Rhiannon looked longing at Ristaron with a sense of respect. She still felt her heart lay with the people of Ascalon and knew that as a Monk her best skills would not be in keeping hidden. With a sense of regret yet the knowledge of knowing what she must do, she addressed the group.
"I feel my place is with these people. I can not possibly leave them to their fate. We must hold Fort Ranik and I believe it is my soul duty to attend the seige with these people. Perhaps with two groups either side of the wall we stand a better chance. I am going with these people and will assist them in their preparations."
A tear splashed down to the ground from Rhiannons eyes. As her agile yet sleek figure dissapeared into the distance she glanced back at the group. She had not known them long but they had made a profound impact on her life. Rhiannon looked towards a struggling women who had the burden of 3 children, the father most likely slain in battle. Rhiannon assisted her and took care of them. There was a strong sense of community as the last survivors left Foibles Fair leaving the group behind.
"Look to the central bridge on the second morning. If you survive until then, help may arrive. We will do what we can to prepare and assist from where we are. I'm sure Ristarons archery skills enable him to fire a message over the walls. Try your hardest to hold out. Tough times lie ahead but we can pull together." Duruk looked forlorn. "You others that remain. I tell you, do what you can, I have not a clue what it is you can do, but i pray to Dwayna that you will find a way to prevail. These people rely on you. Rhiannon will wait eagerly for your help. We can do this. I am going to the Fields of Extchelsis to gather what men and weopons I can. I will do what I can, but the bigger part relies on you few. Do not fail us."
With that Duruk climbed atop his horse and road off into the mist as the wind whipped up lashing of powdery snow. The last of the refugees were gone, the group standing alone in Foibles Fair, now without Rhiannon. Everything relied on them as the Grawls were a mere days march away from Fort Ranik.
The Grawl Invasion
Mentalmdc
Ristaron
(still waiting for someone else to respond... I don't like hogging the RP and making every second post 
)
)
Brother Doug
Relius sat on the cold ground of Foible’s Fair, thinking. ‘So they’re going to attack the Fort…’ He knew that holding the Fort would be near to impossible with the might of the Grawl’s army, and most of the people outside would probably be slain due to such large numbers. They were going to fight a hard battle, Relius knew. He decided to work on both sides of the plan, his spirits guarding the outer fort with Relius himself safer on the inside. The Unbound One would accompany him on the inside of the Fort for extra protection.
With a start, the ritualist clutched his head, trying to subdue a sudden sharp pain. A few of the Ascalonions ran over to see what the trouble was, but a brief flick of his hand shooed them away. Relius knew what was going on. With his wrappings came the gift of True Sight, and this gift gave him occasional glimpses into the future. He could never See any specific people in his visions, but he could sense what was going on in them. This one was very brief, but it made Relius grow worried.
Relius' Vision
…A large flash lit up the sky, briefly blinding the figures around Relius. He couldn’t tell if he was inside or outside the Fort, but there were Grawl everywhere. Wincing from the flash, but still able to See, he looked around. The Grawl had seemed to vanish. Wiping a bead of sweat from his brow, a sudden pain filled his head, and he fell to the floor. All he could hear was cold, animal laughter…
Relius tried to shake the feeling of dread off, but it wouldn’t leave him alone. He needed some time to think. Standing up, he spoke to the others.
“I…I haven’t been feeling so well since we have arrived here. Perhaps it is the low temperatures up in the mountains; perhaps it is the fatigue of battle. No matter what, I…need to rest. Wake me when we leave.” Relius then walked into the nearest abode, lay down on a mattress, and slowly fell to sleep, prepared for battle when he woke.
With a start, the ritualist clutched his head, trying to subdue a sudden sharp pain. A few of the Ascalonions ran over to see what the trouble was, but a brief flick of his hand shooed them away. Relius knew what was going on. With his wrappings came the gift of True Sight, and this gift gave him occasional glimpses into the future. He could never See any specific people in his visions, but he could sense what was going on in them. This one was very brief, but it made Relius grow worried.
Relius' Vision
…A large flash lit up the sky, briefly blinding the figures around Relius. He couldn’t tell if he was inside or outside the Fort, but there were Grawl everywhere. Wincing from the flash, but still able to See, he looked around. The Grawl had seemed to vanish. Wiping a bead of sweat from his brow, a sudden pain filled his head, and he fell to the floor. All he could hear was cold, animal laughter…
Relius tried to shake the feeling of dread off, but it wouldn’t leave him alone. He needed some time to think. Standing up, he spoke to the others.
“I…I haven’t been feeling so well since we have arrived here. Perhaps it is the low temperatures up in the mountains; perhaps it is the fatigue of battle. No matter what, I…need to rest. Wake me when we leave.” Relius then walked into the nearest abode, lay down on a mattress, and slowly fell to sleep, prepared for battle when he woke.
Ristaron
Ristaron gently touched his right side, feeling along the lower ribs that had been crushed when the eager grawl had lunged at him back in Cayven. The only reason the ranger was still alive was for his quick rapier work, but he hadn't emerged unscathed from that particular skirmish. The area was still tender to touch, but the monks had fixed the bones. Now all that was needed was time.
"Sir"
The mountainfolk turned slowly. Since he had stopped teaching at the Lionguard barracks, no one had ever called him by that title. Midnight eyes stared out from under a dark hood, glowing gently like the small patches of ebony skin illuminated by the scattered torches that lit the street. Before him was a young soldier, nay, a blacksmith boy. The lad seemed strong despite his muddy clothes and dirty face. He carried himself with a certain strength the ranger had found long ago always was the foundation of a solid fighter.
The boy reminded him of himself, many years ago.
"What is it, lad?" the ranger's tone was soft. Ristaron's gaze fell with the face of the blacksmith, and he saw the boy lift up a well-crafted composite bow.
"I recovered this", the blacksmith began, "from a fallen ranger". He held it out, "I think you will have need of it".
The ranger looked the weapon over, his previous assessment had been wrong: the bow was masterly crafted, likely from a major armoury. The wood forever fought against the pull of the mighty string, but the weapon as a whole made use of this conflict.
Reaching out with a gloved hand, Ristaron took the weapon and weighed it in his arms. It was definately of a master's creation, made of light, but strong wood -- the kind that proved picky before being finished. He held it as if he were about to fire, and stared down the aiming line. Perfectly straight.
Good, he thought, it hasn't been customized. Placing three fingers on the string, he drew back slowly. The wood didn't creak -- he wasn't surprised -- and the string held strong. Slowly letting the tension lessen, he held the bow almost reverently.
Drawing back his long cloak, Ristaron took his money pouch from his belt. He looked at the blacksmith, gazing on the rapiers at the ranger's hips with awe. The mountainfolk smiled, and felt the bag through his glove. There were maybe twelve or thirteen gold pieces in it, more money than the young boy had likely ever held. But the blacksmith held up his hands and stepped back when Ristaron held the pouch out.
"I cannot simply take this from you", the ranger protested.
"I cannot use it", the boy replied, "but you can save lives with it."
"I can take lives with it", Ristaron corrected, "it is a weapon, not a healing ankh." But the boy's mind was set. The ranger dwelt on this for a moment, then replaced his pouch as he looked down at the long sword on the blacksmith's belt.
"Did you make that?" Ristaron asked. The boy looked down at the blade.
"My father..." he said, almost choking on the words. The story didn't need telling, and the ranger put a hand on the boy's shoulder.
"What is your name, lad?"
"Gawin", came the quiet reply. Ristaron smiled his onyx lips once more.
"Gawin, how much practice have you had with that?"
(OOC: unless something new arises, Ristaron will probably spend the rest of the night giving the boy some tips on fighting...)
"Sir"
The mountainfolk turned slowly. Since he had stopped teaching at the Lionguard barracks, no one had ever called him by that title. Midnight eyes stared out from under a dark hood, glowing gently like the small patches of ebony skin illuminated by the scattered torches that lit the street. Before him was a young soldier, nay, a blacksmith boy. The lad seemed strong despite his muddy clothes and dirty face. He carried himself with a certain strength the ranger had found long ago always was the foundation of a solid fighter.
The boy reminded him of himself, many years ago.
"What is it, lad?" the ranger's tone was soft. Ristaron's gaze fell with the face of the blacksmith, and he saw the boy lift up a well-crafted composite bow.
"I recovered this", the blacksmith began, "from a fallen ranger". He held it out, "I think you will have need of it".
The ranger looked the weapon over, his previous assessment had been wrong: the bow was masterly crafted, likely from a major armoury. The wood forever fought against the pull of the mighty string, but the weapon as a whole made use of this conflict.
Reaching out with a gloved hand, Ristaron took the weapon and weighed it in his arms. It was definately of a master's creation, made of light, but strong wood -- the kind that proved picky before being finished. He held it as if he were about to fire, and stared down the aiming line. Perfectly straight.
Good, he thought, it hasn't been customized. Placing three fingers on the string, he drew back slowly. The wood didn't creak -- he wasn't surprised -- and the string held strong. Slowly letting the tension lessen, he held the bow almost reverently.
Drawing back his long cloak, Ristaron took his money pouch from his belt. He looked at the blacksmith, gazing on the rapiers at the ranger's hips with awe. The mountainfolk smiled, and felt the bag through his glove. There were maybe twelve or thirteen gold pieces in it, more money than the young boy had likely ever held. But the blacksmith held up his hands and stepped back when Ristaron held the pouch out.
"I cannot simply take this from you", the ranger protested.
"I cannot use it", the boy replied, "but you can save lives with it."
"I can take lives with it", Ristaron corrected, "it is a weapon, not a healing ankh." But the boy's mind was set. The ranger dwelt on this for a moment, then replaced his pouch as he looked down at the long sword on the blacksmith's belt.
"Did you make that?" Ristaron asked. The boy looked down at the blade.
"My father..." he said, almost choking on the words. The story didn't need telling, and the ranger put a hand on the boy's shoulder.
"What is your name, lad?"
"Gawin", came the quiet reply. Ristaron smiled his onyx lips once more.
"Gawin, how much practice have you had with that?"
(OOC: unless something new arises, Ristaron will probably spend the rest of the night giving the boy some tips on fighting...)
Mentalmdc
The long trail refugees eventually reached Fort Ranik, moments before night fell. Weary children and weaping mothers lined the streets, huddling together for warmth and protection. A few Ascalonian soldiers stood bravely along the streets holding lanterns illuminating the long winding streets. Rhiannon walked the lonely roads looking up at some of the magnificent structures of Fort Ranik. A huge wall twisted around an open ground filled with houses and stalls. In the centre was the main citadel itself, a gigantic tower carved from pure marble.
The weather was getting increasingly colder and it wasn't long before it began to snow. Rhiannon shivered, the scene looked almost magical, the calm before the storm. So many huddled, scared, afraid. Rhiannon walked around the corner and climbed a rickety ladder onto the walls. Looking into the distance towards Foibles Fair she hoped her friends would find a way.
Rhiannon decided to sit down and meditate, she found it far more relaxing than the mind wandering ways of dreaming. Sometimes on the Canthan Island she would meditate for weeks rather sleep. Rhiannon squinted her eyes into the distance and could see a faint dustcloud. It was moving slowly towards the fort, carried with it were an assortment of seige weopons. The grawls were almost here. Battle would begin in the morning. For now the hundreds of remaining Ascalonian soldiers lined the walls with their bows primed, some looked towards Rhiannon complete fear in their eyes hoping for some sign of hope or comfort from the monk that all would be alright. It saddened Rhiannon that she had to turn them down, not knowing what the future held.
Silence fell over the fort.
The weather was getting increasingly colder and it wasn't long before it began to snow. Rhiannon shivered, the scene looked almost magical, the calm before the storm. So many huddled, scared, afraid. Rhiannon walked around the corner and climbed a rickety ladder onto the walls. Looking into the distance towards Foibles Fair she hoped her friends would find a way.
Rhiannon decided to sit down and meditate, she found it far more relaxing than the mind wandering ways of dreaming. Sometimes on the Canthan Island she would meditate for weeks rather sleep. Rhiannon squinted her eyes into the distance and could see a faint dustcloud. It was moving slowly towards the fort, carried with it were an assortment of seige weopons. The grawls were almost here. Battle would begin in the morning. For now the hundreds of remaining Ascalonian soldiers lined the walls with their bows primed, some looked towards Rhiannon complete fear in their eyes hoping for some sign of hope or comfort from the monk that all would be alright. It saddened Rhiannon that she had to turn them down, not knowing what the future held.
Silence fell over the fort.
Rilder
The night was unforgiving, fear was a plague among all of the survivors it seemed as they had walked off, Zarda promised himself that those who died will be avenged under his axe as he walked along, patrolling the area in which the party was resting for tomorrows festivities. His family was dead, lost in the battle of Cayven, all he could do was fight back against the Grawl menace. The coming fight would mean survival or death to Ascalon, he knew it was true. The light snowfall made the world around him better, more beautiful as he looked into the forest.
Light began to shine over the horizon as Zarda returned to the camp at Foibles, he welcomed the sight of the group, including a small lad, sparring with the agile Mountainfolk obviously the two were in training, good, as we would need all the help we could muster, in the distance, war drums started to be heard, like thunder in the quiet, the war drums were death, the army of death, the army of Grawl. “Their here, it seems, we should get moving,” He said, stating the obvious to the group. They moved out, moving down wind and slowly within bushes not making a sound they hoped, and sure enough, there was the Grawl Army, pulling several siege towers, even catapults near the rear of their column, at the head of the army was a Grawl Carrying a large scepter dressed in robes and ceremonial attire; standing a good head above the rest of the Grawl. The Shaman, but this obvious wasn’t just any shaman, it must have been the one directing the Grawl. Surrounded by different shamans, all carrying staffs and such. “what is the scepter that Grawl’s carrying?” he asked out loud, pondering the chieftain.
Light began to shine over the horizon as Zarda returned to the camp at Foibles, he welcomed the sight of the group, including a small lad, sparring with the agile Mountainfolk obviously the two were in training, good, as we would need all the help we could muster, in the distance, war drums started to be heard, like thunder in the quiet, the war drums were death, the army of death, the army of Grawl. “Their here, it seems, we should get moving,” He said, stating the obvious to the group. They moved out, moving down wind and slowly within bushes not making a sound they hoped, and sure enough, there was the Grawl Army, pulling several siege towers, even catapults near the rear of their column, at the head of the army was a Grawl Carrying a large scepter dressed in robes and ceremonial attire; standing a good head above the rest of the Grawl. The Shaman, but this obvious wasn’t just any shaman, it must have been the one directing the Grawl. Surrounded by different shamans, all carrying staffs and such. “what is the scepter that Grawl’s carrying?” he asked out loud, pondering the chieftain.
Ristaron
Ristaron had scaled a tree like a cat, trying to get a better fathoming of the enemy numbers. The defense had apparently taken out more of the army than the ranger had previously thought, and he couldn't help but smile as he estimated their count. He hadn't for a moment believed that there were thousands of the savage grawl marching, as some rumours had spread. That many could never have been kept under control by the scarce few trained rangers hired by the King to keep the beasts in the woods and away from towns.
There were only a couple hundred. A single faction of the savages from the south. Midnight eyes narrowed as the Shamans came into view, sitting upon seats carried by ten grawl soldiers apiece. The ranger counted four, and even from his distance he could feel their aura pulsing. Their leader had been killed, but the captains would not relent their fury upon Ascalon.
Knowing the Shamans were more aware than the regular grawl soldier, Ristaron gathered himself and quickly made his way along the strong branches of the trees, back towards the place he and the other rangers had agreed to meet before finalizing their attack plans. The main force had gone straight for the Fort, four hours away still. There they would circle around the back of the citadel and prepare to assault the savage army as they settled in and began the siege.
It was up to the rangers to distract the grawls, making them set up their full defenses on the West and North sides.
Then, the Cayven survivors would come in from behind.
The ranger breathed a sigh of relief as he reached the meeting point to find a few of the others had already arrived. Six of the twenty now waited, contemplating on their own. Seven counting Morgan, who paced below on the mossy ground impatiently.
Ristaron spent the long minutes examining his new bow reverently.
There were only a couple hundred. A single faction of the savages from the south. Midnight eyes narrowed as the Shamans came into view, sitting upon seats carried by ten grawl soldiers apiece. The ranger counted four, and even from his distance he could feel their aura pulsing. Their leader had been killed, but the captains would not relent their fury upon Ascalon.
Knowing the Shamans were more aware than the regular grawl soldier, Ristaron gathered himself and quickly made his way along the strong branches of the trees, back towards the place he and the other rangers had agreed to meet before finalizing their attack plans. The main force had gone straight for the Fort, four hours away still. There they would circle around the back of the citadel and prepare to assault the savage army as they settled in and began the siege.
It was up to the rangers to distract the grawls, making them set up their full defenses on the West and North sides.
Then, the Cayven survivors would come in from behind.
The ranger breathed a sigh of relief as he reached the meeting point to find a few of the others had already arrived. Six of the twenty now waited, contemplating on their own. Seven counting Morgan, who paced below on the mossy ground impatiently.
Ristaron spent the long minutes examining his new bow reverently.
Mentalmdc
A ball of burning flame and rock rose from the catapult like a pheonix, its path through the air a magnificent curve leaving behind a trail of thick black smoke, quickly it plummeted and shattered the tall wall of the Fort.Bricks crumbled and fell to the ground shattering the spot where they hit. Rhiannon was throw from her position due to the severity of the impact. The launch marked the beginning of a severe assault where the most casualtys were inflicted. All the catapults followed suit and began a merciless bombardment on the Fort raining down huge boulders of fire. Buildings shattered and houses burnt. The men on the walls were crushed where they stood and run for cover as the flammable ammo exploded. The Grawl archers took a step forward and began to fire repeatedly covering the advance of the frontline troops who began a steady march towards the walls in their towers. Those on the walls were forced to get their heads down.
Rhiannon dived for cover with her back stiff against the wall. Men crouched as low as they could crowding together with their bows in hand looks of determination gripping their face. A large man appeared from the tower. He was well built and had a goaty beard. He rose his sword into the air.
"Archers prepare your bows. String your arrows. On my count! Wait until they are close, nearly, nearly. Now! Fire!"
The archers let out a flurry of arrows. Grawls were impaled and fell to the ground. Before the order for the second wave of arrows could be given a faint thud sound plummeted from the man as he fell of the wall gripping an arrow lodged in his chest.
Rhiannon knew it was going to be a long haul. A large ladder crashed down in front of the spot where Rhiannon stood. Grawls charged towards the Fort like ants scurrying from an Anthill knocked over by a cruel child with a magnifying glass. A huge grawl lunged itself over the wall swinging a heavy mace above its head. Men rushed at it but were wuicky knocked a side blood pouring from their chests. Rhiannon was shocked but quickly pulled out her dagger and flung it into the menacing Grawls face. The grawl stumbled and fell over the fortification knocking down many of the grawls that had worked their ways up the ladder.
A horn sounded echoing through the air, a sign that the battle had begun, a sign to the heroes at Foibles Fair who were still awaiting more rangers to arrive the the Grawls were and truly commited to the walls and could be promptly surrounded. However another sound echoed through the air, it was a sound that Rhiannon regretted hearing, the sound of Grawl reinforcements approaching from the other side. Within an hour the east wall fell and the Grawls poured over the wall. Rhiannon looked across from the West wall as she looked upon the massacre of those she had never met. Still her tiring arms continued to jab left and right and Grawls who were lucky enough to make it passed the archers who were getting low on ammo. She looked to the east, awaiting the promised assistance of Duruk and the others.
A huge boulder crashed down from the sky hitting Rhiannon and sending her spinning and tumbling through the air. The poor monked bowled over the wall but managed to get a hand onto a flag pole. She hung there helplessly trying to scramble back up. She looked down and saw her leg lay in an awkward position, an immense fiery pain built up and her vision began to blur from he extreme pain. With no monk around and her healing staff fallen from her hand she hoped once more for a miracle as the creaking seige towers slammed down on the wall next to her and more Grawls poured out.
Rhiannon dived for cover with her back stiff against the wall. Men crouched as low as they could crowding together with their bows in hand looks of determination gripping their face. A large man appeared from the tower. He was well built and had a goaty beard. He rose his sword into the air.
"Archers prepare your bows. String your arrows. On my count! Wait until they are close, nearly, nearly. Now! Fire!"
The archers let out a flurry of arrows. Grawls were impaled and fell to the ground. Before the order for the second wave of arrows could be given a faint thud sound plummeted from the man as he fell of the wall gripping an arrow lodged in his chest.
Rhiannon knew it was going to be a long haul. A large ladder crashed down in front of the spot where Rhiannon stood. Grawls charged towards the Fort like ants scurrying from an Anthill knocked over by a cruel child with a magnifying glass. A huge grawl lunged itself over the wall swinging a heavy mace above its head. Men rushed at it but were wuicky knocked a side blood pouring from their chests. Rhiannon was shocked but quickly pulled out her dagger and flung it into the menacing Grawls face. The grawl stumbled and fell over the fortification knocking down many of the grawls that had worked their ways up the ladder.
A horn sounded echoing through the air, a sign that the battle had begun, a sign to the heroes at Foibles Fair who were still awaiting more rangers to arrive the the Grawls were and truly commited to the walls and could be promptly surrounded. However another sound echoed through the air, it was a sound that Rhiannon regretted hearing, the sound of Grawl reinforcements approaching from the other side. Within an hour the east wall fell and the Grawls poured over the wall. Rhiannon looked across from the West wall as she looked upon the massacre of those she had never met. Still her tiring arms continued to jab left and right and Grawls who were lucky enough to make it passed the archers who were getting low on ammo. She looked to the east, awaiting the promised assistance of Duruk and the others.
A huge boulder crashed down from the sky hitting Rhiannon and sending her spinning and tumbling through the air. The poor monked bowled over the wall but managed to get a hand onto a flag pole. She hung there helplessly trying to scramble back up. She looked down and saw her leg lay in an awkward position, an immense fiery pain built up and her vision began to blur from he extreme pain. With no monk around and her healing staff fallen from her hand she hoped once more for a miracle as the creaking seige towers slammed down on the wall next to her and more Grawls poured out.
Ristaron
(OOC: Jumping ahead here, you can add in what your character was previously doing if you think it is worth your while. Otherwise here's my post
Ristaron was in position, his sights trained on a single target: the grawl captain near him. Keeping his hand steady, the ranger visualized the path of the shaft. It would fly through the creature's neck and embed itself in the spine of the next in line, who was standing with his back facing the mountainfolk, releasing his own flurry of arrows. The ranger kept one eye closed, the other squinting despite the dim light.
Then, in the blink of an eye, his precision shot flew straighter than could have ever been expected. The Grawl captain shuddered and jerked as the arrow went straight through his neck, tearing several arteries that fed blood to the creature's brain. The lieutenant beside the now dying chief dropped his bow and threw his arms wide as the shaft buried into his spine. The creature's legs failed, the nerves connecting them to the brain severed. The rest of that particular company stopped, in awe of the amazing shot.
A moment later, all seven of them fell to the earth with similar shafts protruding from their chests or necks.
Eight arrows were now used, a full half of his stock of sixteen between two bundles wrapped in cloth. But his goal had been a success, and some of the army was starting to build up a defense against the side the shots were coming from. Their attention now divided between the North and the West, the Ascalon reinforcements had a clear view of the armies rear. Almost.
The other rangers needed to unleash, bringing the very real threat of the West frontier to a high priority on the list of defeating (or, at the very least, defending against). A dozen arrows streaked through the air around where Ristaron had been. But the ranger was already long gone, seeking another, better vantage point.
Ristaron was in position, his sights trained on a single target: the grawl captain near him. Keeping his hand steady, the ranger visualized the path of the shaft. It would fly through the creature's neck and embed itself in the spine of the next in line, who was standing with his back facing the mountainfolk, releasing his own flurry of arrows. The ranger kept one eye closed, the other squinting despite the dim light.
Then, in the blink of an eye, his precision shot flew straighter than could have ever been expected. The Grawl captain shuddered and jerked as the arrow went straight through his neck, tearing several arteries that fed blood to the creature's brain. The lieutenant beside the now dying chief dropped his bow and threw his arms wide as the shaft buried into his spine. The creature's legs failed, the nerves connecting them to the brain severed. The rest of that particular company stopped, in awe of the amazing shot.
A moment later, all seven of them fell to the earth with similar shafts protruding from their chests or necks.
Eight arrows were now used, a full half of his stock of sixteen between two bundles wrapped in cloth. But his goal had been a success, and some of the army was starting to build up a defense against the side the shots were coming from. Their attention now divided between the North and the West, the Ascalon reinforcements had a clear view of the armies rear. Almost.
The other rangers needed to unleash, bringing the very real threat of the West frontier to a high priority on the list of defeating (or, at the very least, defending against). A dozen arrows streaked through the air around where Ristaron had been. But the ranger was already long gone, seeking another, better vantage point.
Mentalmdc
Whilst Rhiannon was struggling to keep a hold of the flag pole a large towering grawl appeared. It swiped its sword through the air scratchign it against the wall unableto reach the monk. Sparks illuminated both their faces. Rhiannon stared deep into his eyes, a stare so intense it made the Grawl stop what it was doing and inquire into what exactly the monk was doing. The grawl looked down at its feet and was aroused by the faint smell of bruning. Smoke was rising from its feets eventually rising in intensity until it burst into flames. The grawl run in circles screaming trying to put out the flames but instead of feeling the intense pain of burning it took its own life. Rhiannon had studied for a brief moment the art of the Elementalists and today it had paid off.
Rhiannon was losing her grip ever so slowly the burning pain of her leg overwhelming her. Most of the guards had fallen back deep into the fort accepting the the outer walls were taken. However outside the Grawls were beginning to lose more and more numbers as the expert rangers took them out. Rhiannon realised it was the day Duruk would arrive with his said reinforcements. A horn resounded through the air and the ground beneath the fort trembled. Suddenly all the statues that stood watching over the Fort exploded revealing a vast tunnel network, dingy darkness enveloping what lay beyond. Rhiannon knew at once, it was a well known fact that the catacombs were underneath the Fort but the entrance had not been unearthed for years. Out of the holes a faint buzzing sounds got lounder and louder, an ear piercing screech erupted through the air.
Hundreds and hundreds of Gargoyles poured out the entrances, much more than the Grawl. The Garyoles burst into the air their thick curving claws scratching out the eyes of the Grawl forming a defensive barricade between the retreating Ascalonians and the impeeding Grawl Army. It would not take long for the battle inside the Fort to be won and the Grawls to be mopped up.
Rhiannon let go, screaming she fell. Just inches from the ground a gargoyle swooped down and laid her down safely. The last person to come from the Catacombs was a very dishevelled Captain Duruk. He had had fufilled his promise. He rushed over to Rhiannon seeing the pain in her eyes.
"When I went to Cantha they taught me an enchantment that would help me gain control of the Gargoyles. I only needed to use it on their leader and they soon all followed suit."
However Rhiannon noticed something that scared her. Duruk didn't seem his usual self. There was something disturbing almost dark about his face. Duruk laid Rhiannon in an old stable where she would be safe, awaiting help from one of the other Monks once the battle ended.
Duruk cut a rope which released two huge logs, they swung through the air and collided with the seige towers sending them shattering to the ground in a big waterfall of wood, nails and pluming dust. The soldiers let out a heroic cry and charged outside the Fort to meet the remaining Grawl.
Rhiannon was losing her grip ever so slowly the burning pain of her leg overwhelming her. Most of the guards had fallen back deep into the fort accepting the the outer walls were taken. However outside the Grawls were beginning to lose more and more numbers as the expert rangers took them out. Rhiannon realised it was the day Duruk would arrive with his said reinforcements. A horn resounded through the air and the ground beneath the fort trembled. Suddenly all the statues that stood watching over the Fort exploded revealing a vast tunnel network, dingy darkness enveloping what lay beyond. Rhiannon knew at once, it was a well known fact that the catacombs were underneath the Fort but the entrance had not been unearthed for years. Out of the holes a faint buzzing sounds got lounder and louder, an ear piercing screech erupted through the air.
Hundreds and hundreds of Gargoyles poured out the entrances, much more than the Grawl. The Garyoles burst into the air their thick curving claws scratching out the eyes of the Grawl forming a defensive barricade between the retreating Ascalonians and the impeeding Grawl Army. It would not take long for the battle inside the Fort to be won and the Grawls to be mopped up.
Rhiannon let go, screaming she fell. Just inches from the ground a gargoyle swooped down and laid her down safely. The last person to come from the Catacombs was a very dishevelled Captain Duruk. He had had fufilled his promise. He rushed over to Rhiannon seeing the pain in her eyes.
"When I went to Cantha they taught me an enchantment that would help me gain control of the Gargoyles. I only needed to use it on their leader and they soon all followed suit."
However Rhiannon noticed something that scared her. Duruk didn't seem his usual self. There was something disturbing almost dark about his face. Duruk laid Rhiannon in an old stable where she would be safe, awaiting help from one of the other Monks once the battle ended.
Duruk cut a rope which released two huge logs, they swung through the air and collided with the seige towers sending them shattering to the ground in a big waterfall of wood, nails and pluming dust. The soldiers let out a heroic cry and charged outside the Fort to meet the remaining Grawl.
Ristaron
Flash after flash pierced the night, reflecting the faint glow of the moon and stars veiled by thin clouds above. Weariness had long since left the ranger as he continued his dance, a whirling tornado of blades that cut swathes through the incoming ranks. Behind him, inhabitants of the fort who had fled from the fort with the arrival of the seeming new enemies from the dark catacombs beneath ran along, taking the gift of the ranger's protection in stride.
They thought he would stave them off.
Ristaron knew it was only a matter of time.
He had used his last arrows on a team manning a ram attempting to break down Fort Ranik's mighty gate, and then joined Morgan below in the fray.
Bloodstained white hair hung damp before his face, but Ristaron needed no eyes to see. Here in battle was his place, this creature of combat was home once more.
Dozens of grawl lay dead at his feet, or where his feet had been a moment before. Everywhere he went, new bodies fell to the earth. As he continued, he subconsciously made his way towards the Shaman up ahead. The creature was moving its arms above its eggagerated headpiece, casting a spell. Its sights were focused on the dark-skinned rampager that was slowly tearing apart his army piece by piece.
A spear came in for Ristaron, but the ranger knocked it aside with a razor sharp rapier, cutting through the wood just beneath the metal head of the weapon. Two other grawls were getting nothing by the ranger's other rapier, and fell back dumbfounded as he turned completely around, cutting a red line across both their necks with his other blade.
Then, a bolt of lightning surged against the mountainfolk. It burnt leather armour and dark flesh, but it didn't even distract the ranger, who was long past pain and fear. A crackling orb launched at the man, but a rapier met it midair. Electric surges pulsed up the metal weapon, and the nerves of the hand that held it went wild. It landed point-down in the ground, embedding itself firmly. Ristaron continued without it, straight into the Shaman -- blade first.
The creature stared down in disbelief at the protruding hilt of the rapier, then to the ranger. But Ristaron was gone, back into the mob around him.
A headbut and a kick in the groin forced one grawl to release a falchion, and the ranger swung twice for the thing before it could recover. The second swing hit nothing but air, coming back across the same line it had gone, which had severed the creature's head.
The ranger turned to find a new enemy, and midnight eyes narrowed as a rank advanced for him. A Captain had organized his troops once more. They were too tight for the ranger to break. All around him, dozens of Grawl closed in as their advance to the fort was turned back. They were all hungry for blood, and revenge.
At last accepting his fate, Ristaron lifted his borrowed blade defiantly, and plunged forward into the eternal darkness.
A dozen feet away, Morgan stopped abruptly, leaving her prey to run as far as it could go. The wolf felt as if she had lost something.
(OOC: Yes, he's dead. ...Or is he? I beg you to leave this a loose end, it won't be long before what happens is revealed... and it may not be what you expect.)
They thought he would stave them off.
Ristaron knew it was only a matter of time.
He had used his last arrows on a team manning a ram attempting to break down Fort Ranik's mighty gate, and then joined Morgan below in the fray.
Bloodstained white hair hung damp before his face, but Ristaron needed no eyes to see. Here in battle was his place, this creature of combat was home once more.
Dozens of grawl lay dead at his feet, or where his feet had been a moment before. Everywhere he went, new bodies fell to the earth. As he continued, he subconsciously made his way towards the Shaman up ahead. The creature was moving its arms above its eggagerated headpiece, casting a spell. Its sights were focused on the dark-skinned rampager that was slowly tearing apart his army piece by piece.
A spear came in for Ristaron, but the ranger knocked it aside with a razor sharp rapier, cutting through the wood just beneath the metal head of the weapon. Two other grawls were getting nothing by the ranger's other rapier, and fell back dumbfounded as he turned completely around, cutting a red line across both their necks with his other blade.
Then, a bolt of lightning surged against the mountainfolk. It burnt leather armour and dark flesh, but it didn't even distract the ranger, who was long past pain and fear. A crackling orb launched at the man, but a rapier met it midair. Electric surges pulsed up the metal weapon, and the nerves of the hand that held it went wild. It landed point-down in the ground, embedding itself firmly. Ristaron continued without it, straight into the Shaman -- blade first.
The creature stared down in disbelief at the protruding hilt of the rapier, then to the ranger. But Ristaron was gone, back into the mob around him.
A headbut and a kick in the groin forced one grawl to release a falchion, and the ranger swung twice for the thing before it could recover. The second swing hit nothing but air, coming back across the same line it had gone, which had severed the creature's head.
The ranger turned to find a new enemy, and midnight eyes narrowed as a rank advanced for him. A Captain had organized his troops once more. They were too tight for the ranger to break. All around him, dozens of Grawl closed in as their advance to the fort was turned back. They were all hungry for blood, and revenge.
At last accepting his fate, Ristaron lifted his borrowed blade defiantly, and plunged forward into the eternal darkness.
A dozen feet away, Morgan stopped abruptly, leaving her prey to run as far as it could go. The wolf felt as if she had lost something.
(OOC: Yes, he's dead. ...Or is he? I beg you to leave this a loose end, it won't be long before what happens is revealed... and it may not be what you expect.)
Symeon
OOC: Sorry I've been inactive, and I have to go now for the day...I will give this some time tomorrow, definitely.
Brother Doug
(OOC: Alright! Time to get back into this! But what on earth is happening to Ristaron? 
)
Relius ran through the forest, determined to catch up to the party. The others had gone ahead without him, and he had overslept. He had been woken up by the Unbound One, picked up his staff and a few rations, and ran off towards Fort Ranik. Slight rustles in the bushes ahead of him made the ritualist go for his staff. His arm muscles loosened up as he saw the noisemaker was simply a moss spider. Saving the spirit’s energies as well as his own for the battle ahead, he trudged on towards the fort.
“I’m telling you, Binder…we should have killed the mountainfolk when we had the chance. That man- no, that thing, is dangerous. What makes you think we can trust it?” the spirit questioned.
“Mountainfolk or not, he is still a person. Not all humans are wicked, spirit. Surely you know that.” Relius gave the Unbound One a small grin, which the spirit didn’t return. “We must continue. Fort Ranik lies up ahead, and it will be crawling with Grawl by now. We can’t make it inside the Fort with their numbers, so we’ll just have to defend the outside.”
Relius reached the Fort a while after the horn had sounded. Just as he had suspected, the Grawl had torn down the walls, and were storming in. Surely, Relius thought, the battle would end up like the Cayven massacre. Putting the foreboding circumstances behind him, the ritualist began to chant.
“Que divine, mi dannyo alimenta zione legare…Luminos!”
A golden beam shone from the skies, a small ball of light descending from it. Slowly, the ball grew until it was the size of Relius’ head. The orb began to grow limbs; first its left arm, then its right. Its legs developed, and finally, a shimmering knight’s helm where its head would rest. As the chains bound the Spirit of Light, Relius spoke a single word; a word to spread light across the Fort. The light spirit’s helm glowed even brighter. A blinding flash filled the sky, and Relius squinted. Briefly blinded, but still able to See, Relius looked around. The flash wasn’t as powerful as he had hoped; it had only blinded creatures in the immediate area, and their sight would return soon enough. All seemed lost to the brave heroes inside the Fort.
At that time, a large explosion was heard. From the large holes from the siege weapons, Relius could see gargoyles, hundreds of them.
“This can’t be happening…more monsters?” Relius and the spirit stood in shock. The two of them gave a large sigh of relief when they saw the gargoyles fighting alongside the Ascalonians.
“If I may, Binder, I shall assist the Ascalonians with the Grawl.” Relius nodded, and the spirit charged into the retreating Grawl masses, its claws stretched. Running back into a safer section of the forest, Relius gave a sigh of relief, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. The Grawl would soon be gone. With that realization, Relius stopped in his tracks.
A blinding light…Grawl gone…sweat…his Vision!
A sudden pain filled his head, and he fell to the floor. As he fell into unconsciousness, all he could hear was cold, animal laughter…
(OOC: I hadn't known about Ristaron's recent not-quite-demise, or whatever it may be. I'm just making it so the vision works. Fortunately, Relius ain't dead. He's unconscious. Now, to sit back and see just what's going to happen...)
)Relius ran through the forest, determined to catch up to the party. The others had gone ahead without him, and he had overslept. He had been woken up by the Unbound One, picked up his staff and a few rations, and ran off towards Fort Ranik. Slight rustles in the bushes ahead of him made the ritualist go for his staff. His arm muscles loosened up as he saw the noisemaker was simply a moss spider. Saving the spirit’s energies as well as his own for the battle ahead, he trudged on towards the fort.
“I’m telling you, Binder…we should have killed the mountainfolk when we had the chance. That man- no, that thing, is dangerous. What makes you think we can trust it?” the spirit questioned.
“Mountainfolk or not, he is still a person. Not all humans are wicked, spirit. Surely you know that.” Relius gave the Unbound One a small grin, which the spirit didn’t return. “We must continue. Fort Ranik lies up ahead, and it will be crawling with Grawl by now. We can’t make it inside the Fort with their numbers, so we’ll just have to defend the outside.”
Relius reached the Fort a while after the horn had sounded. Just as he had suspected, the Grawl had torn down the walls, and were storming in. Surely, Relius thought, the battle would end up like the Cayven massacre. Putting the foreboding circumstances behind him, the ritualist began to chant.
“Que divine, mi dannyo alimenta zione legare…Luminos!”
A golden beam shone from the skies, a small ball of light descending from it. Slowly, the ball grew until it was the size of Relius’ head. The orb began to grow limbs; first its left arm, then its right. Its legs developed, and finally, a shimmering knight’s helm where its head would rest. As the chains bound the Spirit of Light, Relius spoke a single word; a word to spread light across the Fort. The light spirit’s helm glowed even brighter. A blinding flash filled the sky, and Relius squinted. Briefly blinded, but still able to See, Relius looked around. The flash wasn’t as powerful as he had hoped; it had only blinded creatures in the immediate area, and their sight would return soon enough. All seemed lost to the brave heroes inside the Fort.
At that time, a large explosion was heard. From the large holes from the siege weapons, Relius could see gargoyles, hundreds of them.
“This can’t be happening…more monsters?” Relius and the spirit stood in shock. The two of them gave a large sigh of relief when they saw the gargoyles fighting alongside the Ascalonians.
“If I may, Binder, I shall assist the Ascalonians with the Grawl.” Relius nodded, and the spirit charged into the retreating Grawl masses, its claws stretched. Running back into a safer section of the forest, Relius gave a sigh of relief, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. The Grawl would soon be gone. With that realization, Relius stopped in his tracks.
A blinding light…Grawl gone…sweat…his Vision!
A sudden pain filled his head, and he fell to the floor. As he fell into unconsciousness, all he could hear was cold, animal laughter…
(OOC: I hadn't known about Ristaron's recent not-quite-demise, or whatever it may be. I'm just making it so the vision works. Fortunately, Relius ain't dead. He's unconscious. Now, to sit back and see just what's going to happen...)
Mentalmdc
Rhiannon crawled from her position seeing that the Northern tower had been retaken. She climbed up to it struggling. As she looked across the wartorn planes it saddened her to see such violence and merciless slaughter. Repeatedly the same scene of seige towers crashing down on the walls as Grawls poured out only to be met by a hail of arrows as they fell to the floor clutching their throats. However as Rhiannon continued to survey the scene she realised even the Gargoyle assistance was wearing thin. Men lay dead along all the streets as defenceless women and children ran from the attacking Grawls. Arrows shattererd against the walls.
Rhiannon looked down and saw Ristaron charging towards an endless amount of Grawls. Rhiannon looked around hearing endless screaming, it took her a while to realise that it was in fact herself as she saw the man she had grown so attatched to, maybe even loved for what he was, run to what must be a certain doom. Further down she saw her dear friend the bonder flop to the floor. Her heart lept a beat as she thought he too had died. All around her friends faced certain death as repeatedly the last Ascalonians were rounded up and killed.
Rhiannon limped over to another window and saw the Grawls butchering even the children. These were truly disgusting beasts. For a moment everything seemed to enter a slow motion and the battle went silent in her mind. Her tears fell to the floor as arrows fell to the ground, swords clanged against shields and men yelled, cried and screamed. The more Rhiannon thought of the horrific events the more she began to cry until eventually she began to sing a song of solemn hope. A prayer to Dwayna.
"Astun ti la doko, ti latta mi sa ko.
Ti tu lou ti latata dayoh ti mi seekah no
Asta vu tay loota ti, ich man di da doso do."
The door burst open and 3 large Grawls charged in holding onto their hammers as if they were rattles belonging to a baby. Rhiannon closed her eyes, without a weopon, she too would join her friends.
Duruk looked around only to see the Gargoyles running back to the tunnels whence they came from. The fort was lost but a lot of grawls had paid for the blood lost today. Yet as he looked around at the hopeless situation again. He knew there was still hope, if only they could pull through.
Rhiannon looked down and saw Ristaron charging towards an endless amount of Grawls. Rhiannon looked around hearing endless screaming, it took her a while to realise that it was in fact herself as she saw the man she had grown so attatched to, maybe even loved for what he was, run to what must be a certain doom. Further down she saw her dear friend the bonder flop to the floor. Her heart lept a beat as she thought he too had died. All around her friends faced certain death as repeatedly the last Ascalonians were rounded up and killed.
Rhiannon limped over to another window and saw the Grawls butchering even the children. These were truly disgusting beasts. For a moment everything seemed to enter a slow motion and the battle went silent in her mind. Her tears fell to the floor as arrows fell to the ground, swords clanged against shields and men yelled, cried and screamed. The more Rhiannon thought of the horrific events the more she began to cry until eventually she began to sing a song of solemn hope. A prayer to Dwayna.
"Astun ti la doko, ti latta mi sa ko.
Ti tu lou ti latata dayoh ti mi seekah no
Asta vu tay loota ti, ich man di da doso do."
The door burst open and 3 large Grawls charged in holding onto their hammers as if they were rattles belonging to a baby. Rhiannon closed her eyes, without a weopon, she too would join her friends.
Duruk looked around only to see the Gargoyles running back to the tunnels whence they came from. The fort was lost but a lot of grawls had paid for the blood lost today. Yet as he looked around at the hopeless situation again. He knew there was still hope, if only they could pull through.
Ristaron
Morgan clamped her powerful jaw around yet another grawl's neck while she was in midair. The creature was one of the more heavier of its kin, but it was still lifted from the ground as the lupine's five hundred pounds pulled at it. Falling to the ground after rotating around each other a few times, Morgan landed directly on her paws, and tore up as the grawl landed. Blood gushed into the wolf's dangerous jaw, and she let the skin and muscle she had ripped off fall to the ground.
Always had Morgan been surprisingly intelligent for a beast, but her aptitude was deeper than most would credit her for. The wolf had wisdom, thought, more than simple instinct. She knew her place in the world, knew her friends, knew her enemies. And right now, she fought for a friend.
Morgan had known only bitterness and tragedy before Ristaron. She had been cast out of her mother's den when a pup, and left in the wilderness to fend for herself. At first she preyed on small insects that were easy to catch, but as she grew she required more and more food. Eventually she couldn't eat enough of the small creatures to survive, even if she feasted all day. Her energy from hunting was greater than what was gained from eating her catch.
Forced to move on, the weak pup tried at first birds, then rabbits, then spiders. But the birds flew away, the rabbits went into their deep holes, and the spiders bit back.
One encounter with a spider left her poisoned and dreadfully weak. The young wolf had stumbled along the foothills of the Shiverpeak mountains. Chased away by farmers and villagers, she went into the forest and lay down - ready to give up.
It was then that Ristaron had found her. The ranger had taken the pup to his cave and there nursed her to health. His gentle hands had dressed her wounds, his potent unguents had cured her ailments. But his love had given her the greatest gift: enhancement. By the man's side, she had grown to be twice as large as her largest cousins, twice as smart as her brightest kin. By Ristaron's side, Morgan had become the first Great Wolf, the next generation of the lupine kind.
And now, she fought for him.
Her empathic connection to the man, deeper than love and family, had been severed. She could not understand why, she only knew he was in trouble, that she had to help him.
And so there was no enemy that could stop her on the battlefield.
Always had Morgan been surprisingly intelligent for a beast, but her aptitude was deeper than most would credit her for. The wolf had wisdom, thought, more than simple instinct. She knew her place in the world, knew her friends, knew her enemies. And right now, she fought for a friend.
Morgan had known only bitterness and tragedy before Ristaron. She had been cast out of her mother's den when a pup, and left in the wilderness to fend for herself. At first she preyed on small insects that were easy to catch, but as she grew she required more and more food. Eventually she couldn't eat enough of the small creatures to survive, even if she feasted all day. Her energy from hunting was greater than what was gained from eating her catch.
Forced to move on, the weak pup tried at first birds, then rabbits, then spiders. But the birds flew away, the rabbits went into their deep holes, and the spiders bit back.
One encounter with a spider left her poisoned and dreadfully weak. The young wolf had stumbled along the foothills of the Shiverpeak mountains. Chased away by farmers and villagers, she went into the forest and lay down - ready to give up.
It was then that Ristaron had found her. The ranger had taken the pup to his cave and there nursed her to health. His gentle hands had dressed her wounds, his potent unguents had cured her ailments. But his love had given her the greatest gift: enhancement. By the man's side, she had grown to be twice as large as her largest cousins, twice as smart as her brightest kin. By Ristaron's side, Morgan had become the first Great Wolf, the next generation of the lupine kind.
And now, she fought for him.
Her empathic connection to the man, deeper than love and family, had been severed. She could not understand why, she only knew he was in trouble, that she had to help him.
And so there was no enemy that could stop her on the battlefield.
Rilder
(OOC: Sorry for my leave of absence, was working on my PvE monk)
Zarda swung his huge axe left and right cleaving huge Grawls to pieces as he worked towards the fort, as he drew closer he noticed the huge gate go crashing down. “The Grawl must be getting the upper hand, I must get to the fort” he whispered to himself and prepared his axe for a charge. A deep rage engulfed him as he charged with all his power his axe held with both hands at the side and his shield which was strapped to his arm in front of him. The charge must of scared the Grawls as the ones who saw him suddenly backed off in surprise, and within seconds he reached the gate, and charged through. Inside the screams were horrific to him, but they didn’t affect him as much as they should. As he reached the inside he noticed a small horde of Grawls heading for someone near the flag, the small monk; Rhiannon
With all his strength he charged at the Grawls as he entered melee range he swung the axe, like a hawk he seemed to fly into the air with the spin as his axe mad contact, one Grawl, another, another, another. He didn’t seem to see anything but he felt the axe slicing through bone and flesh. He landed several feet from were he jumped, behind him the horde of Grawls were now a horde of bodies. As he turned around he saw the young monk, sitting near the flag pole making a prayer to Dwayna. “Its ok Rhiannon, its ok, your safe for now,” but as he turned around he saw a good 25 Grawls with hammers above there head, charging towards his position.
Without hesitation Zarda met them in combat; evading there initial attack and getting up close with his axe so that they could not get enough room to use their hammers. Killing three with a great axe spin he to meet more only to se one with his hammer already swinging. He tried to block with his shield but it did nothing the shield shattered and then his arm. Screaming in agony as his arm fell to his side. He almost lost grip of his axe but he knew if he did, he was dead. So he kept fighting through the pain, focusing on his axe arm to do the swinging with all his might. Killing the last of the mob Zarda collapsed next to Rhiannon, the pain to much to keep going for now.
Zarda swung his huge axe left and right cleaving huge Grawls to pieces as he worked towards the fort, as he drew closer he noticed the huge gate go crashing down. “The Grawl must be getting the upper hand, I must get to the fort” he whispered to himself and prepared his axe for a charge. A deep rage engulfed him as he charged with all his power his axe held with both hands at the side and his shield which was strapped to his arm in front of him. The charge must of scared the Grawls as the ones who saw him suddenly backed off in surprise, and within seconds he reached the gate, and charged through. Inside the screams were horrific to him, but they didn’t affect him as much as they should. As he reached the inside he noticed a small horde of Grawls heading for someone near the flag, the small monk; Rhiannon
With all his strength he charged at the Grawls as he entered melee range he swung the axe, like a hawk he seemed to fly into the air with the spin as his axe mad contact, one Grawl, another, another, another. He didn’t seem to see anything but he felt the axe slicing through bone and flesh. He landed several feet from were he jumped, behind him the horde of Grawls were now a horde of bodies. As he turned around he saw the young monk, sitting near the flag pole making a prayer to Dwayna. “Its ok Rhiannon, its ok, your safe for now,” but as he turned around he saw a good 25 Grawls with hammers above there head, charging towards his position.
Without hesitation Zarda met them in combat; evading there initial attack and getting up close with his axe so that they could not get enough room to use their hammers. Killing three with a great axe spin he to meet more only to se one with his hammer already swinging. He tried to block with his shield but it did nothing the shield shattered and then his arm. Screaming in agony as his arm fell to his side. He almost lost grip of his axe but he knew if he did, he was dead. So he kept fighting through the pain, focusing on his axe arm to do the swinging with all his might. Killing the last of the mob Zarda collapsed next to Rhiannon, the pain to much to keep going for now.
Mentalmdc
All around the heroes fell, dead, alive, unknown, what was the difference. By the time night fell the Fort was silent and the Grawls scurried around shifting the dead from where they lay, stacking them up into a gigantic mound ready for a sacraficial burning. The victory for the Grawls was a great one and meant that they had secured Ascalon. Only a few Human settlements remained but these would not stand a chance. The newly appointed Grawl captain looked around, his face filled with pride. A stout looking human approached him and the Grawl bowed.
"Congratulations, all has been completed to my satisfaction. Round up the heroes you were told about, if they are alive I want them unharmed, I have other uses for them now."
An evil grin spread across the figures face. Outside a few other humans still faught for their lives, apparently a rather large wolf had been causing a lot of trouble. The figure put a hood on so that it cloaked his face. He threw open the large oaken doors of the Central door and lit the many lights that lined the ancient stone walls. The dim lit room was eerie and the new crowned leader of Ascalon sat in his throne. Duruk had successfully maintained the farming of the Grawl allowing their numbers to grow, working alongside them to prepare a dominant attack on Ascalon. The thought of Grawls conquering such a great nation was a strange one yet it worked. Duruk had betrayed all those he had met and the men he had met in Cantha would be well pleased.
Rhiannon was the first dragged into the room. Her body was limp and fragile, the large Grawl just dumped her on the floor. Duruk looked down at the sorry sight and lifted up her chin. Her hair had come out and her blonde hair flowed down her shoulders hilighting her elegant shoulders. It was ashame to see such a pretty face in such a state. Duruk looked towards the east, his only obstacle now was the seige of Rin. However he still had fear in his heart, for if a messenger escaped and alerted the dwarves in the mountain, they might relight the Beacons and trigger the army of the alliances of old. This would be more than he could handle.
Grawl guards lined the hall and Duruk ventured outside. The time was drawing near, all was falling into place. As Duruk looked out across the battleplains a look of horror and absolute fear grabbed hold of him.
"Congratulations, all has been completed to my satisfaction. Round up the heroes you were told about, if they are alive I want them unharmed, I have other uses for them now."
An evil grin spread across the figures face. Outside a few other humans still faught for their lives, apparently a rather large wolf had been causing a lot of trouble. The figure put a hood on so that it cloaked his face. He threw open the large oaken doors of the Central door and lit the many lights that lined the ancient stone walls. The dim lit room was eerie and the new crowned leader of Ascalon sat in his throne. Duruk had successfully maintained the farming of the Grawl allowing their numbers to grow, working alongside them to prepare a dominant attack on Ascalon. The thought of Grawls conquering such a great nation was a strange one yet it worked. Duruk had betrayed all those he had met and the men he had met in Cantha would be well pleased.
Rhiannon was the first dragged into the room. Her body was limp and fragile, the large Grawl just dumped her on the floor. Duruk looked down at the sorry sight and lifted up her chin. Her hair had come out and her blonde hair flowed down her shoulders hilighting her elegant shoulders. It was ashame to see such a pretty face in such a state. Duruk looked towards the east, his only obstacle now was the seige of Rin. However he still had fear in his heart, for if a messenger escaped and alerted the dwarves in the mountain, they might relight the Beacons and trigger the army of the alliances of old. This would be more than he could handle.
Grawl guards lined the hall and Duruk ventured outside. The time was drawing near, all was falling into place. As Duruk looked out across the battleplains a look of horror and absolute fear grabbed hold of him.
Ristaron
(OOC: I hate to nitpick, but there are a few things I felt an overwhelming desire to comment on:
Rilder, isn't your character a levie from Cayven? I find it sort of hard to believe he could singlehandedly take out 25 Grawls... especially when the last half of them he fights with a broken arm. You seem to have switched the whole concept of your character from farmer-made-warrior to veteran-general.
I know I had Ristaron take down dozens of Grawl solo... but he had Morgan at his back and when the Grawl army organized themselves, he went down.
Just pointing out the discontinuity, please don't take the critisism harshly.
And, uh... Mentalmdc, Adelbern took the reign of Ascalon from a truly poor king, which leads me to believe for generations before that the royal line had been less-than-stellar. I find it a little hard to believe that they would have [re]claimed the throne from an obviously powerful man like Duruk... who may even be a lich from the way you describe him. Aside from that, Adelbern's reign signified the end of the guild wars (which lasted over a hundred years), and had a lich controlled Ascalon the guilds would either have been destroyed, or prospered exceedingly when he was removed/destroyed. In either case, it is likely that Ascalon's guilds would have been able to claim all of the bloodstones in either scenario... just food for thought, we'll play this RP out however it gets written.)
Morgan was proving more than dangerous to the Grawl army as they kept trying to surround her. The powerful wolf continually broke free with ease, her five hundred pound frame barrelling foes aside before they could get their footing.
Tiring quickly with the effort of throwing her heavy body around, the lupine terror was starting to move more and more slowly. Still one thing remained her in mind, though, and that was finding her friend. Clamping her mighty jaws around the neck of one Grawl as she soared by him, she turned in midair, letting her rump knock another in the side of the head. Landing gently with the first savage's neck still in her mouth, she turned in for a roll that ultimately tore the Grawl's neck. Dropping the bloody meat from her maw, Morgan loped along the edge of another group that was organizing to defeat the powerful wolf. Her attention turned from the group when her paw struck something vaguely familliar. Emerald eyes turned to see an upright rapier, slightly dug into the earth, the blade still humming quietly, the leather hilt slightly burnt, like the ground the bloodstained metal tip of the weapon had embedded itself in.
The beast's connection to the sword was undeniable, even by the confused lupine. Memories flooded into her of the many times she had seen her master's own pair of similar weapons in action, precisely landing hits on the most vulnerable places of his enemy. A spark ignited in her mind, and with a ferocious growl she took the weapon hilt in her mouth and bounded away from the immediate battle in search of the rapier's comrade, and in all hopes, its owner.
(OOC: by the way, whatever happened to the other Ascalon army? the one that was supposed to finish off the Grawls...?
And... since I know some of you are wondering how someone can wield two rapiers, I'll explain what kind of rapiers they are:
These aren't the Italian fencing/swashbuckling rapiers like seen here: http://www.a2armory.com/images/cazoleta-rapier.jpg, rather like this: http://ddo.gamerifts.com/content/com...pon_Rapier.jpg. The rapiers Ristaron wields are about 2 ft long, and therefore easily light enough to wield in pairs if you have some measure of ambidexterity. )
Rilder, isn't your character a levie from Cayven? I find it sort of hard to believe he could singlehandedly take out 25 Grawls... especially when the last half of them he fights with a broken arm. You seem to have switched the whole concept of your character from farmer-made-warrior to veteran-general.
I know I had Ristaron take down dozens of Grawl solo... but he had Morgan at his back and when the Grawl army organized themselves, he went down.
Just pointing out the discontinuity, please don't take the critisism harshly.
And, uh... Mentalmdc, Adelbern took the reign of Ascalon from a truly poor king, which leads me to believe for generations before that the royal line had been less-than-stellar. I find it a little hard to believe that they would have [re]claimed the throne from an obviously powerful man like Duruk... who may even be a lich from the way you describe him. Aside from that, Adelbern's reign signified the end of the guild wars (which lasted over a hundred years), and had a lich controlled Ascalon the guilds would either have been destroyed, or prospered exceedingly when he was removed/destroyed. In either case, it is likely that Ascalon's guilds would have been able to claim all of the bloodstones in either scenario... just food for thought, we'll play this RP out however it gets written.)
Morgan was proving more than dangerous to the Grawl army as they kept trying to surround her. The powerful wolf continually broke free with ease, her five hundred pound frame barrelling foes aside before they could get their footing.
Tiring quickly with the effort of throwing her heavy body around, the lupine terror was starting to move more and more slowly. Still one thing remained her in mind, though, and that was finding her friend. Clamping her mighty jaws around the neck of one Grawl as she soared by him, she turned in midair, letting her rump knock another in the side of the head. Landing gently with the first savage's neck still in her mouth, she turned in for a roll that ultimately tore the Grawl's neck. Dropping the bloody meat from her maw, Morgan loped along the edge of another group that was organizing to defeat the powerful wolf. Her attention turned from the group when her paw struck something vaguely familliar. Emerald eyes turned to see an upright rapier, slightly dug into the earth, the blade still humming quietly, the leather hilt slightly burnt, like the ground the bloodstained metal tip of the weapon had embedded itself in.
The beast's connection to the sword was undeniable, even by the confused lupine. Memories flooded into her of the many times she had seen her master's own pair of similar weapons in action, precisely landing hits on the most vulnerable places of his enemy. A spark ignited in her mind, and with a ferocious growl she took the weapon hilt in her mouth and bounded away from the immediate battle in search of the rapier's comrade, and in all hopes, its owner.
(OOC: by the way, whatever happened to the other Ascalon army? the one that was supposed to finish off the Grawls...?
And... since I know some of you are wondering how someone can wield two rapiers, I'll explain what kind of rapiers they are:
These aren't the Italian fencing/swashbuckling rapiers like seen here: http://www.a2armory.com/images/cazoleta-rapier.jpg, rather like this: http://ddo.gamerifts.com/content/com...pon_Rapier.jpg. The rapiers Ristaron wields are about 2 ft long, and therefore easily light enough to wield in pairs if you have some measure of ambidexterity. )
Rilder
Quote:
Originally Posted by Ristaron
(OOC: I hate to nitpick, but there are a few things I felt an overwhelming desire to comment on:
Rilder, isn't your character a levie from Cayven? I find it sort of hard to believe he could singlehandedly take out 25 Grawls... especially when the last half of them he fights with a broken arm. You seem to have switched the whole concept of your character from farmer-made-warrior to veteran-general.
(OOC:Well for one, i think my charactor was near a monk if wrote it right, and that in some cases of real life battles one can enter a state of mind that makes you nearly immune to fealing all damage, a sort of drunk rage thing that i'm roleplaying my char was in, Not fealing any pain, most notably Beserkers and the Naked "Gestatae" of the Gauls that the Romans fought, after all my char has alot to be pissed about, but i should of stated more and I apologize)
Rilder, isn't your character a levie from Cayven? I find it sort of hard to believe he could singlehandedly take out 25 Grawls... especially when the last half of them he fights with a broken arm. You seem to have switched the whole concept of your character from farmer-made-warrior to veteran-general.
(OOC:Well for one, i think my charactor was near a monk if wrote it right, and that in some cases of real life battles one can enter a state of mind that makes you nearly immune to fealing all damage, a sort of drunk rage thing that i'm roleplaying my char was in, Not fealing any pain, most notably Beserkers and the Naked "Gestatae" of the Gauls that the Romans fought, after all my char has alot to be pissed about, but i should of stated more and I apologize)
Ristaron
(OOC: No, no need to apologize. It was just a little helpful critisism, not meant to insinuate you had done something wrong (which you haven't, there's no wrong way to write a story). However, yes it would have been less confusing if you had included something like the state of mind he had entered... or if the monk had healed him.
Keep posting, you're an excellent writer and I look forward to reading your posts.)
Keep posting, you're an excellent writer and I look forward to reading your posts.)
Lord Ertihan
(You know, as an RPer I've discovered an interesting twist you could have is to have an RPer RP the ENEMY. Have someone RP the Grawl! The Grawl could have an entire society, complete with a ritualistic, shamanistic heirarchy. I'd be very interested to see someone RP a Grawl grunt, looking to gain enough victory on the battlefield to rise to the rank of Ulodyte, and staring slack-jawed in awe of the battlehardened veterans [read: Grawl Bosses =D]. Of course, giving a face, name and personality to this Grawl means he probably shouldn't die in the first ten seconds of battle, but being Grawl means he'll probably be sacrificed, without any of his slayers knowing he's got a wife and pups back home =D (not to mention a soul and a personality). I tell ya, it's always more interesting when the enemy isn't some faceless menace but an actual person, even if you don't actually know it.
Another nitpicky thing: I doubt that the Grawl can speak the human tongue. I was always of the impression they had their own grunting speech patterns. I could imagine this conversation:
Grawl Archer: grunt grunt growwwl. (look at that human over there.)
Grawl Warrior: growl grunt grrr grunt. (oh, the ugly one?)
Grawl Archer: growl grunt grr grunt. chortle. (They're all ugly, man. Heheh.)
[The human says something to his companions]
Grawl Warrior (turns to Grawl Archer): Growl grunt growl? (now what's it babbling?)
Grawl Archer: Growl grunt grunt grr grunt? Growl grunt grunt grunt? (Who knows? Why you askin me anyway?)
Growl Ulodyte: Grunt, growl growl! GRRRR! (You two, shut up! GET THE HELL BACK INTO FORMATION!)
Another nitpicky thing: I doubt that the Grawl can speak the human tongue. I was always of the impression they had their own grunting speech patterns. I could imagine this conversation:
Grawl Archer: grunt grunt growwwl. (look at that human over there.)
Grawl Warrior: growl grunt grrr grunt. (oh, the ugly one?)
Grawl Archer: growl grunt grr grunt. chortle. (They're all ugly, man. Heheh.)
[The human says something to his companions]
Grawl Warrior (turns to Grawl Archer): Growl grunt growl? (now what's it babbling?)
Grawl Archer: Growl grunt grunt grr grunt? Growl grunt grunt grunt? (Who knows? Why you askin me anyway?)
Growl Ulodyte: Grunt, growl growl! GRRRR! (You two, shut up! GET THE HELL BACK INTO FORMATION!)
Ristaron
(That's really lovely... have you even been in this RP yet, or are you just dropping by to look good? If the latter, please don't post more out of character things, this story needs to get going again, and that is harder to accomplish the more we get pointless posts.
Agreed that roleplaying the enemy gives a better light to the story (I am actually using that technique in the book I am writing), and if you look closely at the posts that have been done, you'll see that Mentalmdc has already applied this to the RP. Post # 57 in this thread, to be specific.)
Agreed that roleplaying the enemy gives a better light to the story (I am actually using that technique in the book I am writing), and if you look closely at the posts that have been done, you'll see that Mentalmdc has already applied this to the RP. Post # 57 in this thread, to be specific.)
Mentalmdc
(OOC: It really kind of depends how far back in pre-searing we are. I understand about how hard it would be to take it back but i purely used it for the power of storytelling. If i explain in my mind how I see it, the heroes in our party if they somehow manage to kill duruk , just like the liche his army will fall to pieces and will be quite easy to mop up afterwards, but another idea would be that because of this Grawl invaision the Ascalonian forces were drastically depleted which forces them to resort to the Guilds which therefore gain power and later enter war with each other. Also on the aspect of dialect in my mind I just imagined it that Duruk had spent so long with them and studying them he had picked up their dialect or as GW is a world of magic, magic is what enables him to control them. But we can also play down his power if you like. Anyway, back to the story.)
Rhiannons body laid broken and bleeding on the white marbled floor of the grand hall. Beside her lay several other bodies but their faces were covered and who they were or even if they were the heroes was unknown. Duruk continued to look out, a loud booming horn resounded round the valley that the fort stood in. A cry was let loose and a pounding sound shook the ground. Dust rose up leaping like dolphins and a huge platoon of calvary charged down the hill sending Grawls flying. They cut up anyone and everything in their path wearing exquisite armour and using unique weopons. To the front of the army was a wizard looking character weilding a grand staff, bolts of light erupting from it. The calvary charged forward rushing through the gates of Fort Ranik and erupting into the broken coutyard.
The banner of the Krytan Guild Lords fluttered in the wind attatched to the pole gripped tightly by a rough looking standard bearer. These saviours would quite possibly bring victory and end the short reign of this newly crowned Lord of Ascalon however with them they would bring their contrasting ideololy of Guild dominance, so contrasting that in the long run it would cause all of Tyria to be plunged into a devastating 70 year war of blood and violence before Ascalon had barely recovered from the atrocities of this day.
Duruk spun round and looked down upon the helpless monk and let out a howling cry of frustration. He had an evil dark menacing look in his eyes as he flew towards her, picking up her tiny body by the throat with his huge arms. His hair was askew and he did not look like the kind man of reason and support that he had seemed only hours ago, in an fit of rage he thrust his hand down and grabbed a large spear, he stopped to grin and thrust the spear into Rhiannons chest twisting it with his arm until it impaled her into the wall. Rhiannon hung there gasping for breath blood running down the walls. The immense pain she felt was immeasurable and everything began to darken, slowly, surely but painfully. Her life began to slip from her as her hands grasped the spear that had penetrated her body. Duruk laughed, he had wanted Rhiannon for other purposes but everything was falling apart as quickly as it had begun, Duruks eyes began to glow an evil turquoise and a greenly venomous smoke began to climb from his mouth, it rose slowly and flowed into Rhiannons eyes. Rhiannon looked up and the pain began to ease. The smoke dissapeared and Rhiannon felt herself restored to feeling even stronger than before, however the spear still kept her pinned to the wall.
"You are now binded to me Rhiannon. Our fates the same, the only reason you survive is because of the Life Bond i have inflicted upon you. I die, you die and vice versa. I'm sorry I have to do this but our interests are the same, I'm sure you will see this soon. Your King had been toying with the idea of allowing Guilds but I have forseen what will come of it and I must try to stop it! I will stop it!"
"Well you have a funny way of showing that you want to help us. I would rather die than see you walk"
A bang erpted at the door and some of the Krytan Guild soldiers burst in with theirs swords raised high. One charged at Duruk who replied with a burst of swings from his sword. Together they clashed and mix of reflecting light, colliding metal and flinging fists. The soldier looked up and saw the monk pinned to the wall and hesitated for a moment. Duruk grabbed the initiative and struck the man down. Duruk informed the others of the bond he and the monk now shared causing the other soldiers to flounder. Some tough decisions would have to made. However meanwhile some of the heroes were waking on the floor and outside the battle still raged although more in the favour of Ascalon and the guilds.
Rhiannons body laid broken and bleeding on the white marbled floor of the grand hall. Beside her lay several other bodies but their faces were covered and who they were or even if they were the heroes was unknown. Duruk continued to look out, a loud booming horn resounded round the valley that the fort stood in. A cry was let loose and a pounding sound shook the ground. Dust rose up leaping like dolphins and a huge platoon of calvary charged down the hill sending Grawls flying. They cut up anyone and everything in their path wearing exquisite armour and using unique weopons. To the front of the army was a wizard looking character weilding a grand staff, bolts of light erupting from it. The calvary charged forward rushing through the gates of Fort Ranik and erupting into the broken coutyard.
The banner of the Krytan Guild Lords fluttered in the wind attatched to the pole gripped tightly by a rough looking standard bearer. These saviours would quite possibly bring victory and end the short reign of this newly crowned Lord of Ascalon however with them they would bring their contrasting ideololy of Guild dominance, so contrasting that in the long run it would cause all of Tyria to be plunged into a devastating 70 year war of blood and violence before Ascalon had barely recovered from the atrocities of this day.
Duruk spun round and looked down upon the helpless monk and let out a howling cry of frustration. He had an evil dark menacing look in his eyes as he flew towards her, picking up her tiny body by the throat with his huge arms. His hair was askew and he did not look like the kind man of reason and support that he had seemed only hours ago, in an fit of rage he thrust his hand down and grabbed a large spear, he stopped to grin and thrust the spear into Rhiannons chest twisting it with his arm until it impaled her into the wall. Rhiannon hung there gasping for breath blood running down the walls. The immense pain she felt was immeasurable and everything began to darken, slowly, surely but painfully. Her life began to slip from her as her hands grasped the spear that had penetrated her body. Duruk laughed, he had wanted Rhiannon for other purposes but everything was falling apart as quickly as it had begun, Duruks eyes began to glow an evil turquoise and a greenly venomous smoke began to climb from his mouth, it rose slowly and flowed into Rhiannons eyes. Rhiannon looked up and the pain began to ease. The smoke dissapeared and Rhiannon felt herself restored to feeling even stronger than before, however the spear still kept her pinned to the wall.
"You are now binded to me Rhiannon. Our fates the same, the only reason you survive is because of the Life Bond i have inflicted upon you. I die, you die and vice versa. I'm sorry I have to do this but our interests are the same, I'm sure you will see this soon. Your King had been toying with the idea of allowing Guilds but I have forseen what will come of it and I must try to stop it! I will stop it!"
"Well you have a funny way of showing that you want to help us. I would rather die than see you walk"
A bang erpted at the door and some of the Krytan Guild soldiers burst in with theirs swords raised high. One charged at Duruk who replied with a burst of swings from his sword. Together they clashed and mix of reflecting light, colliding metal and flinging fists. The soldier looked up and saw the monk pinned to the wall and hesitated for a moment. Duruk grabbed the initiative and struck the man down. Duruk informed the others of the bond he and the monk now shared causing the other soldiers to flounder. Some tough decisions would have to made. However meanwhile some of the heroes were waking on the floor and outside the battle still raged although more in the favour of Ascalon and the guilds.
Brother Doug
(OOC: Hmm. What's happened to the rest of our merry gang? Anyway, on with the story!)
The spirit charged into battle, claws outstretched. It swiped at a large group of Grawl, blinding one of them. Its sword swung about wildly, decapitating one of its allies. The others in the group ran away from their mad companion and the bloody Grawl head. The spirit winced and moved onward.
At that moment, the spirit felt a small twinge. Something had happened to Relius. The spirit’s eyes darkened, and then lit up again, with a mischievous look. With the Binder away, he couldn’t order the spirit. Since the binding chains were never placed onto the Unbound One, it could do as it pleased and kill who it wanted, aside from Relius himself.
And it knew exactly whom it wanted to kill.
A malicious grin on its face, it headed away from the battle, where he had last seen the ranger and his lupine friend. Relius would be displeased, he knew, but the spirit thought the mountainfolk’s demise would be for the best…
Relius awoke with a start, to the sounds of battle. From the looks of it, he had been taken to the base of the Shiverpeak Valley, just outside of Foible’s Fair. The Grawl had knocked him out, probably for use in one of their strange rituals. The sound of swords clashing followed by a splash of cold water on the ritualist’s face woke him up with a start. The few Ascalonians remaining at the Fair were engaging the Grawl in battle. There were around ten of the Grawl, and only six or so Ascalonians. Relius got up quickly, getting the blood circulating through his body. Raising his staff above his shoulder, he smacked the nearest Grawl in the groin, causing it to double over in pain. Channeling his mystic powers into the staff, Relius shot out a string of energy spheres at the Grawl attackers. Five of the Grawl dropped to the ground, knocked out from the blasts. Relius knew this attack paired with the summoning of the Spirit of Light had taken a chunk out of his powers; he would have to rest again before he would be back at full strength.
One of the Ascalonian refugees wildly shot an arrow. It missed its original target completely, but was able to strike another unlucky Grawl in the throat. The arrow didn’t go through, but it had done its damage.
Many of the Ascalonions had teamed up on the remaining Grawl. They seemed to have things under control; the battle here would soon be over. Out of the corner of his eye, Relius saw one of the Grawl shamans dash towards a small child. He had seen this child practicing with the mountainfolk before he had gone to bed, and felt a need to save him. The mountainfolk and the others probably had enough trouble at the Fort, and Relius knew he had to protect all the people he could. Enough men and women had been slain in the Cayven massacre.
This child would not join the dead.
Relius rushed toward Gawin and the shaman, tackling the Grawl. The shaman bit at him with its yellowed teeth, its horrible breath blowing in his face. Relius poured his remaining strength into one final blast, which hit the Grawl shaman between the eyes. The boy quickly thanked the ritualist before running back to the safety of Foible’s Fair. Leaving the Ascalonians to finish off the rest of the now retreating Grawl, Relius looked at the staff the shaman was carrying. It was a very interesting staff, like none he had seen before. Scrutinizing the weapon, Relius determined it to be some sort of scepter. Judging from the sapphire fastened to the top of it, it was a relatively powerful one. Relius bent down and picked up the staff. He was able to See a small otherworldly aura coming from it, one he hadn’t seen before. He decided to keep the scepter with him for the time being. But for now, he had to rest. Although he was not quite ready to rejoin the fight, he prayed to Dwayna and Balthazar for the safety of the other heroes at the Fort.
The spirit charged into battle, claws outstretched. It swiped at a large group of Grawl, blinding one of them. Its sword swung about wildly, decapitating one of its allies. The others in the group ran away from their mad companion and the bloody Grawl head. The spirit winced and moved onward.
At that moment, the spirit felt a small twinge. Something had happened to Relius. The spirit’s eyes darkened, and then lit up again, with a mischievous look. With the Binder away, he couldn’t order the spirit. Since the binding chains were never placed onto the Unbound One, it could do as it pleased and kill who it wanted, aside from Relius himself.
And it knew exactly whom it wanted to kill.
A malicious grin on its face, it headed away from the battle, where he had last seen the ranger and his lupine friend. Relius would be displeased, he knew, but the spirit thought the mountainfolk’s demise would be for the best…
Relius awoke with a start, to the sounds of battle. From the looks of it, he had been taken to the base of the Shiverpeak Valley, just outside of Foible’s Fair. The Grawl had knocked him out, probably for use in one of their strange rituals. The sound of swords clashing followed by a splash of cold water on the ritualist’s face woke him up with a start. The few Ascalonians remaining at the Fair were engaging the Grawl in battle. There were around ten of the Grawl, and only six or so Ascalonians. Relius got up quickly, getting the blood circulating through his body. Raising his staff above his shoulder, he smacked the nearest Grawl in the groin, causing it to double over in pain. Channeling his mystic powers into the staff, Relius shot out a string of energy spheres at the Grawl attackers. Five of the Grawl dropped to the ground, knocked out from the blasts. Relius knew this attack paired with the summoning of the Spirit of Light had taken a chunk out of his powers; he would have to rest again before he would be back at full strength.
One of the Ascalonian refugees wildly shot an arrow. It missed its original target completely, but was able to strike another unlucky Grawl in the throat. The arrow didn’t go through, but it had done its damage.
Many of the Ascalonions had teamed up on the remaining Grawl. They seemed to have things under control; the battle here would soon be over. Out of the corner of his eye, Relius saw one of the Grawl shamans dash towards a small child. He had seen this child practicing with the mountainfolk before he had gone to bed, and felt a need to save him. The mountainfolk and the others probably had enough trouble at the Fort, and Relius knew he had to protect all the people he could. Enough men and women had been slain in the Cayven massacre.
This child would not join the dead.
Relius rushed toward Gawin and the shaman, tackling the Grawl. The shaman bit at him with its yellowed teeth, its horrible breath blowing in his face. Relius poured his remaining strength into one final blast, which hit the Grawl shaman between the eyes. The boy quickly thanked the ritualist before running back to the safety of Foible’s Fair. Leaving the Ascalonians to finish off the rest of the now retreating Grawl, Relius looked at the staff the shaman was carrying. It was a very interesting staff, like none he had seen before. Scrutinizing the weapon, Relius determined it to be some sort of scepter. Judging from the sapphire fastened to the top of it, it was a relatively powerful one. Relius bent down and picked up the staff. He was able to See a small otherworldly aura coming from it, one he hadn’t seen before. He decided to keep the scepter with him for the time being. But for now, he had to rest. Although he was not quite ready to rejoin the fight, he prayed to Dwayna and Balthazar for the safety of the other heroes at the Fort.
Rilder
Zarda woke up on the outside wall and immediately felt immense pain in his left arm, he had remembered it breaking but that was the last thing he remembered, as he began to examine himself he noticed huge amounts of bruises and slashes, down further he saw his axe laying in several pieces, the head, haft and grip were all laying in different spots. “What happened” he whispered to himself.” but it was obvious what had happened, when he was a child he had over heard his father talking to one of his army friends about the time in past battle how he had entered some sort of state of rage and the last thing he remembered was being carted on a stretcher to the monks.
As he collected himself, the battle was finally dieing down, there was still some fighting but it had died down, he didn’t know which side had won yet, he hoped that it wasn’t the Grawl because as soon as he rounded the corner into the main area he would be dead, but as he dragged his body around the corner he saw nothing of this sort, it was the Krytan Guild Lords; he knew some of the members of the guild including the Guild Leader, but they seemed too warlike for his tastes and hadn’t joined them when the offer was given. As he came into the open some monks ran over to him and began chanting various spells and soon the pain in his body grew off and he began to walk normally, thanking them for the help and asking were there general was he began walking towards several men on fine steeds towards a hill looking over the fort.
“You came just in time.” Stated Zarda taking a place next to the head horse.
“Hello Zarda, I see you’ve been fighting, considering the farmer you were when I last saw you”
“I was drafted into the levy, Luca, everyone in Cayven is gone”
“I know Zarda, I’m sorry about losing your family but we have more important things to discuss”
“What is it Luca? Is something happening in Kryta?”
“No, more like Tyria entirely, tensions are building in the guilds, land rights, city rights, all kinds of stuff, back in Kryta there is simply no were to go, every guild wants more land and there’s none left to expand; we were the top guild in Kryta; holding Lions Arch and almost a quarter of Kryta, but then several of the smaller guilds banded together, and took it all; we were forced over the ShiverPeaks, and several messengers stated that Ascalon was in trouble so I figured If we save Ascalon we might be able to get land rights here.”
Lucas speech was broken when a horn sounded, the sound of Ascalon’s King approaching.
As he collected himself, the battle was finally dieing down, there was still some fighting but it had died down, he didn’t know which side had won yet, he hoped that it wasn’t the Grawl because as soon as he rounded the corner into the main area he would be dead, but as he dragged his body around the corner he saw nothing of this sort, it was the Krytan Guild Lords; he knew some of the members of the guild including the Guild Leader, but they seemed too warlike for his tastes and hadn’t joined them when the offer was given. As he came into the open some monks ran over to him and began chanting various spells and soon the pain in his body grew off and he began to walk normally, thanking them for the help and asking were there general was he began walking towards several men on fine steeds towards a hill looking over the fort.
“You came just in time.” Stated Zarda taking a place next to the head horse.
“Hello Zarda, I see you’ve been fighting, considering the farmer you were when I last saw you”
“I was drafted into the levy, Luca, everyone in Cayven is gone”
“I know Zarda, I’m sorry about losing your family but we have more important things to discuss”
“What is it Luca? Is something happening in Kryta?”
“No, more like Tyria entirely, tensions are building in the guilds, land rights, city rights, all kinds of stuff, back in Kryta there is simply no were to go, every guild wants more land and there’s none left to expand; we were the top guild in Kryta; holding Lions Arch and almost a quarter of Kryta, but then several of the smaller guilds banded together, and took it all; we were forced over the ShiverPeaks, and several messengers stated that Ascalon was in trouble so I figured If we save Ascalon we might be able to get land rights here.”
Lucas speech was broken when a horn sounded, the sound of Ascalon’s King approaching.
Ristaron
The Grawl persuers had broken off when the calvary arrived, but Morgan didn't stop. Her search would not end until she had found the man who had raised her.
If the wolf had known her own frustration, she would have sought to relieve some of her anger before continuing, but she continued to try to smell out her master through the stench of blood. There were bodies everywhere, men and Grawl alike. It was like a needle in a haystack to find her master.
An hour passed and she wimpered, hoping that he would hear her and give some sign of his location.
Minutes turned to hours, and the area the enormous beast had covered was larger than Ristaron could have gone even if he had flown. But she continued desperately, determined to find him. The sun was setting in a brilliant golden display over the white-tipped Shiverpeak mountains when Morgan at last lay the rapier down gently, sat down on the damp grass, and lifted her head to howl.
Somewhere, in another place entirely, the ranger opened his midnight eyes.
If the wolf had known her own frustration, she would have sought to relieve some of her anger before continuing, but she continued to try to smell out her master through the stench of blood. There were bodies everywhere, men and Grawl alike. It was like a needle in a haystack to find her master.
An hour passed and she wimpered, hoping that he would hear her and give some sign of his location.
Minutes turned to hours, and the area the enormous beast had covered was larger than Ristaron could have gone even if he had flown. But she continued desperately, determined to find him. The sun was setting in a brilliant golden display over the white-tipped Shiverpeak mountains when Morgan at last lay the rapier down gently, sat down on the damp grass, and lifted her head to howl.
Somewhere, in another place entirely, the ranger opened his midnight eyes.
Mentalmdc
Rhiannon had a look of distress upon her sullen face, she still hung uncomfortably from the spear on the wall, still the pulsating magic of the unbreakable life bond running through her veins. Duruk still stood arogantly silently formulating a plan in his mind. The Krytan warriors encircled their prey in the full knowledge that at long last the Grawl Invaision had been defeated at the great battle of Fort Ranik, songs and poems would sung about the event for generations to come.
Duruk paced around the circle of Krytan warriors, every now and again a brave soul would charge at Duruk but unfortunately Duruk was a master of the art of sparring and disarmed his foe instantly. Duruk stopped for a moment and laughed evilly.
"We shall meet again, you have foiled my plans this time but I will be back, stronger than before."
Duruk swung his sword round and rolled forward, he knocked one of the men aside and charged out the oaken doors into the rubble of the courtyard.
"Don't fire! If he dies the monk dies, catch him quickly but alive!"
Men ran after Duruk but he was too fast and unable to fire their weopons they were rendered useless. Duruk lept up and took command of a horse, speeding out of the Fort men ran chasing in hot pursuit. The Guild Lords swung round cutting the conversation with the levie short and chased in hot pursuit. Through twisting valleys, dense forests and winding roads they chased.
Rhiannon was given a hand down and some of the monks assisted in removing the spear. Rhiannon still kept alive by the bond had gone a pale colour. With the aide of a walking stick she slowly stumbled out into the courtyard to survey what the aftereffects of the attack would be. She set out on her own horse that was granted to her hoping to join the chase after Duruk.
Meanwhile Duruk had arrived at the Grand Docks of Ascalon where he was hoping he could hitch aboard a boat and sail to a new world where he might be able to reassemble some new troops. It was dark and Duruk snuck through the empty steets. His pursuers had seemingly lost him for now. Duruk stalked through an alleyway and up a ladder hoping to see if any ships were in the bay. It was no good. Duruk ran up to the cliff face which looked out over the bay. On his belly he scrambled to the edge. Some stones plummeted into the raging ocean. Duruk spun round and stared down the very edge of a sword. Rhiannon found it amazing how quickly her opinion of the man changed, a valuable friend, a fearsome foe and now a squirming fool.
"Remember Rhiannon the bond we share!" An evil look enter his eyes once again, "Come on, surely you wouldn't sacrafice yourself, not even for, the one you love."
Rhiannon thrust the sword closer to his throat.
"Even now a lone spirit hunts after him! He will be dead within hours and nothing will be left for you to return to, but I can make something of this disaster! Join with me!"
Duruk extended his hand but Rhiannon swiftly brought down her sword severing from her foe. Both figures of the clifftop cried out in pain, Rhiannon felt an immense pain in her wrist, so bad that she dropped her sword enabling Duruk to over power her and fling her to the ground. Duruk had white froth spewing from his lips with hair askew.
He hissed, "Very well! Then I will make your suffering all the more worse!"
Duruk paced around the circle of Krytan warriors, every now and again a brave soul would charge at Duruk but unfortunately Duruk was a master of the art of sparring and disarmed his foe instantly. Duruk stopped for a moment and laughed evilly.
"We shall meet again, you have foiled my plans this time but I will be back, stronger than before."
Duruk swung his sword round and rolled forward, he knocked one of the men aside and charged out the oaken doors into the rubble of the courtyard.
"Don't fire! If he dies the monk dies, catch him quickly but alive!"
Men ran after Duruk but he was too fast and unable to fire their weopons they were rendered useless. Duruk lept up and took command of a horse, speeding out of the Fort men ran chasing in hot pursuit. The Guild Lords swung round cutting the conversation with the levie short and chased in hot pursuit. Through twisting valleys, dense forests and winding roads they chased.
Rhiannon was given a hand down and some of the monks assisted in removing the spear. Rhiannon still kept alive by the bond had gone a pale colour. With the aide of a walking stick she slowly stumbled out into the courtyard to survey what the aftereffects of the attack would be. She set out on her own horse that was granted to her hoping to join the chase after Duruk.
Meanwhile Duruk had arrived at the Grand Docks of Ascalon where he was hoping he could hitch aboard a boat and sail to a new world where he might be able to reassemble some new troops. It was dark and Duruk snuck through the empty steets. His pursuers had seemingly lost him for now. Duruk stalked through an alleyway and up a ladder hoping to see if any ships were in the bay. It was no good. Duruk ran up to the cliff face which looked out over the bay. On his belly he scrambled to the edge. Some stones plummeted into the raging ocean. Duruk spun round and stared down the very edge of a sword. Rhiannon found it amazing how quickly her opinion of the man changed, a valuable friend, a fearsome foe and now a squirming fool.
"Remember Rhiannon the bond we share!" An evil look enter his eyes once again, "Come on, surely you wouldn't sacrafice yourself, not even for, the one you love."
Rhiannon thrust the sword closer to his throat.
"Even now a lone spirit hunts after him! He will be dead within hours and nothing will be left for you to return to, but I can make something of this disaster! Join with me!"
Duruk extended his hand but Rhiannon swiftly brought down her sword severing from her foe. Both figures of the clifftop cried out in pain, Rhiannon felt an immense pain in her wrist, so bad that she dropped her sword enabling Duruk to over power her and fling her to the ground. Duruk had white froth spewing from his lips with hair askew.
He hissed, "Very well! Then I will make your suffering all the more worse!"
Ristaron
Before him were the tallest gates the ranger had ever seen. His midnight eyes roamed along their pure gold frame, eventually settling the translucent being standing at their base.
The ranger had heard of this place in myths and tales, but the man's limited faith in higher existence had led him to dismiss it as yet another story of the afterlife.
Yet, here it was. The Hall of Heroes.
Before he knew what was happening, he had started for the entrance. His eager feet carrying him like they knew that beneath his doubt lay sincere hope.
As he came closer and closer, the ranger reached out with a gloved hand, desperate to feel his destiny. His elation filled him as every step took him nearer to his goal.
Suddenly, he stopped. It had struck him at last. The disturbing truth of his situation. He wasn't eager to feel his destiny... but to feel. He looked down at his hands, expecting to find them twisted or warped. They seemed completely normal.
Looking back up, the ranger's heart dropped to find the image of the great and glorious Hall gone, replaced with an dark infinity.
"A shame, isn't it?"
The ranger whirled around to face a giant Grawl, his tattooed gray fur hanging damp. Memories rushed back to the ranger then, and he recalled the moist, blood-stenched air he had been in minutes before. He recalled the seemingly endless battle. He recalled so much loss among the innocent.
He recalled charging into a line of Grawl.
He remembered being dragged down through ethereal planes, though fire and water, through light and dark, guided by the grasping, incorporeal hand of a Shaman he had run through with his rapier.
"My body was dying", the Grawl shaman went on, his foreign language meaning nothing here in the mists, where everything was connected and comprehended. "But I was not about to have a pitiful mountainfolk defeat me!"
The beast's roar sent Ristaron into a defensive crouch, and he brought his hands before him. He barely noticed that the weapons he had lost before were replaced his his grip as he cleared his mind of the relentless questions about his wherabouts and his destiny and set himself for a doubtlessly mortal combat with a powerful enemy.
The ranger had heard of this place in myths and tales, but the man's limited faith in higher existence had led him to dismiss it as yet another story of the afterlife.
Yet, here it was. The Hall of Heroes.
Before he knew what was happening, he had started for the entrance. His eager feet carrying him like they knew that beneath his doubt lay sincere hope.
As he came closer and closer, the ranger reached out with a gloved hand, desperate to feel his destiny. His elation filled him as every step took him nearer to his goal.
Suddenly, he stopped. It had struck him at last. The disturbing truth of his situation. He wasn't eager to feel his destiny... but to feel. He looked down at his hands, expecting to find them twisted or warped. They seemed completely normal.
Looking back up, the ranger's heart dropped to find the image of the great and glorious Hall gone, replaced with an dark infinity.
"A shame, isn't it?"
The ranger whirled around to face a giant Grawl, his tattooed gray fur hanging damp. Memories rushed back to the ranger then, and he recalled the moist, blood-stenched air he had been in minutes before. He recalled the seemingly endless battle. He recalled so much loss among the innocent.
He recalled charging into a line of Grawl.
He remembered being dragged down through ethereal planes, though fire and water, through light and dark, guided by the grasping, incorporeal hand of a Shaman he had run through with his rapier.
"My body was dying", the Grawl shaman went on, his foreign language meaning nothing here in the mists, where everything was connected and comprehended. "But I was not about to have a pitiful mountainfolk defeat me!"
The beast's roar sent Ristaron into a defensive crouch, and he brought his hands before him. He barely noticed that the weapons he had lost before were replaced his his grip as he cleared his mind of the relentless questions about his wherabouts and his destiny and set himself for a doubtlessly mortal combat with a powerful enemy.
ryek09
i love this guys this is fun to watch all the post
Free bumb =
p
Free bumb =
p
Ristaron
Yeah no kidding, someone post!
Goats17
I would love to join, but you have a full party, so I will do the only thing I can:
Bump
Bump
Brother Doug
(OOC: I have answered the long-awaited call of the Bump!)
Relius looked over the scepter with care, running his fingers through the etchings in the staff. It was carved with spirals and other wild designs, and it shone of a precious metal, like an eerie crystal. Relius’ hand briefly touched the sapphire wedged into the top of the staff and felt strangely lightheaded. A rejuvenating power surged through him, and his fatigue from the previous battle slowly began to fade. ‘Yes,’ the Ritualist thought, ‘this is a powerful item. I believe it was more that good fortune that I was able to find it.’ Relius stood up, grasping the scepter in his left hand. Feeling full of vigor, he ran off towards the Fort, the remaining Ascalonians wishing him good luck.
The spirit was becoming irritated. He had searched the entire outer Fort and had found nothing of the mountainfolk, nor his pet. Fortunately for the Unbound One, it could never truly tire from a simple task such as walking. Stopping in the courtyard for a moment to think, the spirit heard the sounds of a scuffle. It turned its head around to briefly see a figure run past, followed by another person; the female monk from Cayven. But it wasn’t the monk that had surprised the spirit. No, it was the first figure that gave him such a shock.
“It can’t possibly have been…I could have sworn I just saw him…Duruk?”
The spirit had little time to process this thought, when a voice filled his head. “This is not the time to be thinking of…acquaintances. You must go and destroy the mountainfolk! If you don’t, everything will be ruined!”
“Yes…yes, the mountainfolk. That is who I am truly after,” the spirit said to nobody in particular. “The mountainfolk. I must destroy the mountainfolk.” The spirit wasn’t sure just what would be ruined if it couldn’t kill Ristaron, it just knew that was its task.
“But I’ve looked everywhere that a living man could reach during a small time. Unless-” the spirit’s eyes suddenly lit up again.
“Unless he is no longer among the mortal world…”
The spirit knew it was a risky choice, for Relius could call it to his aid when it was in the Mists. However, as this was the only place where the ranger could have gone in such a short time, it was a risk the Unbound One had to make. The spirit began to spin around in place, faster and faster, until it had dissolved into a column of mist. After a few moments, the mist had also faded away.
The hunt was on.
Relius looked over the scepter with care, running his fingers through the etchings in the staff. It was carved with spirals and other wild designs, and it shone of a precious metal, like an eerie crystal. Relius’ hand briefly touched the sapphire wedged into the top of the staff and felt strangely lightheaded. A rejuvenating power surged through him, and his fatigue from the previous battle slowly began to fade. ‘Yes,’ the Ritualist thought, ‘this is a powerful item. I believe it was more that good fortune that I was able to find it.’ Relius stood up, grasping the scepter in his left hand. Feeling full of vigor, he ran off towards the Fort, the remaining Ascalonians wishing him good luck.
The spirit was becoming irritated. He had searched the entire outer Fort and had found nothing of the mountainfolk, nor his pet. Fortunately for the Unbound One, it could never truly tire from a simple task such as walking. Stopping in the courtyard for a moment to think, the spirit heard the sounds of a scuffle. It turned its head around to briefly see a figure run past, followed by another person; the female monk from Cayven. But it wasn’t the monk that had surprised the spirit. No, it was the first figure that gave him such a shock.
“It can’t possibly have been…I could have sworn I just saw him…Duruk?”
The spirit had little time to process this thought, when a voice filled his head. “This is not the time to be thinking of…acquaintances. You must go and destroy the mountainfolk! If you don’t, everything will be ruined!”
“Yes…yes, the mountainfolk. That is who I am truly after,” the spirit said to nobody in particular. “The mountainfolk. I must destroy the mountainfolk.” The spirit wasn’t sure just what would be ruined if it couldn’t kill Ristaron, it just knew that was its task.
“But I’ve looked everywhere that a living man could reach during a small time. Unless-” the spirit’s eyes suddenly lit up again.
“Unless he is no longer among the mortal world…”
The spirit knew it was a risky choice, for Relius could call it to his aid when it was in the Mists. However, as this was the only place where the ranger could have gone in such a short time, it was a risk the Unbound One had to make. The spirit began to spin around in place, faster and faster, until it had dissolved into a column of mist. After a few moments, the mist had also faded away.
The hunt was on.
Mentalmdc
Rhiannon kicked up screaming; Duruk momentarily lost his balance and fell to the floor as Rhiannon rolled over once again brandishing the curved blade. She thrust it to Duruks throat whilst finding herself nearly unable to cope with the pain in her wrist.
"Why? Why plunge Ascalon into so much ruin?"
Duruk let out a shrill laugh.
"You think I would do this for personal gain? Why if I was going to do that I wouldn't have used petty dumb minded beasts such as theses Grawls to do it. No, they are already defeated but their purpose it done. Oh no, there is something greater at work here, I myself just a pawn. My army was a mere distraction, now the spirit and one of the last mountainfolk are brought together and the fate of the world will lie in balance. You yourself are a key part in this, unless you can stop the two meeting and releasing a greater evil then for many many years an endless 'darkness' will consume Ascalon before ending in its final doom!"
Rhiannon stared at the man she once knew as a friend. So much had been lost and large areas of Ascalon stilled burned. A mere distraction? Even if the spirit and Ristaron were due to be brought together there was even more at work. Something would be released? Rhiannon thought deeply before avenging her fallen friends. Duruks limp body plummeted through the air shattering on the rocks below, Rhiannon had felt no remores when she threw him over the jagged cliff edge.
Rhiannon raced back to the Fort but could not find any face she recognised, only those of a few Krytan soldiers. As she glanced round the corner she saw the King of Ascalon talking with the Guild Leader before they shook hands. The shake was evidence itself, Ascalon needed money to rebuild and men to protect it, the Act of Allowance of Guilds was signed that very day, it later became apparent to Rhiannon that this was just one event in a long line of triggers caused from the Grawl Invaision. The Guilds gained land in Ascalon which later caused a 70 year long war of the Guilds distracting the Northern Nations from the Char threat in the wildlands. The Char invaded which then also triggered the path of Rhiannons Grandchild who journey on a long campaign to fufill a prophecy.
However meanwhile other matters had still to be resolved.
"Why? Why plunge Ascalon into so much ruin?"
Duruk let out a shrill laugh.
"You think I would do this for personal gain? Why if I was going to do that I wouldn't have used petty dumb minded beasts such as theses Grawls to do it. No, they are already defeated but their purpose it done. Oh no, there is something greater at work here, I myself just a pawn. My army was a mere distraction, now the spirit and one of the last mountainfolk are brought together and the fate of the world will lie in balance. You yourself are a key part in this, unless you can stop the two meeting and releasing a greater evil then for many many years an endless 'darkness' will consume Ascalon before ending in its final doom!"
Rhiannon stared at the man she once knew as a friend. So much had been lost and large areas of Ascalon stilled burned. A mere distraction? Even if the spirit and Ristaron were due to be brought together there was even more at work. Something would be released? Rhiannon thought deeply before avenging her fallen friends. Duruks limp body plummeted through the air shattering on the rocks below, Rhiannon had felt no remores when she threw him over the jagged cliff edge.
Rhiannon raced back to the Fort but could not find any face she recognised, only those of a few Krytan soldiers. As she glanced round the corner she saw the King of Ascalon talking with the Guild Leader before they shook hands. The shake was evidence itself, Ascalon needed money to rebuild and men to protect it, the Act of Allowance of Guilds was signed that very day, it later became apparent to Rhiannon that this was just one event in a long line of triggers caused from the Grawl Invaision. The Guilds gained land in Ascalon which later caused a 70 year long war of the Guilds distracting the Northern Nations from the Char threat in the wildlands. The Char invaded which then also triggered the path of Rhiannons Grandchild who journey on a long campaign to fufill a prophecy.
However meanwhile other matters had still to be resolved.
Ristaron
The Grawl howled as one of Ristaron's rapier bit into its thick hide once again. In the short fight so far, the cruel weapons had pierced bone and artery. It was only a matter of time, the Shaman knew.
But Ristaron's latest riposte had cost him, painful scratches across his shoulder now ached much like the ones another of the Grawl's kin had inflicted the day before on the agile mountainfolk.
Not that days mattered in the mist.
Evading another swing from the creature's heavy rod, Ristaron turned with his momentum, dragging his sharp rapier along behind him. The blade cut along several tendons in the thick leg of his enemy, drawing more dark blood.
Roaring in rage, the Grawl delivered a powerful backhand lateral attack. Ristaron got one rapier up in time, but he knew it would not stop the attack, as he had only managed to raise it high enough that the tip of the weapon was in the Grawl's rod's path. Knocking in the blocking weapon, the rod came fast for the ranger's head.
But Ristaron's second rapier came along in front of his head from the side, point aimed perfectly towards the shaman's arm. Unable to reverse the tremendous momentum he had built up, the Grawl watched as the rapier punctured his furry wrist all the way through. Barely, he managed to keep his hold on his own weapon enough that it was still going strong for its mark.
Without enough time to duck or move out of the way, the ranger desperately lifted his shoulder to block the attack.
The rod connected with a freeze so cold it burned the ebony skin, and enough force to dislocate Ristaron's shoulder.
In agony, they both fell back, landing hard on the indistinguishable floor they fought upon.
Panting, Ristaron lay still for a few moments. His shoulder had suffered this fight and he wasn't sure if he could keep using it. His unguents were deep in his coat, and there was no way he could get to them in time. Midnight eyes blazing, the ferocious fighter clenched his jaw and raised himself through determination alone. He watched with a smile as the Shaman finished drawing the ranger's second rapier from his wrist, face twisted in pain.
One arm limp at his side, Ristaron raised his other rapier before him. Despite his pain and hate for his enemy, the mountainfolk kept his mischevous grin. He was a creature of combat, this was what he lived for.
But Ristaron's latest riposte had cost him, painful scratches across his shoulder now ached much like the ones another of the Grawl's kin had inflicted the day before on the agile mountainfolk.
Not that days mattered in the mist.
Evading another swing from the creature's heavy rod, Ristaron turned with his momentum, dragging his sharp rapier along behind him. The blade cut along several tendons in the thick leg of his enemy, drawing more dark blood.
Roaring in rage, the Grawl delivered a powerful backhand lateral attack. Ristaron got one rapier up in time, but he knew it would not stop the attack, as he had only managed to raise it high enough that the tip of the weapon was in the Grawl's rod's path. Knocking in the blocking weapon, the rod came fast for the ranger's head.
But Ristaron's second rapier came along in front of his head from the side, point aimed perfectly towards the shaman's arm. Unable to reverse the tremendous momentum he had built up, the Grawl watched as the rapier punctured his furry wrist all the way through. Barely, he managed to keep his hold on his own weapon enough that it was still going strong for its mark.
Without enough time to duck or move out of the way, the ranger desperately lifted his shoulder to block the attack.
The rod connected with a freeze so cold it burned the ebony skin, and enough force to dislocate Ristaron's shoulder.
In agony, they both fell back, landing hard on the indistinguishable floor they fought upon.
Panting, Ristaron lay still for a few moments. His shoulder had suffered this fight and he wasn't sure if he could keep using it. His unguents were deep in his coat, and there was no way he could get to them in time. Midnight eyes blazing, the ferocious fighter clenched his jaw and raised himself through determination alone. He watched with a smile as the Shaman finished drawing the ranger's second rapier from his wrist, face twisted in pain.
One arm limp at his side, Ristaron raised his other rapier before him. Despite his pain and hate for his enemy, the mountainfolk kept his mischevous grin. He was a creature of combat, this was what he lived for.
Mentalmdc
Dramatic music sounded throughout the fort as weary children crawled from their hiding places, the beating of drum boomed throughout the walls of the Fort as a shrill note was played from an ivory cast horn. The sun crashed into the horizon sending beams of bright orange and glowing yellows through the evening sky. Men and women stood in the streets looking up as the banner of Ascalon was lowered from the flagstand, an emotional site many were drawn to tears as the king looked solemnly upon his people. Instead the emerald green flag with an embroided Lion was raised up, the flag of the Krytan Lions Guild. The Fort had been given to these Krytans, a choice the King had been forced to make, the King looked weary, his nation nearly torn apart only hours a go and now by the morning hundreds of men would be signing up to Guilds and demanding land.
Soldiers of the Krytan order marched with blank expressions on their face in strict formation into the open courtyard before separating and standing at the stoutest of all attentions lining the square. Rhiannon stumbled in a pale deadly white, crimson red blood streaming from her eyes, she crashed to the ground in a heap and faded out. A women let out a sharp cry as men rushed to Rhiannons aide, one approached from the crowd realising what was wrong, with Duruk dead the Life Bond was broken, Rhiannon was dying. There was not long, she would not survive. Something had to be done and only one thing could save a person from a life bond, a divine intervention that would take her into the mists, but there was no way of carrying this out! It was beginning to look hopeless.
Soldiers of the Krytan order marched with blank expressions on their face in strict formation into the open courtyard before separating and standing at the stoutest of all attentions lining the square. Rhiannon stumbled in a pale deadly white, crimson red blood streaming from her eyes, she crashed to the ground in a heap and faded out. A women let out a sharp cry as men rushed to Rhiannons aide, one approached from the crowd realising what was wrong, with Duruk dead the Life Bond was broken, Rhiannon was dying. There was not long, she would not survive. Something had to be done and only one thing could save a person from a life bond, a divine intervention that would take her into the mists, but there was no way of carrying this out! It was beginning to look hopeless.
Ristaron
Ristaron's back cracked with the quick motion of throwing his hips to the side to narrowly avoid another thrust from the heavy rod.
Haven't moved that way in a while, he mused to himself. Ducking a second attempt, the ranger kept his remaining rapier where he had been. The sharp edge cut through a long red line along the Grawl's mighty arm.
But the Shaman was beyond pain now, in a state of pure rage. Similar cuts to the one the beast had just recieved were all over his body, letting flow the precious red fluid that was his blood. Completely overtaken by the berserk mentality, he continued dangerously, giving many openings to the adept ranger he so violently persued.
Each one Ristaron used to his advantage.
Seconds turned to minutes, and though both combatants were in terrible pain, they had settled into a rhythm. This deadly dance continued as they each neared the point of total exhaustion, neither submitting, neither surrendering.
Sweat stung midnight eyes, but they held their fiery glare, locked with the glazed stare from the dying Shaman.
And then, it was over. The Grawl stepped too far, and the weight of the rod toppled his weak frame. He fell forward onto Ristaron's rapier, aimed true for the beast's heart.
Backing away from the lifeless corpse of the immense Shaman, the ranger managed several steps before collapsing on his knees, panting like a dog. Slowly rolling off his joints, Ristaron allowed his body to fall just a little further, landing good-shoulder-first on the indistinguishable floor before sprawling wide, victorious.
The ranger's mind soared with the incorporeal mists all around him.
Meanwhile, somewhere nearby amid the endless fog, a new entity to the area arrived.
Haven't moved that way in a while, he mused to himself. Ducking a second attempt, the ranger kept his remaining rapier where he had been. The sharp edge cut through a long red line along the Grawl's mighty arm.
But the Shaman was beyond pain now, in a state of pure rage. Similar cuts to the one the beast had just recieved were all over his body, letting flow the precious red fluid that was his blood. Completely overtaken by the berserk mentality, he continued dangerously, giving many openings to the adept ranger he so violently persued.
Each one Ristaron used to his advantage.
Seconds turned to minutes, and though both combatants were in terrible pain, they had settled into a rhythm. This deadly dance continued as they each neared the point of total exhaustion, neither submitting, neither surrendering.
Sweat stung midnight eyes, but they held their fiery glare, locked with the glazed stare from the dying Shaman.
And then, it was over. The Grawl stepped too far, and the weight of the rod toppled his weak frame. He fell forward onto Ristaron's rapier, aimed true for the beast's heart.
Backing away from the lifeless corpse of the immense Shaman, the ranger managed several steps before collapsing on his knees, panting like a dog. Slowly rolling off his joints, Ristaron allowed his body to fall just a little further, landing good-shoulder-first on the indistinguishable floor before sprawling wide, victorious.
The ranger's mind soared with the incorporeal mists all around him.
Meanwhile, somewhere nearby amid the endless fog, a new entity to the area arrived.
Mentalmdc
Life was fading for Rhiannon and everyone was beginning to lose hope, none of Rhiannons friends from earlier were around to hope, some feared dead as they had been absent for some time. Dark clouds began to swarm in a fierce streak or lightning burnt the ground, a loud rumble pounded through the fort as drops of heavy rain fell heavily to the ground turning the soft soil into slippy mud. People ran for cover inside as the storm raged worse and worse, people left the soaking young body of the monk to the storm as her once pure white robes were sloshed about with mud and dried blood. The wind howled and doors creaked as flags wavered in the air. Lightning repeatedly hit the ground until all at once a blinding flash of light burst through the sky, the wind picked up and Rhiannon was slowly raised up into the sky, carried as if on the wings of a dove slowly ever closer to the light, however she was not going to a physical place where humans can travel, only by the will of the Gods can someone transend to the mists. The wounds of Rhiannon began to heal as a cold swarm of dense clouds began to wrap round her body before gently laying her down on the elegant marble steps leading up to the golden gates of the Kingdom of the Gods. Angelic music filled Rhiannons ears as she awoke to see a figure dressed into golden lined pure white robes, it was a figure Rhiannon recognised, a figure that startled her immediately, the figure who had a certain hige presence about themself was in fact Rhiannon herself. Minutes passed as both silently looked each other in the eyes.
Ristaron
Still in more pain than comfort in his sprawled position, the ranger lifted an arm that felt very light, and began rummaging through the pockets on the inside of his cloak. His gloved hand emerged a moment later with a delicate vial filled with viscous contents. Scrutinizing the amount he had, Ristaron knew treating his wounds would use up the rest of the salve. Setting it down beside him for a moment, the ranger turned over to lay flat on his stomach, and slowly put more and more weight onto his bad shoulder. He was about to give up for a few minutes when it snapped painfully back into place.
Gasping for breath, Ristaron took off his cloak and tunic and examined his wounds more closely. The gashes on his shoulder were bloody and brutal, and the ebonny skin was slightly bluish with the dislocation injury he had just fixed. There was also a burn pattern where the Shaman's rod had struck him.
Taking the rest of the contents of the vial, he spread the unguent over his shoulder. The viscous liquid was potent, so he spread it with little heed of not applying enough.
As he sat, he pondered how he may return to Tyria. A shaman's magic had brought him to the mists, but he wasn't dead, or dying. He considered searching for the Hall of Heroes once again, but the fact that the mists connected everything struck him with the logic that it was therefore infinite, and that a search like that may take up even his acceptional life span. As he continued to run through possibilities, his hope continued to sink as his unguents continued to rejuvenate him. He almost resented having healed himself.
But warrior instinct kicked in and the survivor mentality within Ristaron awoke. The same mentality that had taken him through the South Shiverpeaks alone for a decade before he arrived in Ascalon. The same mentality that had allowed him to live through things few other mortal men may boast. Stubborn to the extreme, Ristaron refused to resign himself to a meaningless life.
So, on unsteady legs, he got up and began walking.
Gasping for breath, Ristaron took off his cloak and tunic and examined his wounds more closely. The gashes on his shoulder were bloody and brutal, and the ebonny skin was slightly bluish with the dislocation injury he had just fixed. There was also a burn pattern where the Shaman's rod had struck him.
Taking the rest of the contents of the vial, he spread the unguent over his shoulder. The viscous liquid was potent, so he spread it with little heed of not applying enough.
As he sat, he pondered how he may return to Tyria. A shaman's magic had brought him to the mists, but he wasn't dead, or dying. He considered searching for the Hall of Heroes once again, but the fact that the mists connected everything struck him with the logic that it was therefore infinite, and that a search like that may take up even his acceptional life span. As he continued to run through possibilities, his hope continued to sink as his unguents continued to rejuvenate him. He almost resented having healed himself.
But warrior instinct kicked in and the survivor mentality within Ristaron awoke. The same mentality that had taken him through the South Shiverpeaks alone for a decade before he arrived in Ascalon. The same mentality that had allowed him to live through things few other mortal men may boast. Stubborn to the extreme, Ristaron refused to resign himself to a meaningless life.
So, on unsteady legs, he got up and began walking.
Rilder
Zarda sighed, he had watched the king give away have of Ascalon, and he pondered why, probably threats and what not... but now he had more important work to do, and headed toward the fort to help with repairs when he had seen the disturbance.... the young monk he had seen before, had floated into the air and off into what he thought was the mists... and he immediately kneeled before the light going on and the storm clouds, but before he got up flames shot out of the ground before him, only visible to his eyes, before him a ghostly figure appeared before him in light tealish see through armor.
Zarda stood up and looked the figure in the eyes, for moments they seemed to speak via the mind, but they were both warriors, they needed no words. The warrior before him was a champion of Balthazar. Suddenly the ghostly voice boomed in his ears, "Zarda, you have done well; Balthazar has looked favorably upon your soul, he gifts you with this sword, and trusts that you wield it well," The ghostly figure drew a black sword, it wasn't short as a short sword, but wasn't as long as a long sword, allowing for quick stabbing motions and heavy close combat fighting. Carefully Zarda took the sword and weighed it in his hands, it was heavy, but not to heavy. “Zarda,” the spirit spoke up, “You must find your friends.”
“I will, “ and with that he ran off… the spirit behind him fading.
Zarda stood up and looked the figure in the eyes, for moments they seemed to speak via the mind, but they were both warriors, they needed no words. The warrior before him was a champion of Balthazar. Suddenly the ghostly voice boomed in his ears, "Zarda, you have done well; Balthazar has looked favorably upon your soul, he gifts you with this sword, and trusts that you wield it well," The ghostly figure drew a black sword, it wasn't short as a short sword, but wasn't as long as a long sword, allowing for quick stabbing motions and heavy close combat fighting. Carefully Zarda took the sword and weighed it in his hands, it was heavy, but not to heavy. “Zarda,” the spirit spoke up, “You must find your friends.”
“I will, “ and with that he ran off… the spirit behind him fading.
Mentalmdc
The mysterious mist slithered around Rhiannons dainty ankles as the pair seemingly floated on a bed of unending clouds. Rhiannon looked up at her identical, there was but one difference, only by looking into the eyes of the new version could you see a deeper and more intense look in her eyes.
"I am Dwayna, I am you," spoke the second Rhiannon, "The gods have left Tyria and will no longer interefere in the matters of these mortal men, however I can not stand to see the nations I hold dear to my heart in so much turmoil, so i created a mortal version of myself, you. As you may have noticed you learn quickly and it is why you managed to overpower the Zaishen leader when they visited you on your island. Your whole life has been planned up to this moment. A great evil is about to be awakened and you must stop it. All the Gods are doing their part to try to stop it but, Grenth is being somewhat difficult. The necrid God has caused turmoil using his followers and now war is bound to break out in Tyria. However the true conflict will be decided here in the mists."
Rhiannon paced around the endless floor looking up at the entity. It was an awful lot to take in, a certain shock to her system yet somehow she could believe. Yet in her heart she knew she was still only mortal, maybe a little extra resilience to normal but still nonetheless herself.
"What about my friend, the mountainfolk?"
"He has done great wrong in these mists, although he may have been unable to help it he has slain a being on holy ground, for this crime he must suffer and bare the eternal curse that he shall be the last of his kind, he may try to redeem himself but unless you stop him he may unleash the evil we talk about. All of you and your friends are connected, you may not realise but the future is held in your commitment to one another. Hold together and peace will prevail, fall apart and Tyria will crumble. That is why it is a matter of the utmost importance you prevent the spirit from killing Ristaron."
Rhiannon looked into the neverending distance. The couple walked slowly forward before the mist parted and Rhiannon found herself at the bottom of a pure golden staircase leading upwards beyond the mist. As she ascended the mist became less dense and grass began to appear until Rhiannon found herself standing in a whole new world. Rhiannon glanced round and saw Ristaron walking ahead, calling out she ran after him but upon reaching him discovered that Dwayna had once more disappeared.
Rhiannon embraced Ristaron with a hug and kissed the mountainfolk unexpectedly on the cheek causing a slight awkward moment of silence between the pair. Rhiannon was so pleased to see Ristaron safe and sound yet the task of finding out what evil awaited them in the endless mists still loomed ahead. Rhiannon looked down at er clothes to discover her rags and wounds gone, replaced by gleaming new robes that made her look more godly, the same with Ristaron. A booming thunder rolled in the hills in the distance and the serene scene broke down rapidly as dark clouds swarmed in, the wind picked up and seemingly blew the green grass away until the ground turned to hard cold stone concrete, the sky becomnig so dark it was near impossible to see.
"I am Dwayna, I am you," spoke the second Rhiannon, "The gods have left Tyria and will no longer interefere in the matters of these mortal men, however I can not stand to see the nations I hold dear to my heart in so much turmoil, so i created a mortal version of myself, you. As you may have noticed you learn quickly and it is why you managed to overpower the Zaishen leader when they visited you on your island. Your whole life has been planned up to this moment. A great evil is about to be awakened and you must stop it. All the Gods are doing their part to try to stop it but, Grenth is being somewhat difficult. The necrid God has caused turmoil using his followers and now war is bound to break out in Tyria. However the true conflict will be decided here in the mists."
Rhiannon paced around the endless floor looking up at the entity. It was an awful lot to take in, a certain shock to her system yet somehow she could believe. Yet in her heart she knew she was still only mortal, maybe a little extra resilience to normal but still nonetheless herself.
"What about my friend, the mountainfolk?"
"He has done great wrong in these mists, although he may have been unable to help it he has slain a being on holy ground, for this crime he must suffer and bare the eternal curse that he shall be the last of his kind, he may try to redeem himself but unless you stop him he may unleash the evil we talk about. All of you and your friends are connected, you may not realise but the future is held in your commitment to one another. Hold together and peace will prevail, fall apart and Tyria will crumble. That is why it is a matter of the utmost importance you prevent the spirit from killing Ristaron."
Rhiannon looked into the neverending distance. The couple walked slowly forward before the mist parted and Rhiannon found herself at the bottom of a pure golden staircase leading upwards beyond the mist. As she ascended the mist became less dense and grass began to appear until Rhiannon found herself standing in a whole new world. Rhiannon glanced round and saw Ristaron walking ahead, calling out she ran after him but upon reaching him discovered that Dwayna had once more disappeared.
Rhiannon embraced Ristaron with a hug and kissed the mountainfolk unexpectedly on the cheek causing a slight awkward moment of silence between the pair. Rhiannon was so pleased to see Ristaron safe and sound yet the task of finding out what evil awaited them in the endless mists still loomed ahead. Rhiannon looked down at er clothes to discover her rags and wounds gone, replaced by gleaming new robes that made her look more godly, the same with Ristaron. A booming thunder rolled in the hills in the distance and the serene scene broke down rapidly as dark clouds swarmed in, the wind picked up and seemingly blew the green grass away until the ground turned to hard cold stone concrete, the sky becomnig so dark it was near impossible to see.