The Grawl Invasion

What had been sincere gratitude was washed away when the ranger's fighter-instincts kicked in. The way the man moved... unnervingly graceful, and obviously deadly. While Ristaron had been happy to accept him as an ally, he knew as soon as the large warrior turned around that his motives for killing the beast were not what he had initially believed.
Every alarm in the mountainfolk's mind rang out in unison as the man mouthed the confirming words.
"I've been looking for you".

Ristaron was more than thankful that he had not sheathed his rapiers, but the late reaction made them nearly useless as he managed to just raise them in time to deflect some of the initial force of the impact. Slamming into the wooden wall three feet behind him, the ranger shook his head to clear the daze. The pause nearly cost him his life, as his practiced agility saved his life once again.
A shower of splinters rained down on the mountainfolk as he rolled quickly and sprang to his feet. He came up in a defensive battle-stance, both blades hovering at dangerous angles. His midnight eyes fighting to keep from getting distracted by the amazing new hole in the wall where he had just been.

"Why do these people always come after me?" he asked himself incredulously.




OOC: LaserLight, I assume that's what you meant to happen... if not, I can write it differently.
By the way, you seem to have an excellent insight into the mechanics of fighting. If you need to - to keep the post going - you can roleplay some of my character's actions in this fight between the characters. We all know this roleplay needs more flow... longer posts is a good start.

"I'd have thought you knew. My sister does, at any rate. And for her sake, I won't say anything else in the open like this."

The words were as false as they were convincing - the Krytan guards outside snickered slightly as thoughts of wild nights and their inevitable consequences flitted through their minds. The great Ristaron, legendary Ranger, Beastmaster, swordsman, and pervert, the thoughts went. A handful of guards, picturing instead the sister of a man of Greysen's height, stature, and conditioning, developed a healthy dose of respect for the ebony man. Anyone bold enough to bed anything related to that deserved admiration and no small amount of pity.

None of it was true, of course.

Greysen was blunt to the point of concussing conversational partners and didn't particularly care if people knew what he was after, but he was currently inside a smallish, rather cramped shop with maybe five inches of clearance over his head. There wasn't a Krytan in Fort Ranik he couldn't dismantle with negligent ease, but a few guards taking shifts with crossbows outside the building's single exit could make things difficult. Better to get free of the shack before getting to his true purpose for the dark Ranger. Also better for the Krytan fighters to peg Greysen as a simple man out to avenge his sister's honor. A motive both honorable and ridiculous, painting the Pit fighter as big, lovable, and slightly dumb. Though he doubted more than half the guards would be fooled, it would sow confusion in their minds, and a half-second's hesitation while people resolved differing prejudgments of Greysen was all the hulking warrior needed to rip their intestines out their navels, should it come to that.

He knew the Ranger was far too intelligent and insightful to fall for the trick himself, especially after his slight gesture confirmed his receipt of Greysen's unspoken message. Anyone intelligent enough to pick up on that was also intelligent enough to realize that a stupid man couldn't have communicated in that way. Now comfortably aware that both the hero and himself were ready to kick ass and leave the names where they lie, Greysen turned to the door. Then he cursed slightly under his breath as he heard the high-pitched snarls from outside. He'd forgotten about Serrina! She was out there with the warrior's monstrous wolf and at least a dozen strange humans...gathered in a circle around her...

Oh Hell!

Greysen shouted out the door then, moving to leave the building and hoping that both Krytans and wolves would let him. "Get away from the wolves, don't stand around them!" he bellowed, hoping against hope that the Krytans would disperse before Serrina's barely-dormant memories of the Pits and the rings of spectators emerged and drove her to strike out against the colossal Dire. In her condition, she wouldn't stand a chance, but Greysen knew in his gut that Serrina would at least cripple the massive wolf before going, if not take it with her. And letting a wolf nominally his kill the companion of the man he'd sought since his escape would be a less than optimal way of getting into the warrior's good graces.

"Serrina! Enough! Back off, girl!" Greysen thundered, putting forth every ounce of wind his trained lungs could move, hoping to cow the wolves through sheer decibal level. The walls of the shack trembled and dust floated down from the ceiling as Krytan hands clapped to Krytan ears. Capitalizing on the moment, Greysen bolted out the door and went straight for Serrina, hoping he could restrain her without hurting her - or himself. He could only hope that the resistance leader was right behind him and heading to control his own animal. A battle between the wolves would incite a larger battle, and make a general mess of things.

Bloody mutts...moe trouble than they can possibly be worth!

Morgan had at first considered the other she-wolf just another beaten up stray. The way the creature's mangy fur desperately clung to the pronounced ribs, missing in patches had given the five hundred pound lupine an immediate first impression. But when the creature had crouched defensively, baring its teeth, Morgan quickly saw that it was no rejected bitch facing her. This she-wolf had been through more than her fair share of fights, and most definately come out on top of most of them.
No novice to combat herself, Morgan coiled her powerful muscles and crouched in a battle-stance. Baring her slightly yellow teeth, the enormous wolf let loose a bark that rattled nearby windows in an attempt to emphasize how much of a size advantage she had over her opponent. As she had learned from her ranger companion, it was not always necessary to fight to get your way.
But the other wolf had no doubt fought many larger things, and the intimidating effect Morgan had intended was lost.

She had been ready for the inevitable result of the standoff when the other wolf's large warrior friend burst through the Krytan barricade, beelining for Morgan's opponent. Making sure to keep her green eyes on the other wolf incase she made her move at the last minute, Morgan flinched to hear her name from the most familliar of voices.
In a feat of timing, what would have been a bloody battle was averted by the show of cooperation from the master and companions of the two animals.

**

"Come here, girl", Ristaron coaxed Morgan to come behind him. He had no doubt that his companion could tear the other creature to shreds, should the eventuality of a fight between them arise, but the consequences of such a conflict were what Ristaron feared the most.
Morgan, though capable, was still a savage fighter, and would retain injuries. And the quick-developping repore the ranger had with the giant fighter named Greysen would be in great jeapordy.
Greysen was a man Ristaron did not want as an enemy.



(OOC: In case I haven't mentioned it... Morgan isn't Ristaron's pet. He rescued her as a cub, nursed her back to health, and won her eternal friendship and loyalty. Should she have any desire to, Morgan can always leave his side.
For this reason, I refer to them as companions, and not 'master' and 'pet'.)

OOC: Sorry for my absence, I've been quite busy.

IC: Sasha stayed close to the walls lurking in the shadows observing the two figures in the street, one she had the name to be Ristaron. A rather large man was engaging in a tense conversation with the mountainfolk. Everything had gone so wrong, Sasha had been told to get in, take the box, and get out. With everything falling apart around her and now having been discovered in the shop she had to find a way to cover up the shambles, she had to protect the identity of her masters. If it got out who she worked for then the consequences would run far through Tyria.

During the fight in the shop Sasha had taken flight, when confronted by three brutish Guards she had thrown a dagger; penetrating the throat of the center guard she cast a quick death nova knocking the other two against the walls. With all 3 guards slumped in font of her Sasha had climbed up a pipe onto the rooftops.

"I have to get closer, I must find out what they are talking about." The necromancer told herself.

Just after the battle of the Grawl the resistance leaders had been whisked off, the true stories of the adventure yet to come out. However in their absence the strange happenings had come to light. Kryta had evoked the order of the Guild Lords, segregating much of the country and allowing Guilds to purchase lands, a similar event had happened, an invaision of local warriors. It was likely the same had happened in the distant lands of Orr. Unable to defend itself with an army the Guilds had rallied to save the day, but not without consequence. They had demanded land and with no army to stop them they took what they wanted. Now, this Krytan Guild had decided to check out how Ascalon was faring. A quick pact with the King had left the Krytans in charge of Fort Ranik, yet Sasha knew the truth, the King was part of something far deeper, far sinister. It was evident now that the items she had come here to steal did not lie here, instead it was a booby trap to kill whoever had managed to come this far to ensure they continued no further.

Sasha thought to herself for a moment. The attacking chimera was definately a sign, maybe, just maybe it was another clue. Yet it bore no resemblance to anything other than a deeply religious cult that lived in the temples of the Maguuma Jungle. No, it had to mean something else. Maybe fate had driven her to meet these other heroes. Perhaps under the thick-skinned Pit Fighters outwards appearance or beneath all the mystery of the Mountainfolk, there was the answer. Sasha would have to stick around to find out, for as she stood there in the middle of the street, the biggest secret hung on her shoulders and she had to put it right. Sasha edged closer in the shadows, invisble to the two figures. However Sasha was quiet, but not quiet enough, she was no assassin although she often tried to be. A hand clasped around her throat, the cold fingers deeling the beat of the pulse in her neck.

(OOC: It's been quite a while, but at last summer is here! I'm free from work, and able to get back into this for the time being. Richmuel, I hope you don't mind where I take your point. If so, just tell me and I'll fix it. )

Necromancers. Relius hated necromancers.

Even the sight of the one he had seen in the shop made him feel sick, not due to the mysterious gasses that had leaked into the room. Necromancers were always using the dead for the wrong reasons: to frighten people out of their wits, to pillage and raid, never to help others. It was a common bias, but Relius believed every word of it. Besides, he had his own personal reasons. Necromancers were always dabbling around where they shouldn’t, and this necromancer seemed to know about everything in the mysterious shop. When the chimera had appeared, she vanished.

Relius was tired, hungry, and frustrated at all of the recent events. The Grawl invasion, the Titan battle, the chimera attack…and now this woman. Relius needed answers. As soon as the chimera appeared and the necromancer vanished, Relius quickly followed in her direction. After battling and defeating a Titan, the beast would be no match for Ristaron. He felt that the mountainfolk could handle it on his own.

It took many minutes of searching, but he finally was able to See the necromancer lurking in the shadows nearby, oblivious to the common observer. Relius moved quickly and quietly, and was able to catch her by surprise. In an instant, his hand was clasped around her throat. The necromancer tried to cry out, but the ritualist quickly placed a hand over her mouth, releasing the one on her throat.

“As much as I want to, I…do not…want to…hurt you.” The words were painful to say. “All I need is information. Who are you and why are you here?” he slowly released his grip on the woman’s mouth.

“I wouldn’t suggest running away. Although I cannot see, I can still See with my inner eye. You wouldn’t be able to escape if you tried. Now please, I do not wish to harm you. Tell me who you are.”

OOC: Hey, it’s my sister’s high school graduation. Things are hectic, and besides, we were running away with the story altogether . Good to see Brother Doug back. That makes…four. Oh well, smoother story flow with only four guys manipulating factors.

IC:

Greysen managed to calm Serrina down – or at the least stop her from attacking – by the simple virtue of Staring At Her. The she-wolf was entirely unnerved by the humans all around her, which had always meant nothing but a fight, but the presence of the Food Master and the aura of disapproval he was radiating made her think twice about going after the Dire. Or rather, think about it again – she had already had second, and third and fourth, thoughts about the fight. Serrina wasn’t stupid; she knew the Dire would take her apart. And she quite preferred being wholly assembled.

With the wolves under control, Greysen turned to the resistance leader. This was ridiculous – the commotion in the base would absolutely prevent privacy for a few moments, and it irritated the big Pit Fighter immensely. He’d gotten used to being the star freak in the show when he was fighting in the Pits, but that didn’t mean he liked it. And damn them all, he needed to talk to this man!

Then an idea struck him and Greysen almost grinned openly at the timing. Maybe that outburst from the wolves would be worth something after all…

“My wolf needs food. She likes it fresher than you’ve got on hand. I’m going to take her hunting, and you,” Greysen pointed rather viciously at the resistance leader, “are coming with me. We’re going to have a talk about how you’re going to make things right by my sister.” The Pit Fighter stalked off then, motioning for Serrina to follow him and intensely hoping she bothered to listen to him. He couldn’t wait for her to follow him whenever if this ruse was going to work.

Fortunately, the malnourished wolf was indeed hungry, though she followed Greysen more in the hopes of more of the meat strips he’d given her earlier than out of a desire to hunt, and most of all to escape the eyes of human and Dire. Following promptly on Greysen’s heels, she looked for all the world as if she was the trained companion of an experienced, if very oddly dressed, Ranger and not the independent tagalong to a pitifully inexperienced Pit Fighter. As for the resistance leader, Greysen could only hope that the Krytans let him go without a fight.

He didn’t particularly feel like emptying Ranik right now.

The four moved quietly through the woods, drawing only the attention of a handful of forst birds brave enough to come back to familiar territory after the Grawl invasion and stay there during the commotion in the fortress. Greysen noted their presence offhandedly, as he noted everything around him. This included the fact that both resistance leader and Dire were behind him, which he hoped the man would take as the blatant neon sign of trust it was. Greysen rarely let anyone with a blade get to where he couldn’t see them directly around his person.

As the four reached a clearing in the woods, Greysen moved to the tree that had fallen to create the clearing and sat down. Serrina walked up to the Pit Fighter and looked at him. Greysen shook his head and chuckled before pulling out his last handful of cured meat and handing it to the wolf. Going to need to resupply soon. Means work, my gold supply isn’t exactly endless. Having supplied his wolf and his need for privacy, Greysen finally turned to look at the resistance leader and got down to business.

“You led the resistance that broke the Grawl strike here. More, you planned it, and managed to get a fractious group of undertrained soldiers to pull it off. What’s more, then you disappeared for a while afterwards, before emerging to terrorize the Krytans. These are worthy accomplishments, and show you’re a fighter. Your actions thus far show you’re trustworthy. So I will ask you directly what I need to know.” Greysen paused a moment for breath and emphasis, then continued.

“The man, Duruk. He controlled the Grawl tribes, drove them into this strike. Not for a Crown – no one with a brain between their ears takes a crown by force, and you have to have a brain to manipulate the Grawl tribes. I need to know everything I can about him, his goals, and his benefactors. There’s something beneath the surface here, and I intend to unearth it.”

Relius still didn’t trust the mysterious necromancer. Although she had given him a substantial amount of information, something about her told him that wasn’t everything.
‘More interrogation won’t help now,’ the ritualist thought to himself. All he wanted at the time was to leave the Fort. As he walked, his thoughts drifted to his past: more specifically, to Rodgort.

He had heard noises outside of the academy that evening. Rumors of a strange figure stalking the jungles, killing anything it met. There were stories that it had already killed an entire temple of monks, and was quickly approaching the Luxon camp in the petrified forest. To increase Relius’ already high nerves, a tall figure suddenly appeared in his tent. He relaxed as he realized it was his mentor, Shang. Shang’s powers were unmatched by any ritualist in Cantha, and was respected throughout Luxon and Kurzick territory. Relius was said to be his best student, a title he was very proud of.

“Relius, if you have the time, I would like you to join me in my tent. The other masters and myself need to speak to you. Alone.”

Relius was suddenly very intrigued. The only time the masters spoke with a student was when they had Seen something in their future. It could be anything: fame, glory, power, even death. The masters were never allowed to discuss their visions with anyone aside from themselves. The only thing Relius knew was that his would now be considered important. He followed quickly behind master Shang and into his rather large tent. He overheard some of the other masters speaking a he came in.

“-if it ever recalls who it once was, the results could be- ah! Greetings, master Shang. Greetings, Relius. You have arrived just on time. You are to be assigned a spirit.”
“Assigned a spirit?” Relius questioned. “How can it follow me with the chains of servitude attached?”
“This,” one of the other masters, master Kai, replied, “is a special case. Your spirit shall be unbound.”

Instantly, Relius leaped back. An unbound spirit was the most dangerous type; not even the masters were allowed to keep one of their spirits unbound! Surely this spirit would kill him whenever it got the chance. Kai, sensing his fear, spoke up.

“Calm yourself. Under the proper circumstances, this spirit shall never harm anyone which you do not wish to be harmed, including yourself. Yet keep this in mind, Relius: always surround yourself by people with a good heart. Our vision has shown that you shall journey to far away lands with very…different…people. But this is vital: never allow this spirit to be surrounded by someone with dark intent. If so- well, I’m sure that would never happen with you.”

The old master’s words from so long ago now rang clearly in Relius’ head: “Never allow this spirit to be surrounded by someone with dark intent.” His eyes flicked to the necromancer nervously. She had stated good intentions, yet Relius was still wary of this newcomer. She had also mentioned something about Ristaron; something he knew that nobody else did. Relius had grown to trust his once-believed enemy, yet this new information was unnerving. It might have been some trick to try and break the group apart, or Ristaron may not know anything at all. Yes, that must be the reason, he thought to himself.

But if not, then what on earth wasn’t the mountainfolk telling him?

“A day?” Greysen said. He was confused by this statement, it had been over two weeks since the man in front of him had disappeared. Then it sunk into him just where the resistance leader had just said he’d been. That would explain it…most of the religious types say time acts strangely in the Mists. I almost feel sorry for you, stranger.

“Listen, friend. It’s been over two weeks since that final battle. The Krytans have been here long enough to feel that this place is rightfully theirs, and you have been missing since then, as have all the other resistance leaders of the invasion.” Greysen knew what a statement such as this would spark in a man like the resistance leader, and thus continued quickly.

“The situation has changed while you’ve been in the Mists. The Krytans have taken firm hold of Ranik and, predictably, have already begun to make trouble with the locals. The tension in this area is high, dangerously so. Most of Ascalon is shocked and confused, and many of the more disreputable guilds and crime rings have been taking advantage of the situation to step up their activities. The government is still shaking off its paralysis over the Invasion, but it lost a lot of soldiers here. That, combined with yielding Ranik to the Krytans, has left the King in a very weak position right now. He’s lost both military strength and diplomatic leverage, and thus can’t do much to investigate the invasion between rebuilding his forces and trying to regain the face he lost.”

Serrina came up to Greysen’s side and sat next to him, and the Pit Fighter reached over absently and scratched the she-wolf’s ears. Unlike most, Serrina didn’t physically respond to the petting, but she stayed put and didn’t take Greysen’s hand off. She was still watching the Dire, wary of such a huge beast, and knew that she was bonded to the man with Greysen. As intelligent as she was, she knew playing up her own seeming bond with her own human might lessen the chances of an attack.

During this, Greysen had continued speaking, oblivious to the machinations of ‘his’ wolf. “That is where things stand now, friend. Ascalon is weak, and both criminals and Krytans, if there’s any difference, are taking advantage of it. I want to find out why the Invasion began in the first place, what purposes this man Duruk had for manipulating the Grawl chieftains into it. And more importantly, I want to find out if he acted alone, or if he was guided by someone, or something, else. Once I do, perhaps I can see about shoring up the King’s position.”

Having finished, Greysen merely stood, idly petting Serrina, and waited. He didn’t expect an answer right away; he had just told the resistance leader that he’d been absent for over two weeks and that his home kingdom was crumbling. Any man would be floored by this, and so Greysen allowed time for it all to sink in.

Not much time though, hero of the Invasion. The Krytans are still agitated by your abrupt return, and severing their leader’s hand wasn’t exactly the most diplomatic way of going about things. We need to walk carefully here, and swiftly.

Then the strangely garbed man in the blindfold appeared. “Greetings once again, Ristaron. I had a feeling that monstrosity was no match for such a warrior.” Seeming to notice Greysen just then, the man turned. “And just who are you?”

Greysen didn’t care for the man’s tone, but he was apparently a friend of Ristaron’s. I finally know your name, resistance leader. And this one…I think I remember hearing of a summoner from across the sea as part of the resistance leaders’ cell. Not bothering to face the blinded man, Greysen spoke, his tone several degrees cooler than when he had spoken to Ristaron. “My name is Greysen, sir summoner. I’m here to investigate the Invasion’s origins and the man Duruk. Since I seem to recall you were integral to throwing the invasion back, I wish to ask you and Mr. Ristaron some questions, but mind your tone around me. I’ve had more than enough impoliteness directed at me in my life, I don’t need yours.”

Tapping his fingers together in a pensive rhythm, the mountainfolk didn't bother lifting his midnight eyes to survey the conversation between the Ritualist and immense warrior.
A week... that explained many things. But as the puzzle pieces fell into place, the mountainfolk found himself even more lost in this world he had thought he understood.

Ristaron arose, and realized for the first time Relius' stature. The slightly aged Ritualist was a head taller than the mountainfolk, and up to the shoulders of the massive warrior beside them. Deep in his mind, something clicked about the huge man that made him think of the brutal games played by the undercity rings of the nation. The Pits. Further train of thought about connecting Greysen to the Pits was halted by the more pressing matter.

One name Greysen had mentioned rang familliar to the mountainfolk. Duruk.
But the Duruk Ristaron knew of was far from Tyria, and a member of a reputable organization in Cantha. Why would he be here in Ascalon?

"This Duruk you mentioned", the mountainfolk began, looking directly at the towering warrior, "describe him".

The mountainfolk's theorizing was interrupted by a loud voice that boomed over the area they were in. Turning to follow Greysen's gaze, Ristaron glimpsed a tall hilltop behind him, the silhouettes of a large group of people outlined against the low sun. He watched and listened as the dictation was read out, convicting the Necromancer from the shop. He knew trouble was turning to danger when she drove her dagger through the unsuspecting leader's heart.

Don't come this way, please, Ristaron pleaded in his mind. He desperately did not want any more to happen today other than to settle enough with the Krytans to find a room at an inn and sleep for a week. The mysteries could wait, despite Greysen's obvious urge to push on.

Watching the situation unfold, Ristaron's midnight eyes caught one of the members of the large group indicate at him. The ranger's heart sank as the group started down the hillside, and their banner came into view.



After weeks of travelling the mountains, the sight of the more flat lands was a beacon to the weary ranger and his large lupine companion. They had been lucky that Ristaron's name was even known to the Deldrimor Dwarves, or else they would not have been allowed passage through the Borlis Pass, and would have been forced to remain in Kryta, or take a longer path far North into the more dangerous area of the Northern Shiverpeaks.
Nothing like what I grew up in, Ristaron thought, recalling the savage Southern Shiverpeaks where he had been raised. Nonetheless, a single ranger and a single wolf could not contend with the entire parties of centaurs and minotaurs who roamed the frozen tundra of the unregulated Northern passage.
But now the pair overlooked the highland kingdom of Ascalon, the famous Great Northern Wall already visible, and knew the longest stretch of their journey was over.

**

Ristaron and Morgan found a comfortable, uninhabited cave that night as they descended into the foothills. They had travelled lightly and not aroused any suspicion, or so they thought.
Just hours before dawn, Ristaron awoke to a growl from Morgan, who had been lying down near the mouth of the cave. No stranger to midnight raids, Ristaron's lightning reflexes had him up with rapiers in hand in no time.
But instead of finding a group of bandits ready to fight, he instead found a quartet of men in heavy longcoats, each marked with a single symbol on the breast pocket.


On the first night of his stay in the large kingdom, Ristaron met the secret police, who promised they would have their eye on him as long as he remained.
With their intentions clear, the ranger knew the blades at his hips had not seen their last use this day.

“Lovely,” Greysen muttered viciously upon hearing the mens’ proclamation. His talk with Ristaron, which had been going relatively well, would obviously have to wait. Tensing his fists, Greysen began to walk quickly up the hill, not flinching in the slightest as the necromancer killed the lead man. She had gotten him by surprise, but those men were obviously trained warriors, easily a match for a young, frail spellcaster. As the remainder of the secret police snarled and moved in, Greysen broke into a sprint. You may be a match for her, but I’ll bet you’ve never, ever seen the likes of me…

Three of the men turned to Greysen when they heard his charging footsteps, drawing their shortswords. They each wore a very serious look on their face; Greysen was huge, and muscled like a bear, and obviously pissed off. Then serious turned to alarm as the Pit Fighter’s fists burst into flame, his stolen fighting gloves working up to the fight in their own way. The first man Greysen approached didn’t panic as had the last batch of imbeciles Greysen fought, but the Pit Fighter’s aura of lethality, flaming fists, and sheer size shook him badly. His sword thrust was off-target and slightly shaky, easily smashed aside by one fist as its partner rammed into the man’s face with the force of a rockslide. Combined with the speed of Greysen’s sprint, the blow snapped the man’s head far enough back to snap his neck, instantly dropping the Warrior. The other two men already facing Greysen shouted in fear, drawing the attention of most of the remaining squad. Soon, Greysen found himself furiously batting aside blades, unable to launch an attack of his own, as no less than five expert swordsmen ringed him.

Accumulating cuts, minor and otherwise, at an alarming rate, the Pit Fighter growled deep in his chest, a haze of red obscuring his vision, as flashes of similar battles in the Pits ran through his mind. Times when he had been outnumbered, times when he had been forced to fight injured, times when he had fought armed and armored Warriors without even benefit of a loincloth…

Not this time…not this time…NOT THIS TIME!

“RRRRAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!”

Greysen flashed instantly into a killing rage, his body flooding with reserves he could only rarely tap, the nightmares of his past fueling his muscles. Stepping in close to one swordsman, Greysen crossed his arms in front of himself just before the man stabbed again. Greysen caught the blade between the backs of his fighting gloves, slamming both backhand strikes into the blade with enough force to snap it in two, before his left hand speared into the man’s throat, tearing flesh and searing muscle as Greysen grabbed the man’s spinal cord, from inside his throat, and snapped it like a twig.

Then the Pit Fighter hissed as a sudden blazing pain erupted in his side, a sword thrust gone deeper than he liked. The killing rage in his mind subsided enough for him to spin and knock away a follow-up thrust, but he was losing ground here and he knew it.

It was then that the man that had stabbed Greysen, ugly triumph on his face, squealed in pain and shock as his left leg collapsed beneath him, the tendons in his knee severed. As he hit the ground, fangs flashed and his throat sprayed life’s blood into the air. Serrina had returned and gone to the aid of her friend. The she-wolf was dwarfed next to the Pit Fighter, but she was even faster than he, ducking blades with an almost unnatural grace as she swept in, lightning fast, swiping with her fangs or her claws, causing wounds and pain, distracting the swordsmen. The distraction proved disastrous for one as Greysen’s fist struck his chest like a runaway wagon going downhill, cracking his sternum and leaving an agonizing burn over the wound. This swordsman might have survived, but he was screaming on the ground right then, and died a few moments later as Serrina took his throat.

The pair fought like things possessed, but there were many swordsmen, and all were well-trained. Greysen was wounded, and the nightmares of his past, while driving him to ever-greater heights of physical strength and speed, burned through his energy and endurance with alarming speed. He was tiring, and Serrina didn’t have his reach, couldn’t find an opening through the wall of blades. This was not good…

Any time now, Ristaron…

Here we go again…

As he saw the necromancer stab a dagger into the police leader’s heart, Relius gave a cry of frustration. ‘Necromancers…’ he thought. As the massive pit fighter rushed towards the oncoming soldiers, Relius raised his scepter high, bringing it down onto the skull of the nearest soldier with a crash. Amazingly enough, the orb attached to the scepter stayed perfectly in tact. Before he could be distracted again, Relius began to summon a spirit of darkness. He spoke quickly in the summoner’s tongue.

“Li convoco esrito du neressa! Distrucca el nemiko!”

A dark purple orb descended from the heavens and fell to the grassy hill below. As soon as it touched the surface, the orb began to shift and mold itself until it had a stunning resemblance to a burgundy stallion with pure amber eyes. Black smoke poured from its nostrils, and it began to neigh: a high-pitched shriek that rang out across the hill and off into the distance. Quickly, Relius grabbed his scepter and mounted the beast, an onyx saddle and reins forming as the ritualist touched it.

The beast instantly leapt into a gallop, having Relius hold tightly to the newly acquired reins with one hand while blasting the mystic energy of the scepter at the soldiers with the other. While it galloped, dark tentacles erupted from the stallion, gripping the first soldier they came in contact with and crushing the life out of them. Although the tentacles moved slowly, they were accurate. Relius knew the spirit was excessively violent, but the soldiers were coming in faster. Death needed to come swiftly to the enemy before the group was outnumbered. Because of the nature of the spell, the spirit knew which creatures were friends and which were foes. The tentacles danced and swerved around Ristaron, the pit fighter, the two wolves, and the necromancer with relative ease, and the spirit wasn’t running out of steam.

Relius, on the other hand, wasn’t having the best of luck holding onto the reins. A slight jolt loosened his grip, and the ritualist went flying off the horse, his scepter careening the opposite direction. ‘That’s not good,’ he thought to himself. The shadow horse slowly began to dissolve until it was nothing more than air. As Relius looked off at the beast, he realized the immense pain in his leg. A stray arrow had been shot into it as he fell. Plucking it out and ignoring the pain for now, Relius ran as fast as he could with his injury to reclaim his weapon. Just as he was about to get it, a soldier, sneering down at him, picked it up. He flipped it around experimentally before aiming it at the ritualist’s heart. However, the shot seemed to backfire. Instead of the energy coming out of the orb itself, it seemed to take a reverse direction, setting the man’s armor aflame.
The fire reminded Relius that he wasn’t entirely powerless without his staff. Holding what he now called his Titan Necklace high into the air, he unleashed a blazing inferno onto the already burning warrior. It quickly died down after a second, and ceased to function. Picking up his stolen weaponry quickly before anyone else tried to snatch it, Relius hoped inside that the battle would soon be over. He had done enough fighting for a while.

"O Shit." Kratos stared as Greysen encountered the five swordsmen. These were the Krytan Secret Police, not even Ristaron could take on five at one time. Even though he had sworn that he wasn't going to interfere with thise battle, he couldn't just let Greysen die. He raged in himself for a few seconds, then broke his resolve. He began to chant, and felt the momentary pain that he always felt before casting this particular hex.

"May the enemy's attacking be undone by their own doing. Let the spirits attack them as they attack my companions. SPITEFUL SPIRIT!"

He watched as they slowly weakened their attack on Greysen, and clapped when the first one fell. It would only be a few seconds before the next one dropped. He was taking an active role in helping the group now. He was going to be able to help Ristaron. Dekster was going to be pissed.

"Now this is what it is all about," grinned Sasha as she knocked back the man she just stabbed. Looking around her companions had cleared up most of the police but a few still remained. Sasha glanced at one of the bodies and grinned, her next performance of the evening would be sure to send the remaining police running for the hills. A quick flick of her wrist and the bodies on the ground exploded, the ear splitting sound of crunching bones and bubbling flesh and they spewed into the air searing the guards, but this was not then end of her trick, the bones then reformed into vile creatures so hideous that even the grass they walked on died, starved of all things natural. The creature ran after then police as they ran into the distance however once out of range disspeared into nothing more than dust.

Now that was over Sasha looked at her companionsobviously questioning why the events had happened, the ritualist obviously horrifed at what Sasha had just created. Sasha proceeded to fill them in about who those men were and corrected Kratos on the fact that the police were in fact the secret police of Ascalon sent by the King of Ascalon. Sasha had figured out that the King was involved in a dark plot and that he had secured the fort for the Krytans so they could run a private investigation for him into its darker secrets without the interference of the King people. It explained why the King had been seen visiting the Fort so often without putting right the atrocities commited by the Krytans and why they had wanted these heroes out so quickly.

"Unfortunately this means we are now outcasts in Ascalon and the King will hunt us mericlessly. We can trust no one, we all attacked the police and the guards that escaped will tell the others. In towns we need to keep a low profile but more importantly we need to find out why Duruk and the King are so facinated with this cult but also there is something even bigger, things even I don't understand. I have told you all I know now and will precede to follow you, what do you propose we do?"

OOC: A little late, but I definately need to post my character's bit in this fight... just consider it happening as Richmuel's post is occuring.

IC:

The ranger had thought Greysen was insane as he watched the Pit Fighter storm towards the secret police. Though the man was clearly a lifetime fighter, he was just one man.
His doubts became disbelief as the Pit Fighter's fists erupted into flame and he began to dish out a terrifying fight. For a moment, the ranger was transfixed on watching the large man's grace. His movements were so sure, and his hits all solid. But as he was surrounded, Ristaron forced himself from the trance and erupted into action.

The Pit Fighter's wolf blew by him, a streak of gray, and began defending her companion with a ferocious zeal. Ristaron was ten paces away when an arrow shot right in front of him, just grazing his ebony-skinned nose. Forgetting his luck, the ranger turned to find the shooter.
The man was behind another quartet of fighters heading straight for him.

Ristaron watched them as they approached almost in slow motion. The mountainfolk didn't have time to revel in the moment of clarity of thought as he identified their pattern of approach, what weapons they weld, and the physical strength they appeared to have. Turning to be square with the advancing police, Ristaron's midnight eyes registered Morgan's telltale gray flash behind the guards as she took out the archer.

One leather boot stepped forward, then the next. By now the ranger's gloved hands had grasped their appropriate rapier, and by the third step the blades were free. Two blades against four. Ristaron liked those odds.

Always one to push his boundaries, Ristaron had grown during his time in the mists. Be it his encounter with his goddess, or the defeat of Rodgort the Titan, the ranger was more confident in his combat skills, more sure of his actions, and more able to identify the weaknesses of his enemies. Such a weakness was easily exploited by the mountainfolk's lightning reflexes as he danced between the first two warriors, landing a hit on both of them. Staring blankly at their minor cuts and wondering how the ranger's impossibly fast swordsmanship had created them, they were dumbfounded a moment too long.

Ristaron was viscious, attacking each with one rapier that danced quicker than anything any master had ever taught them. Onlookers were amazed as the most improbable thing occured: the fighters had to backpeddal away from their single opponent.

Parting as they stepped back, the two came to flank the dour-handed ranger, allowing the other guards to join in. Thinking their tactic would slow his quick attacks and parries, the fighters were not prepared for the man's brutally precise outburst as they dropped their guard to force him on the defensive. It was like witnessing a hundred blades all swing at once as his rapiers swung in all concievable directions that endangered his enemies. Two guards fell back clutching their throats, which dripped with blood, and a third yelped and jumped away, nursing the top of his sword hand.

Turning all the dangerous focus on the unharmed guard, Ristaron quickly had the man so riddled with cuts that he grew too dizzy from the loss of blood to continue fighting. As he fell back, however, he came to experience the merciless vengeance he had readily dished out in the past. He was dead before he hit the ground.

Turning to see if Greysen was still alright, the almost indistinguishable sound of iron being dragged across grass was a sonorous alarm in Ristaron's ebony ears. The ranger leapt around, easily meeting the stubborn guard's attack. The man nursed his right hand against his chest, the tendons to his fingers sliced, forcing him to use his left hand to wield his blade. Nowhere near as ambidexterous as the mountainfolk, his attacks were clumsy and easily defeated.
The second such attack was parried high, and Ristaron's second rapier came up and pierced the man's underarm, coming up through his bicep. Howling in pain, the guard fell back in shock.

Turning again to check Greysen and his wolf's progress against the five guards he was facing, he found Morgan was racing for the pair to help them finish off the quintuplet. But the help wasn't necessary, for even as the man attacked the bleeding Pit Fighter he seemed to grow even weaker until eventually he crumpled and was mercilessly finished off.

Noticing for the first time that he had suffered a gash along his right forearm, the ranger instinctively went for his bottle of unguent. As he brought it up, he remembered how he had used it all healing himself after the many battles over the last few days. But as he looked down at the vial, he was forced to adopt a curious look to find it once again full.
The revelation was enough to make him chuckle (though it may have been his excited nerves from combat); Who else but Melandru herself could instantly create enough ranger unguent to fill a vial?

Popping the cork, he looked again at the large Pit Fighter. The man had suffered many cuts and bruises from his battle, and he looked to need the salve more than Ristaron did.



OOC: LazerLight, please feel free to write out my character applying some of the Troll Unguent, if you decide to have Greysen accept the treatment.

(OOC: Happy 4th everyone! I'm just doing my job as a forumer and getting this up and running again.)

“This still makes absolutely no sense,” Relius said. “Why would the king be so fixated on this cult that he would risk the lives of his own people? Aren’t a king’s people supposed to be his main priority?” He sat on the lush forest ground, drumming his head with his fingers. He needed to think.

‘What an odd place Ascalon is. I wonder if all of Tyria is the same,’ he thought to himself. Then again, he realized a continent inflamed in civil war for the only reason of disliking the other group would probably sound just as foolish. Getting his mind back on the current task, he knew that it would be hard keeping a low profile. After all, how hard would it be to find an ebony-skinned ranger, a giant of a man, a blindfolded ritualist, and two wolves? Even if the group split up, they would be found eventually with such unique appearances. And if they were alone, they were weaker. As much as he hated to admit it, the necromancer would have to remain with the rest of them. She seemed to know the most about the king anyway, and they would very likely need her information. In the meantime, Relius concluded that wandering around towns wouldn’t be an option. Unless…

‘No! I would never do that! It is a shame to my very profession!’ the ritualist argued with himself. ‘It is the only way…I must. It’s not a permanent change anyway…’ Letting out a long sigh, Relius Espirin stood up.

“Although I have no suggestions on where to go next, I do advise making our appearances a little…less noticeable. The way our group looks right now, anyone could spot us out. Because of this, I suggest some type of disguise or other way to alter our looks. As for myself…” Relius began to do something he hadn’t done in the past thirty years.

He removed his blindfolds.

Slowly, the maroon strips of cloth fell away to reveal Relius’ eyes; chalk white with piercing blue irises that seemed to look into souls. Which was ironic, as Relius’ blindfolds assisted his spiritual Sight. Without it, his connection to the spiritual realm was weakened. Until the blindfolds were reattached, he could only summon the very weakest of spirits, only capable of fending off children and animals. Of course, the ritualist still had his scepter, but the lack of a blindfold around his eyes frightened him. He felt much older and weaker, and longed for the power he once had within the comforting cloth. His eyes were not accustomed to the sun. The sudden burst of light surprised Relius so much that he staggered about for a while, shielding his face with his hands. Before anyone could assist him, he shot out his hand, revealing his face to the sunlight once again.

“I am fine. Weakened for now, but fine. As soon as I reattach my blindfold, I shall regain my full power. For now, I will travel with it off as not to arouse suspicion.” He quickly stuffed the blindfold into the pocket of his pants. It would not leave that location.

If it did, Relius vowed to kill whoever had stolen it.