Fantasy Wuldir: a World of Monsters and Men

[QuestingBeast]

Record of Captain Envoro's Speech


at the Young Men's Recruitment Ceremony
​

Is it any life at all? To stand, wobbling, on the edge of survival. To watch, in horror, as your comrades are torn apart left and right by unintelligent beasts. And to know, and to despair, that the best you can hope for in all this grime and dirt is to die a death that means something to someone else.

But so what? You don’t choose where you’re born or how your life goes. You have a little bit of power for just a little bit of time until it’s all taken away. Choose to use what you hold in your hands, what little you got, even if it’s just a speck of rust; use it for good, the best good you can manage. That’s all I’ll ask of you.

Don’t misunderstand. This will not be easy, and I’m not pretending it is. But it’s necessary. I need you like I need the spear at my side. I need you strong, I need you staunch, I need you sharp.

Beyond these castle walls that we built so high are beasts, animals, sharp-clawed harpies that want nothing more than to sink their teeth into our human flesh. They cut us to bits and feed us, still alive and feeling, to their fledglings in the nest where we’ll be picked apart ‘til the bones shine white. Some say we ought to leave this place and the hardships here behind us. But you know why we do not! There is nowhere else to go! Hide in the grass where no eyes may find you, and for a single misstep, the slithering snake pierces your heel, its venom sets fire to your veins 'til your life's extinguished. Flee for the caves on the mountainside, and the mammoth worms of the earth, callous to your crunching skull, swallow you whole.

There are horrors above and horrors below, spear-brothers. But we will not surrender to them! We will not lay our arms aside and let the enemy come rushing on, crushing on, will we?! No, we will not! We are men! We are fierce, mighty men that hold the wall against primal nature, that have the hope of our wives and kin to treasure. Our hearts will not surrender. Our bodies will not yield. Press on, men of Peregrine, press on!​

​

 

[QuestingBeast]

The Morn After Mist

Against the unknown, there is no precaution too tedious, no fear too foolish. This knowledge advised the Lionsguard of Peregrine Castle against taking the mist’s reprieve for granted. Once bright sunlight cracked through the clouds of night, the bell to summon every scout rang soundly over the keep.


To the twelve that gathered, the Lionsguard issued this command: “Four parties in four directions. Your route; circle the river and go no further. Keep your eyes peeled for any odd sight. If there be any danger here, it will not meet us unawares.”


They dispersed. The Lionsguard marked their progress from the inner walls until the green cloaks merged into the forests beyond. “Eyes on blue,” was the order to the patrols; their task was to watch for smoke, since if it came in billows, death stalked the way.


After the first hour after their departure, Peregrine Castle’s main gate cranked slowly to its upper resting place, and the fields littered with bodies, remnants of the battle prior, were opened for scouring. The women went through the pass to tend the wounded and seek for faces and names. As they settled, wails of anguish lifted to the sky above. Their eyes met the corpse of their husbands, their brothers, and fathers, and the loss cut into all of Peregrine’s heart.


Along that bloody field walked Gavin in the proud red and gold cloak of his station, which billowed behind him like flame. His head did not bow nor his eyes withdraw from seeing. Rather, he boldly stared, as was his way, and took the world in.


Before the bloody field was a castle cracked and tattered. Huge curving gapes shaped the walls, crumbling still in the dusty motion; so massive were the wall’s wounds that by all appearances it seemed a giant had passed by and taken large gluttonous bites out the castle side. The towers, too, looked bent by the assault. Along their edge the harpies had carved ragged; the Eastern Tower was in the worst shape, bent under a crushed roof and perforated foundation.


From the ground, he could see the signal fires breathing; they were mere embers now, and their smoke cut black stripes across the blue sky.

 

[Dominaiscna]

@QuestingBeast


From the castle gates, a lean figure walked out in a brisk yet graceful way. Weaving between the women gathered around the gates either trying to move the wounded into the castle, mourning or just standing in a daze, staring at the massacre around them. She would've probably stopped dead and just...gazed...had she not a steel will that continuously made her tear her eyes from the mass of bodies and focus on the Lionsguard in the distance. This had been her first battle. And no matter how well she mentally prepared herself for the reality of war, nothing could ever prepare her for the dread and horror that crosses the mind of a young soldier, untouched and pure of the taint of death and free of the consequences of their and their comrades' actions.


Her stride faltered slightly as she stepped over fallen bodies of both comrades she never knew and beasts she had been taught to hate, carefully winding her way towards the general with her right hand on her sheathed rapier and her left hand tucked in the small of her back, trying to ignore the waves of pain radiating from the left side of her chest where she bore now bandaged wound. It was given to her by a harpy that had managed to get it's claws beneath her armor and into the flesh below her collar bone and around her shoulder, slicing into some of her chest and arm muscles and leaving a deep and bloody just above her heart. Besides that, she had only sustained minor cuts and gashes around her neck and arms. She had been lucky. Being one of the new members, she was in the last few groups that ran out onto the battlefield and thus escaped the initial horde of harpies.


After what seemed like eternity, she finally reached the General, stopping a few feet behind him, her body instinctively straightening up. She followed the direction in which his head faced, back towards the castle, and stood in silence. The other Lionsguard had requested for his presence back in the castle for a meeting and, because she had passed the group on her way out from the infirmary, she was ordered to find him and pass the message on to him.


"General Loch," she said, bowing ever slightly even though she knew he could not see her, but probably knew she was there long before she had spoken, "Ash Durant. The LionsGuard requests your immediate presence in the meeting room.."

 

[Hell Diver]

A Candle's Caress




He'd seen the swarms over head, watching from the confines of the underbrush below the titanic trees. Thousands of harpies soaring above head, probably returning to a nest. Their wings moving with such power that he could feel the very air shift around him. But that wasn't his mission for this moment, and he'd have to steel his mind, to have hope that a candle still burned in the window. After all, he was doing this for those very same kids who endured such pain to see their father come home.


Today, he was searching for something, his only direction was to look for something weird within the forest. And so he sent the remaining of his command out into small teams. He knew that if something out of the ordinary was about to happen, they'd be the ones to find it. But the more he traveled farther out, the more his gut began to churn. The trees seeing almost like iron bars, prepared to trap him in a fight for his life. He made his way towards the vast river that threaded through the heart of the expanse. All his years of tracking filling him with the instincts of a predator, and he knew that anything living would eventually require something to quench their thirst. And so he waited, watching ever so patiently.


Resting among the dirt, he'd lay with the leaves, the brush hiding him from the predators above. He almost felt at home as he watched the river side, his tentative eyes scanning the horizon for movement. But slowly his mind began to wander, thinking of the two daughters he left back in the castle. Were they okay? He could only hope that the harpies that flew overhead had not been victorious. The sounds of their prodigious wingspans still flooding the forest floor. Occasionally he'd notice a flock of Harpies land by the river bed, their large wingspans forcing underbrush to dance about in the wind. But it wasn't that what truly disturbed him, it was just how human they truly looked. How they dug their talons into the water below and would rip out fish with lightning fast reflexes. He'd been on the other end of those talons once before, and the scars that covered his back still brought a ting of pain to his frame. However he felt a frozen chill run down his spine as he saw the slight movement in the mud. The fish that was coursing through the river only a cold distraction. He'd seen this far too many times, and warned his men about the dangers of treading without thought within the forests domain.


He blinked, it happened all so quickly. Earth exploded on the riverbed, rocks cascading outward as a roar tore through the silence of his mind. One harpy was gone, the crimson spray hitting the trees as the prodigious reptilian form tore through the earth itself. The jagged fins that flowed down its back like a torrent of waves caught feather and skin a like. And just as he had blinked once, the beast was gone, a gaping hole remaining on the riverbank where the harpy had once stood, the others escaping with wings unchained, soaring into the sky. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, watching the reptilian form enjoy its grotesque fest, before submerging once again below the soil.

 

[QuestingBeast]

There came a presence to tug his left side, like a passing cloud over the sun.


He wondered when it would speak.

"General Loch, Ash Durant. The Lionsguard requests your immediate presence in the meeting room.."

The voice rang clear over the women's wailing, but Gavin took his time in answering. He drank the sight of the field with all the slow sucking-in of a long breath.


His eyes stopped their roaming to appraise the messenger. Though Gavin didn't recognize the face, there was something familiar to Ash Durant's features, the wavy twist of his hair, especially. The soldier was young, with soft features like a young boy. Not quite grown into manhood, then. Gavin sympathized.


The 'immediately' of the message brought his eyes to the sky, where he found no billows. Frowning, he addressed the messenger.


"Urgency without cause is a fool's errand," Gavin said. "I'll bide my time yet."


Seeing the bandage wrapped over the soldier's shoulder, Gavin shook his head. "They sent a wounded messenger with all haste? Pah. You, sit a while here and catch your breath. Without billows in the sky yet, I see no call for speed."

 

[Dominaiscna]

There came a presence to tug his left side, like a passing cloud over the sun.
He wondered when it would speak.


The voice rang clear over the women's wailing, but Gavin took his time in answering. He drank the sight of the field with all the slow sucking-in of a long breath.


His eyes stopped their roaming to appraise the messenger. Though Gavin didn't recognize the face, there was something familiar to Ash Durant's features, the wavy twist of his hair, especially. The soldier was young, with soft features like a young boy. Not quite grown into manhood, then. Gavin sympathized.


The 'immediately' of the message brought his eyes to the sky, where he found no billows. Frowning, he addressed the messenger.


"Urgency without cause is a fool's errand," Gavin said. "I'll bide my time yet."


Seeing the bandage wrapped over the soldier's shoulder, Gavin shook his head. "They sent a wounded messenger with all haste? Pah. You, sit a while here and catch your breath. Without billows in the sky yet, I see no call for speed."

When the Lionsguard did turn to look at her, she kept her eyes glued to the ground in respect yet, whenever she was sure he wasn't looking, her red eyes flicked up to his face for a split second. This was the first time she'd actually seen Gavin up close. Down in the barracks, legends of the lionsguard built up easily. Some amounted to something way more than the actual person that people though they knew. As for Gavin, he looked more tougher and stronger than she had imagined him to be, but also more worn and a little older... Was this what someone who has been fighting for long looked like?


"The Lionsguard did not tell me for what reason they requested your presence... If it were not an oncoming hoarde... Could it perhaps be something from inside the castle? There were many many wounded after all...would you like me to return and ask?"


At his comment on her own wound, she fixed her gaze on the hand rested atop her rapier, tensed and dirtied with blood and mud. "One could barely call this a wound. In comparison to some of those in the infirmary...mine is but a scratch," She said trying to relax her posture, but clenching her teeth as the movement sent waves of pain across her torso and arm.

 

[General Deth Glitch]

Verret Explorat

Verret stood on the lower walls of the castle, just above the grey stone gate. Normally the castle would be a single colour, dull and dilute in the bleak landscape but fate has given it a temporary coat of crimson over much of the walls and floors. The scout commander had not stepped from the walls since the battle where he had fired many an arrow, not quite to the skill he was once famed for, and, when the situation warranted, drew his dagger to cut at the demonic apparitions. His cloak, largely still grey was spattered in red and so was part of his gruff face. One foot stood dry on stone as the other sat in a puddle of red and after clenching a fist the dry foot took a step forward as its owner finally took his gaze away from the distant skies. The foot drenched in death soon followed as, in one fluid and graceful movement, the man slipped from the wall and landed in a roll on the field below, getting yet more grime on his cloak and adding to its new red hue. In the distance he could see General Loch and, more importantly, the many dead numbers of his men and others who had fought alongside them and died to protect the castle and the lands surrounding it. He began taking slow, deliberate, steps as he drew his dagger, notching his bow at every dead scout he passed. He moved silently and looked almost like a shadow of death floating across the battlefield as he tallied up his losses. More of his men had been sent forth without specific discussion with him, it annoyed him but he placed no blame. In times of war decisions must be made quickly, the indecisive general was the loser in fight. Even the swift dicision to retreat was more powerful then a hesitant one to hold. His head stayed fixed and facing toward the General in the distance as his eyes darted left and right his mind blank, not even counting the losses in his head, leaving them instead to the tally of loss on his bow. About halfway from the Castle to the General he took a knee and cut at his hand lightly, letting the blood seep into the bow it retained a grip on. The blood flow was slow and in terms of the mans health negligible but the symbol was clear and its meaning bright, showing that every loss of his men was his own loss and that he felt everyone of their wounds.


As he was hunched over, gripping his bow tightly as a red mark slowly spread from where he held the shaft of strung wood, he looked like little more then a rock or a clump of underbrush as his dark green mottled cloak caused the eyes of onlookers to lose sight of him until he set off again. His face looked neutral and almost uncaring, though the opposite was true, and unseen to the world the grip of his cut hand on the bow was so as to cause his hand to go deathly white and the anger in his heart burned like the flame of some ancient god of hate. Were you to upset this man in anyway he would no doubt have you on the ground with a dagger to your throat and his one piercing eye looking deep into you as the dagger pushes slowly deeper and deeper into you skin asking you to take it back but, deep down, hoping you would let this men fulfill his bloodlust. Soon he would have made his way to the General and still his dagger was slowly adding to the tally count on his bow.

 

[Coin]

Calvin Haveron


Lionsguard General
​

The infirmary was a sore sight to see for a man in Calvin's boots. Between the groaning of men in intolerable pain and fits of wet coughs that yielded more blood than phlegm, it was hard to stomach the thought of sending any of these men back out to the walls. Those that were injured the worst would be lucky to leave the infirmary with their lives at all, and those even luckier to walk out the doors could never heal the wound of memories.


In the midst of the general's inspection of the infirmary, a pair of nurses walked solemnly as they carried a motionless body on a stretcher past him. The face, though maimed and disfigured from the gouging talons of a harpy, was still identifiable. Calvin could even recall the man's name and voice from the night prior, no more than twelve hours ago. Now, he was being carted away, flesh pale as parchment and soul long departed. All the passed soldier was in this moment was a nameless corpse being discarded to make more bed space for even more causalities, until his family claimed and buried the young man's body. Calvin hoped to all that was holy that the man's family was still alive, at least.


Bitter widows and family members had kicked and screamed at the general before, pleading endlessly for an explanation to their loved one's demise. They sought a truth that was already known, they just wanted to hear it from the only sensible person to blame for some morbid closure, perhaps. Some even had the gall to point their fingers at him and accuse him for not knowing their pain. Calvin merely scoffed at such ignorance. Just one walk through the infirmary and the general knew the pain a hundredfold.


Having enough of being cooped up, Calvin opted to drop off some of his excess gear and head outside, iron canteen in hand. It didn't take long for him to located the other Lionsguard general, Gavin Loch, observing the aftermath of the night prior.


"Loch?" Calvin approached from behind and offered his canteen to the other general in a gesture of goodwill. "Fair morn. Grand'st of apologies for my intrusion, but might I join you? M'afraid the corpses inside are not quite as inviting as they are out here."

 

[QuestingBeast]

To this order, Gavin couldn't bring himself to give in. Even now, his eyes hung heavy. A sickness permeated his mind over the closed walls of the Inner Chamber, weariness weighed like a rock. He had no desire to keep on deliberating through vain arguments. This sight of the battered yet breathing Castle Peregrine was a better salve to his beaten spirit than strong drink.


A while longer. Only a little while longer and I'll go in, Gavin reasoned to himself, settling back on his heels.


He waved off the soldier's suggestion with a grimace, thinking it a great waste of effort to run to the castle and back for some tidbit of information.


But it was the false bravado that grated on Gavin enough to spark anger like flint from his heart.


Spurred on, the general faced the soldier fully, his black eyes smoldering like coal. "Pah, you call it a scratch. Why don't you compare your condition to them, instead?" A sharp hand jabbed at the field of corpses and blood. "You'll never find yourself suffering in comparison to the dead. And theirs is a merciful sentence when you hold these corpses beside the poor buggars that slowly, peck by peck, lose their flesh to the harpy's nest."


"So have some respect for yourself. Take a seat," he said in a hard tone that brooked no argument.


Scant seconds after those words passed Gavin's lips, General Haveron quietly stepped into proximity with his left side. Even so, the old friend was no intrusive presence; rather, even his sneaky approach 'round the back was its own sort of comfort. As though things were as they should be.


"Do as you like. It's no skin off my back," Gavin said, and took a long swig of the offered canteen. Burning, it bit his throat as it passed; a much-needed dulling of the senses. Wordlessly, he handed it back. "The morn would be fairer yet once the fallen are brought in." The inside dwellers were not usually exposed so long as this. Yet last night had left such a pile of bodies that even with the uninjured Keepers assisting the Raisers, in the half hour since they'd begun, only about half the dead had been brought back inside.


Over Calvin's shoulder, Gavin caught sight of the Scout Commander Explorat creeping along the field. That muss of unwashed hair and scratched mess of a bow, the scraping slashing of the knife like a nervous tick -- unmistakeably Verret. And of course, he was headed right this way. Great.


Cringing, Gavin braced for inane ramblings.

 

[Audo]

"Mother o' shite!"


Marcus exclaimed, bolting up right. He had half his blade in one hand and the useless stick of a spear in the other, held to the side of his body. The sheer speed at which he woke had displaced the harpy corpse on him. Just as he reached the height of his awakening had his senses been flood by a variety of things.


At first he blinked, several times, to make his vision focus since everything was more blurred than a happy night with happy friends to watching the wall. Then, his nose was hit by a very offensive stench, that of death and of the unwashed harpy that lay on him mere seconds ago. He sniffed several times and found that he couldn't quite remove the smell from him. His yellow leather chestpiece caked with the blood of whatever was on top of him. The blade of his sword jutted out of the dead harpy beside him. That probably explained why he only had half a sword. His shield was torn to splinters over his head, a few slivers of wood stuck in his hair that he had to comb off with his fingers.


Amid all this all he could do was laugh. Laugh out loud and pat the corpse of his comrade beside him. It had gone on for a good while.


"YA HEAR ME CRONE?! 'M STILL ALIVE! MY SWORDHAND HUNGERED FOR ALL THESE HARPIES ON THE WALL AND THEY FED THEMSELVES TO IT!"


He shouted, the joy erupting from him as he emptied his lungs. He collapsed back onto the stone, tear streaking from his eyes as he continued to pat the corpse beside him. He tried to stifle his sorrow to the best of his abilities but he couldn't. He got on his knees and grabbed the man's hand, tearing off the bracelet the man wore and kept it in his pocket.


"We did it, Emmont. We did it. We... we managed to hold a-and... And we managed to hold and protect everyone. Th-they thought the first layer was lost but we showed them didn't we? P-please Emmont ya have to wake up you son of a bitch! What about about little Emma weren't you going to play with her like the father ya were?! What about Evelyn? WAKE THE FUCK UP!"


Marc couldn't remember how long he had stayed there on his knees over this particular man's corpse. He didn't even remember how he survived, running his fingers through his light brown hair and tracing the scratches on his cheek. There were probably more wounds around him but he couldn't be assed to worry about them at the moment. Eventually he had gotten up and realized he quite the nasty wound on his leg, the pain would pass and he would walk again before the sun set or so he was confident about.


He got to work, discarding his sword and his spear, taking up the Late Emmont's spearhead and burying it in the harpy heads. When he was done planting the blade, he'd pull it out and then shove the body over the wall, listening to the satisfying thud that confirmed each kill. This continued on as he cleaned his part of the wall, sometimes he'd roar sometimes he was silent.


Then he made a return trip, gathering all the bodies of the men with him and setting them up in neat rows, placing their hands over their chests and closing their eyes. Sometimes he spent moments on a corpse, others he wept and raged just like Emmont. At the end of it all, his forearm was filled with wooden bracelets. On each was carved a name. Perhaps it was only their unit that did this, perhaps there were others but it was there method of bringing back a piece of themselves if the beasts left none.


His legs wanted to leave, his body wanted to leave and deliver the bad news. He couldn't, he simply sat there, leaning against the stone ramparts, staring at all the dead men in front of him. He raised his hand, an invisible toast with an invisible mug of cheap and strong drink. Their captain was quite the unorthodox fellow. Their salute was that, the drunken hail.


"We... we were all supposed to go back, have a nice drink...talk about everything and nothing. I wonder if everyone's still even going to check the first layer or they're all worried about the third layer. Well..."


Marcus walked over and pat the cheek of his captain, a few times.


"I'm still not keen on leaving you all here to be food for whatever scavenger comes by. I'll wait til the Raisers and their escorts come here and give you all a proper burial. Least I could do for all you shiteheads. Even if you all come back as spirits and shout at me to go back. I'm not. Our shift isn't over yet, or well..no one's here to relieve us of our shift."


He grabbed what he scavenged, a full spear, a dented shield, several arrows and a bow that looked like it was ready to fall apart. Slinging the bow over his chest, hugging his yellow leather chestpiece tightly. The quiver wasn't so much as on him as near him. His knuckles almost whitened as he gripped both spear and shield. He stood there, a lone watcher in the first layer.


Eventually other survivors converged including one captain that assumed temporary command over all of them. Each one was to hold the posts assigned to their units. Until they were given the order to stand down, they would continue standing sentry in case something amiss happens. Worst case they'd soften up another daring daylight attack. One soldier, the fastest they had was ordered to run to the inner layers and report what happened to whoever looked the shiniest.


Marc couldn't help but snicker at that, he couldn't imagine himself being one of the shiniest whose commands they had to follow. He huffed and kept watch again.


"Hopefully they bring some Raisers down here and we can respectfully bury the dead. Outside the walls if they're feelin' so...greedy."


(If I there is something that needs amendment lemme know ouo)

 

[Dusky]

Dove startles awake, perhaps roused by her own frustrated, wordless yell. Her dreams are still fresh in her mind, churning landscapes and an old woman. But this is not her bed in the castle. This is a moor, and as she looks around wisps of mist recede from the site, fading into the air. She is tucked into a hollow of the land, kept warm and dry and hidden, which would all be quite well and good except she has no recollection of how she got here. Panic begins to creep its way into her heart, which beats faster. Crawling forward, she casts her glance around for someone, anyone.


Her eyes do find Cypress, her handmaiden. Dove approaches her on her hands and knees and nudges her form, saying in a harsh whisper, "Wake up! Oh, you sorry maid, wake up! There has been such a calamity!"


As the woman comes to, Dove's eyes wander. Not so very far away, a castle town stands. She sharpens her focus and a feeling like a leaden pit sinks into her core, concern and fear shadowing her eyes. The wails of women reach her ears. The small figures pick their way across the open fields, gathering and tending to what Dove realizes with bitter suddenness are corpses. And the castle is in poor shape, walls gaping, it's pained echoes punctuated by the occasional crumbling collapse of a section of wall as the architecture fails itself. The towers are raked and bent.


"That's not Castle Altia, is it...?" she says to Cypress in a hushed tone. It bears no resemblance, but some part of her worries all the same.

 

[Anaxileah]

Appearance

Ayola stood there for what felt like ages. She was leaning against the wall of her home/shop, her cloak billowing around her. She wore a green tunic and brown pants, with brown boots that went up to get knees. Her red hair obscured the parts of her face that weren't hidden by the cloak, with her pale hands being the only visible part of her skin. They were curled into fists by her side in anger and hatred for the creatures that scoured the land they lived upon. Those monsters continued to kill soldiers - good people, and they barely make a dent in the harpies' population.


With a frustrated noise the female hurried back into her shop, which was closed for the morning, due to the activity of the soldiers. Her mother wasn't home, as she was headed out to help the other families who lost their fathers, sons, brothers. Her father was busy recovering bodies alongside the other soldiers, having already reported back to Ayola and her mother, letting them know he was alive.


After pausing a moment at the counter, thinking about how her father had been able to live through another fight but still only greeted her mother with a smile, rather than the both of them, Ayola wrapped her slender fingers around the strings of a bag filled with different ingredients with healing qualities, as well as things that could prove to be poisonous. Each ingredient had a separate bottle, as was the request of the Lionsguard generals. Ayola couldn't recall which one had asked, but either way, the soldiers needed all the help they could get after such a rough battle.


With a heavy sigh Ayola lifted the bag and slung it over her shoulder, heaving the bag of materials towards the front gates, where she assumed the leaders would be present. The young female could hear the wails coming from the women just outside the walls, sounds of sorrow, pain, and grief echoing in their cries. Ayola bit her lip as she kept going, frowning with sympathy in her eyes, which was concealed by her cloak. She continued on, her small feet padding gently on the ground as she walked through the city, towards the thick air of melancholy despair. Once she reached the gates, she had to stop a moment, and cover her mouth with her spare hand to stop herself from joining the wails of women in the field that was once used for battle.


So many bodies... Ayola thought to herself, a tear in her eye. She spotted the Lionsguard generals a little ways off, which meant that Ayola would have to pass by the bodies of her late citizens. She continued hesitantly, her steps cautious and making sure not to step in the blood of her friends. She refused to look at their faces, afraid of what she might find, and soon made it to where the generals were speaking.


"Pardon me, Generals, but I have brought supplies you requested, from 'The Alchemist'?" Her shop had a simple name, since it was ran by the only person with that job. She looked up through her red hair at the generals, the cowl over her head obscuring their view of her face. They looked worn, exhausted, and in pain, whether it be physical or emotional. Since Ayola didn't know of any personal ties that had died she didn't connect to those who were mourning that well, but she still understood the toll every fight took on the people, and so she had come to the generals, bearing supplies to help those who were wounded and to aid those still willing to fight. She held the bag out to the generals, her pale skin standing out against the brown of the bag and the red of the once green landscape.

Spoiler

Tag: @QuestingBeast @Coin Character's Mood: Horrified/Nervous User's Mood: Tired Location: The Alchemist -> Outside the Walls Inventory: Bag of Supplies

​

 

[Ryuuko Shin]

Cypress Gale

She was weightless in the darkness, drifting on for what seemed to be an eternity. How had she ended up here? Why had she ended up here? She had long given up on looking for the princess in this damned realm. Perhaps it was just a dream. She never quite liked dreams. They were always filled with horrors that she cannot fathom what part of her subconscious had borne it from. This one was a nice change from the death and the dying from what she usually had, but still...


"Oh, you sorry maid, wake up!"


Ah. The Princess. Time to rise. Cypress's eyes snapped open, and she sat up, the usual traces of lethargy and grogginess that a usual being would exhibit absent on her features. She took to her feet, and straightened up, dusting her dress down, and cast her eyes to where her Princess had directed her attention to. The smell of decay swept past her in the passing wind. Even when she was raised in the deathless world that was Altia, she was familiar with such a scent. That was the scent of death. The spots that were splayed across the fields like ants were the dead and the dying.


"That's not Castle Altia, is it...?"


Cypress did not answer immediately. The Princess looked to be halfway to her breaking point. To panic now was to worsen the situation. No, she must look at the facts. Another breeze lazily blew past, and Cypress took this chance to ask it a question. Her brow furrowed, and her expression only worsened from there, the grim line that her mouth was set to turned into a grimace, until finally she turned to look at her quarry. When she finally spoke, her voice was calm, and her tone level. "No, Princess. The scent that the wind carries upon it is not that of our home." She paused, a pensive look coming onto her features. "The wind itself seems...different." The Altian winds were playful, yet submissive. This wind was unbidden, and when she had called upon it, it was unresponsive. When it did reply, it was rude and its responses could use with a little lesson in manners. She did not press the matter, and left it alone. "No matter, my Princess. Whatever lands you may tread upon, I shall follow. This world is no different." Cypress bowed, and directed a hand towards the fields. "Answers shall only come to those who seek them, and we aren't doing much seeking standing here, Princess. Shall we?"

 

[Dominaiscna]

@QuestingBeast @Coin


The soldier was silent for a while as his words sank in. His gesture directed her gaze to the field of corpses she had been trying to avoid looking at ever since she'd stepped onto the crimson dirt lining the fields outside the castle walls. Ash shuddered for a second, drawing in a breath as she tore her eyes from their surroundings back to the general before her.


"I understand, General Loch, " she said bowing low, her teeth clenched the action made her shoulder ache and quickly straightened up again, "My apologies... Please forgive me for my foolishness." Unconsciously her hand went up to her shoulder, feeling over the bandages as some of the pain melted away.


She sunk to one knee to catch the breathe she hadn't realized she'd lost till now, looking up only when another general approached. "Genral Haveron.." She dipped her head slightly in respect.

 

[QuestingBeast]

On the wall, above the crowd of corpses and mourners, men placed stone and poured plaster over the gapes. It was carefully supervised work, the scholars' to command. Yet even while their smallest stone was measured, even while the paint of plaster spread, the joy of victory and pleasure of hope gripped the hearts of men, and they raised their voices high in happy tune.


Their voices pulsed, rhythmic, and carried far, even to the outskirts of the mourning field. It bade the women hold short their tears, to rise up and listen in wonder.

"O Bring me news of harpy nest


To me on the wall!


O Give me forty days of rest


Sleepin' on the wall!


O Let us reap our dying's best


Dyin' joyous for the wall, hey!"

​

From their line on the forest's edge, the escorts of those mourners watched for signs of intrusive beasts, and even to them the rhythm spread, and drummed into their hearts.


"What's this? They're... singing. How can it be?" The youngest of the escorts, Aaron, wondered at the sound.


Ahead of him, tinkling yellow in the forest floor, Viskus replied over his shoulder. "The Queen'll come today. Joy's in all our hearts." His back shifted as he hoisted up his pants.


"Well, we've had the mist. Doesn't seem like she's come yet." Aaron thought his own intelligence increased for having noticed this.


"Ahh, what's the harm in a little hope? Who knows how she'll co--Ech!" Viskus let out a yelp as he tripped over an outreaching root. He caught himself on a thin tree's trunk, and it bent under his weight. As he returned to his two feet, the branches shook so violently that they loosed a whole clump of leaves, and it fell splat on his head.


Aaron laughed, but not long. It was cut short as Viskus collapsed, screaming. The pile of leaves came alive, long tentacle-like vines grasping for Viskuz' face. The old patrolman barely held off the attack with one hand, screaming "Help! Help!" all the while.


Aaron, eyes wide in panic, clenched his spear and raced forward, thrusting at the beastly thing as he did. He struck true; the tip sank halfway in, and the leafy creature screeched, the tentacles swirling backward. Yelling, Aaron thrust his spear in deeper. The little leafy octopus flailed, its protruding eyes bugging out, its underside exposed -- the beak there clapping at air. As it breathed its last, a strange mist spewed from its mouth -- it smelled sweet and it sparkled.


Viskus lay still on the ground. His hand hung above his face, dripping blood, the fingers hanging by a thread of flesh.


"Couldn't have gotten here sooner?" He grunted.


"What was that? What is this?" Aaron ran a hand through the mist. Little pores stuck to his palm.


"I..." Viskus was squinting. "I've never seen -- What-- Behind you!"


Viskus leapt to his feet, his spear thrusting to the left of Aaron's head, scraping his ear. The young soldier stood still, horrified, as before his very eyes Viskus' nose elongated, his hair burst out in fur, and spread over round ears until what seemed like a huge, drooling bear stood over the young man, the beast's predatory yellow eyes hungrily staring.




Gavin

"...Right." With some reluctance, Gavin took the offered bag. These medications were supposed to be delivered directly to the infirmary, but it was not too strange for orders to get jumbled up in all the confusion in the wake of a harpy swarm. Between Ash's message and this, It was like fate was conspiring to bring him back into that crumbling castle. Fine then. His reprieve would have to be cut short, after all.


As he stepped down from the grassy knoll, the rhythmic sound of singing passed the group over, covering the cry of mourners. The men up on the wall, as they labored to fill the gaps, were raising their voices high in song.


"Would you look at that," Gavin whistled.


Turning, he saw the tear-streaked raisers rise from their knees and peer in wonder at the builders. Even those far out, carrying corpses to the pile stopped and listened. A soft grimace touched his face. The soldiers were happy now, so the Lionsguard would have to be delicate, lest their joy and hope come crashing down when no Queen came today.


"Ahhh.... Ahhhh!!"


Faint under the rhythmic song, yet still enough to draw attention. Over on the forest's edge, the escorts were clumping together. Indistinct shouts sprayed the air as they waved their spears at each other, threatening. One of them fell suddenly to the ground, and screams scattered as what seemed to be a pile of leaves leapt atop him. And a stranger sight still -- the air glowed in sparkling green around the small party.


With only the Lionsguard sword for protection strapped to his side, Gavin took off in a sprint towards the crowd. As he neared, he covered his mouth and nose with a hand, but still some sweet scent made it through the cracks. Gavin watched the strange, tentacled pile of leaves as it latched to the fallen man's face. His heart dropped as recognition struck him through.


"A plantipus!"


The men startled, turning on him with their pointed spears. Their eyes were glazed over. They rolled white, panicked.


Gavin took a step back, raising his hands in a symbol of peace and trying not to breathe. To kill these two plantipus, they'd need a bow. The fumes that this beast sprayed played with a man's mind, and for a time stole away his reason.


Blood poured out from under the plantipus on the fallen man. It had latched to his face and was chewing away with wet chomps. That was one man down, and three men more with spears pointed at Gavin's neck.

 

[Audo]

Marc, despite the tears and his vigil on the wall as people began filing onto his section repairing the stone barrier, had found himself drumming his fingers against the stone of the wall, staring out. He still couldn't remove the stench of death and the weight of close to twenty men on his shoulders. Seventeen dead men wrapped around his arm. Seventeen bangles he had to return to the wives and keep with himself those who preferred their own company. He would have actually preferred that. At least two of the men in his company had wives quickening with child, several had one, some had more than. He gripped tightly the spear and shield and wiped away the sorry with his arms.


All those worries would disappear in an instant.


The yellow clad man tensed as he heard the cries and turned to face where he had heard it. He roared and paced his section of the wall as he watched some of the sentries trying to kill each other. One of the people who had just happened to pass by, thinking Marc was in the throws of sorrow, was stopped by the man himself.


"Sorry to do this, you'll be taking my watch while I go deal with what's over there."


He grabbed the quiver that rested on the stone and deposited the spear and shield onto the other man's hands. He recognized him as a patrolman and at least knew someone halfway competent took over temporarily. Meanwhile, Marc himself took the man's service blade and rapidly descended the wall, weaving through some buildings before making his way past the front gate, pushing back anyone who was in his way. There was no way the young man could grasp at what he felt tightening his chest only that an outlet presented itself once the immediate threat was slain.


He stopped when he was within respectable arrow range of the monsters. He couldn't be assed to shoot down men who'd probably run a Lionsguard through. The shiny bastard most likely deserved the gutting, accidents happen after all. The idiot was in the green mist anyway. An arrow was knocked and pulled as far back as he could before he let go. Bow crumbling in his hand. He didn't care to check if the arrow even hit his mark, it didn't matter.


He pulled free a strip of cloth peeking out under his yellow leather guard and wrapped it around his face, bringing the patrol service blade to bear he approached the crowd. There had to be some way to disarm the escorts, could be fathers and he'd rather all three make it back. Like an idiot he also stepped into the green mist. Looking every bit the yellow bandit.


"So...ser, How do we deal with this? Depending on your answer you might have four bastards on you instead of these three crazed sons."


The discontent was clear on his voice as he took a spot beside the Lionsguard who was held at spearpoint. No doubt he'd be held at spearpoint too which made him tighten his grip on the sword in his hand.


(again, any amendments lemme know)

 

[Hell Diver]

Calm Before The Storm.




A mans peace is never truly there, only the calm before the thunder and lightning tears apart the land he might call home. For Didean now was that time, first he saw the trees far in the distance begin to sway back and forth as if the wind caressed them to dance. But it was what caused such winds, what tore the trees from their gentle stature with such ferocity. A black cloud, climbing the horizon, chills ran down his old withered spine as he heard the sway of thousands of wings in sync. His mind raced, not for his own safety, but for his children. The man couldn't stand the thought of what was approaching the land he called home. And with that he left the comfort of the underbrush, the creatures around being the farthest thought from his mind.


And so he ran, and ran, and ran; It might have been the fear that kept his legs moving, it might have been the concern for his children. He saw the greens of trees beside him soon mesh into the outer fields of the castle, the tattered stone walls flooding his vision. He hoped they could see the cloud far in the distance, he hoped they would be prepared for what was coming. He kept up his run, going through the open gate of the castle wall, coming to a short halt within. His lungs ached and his old body felt much more fatiqued than he'd imagined, but he found his voice.


"The harpies are coming! Their nest has risen, their numbers are immense." The man shouted, his eyes searching around in a slight panic.


But as his eyes searched, all he could find was dread, the corpses that lay strewn about. But what perplexed his racing mind the most, was the distance at which he could see a lionsguard held at spearpoint. Several men all seeming to turn on one another. Confused, dazed, and slightly fatigued, Didean had no idea what he was getting into when he rushed through the gate. Then he saw the slight mist, he'd soon cover his nose and mouth with a bit of cloth from his sleeve.

 

[Dominaiscna]

Ash, who had been concentrating with slowing her breathing to calm herself down, looked up startled as the General suddenly sprinted away towards the edge of the forest where a group was gathered. There was a small movement as an arrow flew at the group before another man soon joined him and both stood at spear point.


Standing up so she could see better, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion as she watched the scene. What were those escorts doing? Her red eyes were pulled from the soldiers to the green tentacle creature that seemed to cling to a fallen man like a parasite, spewing out the green mist in bellows. She'd never seen something like it, but the green vapour was dangerous, judging by how the General and, the man she recognized as a fellow soldier, Marc had their mouths covered.


With her wound, she might not reach them in quick time and there was little she could do with her lack of range. She had her dagger but she doubted she could get there in time. She couldn't run back to the castle as getting help also required time, time that they didn't have. There were bows and arrows littered among the bodies around her and, though she had training in shooting arrows, she risked accidentally shooting the General or Marc in the back.


But if they didn't act, they'd both be dead.


Prying the bow from a fallen comrade's fingers and ripping an arrow from the carcass of a nearby harpy, she knocked the arrow, pulled it back as far as it could go even though the action caused searing pain in her left shoulder and made her hands shake. Aiming the arrow at the green tentacle thing, she took a shuddering breathe, held it and willed her hands to still for one second before she let the arrow fly. It would take about 3 seconds to reach the two men and she hoped her voice could get to them before the arrow did.


"General! Marc! Duck! "

 

[KingsPlague]

The Forges Chime


The troops had already left that morning and once again the old smith had not gone to see them off, he was not welcome there, in fact he was no longer welcome anywhere unless he was delivering weapons and armor or repairing his ballista. No Rupert Shil was no longer welcome among the other citizens of Peregrine City , many had lost a child to the wrath of the harpies and some had sent their children to be apprentices at the forge yet they suffered the same fate always before they could take over.


The smith packed up his tools and headed out, he rarely got any sleep anymore, he had moved much of his forge underground to avoid attacks during the night and had to repair ballista during the day. At first he was praised for these invention as they could take down these frightful beasts, they could shoot them right out of the sky with the large wooden bolts, but the flocks where too many and would sweep over the machines with their talons to disable them. All the praise that the smith had gotten was very quickly replaced by resentment as he got older, his hair had begun to gray and wrinkles began forming on his forehead, something that was only seen amongst nobles these days as all you able men were forced to take up arms against the harpies.


When Rupert finished packing up his gear he moved out towards the walls to the ballista, his eyes staring straight ahead as the glares and scowls of other citizens fell upon him, with the occasional rude remark of ‘My Son died fighting and you hide in your forge’ or ‘Look kids, it’s the cursed smith’, on this particular day someone had decided to throw a stale bread at him hitting him in the side of the head as he walked onwards, unstirred by this daily life of resentment from others.


The smith headed up the wall past the guard chambers, inspecting each ballista as he passed and making the proper repairs to them if at even possible, he had to do balancing acts over the wall as the harpies had a tendency to make the top almost unwalkable and he had even witnessed a few soldiers falling to their death because the wind suddenly changed.


Rupert had recently created a new bolt that would split at a high speed and fire needles at the harpies hopefully hitting more than one of them, But these bolts had not been used yet and the guards said ‘We don’t have time to test something that may not even work when we need it most.’.

 

[XxLuluxX]

KASCH HARTMANN

​

Mother was a sinner. That's what they said. Kasch, a mere embodiment of what she'd done wrong, yet no child deserved to be seen as something inhuman. No human- should be told they were an abomination. Sometimes selling yourself for a few pence, a few pence to keep your baby, was the only thing one could do. He'd had a good parent to keep him grounded of course. He'd proven them wrong about how weak he was, yet Hartmann was always known as an odd lad of a bunch. Had a knack for being unseen when he wanted to be; but the loudest when he needed to be. Outspoken, bold and a little uneducated, barely managing to get along with writing and arithmetic; Kasch just happened to be one of those unfortunates. Alas- that was before the Scouts.


The Scouts were all in all, men who danced the dance with insanity, day in and day out. Death a kind mistress who sold them a deal. Her embrace for your stupidity. Yet Kasch, he'd been plagued by the workings of an already weakened mindset before he completely lost it. When a man snaps like that, it's hard to describe. Fear, replaced with bold excitement against gut churning enemies. Angels seen in the eyes of corpses. Melody heard in the abyss of silence.


Hartmann, had been "Enlightened."


The masked figure, swept his swathing cloak around a broad frame, crouching in the foliage of the forest. Dirt pressed into the leather creases of his armour, with a damp, earthy embrace. Couldn't beat the feel of being outside the walls, adrenaline of the moment. How your heart could hammer against the ribcage yet not shatter the illusion of safety. It thrilled him. Down to the bone. Behind the carved ivory, two darkened orbs flickered about whilst he crawled along upon his belly, a good tavern song stuck in his head. Or rather the one line he'd memorised- which soon got awfully tiring. Alas! It was a distraction from the horrors that lay in wait. Another thing to add upon the bucket list was have his name mentioned in theatre after this whole thing was cleared up. Everyone remembered drama productions. Right?Harpies couldn't plague them for eternity (or so he wishfully decided).


Once clearing himself of danger in the form of flying humanoid reptilians with nothing better to do than ruin carpets and livelihoods; Kasch paused. Gaze widening marginally as those nightmarish creations swarmed in quantities beyond what he could count on both hands- and feet for that matter. Which he then concluded was more than twenty. "Fuck me sideways." Hartmann muttered, nevertheless set off with a surefooted sprint. He'd spotted the haze of Harpies from somewhat afar, close enough to make out the fluidly chaotic forms, far enough not to be eaten.


The forest was a maze well known to him, crashing through the woodland to identify the welcoming appearance of stonework. Then the rather unappealing mutiny. Revolt? Men fighting men- surely this wasn't a good time to have it out with the lads! There was a cloud of angered, exceptionally dangerous winged felons amassing and the bloody guards decided to play at fisticuffs?! They needed a right good smacking.


Yet, every step that brought him closer, brought the scene into clarity.


(Gah- It's bad excuse me. I'll get into the swing hopefully)

 

[Jays]

The Talesweaver


"Saw it with my own eyes, I did." The injured soldier spoke excitedly, his face flushed red in pride and eagerness. "It was the most magnificent sight I've ever witnessed in my life. The fog nearly blinded me, it did, so majestically bright it was, the color of white gold and the rising da..."


"Yes, yes, enough with the crippled narrative." The old scholar cut him off impatiently. "Which direction was the fog's retreat? Hmm? Westward? East?"


"Oh, aye, Eastward, toward the rising dawn, itself dampened by the glorious fog. But it did not stop there, oh no. The golden wave rolled onward even further, aye, until, and I swear on my na's grave, it merged with the sun itself! Could not believe my own sight at first..."


The soldier's wondrous raving continued, but the old man was long gone. Another dead end, he cursed silently. So many saw the Mist, but none could provide one tiniest bit of useful fact. So far as told by the soldiers, the Mist was blue as the summer sky, black as the night, white as a silken robe, silver as the distant stars, and gold as a Lord's treasure. Not that he cared much what the Mist looked like, he himself was exposed to it, however briefly. What frustrated the old man the most was what he himself had missed. Where the Mist had gone. Some said it flew West, others said East. A few claimed to have seen the Mist simply dissipating, or rose skyward, or shrunk and merged with a shadowy female figure on the War Plane. In short, absolute and utter horse shite, anywhere he asked.


The old man started flipping through the leather bound volume in his hands once more, passage by passage, as he had done a dozen times or two since the previous night. Could it be a coincidence, the very thing he came out of hiding to retrieve was a book foretelling the Mist? He could not see how it can be otherwise. And yet here he was, chasing the signs of a children's tale so badly written he could compose a better one in less than an hour. He was not the only one to detect the resemblance, already there was talk of the Queen's coming, quiet whispers and awed contemplation. Hope and reverence was palpable in the air, a dangerous thing indeed, more so in a hopeless world. He wondered how long before a cult would be created, how long before a fully sanctioned religion. How long before there were riots on the street and priests preaching of taking down the Lords to pave the way for the coming Queen. How long before the utterance of Her would be in fear and dread, in place of hope and awe.


Arus Vandryan rubbed his eyes, tiredly. History is truly a curse, as it is a gift. There is no guarantee the Mist brought with it salvation, but chaos, oh, that the world would have aplenty.


His hands rose once more to the book, then dropped. He had learned everything he could from it, however little that was. Was there truly a Queen, a being of flesh and blood but also of power and beauty, who would cleanse this land of beasts and bring back the Age of Men? Why would an entity of such strength wish to aid human in anything at all, much less the greatest Crusade in the history of Wuldir? So many questions, so little answer.


He intended to find the truth, to record it if not to be a part of the chaos himself. Whatever he finds, it would be an unique chapter of history, one never witnessed before. And it would make a great tale or two, certainly.


With a whirlwind of thoughts in his mind, the Talesweaver headed for the Wall, to see for himself the plane where once hung the Mist of Legend.

 

[QuestingBeast]

Gavin

Wind blasted the arrow's wake as it sped wildly between the men. The projectile had been loosed with such force that in its flight the wooden thing wavered, flyng wide of the plantipus and deep into the tree trunk behind it. The splintering impact was enough to startle the little leafy creature. It crawled off the soldier's face in a hurry. The man was utterly unrecognizable, his skull cracked and crushed, the brains dripping, exposed, all bright red and shining.


Gavin marked the green beast's retreat. It went for the trees to seek higher ground, so it could pump out more of this debilitating mist until the intruders to its meal had all collapsed like the first man.


"So...ser, How do we deal with this? Depending on your answer you might have four bastards on you instead of these three crazed sons."


A soldier in a yellow mask came rushing up and made the mistake of talking. He drew the attention of the maddened men in a snap. They turned on him, but their spears tangled in the act. The man to Gavin's left, who was more stout than the others, in turning, revealed his back on which a sucking, bulbous plantipus clung.


A shallow breath sucked between his teeth, Gavin moved quickly to the man on his left. While stepping on his foot, Gavin ripped the spear from the man's grasp and shoved him to the ground. The soldier was weak, and offered little resistance.


"General! Marc! Duck!"


The words flew by as a force like a load of bricks slammed into Gavin from behind. All the air knocked out of him, and he fell rolling over the man he'd knocked down. A deep intake of breath to replace the lost air filled his chest.


"Get off me! Get off me!" A man's voice cried out.


The air was sweet as he breathed it again. Gavin squinted at the now-blurred field. The shapes amalgamated into long, reedy trees that sprouted blood-red fruit. They burst and fell into little soldiers that marched towards the fallen Gavin. They were at war against the giants. They were coming to take out his eyes.




Ash's arrow made its target. It embedded only the head into the standing soldier's thigh.


"Get off me! Get off me!" The soldier was yelling at the arrow. He slapped at the shaft, and he screamed in pain as it splintered. Angrily, he turned towards Marc, a second soldier stumbling beside him.


His movements were sluggish, but that did not negate the danger of his spear, which stabbed wildly at Marc. The motion of his wild assault blurred. Together, it looked almost like a circle of blooming flower petals, spreading out in all directions.


"Why are you looking at me like that? What did I do? I bled like you, I got the scars! You know I did everything I could. Why's it on me anyway, huh, why don't you blame the council above? Leave me alone! I was just following orders!" The soldier was rambling. Froth escaped his mouth. His movements were slowing as the spores ran their course, yet by the wildness in his eyes, he was growing more frantic.


The little plantipus on the soldier Gavin had thrown to the ground crawled out from underneath the unconscious soldier's back, leaving a trail of blood. It crawled across the grass, retreating for the forest to meet its mate.

 

[Audo]

Marc had the convenience of having his sword out when the other crazed men turned to look at him. Though his brow furrowed, more in confusion than any real sort of irritation. He could hear a vaguely familiar voice call out from behind him. He had to keep his attention on the crazed men who inhaled quite the dangerous spores. His makeshift mask helping him ward off the spores but he couldn't deny that his head was getting a little light.


"ASH! WHO'S DUCK?!"


He turned to face the speaker, a quick glance that his eyes went wide as an arrow sped past his head. Brushing his light brown hair. He froze for a second then snapped out of his stupor when the spearman nearby cried out in pain and panic. Apparently there was something on his leg though Marc himself couldn't see it, save for the arrow and that barely counted as a living thing. He winced as he heard the snap of the shaft and the angry snarling from the other guy joined by his friend.


The course of action was clear to him, or at least by his standards. The sluggish rambling man could be dealt with later but the frothing one needed to be dealt with NOW. He moved up, negating whatever advantage of range the spears had. He hacked away the shaft of the guy with an arrow on his leg though he would have also sustained any injury attempting such. As soon as he closed the distance between them his pommel crashed against the crazed man's head twice coming from two different directions hoping that'd be enough to rock the man for the third strike which was a punch square at the man's face.


Here's to hoping the guy was knocked out.

 

[General Deth Glitch]

Verret Explorat

A scene unfolded before him, tightening his sinews and quickening the beat of his heart. Screams followed confusion and then people turning against one another. Brothers do not turn to face brothers after such a fight as they had. It was clear to him that this was the work of at least one Plantipus. Those vile creatures that twist minds and force creatures to their will, while weakening them and eventually killing them. His pace was immediately quickened and soon he saw an arrow fly past, missing no doubt for arrows fired that hurriedly rarely hit their mark unless fired by a very skilled scout and even then the likely hood of success is low. Then another shot past, this one much closer to the group of huddled boddies. As he stepped he pulled his cloak about him, mainly to cover his mouth rather then disguise his form and was fast approaching the group, another second passed and he could tell the creature appeared to be retreating, good. He grabbed his dagger and cut a swathe of fabric from his cloak for it looked like one of the turned men was already to be dealt with and, in a leaping motion, attempted to wrap the study material about their body to hopefully encase their arms so that a healer might look to save him or, perhaps, the toxin may be able to wear off in time, of course in the field you rarely get luxuries like then when you chance upon a plantipus but they were in civilisation, surely they could save a turned here? He has had his hand forced to act against his brothers too many times, perhaps this could be different? Or perhaps this would be just another painful mistake. Hopefully his direction of attack would help he thought as he soared through the air, feeling the pain in his leg as it left the ground, potentially weakening the speed and power of the movement.

 

[Ryuuko Shin]

Julius Marche and Friends

“Just look at the mess. I’m telling mother about this, Captain.” A helmeted soldier leaned on his battle-axe, watching the chaos unfold in front of him. A small group of soldiers, led by a rather severe-looking man with eyes that made him look as if he was perpetually squinting and glaring at others, jogged up to where he stood, and paused, taking in the sight themselves. Having been given clean-up duty, which was as clean as cutting the throats of the dead monsters, and then tossing them into a bonfire could be, the soldiers of Julius Marche’s cohort was more than a little pleased to see some action, even if it was a few madmen trying to kill their Lionguard Generals. The awfully blasé and nonchalant attitude would seem to others as being horrendously undisciplined, though a watchful eye would have seen some of them thumb the hilts of their swords, and the archers with their bows in hand and an arrow lazily nocked to them.


“We could do with a little less of the nonchalant sarcasm, please. Those are dead and dying men out there.” The squinty-eyed man grumbled under his breath to his subordinate, who only chuckled, his laugh made even more hollow by his head-obscuring helmet.


“Aye, but that’s war, is it not? People dying?”


“They’re turning our own men against us.”


“My apologies if I don’t sound partially surprised, Captain. ‘Tis an easy fix, if you know what you’re doing. Allow me to show you.” The soldier picked up his axe, hefted it over his shoulder, gripped it with both hands, and took a running start towards the closest of the turned man, one who was assaulting a swordsman by the name of Marc. His blow was decisive, aimed towards the spine of the turned spearman.


Julius Marche had thought of reaching out to stop the soldier, but decided to leave him to his devices. Instead, he raised a hand, and nodded to the two snipers in his cohort. “Take the plants out, will you? They look awfully dry this season. Must be the sun.” The archers only raised their bows and took aim in reply, and loosed their arrows towards the remaining plantipus.