• This section is for roleplays only.
    ALL interest checks/recruiting threads must go in the Recruit Here section.

    Please remember to credit artists when using works not your own.

Fantasy Natural Selection

OOC
Here
Characters
Here
Lore
Here

y7qckwux


hj47wv5


Health: 58%

  • Tags: Anaxileah Anaxileah | Federoff Federoff | Morgrim Morgrim | Alstromeria Alstromeria | Melanin-Gxdess Melanin-Gxdess

    Addressed: Alaria Wylloh [Vaguely] | Estella Haleth

    Mentioned: Aerendal Vaneiros |Crow | Morgrim Hemwick | Riktos Killignar

She could already feel the fatigue creeping in. It felt as though a dense fog had rolled into her mind, clouding her thoughts. If Roxii still possessed her sight, she's sure her vision would be fading in and out, on the brink of unconsciousness. Her body began trembling from the steady decrease in strength. There was too much blood outside of her body and not enough inside. Her fingers were sticky from the deep red liquid that poured out of the fatal wound in her abdomen, and her dark magic wasn't working quickly enough to staunch the bleeding.

The N'Til'Nond staggered into the mines, seeming just as badly injured as she was. Despite his state, the Guide still managed to imbue some sarcasm into his soft words as he inquired about healing from the Lhûg-Inu. The blind assassin refused to admit it, but she needed some of the healer's magic as well, unless he wanted to die her in the mines. Her unspoken request didn't go unnoticed, however. The Lorethven, after tending to the Velahr, approached the wolf-elf. Roxii did not shy away from the woman's healing touch nor did she resist her magic.

The shadowy rogue could feel the strain Alaria was putting herself through, trying to tend to all of the ex-slaves and her companions. Roxii could tell that her energy reserves were getting dangerously low; to the wolf-elf, she could "see" her magic dwindling, her soft aura glowing ever so faintly and the darkness of fatigue growing stronger. Fortunately, the assassin didn't have to stop the healer from doing much more, because she was intelligent to know when enough was enough. The Lorethven then began treating the Guide and the rogue's wound traditionally: with gauze, bandages, and ointments.

Her wounds had been treated as well as they could given their current circumstances. The fatigue had drifted and the fog had lifted, clearing her senses. There was so much movement, so many scents, that the rogue was momentarily overwhelmed, but her cousin's reassuring touch on her shoulder helped her relax and think clearly. The healer, the Jaliss, and the Guide had already moved on and exited the mines, heading towards a very angry man whom she recognized to be the Torsk-Edain. His heavy footsteps and sour, metallic scent gave away the fact that his anger had been triggered, and given that he was storming towards the city only meant that the Silver Legion were at fault.

It was then that she smelled it: a dire wolf. It was faint, overpowered by the hundreds of other beastkin that lived in these caves, but its presence was strong and pure. No human blood dampened the animal's blood; instead, she could smell human—no, elf—on its body, it's fur, as if it were a companion of some sort. Her attention averted towards the dire wolf, pinpointing its location. Roxii sent out a pulse of shadow, allowing her to see the wolf's whereabouts as well as the elven female companion that was crouched with it. The elf was odd to her; there was something about her that she couldn't place. Knowing fairly well that no Silver Legion guards would even consider befriending a wild animal, especially one as deadly and dangerous as a dire wolf, the shadowy assassin retrieved her longsword and began approaching the elf and the wolf.

It was then she realized why the elf seemed oddly familiar to her; this stranger employed shadow magic as well, and her dark aura seemed as thick as her own. The wolf-elf swiveled her ears forward, towards the duo, and her injured ear flicked in intrigue and slight fascination. The velglorn replaced the longsword into its sheath and placed the cane in front of her, both hands placed gently on the wolf-head pommel. She spoke on a careful tongue, "Who are you?" Her words were low yet crisp. Her furry tail swayed unthreateningly, silently telling the dire wolf that she would be of no harm to he or his elven companion.

Her pulses revealed to her the destruction this stranger laid out, though none of it was undesirable on the rogue's part. She didn't care that her energy pulses, being the same type of magic as the stranger's, could be sensed by the unknown elf. "You aid us, though unintentionally," Roxii continued. Her head tilted slightly, nonexistent gaze pointed towards the new duo, and the tail of the band around her head swayed with the movement. "The N'Til'Nond is correct; your head will be wanted on a pike for your remarkable skill here. An extra set of weapons could prove useful on our journey." The wolf-elf went silent, awaiting a response from the female mensch, if any.




yakpfnwz


y7yyfyqs


Health: 62%

  • Tags: Morgrim Morgrim | Anaxileah Anaxileah | Federoff Federoff

    Addressed: N/A

    Mentioned: Morgrim Hemwick | Alaria Wylloh | Crow

The male's heart had stopped beating when his cousin fell to one knee. He was afraid she'd crumple to the ground and never get back up, but the female didn't allow her wounds to keep her down. However, she seemed to be struggling, and so the male wolf-elf rushed over to his gwanur and hooked an arm around her middle. Faelyn didn't react to the male's touch; in fact, it seemed as if she were somewhere else. Perhaps she was so injured, she couldn't understand where she was at the moment.

Aerendal's wolfish ears swiveled towards shambling footsteps, a rancid stench accompanying the approaching presence. A man—or the remnants of one—approached the wolf hybrids, the odd ghostly boy, and the female who smelled of reptile. He tensed, ready to defend against this strange, walking corpse. But given his cousin's accomplices' indifference towards the man, Aeren refrained from reaching towards the sword he had dropped to his side.

The reptilian female began tending to the corpse, healing his... wounds? He supposed the man could feel pain and suffer injuries like any other mortal, but... Aeren's brow furrowed in slight confusion, but a shake of his head dispersed the growing questions clouding his mind. This was no time to contemplate how an N'Til'Nond could suffer life-threatening injuries. He had to make sure his Valishara was safe—well, relatively.

The reptilian hybrid, whom he discovered was the healer of the group, moved on to the wolf-elves. She placed gentle hands on the two, transferring some of her magic into their bodies. The male didn't resist her aid. Instead, he basked in the glory that was strength. Though little, it would be enough to get him by until he and his new group would escape to safety. And then he and his cousin could go and–

Faelyn began trembling, shaking from the sudden intake of healing magic that racked her body and closed off lacerations. He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, a silent reminder that he was there to steady her and keep her safe from harm. She breathed out slowly, regaining her composure. He couldn't thrust her back into that world so soon. Not yet.

Without a word, the strangers left the mines, heading towards the city gates. But Faelyn stayed in the mines. In fact, she floated towards another presence nearby, and judging by the way their magic interacted with each other, Aerendal found it to be a better idea to stay away from the two. And so, the male wolf hybrid followed the healer, the corpse, and the spirit boy towards the city of Ellanor, vowing to do whatever it took to help these people who had kept his Valishara alive and relatively safe.
 
Last edited:
2cf84ed15e54d18dc48a3c47d7913ee0fbea5ce5_hq.jpg
Location;; Mines
With;; Shadow Stranger ( Javax Javax )
Condition;; Fucking Tired//Suspicious
Mentions;; Federoff Federoff Morgrim Morgrim

While Estella was resting, Ivery was still on edge. He wasn't going to calm down or take a break until he was sure they were safe; or rather, make sure Estella was safe. In the few hours they spent together, they had formed a bond. He probably wasn't going to leave her any time soon, so he may as well get used to it. It was strange, get cozy with an elf, but it was okay because the elf had a greater respect for nature than most other creatures did.

Just when the two of them had caught their breath, they were approached several times. So, people had either seen or heard the two of them fighting earlier? She should be flattered that so many had seen her take down the difficult opponent but she wasn't; she was annoyed. She didn't fight him as an audition to be recruited, but because this man led the group that killed her team. Although, it did pique her interest. The first person that approached her was something she had never seen before. He invited her to join him and who ever else may be with him. She didn't immediately get up, wanting to discuss it with Ivery first. He had already walked away when they started to communicate.

"What do you think, Ive? Should we follow?" Ivery perked up and replied to her, in a tongue Estella could understand but would sound like growling to others. 'Interesting, he seems, but very suspicious.' She just nodded her head in compliance before standing up to stretched. Before she could move another approached her, more suspicious than the last. Everyone so far seemed to want to touch Ivery and he was allowing it, which made Estella raise a brow. Watching this new stranger with curious eyes as a ghostly boy appeared, she was intrigued even more. Where were these curious people and these strange abilities coming from? She had never seen anything like it before.

The last person made her decide to follow them. It was also a strange creature. Well, everything new to her at the moment was strange. Except this one spoke to her. Directly to her, and wasn't leaving. She glanced at Ivery before responding to them. "Who am I? A ranger." She was on edge and the nudge from Ivery made her look down, briefly. 'The wolf-elf brings no harm.' He told her. How did he know that? She wouldn't think too much of it, since she trusted him.

"I aided you?" She looked at the bodies she had taken care of, and then the captain. It hadn't completely occurred to her that she was fighting in a battle that someone else had started. She just kind of ran in and hunted down her own targets. She let out a soft 'oh' before crossing her arms. "You know, why do people keep telling me that? That I should follow you?" Another nudge from Ivery. 'Perhaps we should. How much longer will the two of us survive alone?' Taking a deep sigh, she looked back towards the elf-wolf in front of her. "I'll come... But only if someone will explain what's going on to me."​
 
Jezebel Ada Batal:

A striking pain pounds the inside of Jezebel's head. Both of her hands fly up to her temples and her fingers rake through her disheveled hair. She lets out a pained groan as she blinks blurs out of her eyes.

It is not your time yet...

"What do you-..." She glances at her companions in utter confusion. They couldn't hear the voice? The pain begins to subside, replaced by a warm soothing feel. The monk's eyes widen, finally understanding what's happening. She tells Leon in a hurry, "I- I have to go. I'm sorry."

Jezebel goes past the opened wide gate, sprinting as quickly as she can. The monk goes off road, jumping through shrubbery and branches. The forest masks the figure of Jezebel as she goes further and further into the forest. The only light escapes from the tree tops, illuminating an almost-paved path up a steep hillside.

Come.

Jezebel scrambles up to the last portion of the hill, reaching a flat surface. On the other side lies a cliff side and the the green tops of trees. The wind around her increases in heat and begins to circulate. Her eyes close when the pressure is too tremendous. A large birb made of fire lands onto the flat surface (M-MOLTRES?) spreading its wings up high.

"What of Master?"

It is not your time. The path has become hazed. Return.

"....May I say goodbye first?" She knew she couldn't disobey but could they at least grant her this?

Leave when you still can.

The monk droops her head in shame; the others will think she deserted them. With a sigh, she reluctantly nods, placing her head on top of the lowered birb head. The soothing flames dance around her fingers in elegant curves. It travels up her arm, increasing in intensity. In a matter of seconds the flames engulf her lithe body. She ascends from the ground in the form of a phoenix.

Farewell friends. I wish to see you again soon.

The larger phoenix raises its wings, causing the trees nearby to looses its leaves. The two phoenixes glance to each other before taking off into the clouds.
 
Morgrim Hemwick
Mentions: Alstromeria Alstromeria Anaxileah Anaxileah Federoff Federoff
Location: Outside the City, Standing at the Gates
​


Saying that Riktos blew up at Morgrim would be quite the understatement, he was seething with rage, and blood pumping a thousand miles an hour in his veins and he struck out wildly around him, Morgrim just calmly took it all in. He could understand why the bear man was pissed, he knew the group was doubting him, and questioning everything, but Morgrim needed to be absolutely sure. He needed to know that they would stay even if all odds were against them. Morgrim didn't even flinch when the blade was thrust inches away from his face, and he just looked at it, and then slowly back to the bear. "I guess I don't really have much choice but to tell you now, do I?" He said calmly. "My kind are being hunted down, and I do not mean guides, I mean champions. The cultists I mentioned they are trying to bring back their god, the first being to walk this world. Back then everything was ash and dead, the world was grey, and that thing fed on everything it could until two stood up to it. The aspect of life, and the aspect of death, my master and god. He chose me, and a few others to stop them." He let the words sink in, and soon others had caught up with them like Crow, and Alaria. He didn't care that they know at this point, it was time they learn.

"The cultist have been sacrificing the champions, killing us, and draining the power from Necros and Valaria. If one more of my kind is killed they will succeed, and it will be the end of our world. Necros has told me there is a way to stop it, and it is in one of their infernal portals. He also told me that tomorrow the gates will open up right here, outside of Ellanor. We need that city, and we need their power so that we can siege that portal and take the key to winning this war." Morgrim does not know what he will find in that portal, but he knows when they see it that it will be obvious. As for those that died he is sad for their losses, but many will die on this journey, but if they give up now the entire world will pay the price, and their will be no one left alive to regret the mistakes. "Believe me everything that has happened has been necessary, people will die, but we must push through to make things right once and for all or you, I, and everyone will share the fate of those we lost." Morgrim was standing firmly in place, if that answer was not good enough for Riktos that was too bad.

Morgrim had seen the fate of the world through the eyes of his god, a blood soaked world devoid of life, a place where ever a flame of hope blooms it is extinguished seconds later without the chance to ever grow. Morgrim would not let that stand, and he would give everything he had if it meant preventing that from happening. This was not a fight for coin, or glory, or brotherhood, it was the final battle.

Morgrim started to press forward, the sight of the gates clear in view now. They were open and it looked that the others had succeeded. "As for my plan they are already in place. A fellow follower like myself, he is a master assassin like our good friend Roxii, they have been in the city for the past week setting everything up for me. They have killed many of the captains, so when the fighting starts there will be confusion, they have been rationing away armor and weapons for the slaves we freed along with medical supplies. They have also placed tactical explosives over the entire city, including in the castle. They may have the fortress, but we have the upper hand. As soon as we start the riot everything will fall into place." This was not some bluff made up by the guide, his friend Lorne had already started killing the captains tonight, and confusion and panic were already settling in among the guards as their gates are wide open, and the slaves following behind them ready to claim the city. Morgrim was confident, and he had every reason to be, they were going to win. The only difficult part would be the King, he was exceptionally powerful, but eight gifted warriors like themselves should be able to do it without casualty. "Do I need to make anything else clear?"

Electricity was in the air, both from the tension between Morgrim and the others of the group, but from the ether swirling in the air. He could feel the energy building up outside the city, he was standing on the precipice of it. They had so little time left, it would be hours before they would have to continue the fight again. Morgrim had no idea the pain that waited him on the other side of the portal though, a place no champion would ever want to tread.
 
Leon Gervano Direct: Luckz Luckz

Greeted by nothing, Leon repeats his question to the pair. Their silence and the bloodied gowns of the vampire made him question their health and whether or not they'd emerged from the battle as unaffected as he had been. The engineer who descended with him begins looking at the corpses and gore covered ground in awe. He'd never seen anything quite like it and the longer it assaulted his senses, the surer he was of being violently ill. He turns his face to the ground making a rather off putting sound that went mostly unnoticed by Leon. "I said report, Jezebel. Are you two hurt?" While his face was hidden behind the tempered steel of his helmet, his voice helped portray his confusion and mild concern for the monk's well being. "Are you alright?"

He watches as the monk grabs her temple, talking to herself. He holds his ground stiffening a touch. His first thoughts jumping to if she'd been bitten by the vampire and was falling into cold hands of madness. He wouldn't hesitate to cut them both down here and now. He grows silent watching to see if she'd lash out or turn uncharacteristically violent but instead, she apologises and runs. Before he can do anything to stop her she's out the gates and making her way for the forest. "Jezebel!" He calls, but to no avail.

Turning his focus away from the fleeing monk to the vampire, he notes the wound in her back and rushes to her side. He presses his hands on the wound to evaluate the severity of the wound before attempting to heave her up from the ground. He keeps himself squatting low, which hurt his knees, so that she'd have an easier time leaning on him if she did accept his help. The wound wasn't pretty and without treatment, he suspected she'd die. Even vampires weren't immune to blood loss. "Green, stay here and tell any guards who come we pushed deeper into the city!"
The engineer looks up from the ground and nods towards Leon before turning to face the wall. He places his arm on the stones and jolts back and forth as if he were still on the verge of releasing the contents of his stomach. Leon cared not for the boy's carry on and only wanted to protect the party member who hadn't abandoned the mission. "Come on. We're heading outside to wait for the others."

(If she does let him pull her up.) He starts to make his way outside the city gate where he'd wait for the others to arrive with the vampire resting against him. He sets her down against the wall outside the city so they could inspect the damage without fear of being spotted. Undoing his gauntlets and removing his helmet he applies pressure to the wound and attempts to slow the bleeding until help could arrive. It wouldn't be much be he had to try something.
 

​

71e295a454846f05b8e7277fb9df5d22--digital-art-fantasy-fantasy-art.jpg
Alaria smiled briefly when the guide and the wolf-elf both allowed her to treat them both traditionally and magically, happy that she could do something significant other than hitting targets with her bow and arrows. Morgrim's words did not go unheard to the female, but she was more concerned for her close ally's well-being.
Riktos was yelling at the guide in such a way that she was sure the whole city could hear while wounded in multiple locations. Her initial instinct was to heal him, to protect him, and to side with him. He was, after all, right: the guide hadn't given them much of a reason to follow, their group had already suffered multiple losses, and all without justification. Morgrim's response was too low for the reptile hybrid to understand, but she had already made her decision. She would help those in need as much as she could while helping the beorning.

"Riktos.." Alaria spoke softly as she reached out to touch the bear man's arm, her touch gentle and caressing. She used every last bit of her healing abilities to take care of the enormous male, the arrowheads removing themselves from his body and the spear dislodging itself from his flesh as Alaria treated Riktos, mending each part of his body step by step, muscle by muscle. It was tantalizing to the young elf-reptile, especially with her already low reserves of magic, but she wanted to emphasize how much she cared for him and make sure he was well. She paid no mind to the stranger or her other companions, Roxii and Crow, as of yet, mainly because by the time Alaria had mended Riktos' wounds, she was leaning on him for support, feeling rather faint and weak. Nonetheless, she smiled up at him and spoke in a meek voice, her face flushed from the effort she had put into healing him.

"I will be your aide, should you need me. I will help others along the way, but I wish to assist you in your ventures, whether or not that means leaving this group. Although, I think Morgrim has a pretty solid explanation for everything, or he's already given it." Alaria glanced at Morgrim apologetically, gesturing weakly to her ears. "Bad hearing."​

Addressed: Alstromeria Alstromeria Morgrim Morgrim | Mentioned: Javax Javax Federoff Federoff Melanin-Gxdess Melanin-Gxdess | Status: Walking to Riktos -> Standing Beside Riktos | Mood: Worried | Location: Outside the Mines -> Near City Entrance | Inventory: Satchel, bow, armor, arrows x23 (she can easily make more), hunting knife, cloak | Notes: Woo​
 

y7qckwux


hj47wv5


Health: 58%

  • Tags: Melanin-Gxdess Melanin-Gxdess | Morgrim Morgrim

    Addressed: Estella Haleth

    Mentioned: Morgrim Hemwick [Vaguely]

The beat of silence after her first inquiry revealed the elf's hesitation and suspicion. She was not wrong to be wary; the world was a dangerous place with many dangerous people and creatures. But the wolf-elf respected the ranger's vague answer. If the velglorn were in this stranger's position, she would've provided a similarly unhelpful response. And a quick reassurance from the dire wolf seemed to have relaxed the ranger.

The ranger and her canine companion had a short exchange of thoughts before the elf gave in, though with a requirement: an explanation. Expected, Roxii supposed. Only a fool would take on a quest without acquiring prior knowledge beforehand. And so, the elf hybrid gave it to her.

"The male who spoke to you first," the rogue began, "is a Guide. I'm sure you've heard of them before? An adventurer who desires to acquire a band of strangers and set out on a journey to better life on Landfall. Though, this Guide has some rather... unusual goals." The wolf-elf paused, looking for the right words to explain their goal. "In short, the group this Guide has acquired is on a journey to defeat a dangerous group who could possibly destroy all of humanity and its sisters." Roxii paused again, wondering if she should say more. "The Guide can provide you with more information, if you are curious enough to inquire of it."
 
2cf84ed15e54d18dc48a3c47d7913ee0fbea5ce5_hq.jpg
Location;; Outside the mines
With;; Shadow Stranger ( Javax Javax )
Condition;; Still Tired// Judgemental
Mentions;; Federoff Federoff Morgrim Morgrim

Estella listened to the stranger intently, her fingers caught in Ivery's black fur. There seemed to be a great and noble cause at work here and she couldn't turn it down. But what about her command? She would need to return to tell them what happened but what was more important; saving what the person in front of her described as 'society and her sisters' or returning? This time she wouldn't consult her companion and would just nod her head. Perhaps an impulsive idea but a good one none the less.

How would all of this help her in her goal of getting revenge though? Unless they were fighting the same enemy. Taking a quick look around, she kind of figured they were on the same side. Well, that and the fact that this guide hadn't killed her when he had the chance. Maybe this group could help her achieve her own goal of retaliation. She nodded her head side to side before looking at Ivery.

"I guess we're going on an adventure then? Albeit, a dangerous one but, it could be for the best." She then picked up her weapons, sheathing her sword and reattaching her bow and arrow to her back. "I'm in." She hesitated looking in the direction of the exit. Here she was about to be traveling with strangers and leaving her command behind. At least she had finished what she set out to do. Now she had something new to look forward, after getting more info of course.

Estella made her way out of the mine, looking for this group. She stumbled upon a group of people, mostly people who stopped to speak to her. But it seemed like she stumbled upon them at what could be be said the worst possible moment. Two of them were having quite the discussion so she just sat back and observed, communicating with the dire-wolf. 'I don't think anyone told me they'd be having a heated discussion...' She said to him. He only nudged her and gave her a look. 'Don't be judgmental.' ​
 
Baldur Drac- Sentry of the Silver Legion.

Inconscipuous and forgettable are the tales of those that are not central to any plot. Night had fallen on the graceful keep. The protector of the realm, the hammer of order, forever shaping this chaotic world inhabited by fiends. Such fiends include the dead that walk, the bear-men that stalk, and whatever other nature-born mistake that dare walk. Night had come quick to follow the day, unusual but welcome for some such as Baldur. A veteran of many of the expeditions of Riglov, he had been recently assigned to outpost duty. Security was often unpredictable in the keep. Ever so often intruders were to even come close to walls, mostly those wishing for reprieve of harsh taxation or killing. A sentry was to be emotionless, to relinquish all aspects of fun and enjoyment, even for a soldier's standard, though not to the extent of the palace guards. Aye, sentries still had some morsel of a soul that dared to peak through. All sentries, alas, took their job quite seriously, and those they dealt with were not much more than interchangeable faces, NPCs in one's realm of existence.

Except for that slimy excuse for a jokester by the name of Regan Coqwitt. By Baldur's standards, Regan had been less than enjoyable for the day. He had missed his shift, and fell asleep right in the chair before him. It was not Baldur's duty to shout or to abandon his post for even a moment, and he sadly had no want to throw a shoe at him. So there was naturally one option left. Going to the rail, Baldur did the only thing a sensible sentry could do to a slacking cohort, and gave him a rude awakening in the form of relieving himself. Regan's reaction was priceless as he sputtered awake, shouting numerous curse words too vulgar even for this recounting.

"Baldur you fucking asshole! Have you absolutely no sense? Are you serious?" Regan said, wiping the embarrassment off of his face as best as he could.

Baldur simply laughed in amusement, finding hysterical that he had the nerve to do that. It felt... relieving, to say the least. "You deserved every ounce. You're late to your shift regardless. I felt a wake-up call was more than needed for you."

Regan simply grumbled, knowing that as much as he wanted to run a sword through Baldur and toss him off the side of the keep, he was right. Slackers were hardly treated well under such a firm leadership, so it was surely best to admit the "cleverness" of Baldur and only fantasize about his death. Regan climbed the tower quickly, saying nothing as he took his position, while Baldur simply smiled and stood in place.

"Good for you. I always took you for a comedian than a soldier," Regan remarked, heavily annoyed, "I heard Riglov's always looking for a new fool."

Baldur suddenly put his hand up, his smile fading. "There's something out there," he said, pointing out into the blackness. Alarmed, Regan followed his mark, looking out into the horizon, seeing nothing. That was, until Baldur decided to take the opportunity to give Regan a hearty whack upside the head. "My, you're astute," the guardsman said, roaring with laughter as he left Regan to his post. Already enraged, Regan shouted a few more curse words, and kicked at the descending Baldur.

Some time passed, and Baldur had fallen asleep. Regan, well into his late posting, began to hear something. Voices, it sounded like. An argument of sorts. It sounded unusual. Though darkness was rather impermeable, the sentinel was well prepared. His eyes were well adjusted, so he scanned for anything, anyone outside the walls. There was great warning in the keep of a roaming band of freaks seeking to break into the city. And then he saw them, some amorphous shadows in the darkness.They were irregular, not guards, definitely trespassers. The sentinel took the bow from the wall, and lit an arrow aflame. He aimed it towards the shapes, and fired.

The arrow struck the ground, creating a small torch of sorts. Without a doubt, it was a nonhuman conglomerate. He could see the guts on one of them, the undead one. They were here.

"Alarm! Intruders at the gates!" Regan shouted, lighting the signal fire on the post. The move was followed by the other posts, a ring of fire enflaming the outer wall. If it were this party, Regan supposed, it would surely be a fight. Word had gotten around about this band. There was said to be one leader, the rotten one, who would at no hesitation hurl his friends to beasts to save himself. And now they had come to their very keep. Already the Legion had seen the signal fire, and the guards were surely scrambling to meet this foe.
 
Collab with JokerValentine JokerValentine Morgrim Morgrim
Morgrim Hemwick & Two dumb guards
Location: Ellanor city watchtower
​
Morgrim was in the middle of his conversation with Riktos, when a light was flying through the sky, and he heard a light 'thunk' by his feet when the arrow impaled itself into the ground beside him, casting a moderate light over them all in the darkness like a beacon. Morgrim's first thought was that this is not good, but they were going to be revealed sooner or later. He had just wished it was closer to when they were in the city, and removing Riglov's head. Luckily, his back up would be commencing the sabotage. Morgrim heard the scream from the watch tower. "Sound the alarm!" They shouted, and Morgrim bolted straight for the tower. He rushed through the open gate, and took a left, where the watch tower was stationed directly beside the main gate.
Most of the guards were away, but they would be there soon enough, so he had to make this quick. He had to kill the two guards, and signal to both the army in wait, and to his companion waiting to set off the explosives. As he ascended the tower, he could feel his wounds again, almost as intense as when they were inflicted on him. A cut on his side that Alaria didn't have the magic to seal was opened again, and he could feel his ether slipping. He'd have to be conservative with his spells, and only use what he must, or he might pass out. As he ascends the steps he makes a gesture with his hand, reaching up into the air, and then gripping and pulling down as if snagging some invisible object, behind him a zombie warrior was summoned, about as strong as Morgrim when it comes to physical combat. So it wasn't the most impressive. In a matter of a few minutes he is at the top of the watch tower where the two guards are, and he draws his boney daggers, looking at them both for any weaknesses. "I'll give you one chance, leave this place now, or I will kill you." Morgrim planed to make due on his threat. He knew some serving in the legion hated their job, and the legions ethics, so he didn't want to kill someone he may be innocent. If they try to stop him, though they could always make good thralls for him.

Baldur, glaring in restrained fear at this unsightly monster, was less than pleased to come face to face with it. Even more so would Regan be. A young lad, fresh from the recruiting platform, now trembled in the face of the corpse. He was so frightened, that he dare not draw his sword. Alas, Baldur did, and aimed at the necromancer. "We don't want your chance, corpse. Now die again!" The Legionnaire drew his scabbard and held it in front of him. "They know you're here, stupid twat. I've been waiting far too long to run a sword through you. So have at it!" Baldur thrust his sword towards Morgrim, aiming for his ribcage.
All the while, Regan did not move a muscle, but was merely petrified. He had not seen a creature such as this, and it shook him to his very core. Though he saw not of the others, surely his opinion could be changed. He considered his offer carefully, fearfully, but was caught in the middle. There were but eight of them. If they fled, they would be executed, and fighting the same. It was far too much a difficult decision for a boy of any age to be making.

Morgrim's zombie stepped up, and grabbed the blade with its hand, while Morgrim backstopped so he wouldn't be impaled. The zombie raised its weapon a horrible jagged weapon that looked like a machete made of of obsidian. It swung at Baldur while Morgrim stepped around and attempted to stab Baldur through the weak points in his defense while distracted by the zombie. More blood seeped through Morgrim's side though, and he felt his head swim from dizziness. It was hard for him to maintain focus, but he shook it off, and focused more on his own defense since he couldn't take much more of a punishment. Not to mention he still had to get used to his new arm which felt weird. His zombie was doing most of the work as it could attack relentlessly without fear of harm since it was undead. All the while they had been ignoring Regan since he looked to be a confused boy, caught in a fight he wanted nothing to do with.

And sometimes, it was those very people that paid the price. Baldur was stuck across the chest, a strong blow indeed, but in his carelessness and in Regan's petrified state, the tower seemed to shake suddenly, but in reality, it was just the last images Regan would see, as since Baldur had pushed him over the edge by mistake, what was once Regan lay crumpled on the ground, his neck broken, his eyes lifeless. Baldur was enraged, but sloppy due to his wound. With a desperate attack, he charged at Morgrim, seeking to protect the keep at all costs. So the King commanded.

Baldur was not the only one enraged, Morgrim looked pissed too at this point. "He wasn't fighting! He was just a kid!" Morgrim gave up on his defense in anger in rage and struck out at Baldur, now he was exchanging blows as he was slashed across the chest with his opponent's sword, and knocked back when hit with the pommel. Morgrim spat the blood out of his mouth, and mentally commanded his zombie to tackle Baldur and hold him down while Morgrim tried to pry the blade of his daggers into the eyes of his enemy. Morgrim hated those that would kill or enslave kids, and that's what he saw Baldur as being. All the slaves this city once held, all the deaths, all the pain. He was going to hold this lone guard responsible, and this would be the real start of Morgrim's killing spree tonight

"Gah!" Baldur said, feeling quite restrained, and knowing it was the end. He cared so little for what had become of Regan, a reanimated corpse, as before him stand death personified. As he fruitlessly struggled, a true look of fear came over his eyes. He wondered if it had ever been worth it at all, or if there ever was a time where it was worth it. "Kill me then, on with it. Riglov will finish you himself, if you live that long." With quivering hands and body, the soldier let loose one last act of defiance to the slave-driver of the dead, spitting in his face.

Morgrim flinched when the guard spat in his face, and Morgrim let out a growl as he plunged both blades into his throat, and then hacking through a good portion of his neck. Morgrim was covered in blood at this point, both his own and others. He stood up and let out a breath of suspiration, heaving over as he tried to catch his breath. He was exhausted, and sick of all this, he just wanted the day to be done, but they still had so much to do. He kicked the corpse of Bladur one last time. "Fucking Legion dog. Rot for all I care, you are only good for the worms." Morgrim went over to a large wooden barrel, it was filled with oil, normally used to keep the light burning while they were under attack. Morgrim however, tipped it over, and gave his zombie a torch off of one of the walls. Morgrim descended down the tower, and when he was at the bottom he gave the zombie another mental command to set the entire tower ablaze, which it did quite spectacularly. The fire would be able to be seen from many kilometers, a perfect signal to both his friend, and the army in wait.
 

baa3b42e6ea0988364944a9f57e01efe.png
Siege of Ellanor



  • MAKING AN ENTRANCE




    *Three months prior*


    The roaring cheers of the crowd filled the air as the swords and spears of combatants collide, the fresh salt-filled air from the ocean masking the smell of fresh blood. Echoing off the cliffs and down through the streets, even the merchants of the bazaar couldn't help but notice the electricity of the crowd today.

    A trusty longsword in one hand and a shield in the other, a lone warrior readied herself for battle. a few rays of sunlight illuminated the dark corridor Just beyond the bars of a metal gate she stood, glimmering off a pair of wide blue eyes behind long, brown hair, surveying the blood-soaked expanse of flat earth. A myriad of weapons-filled bodies of fallen murderers, criminals, and warriors alike were strewn about the floor. Perhaps at one point a hundred men stood, but now only ten remained. A rare occasion. Usually it was no more then twenty or thirty. It did not matter, however. She was the dragon of this pits. And just like a dragon eyeing down the battlefield below in search of its next meal, so did she watch the ongoing struggles of those left from the slaughter. Her longsword slung across the nape of her armor, she eagerly awaiting with a vicious grin for her turn to join in on the carnage.

    The famed fighting pits of Oweumont. Considered to be one of the biggest tourist attractions in the world, people come from the furthest corners of the continent just for a chance to sit upon the famed steps of the Coliseum of Oweumont. Notorious for its brutality and never-ending stream of violent bloodshed and heinous criminals, Oweumont has given birth to some of the most renown pit-fighters within Landfall. Even in her earliest days of infancy, long before the importing of criminals from the deepest dungeons of other cities, this Coliseum has been the best place for a warrior to make a name for themselves. Prove yourself in combat and the crowd would shower you with cheers of glory and the nobles with feasts of coin, fail and you became just another casualty for the lions to feast upon. The people came for a show, and she wouldn't disappoint.

    Soon the clanking of chains would draw her attention. With one pull of a winch, the gate slowly began to rise above the ground. The signal had been given, it was showtime. Cracking her neck both ways the warrior took her first step.

    "NOW ENTERING THE STAGE, WHAT YOU HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR, THE CHAMPION OF THE OWEUMONT FIGHTING PITS, OUR VERY OWN: THE STEEL DRAGON"

    The announcer's voice echoed through the arena, giving even more fuel to the cacophony that is the crowd. Most of the other warriors stopped briefly to turn and investigate what had gotten the crowd all wild up. Save one, the only smart one of the nine, who took advantage of the situation and plunged a spear into his opponents head. Their first mistake. Eight.

    When the eight men all saw that this so-called "Steel Dragon" was just a girl they all laughed. That was their first mistake. "SHE DOESN'T EVEN HAVE A WEAPON!" They all laughed. That was the second mistake. One looked up and saw the truth of his situation but it was already too late. Before he could dodge, her longsword crashed into the ground, impaling him causing the man's split body to break into multiple pieces. She had thrown her weapon into the air before they could see her. Seven.

    The seven that remained all turned to face the, now, impaled man. A mix of shock and disbelief washed over their faces. This was their third mistake. The edge of her shield collided with the jaw of a murderer that was slightly shorter than her. He dropped his short sword as he went flying back. She grabbed the blade mid-air and turned it onto the other six combatants, cutting a soldier's chest diagonally before kicking him backward and into another contestant, causing them both to stumble to the ground.

    By now their dazed state had worn off and the fighting resumed. A tribal barbarian ran for Guinevere's longsword, while an assassin with daggers and a gladiator with a sword and shield tag teamed her. With a raise of her shield, she blocked the sword with a swift, fluid motion. This, however, gave an opening for the assassin to cut her sword-arm with quick, light swipes of his daggers. This served to only piss the dragon off. An angry growl she, let loose a heavy straight punch with her sword arm, knocking the assassin down to the ground. The assassin grasped his throat, gasping for air. With but a single punch he knocked his Adam's apple back into his throat and caused the man to asphyxiate to death. Six.

    Taking a quick back step to avoid the opposing gladiator's swing, she retaliated with a simple thrust of the short-sword. The gladiator did not expect this. Catching her opponent off guard, her thrust would disarm him of his shield. And his arm. Pivoting, she placed her full weight behind another diagonal slash, cutting the man's head off and part of his shoulder. His bloodcurdling scream of pain inaudible among the cheering crowd. Five.

    Her focus changed to the barbarian. Like a feral animal on the hunt for new blood, she quickly dashed over to her next victim. Why the fuck won't this thing budge? His final thoughts before the sharp impact of a sword lodging itself into the back of his shoulder. He let go of the longsword to grasp at the short-sword in his back, just long enough for her right hook to meet his jaw. Taking a step back he was met with her left fist before being knocked back by a kick to his chest. Shifting her weight to her back leg, the steel dragon gripped her longsword and with one fluid motion she ripped the sword free from the ground and crashed it right into the barbarian's skull. With a large slam, the body broke into two with both halves sent flying alongside the debris from the impact of her sword.

    With a smirk she lifted her longsword with a single hand and spun it once, pointing it towards the last man alive. The one with the spear, who had been slowly killing off the wounded soldier and thief from before. "Is that the best you've got?" She taunted him, and like a bull he fell for it, charging her at full speed. She raised her shield and waited for the man to get closer, putting the full weight of her body behind it, waiting for the impact. Once the man got within range she pulled a feint and ever-so-slightly took a step back, changing the angle of the shield so the spear would not only pierce through it but also become stuck. In a single motion, the warrior dropped her shield and brought her sword straight down.

    With the sheer force of the blow, the weight behind it, and the intent, her longsword hits him right in the side of the neck, cleaves off part of his ear and shaves part of the skin of his mouth and exposing the jawbone for all to see. Continuing down its path, the sword followed a diagonal path and breaks through the clavicle, tearing through every rib on his right side and tearing right through to the center of his pelvis before ripping through his two legs and coming out the other side. The body, now in two, released a shower of blood and gore that soaks the entire upper torso of the steel dragon.

    For the first time since the battle had started, the crowd went silent as the body of the body of the last combatant falls to either side. With a guttural roar, she raises both her hands into the air, bringing her bloody longsword into total view for the audience.

    "AND THE WINNER IS, OUR VERY OWN CHAMPION, THE STEEL DRAGON!"

    The audience once again breaks into a torrent of cheering and chanting. The female gladiator jested to the crowd for more, causing even louder uproars. A few minutes pass of taking in the limelight. Her blue eyes met the gaze of a single noble. Taking the last sip from his gold goblet, he signaled for her to return back into the hallways below the Colosseum. Seeing this she obediently complied with his subtle command. She placed her sword in the sling on her back and retrieved her shield and waved the crowd off.



    ​


    empty
NOTHING






Health
100

Skills
Mighty Blow/Quick Jab
Minus Strike
Horn of Valor
Adversity
Blaze of Glory
 
2cf84ed15e54d18dc48a3c47d7913ee0fbea5ce5_hq.jpg
Location;; City Wall....
With;; Leon ( Javax Javax )
Condition;; Slightly Annoyed
Mentions;;


Estella was growing bored of the conversation the two men were having. She was pretty sure that this argument could happen any place than here and was just about to say so. Until an arrow landed next to one of the arguing men. It took her a second to gather her bearings before she started to move. Towards what or where she didn't really know but her instincts just told her to move. She stopped moving when Ivery suddenly stopped and moved towards something else. Obviously they had formed a bond so she followed him, wherever he was going. 'I smell blood, and someone needs us.' He told her. She just raised an eyebrow, how the hell was that her problem? There were more important things at hand than going to help someone.

As they moved through some of the trees, they stayed closed to the shadows. She could hear yells and screams from the distance and the sound of running footsteps beside her. At the moment she was invisible, so there was no way she would be spotted. With the way Ivery was moving, he was very determined to get to this person so she didn't take on any of the enemy guards. 'What a pity,' she thought to herself ', they get to keep living for a little bit longer.' As they continued their current path, she started to grow anxious. Where was this damned wolfie leading her to and why was it taking so long getting there? To her it seemed like forever simply because she was sneaking but really it was only a few minutes.

When they arrived, she saw a woman covered in blood. It was soaked into her dress and she felt bad. It was a nice looking dress and that blood was not coming out of it. There was a man kneeling on the ground next to her, and from what she could tell he was putting pressure on a wound. So this is what Ivery meant by someone needed them, and it was a healer. Her first instinct was to look up and see if the moon was out. Her power, after all, came from it and she would be useless to them at the moment if it weren't. It was and shining just as bright as ever; it made her roll her eyes because that meant she had to go be helpful. She cautiously approached them before realizing they weren't the enemy and she plopped herself down to the other side.

"You look like you could use some help." She said, mentally chastising herself for it. 'Well no shit, the girl is dying and you're saying obvious, stupid shit.' Shaking her head she looked around. "If I'm going to be of use to you I need water like yesterday." She told him, checking the girl out. She wasn't totally dead but she wasn't totally alive either. ​
 
Riktos glowered as Morgrim did a poor job of explaining. Apparently there was a threat greater than the kingdom itself, and those chosen by the gods were slain in ritualistic sacrifice. Riktos would be the first to admit, he wasn't the brightest. His head for battle, survival, and common sense was the only head he had. He wasn't certain if he was missing some piece of lore, or some kind of sacred text that had some hidden truth in it that Morgrim had seen before, but even that probably would not change the mind of the Bear Man. He didn't believe what Morgrim had said. Not one bit.

Wether or not Riktos believed him or not could wait. That didn't change the fact that the guide was still a bloody well awful person by his standards. No amount of conquest was worth this much blood. Riktos hadn't seen this much death since the last of the most recent blood fueds with the northern tribes. Even then, there was more raizing of fields than the clashing of steel, and those that suffered easily recovered. This wasn't a war, or a battle, or a fight. This was a brawl.

Alaria set a gentle hand on his back, healing his wounds and soothing the pain he still barely felt. He gritted his teeth as the arrows in his back popped out like spring flowers in may, and clenched his fists when his wounds sealed up. Not moments later the arow made of fire struck through the night, and Riktos launched himself into action almost as fast as Morgrim. "I need not respite now, Alaria!" He called over his shoulder, "There's a fight, and I'm not missing it!" Riktos dashed along to the city gates, feet pounding into the earth, his giant strides nearly shaking the ground around him. As his feet thudded again and again and again, gaining on the city with large, powerful strides, the glint of something polished and metal caught his eye. A big kite shield. One used by shield bearers, supposed to be wielded with two hands. Riktos reached down and plucked it from the arm of the dead man it once belonged to with ease, not even breaking stride as he grasped both the handles in his large fist. No more arrows rained down around him, but from the place they had come, his keen hearing detected the soundles cry of an individual falling to his death. Checking to make sure it wasn't going to be an issue, Riktos examined the corpse. He was not happy when he discovered that the life that was taken was barely just becoming a man. He was even less happy when the corpse got up and began walking.

Riktos had a bitter taste in his mouth as he saw Morgrim step out of the guard tower, now lit like a beacon. "So we kill children too?!" He shouted, motioning to the youngling that the guide now commanded with his mind, "Why dont we murder the women and slaughter the livestalk while we're at it!" Yelling to make sure the guide heard him over the blaze, Riktos loosened his grip on the kite shield, spun his sword, and turned his back on Morgrim.

A hunting call. An approaching army. This was Morgrims backup. Even more reason not to trust the guide. The fire had blazed even brighter, and the silver legion were beginning to come out of their holes. However, Riktos lightened up, if only a bit, when he saw a woman whose likeness he recognized. The Steel Dragon. A galdiator. A fighter. Someone who had more than a mere shred of honor. One did not simply become a mecenery and not know who this was. Still seething, he turned to Morgrim, but something was different. The excitement of a good fight had the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. It had his blood pumping, his muscles twitching, and the bear inside him just longing to have a piece of the action. "Wether or not I believe in you or your deplorable cause is irrelevant now. There is BLOOD TO BE HAD!"

Turning around, he bellowed over the sounds of stamping hooves and marching men in armor. "You want to get over the walls? I'll climb them myself! And I guarentee I'll do it faster than any of your men!" Without further adue, he held his shield up, drew his axe, and bolted straight towards the castle walls.

There were men on the ground. Fighting. Dying. Arrows flew, boiling oil was spilled over the castle walls, and steel clashed together with the everpresent ring of battle. He said a silent prayer that the earth would take care of Alaria, and wished his anger had not deterred her. He should have thanked her. He should have made sure she was safe.

The battle. Bracing his shield in front of him, the overbearing reckless son of a bitch that was Riktos fucking Killignar barreled into the enemies flank at top speed. One man flew, two others stumbled, and one was unlucky enough to fall on his own sword. Swiping with his axe, the brutish force of nature cleaved off another head, making his gap to the wall. Smacking aside another man with his kite shield so hard his head snapped back, Riktos lunged forwards, sweeping his weight up to grab the reigns of a driverless horse. Pulling the beast back, he swung his legs over sidesaddle, then pushed up, sending the horse to its feet and him into the air. He seemed to hang there for an eternety, limbs cartwheelling through the stillness of the battle, the fire glinting off his shield and excitement burning in his eyes. Time sped up again, and he sunk his axe into the stone wall with all his strength. It stuck. Arrows whizzed by him, and he used his shield to block a few, the shafts thudding into the hard metal, leaving dents.

It was here, hanging from this wall, that he realized who he had been the past few years. He was a floater with a strong arm and a hot head. He was a beast. He was a man. He had a code. He was a warrior. And what he wanted more than ever right now, was something to kill.

Riktos began to climb.

Morgrim Morgrim
Anaxileah Anaxileah
Federoff Federoff
 

Attachments

  • IMG_2980.PNG
    IMG_2980.PNG
    19.8 KB · Views: 0
Lasiol had awoken in some bushes a short distance away from the front gates of the silver city. Well, she had awoken a fair time ago but she decided the ground she was on was soft enough to stay on for a little while longer, out of a combination of wanting to not get up and the hangover she had. Much to her liking, the bottle of unmarked alcohol most likely rum as still by her side, and sill half full! She grabbed it and slowly picked herself up. She noted that she had seemingly passed out in a bed of flowers, so one, she had ruined some poor peasants work and second, she smelled like a spring meadow.

At first she wasn't sure where she was. Lasiol had taken a moment to look around and she quickly became worried as she realized she was basically outside the silver city. "....Bugger.." she cursed to herself. She took a moment to scope out the area, changing her form to that of a simple town guard she had met a few days ago. He, luckily was human and so she would save herself any trouble of legion elitists. She wandered around a little before noticing that the front gate was wide open, covered in blood and random bodies. And there was a man in armor, obviously a paladin or a knight who was equally bloodied. She thought about it for a short while eventually deciding to investigate. After all, maybe this was something she should get involved in.

She ran down, still in her human form and called out to the man. "Hey! knight! whats happening over there?" she asked from a distance, just in case this was some sort of trap to draw her in.

Crumbli Crumbli
 
Leon Gervano Direct: Melanin-Gxdess Melanin-Gxdess KindlyPlagueDoctor KindlyPlagueDoctor Luckz Luckz Federoff Federoff

Keeping his hands on the vampire's wound, he keeps an eye out for the supposed allies he'd gathered from before. One of them was a turncoat, one was careless, and the longer he thought about it the more he realised the rest were clueless. He had holds out hope for a passing minute that the healer and warrior would emerge from the forest as he'd asked them to but that hope quickly fades as he realises they'd let him down too in pursuit of something else. Be it the mines or their own lives, he wasn't sure but he knew he didn't like it. What little trust the group had earned was been swiftly lost as he aided a creature he'd rather slay for an incompetent corpse that wished to play general.
"I'd prefer if you didn't die here, fiend. It'll make me look rather poorly to your comrades." In a calm tone he requests her to not pass on just yet. Looking out across the fields again he fails to spot a single soul and because of that, he found himself pressing down against her wound with greater force to try and slow the flow even more. While it did very little to actually help, he had to hope it could slow it enough for an ally to arrive or even a stranger with a noble heart. Right now he could really use a hero.

Then came the roar of war horn. He'd heard its call before. Though it wasn't the same as the one from his old home, the sound fills him with a spirit he'd forgotten. The calls of a ra- war. The calls of war. He keeps his head lowered to stare at the bleeding girl's wounds and waits for whoever blew the horn to arrive. There was a moment of silence before these unknown horn blowers arrived. Looking up he could see the tips of arrows jutting forward over the walls. They call out about something to one another before the arrows are raised out of sight and released in a volley aimed towards a force he himself was yet to turn around and spot. The arrows whirred over his head as they collided with what he could only imagine was a mixture of shields and armour.
He turns his head to the side to see what he could of these charging men seeing nothing but large circular shields and boots. They were cowering behind their armour to avoid being prematurely cut down before entering the city. Smart. He didn't care whose side they were on at this point, so long as they could distract the silver legion and take this vampire off his hands he was happy to see them arrive. The soldiers begin to pour into the gate where he calls out to them for their help. They ignore him for the most part focusing more on taking the city and fighting off the guards who'd been responding to their tip from what he assumed was the survivor he'd left behind.

He hears yelling, the clashing of steel, and then the thundering of hooves as cavalry charges through the gate. While at first he was somewhat pleased to see these people, their professionalism leads him to believe they'd been waiting for someone to open the gates and let them in. A thought crosses his mind and fills him with rage at a moment's notice. Were these men were working for the undead guide. If they were here already and ready to fight, it means they'd likely been here for a few hours at least. Those people the guide had lead to their deaths in the forest didn't need to die. He was separating the weak from the strong. What's worse is that the guide hadn't mentioned any of this to him or, from what he knows, any of the group.
A growl escapes the back of his throat as another man walks by. He barks at the man, carrying spit with his words, "Assist me!" The man stops for a second looking the two up and down before walking into the city with his shield raised. Then came the siege engines. Catapults, ballista, and a random assortment of men with different equipment entered along with more swordsmen. He calls out once more and is ignored yet again by these men. His disdain for them only growing with each time his value was equal to that of a care taker.

The men push deeper into the city and he fails to find himself any aid from them. They hadn't killed the engineer who he'd helped saved, but from what was being said they weren't pleased with his presence at the gate either. The turncoat was trying to run while the men there saw him as a coward who was attempting to gather reinforcements. He tries to convince them he wouldn't but the combination of battle and personal dislikes for the silver legion lead them to damn him as a coward, keeping him with them as a prisoner. Something Leon would have to rectify shortly.
The battle rages on but grows progressively further away from his location. The rage inside began to subside as he felt denied of the valour he deserved, the fight he was promised, and the king he was yet to judge. He begins to ease the pressure on her wounds. If he had to choose between aiding a vampire and upholding Veritas' justice, he would always choose that which his lady commanded. As the pressure is relieved a woman emerges near by. She was of a darker tone than he was used to and he returns to applying pressure on the wound. The way she stares at the dying vampire made him question if she was like the army that had forced its way into the city and ignored his call for aid. Then, when she asks him if they needed assistance, he feels a smile grow across his face.
"That we could."

She demands he passes her water, to which is is quick to comply. "I'm afraid you and I weren't acquainted yesterday. If we were, I would have been able to provide you with some." He passes her his water skin and then, after she'd taken a firm hold of it, he releases the vampire entirely. He grabs his gauntlets and begins to put them back on. He'd been out of the fight for long enough. He pulls on a few straps and refits the armour to his hand before grabbing his helmet and slotting it back over his head. A few beads of sweat rolling down his face and kicking his heart back into action. His patience was rewarded, and now he could return to his duties.
He stands and draws his sword. He wasn't going to wait around for death to find them or for the king to be delivered to them. He knew he was racing against this force and its commanders to find the king and bring him to justice. Though their versions of justice would differ greatly. Of that he was certain. "Justiciar Gervano, sworn to the service of Veritas." He takes a step towards the gate before looking back at her. "If you see a man who can turn into a bear, or a corpse who guides, hit them for me." He picks up a light jog to enter the city gates before being greeted with a call from behind him.
He turns and sees a man call out to him. The man appeared like any other from the city. His short beard and receding hair line means he's mature and the way he carries himself was like any other. Perhaps he was a civilian caught outside the city or a guardsman who'd forgotten his post. Regardless, the man didn't belong in the city and such was common sense. "A siege against the king and his men! Stay here with the bleeding woman." He points toward the vampire with his blade and returns to his jog into the city. He had to find the battle and worm his way into the fight somehow.

He slows his pace as he approaches one of the catapults and its engineers. One of the men recognises him from out front of the gate and appears visibly concerned about the armed man. The rest however remain focused on what they're doing allowing the rearguard to discuss what he needed to know. Two men approach him with drawn weapons lowered. "Who are you?"
"I'm here for the king. Who gives the orders around here and where can I find them?"
 
Selorian Graeves
​
Hooves on the road reverberated with a weighty "gallumph" as Salorian's horse cut a swath through the countryside towards Ellanor. With a reputation as a slaver city, it was the first place he had thought to set out for when he departed his farmstead. Long nights and days of travel had worn Selorian down, but he remained upright and astute in the saddle, holding his noble head high to see all that he could. He passed farmhouses and cottages and stopped everywhere he could to inquire about his niece Talli, but no one seemed to know anything and he was careful to hide his slightly pointed ears behind his hair so as not to alarm any of the more prejudicial of the area's inhabitants.

He was armed, but did not go looking for a fight. He was a farmer, not a soldier. While is some indignity in having to buy a loved one back, no amount of money was too great for peace and it just so happened that Selorian was wealthy enough that money did not concern him. Banditry, now that was a concern, which is why he carried most of his money in the form of credit slips to be exchanged at a money lender. Travel checks, if you will. He often said that highwaymen would rob you almost as bad as the bleeding "communitarians" in Sanctuary.

Finally, after a long trek, he came near to the city. On the path before him he could see the ruts of soldiers' bootprints and the wheelmarks from siege weapons and sighed. His luck was invariably poor, it seemed. He followed the tracks until he could hear the clang of swords and crash of shields and the din of battle far off, and see the city gate crowded with soldiers preparing to enter the battle inside the city. Whatever fight this was, he didn't want a part in it but would rather wait for the dust to settle. As he approached, he saw several figures, one of which he recognized as a paladin of Veritas. Heartened by this, he brought his horse near to the gatehouse and dismounted, hitting the ground with the nimbleness of a full elf. He was a tall, lean-muscled character. Light of skin, but obviously kissed by the sun. His brown hair was neatly combed and matching eyes quite intelligent-looking and scholastic. He wore a blue coat with ornate brass buttons, tall black riding boots, and an elvish blade dangled from a sheath attached to a strap that went across his torso.

"Evening, Sir Knight." He said, addressing the paladin. "Pardon me, but might you explain the, uhm, preoccupation of the city and their "guests"?" He said, gesturing to the wall and towards the ongoing conflict. "I had hoped I would speak to the lord of this land, but it seems he is otherwise...engaged." The man added.

Crumbli Crumbli
 
An official account of the early stages of Ellanor's fall. As told by J. Valentine, historian.

Recount to me, Muse, how the streets became filled with the blood of men. Let what be told of the tales of the mortal visages in this moment be truthful. As the Guide had led his band to the shores of her citadel, profess to me the nature of that fight.​

Herdom Turns, Garrisoned Soldier

The human soldier was no match for Herdom, his head detached quite neatly from his body with a mighty swing. Already quite dirtied in blood, Herdom's ability to fight was waning. As another soldier came up to him, Herdom, out of breath, raised his sword again, slashing at the soldier's abdomen, felling him with a single swoop. Sound seem to become a liquid, flowing around him, encompassing him. A third soldier of the intruding army started to enter to his gaze, and again Herdom raised his sword. Alas, it would be the last time, as the debris from a catapult shot had destroyed a tower near to him. In that moment, distracted from combat and worn weary, the iron was driven through him rather easily, and he fell where he stood.

Gregor Hrebek, Tavernkeep

The noise had roused Gregor from his sleep rather violently, followed by the sound of the door to his establishment crumbling down. A soldier, in a. bit of a panic, was searching for something. Gregor quickly went to his stairs, and was met with a sword. "Your mead, wine, anything," the soldier demanded while confiscating barrels of his supplies. The intention, quite obviously, to avoid the city falling at all costs, eve if it meant to resort to flame to keep these hellbeasts from the king's court. Imagine, if he were to lacerate this band of cowards himself. What sort of spoil would he receive? King RIglov may perhaps look rather kindly down on himself, give him a prize as great as a sword he once gave an officer for his service. It could be him.

Hyad, Peasant

"Have you left the candle on again? Have you no sense?" Hyad's sleepy wife did say, sleeping next to him on their comfortable pile of hay. Weird, as the farmer knew he had done so that night. He never forgot such a thing, not after his brother had made that mistake and lost his life in a fire. Theysay there was nothing left of him, nothing but a pile of bones. And even then the bastard probably slept all the way through. Hyad stood up and existed the hovel to confront the mysterious bright light, but to his astonishment, it was Ellanor aflame. It was not a large flame, but as he was so close to its outskirts, it was indeed visible. And it was growing larger, the sounds of metal clanging barely heard on the wind. Hyad's wife woke up and came to his side, wrapped in a cloth too tattered to be considered garments. The aged farm mistress simply turned to him. "What is it?" She said, in a drowsy voice. With a tear in his eye, a slight smile forming on his worn face, Hyad had but one word to say: "Ellanor."

King Riglov

"My King, the situation is quite dire," the pathetic excuse for a messenger had to say. Not so much as moments prior were his captains scrambling to fight. Alas it had come to battle. An army headed by a certain Guinevere, that human. How they were to respect her leadership was beyond the king's reason. There were other choice things he would have had to say, but the focus is not on what degrading things he had to say about the leader, it was of Riglov's own people. The Silver Legion were a day's march away, collecting tribute, and with that the town was exposed to attack. The lesser trained soldiers that had ushered in, they were starting to believe they had a chance. And now, the first wall had been breached, and only the remaining wall was their barrier. "You're dismissed," Riglov said, rising from his chamber as he smashed a rare and exquisite vase he had "acquired" through the estate of a man who had a "timely death."

An attendant came to clean up the mess. The sudden intrusion startled Riglov, who immediately grabbed the attendant by his throat. "Ready my armor at once, then you may clean. That is, if you don't, I shall create art from your fat." The attendant simply nodded and rushed to the regal armory, preparing the near-sacred weapons and garments for the Tyrant King. The greatest of smiths were surely in his employ, and under the threat of death, they had constructed their magnum opus, the finest of armors, the strongest of swords. Yet, what made them so deadly was the King's own training. He was an aristocrat in the literal sense. No money kept his crown to his head, it was his fear. It wa his strength and might, his worthiness in battle. Such was the way of soldiers that comprised the Silver Legion.

Vozir Burattinaio

"...it is by no reason, therefore, as to why we may not feel the touch of spider's web upon our skin, as it is made of small enough particles that go between our own. They are..." Vozir let loose the book from his hands, and tipped his head back in thought for a brief moment. It was always satisfying to take lessons from the archaic philospher Kuuyø the Elder. By no means has this ancient tale of how our own composition stood the test of time, but by examining the evidence of the greatest of scholars near the birth of the realm, one may ascertain the way in which they thought. "Your words are welcome sights to my eyes, yet your evidence is beyond dreadful." Vozir tiredly pushed the text away, taking the next from his selection. The words of Versos, an adversary of sorts in the times of Kuuyø. Perhaps what words he had to say were surely more accurate or invigorating. Vozir calmly opened up the script to the first page, already quite tired, and parsed the first lines of the script.

The words were in an old dialect, a Clerical phrasing that today, many may declare to be archaic. No ordinary self-proclaimed scholar could read it, save for Vozir. For the sake of clarity, a translation of what Vozir read before he dropped the book in astonishment was as follows. "Think of the waning moon of the final night of one's life, and consider how the world rises up in flame as the soul descends." Of course, the thoughts of the afterlife have surely changed since those more archaic times. The rise of Paladins had made sure such teachings were snuffed out, to the thanks of the greatest of scholars no doubt. Though, at the end of the first line, Vozir had decided to look up at what annoying flash of light was disturbing him at this hour. Surely it was not the candle he used to read with.

And would you believe it, just as a prophecy which bores us follows suit, there were the flames on the tower. Riglov's time of control was nearing a close. Finally, the charade of being a ruler in control of every aspect may come to a close. Finally, the greatest of guides, Morgrim Hemwick, he was here alas to free the town of tyranny, and cleanse the realm of evils. It had been foretold, but alas, much to the demise of the group as a whole, the trials were merely an affront to the true ones that remained. Unaware to Vozir no doubt, through the trials, judgments, and losses suffered by the group, and especially their guide, they were no easier. Riglov still lived. All Vozir could do would be to think their capabilities were good enough. If they were not, then it was all lost. "Do battle, Hemwick. I am quite bored of waiting," he simply said, continuing into his book as the battle continued.
 

83278da03b5440f2aa014eb59bef522c.png
Shadows Over Ellanor



  • Shadows of Night





    *One Week Prior*

    Lorne was out in the forest, scouting out the city from the outside, he noticed that the city had been getting a stead influx of traders and farmers coming in, all carry abundant amounts of goods and crops. Ellanor use to be a glorious trading hub, and while it was still widely used, it was mainly frequented by the wealthier individuals. The taxes that Riglov had imposed meant that 20% of anything entering the city was given to him as tribute for what he called 'Good Fortune'. What it really meant is that if they did so he wouldn't send his personal guards to confiscate all their goods. Lorne found out from word of mouth that the farmers who could not pay the tax were driven out, and all their property given over to the more successful men of their trade. A lot of people who were just trying to make a living in the fields lost their homes, families, and ended up becoming hungry beggars, or more optimistically adventurers seeking to make a difference. Lorne waited until nightfall, when there were less guards, and merchants on the path, using his shadow form he assumed the appearance of a misty spectre that blended in almost seamlessly into the night setting, where the moonlight flickered lightly of his cape, only the most observant could notice it.

    A short bald man wearing colourful noble clothing and a cap to cover his head was walking down the beaten trail of Ellanor, heading for the main gates. Lorne, quiet as a whisper and fast as a ghost ducked into the cart the man was leading, a heavy wooden vehicle filled with hay. It had two more carts behind it filled with the same, and he hid in the middle one. Guards were lazy, and when checking carts for anything usually just looked at the first. The night was long and their jobs boring, and it often lead them to bad decisions. Complacency would be the downfall of Ellanor. The cart came to a halt with an abrupt shake, but Lorne did not move a muscle, he heard the muffled talking of two guards, with the distinct high pitch voice of the farmer, he didn't sound worried though, he had no idea he was carrying a highly trained assassin in his carts, and he had made the trip many times. He was a man by the name of Aizen who was a land baron that owned farmlands all over the continent. The guards recognized this man, and even though they knew he could be trusted still quickly searched through the first hay cart.

    "Protocol you know." Was all the first guard said, a big man in armor that looked almost too small for him. He had on no helmet, just the suit of armor. It was standard issue as the man was of no real importance, just another witless guard doing his job for a place he may or may not even care about. They let him through after a quick minute of searching, and when they found nothing the baron Aizen just gave them a nod and made a grunt noise, as if they two were not worth his time at all.

    The city was dead at this time of night, the cobblestone paths empty of people, and nary an animal in sight. The city was kept clean at all times to appease the nobles who fancy taking walks instead of doing any actual work. Stalls could be seen near the entrance as the first area of the city was dedicated to trade, as that is what most people came to Ellanor for. The stalls were for small time business owners, people that usually worked with their hands on woods, metals and cloth, while the bigger buildings were the far more frequented that housed popular stores, and services like exotic goods, slaves, and the works of legendary smiths.

    Lorne had gotten what he wanted out of the baron, and disembarked from the cart, keeping his shadow spell active the entire time, and he was happy to not be seen by anyone in the darkness of the world. His first objective was to set the explosives, it would ironically be the job least likely to attract any attention since the explosives he had were so small, but so effective. He had received them from Morgrim, a special compound dubbed Dragon's Breath, a highly incendiary powder that could melt stone and metal. He had a satchel full of the stuff, and a map of key points around the city to place them. Area's like the castle, guard barracks, armory, and several watch towers. He was told explicitly not to target anything like the hospitals or residential area's. The mission was to sabotage the city, and keep casualties to a minimum. There was another thing he knew of though, the underground passageways in the city. They had a connection to pretty much every building, including Riglovs castle that bypassed all defenses and outposts, since it was an ancient thing set up by the previous faction that owned the city, and the Silver Legion hadn't told anyone of them, so they felt no need to protect them. The Legion had thought they killed anyone and everyone that knew about it, and that would be their mistake tonight. The closest entrance would be in the nearby guard tower which had a warm light coming from it, and the sounds of cheerful laughter, and spilling liquid. He could smell the alcohol as he approached the locked door.

    He conjured a skeleton key of shadow extending from his index finger, and inserted it into the lock. His head twitched ever so slightly, and his muscles tensed. He hated being in the light, and he hated people. Killing was not a thing he enjoyed, but it was by far his greatest skill. When he trained under his lord Necros he gave everything he could, but his humanity was not something he could lose. He said a silent pray as he promised to give each of the men in the room a swift and silent death. He sent out a pulse of darkness that acted like sonar revealing the location of each of the six men in there before he even opened the door. He memorized their spots, and picked the lock. He swiftly opened the door, and conjured six knives made entirely of shadow, three in each hand. He flicked both wrists in a fluid motion, and loosened his grip on each blade as his target lined up with his hands and a blade lodged itself into each of their throats, or eye sockets traveling right through them before disappearing into mist. Each man died without so much as a sound except for the limp bodies falling to the floor. Lorne shivered as he felt the souls of each man leaving their bodies, and his head twitched again this time in the opposite direction.

    "Sorry." Was all he whispered.

    In the room there was a table in the center covered by a cloth with the symbol of the Silver Legion on it, clearly fashioned by one of the merchants in town, however it looked faded and messy from the ceaseless amount of alcohol that had been spilled on the fabric by the rowdy guards of years past. In the room there were six beds, each with a small nightstand and candle beside it to the left, and a footlocker at the foot of the bed. They had all been filled with personal effects, like pictures, collected trophies from kills or people they harassed, some clothes, and their weapons. Lorne had no interest in any of the gear, he was not a looter, and would no deface the men's memories by pawning of their once valued items or using them for personal gain of some other sort. There was another table off to the side of the room that had a huge bounty of food, and above it a highly embellished painting of Riglov when he was still in his youth, and a respected general; now he was just a bloated beast barking orders. The room was bright and easy to see everything in it with detail, but this just made Lorne squirm, he wanted to escape the light. He sent out another shadow pulse, and found a hidden door under the dining table. He pushed the table out of the way, and removed the rug covering it showing a trap door.

    He kicked it up with his foot, and peered into the dark abyss tunneling below ground. The musky air, and cool draft filled him with a sense of comfort, and he descended. As he clambered into the hole he visibly relaxed, and he could move comfortably again. He closed the hatch behind him, and the light had stopped looming over him. He felt at home here, one with the world and his lord Neckros. He had a mission, and he will see it expedited.

    "Finally." He breathed a breath of suspiration. He did not need the light to see in this tunnel, darkness was his friend, and he could feel it go on for kilometers, branching out like the roots of a tree, the deeper it went, the more it diversified. He drew up a mental image of the city, and headed first for the castle, which was farthest away. When he could tell he was below he placed the first clump of Dragon's Breath, and beside it a small vial full of Morgrim's blood; even Morgrim's blood looked sickly and unnatural. He knew Morgrim felt pain every day, of what he had lost, and what he had become. Lorne normally only said a prayer for those he would kill, but he said another one for Morgrim, hoping that he could find peace in his mission. He had five more clumps of the compound, and five more vials. He traveled around, and every time he reached a key location he placed down another clump and vial of blood. It took him a good six hours to get everywhere in this cave, and when he did he decided to take a short rest in the darkness. He closed his eyes and drifted off.




    ​


    empty
NOTHING



 
Last edited:

yakpfnwz


y7yyfyqs


Health: 64%

  • Tags: Alstromeria Alstromeria | Morgrim Morgrim | Melanin-Gxdess Melanin-Gxdess | Federoff Federoff

    Addressed: Faelyn Vaneiros

    Mentioned: Riktos Killignar | Morgrim Hemwick | Estella Haleth [Vaguely] | Guinevere "The Steel Dragon" [Vaguely]

After a swift visit to the storage room, Aerendal felt relieved to be adorned in his armor and belongings instead of the ragged slave's clothing he was forced into, albeit he had to pluck the undershirt and pants off of a fallen guard. Turns out that the clothing one wore eight years ago doesn't fit as snugly later on. It was a small price to pay, but the Lythari despised the feeling of the guard's clothing touching his skin. He would have to stop by a shop first thing to purchase some garments that weren't tainted with the blood, sweat, and tears of an inhumane slaver. On the bright side, his longsword had been untouched, though the weapon was thrown in hastily with the few other weapons that the other slaves—er, ex-slaves now—happened to possess. There were no new nicks or scratches in the fine metal, and the inscription on the side was still immaculate. The male still could not read the words written along his blade. The ancient language was older than any he had seen before, perhaps as old as the gods themselves, but the blade had been passed down from generation to generation of Lythari lineage. It was the only thing the hybrid could save from the chaos that was Felnethyr. But it was not he who deserved to hold the ancient blade, now that he knew his Valishara was alive.

The setting sun's rays seemed more intense than he remembered, and Aeren put a hand up to block the blinding light. He supposed that could be expected after being confined in a dark, damp place for eight years. It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to his surroundings outside of the mines. The forest seemed brighter than he remembered, more lively. The greens were bright and alive, soaking up as much sunlight as they could before nighttime settled in. Small flowers and fungi were in stark contrast against their green and brown counterparts. Small animals—squirrels, rats and mice, birds, and the like—rustled the underbrush and leaves as they raced back to their homes for the end of the day, and to escape the risk of being captured by nocturnal predators. A deep inhalation of the air was a definite improvement from the damp, musty warmth of the underground labor camp. He knew it wasn't as clean as the elvish lands he hailed from, dampened by the pollution of cities that cut down nature rather than settle alongside it, but anything was better than that wretched mine.

The sun finally began retreating behind the horizon, allowing the moons and stars to take hold of the sky. As he continued approaching his cousin's accomplices, his gaze fell upon the large walls of Ellanor. The city towered over everything in the vicinity, a show of power for someone with nothing but money. The male held vague memories of the city, in a time when his young child mind couldn't see the corruption and sin that plagued every soul within its walls. He missed those times, when his obliviousness and naïveté was enough to mask the evils of the world around him and the make even the most disgusting of places seem magical. The hybrid supposed it was for the best; naïveté could be the slim difference between life and death.

"Four of our companions have died so far." Aeren's icy blue eyes slid to the unnamed companions. The corpse and a large, burly man who smelled of torsk were having a rather... vehement discussion. The burly male's words boomed, aimed at the man who smelled of death and decay. From what he gathered, the N`Til`Nond—whom he learned was a Guide—had led this group, including his Gwanur into much danger, taking the lives of numerous members in a short span of time. Was it wise for Faelyn to be accompanied with these strangers? Did she even know who they were—really know? These people could be the end of her. They could be leading her straight to her demise.

Two pairs of footsteps—and one set of padding paws—approached Aerendal and the assembled group. He averted his gaze to see his kin walking towards them, following behind the new stranger and her wolf. Another pang took hold of his heart at the sight of the bandage around Faelyn's head. He should've been there. He shouldn't have run. He should've protected his cousin, his kin, his q—

There was no time for regrets now.

His cousin stopped beside him with expert grace. If he were stupid, he would think she still possessed her sight. The male Lythari took in the sight of his female counterpart, still bewildered by how real she was. Years had definitely taken a number on her, but she was no longer the young girl he remembered in the castle halls of Felnethyr. He could see the multitude of scars littering her lithe, yet muscular, body, another ache racking his body. She was armed to the teeth, ready for an unspoken war. Her hand were rough and calloused. And he could feel her magic pulsing from her in thick waves, stronger than he had ever seen them before. She'd been practicing. A lot.

Faelyn noticed his stare but didn't comment on it for a few moments. "What?" Her voice was still smooth and as graceful as her movements, but it held an edge as sharp as an elven blade.

He slid his gaze back to the fuming males. He kept his attention on the Guide's explanation as he spoke. "Why are you with them?"

"I'm sorry?"

Oh, he was treading into dangerous territory. "These people. Why are you following them?"

There was a beat of silence. "These cultists are dangerou—"

"But why are you with them?" He looked back at his cousin. "This is not your fight."

"This is my fight." Her words were sharp.

"This is absolutely stupid—"

"Are you calling me stupid?" Her head turned slightly towards him, mimicking one who could actually see.

"Of course not." Very dangerous territory. "This is just very dangerous and—"

"I can take care of myself." Each word dripped with venom as they left her lips.

Aerendal knew he had no right to question her, but he couldn't help himself. "You don't have to be here. We could leave. We could leave this all behind and go back home. This is absolutely ridiculous, and this Guide should not be putting others' lives on the line for something that sounds absolutely absurd. You shouldn't b—"

"Enough!"




y7qckwux


hj47wv5


Health: 59%

  • Tags: Melanin-Gxdess Melanin-Gxdess | Alstromeria Alstromeria | Morgrim Morgrim | Anaxileah Anaxileah | Federoff Federoff

    Addressed: Aerendal Vaneiros | Guinevere "The Steel Dragon"

    Mentioned: Estella Haleth | Riktos Killignar | Morgrim Hemwick | Alaria Wylloh

The rogue had followed the ranger out of the mines into the darkness of the forest, following the bellowing voice of the Torsk-Edain. The Guide and the large man were having an argument—though it was rather one-sided. Her sensitive ears were able to catch bits and pieces of the beginning, but she had soon turned her attention to her older cousin. And instead of learning the important parts, her male counterpart had the audacity to question her and tell her what she should and shouldn't do. If there was one thing that agitated the hell out of her, it was being told what to do as if they controlled her. And here she was, fuming at her kin and her one-word demand hanging in the air between them.

Another beat of silence. "There is no time for such paltry discussion." Her words were low and clear. Her cousin seemed to mentally cower at her words, but he made no visible movements. She raised an arm and pointed at the towering city behind Aeren. "We are taking that city, and I am going to help them—" Her finger aggressively gestured towards her acquaintances, who had gone quiet, signalling the end of their own discussion. "—with or without your help."

Roxii knew she was being harsh, but there was no way she was going to let some male who had disappeared from her life for eleven years try and make her decisions for her.

Something pierced her pulses. It moved fast, soaring through the air like a speeding falcon. Bright, heated energy—fire—adorned the projectile's tip. The wolf-elf said nothing as she darted past her kin towards the city walls, sheathing her longsword and equipping her bow. The weapon materialized in her hand seemingly from nowhere, the dark magic tingling her fingers. Men on the walls began to nock arrows and shower her and her companions. The assassin was careful to dodge the projectiles, all while nocking her own arrows and firing them with careful precision. Every one hit their mark, and men and women began falling one by one. Some of the more muscular men took a few more arrows, but they fell eventually. Unfortunately, she couldn't take down as many as she'd liked before she reached the wall; she had to keep running.

When she was close enough to the wall, she could feel the pounding of boots running up and down along the entirety of the structure. Normally, she wouldn't be able to "see" that far, but there was so much movement, so many reverberations that it allowed her to feel further. Three men were struggling with a pot of burning oil, dragging it over to her section of the wall. She needed to get up there. Now. Roxii didn't slow or stop when she got to the wall. Instead, she launched herself at it, her claws digging into the rock and her boots gripping and sticking easily to the surface. Maintaining her momentum, she began clawing her way up the vertical structure. But the men managed to get the pot to the edge of the wall and, before she could move out of the way, the burning oil was pouring over the top and hurling towards her.

The guards heaved the pot over the edge, letting it drop to the ground far below. They peered at where the shadow woman was just mere moments ago. No bodies had fallen to the ground, nor was there any writhing and screaming. Their eyes scanned the wall, hands gripping the edge in fear and adrenaline. "Where is she?"

The velglorn left the Shadow Realm and gripped the ankles of the middle guard, using surprise to her advantage as she lifted his feet off the ground and flipping him over the edge of the wall. His scream of terror filled everyone's ears as he plummeted to his death. The two remaining guards—one with peppered hair, probably in his late 40s, and another who looked to be even younger than she—whirled on their attacker. Roxii was quick to finish the job. The young boy didn't even finish turning before a dagger was embedded into his throat. She ripped the blade out and, in one fluid motion, cut the older man's stomach open. The boy clutched at his throat to stop the bleeding and to try screaming for aid, but instead he only gurgled on his blood and drowned in the sticky substance. The older male, however, still tried to fight the female. An arm was wrapped around the wound as he lunged his sword towards her, but she just batted it away is if it were a simple stick. She raised a booted foot and kicked him towards the edge, and the man stumbled and fell backwards.

Enraged yelling and stampeding boots approached her from both sides. Roxii simply flung the blood off of her blades and readied herself, prepared to send many souls to the afterlife in the next few minutes.



He crossed a line. He knew it was a bad idea, and he still tread into unsafe territory. The way his cousin's lips were set into a flat line, tense creases forming on each side. The way her jaw was clenched, the muscles in her neck tense, restraining the words that could hurt worse than any blade. The way her hands balled into tight fists, turning her knuckles snow white. He made a mistake; he had no right to be ordering her around, and they both knew it.

And then she was gone.

Something switched. All of the tenseness left her body as if someone had poked a hole into a balloon. Instead, it was replaced with surprise and determination. She pushed past him and broke out into a full-on sprint into the darkness towards the only artificial light. Towards Ellanor.

It wasn't until the arrow engulfed in flames thudded into the ground beside the Guide and the burly man that he understood what was going on. They'd been spotted. "Intruders at the gates!" A distant shout rallied their men and armaments. Save for his cousin, the Guide was the first to act. He bolted towards Ellanor's gates nearly as fast as Faelyn. The burly man, despite his massive size, followed suit nearly as quickly. And the Magic Knight was not far behind as the three of them stormed towards Ellanor, ready to kill any in their way.

Being more lithe than the other two, the Guide was able to reach the city's gates first, launching himself up the watchtower to take out the night watchmen. Aerendal removed his sword from its sheath and joined the fight. He wasn't as quick as his cousin, nor did he has the agility or gracefulness of such a deadly dancer, but he was stronger. That counted for something, right? He supposed so, when his sword easily disarmed an opponent and the blade was thrust into their chest, exiting out the other side. He kicked the dying body off of his sword and continued on.

The watchtower burst into flames, acting as a beacon for all: a warning and a call to action. Aeren rushed through the gates and immediately engaged with another soldier. He parried his attack and sliced his sword across his abdomen before punching the man in the face, knocking him out cold and he bled out. In the distance, a roar filled the air. To any human, they'd barely hear it and think nothing of it. But the Lythari's sensitive ears caught it, and caught the large mass of men and women moving with it. An army was signaled to move by the beacon. A trick up the Guide's sleeve. Was he smart, or simply just another fool playing god?

The male had no time to consider exactly what this supposed Guide hoped to be. Bodies were collapsing all around him, and the scene was being painted red with blood and guts. Screams and shouts filled the air as everyone threw everything they had at each other, including their own bodies—either themselves or their fallen comrades. An all out battle was occurring around him. And Aerendal had quite a list of revenge to dish out on many of these Silver Legion scum.




baa3b42e6ea0988364944a9f57e01efe.png


a582d4e59db081499cbe4139eacf8307.jpg
Arrows flew from both sides of the battle, boulders flew shortly before crashing into the towers that aligned themselves atop the walls of the city. Her artiliery was under strick orders. They were to shoot the towers and ONLY the towers. Once the towers were taken out they would cease fire and fall back into a protective formation. Deviation was not an option. "Platoon! Half of you inform F2 and D1 to flood through the city. Have D1 evacuate any civilian caught in the crossfire and have F2 pick off any soldier that puts up resistance. Any that surrender will be spared. The calvary will be joining you on foot shortly" The dragon's commands were strong and quick, capturing the attention of the squad of her soldiers. Half the soldiers simply nodded their heads and drew their blades before running off to relay her orders. She turned back around and noticed a small group of, what seemed to be, Morgrim's group of...whatever they were. One was clearly injured and yet most of her soldiers had passed by without a second glance. She scowled. "The rest of you, go offer our assistance to the rest of this man's squad. With haste" They hesitated for a moment, unsure of whether to question her decision to remain here alone or not, but ultimately decided to follow her orders and fell back to the previously mentioned party.

She unsheathed her sword and took it upon herself to fight off the few soldiers that came trickling out from the city as her medic patched up the badly injured Morgrim. The scowl persisted, her long heavy blade making quick work of anyone who dared attack them. She was like a butcher, carving off entire limbs with each swing of her blade. The ferocity of her strikes created a wall of flesh, limbs, and blood that all stopped where she was. No one was getting through her. The shine of a shield soon caught her attention. Catching movement in the corner of her eye, she chopped off the last man's head before turning her gaze. A large, and rather hairy, man was barreling down towards them. She furrowed her brow. The man had no armor that indicated a side her was on, suggesting to her that he was a mercenary. However, what really caught her attention was the shield he was holding. A kite shield. It was suppose to be used with two hands, much like her own sword, but this man was carrying it in only one. She could tell that this man was much stronger then the rest of her soldiers here. Perhaps even stronger then she was.

He was shouting something, a message over the sounds of battle?. She strained her ears to listen. "So we kill children too?!" Guinevere's eyes dilated when she heard this. "Why don't we murder the women and slaughter the livestalk while we're at it!" She turned her back towards Morgrim, and in a single, fluid motion, grabbed him by the scruff of his shirt and raised him into the air. Anger was written in her eyes. She pointed towards the running man and growled at Morgrim. "WHAT THE FUCK IS HE TALKING ABOUT!?!" Her voice boomed. With her teeth barred she looked like a dragon ready to breath fire onto Morgrim. "WE ARE SUPPOSE TO BE OVERTHROWING A DICTATOR, NOT BECOMING ONE'S OURSELVES!" Before he could respond the angry man arrived at their location and began climbing the walls himself. His strength impressed her, but with her being this angry right now; his actions did not. Her face contoured into a mix of angry confusion. She was completely awestruck at the show of stupidity. And people though her an idiot.

She took a second to composes herself before finally lowering Morgrim and pushing him away. She took her shield out and blocked an incoming arrow. Her eyes never shifted from Morgrim. "Don't think we're done here. You and me are going to have a looooong chat after this." She placed a finger on the man's chest and applied a surprising amount of pressure to it, before giving the corpse and order he'd be smart enough to follow. "Get your people into that castle and take out this dickbag. I'll meet up with you once I know that the civilians are safe"



The shadowy rogue had made her way to the second wall by the time the Guide stepped out of the watchtower. A burst of energy erupted in her peripheral vision, catching the rogue's attention. The watchtower had caught fire, and Morgrim was coolly walking away from it with a swagger than only a successful arsonist could possess. She dodged another attack and drove her dagger into his thigh. He faltered and she was able to drive her boot into his jaw. He fell without any resistance.

Roxii could feel her muscles aching, each movement becoming increasingly more difficult to perform than the last. It had been a very long day, but the wolf-elf couldn't say it was the longest day she's had. Her days in Sanguine Isle were definitely the most taxing days of her life, but it didn't deter from the fact that she was starting to feel the beginnings of fatigue. She'd have to consult the healer later on to hopefully get some sort of elixir to replenish her energy.

A horn sounded in the distance, floating up, up, up and over the commotion that was the battle. Pounding boots approached the city, surrounding clunky siege weapons and machinery. They moved in perfect formation; these strangers practiced and were very well trained. But the hybrid's attention wasn't on the mass of men; no, it was on their leader. The brunette was in battle mode, her face contorted into determination and excitement. The woman was prepared for this. Another unspoken plan conjured by the undead Guide. The wolf-elf bristled at the lack of communication. If they were to succeed, there needed no secrets concerning the field of battle. That was how people like the Eldar elf and the rabbit-woman fell prey to death.

She supposed it wasn't a terrible plan, however. The army's leader made her way to the front of the line, walking along the inside of the second wall. Her lips turned up into a slight smirk. When she had disengaged herself from all nearby guards, the wolf-elf strode to the edge of the wall and stepped right off. She plummeted to the ground at a fatal speed. If she were to hit the ground, she’d definitely bounce off of it like a ball and break nearly every bone in her body. But she wasn’t going to hit the ground. Instead, she plunged herself into shadows the second before she hit the ground, allowing herself to be enveloped in the safety of the Shadow Realm. She took a knee as she composed herself, trying to gather herself from switching between the strong grasp of gravity and the unnatural feeling of weightlessness. Once settled, she dropped the shadowy cloak.

The wolf hybrid was kneeling before the pit-fighter, suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere. Roxii stood to her full height and raised her arms, gesturing to the bloodshed around them. "And so the Steel Dragon arrives, at last," the rogue addressed. "It seems we are to fight alongside each other rather than against."




She turned her attention back over to Riktos, who was now about a fourth of the way up the walls and cupped her mouth."You really wanna help? Take out as many soldiers as you can and help evacuate the civilians!" She yelled out once more. Before she could turn and return to her people on the front line a shadowy figure dropped down infront of them. "And so the Steel Dragon arrives, at last," the rogue addressed. Instinctively her muscles retracted and wound up a brutal swing. She stopped and lowered her blade before the downswing. "It seems we are to fight alongside each other rather than against." She eyed the wolf-elf in front of her. The face and voice looked familiar. Her blue eyes looked the smaller woman up and down twice. She looked rougher and her voice was different then the last time they'd met, but there was no mistaking who the rogue was. She had fought this girl in one of the pits she frequented while her master traveled. A small smirk made it's way onto her face. Last time she saw her she was but a young girl. A relief. Not only that she had escaped that hellhole, but was also on her side. "Roxii! I trust you're still good with the blade?" She remembered the fight like it was yesterday. She was of the few combatants that the dragon had fought that was quick enough to outpace her and smart enough to see through her offensive defense. Guinevere was easily able to cut the rogue down in one hit. The problem was landing that hit, and outlasting the quick ripostes of her daggers and swords.

"Ah!" The rogue made a noise that sounded as if she were offended. A hand rose to lay on her chest, over where her heart would be—if she had one. "Your memory is as dull as your blade." Her smirk widened. If she were to still have her sight, the assassin's eyes would be twinkling humorously. "Perhaps you shall see if my skill is still as remarkable as you remember."

Her eyes shifted over and behind the small rogue, scanning the brawl taking place on the front line. A mental sigh. Both sides would have casualties before the day was over. She turned her attention back to Roxii before nodding at her. They wouldn't accomplish anything by standing here any longer. They needed to either get to the front line and help out her soldiers, get farther into town to evacuate properly, or get to the castle and end this madness once and for all.
 
Last edited:
Lasiol took a moment, the combination vengeful energy and the want to personally aid those in the same cause as her left her mind. she took a moment. Yes, these people where fighting the silver legion, and she hated the silver legion with all her might, and was willing to risk a lot just to avene her friends. But, she wasn’t an idiot. The ringleaders words sounded in her head. The show had to go on, to live for another day. She waited for a moment, shedding her disguise and turned and ran, letting the confusion of the battle cover her escape. She ran further and further into the night, until she was no longer in the sight of anyone, be they adventurer or guard. Lasiol had disappeared back into the night.

Morgrim Morgrim (Lasiol is removed from play)
 
IMG_2980.PNG
Hanging from the wall by an axe handle, and realizing that he could not cover himself with anything other than the massive kite shield he held, Riktos realized climbing would be harder than he had origionally planned. Yells from the steel dragon herself enforced this, and the beorning conceded to the unforgiving stone of the wall. He yanked his body weight to the side, and the top part of the blade of his waraxe snapped off, stuck in the wall. The large man was not happy about his weapon being damaged, but it was still sharp, and it would still cut just as fine. Landing bodily in the middle of the fight once again, Riktos blocked three consecutive blows with his shield, and lashed out with the broken axe. He caught the back of the mans neck with the back of the axe, and pulled him towards the shield with a loud clash of metal on metal. Stepping over the body, Riktos did his best to scan the battlefield.

Civilians. Riktos saw none. It was either the thrill of battle, and everyone was an enemy, or those that didn't fight were already dead, or huddled in a basement somewhere. The rooves of the shops that werent caved in or ablaze from the spreading fire of the watchtower were probably best left alone.

Soldiers. The second order. There were dwindiling numbers of those. One of the Silver dragons men acidentially mistook Riktos as the enemy. A quick parry and a poke to the chest with his open palm told the warrior they were on the same side. "Is there a plan?" The large, mountain of a man asked. "Oy, probably," the warrior said, turning his back and fending off a blow, "Well met!" Riktos jammed his shield into the ground, now soft and wet with the blood of the fallen, functioning as cover as he stowed his axe and drew Sangue Salvaxe. "Well met," he agreed. He reached over his newfound brother in arms and struck the man he was fighting with the flat side of the blade, spinning it overhead and cutting into the shield of another, hewing it in half and opening a fatal gash in his opponents chest. "What do they call you, friend?" Riktos asked, picking up his shield and slinging it to his back. A brief check showed they were clear for the moment. "Laiosin," the man replied, "Good to see you're on our side!"

Laiosin pointed out to Riktos the battering ram the Steel Dragons men were trying to bring to the front lines, to the gate. Riktos narrowed his eyes, judging the distance between the gate and him, then decided it didn't matter. "To me, brothers!" He shouted to the surrounding friendlies, only about six, but they were enough. Riktos held his blade in both hands and the men formed a wedge with him at the front, slamming into the enemy clustered at the gate. Riktos used the pommel of his sword to strike first, a hard, upward jab breaking the defenders guard. He followed up with a large upward slash, hewing the mans left leg off. He left the cripple for Laiosin to finish, and grabbed the blade of Sangue Salvaxe in his bare hands. The blade was dull enough to not cut his hands as he brought down the hilt over an enemies shield and into his shoulder, smashing him in the face with a fist the size of a canteloupe, pulling the sword out, and shoving it back in. His small wedge of warriors was enough to open up a gap for the battering ram apparently, and they rushed past, slamming into the gate.

"That was WEAK!" Riktos bellowed, making his way to the font of the ram and grabbing one of the handles along with one of the men, "HEAVE!" They did, and splinters flew. The man with him almost let go of the ram and was carried off his feet by the sheer force of the blow. Most men were a good head shorter than Riktos, but this man was only half as much. Even so, his strength did not compare to the bear mans. "HEAVE!" It became a chant, over and over. Riktos could see cracks in the gate appearing slowly, but damn, were these doors thick. A bit longer, and he could take himself up to the castle, find the armorer, and determine who had discraced his father. The sword he now carried remembered much. It remembered the wind, and the fire, and the screams of battle. The shouts and cries that formed the songs that the generations that carried it would remember. The wild blood that ran through Riktos's veins remembered too, and the shadows that danced in the woods and scared children at night stirred. Riktos was out for blood. He was here for vengeance. He wasn't sure where this path led, but as the heroes died, and their blood soaked into the ground, he was certain he would drink to them with the survivors tonight.
 
Last edited:
2cf84ed15e54d18dc48a3c47d7913ee0fbea5ce5_hq.jpg
Location: Wall
With: Dead People
Condition: Terrified



It would soon become apparent that Estella was out of her element. She thought it'd be a simple mission when she awoke that morning. Do a little bit of scouting for enemies and report back. Not do a little scouting, watch your friends get killed in front of you, hunt down the people responsible, and THEN report back. However, it seem she went with the latter and was now helping strangers she had never before met fight in a war. A war in which she knew very little.

She knew things to the extent of what was going on, but she didn't know the plan. Did they even have a plan, she wondered? Or were they just going in headfirst and coming up with it as they went along? While that method would be great, they needed something thought out and calculated. She began to think of new ways as she examined the vampire in front of her.

The girl was, indeed dead and there was nothing Estella could do to bring her back. Even her abilities had limits and they stopped at bringing back the dead. That was a big forbidden no-no and a forgotten curse. She kneeled down and put her hands together, praying over the girl. She wasn't overly-religious or anything of the sort. It just seemed like that thing to do when someone dies on the battlefield.

If we're being honest, this would make the amount of times Estella has been in war twice. Only twice has she ever been needed to fight and she was very skittish. So skittish, in fact that when she went to close the girls eyes, her finger slipped and poked her in the eyes. She couldn't feel it, of course, but Est was freaked out and very apologetic about it before standing up to join the little rag tag group.

They were making a plan, it seemed but she didn't quite hear them. The whistling noises she kept hearing made her ear twitch as she looked around. Where was that noise coming from? Until something landed with a loud "thunk" noise in front of her. It was an arrow in front of her and as she looked down at it, it worried her. Where had this thing come from, she wondered but the incoming danger was enough to get her breathing quickly.

"I knew I should've stayed..." She muttered to herself. ​
[/side]
 
Morgrim Hemwick
Location: Breaching the inner city of Ellanor
Conversing with: Federoff Federoff @myself
Status: Pissed Off
​

Morgrim could feel the strength of Guinivere as she literally picked him up with one hand by the collar of his clothes. Morgrim was far from impressed though, in fact he was quite pissed. For the past two days he had been parading a group of what seemed like children all fighting for their own reasons. They looked out for themselves, thought for themselves, and many seemed like they were trying to give nothing to the cause, for this war on the cultists. Selfish is how he would describe most of them. Now of course there were the few exceptions to the rules, but as for them as a whole he was not happy. Of course they all have their reasons and would think for themselves, but the point of being here was to be the first and last line of defense, the only people who would make a true difference in the world for centuries to come. They were on a long road ahead to victory, and they would have to accept the losses that had occurred, and the ones that would follow. Morgrim would give anything to protect this world, the lives of others, and his own if need be. Now as he was hanging there in Guinivere's grip left to contemplate everything he bit back with his own venom, compared to the fire she was breathing down his neck.

"You don't understand anything! There are so few people willing to give up what they have to protect this world, I've fought, bled, and sacrificed for this while I have been dealing with children only concerned about saving their own skin and meeting their own goals. I will not let anyone stop me, let alone 'the help'" He spat out those last two words at her. Frankly Morgrim has had it, and even though he was normally a calm person and to the point; he didn't care.

He needed to let it out. He didn't care if she was physically superior, or even if she could kill him. He refused to be talked down by her while he was in this mood. It was then that she let him down, and she made a promise that they were going to have a long chat as she put it. Even his pale grey skin could be seen turning a light red as he was fuming mad. Funny how the setting seemed to reflect his emotions as buildings were burning, and great towers of stone and metal were being brought down to their knees by the artillery that the steel dragon had brought. Morgrim dusted off his robes where she had grabbed them, and stared her down as she left to the front lines of the battle. Morgrim let out a heavy breath, as he called to all his allies that were there.

"Alright, it's time to finish this fight once and for all. We're headed for the castle, and we are going to kill Riglov and claim this city, then you will have earned a rest, then you will have earned you place, and then we can finally move forward." It was not the most rousing of speeches, but really Morgrim was never a man of words, he was one of action. He followed in behind the armed forces, and let them do the ground work. He and the group had to save their energy for the first real fight. They were going to have to kill the man that single-handedly captured this city all those years ago.

The castle was in sight, and he noticed another thing while on his way there, a trail of blood and bodies, and a single masked figure sitting among them seemingly asleep, or perhaps passed out. Morgrim knew this man and went over to him, and placed a hand on his shoulder. He could feel the material of the elf's coat stained with blood, and it was thick too, he'd certainly been busy. He lifted his head, and a few strands of silver hair fell through the area between his metal mask and the jet black hood of his outfit.

"Oh." Was all the dark elf said with a quiet voice. "Sorry." He said again quietly. He dozed off after completing his duties, and he knew if lord Neckros was there he would have been punished, but the lord was not there so he was safe.

"It's time to go, we got one last fight before you can finally take your well deserved rest. I trust all the charges have been set though?" He asked his friend with a voice of concern. He could see he was troubled by those he killed and still has not been able to say a pray for. Morgrim honestly cared far more about this murdering elf than he did for those he had recruited. This was the only person he had a real connection to, one of the only people he knew after the massacre on his home, and someone he could trust. He didn't like putting him through these difficult conditions, but he had no choice.

"Yes." Was all he mumbled as he got up on his feet and bowed to his friend.

"Good." Morgrim replied as he charged a spell in his hand, and cast it seconds later, a spell to destroy all the specially made bombs, and set fire to the barracks, armory, command centers, and even the very castle. There was not enough to destroy the castle, but enough to force a good portion of the people stationed inside to run like hell, unless they wanted to be consumed by fire strong enough to eat metal. The sight was brilliant as the entire sky flashed red and black from the explosions. For just a moment it looked as if though the entire world was on fire. It was a fine displayed of what could be achieved when they work together, that even the heavens would not be able to challenge them, let alone these cultists.
 

baa3b42e6ea0988364944a9f57e01efe.png
The Steel Dragon





  • Post



    She didn't understand anything? Her? The person risking her own life, nay, the life of her fellow soldiers, didn't understand anything? She gritted her teeth. This made her blood boil. She, who was recruited to liberate those under the tyranny of this madman. She, who was enlisted to protect these people, didn't understand? Suppressing the urge to punch Morgrim in the face, she began to charge ahead to help out her men.

    "Stay close" Guinevere grunted to Roxii. Grasping her shield she charged forward unrelentingly. With great speed and power she reentered the fray, bashing aside any enemy hostile in her way, stopping only to help out her fellow soldiers. Either to finish off straggling combatants or to help get the wounded out of combat and to the medics for any aid they required. She trusted the men in the distance with the battering ram, they didn't need her right away. She had the time, and conviction, to make sure no man was left behind. On the battlefield the bonds of soldiers had to be stronger then steel. And that they were. With each dive deeper into battle, more men rallied behind her, only diverging to help injured soldiers and civilians back to the safety of the medics.

    As the mighty dragon and her hoard of followers flooded towards the inner gates guarding the castle of the tyrant, a stream of knights began to slowly drip from all sides. One of these was the aforementioned "Blue Knight" who had been heading the advance of the cavalry. He was now off his horse and was wielding a lighter spear and shield then the lance he had been using earlier. "Enemy hostiles have been neutralized and detained up to the last gate"

    "Yes helping. Help the hurt, the helpless" Another voice peaked through the violent clanking of boots. It was much softer then Merrick, almost like a child's voice. She shifted her gaze to the right of her. Running right behind Merrick was a young boy dressed in tattered clothes with a peculiar leather hat. Odd. This wasn't a place for children. She shifted her gaze to her opposite side and gave Roxii a raised eyebrow in confusion. She had a sneaking suspicious this strange boy was with Roxii's group. "The boy has helped us locate many of the civilians. Most of them are safe" Her focus returned back to Merrick as they continued their advance, quickly catching a couple arrows with her shield. "We've established a defensive perimeter in the lower levels. We have medical personnel already treating the injured"

    The platoon of soldiers finally arrived at the inner gates of the walls. Another platoon was already manning the battering ram while another was shielding the men as they operated it. With the large man from before leading the loud chant, the heavy ram slammed repeatedly into the large gates. With each loud thud one could hear the gates slowly giving way to the strength of her men. "SHIELDS!" In one quick motion they all amassed around the battering ram. Any man that could not find room to help with the battering ram would instead have their shields high to the sky to help protect from the barrage of oncoming arrows. She turned to the blue knight. "Merrick! We have enough men here, take half of our platoon here and get the wounded back to the perimeter. Make sure everyone gets back and treated, and then meet up with the end of our supply chain and get them here asap. We'll be needing those supplies before the night's end." He nodded and followed his order. He signaled for half the group to follow him. They split up from the group and began to pull every body that they could. In teams of three they had two soldiers holding their shields up to protect the third man that was dragging the body back.

    The Steel Dragon herself took up a spot opposite of Riktos and began to add her strength to the mix, balancing out the strength given off from Riktos. "HEAVE!" She yelled. She may have been smaller then Riktos, but her strength and lungs certainly were no less then her own. "HEAVE!" Another mighty swing of the ram. Almost immediately she was in sync with the rest of the soldiers "HEAVE!" Within a few more hits the gate finally gave way, crumpling before the superior strength of her and the men around her. The soldiers flooded through the gates and, without any orders, assumed their possessions on either side of the gates. "Finish off the last of the stragglers and round up any who surrenders. The quicker and cleaner we're done here, the quicker you lot can drink tonight!" A redundant order for any who had time as a sell-sword or company. Any soldier that was captured or surrendered was patched up and treated like how you would want your men to be treated. More of her men began to disperse to the sides of the gates. Both to rescue any civilian caught in the cross fire and to either kill or round up any soldier left standing. If they put down their arms, which there were always many that did, they would be spared. Any who didn't would be viewed as a threat and killed like normal.

    A assassin, a strange boy, a giant man, an undead guide, another stranger now, and twenty or so soldiers surrounded her. She smirked. This took her back to Six Fronts. An unusual group of rag-tag allies coming together to become unlikely heroes. "Drinks are on me when this is all done. We're going to need to do some bonding if we're going to fight together" With a sword and shield in her hands she charged forward to the castle that held the reason why they were here.
    It was time to end the reign of a tyrant.


    ​

    empty
NOTHING






Health
100

Skills
Mighty Blow/Quick Jab
Minus Strike
Horn of Valor
Adversity
Blaze of Glory
 
You must log in or register to reply here.

Users who are viewing this thread

Total: 2 (members: 0, guests: 2)

Similar threads

NeonFlow
Fantasy Living next to a Super (rp page)
Replies
5
Views
124
BuggaBoo
BuggaBoo
Jagson
Fandom The New Jedi Order
Replies
8
Views
131
Elias Wren
Elias Wren
HALO.
Realistic or Modern 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐋 - Casual 4-person GRP Lit+ to Novella [OPEN]
Replies
1
Views
64
HALO.
HALO.
MusicBoxSugar
Fantasy Stitch, Sew, Cut and Pull!
Replies
0
Views
29
MusicBoxSugar
MusicBoxSugar
madieblack4
Fandom Outlander rp server
#americanrevolution #roleplayserver historicalroleplay
Replies
0
Views
8
madieblack4
madieblack4
Back
Top