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Topic: **Noldaria*Final War**
Subject: Teros
Teros chuckled a bit as he watched the look on the inkeepers face. Indeed he could not of suspected less from the man since it was quite a surprise, but it wasn't uncommon for spellcasters to have animals that could talk in one fashion or another and Teros had met a few in his life. As that dark bard and the big guy in front of his finished Teros stepped forward. He thought of asking for a room, but why waste his money when the bard could get one for free? Even if he wanted to sleep and pray alone it would be rude to pass his offer up, and the man was rarely nice so he figured he would just walk back and find a table.
As soon as he turned around he spotted his two other companions. Slowly he made his way to the table and took a seat, not speaking but just glancing around. He was tired and was ready for a night in a real bed, but he was eager to continue with their journey as well. Too occupy his time he watched the members of their "party". He had lost the Kender but half-elf made up with his interesting response to the bar maid. Finally Damien went up to sing.
At first Teros thought he was going to be as disgusted as he was last time. But this time was different, and he had a strange feeling it gave just a little insight to why this man was so demented and tormented. It was a little disturbing, but in the end he nodded his approval.
((Barmaid comes back he'll order some ale.))
Posted on 2006-09-04 at 20:55:49.
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Topic: **Noldaria*Final War**
Subject: Damien
Damien smiled slightly with the permission from the barkeep to test his skill before the numbers here. Tossing his cloak over his shoulder, he turned and strode towards the dais with something of a swagger to his movement. In his mind, he went over each piece he might perform before them, trying to decide on what might get the best response and save him from having to pay for the night in this place.
Jak O’ The Shadows might not be the best choice, though its pretty popular in other lands. Something uplifting might help business here, and thus, earn me quarters for the night, but...
A certain song stuck out in his dark mind, though one that had not initially been recited by his own throat. However, he was able to remember it perfectly. Every pitch and every word to every verse. It had been sung to him, years ago, in a small boat on midnight water. The voice that it belonged to was that of a past lover, Elena. Damien had always thought there was at least a small drop of elf blood in the optimistic woman, for she sang and looked beautiful to him on every occasion, though she always denied it if he questioned.
Licking his lips, the poet glanced around, surveying his crowd and how they might take to his performance. Perhaps not the best of all, but he wanted to recite this song, as it had been sung to him so many years ago atop the water.
With an upraised hand, he called for silence and attention from all, and felt the eyes of the various patrons draw to his enshrouded figure. He made no declaration of the title of the song, for he never truly knew one if it carried any, but had simply titled it Water on his own. Regardless, he would not name somebody else’s song for them, and began to set a pace for himself.
“Into the night, upon the water,
we push out, and break the stillness of the bay.
The brilliance of the stars above us,
flicker to life within the harbor,
and dipping the oar into the water,
we glide outwards and away.”
Elena’s beautiful face appeared in Damien’s mind, smiling at him the way she used to do so.
“Tonight, love, your hand will not write,
your mind may wander, though,
into those deep lagoons you know,
and your boat will go alone.
La da da da da da da da da da.
You sang to the moon.”
The image was rebuilding itself within the bard’s mind.
“Into the night, upon the water,
we pull the boat back to shore.
The brilliance of the stars reflected in water,
flicker to life within the harbor,
and dipping the oar into the water,
we return to the stillness of the port.”
He could swear that he could feel the calm, cool air of the bay upon his face.
“As we lay upon the shore,
under a moon in the great black night,
we wait for it, for there are only two things now,
the great black night, and the glowing fires.
Listen love, the darkness reigns.
The darkness reigns.
Listen, the darkness reigns.
The darkness reigns.
And yet, the moon still shines.”
The entire scene had recreated itself within Damien’s mind as he slowly closed his lips and ended his song. His heart, which he thought could feel nothing aside from cold, burned within his breast. He ached inside his ribs.
“Why did I ever leave like that in the midst of the festival?” He whispered to himself as he stepped down from the dais and moved to an unoccupied corner of the room. Right now, he wanted to be alone, and more than ever, was hoping that he earned the rooms he sought to win through his performance. A flash of anguish crossed the man’s face as he sat down, and he pulled his cloak around him to try to shut out the cold that he was feeling all over.
Posted on 2006-09-04 at 20:55:32.
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Topic: **Noldaria*Final War**
Subject: Elandor
“Aye we could do that…..she’s there too much though-“”Not so loud!”
What a phrase! And Elandor had heard it!
His attention immediately caught he forgot about the other ongoing conversations and listened intently on what was being said. It was not so much the earlier words that had moved his exited ear. The last, urging command had flexed the kender’s every muscle. ”When somebody needs to hush, there’s a need to rush.” his grandfather had told him, meaning that you should never let the occasion slip to sneak into a private conversation. Some very interesting things could be discovered that way.
For a second Elandor looked back at the bar, afraid that Scourge would be all alone sitting at the bar. Seeing the bard talking to the big warrior he returned his attention to the secrecy of the dark booth.
Posted on 2006-09-04 at 20:54:55.
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Topic: **Noldaria*Final War**
Subject: The Jester's Hour
August 11th/Tuesday Afternoon
Northern Thollin
The Jester's Hour/Eldarast/Thollin Capital
The Jester’s Hour was enjoying yet another busy mid-afternoon. Ever since the new outer wall’s construction had begun. When the first of the workers had started appearing, back when the ground had thawed in March, the Inn hadn’t seen one quiet night. As healthy as the now very regular customers were for business, the stress was beginning to take it’s toll on the usually jovial Master Hillock, and his host of ever loyal servers.
Never had he though he’d live to see the day where he’d raise a toast to an empty tavern. With business came money, and with money came all the pleasures of life. That was just the way the world worked. Yet now, as he hustled about the back of the bar, refilling freshly drained mugs, wiping up spills, or darting into the back kitchen to check on the cooks, he would have given anything for one moments peace.
The click and creak of the oaken front door opening barely surfaced within his churning consciousness.
“Not even sundown yet, an’ already we got nearly as big’a group as we had all summer.”
He mumbled either to himself or to the fat man with the shaggy black hair and long beard who sat before him, chugging his third ale in the 5 minutes he had been there. Not bothering to cast a glance at the door, or sharp enough to notice the sudden hushing of the inn, he grabbed an empty mug who’s client had been pointing at stupidly for the past minute and turned to refill it.
"A tankard of swig."
The voice was as dry as dead leaves, and certainly far from human. Startled into standing erect, the fat old bartender spun around, and found himself staring up into the cloaked face of a demon. At least, that was his first impression. The face was obviously a mask. Though, the two sets of horns that spiraled out from it’s temples, and jutted like spires before the brim of the hood, and the two, burning eyes that were now fixed upon him assured him this was neither a normal, or holy mask. The figure bore a great, crystalline bladed scythe, and perched upon his cloaked shoulder was a black raven.
“For me mate here of course."
Gasping, and nearly staggering back in shock; it took good old Master Hillock a moment to recollect his posture. Swallowing hard, he said in a shaky voice
“Y-Yes sir. Of course sir.”
Spinning back around so quick that it seemed he might topple, he grabbed a mug from one of the wooden shelves, and began pouring some of his best Golden Ale from it’s mammoth barrel.
“Your sign says all entertainers welcome. I would like to try my skill before your numerous patrons, if I may. The drinks do not interest me, but I would gladly surrender them for a room for the night.”
The second voice caught him equally by surprise. Unlike that of the…raven’s, this one was smooth as silk. The words seemed to flow like a cool stream, and were formed as sharply and clearly as ice.
Turning back around with forced dignity; he set the mug before Scourge and set his gaze on not only Damien, but in a joint effort, he made sure this time to note every one of the newcomers whom, in his shock at being greeted by a crow on a giant he had neglected to notice.
By the puzzled confusion that had been stamped on his face, it was obvious that the group was standoutish. Yet he seemed only uncomfortable with Scourge. As did, it seemed, most of the others in the inn.
The occupants of the bar had all slid farther to each of Scourges side, and sat, facing their mugs. Yet their eyes darted constantly at the big man.
“Aye we offer drinks in return for entertainment. But if ye be wishing to win rooms fer all yer lads, and the lass, then ye best put on a damned good show.”
“Allow me to register, and I shall not disappoint. My name is Damien LeBlaque.”
The barkeep studied Damien for a moment, twirling one pudgy finger through his dirty, yellow beard, before nodding and, cupping one fat hand to the side of his mouth, shouted
“Oi Tion! Ye’v done played yer worth. Now belly on up to the bar. Give this young fellow a chance here.”
The lutist looked up from his playing and, at the mention of the bar, broke into a crooked toothed grin, and started for the bar, keeping a wary eye on the giant, horned man in the cloak.
* * *
Uninterested in the bar, or with customary greetings, Vilyamar and Mahuo took to a table near the warm glow of the fireplace. (The table is large enough to fit all party members). The half-elf left his hood up and, in the smoky gloom of the inn, passed as human. The satyr however, stood no chance of blending in, nor did she care to. She sat at the table, facing Vilyamar with the pride of her mysterious people and, when Vilyamar stopped a passing serving girl, she too made her order.
The Inn did not possess, nor had it ever heard of “punch”, so she first brought back two, wooden goblets and two clay pitchers. One held water, the other, red wine. After inquiring apologetically as to if her selection would suffice, she turned and headed back to the kitchen; her curly blond hair bobbing all the way.
Waiting for his food, Vilyamar turned his keen attention to the contents of the inn, and the people who occupied it. Save for his party and the humble bard who now sat beside Scourge, gulping from his mug and seemingly rambling fearlessly toward the giant, the tavern seemed filled with the most common of peasants. Farmers and carpenters, poor merchants smithies. The booths along the walls held some shadowy figures. But, of course with the shadows, none stood out.
After a moment the girl returned bearing their food. She seemed no older than 17 but, by her sway and the way the men she passed grabbed at her, it was obvious that she could do more than serve. As did all the serving girls, Vilyamar noted...All were young and most were pretty enough. By the way they ran their fingers across men’s shoulders, or chatted, in most obviously suggestive poses, the monk could clearly tell that this inn could get very rowdy and that these women likely earned money in more ways than one.
Infact, Vilyamar nearly blushed when the returned girl leaned much farther forward than was necessary, exposing enough of her pale, smooth cleavage to nearly make his jaw drop.
“There you are”
She said in her best sweet and innocent voice. Then, running her fingers along his shoulder and standing behind him, she leaned into his cloaked ear and said gently.
“If you need anything. Anything at all, I’ll be waiting.”
With that she was gone. Looking down at his meal, he studied the seasoned beef slabs and flat bread…
* * *
From the moment he entered the inn, the Kender was lost. Not Master Hillock, any of the barmaids, or even very many of the occupants noticed him as he bounded beneath the tables and scurried towards the shadowed booths along the wall. He went about his sneaky business like the professional he was and, within seconds was sitting in one of the booths, leaning casually against the wall. It was hard to hear the soft spoken words of the other occupants of the booths.
”…Aye the woods too wet…..burn right….. “ (From his far left)
“….and me hammer broke…..the metal almost took me head off!”(From his far right right)
“Sure I can….and three days is enough ta finish the cellar…” (From his immediate left
“Aye we could do that…..she’s there too much though-“”Not so loud!” (Immediate right)
* * *
It wasn’t until after his second mug of wine that the bard slid his stool beside Scourge and turned to stare at him.
“Boy yer a big fella! I’de bet my lute you’ve been some places. An by the looks of yer…equipment there, you’ve got some tales to tell! Say…This is your lucky day! I just so happen to be going to the Castle this week. King Elethorn enjoys my entertainment, you see. Whatdyasay ya tell me about some of your adventures. I’ll relay them to the king. That way, he hears a story he aint heard of before, and you get to become famous…In name at least. Come on pal. I’de love to hear of some of your adventures.”
(Teros. I didn’t know what to do for you, since you had him stand behind Scourge and watch him. So, if you order a drink, assume you get it, if you order food, assume you get it.)
Posted on 2006-09-04 at 20:54:32.
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Topic: **Noldaria*Final War**
Subject: Vilyamr
The man shoved his hands in his pockets as the kender approached him, for most denizens of the world knew the character of the halfling race. Thankfully, though, his preoccupation with his own goods kept him from looking at the rest of the group too closely, and Vilyamar was surprised that he saw only a little shock at the oddness of the travellers. The nervous man pointed hastily towards the inn down the street and hurried on his way, anxious to be well beyond the probing gaze of Scourge and Orion as well as the undoubtedly quick fingers of Elandor.
The cool breeze shifted the monk's cloak and he tugged subconciously at the edge's of his cowl. He did not like the looks of wonder that he recieved when humans noticed his heritage. There were few half-breeds in the world, for few humans even met the elves. Questions would arise, and there was little way to predict whether he would be chased from the city or attempted to be brought to honors within the keep of the king or high lord or whatever title men gave themselves in this place. He had little time or liking for the frivolous nature of rulers.
Instead, he followed the others to the inn and common room, slowing as each went through the door. Vilyamar went through last, keeping an eye on the street and on his companions, noticing their actions and taking note. He saw little of interest except Damien taking a longer look at a sign posted on the window of the inn. He glanced at the sign himself once he entered, but upon seeing it just an advertisement for entertainers he gave it no more thought. The others could do as they wished, so long as it did not interfere with their given tasks. He kept an eye on Elandor as well, for the little one had the only means to pay for their transport across the wastes.
He sat at a table, joining the satyr. They said nothing, for there was nothing to be said. The monk did not remove his hood but simply watched the others, especially Elandor who seemed to take interest in the dark booths along the far wall. He called once to a serving girl who passed and glanced nervously at the strange pair sitting apart from the the rest of the human patrons.
"A bit of food perhaps, something simple will do. And some punch, as well," He said simply. There was no demanding tone, but the girl nodded and hurried off just the same . Perhaps it was how she did her job, or perhaps his voice also had a hint of something more than just foreign in the accent. He did not know or care.
He awaited food and watched where the others went, but did not wish to interfere with them. Their backs were up already, there was no point in making them all turn aside. He was going to need all of their aid, all of them were going to need his.
Posted on 2006-09-04 at 20:52:49.
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Topic: **Noldaria*Final War**
Subject: Elandor
Elandor jumped into the cloud of smoke and scents as if it were a deep and cool river after a hot day of traveling. This is where he felt at home, in the crowded, smoky taverns with lots of people and lots to entertain yourself. He took 2 gold pieces from his pouch and started toying them around in his hand.
He started for the counter but found himself distracted by all the people that were gathered here, sitting on large tables or in dark booths that line the wall.
Dark booths!!
Everybody knows those are where the real fun it going on!
Elandor dropped one of the gold pieces by total accident (bluff check) and followed it under one of the tables. In the shadows underneath the board he scanned the area for the right place and the appropriate moment to glide his way towards the dark booths that so interested him; of course without being seen. He sat there laughing up his sleeve in excitement. His muscles flexed as he awaited the right moment.
A big man passed between the booths and the table Elandor used for cover. The kender used the man as distraction, reasoning that people would let their gaze follow the man if they were making plans of secrecy. A gaze that followed a big man had no eye for a small kender that sprang from one shadow to another.
Arriving at the dark booth of his choice he looked back into the room. He saw Scourge and Orion ordering a drink while Damien addressed the barkeeper and had a small conversation with the man. Teros stood behind Scourge, apparently waiting for something. They all seemed to have good fun! Unworried about his companions Elandor adjusted his head to hear the inevitably illegal words that would surely come from the booths.
(OOC: ok… maybe there’s nothing going on at all. Elandor will not be disappointed that easily. He will scan all the booths, if possible, for some secret conversation. If there’s no conversation at all he will return to the counter and order a nice warm meal.)
Posted on 2006-09-04 at 20:52:29.
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Topic: **Noldaria*Final War**
Subject: Teros
Teros entered the tavern and moved out of the way of the door so his companions could get through. He sat back against the wall and simply studied the people around him, gathering his surroundings. After the few breif moments it took him he moved to the bartender.
As he moved through the chairs that held people he noticed that just about everyone was having a good time, and that was good. It was good to know that there were still people enjoying themselves while the world slipped closer to oblivion. He sighed at the though and shrugged it away with a shake of his head and a slight smile.
Teros waited for the crow to talk to the bartender and for him to take care of the big man before he would speak. In fact he was content to sit back, it didn't seem like there was much of a rush after all. And he didn't to seem rude to this relatively newcomer. So with a slight grin he stood behind the tall man and waited to see what would happen.
Posted on 2006-09-04 at 20:52:14.
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Topic: **Noldaria*Final War**
Subject: Damien
“The Jester’s Hour,” Damien muttered to himself as he stood before the old brick building that bore a rather uniquely crafted sign. “Talent earns free drinks.”
The bard pondered this over for a moment, shifting about slightly beneath his cloak. He badly needed to get out of his armor, for it was rubbing very uncomfortably against his neck now. After wearing the thing for quite some time, a strange red rash-type form had appeared on his collar.
“The drinks don’t so much interest me, but maybe we can earn a free room, instead. If not, I guess I can just unload them on the others.” Especially that swine, Derak He thought with a sly smile, glancing over to the brutish warrior.
Watching the hulking figure that was Scourge enter first, Damien followed him, catching the door open as it began to close, and slipped in. Immediately, he was assaulted by the scents of tobacco, alcohol, and cooked meat. His stomach made comment at this, and he made a mental note to purchase a meal later in the night. Maybe I could trade drinks for some good food.
Except for Scourge and Orion, Damien noted quickly, all of the patrons were humans. The thought rose in his mind that perhaps it was one of those strongly prejudiced taverns that he had been to before, but pushed it down. He would see in time whether or not it was run by one of such owners.
Damien took a moment to look around, surveying t he room. All of the corners of the long tables were empty, for reasons that he could not determine. In the corner, atop a low platform, was an entertainer, the source of the lute tones. Quickly inspecting him, Damien smirked at his talent. Mediocre, in comparison to himself.
Seeing Scourge plod over to the bar and sit down on a stool, Damien decided that perhaps it was with the fat, bearded man that he was to register his name with. With careful, graceful steps, the poet moved over to the counter, beside the colossal figure that he traveled with.
“Your sign says all entertainers welcome,” He began, neglecting to greet him formally, or in any way, for that matter. “I would like to try my skill before your numerous patrons, if I may. The drinks do not interest me, but I would gladly surrender them for a room for the night.” Damien’s body ached badly from sleeping rough and spending much time out of doors lately. What he needed was a good bed to sleep in. “Allow me to register, and I shall not disappoint. My name is Damien LeBlaque.”
Posted on 2006-09-04 at 20:51:58.
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Topic: **Noldaria*Final War**
Subject: Scourge
Having spent many days travelling to the forest of the elves, only to turn round and continue here, facing an unruly band of Ogres along the way had sapped much of the strength which coursed through Scourge's veins; not that he'd ever willingly show it. The brief rest they took before making it here hardly accounted for the neccessary recouperation he needed.
Bending low to avoid the top of the door frame, Scourge, with Orion perched atop his shoulder, entered the common room, mask still drawn upon his face. As looks glanced over him he was certain that many hands moved to hidden weapons and chairs scraped along the floor as people tensed at his presence. Nothing new he silently told himself.
Approaching the large bar he places a large gloved hand to a stool and took a seat, pulling it near and giving a curt nod to whichever patrons may have been nearby. "A tankard of swig." Orion said from his perch, drawing even more confused and curious stares. "For me mate here of course."
Scourge and Orion waited patiently for service.. That is if they even get served.
Posted on 2006-09-04 at 20:51:42.
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Topic: **Noldaria*Final War**
Subject: Elderast
August 11th/Tuesday Afternoon
Northern Thollin
Eldarast/Thollin Capital
Though they had most recently been “blessed” with a visit to Celeval, city of the elves; it had been weeks since the party had truly been in civilization. The imposing concoction of sounds and smells washed in relieving waves over several of the members, as they made their way through the squared and organized, cobblestone streets of Eldarast.
As they made their way deeper into the city, and closer to the sloping hill, crowned bye the Palace of Elethorn II, they became very aware of the changes in structure and organization. The buildings here were far more crowded, taller, and many were stone or brick.
Tugging on the violet robe of a passing man who, by his creased face and balding head, was in his mid 40’s, Elandor asked
“Hullo! We’re new to this city. Could you please tell us where we could find a place to stay, my good man. And would you mind telling me what you’ve got in your pouches?”
Glancing down at the kender and hopping back as if he was a hideous kobold, the man shoved his hands into his pockets and stuttered
“Whats in my pockets, small master, will stay in my pockets.”
Looking at the rest of the companions as if noticing them for the first time, he added
“And as for an inn, follow this street to the end of the block. The Jester’s Hour is a decent place for passing wanderers.”
Without sparing time for a response, the man give a stiff nod (To the members that aren’t Kender), and hurried away.
Assuming the party follows the mans instructions
Just as he had claimed, at the block was cornered by an old, brick, three story building. The wooden porch had been recently built, and a colorful sign, carven in the shape of a Jester’s cap, read in an odd calligraphy
Jester’s Hour
In a smaller font, at the bottom of the sign, was written
All bards, poets, jesters, storytellers welcome!! Talent earns free drinks!!!
The windows were a homely yellow, red, and orange stained glass, but through them could be heard the muffled sounds of voices, and the soft chords of a lute.
Upon entering the inn, the party finds themselves standing in a common room. Smoke and candlelight wash over them, and the odor of tobacco, alcohol, and red meat assailed their nostrils. Several long tables fill the room, and the walls are lined with shadowy booths. Many are occupied but the corners are free. How convenient. A bar lines the far wall where a fat man with a yellow beard tends several, formerly looking folk. Infact, most of the occupants appear to be commoners, and all are human.
In the corner to the left is a raised dias. Sitting in a chair upon it is a spindly looking man in green leggings, a bright blue tunic, and a shapeless gray hat. A red quail feather sticks from it like an arrow. He’s the one playing the lute. His talent is borderline average, but in this humble lot, is very fitting.
The room is lit with the warm glow of candle and lantern light, and in the far corner, near the bar is a huge, stone fireplace. A small fire dances cheerily beneath it’s carven arch.
Posted on 2006-09-04 at 20:51:25.
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Topic: **Noldaria*Final War**
Subject: Damien
Entering the capitol of Thollin struck Damien with awe, though not nearly as much as he had been pressed by upon witnessing the city of the elves, despite his hatred for the living at that time. At least he was away from that lying man...he was having a difficult time remembering his name at the current moment. Not a good thing.
Staying away from the others, save Mahou, the only one he would go near, Damien strode softly into the grand city, his eyes wandering over everything that passed by him. His cloak fluttered around his body, giving him an appearance similar to a wraith, but this only pleased him more. Perhaps people would begin to fear him - always a satisfying feeling, though hardly a constructive use of one’s influence. Perhaps he could find a place where he might be able to sell his stories for something useful, such as a flute or a harp.
With a deep sigh, the dark minstrel plodded along, keeping an eye on the one he knew only as Scourge. That man - or thing - was a deep mystery wrapped within itself. He knew nothing about it, save for the fact that it carried a great scythe with an unusual trait. Not once before had Damien ever seen a blade in the shape of a crescent moon that could unleash a flash of light resembling the sun.
I will have to get a further look at that, indeed. He decided, turning his gaze back to the surrounding wonders of Eldarest. The bard would like to get a closer look at what exactly could provoke the steel of the scythe blade to unleash such a bright light, he suspected magic, but was uncertain. Laying a hand to his rapier hilt, the thought seemed much more plausible at the moment, and almost tempted him to approach the other group to ask the towering figure if he could inspect it.
(OOC: Sorry this is such absolute crap, but I had little to work with in regards to Damein’s interest. He will simply go along with Mahou, unless he can find either a black marketer, or some other such person he can deal with in hopes of finding a Harp of Pain.)
Posted on 2006-09-04 at 20:50:48.
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Topic: **Noldaria*Final War**
Subject: Scourge
The battle with the ogre clan had been the first bloodletting Scourge had partaken in over a ten-day, far too long if one were to ask him. His determination coupled with an arrogance founded not on something so foolish as pride, but rather an unwavering morality and sense of purpose. Ever since his own abduction and enslavement year’s prior, the hulking brute of a man known to his companions only by the aliases presented to them by Orion, was a quiet introverted sort. Handling business as needed he was not one for idle banter, and as such the short night of rest after the battle and the mornings return to the road was quiet; at least from his position bringing up the rear of the coterie.
(If anyone directly brings conversation to him, leave such inquiries herein the general thread or email and I’ll answer accordingly. Now or at any further point.)
With minor magic’s had Scourge mended his robes and vestments as well as with but a passing of cloth over the Dawnbringer’s crystalline blade did it shine with renewed vigor. As the sun rises to meet each day so too did this weapon crafted of foreign skill and material shimmer in the first of dawn’s light.
Lost within his own thoughts, and deep in conversation with Orion, who fluttered from companion to companion and occasionally flew overhead, constantly keeping watch for new dangers as well as garnering what insight he may into the personalities of those they traveled with, Scourge ambled onward until the outer gate still in construction lay before the group. Drawing up his cloak and cowl tighter to keep his newly donned mask hidden, two of the masks horns, curling like those of a ram just under the wide brim of his hat.
Standing at almost 7’ tall, Scourge was am imposing sight and the stares of curiosity were not unexpected. Having reached Elderast with no real further direction other than securing a place of refuge for the evening. Orion took to the sky, using his enhanced vision to try and locate any establishments of reprieve. Elandor would try his hand at the more direct route, simply asking for directions. His straightforward attitude was a pleasant sight to the large templar. Perhaps with the little one he could find common ground. There would be time for that later though.
Patiently awaiting a decision of direction towards a place of reprieve Scourge stands…
Posted on 2006-09-04 at 20:50:31.
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Topic: **Noldaria*Final War**
Subject: Vilyamar
They walked on and on after the battle with the ogres. Days flowed into nights and dawns turned to dusks as they traveled through the countryside. Soon trees turned to fields and gently rolling hills as they kept on their way to Elderast. Vilyamar kept his share of the watch but did not say much to any of the others except in simple discussion and answering some of the curious kender’s questions.
Time passed and they arrived outside the city. Vilyamar himself had never been in one so large, ever, nor had he had need to go within one. He had visited small towns to gather some supplies when he had traveled, but nothing to huge, for prejudices against his bloodlines ran deep and many questions were raised when a half-blood entered.
The portcullis was raised up high and the guards did not think anything of a traveling group that arrived early in the day. They knew the passion for the safety of a city’s walls. The fresh cool air was enticing enough to draw many open shutters and doors, as well as many people outside trying the savor the pure air before it became filled with the stench of animals and other beings. It also drew many stares.
The party walked into the streets, but they had no real idea of where they were to be going. The kender stopped the closest common man and asked for an inn. Vilyamar did not try to stop him. There was probably no better person among to ask for directions. He simply kept the cowl of his hood low and hid among the shadows of the group. There were few here he wished to see up close, and fewer who he wished to see him.
Posted on 2006-09-04 at 20:50:07.
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Topic: **Noldaria*Final War**
Subject: Teros
Teros had walked the remaining days with renewed vigalence. He had brushed with death on that last fight, and didn't want it to happen again. At least, not before he saw Mya and the graves of his parents again. He was relieved when they made it to the city without further interuptions. However the walk itself had bore down on him, dragging his spirits down like a man in the water. The bard was always there, always ruining his fun. Maybe it was just him, but his sour attitude and ugly face, in Teros's eyes, sent him into fits of anger and depression in equal messure. The fact that he had done almost nothing in the fight didn't help either. But when the walls of the city rose up before him, it offered him a break from the constant evil that was the bard.
As they entered he immediatly watched the Kender. He liked this little guy, so full of energy and joy. Had he not been there, playing constantly, he was sure the bard would be dead or beaten. He watched as his little mind's wheels turned round and round, thoughts rolling in his head. He wondered what he was thinking, but he knew it was impossible to know without invading his privacy and using magic now open to him. Still he smiled at what he would discover.
As the party aimlessly wondered the Kender approached someone and asked them for an Inn. Thank god the Kender had done it, Teros wasn't in any mood to talk to strangers. He just hoped that they could find some where to sleep so that he could get away from the party for a while. Being in a group was much harder than he had thought. Although he prayed, and it offered some help, he still found himself falling into a pit of hate. The more he dug, the farther he fell. Still he kept up the fake smiles and the "pleasant conversation" with a few party members. The only one he thought he could count as a friend was Derak. He really liked the Kender, and he didn't know enough about the newcommer to like or dislike him. The half-elf was annoying and times, Mahou had been tricked into being friends with that demon of a bard. He already expressed his feelings about the bard, and didn't want to think of him anymore. Even though he liked staying in his mind like this he had to snap back to reality. He forced himself to be the man he was before this trip, to be calm and forgiving. So he wiped that distant look of his face and looked at the man they were now focusing their attention on.
Vilyamar
Resident
Posts: 755
Reply | Edit
later post...
Posted on 2006-09-04 at 20:49:47.
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Topic: **Noldaria*Final War**
Subject: Elandor
Days were spent on the road after the ogres’ nocturnal raid. No fights or ambushes occurred and though their journey took them to new and unknown places on Alhanna Elandor found traveling became boring. He spent his days by stocktaking the contents of his pouches, chasing Scourge’s raven and playing hide and seek with Mahou’s pet. Although those things were fun to begin with there came an end to them. Even questioning his companions about their pasts proved not satisfying enough.
It was fair to say that the sight of the big walls of Elderast was a relief for the kender. Not only would a city provide him with plenty of things to do, it would also grant him better food and a good place to sleep. Sleeping with your nose in the needles of coniferous trees wás interesting and it provided an interesting peak at the perspective of a hedgehog, so Elandor thought. But in the end a nice warm bed with lots of clean sheets sounded just a little more comfortable.
As they passed the rising of the brass gate Elandor felt the joy building up inside him again. The feeling of present danger caused his heart to skip a beat… a feeling he loved. If there was a gate, then there was something to defend. If there was something to defend then there was something to defend it against. A conclusion was easily drawn. There would be a big battle! And if the small kender had a chance he would be a part of it. There would be no way in the world that he would miss the excitement of a nice battlefield, and maybe kicking it at the bad guys alongside the bravest warriors of this time. Would he be the first kender to make it into the scrolls of historical scribes? He didn’t know if he would even be the first, but it sounded really good!
His head in the clouds over these thoughts he made his way through the streets. Keeping close to the rest of the group he found himself in a dilemma. Where would they go? The others seemed to face the same issue, for they halted as well. It hit Elandor that several people were giving them looks of curiosity. Checking again if it was truly their group they were gazing at he grinned at their spectators and waved friendly. He didn’t want to start on the wrong basis. They could not blame hím if they were kicked out of this city, like they were cast out of that beautiful elven community. Being as friendly as possible he addressed the first wealthy looking person around and asked more polite than he ever had before:
“Hullo! We’re new to this city. Could you please tell us where we could find a place to stay, my good man. And would you mind telling me what you’ve got in your pouches?”
Posted on 2006-09-04 at 20:49:25.
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Topic: **Noldaria*Final War**
Subject: Elderast
August 11th/Tuesday Morning
North Thollin
Elderast/Capital of Thollin
Ages had past since the Lords Darastine and Gildor had rallied their nations beneath a single banner, massed their armies, and marched north with the soul purpose of purging the Barbaric lands. Realms that they considered to be brimming with Pagans and monsters.
In those days the Barbaric lands had extended much farther south, and those who inhabited them were much more spread and isolated. Greatly outnumbered, and lead by many leaders with conflicting strategies, the tribes of the northmen still faught savage enough to invoke chills in the most sturdy of champions, and to plant seeds that would hatch dark tales and legends aside many a firelit hearth.
Yet in those days the Minotaurs were farther north, consumed by their own sardonic war with the Orc tribes in the Aragoth Mountain Range. Their much needed alliance never came, and in the end, the "barbaric" men of the north were driven from their lands, into the tundric foothills of Aragoth. In their place, the kingdoms of Throndell and Thollin were established; Throndell to the north, and Thollin to the south.
Ages had since passed since the Northern Crusades, and since, Thollin had grown peaceful, and had lapsed into military complacency. It was Throndell to the North that was still, after all these years, in constant conflict with the tribes to the north. Infact, rumurs were hinted in many a countryside tavern throughout Thollin that Throndell's conflicts had ramified to encompass even it's own people.
Nonetheless, they were the barrier between the barbaric and civilized lands. Yet still, in this time of peace, the roads of Thollin were not save for travelers. They never had been for that matter. Since it's foundings, the country roads of Thollin were pocked with marauders, bandits, and wandering parties of savage northfolk with a far less pleasant nature. Perhaps because of this, the increased danger along Thollin's northern roads had gone unnoticed.
More and more often, towns would hear of attacks on local farms, or the dissapearances of traveling merchants. The wooden watchtowers that had once lined the highways had long been forsaken with the increased peace that had accompanied King Elethorn The First's throning. Since they had all but crumbled. Far too weathered for use, they stood like skeletal sentinals whos life purpose had long passed, and yet remain, eternally watching for what will never come.
Yet, as of thus far, the noth highways increased danger provoked little to no thought. The highways had always been dangerous. For that reason, night-time travel was not uncommon, for the simple purpose of getting off the road and under the glow of village lamps as quick as possible.
Thus, when the sentinals in their position atop the cities front gate were alerted to the arrival a party of travelers before the sun had even risen, they were hardly alarmed.
Though nights shadows still lay like a blanket upon the land, the sky had begun to fade to a pale violet that gently erased the stars, one by one as it slowly engulfed the space overhead. As they aproached the city, even the dark the party could see the Eldarast was huge.
Long ago it been a castle. The keep had been erected like a crown, atop the head of a hill that was now the center of town. Now it was the kings palace, and could still be seen, towering above all else. Originally, the castle had had a village surrounding it, and so the village had been granted it's own stone curtain.
Since then, the village had grown so large that another wall was built farther out, and even now, a third wall was under construction. Thus as the party approached, they were greeted by a monsterous, smoothly crafted, stone portculous that was the front gate. Yet, aside from the stone towers that had been erected at certain intervals, the outer wall presently consisted of deep ditches, craft posts, and a crude wooden fence.
The massive, brass gate was just being risen when the company arrived, and the gaurds let them pass without question, compensated by many an odd stare.
Passing through the Portculous, the party stood upon a wide, cobblestone street that seemed to lead straight ahead all the way to the center of town, far in the distance. The buildings that lined the street were countless, and all identical; fit into place like pieces of a puzzle. Though here, on the outskirts of town it was just a tad less claustrophobic.
Already shudders had been swung agape and people were standing on their tiny porches, greedy for the cool, refreshing morning air that would be quick-fleeting, and soon replaced with the stench of sweat, manure, and the smoke of many hearths.
Having walked some distance into town, the party stood, uncertain as to what to do. They were not oblivious to the stares they recieved from doorways; not unfriendly, just curious. They were after all, a curious group. Mahuo herself looked quite whimsical, and as a group, they were bound to draw the eyes of the common-folk who made their living behind these walls. And so, their they stood, with the single question on their minds. Now what?
(Yes, I know this sucks. It does, , don't deny it. Aside from my two small posts to Al's Game, I have done NO writing,reading, or even thinking of such since I left. I'll get better though. Ive cracked out my old writing notebooks, and ive also bought some new Terry Brook's books to inspire me.)
Posted on 2006-09-04 at 20:49:10.
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Topic: **Noldaria*Final War**
Subject: The Road To Elderast
August 9th-11th/Early Sunday Morning-Early Tuesday Morning
Thollin Wilderness/Near the Northern Thollin Border
Northern Old Highway
The night air hung heavy, almost malleable in the wake of the battle. The soft, valley soil had been churned into a vile concoction of bloody mud. Few of the companions had gone unscathed, and infact, both of their greatest warriors had brushed with death. The large corpses of 5 ogres lay, still oozing with their own, crimson fluids, and flexing their lifeless joints. Their nerves, no longer lead by a mind, were still coming to terms with the fact that they would be moving no more in a very short while.
The party had been lucky however, and all had survived. After several moments of magical aid, via Mahuo and Scourge, they moved their bedrolls as far away from the dazzling bright, white light of the Theurge’s scythe, into the shadows of the forest as they would dare. It would be hard to find sleep after such a clash as they had had, but they would try…at least until Scourge had memorized his spell.
An hour later, those who had succeeded in finding sleep, were drawn from it. It had been decided to neglect proper rest, and try to reach Eldarast as soon as possible. None knew how long it would take to reach Thollin’s capital city, but the idea that these northern roads were not safe was generally accepted. The sooner they reached Eldarast, the better.
So it was that under the faint, silver haze that the still bright, sheet of stars emanated, they packed their gear and found the road. The ogres had not been deemed worthy of a proper burial, and had been left as they had fallen. A thin, muddy stream of blood had found its way to the road, where it had spread into a circular pool. The stars shone peacefully on it’s dark, still surface.
The next few hours were slow, for sleep still clung to many of the members eyelids, trying to pull them back to the dreams that they had been forced to part with so early. Slowly, the sky began to pale and the stars began to fade. Soon enough they found that the valley walls had melted away, and they stood, looking at the shimmering, dew covered heads of hills that stood, protruding from a heavy sea of mist.
They followed the road, and soon enough the sun had risen, though it was veiled behind a white wall of haze and thin cloud. The dew faded, and the air turned very warm and very humid. Though late summer had cooled the nights, it would seem that the sun still held much sway in the temperature.
After half a day of weaving along the feet of rising hills, they came at last to a branch in the road. Indeed it forked left, and a cracked, sun-bleached, wooden sign read “Eldarast”. How more plain and to the point could a sign get? Turning the party followed the road, which, over the span of the day, was met by several other roads. Each that met it seemed to add more and more to it’s width and paving. By nightfall they were walking on a stone paved highway. More and more often they would come across manure, or broken wheels. Signs that a city was near. Excited, and instilled with the hope that perhaps Eldarast was over the next hill, or around the next bend, the party continued, even through the night. Hour after hour passed, and yet, it wasn’t until the first gray streaks had begun to brush the sky, that they found the City…
(I apologize for such a terrible final post…I had to do it in about a half an hour, because I have MUCH to pack, and many people to see. It did the trick though. This is the end for now, remember however, to keep your eyes peeled. Noldaria is NOT ending. It will be picked back up around the end of September, hopefully.)
Posted on 2006-09-04 at 20:48:51.
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Topic: **Noldaria*Final War**
Subject: Vilyamar
The Ogre had not noticed him this time, it being successfully distracted by Derak. Unfortunately it was too large of an opponent for even Derak to successfully encounter alone. The monk winced at both his own wound and at the wounds taken by Derak, which left him upon the ground, preparing to die by the hands of the ogre. Fortunately for him, Vilyamar was then in position.
The strike came, and went, the ogre freezing as its back cracked. Somehow it found the will, or perhaps sheer dumbness allowed it to do so, but it grunted and began to continue forward. But a quick drop and spin brought the monk's leg in contact with both of the ogre's, bringing it solidly down to the ground. Derak found it in himself to lurch forward, dispatching the beast to the darkness from whence it came from.
As the adrenaline surge collapsed in his bloodstream, fatigue and pain began to pierce his mental barriers. His breathing became laboured and though he stood straight a rasp came with the intake of each breath and each was shallow. Along with each breath came a sharp pain from his side. He ran his hand gently beneath his clothes and felt the bumps and bruises of his cracked ribs. He saw that Derak had taken the worst of it though, his blood flowing freely onto the ground. Vilyamar moved to him first, helping him to sit down.
"There, rest now for a little while, friend. They have all been defeated." said the monk, assisting Derak to whatever position he wanted. Orion the bird came then and landing upon the wounded Derak said only this: "A gift from he who judges us all, and has found you worthy."
With that he began the spells needed to heal the warrior's wounds. Vilyamar stood and looked at the body of the barbarian that lay there soaking up its own blood. He saw a single tanglefoot bag there and so took the opportunity to take it. He moved back to the original ogre which caused him this pain. Using his good side and steeling himself against the pain, he flipped it over enough to recover his lone shuriken, which had buried itself in the beast's leg. Wiping the blood off of it onto the dead things leather armour, he replaced it and his deactivated nunchaku in his sashes. He turned and was about to go meditate to repair what damage had been done when Mahou, the satyr, who had participated in the fight in no minor way, though her parts were more often than not played from afar from the true fighting.
A simple scorn for those that require magic to do their duty may have prejudiced his thoughts, but it may also have to do with the fact that none of the others seemed to be like the monk. But his face did not change when he heard her say: "You took quite a beating out there..."
He attempted to pass to go about his meditation, but she stepped in front of him running her hands inside his sashes and shirt to where his wounds were. She drew in close and though he did not pull away, he did not reach in to meet her either. He felt the magic flowing from her touch and being a satyr, as he had heard before and read, she took this as an opportunity. He lips briefly brushed his, though once again he did not pull away nor did he move really. Some might've taken the opportunity, but the balance required some to be impartial to all things.
She moved away as quickly as she had approached and Vilyamar continued on his way, noticing the difference in his health immediately. No longer was there a pain in his chest. He smiled his small smile, which was more with his eyes that with anything. He turned to Mahou and bowed low.
"Thank you, mellonamin, though it was not necessary, I could've done so myself." He said. And indeed he was grateful for her aid, though it was unnecessary in his case.
He scanned the party, each moving to the other's aid. He noticed the bard standing back from the rest, but did not go to him. He had made it a point of not interacting, so it shall be. The Scourge as he was known was kneeling apart from the others, meditating and preparing his own magic. Teros was soundly asleep upon his bedroll. Luvaria still sat high in the night sky and not yet had the burning orb reached the horizon in the east.
"Do not worry, Mahou. I believe we have some time yet. The dawn will not arise yet for another few hours and seeing as some of us do not have such an affinity with nature that can keep us going for so many hours without much rest, I think we may safely stay here for as long as it takes to prepare our leave." Vil nodded at Teros who lay asleep and motioned towards Scourge who was meditating. "Others require time to prepare and replenish themselves. I'm sure thou shalt understand the situation. But what of the bodies of these creatures. What is to happen to them I leave up to you Mahou, as thou dost need something to do at this time. As it is, my ideas have been exhausted at the moment."
He sat by his pack, placing the tanlgefoot bag beside it and then crossed his legs and closed his eyes, going into a meditative trance. His breathing slowed and evened. His heartbeat slowed as well. Time ceased to pass for him, though the seconds and minutes ticked by. He searched himself over, checking that all was mended by the spell. He remained in his trance for sometime. He kept his ears open, listening about him to those that spoke and he awaited Teros and Scourge to awaken and finish.
Posted on 2006-09-04 at 20:48:31.
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Topic: **Noldaria*Final War**
Subject: Healing Results
Teros+18-61/61
Vilyamar+18-48/48
Scourge+25-60/60
Derak+43-51/51
SPELLS STATUS
Scourge-5 Cure Light Wound(0)/3 Cure Moderate Wound(1)/1 Cure Serius Wound(1)
Mahuo-1 Cure Light Wound(3)
Posted on 2006-09-04 at 20:48:09.
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Topic: **Noldaria*Final War**
Subject: Teros
Teros sat there a moment by the ogre he had just killed, feeling the pain suddenly shoot back into exsistance. Slowly he muttered the command word and sheathed his blade in time to hear the birds words of thanks. He nodded and then turned when he saw Scourge casting more healing spells upon him. He waited, feeling the healing energy rush down and close open wounds, and then gave his thanks. Slowly he looked around the party. Everyone had been hurt, it seemed to him, but Mahou and the bard.
Still blood was on his rapier so it seemed that he did do some fighting. Without much thinking he began to look through the items that were in front of him, but none interested him so he turned around. He just wanted more sleep. Seeing that Scourge was praying and such, and the others were still moving around or sitting, he went to his bedroll and moved it to a place out of the way of the carnage a bit and fell asleep.
Posted on 2006-09-04 at 20:47:37.
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Topic: **Noldaria*Final War**
Subject: Scourge
Scourge took a look at Mahou and was thankful that someone else possessed some healing capabilities... He didn't take to mind her methods of delivering such curative measures for it did not matter to him. He didn't know the plans for the day but he did know that he would worry about it after he prayed and studied.
Speaking up the rave called out. "Whatever our choice of action, it shall come after giving proper respects to he who has judged us worthy to win the day." Orion will then go about healing everyone else that is still wounded to the best of his and Scourge's capabilities.
((With that in mind he will use all remaining spells necessary to heal his companions to full.))
With his wounds mended and a plan of action needed before continuing on to Elderast, Scourge figures since he's now awake, he'll take the time to pray to Erenall for his blessing, and to study his spellbook for the next leg of his journey.
(use whatever you wish to heal as I'm praying to rememorize spells)
Seperating himself a little ways from the party, he kneels placing Dawnbringer across his lap, and falls into a meditative trance. Orion circles overhead keeping watch. When his prayers are done he takes out his spellbook and by the light of his scythe does he rememorize his spells. (Will list todays spell selection in general thread) When that is done, he stands, casts Mage Armour upon himself and prepares to face the new day.
Posted on 2006-09-04 at 20:47:13.
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Topic: **Noldaria*Final War**
Subject: Mahuo
Just as Scourge seemed ready to tend to the party as the last beast fell, Mahou to trotted forward. Her red hues scanning over each person carefully. Her eyes first fell upon the slender half breed. She was amazed that even when in so much pain, his blood line still seemed to give him a gentle calm look. Walking up to him, Mahou gave him one look over moistening her lips with her tongue.
"You took quite a beating out there..."she said softly to Vilyamar as she moved in close to him, her hands reaching to touch chest. Running her figures along the folds of his robes she stopped at the point where he had been smashed in the ribs. Pulling the nature around her Mahou gathered the magic she would need to heal him. Another step brought Mahou with in inches of his body, her hand still pressed flat against the area which pained him. And before Vilyamar had a chance to object Mahou leaned in and tentatively pressing her plush lips to his. This perhaps off handed action seemed all to natural for Mahou, and with it, she had let her spell of healing pass into Vilyamar’s body. Pulling away almost as quickly as she had moved in Mahou turned with out a second thought to the rest of the group. Shaking her head she sent feathing lengths of hair back behind her shoulder.(used Curelight wounds from bard list 1d6+4)
“we are almost all hurt, and the dawn comes… we know not what still lurks out there, my best suggestion would be to get moving for town where we can rest safely.” Mahou paused glancing to everyone in turn. “Unless you all think yourselves ready for another battle this night.” Her brow arched a little in a teasing manor as she spun around on one hoof and moved back to the camp site to gather her things almost as if their answer did not mater to her. Her walk was confident, and void of any reaction as to what had just happened between her and Vilyamar, she had, made up her mind and it didn’t seem reasonable for her to change it.
(Making note, that if no one objects to it, Mahou, when done gathering her things, wil search over the bodies, and pick up a tanglefoot bag, and the flask of fire.)
Posted on 2006-09-04 at 20:46:48.
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Topic: **Noldaria*Final War**
Subject: Scourge
The battle waged into the morning hours of the night, and as the battlefield was bathed in his sanctimonious light and washed in a growing river of crimson, Scourge managed a quick grin as Orion expressed through their telepathic bond that he had reached the beleaguered Teros in time, and that he would see him through this day. Scourge had succeeded in wounding his opponent, and aiding his companion as well, but the time it took to convey his healing properties and the protective shielding had cost him dearly. His incantations forced his grip on Dawnbringer to loosen and his defensive stance to wane, and the ogre looming over his head took full advantage of such a precious offering of flesh and bone. With a wicked reversal he brought his axe through the theurge's meager defence and the blade found its home nestled between the large combatant's ribs.
The pain was almost tolerable until the blade was removed with a sickening sound which let his blood and sinew flow free from the gaping wound.
His robes tattered and his blood staining not only his apparel but the ground beneath him, and with a vengeful strike afforded to him by a timely arrow did the Scourge of the vile retaliate, drawing a grievous wound of his own out of the ogre's leathery hide.
Strength fleeting and anger rising, another arrow found it's mark in his quarry, and he was about to bring the blasphemous creature to its judgement when from his peripheral vision came baring down the full weight of Teros, a man reborn of vigor and strength it seemed, as he nearly cleft the ogre barbarian in twain.
Standing to lean on the support of Dawnbringer, Scourge took the opportunity to scan the field of battle, taking note that all enemies had apparently been vanquished. His eyes also fell over the form of the rather quiet warrior he had met earlier. Though his name eluded him for the time being, he could tell that the fight had proved almost too much for him to bare, and with a silent command to Orion, the bird was off again in his direction; after turning towards Teros from upon his shoulder and offering him a "appreciation for aiding his companion."
Orion took to the sky and made his way over to Derak, whilst Scourge himself tended to his and Teros wounds. When the bird reached Derak and was sure the man would not try and swat him from the sky, he landed and hopped towards the injured man.
"A gift from he who judges us all, and has found you worthy." The bird said, and hopping upon an extremity with exposed skin began the healing rites.
Scourge having tended to the wounds of he and Teros made quick effort to cast a Mending spell upon his robes to fix the tears he had recieved, and took the first opportunity provided while others search for the bounty of their battle to identify and then don the goblin mask, covering his face anew where he had removed the bandana to use to staunch his wounds.
((Scourge will used a cure light wounds (1d8+5)on himself, a cure light wounds (1d8+5)on teros, and enough healing spells working from a cure serious (3d8+5)to a cure mod (2d8+5)to a cure light wounds (1d8+5) spell to bring Derak up to at least 35hp- when that is done he will don the mask when he best finds noone is looking, that his hood may keep his features hidden as he vies to keep his identity a secret.))
Posted on 2006-09-04 at 20:09:48.
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Topic: **Noldaria*Final War**
Subject: Midnight Battle
August 9th/Early Sunday MorningThollin Wilderness/Near the Northern Thollin Border
Northern Old Highway
As the midnight battle raged, the party saw themselves slowly yet assuredly gaining an advantage. Several of their number had been wounded, yet natures soothing energy, and Erenall’s blessings had mended them while they fought. The ogre party hadn’t such luxuries, and soon found that with two of their warriors fallen, the tide of battle had turned. They stood now with a serious disadvantage.
Only three stood, but of them, two were renowned among the bone-burning bond fires, and skin draped campsites of their wandering people. They had faced such outnumbered odds before, and had prevailed, soaking the dirt with the haughty blood of their foes. They would do so again this night!
Though the sun had long ago settled beyond the rolling, western hills, and both the moon and her legion of tiny followers hung overhead at the pinnacle of their reign, the sleeping trees of the valley’s groves were washed in the light of midday. Lavuria however, sat in her throne, beside Vunalis, her husband*. Her great chariot was set aside. This light emanated from the crystalline blade of Scourge’s scythe.
***
In the piercingly bright, white glow of Dawnbringer, Teros found hope. It was as if the stars had taken cover from the unnatural light that had blossomed so unexpectedly, and from that void that was the sky, a tiny, black silhouette dove, and landed on the warriors shoulder, delivering words of encouragement and what healing it could provide. Teros could feel his consciousness drifting back into him. The pain in his left arm began to fade, and the strength returned. His leg still hurt terribly, yet, gritting his white teeth, and ignoring the tears that had run down his face, tracing the scar on his cheek, he swung once at the ogres, cutting the air, but backing them up.
Taking this moment, he rose to his feet. He was a warrior in every way, and he simply refused to fall like this. Through gritted teeth he hissed the words that activated his sword. Fire swept along the long, slender blade, and danced off his armor and in his eyes. The ogres hesitated for a moment. They had taken this one as beaten.
***
The Scourge of the Vile had taken up the front line himself, and, after sending Orion on a mission to heal the desperate Teros. He had engaged with the axe bearing Ogre on the right, and had scored an early hit that sliced open its bulging bicep. With a roar of pain and rage, the Ogre turned to face him and swung a hard, horizontal swipe that left an open slash across his robes, exposing chiseled, ashen colored abdominals. The swing had just missed. In one fluid motion, the ogre brought the axe over his head, and with a roar of hate, brought it down.
The Theurge tried to dodge, but the fury of the ogre was too great. Because Scourge had tried to dodge, he had saved his arm from being lobbed off, and instead, the blade sunk deep into the ribs on his side.(25d) He could feel the ribs pry apart as the blade sunk between them. It was a dull, relentless pain. As the ogre yanked the axe back from his flesh, Scourge gasped, and instinctively grasped at his side. The ogre chuckled, but was immediately struck in the chest with an arrow.
***
The two ogres who stood hesitantly before Teros didn’t expect the mighty warrior who, with a roar, charged at their leftmost, who turned and lifted his axe just in time to block the sword swing that had cut through the night, and at his head. Derak had come to Teros’ aid. Suppressing a grin, the Desert Warrior lunged at the other ogre, who batted wildly at his sword with it’s huge club. It was too slow, and Teros’ rage burned too brightly. The fire of his blade plunged through the ogres crude, leather armor, and sunk into it’s abdomen. With a grunt and a groan, the ogre hesitated and stared down at the blade. Yanking his sword back; his lips curled with fury, the warrior swung hard, sinking the sword into the ogres thick neck, collapsing it in a spray of blood. In his rage, Teros hadn’t even noticed the shield Scourge had placed upon him.
***
As Damien stood before and to the side of Mahuo, he was quick to realize that no ogre would come for her. Only three remained, and they were too heavily in combat. Nonetheless, he stood, ready for any unsuspected surprises.
Scanning the battle quickly, the Satyr was quick to decide that Scourge needed the most help. The Ogre he battled was wounded, but both incredibly strong, and enraged. Wincing as she watched it’s huge axe sink into her newest companions ribs, she knocked an arrow and let fly.
***
Derrak was quick to respond to Vilyamar’s advice, and without hesitation charged the nearest ogre, who barely stopped his blade from cleaving it’s head. Their weapons locked for a moment, and his enraged, brown eyes met with black, hate-filled pits. Shoving him back, the ogre lunged at him and swung hard, slicing through his armor and leaving a very deep gushing, bloody slash running diagonal across his chest.(20d) Skillfully the barbarian hooked the blade around and came back, sinking his axe into Derrak’s upper right arm (23d).
His consciousness began to slip, tugged by deaths cold fingers. Blood ran beneath his armor, soaking his stomach, and running down his legs. His wounded arm gripped the silver handle of Jilly tightly. Desperate, and running on adrenaline, he began swinging viciously at the ogre, leaving a gash on it’s chest that nearly twinned his own. Growling, the ogre prepared to come back at him, when a pebble struck his shoulder with a smack. Wincing, the ogre cursed, and hefted his axe. Suddenly however, the previously unnoticed Vilyamar sprung, lashing out his fist, and connecting with the ogre in the very center of his back. Grunting, the ogre lurched forward, but with grace that gave away half his heritage, the monk dropped with a sweeping trip that caught both the ogres legs, and put him on his face.
Weakly, Derak staggered forward, and with what strength he had left, drove the his blade deep into the back of the fallen ogre.
***
Scourge saw the arrow smack the ogre in the chest, and though the shot was not fatal, he was encouraged by the thought of help. Still haunched over in pain, he tightened his grip on the winding, wooden handle of Dawnbringer. As hard as he could, he swung. Like a sickle, the blade pierced through the ogre’s lower, left side. The barbarian groaned and dropped to on knee. Blood poured forth freely, very quickly forming a deep pool of crimson. Grunting and slamming one, huge fist into the dirt, the ogre forced himself to his feet and would have charged, had a second arrow not plunged into his chest. Even with an arrow through his very heart, the ogre refused to die. Staggering a moment, he tore at the protruding shafts, causing more blood to splurt forth. Hefting his mighty scythe, Scourge prepared to lunge forth, and put this ogre away for good. He was too late.
Teros, having slain his own ogre, and watching the death of the first of the two axe-wielding ogres, had turned towards Scourge. Beaten and bloody, staggering with a limp, and yet consumed with a fury as bright as the sword that burned in his hand, the warrior came down on the last of the ogres like some hero from the legends of old. Gripping the flaming blade in two hands, he leapt, and brought it down, though where the neck connects with the shoulder. The blade cut halfway through the beasts torso, sinking him into the sea of his own blood.
Teros stood over the body, panting heavily, still gripping his sword with two hands, tilted down at the ground before him. The last of the ogres had fallen, yet they had left their mark. The blood of the companions ran in rivulets and streams, merging with the pools of their fallen enemies, who lay, rising like morbid islands from the crimson seas of blood. A great river had already began to make it’s way down the ledge toward the road below. On the very edges of the bright light of the scythe Scourge now leaned on for support, several little, twin pinpricks of light could be seen. The fight had attracted the nights carrion beasts.
Teros could barely stand on his right leg, now that the adrenaline had began to leave him. The gash on his thigh still gaped open, and both his arm, and the grieves and his pants were covered in blood. His right grieve was split from the axe that had hacked his leg.
Derak’s sword arm gushed with blood. It had been cut to the bone, and nolonger could he bend it. His chest oozed heavily, and his entire front was red, even the armor, which now had a great slash running across it. He knelt on one knee now, over the ogre he had killed, resting his head on the handle of the sword that stood, still plunged into it’s back. His breathing was faint.
Scourges black and blue robes were slashed and bloody. His side burned agonizingly, and he was having extreme difficulty breathing.
Vilyamar now gripped his cracked ribs. He too was having difficulty breathing, and he was certain more than one were actually broken.
PARTY
Teros 43/61hp+Ailments
Derak 8/51hp+Ailments
Scourge 35/60hp+Ailments
Vilyamar 30/48hp+Ailments
Damien 40/40hp
Elandor 33/33hp
Mahuo 38/38hp
OPPONENTS
All Known Dead
Treasure
12 gp
21sp
40cp
2 Large, rusty steel Great Axes
3 Large, crude wooden Great Clubs
5 Large, torn, soiled Leather Armor (Bracers/Chest and Shoulder pads, and boots)
3 Tanglefoot bags
1 Alchemist’s Fire flask
(DM’s Note The money will automatically be split as even as possible. Any “oddman outs” will be rolled random to avoid fighting. Anything else must be claimed, or will be left.)
*Vunalis- the God of War, and though he may be cruel and malicious, he is Honorable, and loyal to the Gods
Posted on 2006-09-04 at 20:09:27.
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Topic: **Noldaria*Final War**
Subject: Mahuo
Mahou's auburn eyes never once left the group As the refitalized damien took up a stance near her side. Her voice rang to his ears a hintof laughter filling the delicat female tones.
"The pain has left you body and moved to your brain companion of mine. I'm afraid i have not much magic left that would heal you again. Best you stay out of the way of danger. and fight with your mind, not with the arms that do not hold as much strength as the others." Mahou's response to Damien was simple, her voice dancing on the air a mixture of a song, and perhaps a huanting laughter what only lone hunters heard in the deepest parts of the dark forest.
still the batlte field ragged on before her, the sound of weapons clashing and gruns of combatents as they dodge or hit one another seemed to drawned out eveyrhthing.Mahou raised her voice above it with little effort though, for all to hear. the word though not a soul but her could understand *i'll figgure in her native toungue for this.* but none the less, each note that left her plush lips seemed to inspire something to group around her. *Mahou will use her bardic talents to inspire the group. as i don't have my books on me, i can't say exactly which one this is, but i know it adds to their attacks and damage, but our human PH should know more then i... chris?*
(Mahou will still hold her bow at the ready. quick to notch an arrow and fire, for she doesn't need her voice to do so. as long as the battle ragges on, she will continue to sing in that haunting laughter like voice.)
Posted on 2006-09-04 at 20:09:10.
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