The Grawl Invasion

(OOC: I can wait. Wouldn't mind seeing a bit more oomph in the Fort myself. I feel like not everything that was supposed to happen in there has happened. At the very least, perhaps the characters should learn of the aftermath of the Grawl invasion. Call it a level-headed Krytan lieutenant or something who decides to take Relisu' words to heart and explain the situation to what is obviously a bunch of freakish weirdos XP)

(OOC: I'm perfectly fine for being hunted by Krytans. It works, since he burned their Guild Lord's face and all...but I have to agree with Ristaron on the whole group kick thing. Also, I'm not sure that the Guild Lord knew any of our names, how could he suddenly know both Relius' and Ristaron's? When this thing gets figured out, I'll think of something to post.

Wow, 3 OOC only posts in a row...someone needs to fix this...)

(OOC: Yeah, this entire thread is 60/40 Roleplay/ooc
I don't mean to confuse, so I'll say it flat out: the rest of this post is as they weren't kicked out so easily... well, Ristaron and Morgan, at least. We can decide later if that is how it goes...)

"Stop", the Guild Lord commanded, "they have done nothing, this one I recognise, Ristaron, is not one to be messed with. I will not tell you of our past but it is something I regret. Throw them from the city! They are not welcome here anymore, but find the one called Relius, find him and kill him! Now!"
The Guild Lord turned to leave, but he was faced with a five hundred pound lethal machine as he came about. Morgan's growl, issued from a head that was face level with the Guild Lord, was enough to shake the man's knees.

Greknor, more stubborn than any others in the guard, began to advance. His grip was beginning to tighten on his spear when he found himself frozen in place. A razor sharp blade pressed to his neck.
Seeing the captain of their guard in danger, the other guards looked at an easier-looking target. But before their weapons had left their sheaths, the mountainfolk had whirled around to stand between the captain of the guard and the other soldiers, the tip of his second blade now right below the cleft of one of their chins.
"I've had a very bad day", the ranger said in a deathly tone, "continuing on this course is the last thing you want to do".

"Enough!"
All heads turned to the speaker.

OOC: Np here...

IC: The fighting broke out with Ristaron had started the fight pressing a blade into the captain of the Guard and another guardsmen, and Zarda drew his blade and charged at a set of Guards coming from a nearby tower, meeting them in combat each blocking each others sword plays and the left one decided to take a swing at him which Zarda blocked in a deadly riposte that sent the guardsman reeling on the floor, the other one running back into the tower.

“Enough!” came from a speaker and he turned to the speaker, but kept an eye on the wall as archers started to line up and prepare to lose dead arrows into the center court

“Not exactly a good time to be talking.” Zarda motioned to the ramparts at the top, at least 25 Krytan rangers, arrows notched and ready to be loosed, all wearing fancy leather armor embedded with designs of the Krytan Guild.

Subconsciously he wavered towards a door to a tower that led into the huge wall above, carefully not to make any sound, then he tripped; and the wisps of arrows were heard above instinctively he dashed to the door, arrows peppering at his feet as he ripped through the door and ran up, hoping everyone below was okay. He appeared at the top of the ramparts; the Krytan rangers turned to him and he drew his sword and charged. The Krytan Rangers though deadly with there bows were trained in the arts of a sword for moments like this but they’re weak skills were nothing as Zarda sliced through each one. The last ranger on that side of the rampart turned to him, looking like a captain due to his different armor charge him with a large long sword but Zarda parried the sword with his own and the now unbalanced captain tumbled over the side smashing into the ground below, screaming in a tone that could frighten a dragon, the fight on the ramparts went on as Zarda went through another wall and began to fight another set of rangers, one of them having the nerve to fire an arrow point blank missing but leaving a bad gash in his shoulder, the pain unnerved him but he kept moving; the slight slowdown could open him to attack…

(OOC: Works for me. Hmm, just who is this mysterious speaker anyay? )

Relius ran down the alley, hearing shouting and commotion from the Guild Lord and his guards. This was not what he had wanted to happen. Since he was a child, he had wanted peace. He had striven to only hurt those who did wrong, such as his enemies, the Kurzicks.
Before Relius had left Cantha for Ascalon he had heard of a story, used to urge those who remained neutral to the Canthan civil war to join one side or the other. It was told that an enemy assassin had once sneaked into a Canthan temple, killing most of the holy monks inside. Both sides said with certainty that the assassin was their enemy. Nobody knew which side had done the murderous act. It could have been another being altogether. The people of Cantha weren’t even sure if the stories were true. All everyone knew was that it was an act of cold murder. Thinking about the incident angered Relius, but he quickly waved the anger away. Another outburst would not be good, especially now.

It was just then that Relius remembered that the leaf had somehow started the fire. Alarmed, he looked down at his necklace. Amazingly enough, the leaf remained unburned.

‘What sort of pyromancy is this?’ the ritualist thought to himself. Before he could think the matter over, a Krytan soldier walked past the alleyway. He saw Relius and quickly blasted a high note on his horn.

“It’s the blind attacker! Avenge the Guild Lord!” the soldier rushed at him, his sword raised high above his head. Quickly, Relius ducked into an abandoned chamber. He instantly held his nose in disgust; the smell of rotting corpses still lingered. Looking around the room, he winced as he saw an Ascalonian soldier, an axe imbedded into his skull, dried blood on his face. It must have only been a few weeks since the battle at the Fort. The soldier followed into the alley, but his heavy armor weighed him down. Before he could reach the door, Relius had shoved a nearby stove into the low walkway, blocking the soldier’s path.

He wouldn’t be harming another innocent person.

Seeing a flight of stairs nearby, he quickly ascended them. He was now on the roof of the chamber, and could see a good portion of the Fort. Looking around, he could see the other members of the group fighting against the Guild Lord and his guards. By this time, other guards had arrived at the scene, and those with bows took out an arrow from their quivers. The head archer rode up on his ivory horse, glaring up at Relius.

“Ready your bows!”
Relius quickly looked to his left, then to his right. There was nothing that could aid him, no spirits he could think of to deflect the arrows pointed at his heart.
“Aim!”
He raced through his mind, trying to think of the right spirit to summon. His mind blanked. He sighed, and waited for the final command, giving up all hope.

“Enough!”
A voice called out, making both Relius and the other soldiers turn towards it. The slight distraction gave him the opportunity he needed. Seeing another rooftop nearby, he took his chance.

He leapt, away from the startled guards and back towards his friends.

(OOC: Sorry about the group kick, it was more em trying unite us with the other party, but I can continue within the city and also I thought the Guild Lord would know the name of Ristaron as I believe Ristaron took a sword he recognised from the Guild Lord suggesting that they had a history together unless i got the wrong end of the stick.)

Rhiannon sighed as her friends once again engaged in mortal combat with the Krytans, on her sacred Island off of Cantha she had been so naieve believing the ways of pacifism and the continual bloodshed she had witnessed and not only made her a much harder skillful warrior but was also beginning to wear her down. This fight could go on forever and should the battle take a turn for the ill the secrets of what had happened in their absence may never be found. Rhiannon snuck off in through the door of a fruit and vegetable store intent on finding someone who could assist her with her endeavours. The shop was absent of all life until the lound clangs and thuds of soldiers rushing downstairs in the next room filled the shop. Rhiannon saw some shadows flickering in the light, using her initiative and small height she dived behind the counter and stayed hidden until the troops had gone.

Out the back door Rhiannon navigated her way through the familiar alleyways in the fort, Rhiannon looked up to the walls and saw the tower where she had had her terrifying ordeal. Rhiannon turned the corner and saw a large Krytan cursing with his fist, he had just been barricaded from a room and was not happy about it. Something foul was in the air and smelt truly rancid making Rhiannon feel quite ill. Rhiannon startled by the large mans presence was relieved to see he had not seen her so she carried onto the enxt alleyway. Rhiannon was unsure of just what exactly it was she was looking for but she knew she would find it eventually.

It was then Rhiannon saw the symbol engraved above a shop door, a symbol that was all to familiar to her, the chimera surround by a diamond with a sythe in the background caused her to fall to her knees. Rhiannon was shaking, completely pale the memory of the poor monks in her sanctuary who had been slaughtered, impaled in their chests was a leather page that bore the very symbol before her eyes, an evil piercing knife embedded through the middle. Rhiannon scrambled to the door and reached for the handle, not sure what or why she was doing it she pulled it down, the door opened and she slowly entered the dark derilict room. Cobwebs lined the windows and shelves, the room a wreck of pages and books strewn across the ancient oak floorboards. It seemed that no one was home, but the truth was very much different. Rhiannon crawled to a wall and slumped against it, weakened over time the plaster wall crumbled away and Rhiannon spilled through the wall. The answer to what happened in the fort lay in front of her eyes but Rhiannon did not see it for as she tumbled through the wall she found no solid floor, only a looming pit which engulfed the monk as she fell into the dark dank hole. Rhiannon landed with a slight thump only lightly bruised, it was so dark in the hole she could see nothing and would have to wait for one of her friends to find and rescue her. It was then she heard the words, "Enough."

(OOC: No, I understood that part, Mentalmdc, I just didn't know how to continue with it. And the mysterious speaker I had left for someone else to make up... but I suppose I'll tie that loose end.)

Having been keen to listen to any reason from the Krytans, Ristaron's heart sank when Zarda took off.
"Nobody move!" the ranger ordered flatly as the guards started after the man. A growl from Morgan halted any thoughts they had of disobeying.

Turning to count whoever was left, Ristaron could have killed the guards in rage to see the rest of his friends having left. Knowing the battle would take lives of innocent people, the ranger decided to hear out the newcomer.
"Who are you?" Ristaron's question was to the point.
"Why don't you put away your weapons", the man replied when he turned to regard the mountainfolk, "then we can talk".
Thinking for a moment, Ristaron gave a quick look over the guards whose necks his blades were pressed against. With a resigned sigh, and a flashy technique, the ranger returned his rapiers to their sheaths at his hips.

Backing up a safe distance from the guards, Ristaron gave a slight nod to Morgan. He knew the unnaturally intelligent wolf understood.
"Before we start", the ranger said as the newcomer started to speak, "I want all my friends back here, we don't need to solve this with more violence".

(Rhiannon stuck in a hole fails to turn up alerting her friends to her dissapearance.)

The strange man's stunning riposte left Kratos stunned for a full minute. That in itself was an amazing feat. Kratos' intellect was amazingly large, and he had been trained to think on his feet for over 9 years. He decided to catch up and right the wrong he had just caused.

" So now I know who you are Greysen. You came up in this story, and I have read your own. I know now that you are not a threat to my mission. I am supposed to act like a babbling teenager whenever I see someone. This misson is of UTMOST importance, I have to make sure that Ristaron, someone I intend to find at Ranik, helps to concieve the child that will be the saviour of Tyria." He said some of this slowly, so that Greysen would get the full impact of his words. " And as for your family, I am well and truly sorry."

He continued to keep pace with him and gave him some time to mull over the things he just added and then said, " I was also ordered to tell you, if I ever found you, that one will come. You will not be a fugitive forever. Someone that you will love as much as she loves you will appear in your life, but it is your jobs to sieze her and never let go." He said this slowly as well.
" Now, I must hurry. I will travel a little faster than you and go further up the road. I will prepare a camp for the night," and indeed, the sky was beginning to darken," I will have a meal ready for you when you get there. " With this he shouted, " Windbourne Speed!" and sprinted forward.

And now he's a prophet and matchmaker. One on a mission, no less. I think I am going to travel through the night tonight.

Greysen continued stewing for a moment, but eventually the relief of the man's departure combined with the strange intonation of the words he'd spoken to get the Pit Fighter thinking.

Ordered to tell me of a girl, eh? I wonder who that fool is, and who gave him those orders. If he wasn't simply a rogue Elementalist who let his magic touch him in the head, that is. I wonder who that Ristaron figure he spoke of is...

Meh. Most likely some long-lost princeling whose blood must Save Creation. I hate bloodlines and blood legacies...the only way blood will save Tyria is if enough of it is spilled in her defense. Children of prophecy lead such miserable lives, all for nothing. The gods have left Tyria! There is no one left to enforce these damned prophets and their vaunted visions. Kingdoms are won or lost by the strength of arms in those defending them, and that is the bitter, unlamented truth!

It was then that Greysen noticed his pace had quickened to a sturdy jog - the man's muscles always seemed to get as agitated as his mind did and sought relief of their own, whether he willed it or not. Letting out a long-suffering sigh, Greysen slowed his pace back to an easy, ground-eating walk, a pace he'd found he could keep up for days on end without pause, eating as he went and not bothering to sleep for a period of two or three days. In the pits, he'd learned just exactly how little sleep a human being could survive on, and even at that had gotten on just barely enough to hang on. A man could always tell when his opponent couldn't get enough sleep. He was stronger, more resistant to pain, but his blows were awkward and poorly-aimed, as though he weren't quite aware of what was around him, locked away inside a dream fog where nothing was real, nothing mattered. And, without fail, it was the sleepless ones who made the most horrible screams when they died...

Greysen shook his head violently and slapped himself once, forcing the memories back into the mental prison it had crawled from. There was no need to dwell on the past now, it would only hurt...

Ranik. Another day's travel and I'll be there. Then I can begin my search in earnest. And if that cackling prophet comes along again...well, I won't kill him, but durely the Fates will forgive me if I knock him out? The world would be a better place for as long as he's unconscious...

And so into the night Greysen strode. He detoured around the prophet's camp, sticking to the darkness, enjoying the peace and solitude of the forests. Well, except for the starving wolf that tried to kill him, but one swift kick and a glare ended those ambitions quickly enough. Greysen walked past the whimpering creature, then paused, sighed angrily, and withdrew a strip of meat from his pack and tossed it to the animal. He knew just exactly how it felt to be hungry, truly hungry, and he wouldn't wish that feeling on anyone. As the wolf jumped on the meat in total bliss, Greysen walked on, angling back towards the road. Somehow, the encounter had made him feel much better. Even if he would miss that meat in a few days, the animal had needed it more than he did.

Besides. He could always cook that prophet if he had to...

(OOC: out of ideas atm. Continue in Ranik guys.)

(OOC: Waiting for someone else to post so I don't dominate control the story.)

The ritualist landed on the closest rooftop, narrowly avoiding the flurry of arrows. Quickly, he ran down the stairs and into the chamber below. The look of the chamber was like none he had ever seen. It appeared to be a simple shop, but the look was too dark, too mysterious. The shelves were covered with dust, making Relius sneeze. A large black rat, disturbed by the noise, ran out from its hiding place and into a rather large hole in the wall. Relius was curious; this hole was large enough for an average human to fit through. Peering above the hole, the ritualist saw a very strange mark. It appeared Canthan in style, but it wasn’t the banner of any of the Canthan groups that he knew of. The chimera seemed to glare down at him. Relius backed away, as if the beast would spring out of the symbol and attack. He was about to exit the structure when he heard a frightened whimpering from the hole.

Taking up all his courage, Relius ventured inside, stopping inches away from the hidden pit. Looking down, he could See the monk from both the Cayven massacre as well as the battle in the Mists. He was surprised to find that after all that she’d been through, such an agile human had fallen down into a pit. Giving a slight chuckle to himself, Relius offered a hand.

“Greetings, young monk. I’m not quite sure if I introduced myself to you before. My name is Relius Espirin. I am a Luxon Ritualist, and keeper of the-” he stopped. Rodgort was no longer with him. He said nothing for a moment, then continued on.

“I have a feeling you’d like to be rescued from there. Unless you can fly, I suggest you take my hand. Now hurry! I’m sure the guards will be here soon.”

The guards were indeed fast approaching, but the Ritualist had managed to evade them long enough for their objective to slightly change.

"Any luck, Morgan?"
The enormous gray wolf snorted impatiently, Ristaron smiled. She was moving quickly, obviously hot on the trail of the scent of one of the companions. A few moments later, the lupine broke into a fast trot. Her nose came a few inches higher so it wouldn't slam into the dust as she bobbed, but the scent was fresh and strong, making it easy to follow.
"I think she found something", the newcomer remarked dryly as the entire group picked up the pace to keep up with their guide.
"Her nose always knows", Ristaron replied fondly.
They caught up with the gigantic wolf at the door of a run-down shop.
"The Hag's Head", one of the guards said quietly. Ristaron shot him an incredulous look, but upon reading the sign above the door he understood.
"Who owns this place?" the ranger asked.
"Nobody right now", the guard answered, "the previous owner left without a word last year. She locked up and took off."
"Interesting", Ristaron offered. His attention was now on Morgan as the giant wolf raised herself on her hind legs (which, if anything, made her look even more magnificent) and placed her front paws on the wooden door. A low howl issued from her powerful muzzle.

Rhiannon slightly embarassed about her predicament thanked Relius greatly as she dusted herself down as if it might restore some of the pride she had lost. Looking around the room gave one a sudden sense of fear and coldness, all around lay tools and writings of the dark arts, but something was not right in the air, something sinister lay at the very back of the room, a thing that held most of the answers to the past days events, but it did not want to be seen or found out, a great evil guarded it and it would sooner destroy an entire army than give itself up, and so slowly unbeknownst to the heroes it began to wield its magic, something only the large wolf that had appeared in the doorway had noticed. Silently like a deadly wind the poisonous air swirled around the mouths and nostrils of the heroes, charming them like a charmer does to a snake slowly Relius and Rhiannon began to become slightly dazed and deluded, those outside, safe for now. But this was just the first of what was to come as another mist began to take shape, although invisible to the eye, it began to take form of large shadow warriors, and they would not be so friendly or nearly as foolish as the guards of the fort.

(oooooooooh, I like it! I'll post again after one or two other people have.)

(OOC: You never know what evil gas can do to a person's head... )

Relius put a hand to his head. After helping Rhiannon out of the pit, he felt strangely woozy. He began to walk towards the door, slightly stumbling. He put his hand on the doorknob and began to turn it. Cautiously, he stopped. For all he knew, the guards could be standing outside, waiting to impale him on their swords. The Ritualist placed his hand away from the doorknob, looking around the room for another means of escape.
It was at that moment that the Ritualist heard a howl. Not the howl of a monster or other feral beast; this one he knew to be Ristaron’s lupine companion. Giving a sigh of relief, the Ritualist walked again towards the door, stopping for a brief moment to scrutinize the strange symbol. Whatever it was, it frightened him. He looked closer at the symbol, staring at it intently.

He did not expect the symbol to stare back at him and roar.

Relius felt the sickening feeling again, the feeling he had felt after helping Rhiannon out of the pit. Instinctively, he clutched his hand to his stomach, bending over. Looking at the symbol again, he was shocked to find that the chimera was missing. Alert, the Ritualist looked around, scepter ready. A loud, feral roar came from behind him, not the one he had heard from Morgan. Relius turned sharply, only to fall down in terror. Standing before him was, strangely enough, the chimera from the symbol. Its heads roared, hissed, and snapped at him violently. But before Relius could concentrate his powers long enough to fire a bolt at the creature, it turned tail and fled, running, at least Relius believed, through the wall. The haunting roar echoed in his mind.

Relius got up. He felt cold on the inside, and began shivering. He feared that the beast would spring at him at any moment through the walls. Looking around, he saw Rhiannon, looking entirely calm, if not a bit shaken from the fall into the pit. Relius stared in amazement, then finally blurting out, “Didn’t you…didn’t you see it? That- that thing!” Relius stuttered in fear, trying to get his words to come out right. “Th-the chimera from the…from the symbol. It…it jumped out at m-me. And then…it ran away. Th-through the wall. Look, it’s not on the symbol any-” Relius pointed to the once chimera-empty symbol and abruptly stopped.

The chimera was back in its place, in the exact same position. It was almost as if it had never appeared.

(OOC: I know I'm making a bit of a stretch here by doing this. Of course, Mentalmdc created the gas. Is it alright that I use it this way, at least for Relius?)

(OOC: Relius smokin it up? )

Sounds of movement came from inside the shop, confirming beyond a doubt that Morgan had found someone. Trying the doorknob, Ristaron scowled to find it was indeed locked. With a resigned sigh, the ranger knocked several times.
"Who's in there?" he called. A moment later, he jumped back in shock as the door exploded under the force of five hundred pounds as Morgan barrelled into it.
The shop was dark inside, but two figures stood illuminated by the sunlight streaming in through the now vacant doorway. Thinking fast, Ristaron knew they may get the wrong idea with the guards behind the ranger. The mountainfolk took a step forward and drew a long breath so he would have enough air to explain the situation.
He didn't start talking, though, for something in the air caught his attention.

OOC: Tis all good, i'll wait for laser and goats topost before we continue.

OOC: I'm a little confused here so i waiting a bit to see what develops.

(OOC: Heh…much more make-work posting and Greysen will have walked from Kryta to get to Ranik. Think I’m gonna have to wait for things to happen and a proper opening to present itself before I drop in here again. Move it, folks!)

IC: Greysen had indeed traveled through the night, avoiding the fire of the prophet’s camp easily and gratefully. In midmorning however, his muscles demanded a break – he’d been walking for two straight days, and now it was time to sit for a while. Finding a convenient boulder, Greysen grounded himself and produced a strip of cured meat, chewing the tough food down without really tasting it. It was a shame; Greysen was probably one of ten men in all the world who actually enjoyed the taste of cured meat. After what he’d been fed in the pits, cured meat – and most anything else – was an adventure in culinary excellence.

Midway through his meal, Greysen noticed a hushed whine from the bushes to his left. Glancing in his direction, the Pit Fighter momentarily stopped chewing in surprise as he spotted the wolf he had kicked off last night. The thing was on its belly under the plantlife, watching him with longing as he chewed on the meat. In the daylight, when the beast wasn’t trying to kill and eat him, Greysen noted both the number and clarity of ribs in each of the animal’s flanks and the scars of many fierce battles. He also noticed fur starting to lose its vibrant color from age, and this last clue told him immediately what had happened.

Lost a dominance fight, did you? Unusual that the loser is thrown out, especially at your age, but from the looks of those scars, you gave him a run for his money, didn’t you?

The wolf, noticing Greysen’s stare and that it wasn’t hostile, sidled forward some, whining with increased volume and frequency as it eyed Greysen’s meat strip with unflinching regard. Something about the way the beast moved clued the Pit Fighter into a bit more truth.

Female? That’s bizarre, I’ve never heard of alpha females driving off defeated rivals before. Usually they just demote them to hunters and babysitters. How strange. And strange that she would be out here alone, with so little fear of humanity as to approach me in the daylight.

Then the light shifted in the matted fur around the wolf’s collar and the last piece of the puzzle slid home.

That’s a fighting collar. Or the remains of one. You aren’t wild at all, are you girl? Or at least not born and bred, though you must be feral now. If you were ever tame to start with. A fighting beast…another victim of the blood sports. They must have thrown you out the gates when you started getting too old to win fights, but the fact that you survived alone means you’re a good one in a scrap. Hm hm…no wonder you’re back, old girl. You recognize a kindred spirit when you see one.

Smiling faintly to himself, Greysen freed another strip of meat from his rucksack and tossed it to the wolf. She bolted it down in a handful of seconds, then looked directly and Greysen and whined so beseechingly that the Pit Fighter couldn’t help but laugh.

“You’re embarrassing yourself, old girl. Come here,” he said as he patted the rock next to him, “and we’ll see about getting what remains of that collar off.”

Staring at Greysen for a moment, the wolf snorted once, then padded over to the Pit Fighter, stopping just beyond the rock and whining again. Greysen knelt in front of the beast, carefully. She was being calm now, but this was an animal who had survived the carnage of the Beastfights, the only blood sport Greysen considered more savage and brutal than the Pit Fights he had been raised in. The wolf could turn on him at any moment, and even three-quarters starved like she was she could be a vicious foe.

But the wolf remained still as Greysen carefully removed the filthy, broken fighting collar, using a small knife he’d produced from his pack to cut away the snarled fur holding it in place, finally removing the stinking remnants of the heavy spiked leather and throwing them into the forest. He stood up and the wolf shook itself violently, settling everything back down, and gave him a look of such extreme gratitude that Greysen had to laugh again.

“Glad to be rid of that, are you girl? I agree, it can’t have been comfortable. Though I must say you look a bit odd now with your fur crimped and short like that around your neck.”

The wolf eyed Greysen silently for a moment, then looked up on the boulder where the remaining half of the Pit Fighter’s own strip of meat lay. She eyed the food for a moment, then turned back to Greysen and whuffed imperiously. A belly laugh bubbled out of Greysen’s gut and, shaking with mirth, he grabbed the strip and handed it to the wolf, who bolted it down with a single gulp.

“Yes ma’am! I know an order when I hear one, and I’ve heard plenty enough to be a good judge.”

Grabbing up his rucksack, now running short of cured meat, Greysen started back on the road, calling over his shoulder, “Good luck to you, girl. You’ll need it out here these days.”

He’d taken all of five steps when noise behind him turned him around again. The wolf was sitting a few paces behind him, eyeing him quizzically. She yipped softly, then took another step forward. Her intent was obvious.

You have got to be kidding me. There’s no way I could care for a bloody wolf! I can barely take care of myself outside of a fight, let along a massive beast like this! Besides, I’m no Ranger to fight with Melandru and her beasts by my side and protect oversized vegetable patches! Curse you dog, “Stay still!”

Turning around, Greysen began marching towards Ranik again. He heard the wolf whining piteously behind him, but there were no pawfalls. She was, for the moment, staying still. Then…

FLASH – The wolf lay in front of a herd of deer, watching them, waiting for her chance. A chance that would never come. The deer glared contemptuously at the starvation-deformed she-wolf, even those stupid beasts realizing that the wolf was no threat. She was one of the greatest fighters the Beast Pits had ever produced, but she didn’t know the first thing about hunting, or even surviving in the wild. She was matted with parasites and riddled with diseases, too naïve in the ways of the forest to care for herself.

Just like Greysen in the great cities filled with masses of humanity to whom Greysen didn’t – couldn’t – feel the least connection to.

I am going to regret this for a very long time.

Sighing to himself, Greysen stopped, half-turned, and motioned to the wolf. “Come along then. But you’d better pull your weight, or I’ll cook and eat you myself.”

The wolf yipped and trotted up to Greysen, not coming quite close enough to touch, but definitely close enough to be with Greysen. He didn’t mind; he understood completely. He didn’t like people touching him, either. Greysen remembered for a moment the first handful of miles out from the city he’d escaped from. Then, he’d been traveling with one of the Pit Fighters he’d freed from their mutual enslavement. Gratitude had held the two together for a while, but each shortly realized that the presence of the other was a nail in their minds. Neither could relax or drop their guard with the other present – years of ingrained survival instinct would not be denied, and that instinct labeled any other Pit Fighter as threat and enemy and demanded the Fighter’s death.

Less than twenty miles out of the city, the pair had split up, Greysen in pursuit of his own goals while the other went to find a way to continue living. Yet Greysen found now that he missed the companionship – an almost foreign feeling to the introverted, brutalized Pit Fighter. He had been alone for so long, and in a sudden burst of insight, Greysen realized he was sick of it. It was time to make some friends. Even if one of them was a shaggy, smelly, half-starved she-wolf.

The pair walked on, each content with silence for a while. Then Greysen glanced at the wolf and pondered aloud, “I wonder what I should call you. Wolf or Girl aren’t names to be known by. You need a name of your own, even if you’ll never recognize it.” Greysen thought for a moment, then a cold shiver swept through him. I couldn’t…but then, knowing her back then, I think she would have approved.

Greysen paused and knelt down, looking the wolf in the eyes. The beast sidled uncomfortably, disliking the intensity of Greysen’s stare but somehow sensing the importance of the moment to the big human. Greysen looked into the wolf’s eyes for a moment, then nodded imperceptibly. Yes…you two would have been two of a kind, if she’d survived.

“You’re Serrina now, girl. For as long as you choose to travel with me.”

Standing back up, Greysen strode towards Ranik with the ground-eating walk he’d traveled a third of the country with, and Serrina easily kept pace beside him, wondering just what the hell had happened there…

(OOC: Sorry guys continue like I'm not here. I won't be posting or a while. Food poisonin For The Freakin' Lose.

(OOC: Hey I've got too much GCSE work as its coming along so I can't post anymore. But I'd appreciate it if you'd let my friend Richmuel caryr on for me. He'll post shortly.)

Rhiannon ran for the door feeling slighty queasy due to the poison. Realsing the coming events would do more damage than good to her unborn baby she decided she would no longer take a part. Edging away into the shadows she left one alst goodbye note to her friends, about her past, the island and her child.

Tears splashed to the ground as she dissapeared into the distance. Her new baby would save the fate of others in another generation, but as she looked on, the heroes in front of her would be saviours of this generation.

(OOC: Hello all, I hope you don't mind me taking Mentalmdcs place, I'll just go ahead and post )

Sasha Deloxitia was a girl with a dark side, a passion for all things necrid. Sasha had scared many men away from her past, a light spring in her step but a dark cackle and enjoyment for things that were often quite scary to the average person. However unlike most necromancers, Sasha had a most stunning figure and looks that could easily seduce. She had veered away from the all too common route of commandeering the dead for delving into such dark magics had the distasteful side effects of making the master look more like the minion skin and Sasha had a rather large fondness of her soft skin, and strong dislike for those Minionmancers who had roting fingers and putrid eyes, the ones that looked as if all life had been drained from their skin. No Sasha was confident and loved what she did, occaisionally delving into all aspects of Necromancery she prefered the Curses. Sasha liked things rough but especially enjoyed teasing those who were more tough than average. Although she did not know it yet, the pit fighter on his way to Ranik would provide an especially fun time for Sasha to tease and toil with, although in the end it was likely the Pit Fighter would just knock her aside.

Sasha watched from shadows, lingering in the unseen backroom of the shop, laughing to herself she found a sense of fun watching the heroes in the next room struggle against the various mechanisms designed to keep intruders out, it was especially amusing to see one of the monks become extremely confused, he had in fact seen a chimera jump out at him, for some special magic was being used, one designed to mock and confuse. Sasha sighed seeing how the people in the next room were getting nowhere, this would be a great opperunity to scare those who were unaware of her presence.

Sasha lept out from the back room screaming, the figures in the room were abruptly startled and much paler than they had een a few minutes ago, Sasha rolled on the floor laughing, the petrified looks had been too much for her. However the figures did not take the joke as kindly, one of them drew a sword rather angrily. The unknown figure yelled out,

"Who are you?"
"I am Sasha Deloxitia, Necromancer. Pleased to meet you acquaintance."
"Are you the owner of this strange shop?"
"No! I'm just here to watch."
"Something strange is going on. Why are you lurking in the shadows."
"Ah, now there you see is a good question," laughing to herself and walking round the gathering she cast a quick spell directed in the direction of the crate. Immediately the gas dissapated and the shadow warriors dissapeared completely.

"I have been on a long search, a search that has led me here, and you my friends are in the way! I am suprised you did not realise what was taking place in the room, simple defence mechanisms for private property have been messing with your minds. Quite an amusing show I might add."

The more Sasha went on the more hostile the figures in the room began to get.

"Well then Sasha, you might like to explain what exactly this place is, one of friends, where is Rhiannon by the way, recognised the symbol on the shop, one that was imprinted on her murdered friends."

"What if I told you I was on the island that day those girls were murdered, once again I watched from the shadows as something brutally killed those young girls, that I too was a monk studying on that Island, but to a clash in fates I was kidnapped. I was in the room when it happened, those girls died in front of me as I was snatched and whisked away. However I was left in a very dark place, a place I can not remember much about, but on the wall was this very symbol. I was forced to survive by myself until some Necromancers took me in and converted my training. I can not tell you what carried out the murders for it was an invisble force, something dark and beyond all comprehension, but I made it my life long quest to find out what was responsible, and it has led me to this shop."

Something clanged in the backroom diverting all the characters attention, a terrifying hissing noise erupted through the shop as a dark green cloud formation in the shape of a lions head appeared in the middle of the doorway, a snake apparition darted through it and made a move against Sasha.

"What? I disabled the defence mechanisms?"

Sasha looked confused, but what she did not realise was that she was far out of her depth, something darker was at work and these were not defence mechanisms but the real thing. The apparition dissapeared, but the ground began to shake flinging books across the room, a cloud of dust built up so that nobody standing in the room could see, to Sashas horror the dust began to take form in a shape, the shape of a chimera.

"This isn't meant to happen! If we get out of this alive, I'll fill you in on what happened whilst you were away."

OOC: Continue like I'm at the camp for quite a while guys, I'm a little swamped with work. I give my permission for u to use him if you guys want to interract with him. I will just continue later. I'm soooooo sorry, but I have school.

OOC: I'm still waiting for someone else to post for the roleplay, I don't want to have monopoly on the story.

OOC: Gah...gonna have to get messy then. I'll work up something soon, but it won't be pretty. I hate chopping into a story like this...-_-

OOC: Okay, fine, maybe I won't...>_< Sorry guys, college is hitting me like a dump truck on NOS and the other massive RP I'm involved in has exploded. I can still post, but I can't find the inspiration for anything useful at this stage. Ristaron, take over, for the sake of the story, please?

(OOC: muahahahaha It is not Ristaron that shall take over, it is me!!! Well, I finally got some free time, so I'm going write more.)

IC: Kratos looked down at his food sack longingly. It had a large gash along the side of it, and most of the food had spilled out.
"Shit, I guess I'm going to have to go to my parents house. I hoped that I wouldn't have to." He looked around, cleared his campsite with a wave of his staff, and saddled up his backpack. He took one last look around, then setoff at a brisk pace.

Travelling had never been an enjoyable task for him, but since he went to visit and study under the Mursaat......He had changed. He was more violent, more...nomadic. He would sometimes wander around for hours, just killing things with his mind. The 'Mind Shock' skill he had learned was great for this, as he had more mana than most things in Tyria. He thought of selling his sword that his father had given him and buying a Bone Staff. Or, he thought, I know where Vilnar Painforge makes his den. I know what he is creating with the powers of Grenth. I could kill him and steal it...Yes, that is what I shall do. As soon as I can, I shall forgo all of this Sword and Shield training, or the power of the Necrotic Order.

As he entered his villages valley, he noticed changes already. Not even one child was playing in the fields. The farmers were working as fast as they could, so as not to be trapped outside if an attack came. Suddenly, out of nowhere, two guards wearing the traditional Ascalon army outfits came over and shouted
“Oy, you! Halt! Who are you then?” The larger of the two yelled. Kratos stared at them for a 5 seconds each. He remembered them. They were his old chums, Dornath and Goathlorn. The cheery eyes that he used to now were gone. Taken by the invasion probably.

“ I’m hurt,” he said to the two, “ You don’t remember your old pal? Eh, Goat?” That did it, The two of them looked at Kratos for a second. Then, realizing who he was, they smiled and tackled him to the ground. The three rolled around, wrestling for a few minutes, before Kratos beat them and they all stood up.

‘Well then, I guess we better take you to your dear old mum and dad then, eh,” said Dornath “And don’t even think about kicking us out, we want to hear what you’ve been doing for the past eight years,” Goat added eagerly.

After a well deserved overnight stay, some provision building, some bag repairing, and some excellent story telling. The three chums were read to head off to the Fort. Goat and Dornath wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer when he told them where he was going. He asked them about their guarding duties, and they said that they were just volunteers. The real guard was coming back today. So donning the armor of their chosen magical studies, An Elementalist, A Necromancer, and a Ranger set out for Ranik. With Kratos asking Dornath about the teaching methods of the Order, and how he could be inducted.

Grenth watched all the happening of the trio, waiting for his chance to rid the group of the Ranger. Goat would have to die if Grenth wanted the power of the young Kratos. Student of the Mursaat, his oldest cult. He waited and waited. Ready to strike at any moment.

All pretense of annoyance left the ranger as he watched Sasha's face contort into an image of horror and shock. Flying books and the appearance of a large Chimera forced him to aknowledge that this was the real thing.

In a flash, the mountainfolk was rushing into the crowded shop, his rapiers ready for quick stabs so he didn't catch any of his allies with wide swings.
He gritted his teeth as the Chimera's thick hide took most of the punishment under his sharp weapons. He would have to hit weak spots, not whatever area was convenient.

Ducking a backlash attempt from the beast, the nimble ranger had to roll to avoid a follow-up attack from overhead. As Ristaron came to be on his back, his feet found the front of the desk. Pushing off, the ranger slid along the partially rotted hardwood floors, and underneath the Chimera.

Squinting his eyes to protect them from any spray of blood, Ristaron drove his rapiers up into the beast's underbelly.

(OOC: where'd everyone else go? I am going to wait for some more posts in this before I go on.)

OOC: End of semester blues, Goats...-_-. I've got three weeks left, then I'm free. Will try and get stuff down, but my end of the storyline is stagnating something fierce. I suppose, if I can't get something up by next weekend, ye should just kick me. Hate to say it, but it may be necessary.

(OOC: I mean the other people. There were a few others here, where did they go? Richmuel? Brother Doug? Rilder? Anyone other than Me, Ristaron and Laser?)

OOC: much apologies for both the lateness and inelegance of the following post, but someone needed to post something, and I’m done playing around in the countryside.

IC:

It had taken longer than he’d wanted to take with the added burden of procuring supplies for Serrina as well as himself, but Greysen was finally there. He crested the last hill and beheld the great Fort Ranik, once-proud military citadel of Ascalon.

Now, according to travelers and passersby, an enclave of Krytan Guilds.

Greysen scowled at the thought, pouring over the information as he strode towards the fortress, Serrina at his heels. Krytan Guild Lords in the heart of Ascalon, inside one of Ascalon’s greatest fortresses. It was a distressing thought. The Krytans had never been friendly to Ascalon and Ascalonian interests, and even if they had been, allowing any foreign national a powerful fortress in the heart of Ascalon struck Greysen as a very bad idea. It would have struck Serrina as a bad idea as well if she had known, understood, and cared, but she didn’t, and so she could only sense Greysen’s dark mood and wonder if anything in particular had caused it.

As the pair walked towards Fort Ranik, Greysen’s sensitive ears picked up on the sounds of battle inside the fortress, and his keen eyes picked up the twisted bodies of archers which had been thrown off the walls, lying forever still. Putting the two together with the Krytan Guild’s presence, and Greysen broke into a sprint, a surprised Serrina quickly catching up as the Pit Fighter bolted for Ranik, a sudden urgency to get there boiling in his veins.

The gate had been left unmanned, the normal gate guards having been called inside to deal with the fighting, and thus Greysen was able to run into the base unopposed, just in time to see chaos unfold. A Necromancer woman had just fled from an old, worn-looking building and a great many soldiers were clustered around the area, weapons drawn across the board. An absolutely huge wolf stood near the shop, growling at the entrance, a strangely dressed man wearing a blindfold standing near the wolf and staring in horror at the wall. Remembering tales he’d heard of the warrior he sought fighting alongside a wolf of unusual size, Greysen’s intuition suddenly snapped, and he knew that his objective was inside the shop. Surging down towards the shop, Greysen brutally battered aside any who stood in his way, opening a path for himself and Serrina through the thronging guardsmen. Weapons leapt from stunned wrists and teeth leapt from stunned jaws as the Pit Fighter charged savagely forward. The deep-throated animal roars from inside the shop were not reassuring, and Greysen needed that man, damnit!

Finally breaking through the crowd of guards – none had dared venture too close to the sounds of brutal battle inside the shop – Greysen had just enough time to wonder what Serrina would do about the huge wolf which had to be the warrior’s companion before he thundered through the door and stopped dead.

A huge beast, what appeared to be a chimera, occupied the majority of the space inside the shop, and doing battle with it was a man of ebony skin and ivory hair, wielding twin short blades and wearing garb similar to that of the servants of Melandru. There couldn’t possibly be two men of that description in the world – this was the warrior Greysen had sought! And the great bloody chimera was doing its best to kill him!

“Oh no you don’t you stupid beast!”

Charging towards the chimera, the enchanted gloves sparking to fiery life, Greysen’s right fist thundered into the best’s center throat shortly after the warrior’s short blades ripped into its stomach, the staggering punch crushing the chimera’s trachea even as the fiery gloves seared flesh and fur, releasing a horrible stench into the air. Now the demon-beast had two foes to worry about.

Meanwhile, outside, Serrina stared down the other wolf, which had to outmass her by a factor of five, growling slightly and wavering between attacking the alpha female or going in to aid her human. Frozen there, the she-wolf ended up simply waiting for the outcome.

OOC: No worries, we now have something to go on!

IC:
The appearance of the massive warrior had shocked and surprised the ranger, and his relief could not have been greater when the man showed his loyalties. The force of the blow had sent the chimera a few feet away, ripping it away from the grounded mountainfolk. Ristaron had lost his grip on the one rapier as the beast was knocked away.
For a few moments, the ranger simply watched as the large warrior continued his merciless assault. But the man's powerful attacks weren't fast enough to keep ahead of the quick Chimera, and the power behind the surprise attack very quickly was met - as was the brute strength of the newcomer. Ristaron could not help but envy the man's strength; the enormous warrior was matching a fully developed Chimera.

Realizing that the battle was not yet over, the ranger shot to his feet and launched himself at the Chimera at a different angle, forcing its attention two ways.
Flanked and wounded, the beast could not contend with the fighting prowess of the two fighters, and it knew it would not last much longer.
A powerful blow from the larger warrior connected with the side of the Chimera's head, forcing the face towards the mountainfolk. Now dazed and tired on top of weak from the loss of blood in the wound to its underbelly, the Chimera could only watch as a precisely-aimed rapier thrust forward into its eye.

The blade easily pierced the eye, splitting the organ in half. But the thrust had more force behind it than to simply blind the creature, and the steel continued all the way into the Chimera's brain.
As the beast slumped, Ristaron noted the newcomer's full lungs. The man didn't even have to breathe through his mouth after releasing that explosion of attacks.
Spotting his rapier, still embedded in the Chimera's guts, Ristaron bent down and placed a hand on the hilt. A few attempts finally freed the blade, along with the dead creature's entrails, which spilled messily onto the rotted hardwood floor.

As Ristaron shook his blades clean, sending rivulets of blood to the floor, he turned to regard the newcomer.
"Greetings", he said politely, "and my compliments to your exceptional performance."

(OOC: Ok, thats it. I'm tired of waiting, I'm coming in to the story with the reast of you. )

IC: Kratos walked with Goat and Dornath towards the Fort. Talking as they went. When they stopped for the night, Kratos' REAL instructions began. This was where the practical was. Raising a minion. His first task was to find a wolf and kill it. But there was only one set of wolf tracks nearby. And they were accompanied by human tracks. So there ended his minion training. He went on to Curses, and there he flourished. Slowing things down and siphoning away their life was a great joy to him. He finished his training in record time and three days later, he was ready to take on a higher level of teaching. It was on the fourth day, that the reached Fort Ranik.

The Krytan guild flag was flying outside, as if mocking the glory of Ascalon. kratos and his friends could hear a large battle being waged inside a building, not far off. With the smell of fire and blood in his nose, he ran towards the sound as if drawn there by a Gods power.

"Greetings", said an ebony skinned ranger,"and my compliments to your exceptional performance.". Standing next to the mountainfolk was one of the last people Kratos had ever expected to see again. Greysen. That, coupled with the two wolfs outside, and the dead Chimera on the ground, made Kratos humbled to be in the presence of such great warriors, for the mountainfolk in fron of him was surely Ristaron, the one he had come to find.

Rubbing his knuckles to work the blood through them again, Greysen ignored the dark-skinned warrior for a moment, an air of disinterested calm hiding a furiously working mind. So this is the quasi-mystical resistance leader who defeated the Grawl…but why is he here now, when it’s so blatantly obvious the Krytan Guild is in a state of hostile panic? And why in Grenth’s name was he fighting that beast, and alone at that? Where are the other resistance fighters, and why aren’t they being treated as kings? What the hell is going on here?

The situation was quite obviously far more complex than Greysen had anticipated it would be. He’d heard the reverently-repeated stories of the resistance fighters that had virtually single-handedly staved off the Grawl invasion – the heroes who had stiffened the Ranik garrison’s spine and acted as its brain, directing a miraculous battle that had left the beast tribes savaged, driven into the deep wilderness to lick their grievous wounds.

And yet, the guards outside seemed just as ready to kill the resistance leader as the chimera, and none had aided the man in his desperate, almost futile struggle. The chances were better than even that, without his own interference, the great mage-beast would have destroyed the hero. There was no reverence here! Nor even gratitude – without this man’s efforts, the Krytans would have no hold in Ascalon, and they did nothing to aid him.

There’s more to this than I know. Lightly, Greysen. You know not where you stand here.

All this thought took place in a mere handful of seconds as the resistance leader cleaned his blades and offered his appreciation for Greysen’s skill. Greysen noted that he did not offer thanks for seemingly saving the man’s life, but did not mind – from another warrior, acknowledgment of skill in battle was more important than mostly-useless gratitude. Greysen’s battle against the chimera had impressed the man, and hopefully that appreciation would translate directly into information.

Greysen dropped his hands then, the last sparks from the fiery gloves dying away, and turned to face the resistance leader. His gaze was cool, distant…as it always was, save when Greysen was angry. He held himself in a decidedly non-threatening posture, an almost exaggerated posture. He knew the resistance leader would pick up on the intent – the idiots outside think I’m done fighting. You know better – and thus felt confident in finally speaking.

“Thank you. My name is Greysen, and I’ve been looking for you.”