Gidim’s tense anxiety turned to exuberance as his followers plowed through anything that dared stand before them. The lich stood atop a hill just ahead, defiant. Two knights in ebony full plate stood at his side, their glowing red eyes staring down disdainfully at this brash new challenger, long swords and shields at the ready.
’Death knights. Fearsome buggers. You have to give it to him—this guy travels in style. You’re immune to their death magic for now, but those swords are another story. That stoneskin can only take so much, you know.’-
Wonderful.. Well, only a little more, he thought.
Suddenly, the lich’s ruby eyes stared into his. As Gidim looked into the lifeless recesses for a dreadful, awful, moment that seemed like a lifetime, he got the odd feeling…that his deathly foe was laughing. Mocking him. As a hungry cat eyes a delightfully feisty mouse, right before it finishes it off.
Dread. Cold. Insidious. Dread. It filled him until it overflowed, its streams coalescing into a river of icy despair that blanketed his heart. His footfalls slowed to a standstill, only eight meters from his target.
The lich made a single movement. It was all that was required. He raised his staff into the air. The darkness around it pulsated briefly. The silence of death surrounding him, Gidim turned slowly. He looked into the lifeless eyes of the undead around him. His undead. They looked at him hungrily. A hate for the living burned brightly deep within the dark depths of their eye sockets. Eternal. Unquenchable. Before his eyes, broken undead felled only moments before rose once again, given new unlife to serve their master once more.
Gidim looked into the impossibly leering half-face of a skeleton, the other side smashed in by some terrible blow…and felt true despair.
* * * * *
“May the unholy Gods have mercy on our pitiful souls…” the Captain muttered.
Aerie remained silent. Even she hadn’t expected the staff to be capable of raising defeated undead. Yet…it somehow made sense. Poor Gidim. Whoever he was, whatever he was, no one deserved a fate like that. If only she could have warned him…
-Bah, a fool like that deserves his fate.-
-You could have helped him.-
-Yes, and I could also magick furry little bunnies for the joy and amusement of others. I have my hands full just protecting you, you ungrateful fleshling.-
Disturbingly, Void…was right. Gidim’s choice was his own. Sure, it would have been nice if she could have warned him. But it wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t even Void’s fault. They had to fend for themselves. Gidim did what he thought was right. And so did she. This feeling…she suddenly felt lighter, as if an invisible burden had been lifted off her shoulders. It…felt good.
What was done, was done. They had worries of their own now. The reviving undead certainly didn’t bode well for them. But that was the least of their worries. Far more dangerous were the fallen guards that had now risen as zombies. Not that they were a physical danger. No, their numbers added little to the horde. But the effect on the men was catastrophic. The sergeants were helpless before the onslaught.
“We-we’re doomed. We’re all doomed!”
“Cyric the Mad himself descends on us! We are finished!”
“I don’t want to die!”
“GET AHOLD OF YOURSELVES! ALL OF YOU!” Captain Ulbricht’s yell silenced them. “Are you men or cowards?” He drew his sword. “There is no turning back now. We fight for Pedsgin. We fight to protect those we love and cherish. And if any man here has a problem with that, step forward. I’ll gut him myself. And then I’ll take his body and put the torch to it. Do you understand?”
The men bowed their heads as one, ashamed. The Captain turned to Aerie. “Is there anything we can do?” He kept his voice low.
“All isn’t lost, Captain. Not yet.” She turned to him, and her eyes held a steely resolve. If he wasn’t mistaken…it was almost cheerful.
“A strong warrior, a mage that can counterspell an ancient lich…these are what we need. If you trust your strength, Captain, you can be the warrior. But I know there’s someone in this town who wouldn’t disappoint. His name’s Xandax. He should be around somewhere, a man in full plate fighting alone against the undead…and succeeding. As for the mage…I leave that to you.”
“Sir, what about those mages from this morning?” Sergeant Hummel suggested.
“Yes, yes, those two. With luck, they’re still around somewhere. Sergeant Kurdis!”
“Yes sir.” He stood at attention, though his leggings were stained with blood.
“Take your men and comb the city for this warrior and the two mages. Avoid any unnecessary fighting—finding them quickly is key. The mages may have left town, but they belonged to the Arcane Order—the Chancellor and a Regent, I believe. Find any mage, and the mage may be able to get in contact with them. Now go!”
“Yes sir.” The patrol jogged off to carry out their duty.
-Maybe you should help them. I’m sure you could find everyone faster than they ever could.-
-Maybe so. But I stay.-
-Why?-
Silence. Void…speechless? There was a first time for everything, it seemed.
The Captain glanced at Aerie. “So what exactly is this plan of yours, if may ask?”
She looked at him, the glint of laughter in her eyes. He marveled that she could be cheerful when death itself was on their doorstep. “It’s simple really. We charge the lich. My enchantments will strengthen your blades and hearts, allowing us to break through the horde and reach the lich. The mage will counterspell the lich and prevent him from raining down destruction on us as we approach. And the warrior…will take him down. I might be able to arrange a temporary distraction for the lich, should the counterspelling fail once…maybe twice.”
-So my role is the main distraction. How quaint. Do you even realize the danger that’d put me in?-
-I thought liches were like rare candies to you?-
-Indeed. However, DEATH KNIGHTS are another story entirely.-
-Well I suppose that’s true…-
Oblivious to their conversation, the Captain spoke once more. “I’m curious, though, Lady Aerie. You keep saying we need a mage that can counterspell a lich. I’m not altogether familiar with counterspelling, but I’ve heard that any mage worth his salt could do it…his ability being chiefly limited by his repertoire of spells. Why is it that you can’t fill this role?”
“Well, I need to be casting protective magic. Otherwise…we’ll never make it through the undead horde. I also need to aid the warrior that strikes down the lich.”
“But you could cast it first and then counterspell the lich, couldn’t you?” the Captain retorted.
“Well…not really.”
“Why not?”
“Well…because I’m rather…not good at recognizing arcane spells. They can be rather complex, you know.”
“So…basically you’re saying that you’re not a mage after all?”
Aerie eyed him testily. “That’s rather rude of you to say, Captain. I can cast the spells, and that makes me a mage. Casting, however, doesn’t equal recognition. Here…let me put it like this. You can speak, can you not Captain? However, can you read the lips of someone talking across the room, without actually hearing them?”
“I suppose not.” The Captain looked thoughtful.
“It’s much the same with me and arcane magic.”
Lost Souls Story Thread
Lost Souls: A bereft lover. A masterless familiar. Friends gone their separate ways. Time marches on, and destiny heralds the meeting of comrades old and new. Can they find what they're seeking? Or will the search bring them only more pain?
Xandax tried to assess the situation. The battle was going bad he thought as he saw guardsmen and townsfolk fall to the hordes, and then some rose again as zombies, infested by the stink of foul magic.
He had received several cuts and wounds and his armour was dented, but he had cut down many of the undeads as payment. One cut over his right eye was bothering him slightly, he wiped away the blood and looked around.
One zombie approached him from his right side and swung a club like weapon towards his back. In one swift fluent movement Xandax moved Ferox to his back, blocking the blow and spun around with so much force that he cut off the zombies head with his shield.
Xandax noticed a group of peasants being followed by a large zombie wielding a large scythe. The zombie cut down one of the peasants, which then began to move slightly, now also as a zombie. Xandax started to run towards the two zombies; the heavy armour was hindering him slightly, but years of training had made him accustomed to the burden, although for a moment he whished for some lighter armour.
Xandax hurled Ferox towards the zombie and the blade altered its trajectory slightly and the sword embedded itself in the head of the zombie that then collapsed. Xandax ran over and pulled out the sword with ease, it almost jumped into his hands, and in the same movement span around and cleaving the rising zombie. The remaining peasants stood as petrified.
”Run you fools, get away from here, lest you take up arms and fight for your homes.” Xandax said, and then started walked away from them towards yet another undead.
Was there no end to this horde?
Xandax moved closer to another zombie which where locked in combat with a city guard, and was about to slay the guard. Xandax made a small leap and thrusted Ferox down the shoulder bone of the zombie and following through he cut the zombies torso in half, and it fell to the ground.
Ferox was warm in his hands and gave off its eerie green glow, as he looked around.
He had received several cuts and wounds and his armour was dented, but he had cut down many of the undeads as payment. One cut over his right eye was bothering him slightly, he wiped away the blood and looked around.
One zombie approached him from his right side and swung a club like weapon towards his back. In one swift fluent movement Xandax moved Ferox to his back, blocking the blow and spun around with so much force that he cut off the zombies head with his shield.
Xandax noticed a group of peasants being followed by a large zombie wielding a large scythe. The zombie cut down one of the peasants, which then began to move slightly, now also as a zombie. Xandax started to run towards the two zombies; the heavy armour was hindering him slightly, but years of training had made him accustomed to the burden, although for a moment he whished for some lighter armour.
Xandax hurled Ferox towards the zombie and the blade altered its trajectory slightly and the sword embedded itself in the head of the zombie that then collapsed. Xandax ran over and pulled out the sword with ease, it almost jumped into his hands, and in the same movement span around and cleaving the rising zombie. The remaining peasants stood as petrified.
”Run you fools, get away from here, lest you take up arms and fight for your homes.” Xandax said, and then started walked away from them towards yet another undead.
Was there no end to this horde?
Xandax moved closer to another zombie which where locked in combat with a city guard, and was about to slay the guard. Xandax made a small leap and thrusted Ferox down the shoulder bone of the zombie and following through he cut the zombies torso in half, and it fell to the ground.
Ferox was warm in his hands and gave off its eerie green glow, as he looked around.
Insert signature here.
Whatever vigor he had felt before, had completely drained from his body. Looking into the holes where eyes should be of the bony face before him was like looking into the abyss right before it consumed you. A cold shutter that he had never experienced before traveled down his spine and what life he could remember passed before his eyes.
Gidim had little time to ponder his next move as a bony hand collided with his torso sending him reeling back into the open arms of a zombie. The rotting flesh quickly engulfed him, squeezing his body. The sickening sound of ribs cracking echoed through his head as the zombie’s iron grip caused Gidim to gasp for air.
“It seems I have underestimated the power of this lich.”
The words rang hollow in his head. The pain driving his mind into a frenzy.
“UNDERESTIMATED!!! I’M GOING TO DIE!!!”
“Do you think I would let you die that easily? I’m not finished with you yet. I don’t believe your body is ready to handle what I’m about to do, but with some luck you may survive.”
As the stone skin protecting him began to falter, Gidim felt a dark energy build inside him. It coursed through his veins, feeling like a fire burning from within. The energy ebbed and flowed as it built up in his body.
His veins bulged, eyes rolled back into his head, and body became limp as it released itself from his body surrounding everything within two meters. Just as quickly as it had expanded, it retracted, pulling in bone and rotting flesh like an undead vacuum. Skeletons and zombies were torn apart and the pieces attached to his body in an increasing shell.
The pain was maddening. He could feel the dark energy begin to build up again readying itself for a grand finale. Blood poured from the areas of his skin where the forces within had overwhelmed his body, the crimson red liquid mingling with bone and rotting flesh.
Just as he thought he couldn’t take any more, the energy was released. The explosion obliterated the walking corpses in the immediate vicinity, scraps of broken bone and flesh knocking down undead in all directions. It was released with such force that a small crater was formed in the ground below him and the layer of bone closest to his body fused together into a mangled protective shield
He collapsed into the crater, hitting the bottom with a dull thud.
The lich and its two guards, unfazed by the explosion, glared as pieces of its former minions harmlessly bounced off them.
Quickly the pain faded, his mind clearing of all thought. The energy, which had pervaded his body, had almost completely disappeared. The sounds of battle around him drifted away as his body gave out and he lost consciousness.
Gidim had little time to ponder his next move as a bony hand collided with his torso sending him reeling back into the open arms of a zombie. The rotting flesh quickly engulfed him, squeezing his body. The sickening sound of ribs cracking echoed through his head as the zombie’s iron grip caused Gidim to gasp for air.
“It seems I have underestimated the power of this lich.”
The words rang hollow in his head. The pain driving his mind into a frenzy.
“UNDERESTIMATED!!! I’M GOING TO DIE!!!”
“Do you think I would let you die that easily? I’m not finished with you yet. I don’t believe your body is ready to handle what I’m about to do, but with some luck you may survive.”
As the stone skin protecting him began to falter, Gidim felt a dark energy build inside him. It coursed through his veins, feeling like a fire burning from within. The energy ebbed and flowed as it built up in his body.
His veins bulged, eyes rolled back into his head, and body became limp as it released itself from his body surrounding everything within two meters. Just as quickly as it had expanded, it retracted, pulling in bone and rotting flesh like an undead vacuum. Skeletons and zombies were torn apart and the pieces attached to his body in an increasing shell.
The pain was maddening. He could feel the dark energy begin to build up again readying itself for a grand finale. Blood poured from the areas of his skin where the forces within had overwhelmed his body, the crimson red liquid mingling with bone and rotting flesh.
Just as he thought he couldn’t take any more, the energy was released. The explosion obliterated the walking corpses in the immediate vicinity, scraps of broken bone and flesh knocking down undead in all directions. It was released with such force that a small crater was formed in the ground below him and the layer of bone closest to his body fused together into a mangled protective shield
He collapsed into the crater, hitting the bottom with a dull thud.
The lich and its two guards, unfazed by the explosion, glared as pieces of its former minions harmlessly bounced off them.
Quickly the pain faded, his mind clearing of all thought. The energy, which had pervaded his body, had almost completely disappeared. The sounds of battle around him drifted away as his body gave out and he lost consciousness.
Lost Souls - The Search for Magus
“Are you Xandax?”. The guard stuttered, clearly shocked and outmatched by the situation.
Xandax nodded slightly while looking away from the guard.
”I wa…was sendt to find you with a patrol, but they all …. died” .
Xandax wiped blood from his forehead, staining his normally white hair.
”By whom” he replied cold.
”The Captain of the Guard demands your presence.” The guard pointed straight across the field.
”He is with a woman named Aeire, she has a …. “ The guard didn’t finish his sentence with words but with a rattle. Xandax quickly turned towards him. The guard had been speared through the neck by a large skeleton, smiling so grim that Xandax was sure he could se pleasure of the kill in the black void of the eye sockets. Xandax swung around himself and cleaved the ribcage of the skeleton in two with a fierce cut from Ferox. The skeleton fell down with a shriek.
”Damn it” he thought, annoyed that he had been inattentive. The guard laid on the ground, still giving out a gurgling sound. Xandax put down Ferox, and took a dagger from his boots; he always kept a spare weapon, and trusted it into the heart of the guard. He would not use Ferox for such a dirty task.
”Better to die quietly, instead of turning into a zombie. A fate worse then death.” Xandax thought, while looking at the guard silently. He pulled the dagger out and wiped it on the ground, then placed it back in its sheath and picked up Ferox again. The guard almost looked peacefull now, as if in death he knew that he had been saved from walking as an undead, fighting against his townfolks and friends.
He stood up and looked in the direction the guard pointed. ”Aerie. Well let’s find her.” he mumbled to himself, while considering the best route he could go.
Then suddenly a great blast occurred somewhat in the direction, and several undead fell to pieces and fragments even came flying towards Xandax. The blast had left an opening, and Xandax started moving at a fast pace; occasionally cutting down a foe or two, or sometimes even a half. Zombies were tenacious and would often continue to fight even though they had limbs removed.
There was a little breathing space now. The blast – regardless of what it was – had left many undead slain, but still a great deal remained.
On the edge of the battlefield Xandax could see the roped figure and two large ones standing next to it. ”Focus at the task at hand” he thought to himself. He had to find Aerie and this Captain of the Guard.
Xandax moved through the field towards the place the guard had pointed out to him.
Xandax nodded slightly while looking away from the guard.
”I wa…was sendt to find you with a patrol, but they all …. died” .
Xandax wiped blood from his forehead, staining his normally white hair.
”By whom” he replied cold.
”The Captain of the Guard demands your presence.” The guard pointed straight across the field.
”He is with a woman named Aeire, she has a …. “ The guard didn’t finish his sentence with words but with a rattle. Xandax quickly turned towards him. The guard had been speared through the neck by a large skeleton, smiling so grim that Xandax was sure he could se pleasure of the kill in the black void of the eye sockets. Xandax swung around himself and cleaved the ribcage of the skeleton in two with a fierce cut from Ferox. The skeleton fell down with a shriek.
”Damn it” he thought, annoyed that he had been inattentive. The guard laid on the ground, still giving out a gurgling sound. Xandax put down Ferox, and took a dagger from his boots; he always kept a spare weapon, and trusted it into the heart of the guard. He would not use Ferox for such a dirty task.
”Better to die quietly, instead of turning into a zombie. A fate worse then death.” Xandax thought, while looking at the guard silently. He pulled the dagger out and wiped it on the ground, then placed it back in its sheath and picked up Ferox again. The guard almost looked peacefull now, as if in death he knew that he had been saved from walking as an undead, fighting against his townfolks and friends.
He stood up and looked in the direction the guard pointed. ”Aerie. Well let’s find her.” he mumbled to himself, while considering the best route he could go.
Then suddenly a great blast occurred somewhat in the direction, and several undead fell to pieces and fragments even came flying towards Xandax. The blast had left an opening, and Xandax started moving at a fast pace; occasionally cutting down a foe or two, or sometimes even a half. Zombies were tenacious and would often continue to fight even though they had limbs removed.
There was a little breathing space now. The blast – regardless of what it was – had left many undead slain, but still a great deal remained.
On the edge of the battlefield Xandax could see the roped figure and two large ones standing next to it. ”Focus at the task at hand” he thought to himself. He had to find Aerie and this Captain of the Guard.
Xandax moved through the field towards the place the guard had pointed out to him.
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Rob-hin
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“Take your men and comb the city for this warrior and the two mages. Avoid any unnecessary fighting—finding them quickly is key. The mages may have left town, but they belonged to the Arcane Order—the Chancellor and a Regent, I believe. Find any mage, and the mage may be able to get in contact with them. Now go!”
With these orders in mind, the patrol guard ran through town. Others would look for this Xandax and he would find Ghandon, the town mage. The coward would probably be locked inside his home, protecting himself alone. Ghandon wasn’t a offensive spellcaster anyway, farmers hired his advice about the weather and stuff like that. It was time for him to make himself useful.
He kept on running towards Ghandon’s home, his captain had given him a direct order and he would do as he was told. Even as he was unsure what the use was, surely a Xvart can’t help now? Still, he would follow his captain’s orders.
His armour became heavier with every step and undead kept attacking him wherever he went. If it wasn’t for the future of his town and his assignment, he would probably already have fallen in battle.
In the distance he could see Ghandon’s house, strangely enough, none of the undead seemed to care about it. They left it alone, must be Ghandon’s magic.
As the guard reached the small cottage, he didn’t even slow down. He ran towards the front door and slammed into it with his shoulder. The door cracked and splintered under his weight.
“No! Don’t hurt me! Please, get back, get back!” In the corner stood Ghandon. Around him, he placed magic to protect him from the undead. Then he saw who broke into his house “You! What do you think you are doing, breaking down my door like that!?”
The guard stopped and took a deep breath, his search had tired him down. “I have an order for you, from the captain himself.”
“But he’s not my sup…” Ghandon started.
“You will do as you are told!” The guard interrupted. He calmed down and continued. “The fate of Pedsgin depends on it. Your fate depends on it”
Ghandon bowed his head and nodded in shame. “What do you want from me?”
“I need you to find someone and bring him here, ever heard of the Arcane Order?”
****
-Send my gloves to me as soon as they are done, I’m going back.-
He could feel Japheth’s amazement.
–You are in no condition to go back!-
Yolta ignored the comment.
-Oh, and if you can find one, send me a ring of suggestion too.-
He got dressed in his ordinary outfit and picked up his staff which was returned to his quarters after repairs were done. A few seconds later, he stepped onto his teleportation circle.
****
Ghandon kept chanting, his words made no sense to the young guard. There was nothing he could do anyway, so he kept on the lookout for undead. Luckily, they still ignored Ghandon’s cottage.
Suddenly, the sound of chanting stopped. He turned around and looked at Ghandon who looked back at him. “I believe it has worked. He received my message, but due to the great distance I couldn’t give him an conscious message. I gave him an unconscious message to return here, something like a feeling. I don’t know if-”
His sentence was interrupted by an Xvart, appearing out of nowhere. Magic energy crackled through the air around him.
After a moment of silence, the guard remembered his orders. “Come, come! Please, we need to hurry!” In his enthusiasm the young man tripped over his own words. Yolta understood it was important and followed him immediately.
“Calm down,” He started as they made their way towards Aerie and the captain. “why don’t you tell me what’s going on here?”. The guard explained how the undead attacked Pedsgin and how their own turned on them as zombies. He didn’t skip any gore detail.
“And who is behind all this?” Yolta asked, getting to the point.
“I heard the captain say it was a Lich, whatever that is.” Unknowingly, he uncovered the seriousness of the situation. If a Lich was involved, then the situation was far more dire then Yolta expected.
“Hurry.”
With these orders in mind, the patrol guard ran through town. Others would look for this Xandax and he would find Ghandon, the town mage. The coward would probably be locked inside his home, protecting himself alone. Ghandon wasn’t a offensive spellcaster anyway, farmers hired his advice about the weather and stuff like that. It was time for him to make himself useful.
He kept on running towards Ghandon’s home, his captain had given him a direct order and he would do as he was told. Even as he was unsure what the use was, surely a Xvart can’t help now? Still, he would follow his captain’s orders.
His armour became heavier with every step and undead kept attacking him wherever he went. If it wasn’t for the future of his town and his assignment, he would probably already have fallen in battle.
In the distance he could see Ghandon’s house, strangely enough, none of the undead seemed to care about it. They left it alone, must be Ghandon’s magic.
As the guard reached the small cottage, he didn’t even slow down. He ran towards the front door and slammed into it with his shoulder. The door cracked and splintered under his weight.
“No! Don’t hurt me! Please, get back, get back!” In the corner stood Ghandon. Around him, he placed magic to protect him from the undead. Then he saw who broke into his house “You! What do you think you are doing, breaking down my door like that!?”
The guard stopped and took a deep breath, his search had tired him down. “I have an order for you, from the captain himself.”
“But he’s not my sup…” Ghandon started.
“You will do as you are told!” The guard interrupted. He calmed down and continued. “The fate of Pedsgin depends on it. Your fate depends on it”
Ghandon bowed his head and nodded in shame. “What do you want from me?”
“I need you to find someone and bring him here, ever heard of the Arcane Order?”
****
-Send my gloves to me as soon as they are done, I’m going back.-
He could feel Japheth’s amazement.
–You are in no condition to go back!-
Yolta ignored the comment.
-Oh, and if you can find one, send me a ring of suggestion too.-
He got dressed in his ordinary outfit and picked up his staff which was returned to his quarters after repairs were done. A few seconds later, he stepped onto his teleportation circle.
****
Ghandon kept chanting, his words made no sense to the young guard. There was nothing he could do anyway, so he kept on the lookout for undead. Luckily, they still ignored Ghandon’s cottage.
Suddenly, the sound of chanting stopped. He turned around and looked at Ghandon who looked back at him. “I believe it has worked. He received my message, but due to the great distance I couldn’t give him an conscious message. I gave him an unconscious message to return here, something like a feeling. I don’t know if-”
His sentence was interrupted by an Xvart, appearing out of nowhere. Magic energy crackled through the air around him.
After a moment of silence, the guard remembered his orders. “Come, come! Please, we need to hurry!” In his enthusiasm the young man tripped over his own words. Yolta understood it was important and followed him immediately.
“Calm down,” He started as they made their way towards Aerie and the captain. “why don’t you tell me what’s going on here?”. The guard explained how the undead attacked Pedsgin and how their own turned on them as zombies. He didn’t skip any gore detail.
“And who is behind all this?” Yolta asked, getting to the point.
“I heard the captain say it was a Lich, whatever that is.” Unknowingly, he uncovered the seriousness of the situation. If a Lich was involved, then the situation was far more dire then Yolta expected.
“Hurry.”
Guinness is good for you.
Gives you strength.
Gives you strength.
Seeing the complete disregard the sergeant had for him, angered Talwar with no end; this bastard, he thought couldn’t fight a kobold if his life depended on it and he was busy bullying around others. The way his friend had looked at him, forced Talwar to back down. He did that and quickly left the area. Let the xvart dig his own grave. He owed nobody anything. He had always been alone and will forever remain alone. That was a choice that had been forced upon him.
Quickening his pace as his mind forced the thoughts of his past out his mind, Talwar walked out of the town and into the forest. It had been a long time and he needed some peace and quiet. He remembered the small pond his youngest sister used to visit before that frightful day. She had been five then, he not much older. He need time to think and relax. There had been little of that in past two years.
He ventured into the forest walking slowly and taking in the quiet and peace of the forest. Yet there was something a miss. There was something wrong with the forest but he could not put his finger on it. A good three hours later, Talwar arrived at the pond. He had come across it many times but had chosen to go on further to see more of the forest. The walked had calmed him and brought his tormented soul some peace.
He quickly undressed and lay down into the pool of crystal clear water. He remembered that last few days of the summer. He and his siblings had played so many times here. The memories came with a sudden rush and the emotions were so over whelming that for the second time in his life Talwar broke down and cried like a baby. The first time he had cried had been for three days straight. The night when his family had been raped and murdered and he continued to cry till he killed every last on of those murderers. He had killed all five of them in a space of four hours. He had been seven at the time. He felt no remorse, instead he felt guilt. Not for the murder but instead for making the deaths painless and swift. He should have tortured them. Cut limbs on after another prolonged their agony. Over come with exhaustion, Talwar fell asleep with the word mother on his lips.
It had been a beautiful day. The sun was shining and winter was just around the corner. The sun was high and a chill wind blew that cooled the area from the heat of the sun. They had spent the day playing right before they were to start their chores the next day. That day, they crammed every thing they hadn’t been able to do in the summer into a few short hours. It would be the last time Talwar ever knew joy.
Night came and dense fog settled over the town and five rogue bandits entered the town. Back then Talwar’s family’s house was the first one to enter the town and it was their first target. Talwar was the first and only son of his parents who were simple farmers. He had three sisters, two older and one younger. The five men entered unannounced and smashed their way through the door and into the house. They quickly over powered and killed Talwar’s father and then proceeded to have their way with all the women in his family. He was make to watch it all, for several hours through the night.
Once exhausted the murderers killed his mother and sister after raping each one several times and proceed to beat up Talwar. At some point Geldyn come to see Talwar and witnessed what was going on. He snuck into save his friend, freed him while the 5 slept and they hurried away. Geldyn had seen enough not to say anything. He took Talwar straight home, but by then the town was in a panic. The bandits had set fire to Talwar’s house and others and fled into the night.
Talwar and Geldyn had set out after them without a word. They knew what was to be done and Geldyn knew that he would only have to go half the way with Talwar. Talwar would lose Geldyn as soon as he found the bandits and that is what happened. Once they found the bandits in the forest, Talwar forced Geldyn home to help with the fire. He did not wish to leave but he knew it would be best not to argue with Talwar then.
Talwar found them weary and tired and he descended upon them like a demon of death. At the age of seven Talwar had killed five men in such a horrific manner that he had to block it out of his mind as a child. All he knows is that they did not suffer enough and that he should have extended their pain as he had the chance. For that he would never forgive himself.
He returned to the town four days after that night and much to his surprise Geldyn’s family welcomed him with open arms and took care of him from that day on. He only stayed 2 months before he ran away to give other evil doers his own form of justice. During those two months, Geldyn and Talwar formed a bond that would never be broken even through death. They knew each others moods by feeling alone and knew what the other was thinking before they had the chance to speak. It was bond formed of a kinship and trauma they had both seen and suffered when Talwar’s family was murdered.
He was awakened by Geldyn calling his name from a far. Talwar quickly rose, dressed grabbed his weapons and charged towards where he though Geldyn’s voice came from. Having slept Talwar was rested and quickly reached Geldyn who was out of breath and bloody from several wounds.
“Undead…town….help” stated Geldyn between gulps of air. Composing himself once again, Geldyn continued “Undead have over run the town. They came out of no where and have started attacking and killing everything. We are fighting as best as we can and we have help from some travelers going through, I left to find you as you I know could help.”
Nodding Talwar replied “Well lead on”.
They arrived at the east of the town, to the opposite of where the town’s militia had established a weak semblance of resistance. This end was completely over run. There were undead everywhere and humans were running around in panic. Geldyn and Talwar were shocked to see the level of death and destruction. Talwar scanned the horizon to see the greatest threat to the people, when he saw a zombie grab a girl no older than his younger sister was before she died. The zombie pulled the girls body into two as she screamed for mother.
Talwar snapped.
It was as if he was no longer human but rather a force of unbridled vengeance and justice. He charged the undead creature while Geldyn just watched. Talwar reached the creature as it dumped the girl’s body to deal with the new threat. Talwar took Nur and sliced through the undead’s arm, which sizzled in response. Taking his other scimitar, Haq, Talwar pushed it through the zombie’s torso and sliced upwards this reaching his head where he bought Nur to intersect and made 4 pieces out of the zombies head.
After that Talwar and Geldyn caused as much death as the undead had caused. Talwar took the responsibility of weeding out the undead, while Geldyn established a small camp a good 20 miles outside the town. He quickly made provisions for the women and children while the few feeble and old men formed the backbone of setting up camp.
Two hours later, the camp was bustling with food, fire and security while Talwar fought t he undead with a reckless abandon to himself and his body. His sash proved to be a worthy item, which healed most of his wounds instantly leaving him fit and hardy battle after battle. Once the base camp was set up with the wounded being carried back by any and all able bodied males, Talwar and Geldyn made inroads into the undead ranks.
The aim was to reach the other side where the militia had established a defense. It was then that the two heard a giant explosion that rocked the ground and knocked the undead off their feet. Body parts flew everywhere. Geldyn and Talwar came to their feet quickly and ran through what was now an empty road. Empty that is of anything visibly dead or undead.
Geldyn led the way to where the militia was holding out and Talwar waited for what was in store with a zeal even he didn’t know he had.
Quickening his pace as his mind forced the thoughts of his past out his mind, Talwar walked out of the town and into the forest. It had been a long time and he needed some peace and quiet. He remembered the small pond his youngest sister used to visit before that frightful day. She had been five then, he not much older. He need time to think and relax. There had been little of that in past two years.
He ventured into the forest walking slowly and taking in the quiet and peace of the forest. Yet there was something a miss. There was something wrong with the forest but he could not put his finger on it. A good three hours later, Talwar arrived at the pond. He had come across it many times but had chosen to go on further to see more of the forest. The walked had calmed him and brought his tormented soul some peace.
He quickly undressed and lay down into the pool of crystal clear water. He remembered that last few days of the summer. He and his siblings had played so many times here. The memories came with a sudden rush and the emotions were so over whelming that for the second time in his life Talwar broke down and cried like a baby. The first time he had cried had been for three days straight. The night when his family had been raped and murdered and he continued to cry till he killed every last on of those murderers. He had killed all five of them in a space of four hours. He had been seven at the time. He felt no remorse, instead he felt guilt. Not for the murder but instead for making the deaths painless and swift. He should have tortured them. Cut limbs on after another prolonged their agony. Over come with exhaustion, Talwar fell asleep with the word mother on his lips.
It had been a beautiful day. The sun was shining and winter was just around the corner. The sun was high and a chill wind blew that cooled the area from the heat of the sun. They had spent the day playing right before they were to start their chores the next day. That day, they crammed every thing they hadn’t been able to do in the summer into a few short hours. It would be the last time Talwar ever knew joy.
Night came and dense fog settled over the town and five rogue bandits entered the town. Back then Talwar’s family’s house was the first one to enter the town and it was their first target. Talwar was the first and only son of his parents who were simple farmers. He had three sisters, two older and one younger. The five men entered unannounced and smashed their way through the door and into the house. They quickly over powered and killed Talwar’s father and then proceeded to have their way with all the women in his family. He was make to watch it all, for several hours through the night.
Once exhausted the murderers killed his mother and sister after raping each one several times and proceed to beat up Talwar. At some point Geldyn come to see Talwar and witnessed what was going on. He snuck into save his friend, freed him while the 5 slept and they hurried away. Geldyn had seen enough not to say anything. He took Talwar straight home, but by then the town was in a panic. The bandits had set fire to Talwar’s house and others and fled into the night.
Talwar and Geldyn had set out after them without a word. They knew what was to be done and Geldyn knew that he would only have to go half the way with Talwar. Talwar would lose Geldyn as soon as he found the bandits and that is what happened. Once they found the bandits in the forest, Talwar forced Geldyn home to help with the fire. He did not wish to leave but he knew it would be best not to argue with Talwar then.
Talwar found them weary and tired and he descended upon them like a demon of death. At the age of seven Talwar had killed five men in such a horrific manner that he had to block it out of his mind as a child. All he knows is that they did not suffer enough and that he should have extended their pain as he had the chance. For that he would never forgive himself.
He returned to the town four days after that night and much to his surprise Geldyn’s family welcomed him with open arms and took care of him from that day on. He only stayed 2 months before he ran away to give other evil doers his own form of justice. During those two months, Geldyn and Talwar formed a bond that would never be broken even through death. They knew each others moods by feeling alone and knew what the other was thinking before they had the chance to speak. It was bond formed of a kinship and trauma they had both seen and suffered when Talwar’s family was murdered.
He was awakened by Geldyn calling his name from a far. Talwar quickly rose, dressed grabbed his weapons and charged towards where he though Geldyn’s voice came from. Having slept Talwar was rested and quickly reached Geldyn who was out of breath and bloody from several wounds.
“Undead…town….help” stated Geldyn between gulps of air. Composing himself once again, Geldyn continued “Undead have over run the town. They came out of no where and have started attacking and killing everything. We are fighting as best as we can and we have help from some travelers going through, I left to find you as you I know could help.”
Nodding Talwar replied “Well lead on”.
They arrived at the east of the town, to the opposite of where the town’s militia had established a weak semblance of resistance. This end was completely over run. There were undead everywhere and humans were running around in panic. Geldyn and Talwar were shocked to see the level of death and destruction. Talwar scanned the horizon to see the greatest threat to the people, when he saw a zombie grab a girl no older than his younger sister was before she died. The zombie pulled the girls body into two as she screamed for mother.
Talwar snapped.
It was as if he was no longer human but rather a force of unbridled vengeance and justice. He charged the undead creature while Geldyn just watched. Talwar reached the creature as it dumped the girl’s body to deal with the new threat. Talwar took Nur and sliced through the undead’s arm, which sizzled in response. Taking his other scimitar, Haq, Talwar pushed it through the zombie’s torso and sliced upwards this reaching his head where he bought Nur to intersect and made 4 pieces out of the zombies head.
After that Talwar and Geldyn caused as much death as the undead had caused. Talwar took the responsibility of weeding out the undead, while Geldyn established a small camp a good 20 miles outside the town. He quickly made provisions for the women and children while the few feeble and old men formed the backbone of setting up camp.
Two hours later, the camp was bustling with food, fire and security while Talwar fought t he undead with a reckless abandon to himself and his body. His sash proved to be a worthy item, which healed most of his wounds instantly leaving him fit and hardy battle after battle. Once the base camp was set up with the wounded being carried back by any and all able bodied males, Talwar and Geldyn made inroads into the undead ranks.
The aim was to reach the other side where the militia had established a defense. It was then that the two heard a giant explosion that rocked the ground and knocked the undead off their feet. Body parts flew everywhere. Geldyn and Talwar came to their feet quickly and ran through what was now an empty road. Empty that is of anything visibly dead or undead.
Geldyn led the way to where the militia was holding out and Talwar waited for what was in store with a zeal even he didn’t know he had.
For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the sun? - Khalil Gibran
"We shall fight on the beaches. We shall fight on the landing grounds. We shall fight in the fields, and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills. We shall never surrender!" - Winston Churchill
"We shall fight on the beaches. We shall fight on the landing grounds. We shall fight in the fields, and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills. We shall never surrender!" - Winston Churchill
The glaring desert sun scorched the encampment that had been set up around the ancient Netherese ruins, but a cool breeze greeted him as Virrilis entered the leader’s tent. The inside was comfortably extravagant. A colorful rug covered the floor over the desert sand, and in the corner sat a plush bed fit for a Calim****e pasha, silk pillows and sheets completing the luxurious set-up. In the other corner stood a desk of fine polished wood, and lining the far wall were two sturdy bookcases, their shelves filled neatly with scores of well-maintained books, both magical and mundane. The air was cool, unnaturally so, and Virrilis realized that some sort of minor enchantment must be at work. He noticed it now…yes, there was a faint glow of magic about the tent.
“I see you approve of my accommodations.” Virillis turned to see the robed man smirking at him condescendingly. Virrilis remained silent. “Ah, yes, before I forget.” He began to chant and gesture in the language of magic, though the spell was unfamiliar to Virrilis. He touched the shackles on the bladesinger’s hands, and suddenly searing agony spread from his hands throughout his entire body, as if his blood itself was on fire. An instant later it was gone, and he began to wonder if he’d just imagined it. He looked at his shackles, which were glowing a dull red color. A moment later the glow too was gone, the light fading away until only the usual cold metallic reflection remained. The robed man watched his reaction, his countenance displaying a sort of arrogant amusement. “This enchantment will keep you in line, I trust. You felt that brief burst of pain, hmm? If you leave the tent, the magic in those shackles will boil your blood, resulting in a quick and very painful demise. If you raise your hand against me, the same. I think you’ll agree that it’s quite the useful little cantrip.” Sensing the magic still flowing through the shackles, Virrilis didn’t doubt his words. “Oh, and in case you’re getting any strange ideas, if the shackles are damaged the magic will also activate. I neglected to mention that to the last prisoner…” The robed man’s voice trailed off, and he shook his head in mock sadness.
Finished with that task, the man went over his desk and pulled a key from his spotless white robes. He waved his hand over one of the drawers and muttered a word, then inserted the key over the lock and opened the drawer. His hand reappeared grasping a grey cylinder, its surface marked by deeply etched runes, as well as other symbols. The robed man’s finger brushed over it, and the runes glowed with a striking bright green color.
“An ancient Netherese artifact…quite a find. Your friend…acquired it from that Calim****e pasha…Trium, I believe?”
A flash of surprised anger flashed across the stoic bladesinger’s face. It passed in an instant, but it didn’t escape the intent eyes of the robed man. He looked at Virrilis curiously. “What’s this? You didn’t know your brother had this stone?” He looked at the elf thoughtfully for a moment. “No, that’s not it. Ah, I wager you didn’t know he lifted it from the good Pasha, did you?” Though Virrilis’s countenance remained expressionless, the robed man seemed to have his answer. “Quite a troublemaker, this brother of yours is. Why, undoubtedly you wouldn’t be here, if it wasn’t for him! I can just taste the irony!” The robed man smiled, obviously enjoying himself.
“Taunting the poor prisoners, High Wizard?” The voice was sweet and sultry. The tent flap opened, and a woman in fine violet robes stepped in. She was beautiful, even to Virrilis’s elven eyes. Long silky black hair streamed past her shoulders. The tight violet robes clung to her, accentuating the curves of her body line, while the slit in the lower half allowed glimpses of long, shapely legs.
She looked Virrilis from head to toe. “One of the group that was caught with the stone?”
The High Wizard nodded. “Indeed. He seems to have an interesting bond with that brother of his.” He sat down in the chair at his desk, staring first at the rune in his hand, then at Virrilis.
“So I heard. The guards outside were babbling about it.” She sat on the bed and made herself comfortable, then eyed Virrilis again. “Muscular for an elf, isn’t he? He probably has more muscle on him than you do.”
Though hardly puny, the High Wizard scoffed. “I find impressive brawn is often compensation for a lack in other areas.”
“No doubt. But still, I hear their capture was quite difficult. You had the other one taken to the arena, I hope?”
“Of course. It should be interesting to see how long he lasts against Rufus’s summons.” He turned to the black-haired woman. Seeing her making herself at home on his bed, he frowned. “I trust your visit has some sort of purpose, Selene? Or are you here for pleasure?” He raised an eyebrow.
“Maybe.” She smiled coyly, curling up invitingly. “What about our elf friend here?” She looked at him with amusement.
“Him?” He scoffed again. “Don’t mind him. I assure you that he won’t be a bother in the slightest.” As he spoke, he returned the stone to its drawer and locked it, whispering a word of magic and waving his hand as before. Virrilis noticed Selene watched intently as he did this.
“The High Wizard’s infamous “Boiling Blood” enchantment?”
“Indeed.” The robed man turned and smiled, then strolled over to the bed for his afternoon diversion.
“I see you approve of my accommodations.” Virillis turned to see the robed man smirking at him condescendingly. Virrilis remained silent. “Ah, yes, before I forget.” He began to chant and gesture in the language of magic, though the spell was unfamiliar to Virrilis. He touched the shackles on the bladesinger’s hands, and suddenly searing agony spread from his hands throughout his entire body, as if his blood itself was on fire. An instant later it was gone, and he began to wonder if he’d just imagined it. He looked at his shackles, which were glowing a dull red color. A moment later the glow too was gone, the light fading away until only the usual cold metallic reflection remained. The robed man watched his reaction, his countenance displaying a sort of arrogant amusement. “This enchantment will keep you in line, I trust. You felt that brief burst of pain, hmm? If you leave the tent, the magic in those shackles will boil your blood, resulting in a quick and very painful demise. If you raise your hand against me, the same. I think you’ll agree that it’s quite the useful little cantrip.” Sensing the magic still flowing through the shackles, Virrilis didn’t doubt his words. “Oh, and in case you’re getting any strange ideas, if the shackles are damaged the magic will also activate. I neglected to mention that to the last prisoner…” The robed man’s voice trailed off, and he shook his head in mock sadness.
Finished with that task, the man went over his desk and pulled a key from his spotless white robes. He waved his hand over one of the drawers and muttered a word, then inserted the key over the lock and opened the drawer. His hand reappeared grasping a grey cylinder, its surface marked by deeply etched runes, as well as other symbols. The robed man’s finger brushed over it, and the runes glowed with a striking bright green color.
“An ancient Netherese artifact…quite a find. Your friend…acquired it from that Calim****e pasha…Trium, I believe?”
A flash of surprised anger flashed across the stoic bladesinger’s face. It passed in an instant, but it didn’t escape the intent eyes of the robed man. He looked at Virrilis curiously. “What’s this? You didn’t know your brother had this stone?” He looked at the elf thoughtfully for a moment. “No, that’s not it. Ah, I wager you didn’t know he lifted it from the good Pasha, did you?” Though Virrilis’s countenance remained expressionless, the robed man seemed to have his answer. “Quite a troublemaker, this brother of yours is. Why, undoubtedly you wouldn’t be here, if it wasn’t for him! I can just taste the irony!” The robed man smiled, obviously enjoying himself.
“Taunting the poor prisoners, High Wizard?” The voice was sweet and sultry. The tent flap opened, and a woman in fine violet robes stepped in. She was beautiful, even to Virrilis’s elven eyes. Long silky black hair streamed past her shoulders. The tight violet robes clung to her, accentuating the curves of her body line, while the slit in the lower half allowed glimpses of long, shapely legs.
She looked Virrilis from head to toe. “One of the group that was caught with the stone?”
The High Wizard nodded. “Indeed. He seems to have an interesting bond with that brother of his.” He sat down in the chair at his desk, staring first at the rune in his hand, then at Virrilis.
“So I heard. The guards outside were babbling about it.” She sat on the bed and made herself comfortable, then eyed Virrilis again. “Muscular for an elf, isn’t he? He probably has more muscle on him than you do.”
Though hardly puny, the High Wizard scoffed. “I find impressive brawn is often compensation for a lack in other areas.”
“No doubt. But still, I hear their capture was quite difficult. You had the other one taken to the arena, I hope?”
“Of course. It should be interesting to see how long he lasts against Rufus’s summons.” He turned to the black-haired woman. Seeing her making herself at home on his bed, he frowned. “I trust your visit has some sort of purpose, Selene? Or are you here for pleasure?” He raised an eyebrow.
“Maybe.” She smiled coyly, curling up invitingly. “What about our elf friend here?” She looked at him with amusement.
“Him?” He scoffed again. “Don’t mind him. I assure you that he won’t be a bother in the slightest.” As he spoke, he returned the stone to its drawer and locked it, whispering a word of magic and waving his hand as before. Virrilis noticed Selene watched intently as he did this.
“The High Wizard’s infamous “Boiling Blood” enchantment?”
“Indeed.” The robed man turned and smiled, then strolled over to the bed for his afternoon diversion.
Lost Souls: A bereft lover. A masterless familiar. Friends gone their separate ways. Time marches on, and destiny heralds the meeting of comrades old and new. Can they find what they're seeking? Or will the search bring them only more pain?
An hour had barely passed before Sethin found himself in the middle of the arena floor, one blade in hand. His armour had already been stripped from him before the trip, but he retained his loose fitting desert clothing. Even in the captivity of these slavers, he was an imposing figure to behold. They had given him the luxury of choosing a weapon of choice, and then was told simply to fight, and survive. The end result was this: a battle to the death in the arena, against the summons of some man named 'Rufus'. This would be a menial task, he thought to himself.
His thoughts became interupted as the spectators suddenly erupted in cheering. Sethin glanced up towards raised balcony with large, gaudy tapestries hanging from it. An obvious attempt at grandeur, but did little more than give the impression of poor taste of a man who was too concerned with his own ego. Sethin smirked slightly as the image of Pasha Trium briefly flashed in his mind. He continued to look at the balcony as a man came out of the main building, his body length robes brushing against the dusty floor of his perch. His hands were raised to the crowd, a large smile on his faith. It seemed as though every available inch of the man was covered in some form of decadence. Jewelry and rare materials covered his body. After a moment of the spectacle, the crowd quieted down, and the man approached the edge of the balcony.
"So, you're one of the twin elves the camp seems abuzz about." He smiled again as he looked to Sethin, a smug look of superiority smeared across his face. "An elf who feels his 'brothers' pain."
Sethin couldn't help but grin at the notion of being considered the self-righterous Bladesinger's brother.
"Well, you seem fit enough. I don't suppose a minor summon will be suffcient entertainment for this crowd." The crowd erupted again as the man, who was obviously Rufus, raised his voice at the idea of a more powerful summon. "You see, until now, our gladiators have been, pathetic, to say the least. Slaves, and such. Mostly people we pick up from surrounding towns and villages. The pickings are slim when dealing with Nomads, I'm sure you understand."
Sethin continued to look at Rufus, saying nothing, but idlely grinding the heel of his foot into the sand, and adjusting the grip on the Katana he had acquired for the arena.
"Not a talker, I see. Well, as I was saying. Until now, we've had to content ourselves with minor summons, the most 'vicious'..." he chuckled at the obvious sarcasm. "being a Dire-Wolf. Sadly, it's oppenant was somewhat insufficient opposition. A shame really. I heard he was quite good at keeping the spirits of the other fighters up. Anyway, I think we'll try something different with you. Before I begin to overcompensate, and summon idlely, we'll pit you against something a little more tangible..."
Rufus gave a shrill whistle. Immediatly afterwards, a coarse grinding noise was heard, and a large, rusted metal gate begin to creak open. Inside, Sethin could hear a vicious sounding snarl, and the rattling of chains. Whatever was kept within the pen, was large and fierce. Sethin offered a confident, ****y grin towards Rufus.
Rufus smiled at the gesture. "Such confidence, and yet, you have no clue what it is you are about to face. Well, I'm sure you'll have some time to acquint yourself... If it is not too much for you." With these words, the crowd roared with amusement, and Rufus sat back into a chair, his head remaining visible to watch the ensuing fight.
Sethin angled his body towards the pen. Within, he heard some shouts, and the sound of chain links sliding free. He attempted to drown out the sound of the crowd cheering around him. Though it could be no more than one hundred, or so, they were boisturous. The shouts from within stopped suddenly, as did the sound of the chains. After a moment, a loud 'thud' was heard, and then another. Sethin was expecting to hear another, but instead caught wind of something else. A brief glint of steel in the darkness. His eyes widened, and the elf lunged to the right just as a large battle-axe came whistling by his body. The rushing wind was loud in his ears, as was the crack it made as it embedded itself into the far wall of the arean. Within a moment, a huge figure moved into the light of the desert sun. Before Sethin stood a massive Minotaur!
His thoughts became interupted as the spectators suddenly erupted in cheering. Sethin glanced up towards raised balcony with large, gaudy tapestries hanging from it. An obvious attempt at grandeur, but did little more than give the impression of poor taste of a man who was too concerned with his own ego. Sethin smirked slightly as the image of Pasha Trium briefly flashed in his mind. He continued to look at the balcony as a man came out of the main building, his body length robes brushing against the dusty floor of his perch. His hands were raised to the crowd, a large smile on his faith. It seemed as though every available inch of the man was covered in some form of decadence. Jewelry and rare materials covered his body. After a moment of the spectacle, the crowd quieted down, and the man approached the edge of the balcony.
"So, you're one of the twin elves the camp seems abuzz about." He smiled again as he looked to Sethin, a smug look of superiority smeared across his face. "An elf who feels his 'brothers' pain."
Sethin couldn't help but grin at the notion of being considered the self-righterous Bladesinger's brother.
"Well, you seem fit enough. I don't suppose a minor summon will be suffcient entertainment for this crowd." The crowd erupted again as the man, who was obviously Rufus, raised his voice at the idea of a more powerful summon. "You see, until now, our gladiators have been, pathetic, to say the least. Slaves, and such. Mostly people we pick up from surrounding towns and villages. The pickings are slim when dealing with Nomads, I'm sure you understand."
Sethin continued to look at Rufus, saying nothing, but idlely grinding the heel of his foot into the sand, and adjusting the grip on the Katana he had acquired for the arena.
"Not a talker, I see. Well, as I was saying. Until now, we've had to content ourselves with minor summons, the most 'vicious'..." he chuckled at the obvious sarcasm. "being a Dire-Wolf. Sadly, it's oppenant was somewhat insufficient opposition. A shame really. I heard he was quite good at keeping the spirits of the other fighters up. Anyway, I think we'll try something different with you. Before I begin to overcompensate, and summon idlely, we'll pit you against something a little more tangible..."
Rufus gave a shrill whistle. Immediatly afterwards, a coarse grinding noise was heard, and a large, rusted metal gate begin to creak open. Inside, Sethin could hear a vicious sounding snarl, and the rattling of chains. Whatever was kept within the pen, was large and fierce. Sethin offered a confident, ****y grin towards Rufus.
Rufus smiled at the gesture. "Such confidence, and yet, you have no clue what it is you are about to face. Well, I'm sure you'll have some time to acquint yourself... If it is not too much for you." With these words, the crowd roared with amusement, and Rufus sat back into a chair, his head remaining visible to watch the ensuing fight.
Sethin angled his body towards the pen. Within, he heard some shouts, and the sound of chain links sliding free. He attempted to drown out the sound of the crowd cheering around him. Though it could be no more than one hundred, or so, they were boisturous. The shouts from within stopped suddenly, as did the sound of the chains. After a moment, a loud 'thud' was heard, and then another. Sethin was expecting to hear another, but instead caught wind of something else. A brief glint of steel in the darkness. His eyes widened, and the elf lunged to the right just as a large battle-axe came whistling by his body. The rushing wind was loud in his ears, as was the crack it made as it embedded itself into the far wall of the arean. Within a moment, a huge figure moved into the light of the desert sun. Before Sethin stood a massive Minotaur!
The beast's body rippled with muscles and fur, with nothing but a loose loin cloth for clothing. It's torso heaved with each mighty intake of air, and it's nostrels flared. In one hand, it held a large, spiked club, the other obviously had held the axe before it had launched it into the arena. The Minotaur stood almost twice the height of the elf, its horns adding almost another two complete feet to the imposing figure. Sethin quietly sized the beast up, and adjusted the grip on his weapon again. The Minotaur scrapped it's hooves on the sandy ground, kicking up clouds of dust and sand, gave a loud snort and grunt, and then roared. Sethin brought his weapon up to the side of his head, grabbed it with both hands, and poised the blade's tip towards the heart of the Minotaur, smiling.
Rufus followed this initial action with interest. In the time he had spent here, administering the entertainment, he hadn't once seen such a display of confidence. Perhaps this elf would be the answer to his prayers. He casually twisted one of the rings adorning his finger.
The Minotaur, after roaring a second time, burst into a charge, it's horns lowering, in an attempt to gore Sethin on the first charge. The lithe elf stood his ground, watching as the beast closed the distance. He slowly began to crouch down, the muscles in legs becoming taught. As the beast came closer, he felt the ground under foot begin to rumble. When it came with a couple feet of the elf, Sethin sprang into action. He leapt into the air, his feet easily clearing the low beant Minotaurs head, and the beast passing harmlessly underneath. As Sethin landed, he spun on his heel, the blade crossing along the width of his chest, bared towards the Minotaur. After a moment, the Minotaur ceased his charge, slowed to a halt, and turned around. It snorted again and looked to Sethin, angered that it's charge failed. Sethin offered another grin.
This time, it was Sethin's turn. The small elf charged the Minotaur, leaping into the air as he neared the beast. The Minotaur raised it's spiked club to the side, and then crashed it across, in front of him, wanting to swat the elf out of he air. Sethin caught the attack in mid-air, angling his blade so that the club met with the steel of his katana. He felt the strength of the beast rumble through the weapons, and shake his hand and arm, and the force knocked him to the side. The elf landed on his feet, and skidded to a halt, leaving a trail in the sand. Sethin couldn't stop. If he allowed the Minotaur another attempt to charge, it could possibly hit this time. He saw it scrape it's hooves again. Sethin reacted by charging the beast. For a second, the Minotaur was confused, looking at he creature half his size charge him. It regained it's bearings to slowly, and Sethin was already within striking distance. The katana flashed through the air, marking a thin crimson streak along the stomach of the beast. IT roared in anger, and spiun heavily in retaliation, it's massive club swinging through the air at the passing elf. Sethin tucked himself into a roll, and just narrowly avoided the club, and rolled a foot away, before returning to his feet. The crowd continued to roar in excitement.
Sethin didn't allow himself to rest, and charged back in. THe Minotaur fumbled clumsily with the club, trying to return it to a defensive position, but was too slow. Sethin came in close, and drove the Katana deep into the stomach of the beast. Within a second, the sound of flesh rending was heard, and the tip of the blade burst through the back of the creature in a wave of blood. The crowd cheered even louder at the sight of blood. The Minotaur bellowed in protest, and dropped it's club. After a moment, it raised it's hands above it's head, and clamped them together. Sethin began to jerk the blade slightly, attempt to cut up, and cleave the creature apart. The Minotaur reacted as it knew how. IT slammed it's double fisted attack down, connecting squarely on Sethin's back.
Sethin felt a spasm of pain roll through his body as the attack jarred him. He let out a gasp of air as the massive fists hit him with enough force to almost crush his spine. HE continued to hold firm on his blade. The Minotaur raised his fists again, and slammed them again onto the elf. Sethin jerked again, spitting up blood, but refused to yield. Instead, he sank to one knee, and angled the blade of his Katana slightly, and looked up. He'd have to time it right. He waited for the beast to raise his fists again. He was breathing heavily know, feeling the pain caused by the two tremendous attacks. It's fists were at their peak. He tighted the muscles in his body, and prepared to spirng into the attack. The Minotaur then brought it's fists crashing down, and Sethin burst into action. He pushed himself off the ground, slicing the blade of the Katana out of the beast, and through the air, just as the beasts fists were passing. The crowd silenced a moment at the action, not sure if they saw what they had.
Sethin remained standing, a couple feet from the Minotaur, his white hair soaked with the dark blood of the beast. At his feet, the beasts massive fists rolled to a halt, and a thick crimson line trailled from the Minotaur. IT feel to it's knees, the once deafening roar turning into a gurgle as it spit of blood attempt one last defiance. The Minotaurs chest had been ripped asunder by Sethin, a pool of blood begining to form. Sethin had punctured the lungs of the creature, as well as remove it's hands. Victory was his. The crowd loved him for it.
Rufus watched the fight with intense interest, still continuing to twist the ring on his finger. His prayers were indeed answered...
Rufus followed this initial action with interest. In the time he had spent here, administering the entertainment, he hadn't once seen such a display of confidence. Perhaps this elf would be the answer to his prayers. He casually twisted one of the rings adorning his finger.
The Minotaur, after roaring a second time, burst into a charge, it's horns lowering, in an attempt to gore Sethin on the first charge. The lithe elf stood his ground, watching as the beast closed the distance. He slowly began to crouch down, the muscles in legs becoming taught. As the beast came closer, he felt the ground under foot begin to rumble. When it came with a couple feet of the elf, Sethin sprang into action. He leapt into the air, his feet easily clearing the low beant Minotaurs head, and the beast passing harmlessly underneath. As Sethin landed, he spun on his heel, the blade crossing along the width of his chest, bared towards the Minotaur. After a moment, the Minotaur ceased his charge, slowed to a halt, and turned around. It snorted again and looked to Sethin, angered that it's charge failed. Sethin offered another grin.
This time, it was Sethin's turn. The small elf charged the Minotaur, leaping into the air as he neared the beast. The Minotaur raised it's spiked club to the side, and then crashed it across, in front of him, wanting to swat the elf out of he air. Sethin caught the attack in mid-air, angling his blade so that the club met with the steel of his katana. He felt the strength of the beast rumble through the weapons, and shake his hand and arm, and the force knocked him to the side. The elf landed on his feet, and skidded to a halt, leaving a trail in the sand. Sethin couldn't stop. If he allowed the Minotaur another attempt to charge, it could possibly hit this time. He saw it scrape it's hooves again. Sethin reacted by charging the beast. For a second, the Minotaur was confused, looking at he creature half his size charge him. It regained it's bearings to slowly, and Sethin was already within striking distance. The katana flashed through the air, marking a thin crimson streak along the stomach of the beast. IT roared in anger, and spiun heavily in retaliation, it's massive club swinging through the air at the passing elf. Sethin tucked himself into a roll, and just narrowly avoided the club, and rolled a foot away, before returning to his feet. The crowd continued to roar in excitement.
Sethin didn't allow himself to rest, and charged back in. THe Minotaur fumbled clumsily with the club, trying to return it to a defensive position, but was too slow. Sethin came in close, and drove the Katana deep into the stomach of the beast. Within a second, the sound of flesh rending was heard, and the tip of the blade burst through the back of the creature in a wave of blood. The crowd cheered even louder at the sight of blood. The Minotaur bellowed in protest, and dropped it's club. After a moment, it raised it's hands above it's head, and clamped them together. Sethin began to jerk the blade slightly, attempt to cut up, and cleave the creature apart. The Minotaur reacted as it knew how. IT slammed it's double fisted attack down, connecting squarely on Sethin's back.
Sethin felt a spasm of pain roll through his body as the attack jarred him. He let out a gasp of air as the massive fists hit him with enough force to almost crush his spine. HE continued to hold firm on his blade. The Minotaur raised his fists again, and slammed them again onto the elf. Sethin jerked again, spitting up blood, but refused to yield. Instead, he sank to one knee, and angled the blade of his Katana slightly, and looked up. He'd have to time it right. He waited for the beast to raise his fists again. He was breathing heavily know, feeling the pain caused by the two tremendous attacks. It's fists were at their peak. He tighted the muscles in his body, and prepared to spirng into the attack. The Minotaur then brought it's fists crashing down, and Sethin burst into action. He pushed himself off the ground, slicing the blade of the Katana out of the beast, and through the air, just as the beasts fists were passing. The crowd silenced a moment at the action, not sure if they saw what they had.
Sethin remained standing, a couple feet from the Minotaur, his white hair soaked with the dark blood of the beast. At his feet, the beasts massive fists rolled to a halt, and a thick crimson line trailled from the Minotaur. IT feel to it's knees, the once deafening roar turning into a gurgle as it spit of blood attempt one last defiance. The Minotaurs chest had been ripped asunder by Sethin, a pool of blood begining to form. Sethin had punctured the lungs of the creature, as well as remove it's hands. Victory was his. The crowd loved him for it.
Rufus watched the fight with intense interest, still continuing to twist the ring on his finger. His prayers were indeed answered...
She slipped into Virrilis' comfortable arms, a pleasant smile curving onto her lips. The Blade singer willingly accepted the embrace of the woman laying next to him, his hand idly running through her auburn hair, her head rested on his chest. Everything at this moment seemed perfect. Virrilis and Ferchen were laying peacefully in a cottage, far away from the political intrigue of Amn, the deceitful Calim****e, and the harsh desert climate. All was right in the world, with the woman he loved in his arms.
He focused on the sound of her breathing, and the gentle rise and fall of her body with each breath. He could hear the faint sound of birds chirping outside in the evening air, and the wind rustling the leaves of nearby trees. He gave her body a small embrace, bringing her slendor body closer to his own. He leaned his head over slightly and gave her a gentle kiss on the forehead.
He focused on the sound of her breathing, and the gentle rise and fall of her body with each breath. He could hear the faint sound of birds chirping outside in the evening air, and the wind rustling the leaves of nearby trees. He gave her body a small embrace, bringing her slendor body closer to his own. He leaned his head over slightly and gave her a gentle kiss on the forehead.