk, lying weakened in front of him…from the stories he’d heard from his Luxon friends in Cantha, the mountainfolk were vicious fighting beasts, and the Kurzick’s most powerful weapons. Of course, no Canthan that Relius knew had actually seen a mountainfolk…until now. He pondered the situation, wondering if he should kill him right there or not. If the rumors were true, he was an enemy of his people, and would kill him the moment he got the chance. But on the other hand, he hadn’t tried to kill him when they first met. And he certainly seemed likeable. He didn’t seem anything like the mountainfolk in the stories, although he was an outstanding fighter. Relius decided to trust him…for now.
“Come, mountainfolk,” Relius helped Ristaron up, much to the spirit’s dislike. “We must leave this place. I am Relius: Luxon, Ritualist, and the keeper of the Unbound One. Before we go, may I ask who you are?”
)Leaving the elemental spirits to do their work, Relius ran, following the ranger from a distance. The fires still burned hot, and the rotting stench of death and decay filled the ritualist’s nose. He resisted the urge to throw up his breakfast and ran on, the unbound spirit at his side. Turning a corner, Relius saw a black stallion fall to the ground, sending its two riders flying. Before he or the spirit could act, one of the riders was split in half by a menacing Grawl. The other, a young monk who Relius did not know, managed to get on her feet and begin to run.
The ritualist watched as Ristaron lunged at the Grawl, rapiers at the ready. He believed no assistance would be needed, as he knew Ristaron was a powerful person. Perhaps, Relius thought, he would make a strong ally.
The Grawl chief swung his hammer above its head at the ranger, but he dodged the blow before it could make contact with his skull. As his twin rapiers slashed down on the Grawl with less and less force, Relius knew he was tiring. A quick swing of the Grawl’s hammer knocked the ranger to the ground. Luckily, his wolf companion tackled the monster. After a bit of a tumble, both combatants lay sprawled on the ground. Neither of them was dead, but they weren’t in the best of shape, either. Relius decided that it was time to interfere. Alone, the ranger was tired. He ordered the spirit to attack the Grawl chieftan.
The spirit rushed forward towards the Grawl and let loose a bolt of superheated lightning. It missed the Grawl by a few inches, but it was enough to get its attention. The Grawl gave an inhuman roar, grabbed its hammer, and raised it high above its head, behind its right shoulder. The spirit flew to the left, dodging the blow. As it flew, its nails began to lengthen in size, becoming more like claws. It thrashed at the Grawl’s cheek, leaving four red scratches. Howling with pain and rage, the Grawl swung its hammer in a full circle, knocking the spirit in the jaw. The incorporeal jawbone broke off, flew away, and landed at the ritualist’s feet. Relius jumped backwards in surprise. He decided to assist the spirit, throwing five otherworldly blasts at the Grawl. Two hit in the Grawl’s stomach, making it double over in pain. The spirit then shoved it to the ground in its moment of weakness, knocking the hammer out of its hand. The spirit clawed more at its face, slashing left, right, left, right. Its claws struck true; the beast was blinded. Moaning in agony, the Grawl stumbled about, looking for its hammer. Taking the opportunity, Relius walked up towards the Grawl and slammed the staff into its head. With a loud crack, the Grawl fell. Before the spirit could deliver the final blow, Ristaron’s wolf had ripped out its throat. The spirit floated over to Ristaron, popping the jaw back into its head.
“That’s certainly one way to deal with it,” the spirit said. It gave a light chuckle, and then looked at the ranger. “You’re lucky we arrived, or you’d be dead. You owe us… mountainfolk.” It gave a satisfied grin, looking from wolf to ranger.
“Spirit, this is not the-” Relius paused. “Did you say mountainfolk?”
“Yes, I do believe that’s what I said. This one’s most definitely a mountainfolk. Probably allied with those pitiful Kurzick, he is,” the spirit spat out the word “Kurzick” like a bad taste.
Relius thought. A mountainfolk, lying weakened in front of him…from the stories he’d heard from his Luxon friends in Cantha, the mountainfolk were vicious fighting beasts, and the Kurzick’s most powerful weapons. Of course, no Canthan that Relius knew had actually seen a mountainfolk…until now. He pondered the situation, wondering if he should kill him right there or not. If the rumors were true, he was an enemy of his people, and would kill him the moment he got the chance. But on the other hand, he hadn’t tried to kill him when they first met. And he certainly seemed likeable. He didn’t seem anything like the mountainfolk in the stories, although he was an outstanding fighter. Relius decided to trust him…for now.
“Come, mountainfolk,” Relius helped Ristaron up, much to the spirit’s dislike. “We must leave this place. I am Relius: Luxon, Ritualist, and the keeper of the Unbound One. Before we go, may I ask who you are?”
Symeon
As Mylena tired, she watched the others down below her. The ranger and his pet charged in to attack more grawl, taking on several. He was beaten, and fell to the floor. Then his pet saved him, leaping up at his attackers, but then she too was injured by a sword gash.
It was then that the ritualist who had been staying back sent in a spirit to attack the enemy. The battle was ferocious, but eventually with its power the grawl chieftain was taken down. However, more were coming. The enemy did not halt in its attacks. They had to get out before they were surrounded and overpowered.
Mylena watched as the ritualist helped the ranger up and talked to him. She had not introduced herself yet, but thought she should wait for them to decide on whatever they were doing before she joined them. In the mean time, she kindled her arrows and brought on the flame, and continued to fire at grawl coming through a gate. They were nearly the only fighters defending in here now, so she felt she needed to carry on holding them off until the time was right. Perhaps the others would see her and call her down.
It was then that the ritualist who had been staying back sent in a spirit to attack the enemy. The battle was ferocious, but eventually with its power the grawl chieftain was taken down. However, more were coming. The enemy did not halt in its attacks. They had to get out before they were surrounded and overpowered.
Mylena watched as the ritualist helped the ranger up and talked to him. She had not introduced herself yet, but thought she should wait for them to decide on whatever they were doing before she joined them. In the mean time, she kindled her arrows and brought on the flame, and continued to fire at grawl coming through a gate. They were nearly the only fighters defending in here now, so she felt she needed to carry on holding them off until the time was right. Perhaps the others would see her and call her down.
Mentalmdc
(OOC: Mines a bit short but as I'm safe not much else I can say until you guys get to safety )
Rhiannon welcomed Zarda with a thankful heart, glad to see that at last someone else had survived the ferocious onslaught. As Rhiannon gazed over she saw another archer in the distance firing down upon the city as the ritualist and mountainfolk prepared to make their escape.
Rhiannon looked over to Zarda and Duruk. Duruk pulled out a dusty old scroll, imprinted on its frail ancient lines was a map of Tyria and the Wildlands of the North. The 3 began to contemplate what their first move would be. Duruk pointed out that several key strongholds had been taken and that the High Council of Elders were moving the captial to the Grand old city of Rin. Any surviving warriors and all who could help were being asked to muster there.
"However I do not think this a wise idea. The king is panicing in such a time as this, the army in ruins he will send us to our doom. He wants to gather a force to make a final last stand. All who go i fear will perish as those in these other towns have done. No, we must travel throught the fields of Gildor and into the mountains. I hear the mesmers make good company at Foibles Fair. Last I heard it was not hit and the Grawl have not struck that far south. We can make it there by nightfall if we hurry and rest for the night," instructed the captain. Rhiannon knew this was a wise decision but her heart lay still with those who had perished. " How can we let more walk idly to their doom, we are too few to save the nation, surely can we not go to Rin and pursuade more to join us?" Pleaded Rhiannon.
"I myself have already tried, any who leave are outcast by the King and sentenced to death. The King has become foolhardy and his advisors are manipulating him in a means to gain power. Also I fear it may already be too late. Come on, we have no time to lose!"
The three stood waiting on the hilltop desperately hoping the others would make it. To gain their attention to show them where to go, Rhiannon shot a flame into the ground which sprouted into a mini beacon of light. Time was running out for Tyria.
)Rhiannon welcomed Zarda with a thankful heart, glad to see that at last someone else had survived the ferocious onslaught. As Rhiannon gazed over she saw another archer in the distance firing down upon the city as the ritualist and mountainfolk prepared to make their escape.
Rhiannon looked over to Zarda and Duruk. Duruk pulled out a dusty old scroll, imprinted on its frail ancient lines was a map of Tyria and the Wildlands of the North. The 3 began to contemplate what their first move would be. Duruk pointed out that several key strongholds had been taken and that the High Council of Elders were moving the captial to the Grand old city of Rin. Any surviving warriors and all who could help were being asked to muster there.
"However I do not think this a wise idea. The king is panicing in such a time as this, the army in ruins he will send us to our doom. He wants to gather a force to make a final last stand. All who go i fear will perish as those in these other towns have done. No, we must travel throught the fields of Gildor and into the mountains. I hear the mesmers make good company at Foibles Fair. Last I heard it was not hit and the Grawl have not struck that far south. We can make it there by nightfall if we hurry and rest for the night," instructed the captain. Rhiannon knew this was a wise decision but her heart lay still with those who had perished. " How can we let more walk idly to their doom, we are too few to save the nation, surely can we not go to Rin and pursuade more to join us?" Pleaded Rhiannon.
"I myself have already tried, any who leave are outcast by the King and sentenced to death. The King has become foolhardy and his advisors are manipulating him in a means to gain power. Also I fear it may already be too late. Come on, we have no time to lose!"
The three stood waiting on the hilltop desperately hoping the others would make it. To gain their attention to show them where to go, Rhiannon shot a flame into the ground which sprouted into a mini beacon of light. Time was running out for Tyria.
Ristaron
Reluctantly, Ristaron took the Ritualist's tattooed hand and was pulled to his feet. His midnight eyes changed between the unbound spirit and the binder, contemplating, calculating.
"My name is Ristaron", he answered at long last, "and I am not allied with Kurzick." His attention focused on the spirit. "Nor am I endebted to you any more than you are to me, demon of the Underworld."
Morgan, sensing the rising tension, came and sat beside her master. The wound on her side didn't look as bad as it had a minute ago, but it needed treating.
What may have been a fight was avoided when an ignited arrow soared over their heads, pegging another Grawl straight in the chest and immolating its painted fur. The group's attention was brought back to their surroundings, and they knew their dispute would have to wait.
"Let's go", the ranger said, and he set a quick pace for the open gate.
As they neared the grand portal, a signal flare lit up to the Northwest. Ristaron's trained eyes saw three shapes on a tall hill, one of them smaller and slimmer.
He hoped it was the young monk.
They came to the massive gate after a short minute, and Ristaron looked back. In a secure position, an archer still fired at Grawl prowling the streets in search of flesh and bones. He raised his arm to get the woman's attention, and regretted it a moment later when the limb felt like it was on fire. Searching for the source, the ranger found the scratches on his shoulder. Quickly glancing back, he knew he had caught the archer's attention and turned his own focus to his shoulder. As the group exited the town quickly, casting quick glances behind to see if their friend needed help, Ristaron fumbled through his medicine pouch around his neck, eventually producing from it a small vial. Pulling the cork, a sweet scent filled the immediate area, a relaxing smell like a garden of roses. Tipping the bottle, he scooped some of the waxy, semi-viscous contents with his index finger, and applied the unguent to his shoulder.
Relief immediately began to sink in, and the mountainfolk felt more energized with the effects of the ointment sinking in. He checked how much he had left, having not refilled the phial for some time. There was still plenty for Morgan.
They continued their fast march towards the trio on the hill in silence, the giant wolf loping ahead, the spirit floating gently alongside, and the humanoids with their thoughts introverted.
Ristaron considered Relius' introduction.
I am Relius: Luxon, Ritualist, and the keeper of the Unbound One.
"Relius: Luxon", Ristaron thought to himself, "not Zaishen?"
(OOC: Brother Doug, I assumed your character would travel with mine (or near enough that they aren't seperate parties), but if you want Relius to go without Ristaron (ahead or lagging behind...or even not departing with him) I can edit this bit of my post... I just needed to have Relius near enough to Ristaron to close off the post in the way I wanted -- I can always change it, though, if you don't like your character's actions.)
"My name is Ristaron", he answered at long last, "and I am not allied with Kurzick." His attention focused on the spirit. "Nor am I endebted to you any more than you are to me, demon of the Underworld."
Morgan, sensing the rising tension, came and sat beside her master. The wound on her side didn't look as bad as it had a minute ago, but it needed treating.
What may have been a fight was avoided when an ignited arrow soared over their heads, pegging another Grawl straight in the chest and immolating its painted fur. The group's attention was brought back to their surroundings, and they knew their dispute would have to wait.
"Let's go", the ranger said, and he set a quick pace for the open gate.
As they neared the grand portal, a signal flare lit up to the Northwest. Ristaron's trained eyes saw three shapes on a tall hill, one of them smaller and slimmer.
He hoped it was the young monk.
They came to the massive gate after a short minute, and Ristaron looked back. In a secure position, an archer still fired at Grawl prowling the streets in search of flesh and bones. He raised his arm to get the woman's attention, and regretted it a moment later when the limb felt like it was on fire. Searching for the source, the ranger found the scratches on his shoulder. Quickly glancing back, he knew he had caught the archer's attention and turned his own focus to his shoulder. As the group exited the town quickly, casting quick glances behind to see if their friend needed help, Ristaron fumbled through his medicine pouch around his neck, eventually producing from it a small vial. Pulling the cork, a sweet scent filled the immediate area, a relaxing smell like a garden of roses. Tipping the bottle, he scooped some of the waxy, semi-viscous contents with his index finger, and applied the unguent to his shoulder.
Relief immediately began to sink in, and the mountainfolk felt more energized with the effects of the ointment sinking in. He checked how much he had left, having not refilled the phial for some time. There was still plenty for Morgan.
They continued their fast march towards the trio on the hill in silence, the giant wolf loping ahead, the spirit floating gently alongside, and the humanoids with their thoughts introverted.
Ristaron considered Relius' introduction.
I am Relius: Luxon, Ritualist, and the keeper of the Unbound One.
"Relius: Luxon", Ristaron thought to himself, "not Zaishen?"
(OOC: Brother Doug, I assumed your character would travel with mine (or near enough that they aren't seperate parties), but if you want Relius to go without Ristaron (ahead or lagging behind...or even not departing with him) I can edit this bit of my post... I just needed to have Relius near enough to Ristaron to close off the post in the way I wanted -- I can always change it, though, if you don't like your character's actions.)
Brother Doug
(OOC: It's fine by me that Relius and Ristaron are traveling together; it's actually what I wanted. A bit of conflict always makes a good story. No new updates from me right now, though. It's too late, and I have other stuff to get done )
No new updates from me right now, though. It's too late, and I have other stuff to get done )
Ristaron
(Ok, that works for me then. )
)
Rilder
Below, in the city, screams still cried out like the wolf into the moon, Zarda was exhausted, sore, and sorrowful. From his seat on the ground next to the small monk and Duruk, he pondered what to do next. “If We don’t help the king were outcast’s, if we help him were dead?” questioned Zarda watching a couple figures march towards them, one with a pet by his side and the other with some kind of ghost by his side. “Yes,” nodded Duruk, who was still pouring over the map by himself. “We need Armor, weapons, and rest, I for one don’t want to go back into another battle with these rags,” Spoke Zarda while showing Duruk various rips and tears on his leather armor. “Are there any armories around here, if I remember correctly Fort Ranik is South East of Foibles Fair, If your correct in saying the Grawl haven’t hit south yet then Ranik should be safe. There should be enough supplies to hold us for a few days and to re-arm,” pondered Zarda out loud while still tracking the movement of the figures marching closer. Duruk, looking into his map, “Your right I suppose, but we should still stop near Foibles Fair and rescue whoever’s left there, If the Grawl move south they would be hit hard,” responded Duruk. “Ranik would make a good point to stand up against the Grawl, seeing as the Grawl haven’t hit that far yet, its obvious there sappers didn’t make tunnels that far yet, or haven’t finished them yet, either way we have to hurry.”
Mentalmdc
(OCC: For the purpose of moving the party to a new location I will take brief general control if that is alright with you guys but can change later if it is disliking to your roles.)
Rhiannon was glad to see Ristaron again and his companions. At first sight she saw the horrendous wounds that covered him, however the unguent he had applied seemed to be working its magic, to be sure, Rhiannon cast a quick healing spell to speeden the process.
The party moved off quickly hoping to reach Foibles Fair before nightfall. As the fellowship began their long hike at haste they looked back. The burning ruins of Cayven saddened Rhiannon deeply, she had not been in Ascalon long but its sheer beauty had provided an uplifting sensation to her spirit, seeing it burning caused her heart to yearn. They had to move quickly, for the Grawl were reorganising and would be upon them soon. The party trudged along at a steady pace and it didn't take long before the grassy plains and autumn gold trees began to get scarce and the icy cold snow began to coat the ground. Derelict of all life the party walked on mostly in silence, the long day catching up on them.
As the party were walking through a steep mountain pass Rhiannon stumbled, a trickle of blood where she had grazed her knee stained the pure white snow and maroon red. Rhianoon looked up into the eyes of Duruk as he offered her a hand. She felt so helpless in these times.
Night fell quickly and it plummeted the party into absolute darkness. The stars sparkled in the night sky and the peace was calming to the soul. The tired, beleaguered party arrived at foibles fair. Everywhere you looked refugees huddled in blankets shivering in the cold. Monks ran back an forwards tending to the wounds and trying to comfort the wailing cries of those who mourned the fallen. Never had Foibles Fair been a more solemn place, never before a place where the community was so united in fear and a desire to help each other. No one welcomed the party as it was unknown the feats they had performed. The tired party just set down in the corner and blended in amongst the hundreds of other who used the old wooden stalls as cover from the howling wind. In Foibles Fair that night there were no differences between people, only a desire to help. Before long Rhiannon fell into a deep sleep, breathing heavily she dreamed.
Rhiannon awoke abruptly, a man raced over the hill screaming as loud as he could. Clad in Ascalonian Armour he limped over the snowy mound with an arrows in his thigh.
"People! People of Ascalon! The Grawl Army is only 1 days full march away. They have stolen many seige towers and seige weopons from our armouries. They come extremely well equipped. Their combined ranks reach far into the distance and they are heading for Fort Ranik. My scouting party was sent to assess them but all but me were slaughtered in a disastrous onslaught of arrows."
The soldier flailed his arms around, barely stopping to breath. "There is a reasonably large garrison of soldiers at Fort Ranik. Please! I ask all who can attend. You can make it within 2 hours and help prepare. Every able man, anyone who can weild a sword I beg you to go. We must make a stand. The King has even ordered what few men he had to go to Fort Ranik. Combined we may be able to outwit them."
Rhiannon looked towards her companions. She knew that the words this soldier spoke were to merely keep a high moral. There would be no chance of victory. Well, perhaps if the gods were on their side.
"You up for a challenge?"
Rhiannon was glad to see Ristaron again and his companions. At first sight she saw the horrendous wounds that covered him, however the unguent he had applied seemed to be working its magic, to be sure, Rhiannon cast a quick healing spell to speeden the process.
The party moved off quickly hoping to reach Foibles Fair before nightfall. As the fellowship began their long hike at haste they looked back. The burning ruins of Cayven saddened Rhiannon deeply, she had not been in Ascalon long but its sheer beauty had provided an uplifting sensation to her spirit, seeing it burning caused her heart to yearn. They had to move quickly, for the Grawl were reorganising and would be upon them soon. The party trudged along at a steady pace and it didn't take long before the grassy plains and autumn gold trees began to get scarce and the icy cold snow began to coat the ground. Derelict of all life the party walked on mostly in silence, the long day catching up on them.
As the party were walking through a steep mountain pass Rhiannon stumbled, a trickle of blood where she had grazed her knee stained the pure white snow and maroon red. Rhianoon looked up into the eyes of Duruk as he offered her a hand. She felt so helpless in these times.
Night fell quickly and it plummeted the party into absolute darkness. The stars sparkled in the night sky and the peace was calming to the soul. The tired, beleaguered party arrived at foibles fair. Everywhere you looked refugees huddled in blankets shivering in the cold. Monks ran back an forwards tending to the wounds and trying to comfort the wailing cries of those who mourned the fallen. Never had Foibles Fair been a more solemn place, never before a place where the community was so united in fear and a desire to help each other. No one welcomed the party as it was unknown the feats they had performed. The tired party just set down in the corner and blended in amongst the hundreds of other who used the old wooden stalls as cover from the howling wind. In Foibles Fair that night there were no differences between people, only a desire to help. Before long Rhiannon fell into a deep sleep, breathing heavily she dreamed.
Rhiannon awoke abruptly, a man raced over the hill screaming as loud as he could. Clad in Ascalonian Armour he limped over the snowy mound with an arrows in his thigh.
"People! People of Ascalon! The Grawl Army is only 1 days full march away. They have stolen many seige towers and seige weopons from our armouries. They come extremely well equipped. Their combined ranks reach far into the distance and they are heading for Fort Ranik. My scouting party was sent to assess them but all but me were slaughtered in a disastrous onslaught of arrows."
The soldier flailed his arms around, barely stopping to breath. "There is a reasonably large garrison of soldiers at Fort Ranik. Please! I ask all who can attend. You can make it within 2 hours and help prepare. Every able man, anyone who can weild a sword I beg you to go. We must make a stand. The King has even ordered what few men he had to go to Fort Ranik. Combined we may be able to outwit them."
Rhiannon looked towards her companions. She knew that the words this soldier spoke were to merely keep a high moral. There would be no chance of victory. Well, perhaps if the gods were on their side.
"You up for a challenge?"
Rilder
Zarda had only got a few hours of sleep but he was rested enough, when the Ascalonian clad scout he woke abruptly, equipping his axe behind his back he stood up. and ran over to get the group together, within a few minutes the drowsy group was together soon becoming the last people in the fair, the rest walking sorrowful off to Ranik.
"Rearming will have to wait," Zarda Stated blankly pulling out his backpack. "Here take these arrows, I salvaged them during our walk here," Zarda threw some bundles of arrows to the rangers in the party and began pulling out various scraps of armor and twine. “We shouldn’t go to Ranik, we’ll be stuck within there walls” he blankly spoke, while attaching various armor pieces to his rags. We need a place to hide, to strike the Grawl army from behind, if these Grawl are being led by a intelligent force then its unlikely they will strike right away, they will starve them for awhile, In which case we may be able to scout out there forces, find out their weak spots and try to lure out individual squadrons.” Zarda spoke finishing his armor preparations and turning to look at the gathered few. “We’ll also need a way to send a message to the people inside, especially if we are to take out there towers, I trust you rangers are good longbow men?
(occ: Cue Ristaron
"Rearming will have to wait," Zarda Stated blankly pulling out his backpack. "Here take these arrows, I salvaged them during our walk here," Zarda threw some bundles of arrows to the rangers in the party and began pulling out various scraps of armor and twine. “We shouldn’t go to Ranik, we’ll be stuck within there walls” he blankly spoke, while attaching various armor pieces to his rags. We need a place to hide, to strike the Grawl army from behind, if these Grawl are being led by a intelligent force then its unlikely they will strike right away, they will starve them for awhile, In which case we may be able to scout out there forces, find out their weak spots and try to lure out individual squadrons.” Zarda spoke finishing his armor preparations and turning to look at the gathered few. “We’ll also need a way to send a message to the people inside, especially if we are to take out there towers, I trust you rangers are good longbow men?
(occ: Cue Ristaron
Ristaron
(cue taken XD)
Ristaron had spent the quiet hours of the night with his hood drawn over his face. It remained shadowing his dark visage as he made his way to the arriving soldier. The ranger's respect for the man was deep, for the scout had travelled many miles on legs pierced by the crude Grawl shafts. The man winced as the healers did their best to remove the arrows quickly to end his pain. Powerful mending spells quickly closed the wounds, but the traces of scars still remained. Ristaron knew the monks were tired.
At first he would have disagreed with Zarda's plan, voiced that inside the walls of the mighty fortress was greater safety. But the logic sank in as Ristaron realized how the Cayven levie was playing to the strengths of the rangers. Even the savage Grawls who dwelt in forests often enough could not compare to a seasoned stalker of the woods. Rangers were one with nature, and it was their greatest advantage.
Assaulting the Grawl force from more sides than Fort Ranik could was not only tactical, but smart.
And so Zarda was the second man to earn the mountainfolk's respect this night.
With reflexes rejuvenated by the vitalizing magic of the young monk Rhiannon, Ristaron deftly caught one of the bundles of arrows midflight. He could feel the strong wood of the shafts through his thick gloves, and estimated there were eight or nine in the cloth wrapping. With a true marksman's expertise, the ranger weighed the bundle, and smiled distantly. Now all he needed was a bow.
Ristaron had spent the quiet hours of the night with his hood drawn over his face. It remained shadowing his dark visage as he made his way to the arriving soldier. The ranger's respect for the man was deep, for the scout had travelled many miles on legs pierced by the crude Grawl shafts. The man winced as the healers did their best to remove the arrows quickly to end his pain. Powerful mending spells quickly closed the wounds, but the traces of scars still remained. Ristaron knew the monks were tired.
At first he would have disagreed with Zarda's plan, voiced that inside the walls of the mighty fortress was greater safety. But the logic sank in as Ristaron realized how the Cayven levie was playing to the strengths of the rangers. Even the savage Grawls who dwelt in forests often enough could not compare to a seasoned stalker of the woods. Rangers were one with nature, and it was their greatest advantage.
Assaulting the Grawl force from more sides than Fort Ranik could was not only tactical, but smart.
And so Zarda was the second man to earn the mountainfolk's respect this night.
With reflexes rejuvenated by the vitalizing magic of the young monk Rhiannon, Ristaron deftly caught one of the bundles of arrows midflight. He could feel the strong wood of the shafts through his thick gloves, and estimated there were eight or nine in the cloth wrapping. With a true marksman's expertise, the ranger weighed the bundle, and smiled distantly. Now all he needed was a bow.