Fantasy The Plague

[Soviet Panda]

Otrygg had been at the Standing Stones of Amberfall for the past several weeks now, and he was beginning to think that no one was to come. Perhaps he had not made himself clear enough of the import of this journey to them. Perhaps they simply could not spare anyone for a quest that might end in failure. Or perhaps they had fallen days after he had left. He was unsure of all of these, and in the end all he could do was hope. Hope someone would come. Else he would be the only one trying to cease the spread. "My old bones can barely move in the best of times," he grumbled to himself, "how is it I'm to journey across the known world again and survive?"

The only noise to be heard was the sound of Otrygg's grumbled complaints. A welcoming silence that told of no nearby hordes or lumbering abominations. However, even if there were, Otrygg was confident in the protective circle he had made. The Standing Stones, a group of rune etched stones that were taller than they were long and in place long before written history, had a tendency to amplify certain rituals. And with a few more ingredients courtesy of the phoenix Illumine, the barrier was nigh impregnable. He also couldn't leave without being burnt to a crisp, but he had supplies to last him another week, two if he really rationed it out.

Otrygg's complaints were stopped short when Illumine bent their head so their beak was next to the old dwarf's ear. "Oh, you can sense them can you? Must have some really powerful demons with them then. Well I'd certainly hope so, I wouldn't want someone with naught but a pixie that can only shoot sparks. Now, let's make sure they don't die on the barrier." With that, Luther stood up from his spot on his wagon, groaning as his old body protested his decision to move, and went to extinguish the fire that kept the ritual going. With the flames gone, there was a faint shimmer of green, and the magic dissipated.

"Now let's greet our guests."

 

[Worthlessplebian]

A figure slinked unseen through the world. His journey to Standing Stones is a task imposed upon him. By a hermit and by his Order. This mission might have been the most important one in his entire life. An assassin, a man who has only known to take life, was going to save the world! The pleasant irony is not lost on this killer. Unfortunately, such a monumentous charge did not grant any boons from his Order. For they could not spare such luxuries already being pushed to the brink of oblivion by the hordes. So in the end, the knight-assassin was left with his personal armour and armaments. An interwoven tapestry of plate and cloth, topped off with an azure band that travels over his right breast, ending freely at his hip. A heraldic pin also rested atop his right pectoral, it is dimmed and caked in dusty rust. A sturdy helmet is tightly embraced by a bloodstained hood. His weapons by his side were equally dirty or degraded as the rest of him swayed gently by his movement.

"Hrgghhh, why do we have to move so slow!" A voice with no source called to him. The man is not surprised. One or both of them always complained. He, of course, refers to the two cats. One clung to his shoulder at the moment while the other followed suit with its' paws. Diabolical felines, as he always called them. In truth, their nature as demons is somehow less malevolent than their nagging. "Because I am conserving my energy, Khamul." The demon pulled back and looked at his master. "Energy? You certainly didn't save anything when you killed those flesh-eaters." The furless feline creaked an unnatural, sh!t-eating grin. "As I recall that was self-defence. And your inflaming magicks helped greatly. Quite useful energies." A smile of his own confronted the cat. Even though the visored headpiece hid his face, Khamul could tell that this damnable orphan smiled at him. Nathanael could not help but cackle. "Methinks he has you by the tail, Kham." "Quiet you!" To cede a potential argument and to spare his eardrums, Voitsekh lifted a hand. "We have arrived." Truthfully, even the cold-hearted, patient as a tree Voitsekh had gotten sick of the walking so it was nice to know that they finally made it. Indicated by the flaming circle that almost immediately dissipated upon his... Rather the arrival of others.

It seems he was one of the first which was a surprise as he did encounter hefty resistance. Either way, he was ready to get this shindig started. "Hail!" Addressing and welcoming other people.

 

[Remembrance]

Upon the lonely hill, bathed in the sun's rays cascading through the verdant leaves; Erlandur trespasses the sanctity and security of the ancient forest surrounding the Standing Stones. He had not been entirely enthused that he had to venture so far to simply reach a meeting point but it little mattered what he felt. He was of unknown blood and although his status as now only and most high-ranking member of the Invoked Yeolanders, the royal family did not treat him as though he was worthy of any respect. The current blood heir of the Ovfnir line, Count Zinar, had taken no account of Erlandur's unwillingness to venture out only having returned a mere week after the slaughter that occurred. Erlandur had no say for he was not of high nor named blood, thus here he was, traversing the unknown albeit eerily familiar forests near the Standing Stone.

Erlandur had taken great precautions to mask the enigma within him, fearing nature itself would fight to simply keep the Ancient Arbor from stepping foot within their domain. Yet, nothing happened. No animals screamed in terror, the trees yet not diverted their calm swaying, neither any unusual presences. In spite of this, he could not shake the feeling of being watched. Every scenario had passed his mind in the blink of an eye but none seemed to come to fruition the further he walked. Erlandur pondered the idea of his bonded demon playing tricks upon him yet no power was released in the short span of his paranoia. There is no helping it, he thought, exiting the thick forest to reveal the Standing Stones.

The unnamed blood arrived second to first, only after the arrival of a thin, lanky warrior dressed in light metal. Erlandur could not recognize the forging technique used to craft such exquisite gear but he could surmise it was not from the Elves. A lesser race then, he thought quietly as he maneuvered towards one of the adequately named standing stone. His fingers brushed along the markings as he decided himself ready to introduce himself.

"I am Erlandur of the Windy Hills, of unnamed blood, and of the Invoked Yeolander order who follows the creed of the Calamity Avatar Yeoland. How may I address you all?"
Worthlessplebian Soviet Panda

 

[Pilgrim59]

Amber eyes alleviated from the empty flames of the past, neglecting the crimson voice that surrounded him last. Man and beast, descended from the arduous journey of the east, now weary of travels as they clung to the things that have yet to unravel.

The young adventurer, so bright and young, now found himself beyond the reach of his fellow crossholders and within the arrangements of strangers and unseen foes. His gears and armor clung to him as one, never ceding a sound as he sashayed his way to the sacred grounds that called upon his presence. Stalking his steps ever closer yet never seen, was a voice so red that it taunted his blood. But the man of faith continued to hold his cadenced heart of oak. Before the amber-eyed warrior was a young man and a poised elf, of whom he had wished to find his purpose thereof. But they seem to have already gave him an answer that he did not ask. Vestiges of a trembling fever reigned high upon his mind, but not his immediate concern. Shielding his fair amber optics behind his dark lashes, the crusader reprimanded and dismissed the mischievous phantom that danced amidst his thoughts with a gentle tap upon his tasset. His other hand held tightly onto his simple rucksack. He then unveiled his eyes to the those before him as he finally raised his foreign voice.

"Greetings. I am Dimitrius, brother of the Order of Danuvia and holder of my oath to the Diviner's summons. An honor, Erlandur of the Windy Hills. And hail to you, swordsman, of whom I shall be raising my shield beside. What is your name?" The young man spoke, paying his respects to the elf's introduction before turning towards the human adjacent from them.

Worthlessplebian
Remembrance
Soviet Panda

 

[Worthlessplebian]

Immediately following their entrance, an elf and another man appeared. Voitsekh did not know what to make of the duo, though he could hazard a guess. A gangly, knife-eared creature who is no doubt infinitely older than Voitsekh's progenitors and most likely of prickly character. The man is a sword wielder like the assassin, but unlike the assassin, he is possessed by a supernatural level of equanimity. Not as a byproduct of his ageing, but as an outlook imposed by rigorous training. Though that is only the man's cursory glance. Many stoics from even before the uprising of the dead could break at certain points. The dispatcher bowed with his fist on his chest, before rising up and introducing himself. "I am a humble votarist of the Order of Saint Holden, you may call me Voitsekh Vlahovic." An unflinching tone. "And these are—" One hand trailing to his shoulder. "Khamul." The infernal feline conferred. The tanned cat's six eyes locked tightly with Dimitrius' eyes. His hand trailed again to his side. This time drawing attention to the black cat. "Nathanael." Whipping the ground with its' tail before stretching. "I have heard tale of your Order, Dimitrius. Or at least whispers on the wind. It is good to fight alongside an apostle of the serpent slayer."

Pilgrim59
Remembrance

 

[slim]

After days of travel, the hulking elf-man had finally arrived at the location he had been pointed to by the Maple Order….people. Truthfully, Vruth cared very little about titles, ranks, nobility, and so on and so forth. Many people came into his forest in the past.

Boasting of their blood, their ranks, their "medals", accolades and other nonsense that made no sense to the brute. All of them met the same, cruel end for their cruelty to the forest.

What mattered at the end of the day was strength. Power. As clear and true as the skies and wind. So, when he was told that there was another threat of the living dead sort to his home, he didn't hesitate to meet it head on. He needed to eliminate them before they could encroach upon his borders.

Wherever they walked, death and pestilence followed. Like a plague that sucked the life out of every natural thing it passed. Disgusting creatures. Vruth hated them. He hated them more than the dirty "woodsmen" who took the forest's bounty without tribute as if it was their own.

All while the elf trekked onwards towards this Maple Order, Mokaath was lingering in the man’s very head, taking in the sights and tolerating the man’s recent constant thoughts.
Usually his mind was rather silent, but ever since the Dead Ones began to rear their ugly heads more and more, the elf was in a constant bad mood and there were nothing but gray clouds hanging. The demon cared about very little, but the elf’s protective nature over the woods had been such a perpetual affair that even the demon grew antsy as the pair made their way farther and farther from their home.
They were leaving it completely defenseless, and for what? In all of Mokaath’s years in the mortal realm he had never concerned himself with Orders. And now they were bound to one, all because they were too weak. That thought hit a nerve in the demon, and for a split second the elf’s form rippled with a green hue as the demon struggled to contain its anger. As the days passed, soon both demon and elf were practically seething the closer they got to their destination.


Eventually, they finally made their way to the accursed city of Amberfall. Mokaath had been here when this city was nothing more than huts and took control of the body to direct the pair to where the meeting spot was.
Vruth’s nostrils flared wide as the scent of… others consumed his attention, stopping his train of thought completely. Mokaath had reminded him several times that they would be running into someone. The Maple people said he would have help in killing the Dead Ones.
He hated that thought too but if their numbers were as Mokaath explained, he wasn't in a position to refuse the assistance. The pair needed every set of eyes they could get. Which was saying something considering how many eyes his Demon had.

’I can smell them. More than one.’ The elf instinctively informed his companion. It was hard to tell exactly how many there were at their distance by smell alone but as they creeped closer, it became obvious.

’I would hope it would be more than one of these fools since this threat is so huge. I wonder if they decided to join this willingly or are in our shoes.’ Mokaath replied as the pair crept closer.

Despite his size, the elf moved in silence. His stance and gait were well accustomed to the natural grooves, dips, cracks, and roots that the ground could provide over long distances. His breath was quiet, like a predator stalking about its playground.

The hulking brute exited the shadow of the trees with a confident but measured step. These were all strangers here. Potentially enemies. He would suffer none of their pretenses of camaraderie or companionship. He needed none of it. Vruth only needed to kill the threat to his woods and then return home and he needed to borrow the strength of these people to do it.

The muscle-bound elf's every thought was transparent on his face. Distrust, anger, fear, and caution were all as clear as day. He stood a few steps away from the group, towering over them all with a scowl. He dusted off the dirt and dust on the pelts and furs that adorned his body out of discomfort of the situation.

‘You do the greetings. I don't want to waste my breath with pretty words.’

‘With pleasure.’ Mokaath mused, and in an instant the demon had shoved their consciousness forward and Vruth was no more. His steely gaze had been replaced with bright green irises hinged with red and an extremely toothy grin that looked quite unsettling on the large man. The demon was assaulted by smells and sounds that had been nothing more than soft buzzes before, and the demon jerked its head to contain itself as the sound of their beating hearts came into focus and tried to center on their faces.

The elf’s lips curled at the sight of the dwarf who Mokaath blamed for this all but they managed to keep their gaze from piercing the oaf and turned to the rest. Two humans… and an elf. Absolutely pathetic. Mokaath’s eyes flickered back to the elf and examined it closer than it had the first time. It was vastly different from Vruth in a pathetic way, far too lanky and small. Mokaath had chosen his host wisely.

The demon realized the pair had been standing and glaring in silence for an uncomfortable period of time, but what was to be expected of two antisocial brutes from the forest?

“Greetings mortals and kin,” Mokaath said, their naturally raucous voice being amplified by the elves' giant form as they nodded their head in greeting towards the visible demons who were entwined around one of the humans. Demons were usually not kind to each other, but Mokaath was too old to bicker and powerful enough to not have to worry about most of their kin. The silver-haired elf, however, had a familiar aura of a demon that felt like a very distant but unpleasant memory they couldn’t recall fully. Mokaath could see other demons even if they were concealing themselves in the host, but the elf had gone to great lengths to cover that up but the dark mist around his form betrayed him. The demon would ensure Vruth was on constant watch around that one. Regardless, the demons had to behave, at least for now.
“We are Vruth, Shadow of the Forest and Mokaath the Virulent at your service, at least for now that is. I would hope that a threat of this magnitude that called us from our home would attract more attention. Is this truly everyone willing to fight for this cause?” The end of the demon’s sentence came out in a growl, and their former sneer was slipping into an expression of unhinged fury the pair had been carrying their entire journey.

 

[Remembrance]

Erlandur, with a hand still placed upon the Standing Stone, looked upon the two humans. He had not considered the idea of being a minority within the demographics of the group, he would not enjoy it regardless. Although he was internally disgusted at this turnout, he hid it under a placid look of satisfaction. The other human had introduced himself as Dimitrius of the Order of Danuvia. Erlandur knew little of this particular order other than their vehement worship of a man named Saint Istvan. The first human, now named Voitsekh, had confirmed Erlandur's suspicions about Dimitrius' order. A serpent slayer, Erlandur questioned in his mind. He only knew of one heroic serpent slayer and that was a man within the saga of Kirken. Kirken was bestowed a holy gift from the Sea Avatar and sent to kill the great serpent who coiled itself around the continent. This Saint Istvan is a true scandal; a frivolous attempt at plagiarising, his thoughts turned to conviction as he stood firm in his beliefs.

"It is an honor to be amongst both Dimitrius of Danuvia and you, Voitsekh of Saint Holden." His hands gestured to both as a smile became plastered onto his face. Erlandur's mouth near opened until a presence was found just lurking beyond in the forest he had exited. Like all scenarios in which he encounters danger, his mind raced. It was not Erlandur who had sensed it, it was Arbor and for something to even make an impressionable mark on the Arbor had to be as equally powerful as it. His hands had instinctively reached for his bow, gripping the shaft in preparation to sling it around and loose arrows at the enemy. That opportunity did not come. The Arbor relaxed, its rigid mind calming as the figure stepped out of the forest.

An angry Elf is no good Elf, that is what Erlandur's mentor had taught him. A calm and gentle demeanor will make an Elf good and powerful. He inherited this, never once showing an emotion that could be construed as bad. However, as he stared with his expressionless eyes, Erlandur's face turned into a scowl. The Elf before him was unrefined, like a chunk of coal. His skin was darker than usual and light tattoos etched the left side of the Elf's body. Like a predator baring teeth, this man's muscles bulged out as though informing those near him to be wary. Eventually, Erlandur's face returned to its normal expressionless facade and it was then he found the Elf named Vruth had allowed the demon Mokaath to possess him. As far as Erlandur knew, this was common in cases where a contract on equal terms had to be made but to allow it voluntary was a disgrace to Vruth's kind. Erlandur, even if at death's door, would never allow the Arbor or any demon of any sort to possess him.

Erlandur greeted the joint pair with a nod of his head, too repulsed to utter a single word. One thing had spurred him out of his inner thoughts; the Ancient Arbor was... excited. The entity who had ravaged the forests near Rikshire; who killed countless brothers and sisters, mantling their heads upon its waist; who had only shown anger and vexation was ecstatic. The other demons present, including whoever was housed within Dimitrius and the two that lay near Voitsekh, had not made such an effect on the Arbor. Yet, this demon named Mokaath the Virulent elicited an emotion never seen. Just who is that demon, he asked the entity within him. No response came, only the feelings of joy and anticipation that were not his to feel.
slim Worthlessplebian Pilgrim59

 

[Fluffy-Kat]

Amberfall was beautiful and no doubt held a befitting name. The sun almost always seemed a deep gold, forever casting an autumn sunset glow, and scattered patches of it's tree canopy was perpetually in a state of turning from green to brown and orange shades. The Standing Stones in the heart of the thick foliage was familiar ground to the she-elf as well as it's surrounding terrain. Enri had passed this monument a few times in her travels, and every time she used the clearing as a space for quiet meditation. The location was as ancient as her traditions, and some how allowed her to feel more spiritually connected to the celestial beings she worshipped, and granted appreciation for the living and inanimate things around her that were so generously given by Eä, or what common human theology would refer to as 'Mother Earth'.

Fate is a funny thing, and stands alone next to chance. While chance can have an unforseen outcome, fate will always end in what is meant to be. That is how Enri felt when she drew near the stones and saw a flicker of flame in the distance disappear before her very eyes, like an unveiling curtain, other individuals had met at the stoned almost at the same second as she. Was it fate that this group of indivuals were to meet? Was it by chance they arrived at the same time? Many were called upon to help with this festering plague, but those she saw surrounding a dwarf and his wagon were the only ones to answer the call, it worried her, to see so few willing to take the outcome of what is to be in their own hands.

"Lets get a closer look," Enri whispered into the wind. A blue-green moth fluttered from out a near by brush and orbited the silver-haired elf.

"Discreetly?" The moth questioned, its many voices echoing in the head of its bound contract. Enri looked to the moth and nodded, and in an instant the pair visibly vanished. They watched as the others approached the dwarf and announce their names, along with where they hail from. Some elf, some human, a balanced mix. They came from all over, each apart from different factions, except for one that was from the Order of the Maple like her, though they never met. He was last to introduce himself, peculiar for an elf she studied him closely. There was a shadow behind his smile and his movements, even his words seemed puppeted. "We?" she thought, when his indroduction spilled out.

Ailé released the invisible shroud that was on itself and the elf, forcing her to be apart of group and earning a piercing glare from her, to which he ignored, "Thats a strange choice of words, isnt it?"

Enri sighed and responded to possessed elf, thinking the very same thing, "It would seem we are all we have."

Ailé flittered around the elf before choosing to land on her shoulder to rest, "You should say something..."

Enri would have rolled her eyes were she not under the gaze of the group and reluctantly spat out a, "I'm Enri," with a small bow of her head and nothing else.

 

[Pilgrim59]

"Your Order's grace for orphans, has been made known during my time away from Tuta, Sir Vlahovic. Though, among the whispers of the wind, some are more unpleasant than others." Dimitrius replied with a brief pause to attend to Voitsekh's personal companies, of which have taken a more animalistic form as opposed to the Danuvia Crusader's own companion. Shifting his glance to his side briefly to placate the enthusiastic creature that dwelled within him, the lone crusader cupped his chin with his gloved hand, before continuing. "But it seems to me that your Saint Holden has blessed you with decorum. May we find companionship with the blessing of our saints, Sir Vlahovic." The Tutan said with a smile, extending his arm forward for a handshake. "And you as well, Sir Erlandur."

"I hope you will forgive my liberty of discretion with my colleague's absence. They can be... distracting... at times." Dimitrius noted his demon's absent form, but perennial presence. He let out a soft sigh at the mention of his contract, as he joined his hands together in a courteous gesture. "Alas, all will come to pass, when the Serpent Slayer grants us his wreath." The Tutan said, turning towards the elf to pay heed to their reply as the trio finally got their introductions squared away among each other. "I wonder..." Dimitrius muttered, before turning towards the newly-arrived personnel to greet them with a light nod of acknowledgment. "...Hello." A dark breeze brushed past him, displacing his already-disheveled hair with haste, prompting the crusader's eyes to wander off to his side, as he finds himself being interrupted by a mischievous spirit. Taking a deep breath, the man gave his thoughts to the scriptures, reciting the old Tutan lines within his mind to keep his consort tranquil. The mutually-insured contract only served to test the Tutan's faith and strength, as he combated the calls of the crimson whispers that echoed within his mind. A perpetual and redundant routine of a young man's soul, whose purity remained a prized reward for his ardent contract. Standing firmly, the crusader could only lend his eyes and ears for his fellow warriors until the effects of his inner waves have subsided.

 

[Soviet Panda]

Otrygg stood in silence as greetings between the Orders were exchanged. He was about to introduce himself when he heard something. As opposed to the silent and sudden appearance of the others, whoever was approaching was heralded by the clashing of armor on armor and a song sung in high spirits. A very peculiar thing to hear so late into the onset of the Plague, someone not sullenly trying just to survive. What this mysterious thing was, was soon revealed to be a dwarf. Resplendent in shining armor polished to a shine and a crimson sash tied tightly across his chest, the dwarf dark haired would have been almost comical, with his bristling beard refusing to hide behind his iron mask, shaped to resemble a warrior mid war cry, and spilled across his gorget, were it not for his intimidating mount. A gargantuan lion, armored and colored similarly to it's rider, loped along at an easy pace, seemingly oblivious to the off key singing that followed it.

As he approached the gathering, he pulled his mount up short, his song coming to an end at near enough the same time. Briefly looking around at those assembled, he unstrapped one side of his mask and flicked it to one side. "So what's all this then?" he asked of no one in particular, and barreled on without waiting for an answer. "Three weedy elves , two manlings, and a dwarf. Ah, excuse me, two dwarves. And all of them wearing different colors. Now correct me if I'm mistaken, but would this be where that old codger named Otrygg wanted us all to meet? And is that the senile old man there? Of course it is, only other dwarf here."

"Oh," he said, jumping slightly in the saddle as if something had just snuck up on him. "Where are my manners. I am Havardr of the Ferscipe Daegrima Anfilt. I have come to put an end to this damnable sickness." Looking around, he gestured to the others, making sure no offense was had by not acknowledging the fact that they were on the same quest. "As I'm sure the rest of you lot are here to do."

Otrygg just stood there and smiled, though the smile seemed a little forced and stretched. He had a few run ins with the Order of the Dawn's Anvil. They were a boisterous and rowdy group of dwarves often happy to sit and twiddle their thumbs under their mountain home. Though when roused for war they were a devastating force multiplier, as their armored bulk crashed into whatever foe caught their ire.

He managed to forge on, hoping that this Havardr hadn't raised to many hackles with his words. "I welcome you all. I am Otrygg Maeslingbeard, for those of you that had not met me before now. I will assume you all know why you have been sent here, so I will not repeat what is already known. Now come within the Stones so I may once more raise the barrier. I will tell you of the next step of our journey once we are all settled, though it is not a great distance from where we are now."