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View Likes PostPosted: Tue May 12, 2015 11:57 pm 

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It was like fate had finally decided to smile in their favor; the Gods had heard their prayers and they were there to help.

“Thank the Goddess…” the words a soft whisper as she clutched the pendant about her neck. Even if her own Goddess was not there among the others, Ausan’s faith was not shaken. There was a whole world for her to watch over and protect, so even if she herself was not there that did not mean the Goddess was deaf to their plight. All the maiden cared about was the relief in knowing that finally they were to have the help they needed and now the tides would turn in their favor. There she stood beside her prince with the same annoyed stance that he had taken with their late arrival, even though she was a bit nicer about it. A look was thrown to Sen and though the woman appeared to be injured, there was still that fire within her that made Ausan proud in some fashion. Like watching as a daughter becomes a woman…

At least, that was the initial feeling. When a look passed from Sen to her beloved Prince, Ausan felt a stirring of emotion that she had thought long dead and buried. It caused her eyes to narrow slightly and her fists clench in a silent rage though she made it a point to hold her tongue. The feelings instantly dashed away and pushed deep within to be kept at bay while they faced their current problem. It was her plan at least, but even she was not sure of the full extent of control she would have when it came to Barth. Whenever he was involved, the woman found herself often reacting before thinking, which in some cases ended well. But in others…

The memory was practically destroyed in her mind before it had a chance to take root and fester. That was certainly one thing that she would NOT revisit. Not now, not ever, if she could help it.

When Verana was tasked with protecting their flank and given Borim as a protection detail Ausan grit her teeth and glared at the Lord Knight, “Don’t **** up!” she shouted to him with no respect and a full threat. If anything happened to her sister, he would wish that the Tutar had slain him when she got her hands on him. “Fight well, Sister!” she called to the other Maiden, dread in her heart that she would not be there to protect her.

While Barth discussed with the Gods, funny thought when she thought back on it later, Ausan watched as Sen was tended to by one of the immortal beings.

“Make sure you leave a scar,” she said, though the way the male focused she was sure that he words had been missed, though that was of no consequence, for once he was done there was a clean smooth scar there. Bear for the world to see and take note of the badge she earned this day. The young woman turned her gaze to the pair of them, Barth first and then to Ausan and the look she gave was one that was received and understood. Sen was with them in this fight, an admiral notion, and one that she would have normally welcomed, but instead she found her lips moving before she even could think about it. “Now that you’re patched up, I want you to stay back here with the others and hold the line. There is a group of Sister’s there,” she gestured with her sword towards the back. “Stay with them and help them keep the others in line,” she reached over and clapped her shoulder. “No worries, I have his back now,” the tone and smile were friendly, though a part of her felt more like she was staking a claim on territory that was her’s and her’s alone.

That done, she took up a second sword that she found amongst the carnage on the ground and strode over to where the Gods and their Demi-Gods gathered.

“Is that Ausan? The Punching Maiden,” she heard one of the ones in the winged helm whisper to another in matching armor.

“I heard she punched a noble, took his land and wealth and gave it to the people,” the other whispered back.

“I heard, she once punched a tree and turned it into a hut for a family,” another of the winged helmed whispered.

“You’re all wrong,” their Elder God said suddenly which drew their gaze. “She punched a man who tried to put down her people, her beliefs, and her convictions. Now, her Prince leads the army. Politics do not stop her.”

“I want to fly,” she said once she stood before the Elder God of Wind. Her eyes met his with respect, but no fear and there was not even the smallest hint that she would be bowing anytime soon. Last man she bowed down to was Barth and he put a stop to it soon after. “And I need at least two of them to come with me,” she nodded to the Demi-Gods who seemed to perk up at the mention of accompanying her.

“I’ll go!” they said in unison their excitement to be out on the battlefield with the Punching Maiden was one that none of them wished to pass up.

“Those two,” she gestured to the pair with the hair that flowed down from their helms.

“Yes!” the brothers said as they stepped forward their excitement barely contained.

Their enthusiasm earned them a rare smile from Ausan, who then looked to Lady Luck. “I’m going to be out there doing some insane ****. A bit of luck would be nice if you would not mind?”

“Does she know who she is speaking to?” one of the hooded figures beside the Lady Luck asked.

“I am sure she does,” she replied with just the barest hint of humor in her voice. “If the Punching Maiden wants the luck of my dice, she shall have it,” she addressed Ausan with the smallest nod of her head.

At last she approached Barth, “Told you they heard us.” Is the first thing she said to him before she gave him a smile, “Though it did take them far too long.” A roar from the battlefield drew her attention and she looked back to Barth, “I am going to use these Gods to break their line. Push the Drorghans back; kill them all if we can, then you can lead the others into a charge. Use my horse when you come through, he is better than yours and I might not want to walk back once I get way out there,” she chuckled and then just looked in his eyes for a moment before she nodded and went off to start the fun.

“Let’s fly!”




Ausan never thought in her entire life that she would be flying, but there she was up in the air like some bird. The air rushed past her face and she had to squint her eyes to stop the stinging from the wind.

“Pretty amazing huh!” one of the Demi’s shouted to her from the right.
“Just wait until he drops us!” the other from her left shouted.

At the moment Ausan was more focused on not losing the contents of her stomach, but there was a part of her that would remember this moment for the rest of her life. Below, the world looked small, like an ant world with the ants in a frenzy to get to some prized sweet treat.

“Ready?!” the Elder God, shouted from above her head.

A nod had only just been made before whatever magic he had used to keep her in the air was gone and down she dropped. If she had thought the sensation of flight was bad, the sensation was falling was worse. It reminded her far too much of when one of the Tutar would get a lucky shot in on her and send her sailing through the air. Only now, she was falling down, on top of them.

“SPREAD YOUR ARMS AND LEGS OUT! ANGLE YOURSELF LIKE A BIRD!” One of the Demi’s coached her from the right. “IT HELPS WITH THE STEERING!”

Advice taken, she adjusted her body and felt her descent slow to a more manageable speed.

“PERFECT! NOW! PUT YOUR ARMS BACK AND AIM FOR ONE OF THOSE BASTARDS! DON’T WORRY ABOUT HOW FAST YOU ARE GOING! WE HAVE YOUR BACK!”

This was all insane, insane and oddly fun in the same sense. With but a single glance given to the Demi’s who flanked her she tucked her arms back and felt herself fall with more purpose and direction toward one of the lumbering giants that were the Drorghans. Just before she impacted with them, there was the thought that this was insane and she had gone too far.

From the ground amongst the thick of battle, the dice tumbled out. Each side given a chance to be showcased to the Gods above before they finally came to a stop.

There was little time for that as she brought her swords to bare, her decent rapid and nearly out of control though she still managed to somehow dodge the flailing chains and stones and plunge her swords deep into the chest of the beast. The roar of pain tore from its mouth while the impact of her attack pushed him back and to the ground in a large plume of dirt and debris.

Lydia called back her dice just as the large and otherwise deadly chains fell to the ground without once striking the woman that now stood atop the slain beast.

“Insane **** indeed,” one of her Demi’s remarked with a bit of respect, before he drew one of his knives and threw it at a Tutar who rushed them.

“Think what would have happened if she had punched it?” another chuckled as they fanned out from their Goddess and set to work once more in combat.


The Tutar that had been behind the Drorghan, came to all but a complete stop, their gaze intent on where the Drorghan had fallen still unable to see what had actually impacted one of their own. One of them points with their spear at the silhouette that stood atop the broken body of their fallen. The rush of the fall followed by the impact of what should have killed her left Ausan with a sense of being invincible and empowered. Such was the thought and arrogance in her mind that when the spear was thrown from her she only thought to get out of the way at the last moment and noticed something else rather…spectacular.

When in combat, there is always that sensation of moving slower than everything else. The rapid racing of your heart as it pounds in your ears working to slow the world down and make it all feel as if you were underwater. However, this time the sensation was not the same, it was different. As Ausan spun to avoid the spear the world truly did slow down, but for the first time ever in combat she did not slow with it. The ebony spear flew toward her at a normal rate of speed but instantly slowed to a crawl just before she moved out of the way. As it passed by she could even note the small notches in the shaft, tally marks to denote the many that were slain by this very weapon.

Another God must have entered the game, for time appeared to be on their side as well now.




“Point me and I shall be your arrow!”

Those were the final words they shared and those were the words that Weylyn kept to heart as he touched down on the mortal realm atop one of his dire wolves. The forest was thick with the taint of evil, but now as the Gods intervened the enemy seconded guessed itself and had begun to try and retreat. Bow brought to his cheek a cruel smile quirked at the corners of his mouth, the coldness of a true hunter had no remorse for the Tutar that he shot square in the back.

“I am your arrow,” he whispered on the winds as another of his arrows was notched and prepared for his next target.

_________________

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View Likes PostPosted: Sun May 24, 2015 10:44 pm 

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Waves of death. Destruction. Pain. it was all that Farie could see around him. It was all so hopeless as the deaths began to stager into higher and higher numbers. It became so evident that there was no way they could stand against the rising tide of enemies. Let alone the giant monsters they fought. Everything was a haze of pain, fear, chaos and anger. There was so much anger inside him. So much hate. He silently prayed for the one thing he held dearest. His finance Elisia. He fought so she would be safe. So she wouldn’t see the death and misery that Barth’s people had suffered. He fought for his mother and Elisia’s parents. Her Siblings. For the men, women and children of his home city. For those of his country. For home and country. For humankin. No matter how hard he fought this day, without divine intervention there was no hope. They were going to die. Everything they held dear and loved would fall, for they were all that stood before the hoards of monstrosities. They needed help. They needed salvation.

At first he’d been keeping track as he fought of those who went down. Committing their names to memory. Their faces to haunt his dreams should he survive to face their families himself. He wanted to stand before them and account for their deaths. He needed to do that. As they fell in greater numbers. Man he knew well. Some less so. He lost track and soon he simply prayed for their families. He felt the hot tears flowing down his face as he brought the sword down through one of the beasts armour, the pain in his arm ripping into him making the task harder, nearly impossible. Through the thoughts of failure and death. Through everything going on he didn’t care anymore. He fought to die with as many of the beasts as he could take down. Cordian by his side every step of the way.

Blood coated him. Pain all but blinded him. He came to the conclusion that trying to figure out just where he hurt was about as useless as trying to figure out where all the blood came from. He needed to fuel the anger raging inside to keep going. He needed to rest. His body begged him to stop. He couldn’t, every time he slowed he simply thought of those who’d given their lives to this fight. For them he kept going. He was still alive. He’d fight to his last breath. How could he ask his men to do that and not do so himself. The simple answer was that he couldn’t. He couldn’t ask of someone what he himself wasn’t willing to give.

It was then, when the battle field dropped away, when every motion was another step in the dance of death, when every thought was where to strike next, lost in the motions of the fight that Elisia’s soft voice drifted through his thoughts.

You will come back to me Farie.

Farie almost froze at those too real words. It was too much like she was there with him. He knew that couldn’t be since she was safe and no where near the bloodbath. He pushed forwards sword swinging down towards the next opponent that reached him. Another Tutar. Another fight. He had no idea how many he’d killed, or wounded, or how many had gotten away. He’d lost track and it didn’t matter. Where one went down another two rose up. He blinked the gore from his eyes. Sword striking hardened flesh and leather armour.

Farie’s mind was wandering, losing focus, his strikes becoming less coordinated and more reaction and adrenaline. He was simply hitting anything and everything he could without trying to be precise. He wasn’t doing anything fancy. Elisia drifted into his thoughts.

Soft laughter drew back the last shreds of sleep. Farie blinked open his eyes to the soft sun streaming in through the gossamer curtains on his window. The thick duvet over his body tangled up in his limbs. He leaned up on one elbow and met the gaze of a beautiful young woman. Her deep green eyes like a forest just beginning to bloom held nothing but love and happiness in them. Something that was rare. Something Farie had never taken for granted. Where his mother’s marriage with his father had never been a truly happy one. His courtship and engagement with Elisia had been one of bliss. She sprang up onto the bed as he watched her. Her long loose red hair flowing around her mesmerizing him with the way it flowed in the wind. Her petite figure was clad in a violet dress and a bright smile curved her delicate features. A smile that carved itself into Farie’s heart. When she spoke her voice was a bare whisper and the words were ones that would see him through a war.

”You will come back to me Farie,” she had whispered in his ear, her breath tickling the sensitive skin before she kissed it lightly and rose. Dancing from his sight to await him for breakfast.


Farie felt his heart clench at the memory. He couldn’t allow the beasts to reach his home. He couldn’t. With renewed anger and fervour he dove into the fight again. It was then that he felt more then anything else the arrival of gods. He hadn’t noticed the light, or the voices, or the sudden turning of the battle. He felt a rush of rejuvenating energy. New strength flooded his muscles. His wounds stopped aching so much. Though they did not heal, they did not sap him of his strength anymore. He spun then and saw the rest of what was unfolding around him for the first time. His mouth falling open as the columns of air whipped down and vanquished their foes. He laughed.

----

Cordian kept glancing over at Farie. He lived to fight, Farie wasn’t like him and though Cordian didn’t care if he lived or died himself, if he succeeded in winning or if the winning happened after his death, he did care about Farie. Cordian lived for war. He lived to fight. Lived to kill ****. No matter how dark and desperate the outcome appeared, to Cordian it didn’t matter. He was told to fight, he fought, and it was that simple. It was just that complicated. Today he fought to keep Farie from killing himself in some mad attempt at valour. Cordian was accustomed to loss. Accustomed to war. Farie wasn’t.

Cordian bathed in blood and laughed. He killed without remorse and without thought. Without fear and without care. Indiscriminately he waded into the chaos and he relished every minute of it. Laughing he paved a path in blood. His arms tired, blood seeping from a dozen wounds. Some small and some a little more serious. His hair flowing around him, his helmet lost in the fight. His armour dulled by blood, gore and dented from strikes he’d narrowly avoided being skewered from.

He’d lost count of who lived, who died and what the outcome of their war looked like. All he knew was that as one went down two more came up to take it’s place. He didn’t even care anymore. He simply laughed until he had no more breath to spare for it and bathed in the blood of his enemy. Watching Farie descend into madness from his periphery was something that unsettled Cordian to the core of his being. The way the younger man’s form lost their decisive movements and his attacks became the pure reflexive kind that was drilled into every initiate. His mad screaming and the dulled look in his eyes when Cordian managed to spare a glance told him just how far away Farie was. Cordian was worried, but there was nothing more he could do except fight and survive. To make sure Farie did too. The future seemed so set. Against them. Luck seemed to be favouring the enemy as more and more of the front lines went down.

Until the bright flash of light reached his eyes. The enemy falling before those that arrived. The sudden influx of strength, rejuvenating energy. Cordian stopped for only a brief moment drawing back. He uttered soft words of thanks in prayer. For surely this could only mean one thing. The gods had come. And sure enough it was proved true when more enemies died then stood before the onslaught of the gods.

----

Farie barely heard Barth’s orders over the din of battle, but as they were re-shouted again a few moments after by another they became clear. Although they had slowed engagement while the gods decimated the beasts in a show of power the battle hadn’t completely stopped and Farie found himself still in the thick of the fight. Though they had drawn back a little through the melee there was still plenty of enemies to cut down. This was being made easier by the appearance of the gods and Farie couldn’t help by thank them silently in his mind.

Hope had come.

They stood a chance of serving, of winning, of defeating the enemy once and for all. Of winning the day and returning home. Of seeing their loved ones again. That fresh hope was enough to give him his second wind so to speak. It was enough to give him the drive to plunge back into the fight. Coordinating his strikes with Cordian.

A Tutar charged towards him and Farie screamed out his rage and challenge in blind fury as he raised his sword to meet the oncoming beast. Cordian backed off spun and drove his sword through the chest of the closest beast as Farie attacked. Sword flying through the air in frenzied attack. Farie blind to all that was around him except that single minded purpose to kill or be killed. Fire burned inside of him. A fire to life, to fight, to win and to see Elisia smile at him again. To hear her voice whisper in his ear. To hear her laugh. Those were things he fought for. Life. Family. Honour.

The Tutar was gaining the upper hand against Farie’s crazed fighting. Cut and bleeding from many a wounds the beast staggered forwards. Cordian flanked the monster and slid his blade deep into the beasts leg taking it clean off at the joint in one fierce sweep of the blade. Unseen. The beast staggered and fell as Farie dived forwards towards it driving his sword across the Tutar’s chest. It went down and Farie rolled away from it to avoid being crushed, pulling his sword free from it’s chest. He rose in a crouch.

Blood flew in a dark arch and caught him by surprised. He spun to his left and saw a large halbert cave in the skull of a Tutar in a quick blur. A wide smile spread across his features as Cordian rose from his crouch. The Tutar that fell to the halbert wielder would have taken Cordian’s head cleanly from his shoulders had they been a moment later. Farie passed Cordian and clapped him on his shoulder nodding towards the Demigods. In thanks and in invitation to join them in their fight.

----

Cordian heard Barth’s order and their repetition being shouted. He growled low in his throat as he drove his sword through a Tutar’s arm and took a good chunk of it off. He screamed out in annoyance that the beast had moved. With a deft twist of his body he drove the blade deep into the beast chest and barely managed to hold the blade as the beast fell. He yanked hard on the sword to pull it free of the falling caracas when he spotted the beast attacking Farie and the frenzied chaotic fighting his friend was currently employing. Cordian knew that Farie didn’t stand a chance fighting like that against these monsters, even in all his hate there was no way that Farie could stand alone.

After a quick study of the fight he ran to the side out of the beats line of sight and once he’d successfully dodged it and flanked it he dove in low and sliced into joint of it’s leg taking it off. The wash of warm blood coated his hands and splattered his face. On the very edge of his periphery he saw time slow down as he saw his own end coming.

A large Tutar was coming down on him. It’s blade flashing black in the sunlight diving straight for his head. All Cordian could do was turn his head to watch. A moment before it took him a halbert dove into its stomach knocking it back a step before another took it across the face. Two Demigods dove into the fight and the one who’d hit the beast in the stomach finished the now faceless Tutar off with a final Halbert to the head. Overkill as the beast was not long for this world to begin with after the face shot.

Cordian rose and shouted ”Good save that!” In a triumphant shout rising his blade in greeting.




The men in the winged helms glanced at each other and then at Cordian; the one with the bloody blade at the end of his halberd nodded, whipping the weapon lightly so as to send the viscous liquid flying off the gleaming steel. "Aye, best to keep folk like you on your feet. We'll send back the horde," he began singing softly, "with spear and sword, and these monsters shall find us very-"

"Bored!" interrupted his comrade, who was of a similar height with him, though he didn't seem nearly as intent on singing. Three Tutari warriors reached him, snarls ripping through the air as they closed the distance.

"These things are boring me!" he went on, ignoring the sound of annoyance issued by his fellow immortal. "So I'll return the favor. Here, this one's BORED too," he said as he drove the tip of his weapon right through the throat of his foremost attacker. "And now his friend is also BORED!" he added as he impaled the chest of the next Tutar in line.

The bodies of the two Demigods glowed blue for a moment, and then the other decapitated the final Tutar with a deft twitch of his own weapon, sending a gust of wind out over the battlefield as he did so. "Roth, stop talking," he muttered, casting a look over at Farie.

"What's wrong, brother? It's a joke! Get it? I'm boring them. With my halb-"

"Just shut up. More are coming."

The number of Tutar in the area was smaller than before, given that the Drorghans dominated the center of the battlefield, but a small stream of them was still present in the vicinity, and closing in quickly.

Roth and his brother fell into step alongside Farie and Cordian as the beasts drew closer.




Farie’s gaze darted from the Demigods to Cordian and back. He did not speak as they began to fight. For a few moments he froze watching their work. A smile spreading across his features. It was a good day to fight and a better day to win. He grinned as the three Tutar fell in succession one right after the other and joined their ranks as the horde descended.

Twirling his blade from hand to hand. Ready, willing and able to fight. Deadly. Determined. Insane. He screamed as he took the fight to the monsters. The words he screamed barely incoherent except for one single word that stood out in his shout. Elisia. He drove his blade straight into the first Tutar before him and twisted.

----

Cordian laughed manically at the humor of the one Demigod. Glad to see that one of them was lighthearted in battle. With a wide grin he shouted back ”Let us see if we can’t bore some more then shall we?” At the end of their first attack. He held his sword ready. Unlike Farie he did not do any fancy work with his sword. He simply stood. Both hand firmly on the blade. Legs wide and braced, knees slightly bent. Eyes blazing with bloodlust and desire.

As Farie took off so did he. Following a half step behind him. Weapon swinging down in a wide arch straight at the creatures blade arm. Taking his wrist clean off. Cordian laughed.




"Well said, well said!"

The Demigod called Roth looked to the other, grinning happily at Cordian's remark. "I like these Lebis, Benen. Let's make sure they live, yes?"

His brother, the one named Benen, nodded as the Tutari horde reached them. "Aye."

They were still glowing faintly, though the blue surrounding them was receding quickly; before it could vanish entirely they swept their halberds out in unison, sending a powerful surge of wind forward, knocking several Tutar off their feet. "The battle has slowed down for us," Benen said as he forcefully brought the bladed tip of his weapon down, removing the other hand of the Tutar that had already had one of its wrists severed by Cordian's sword. "I believe Rolyn Skyhand is lending us his aid."

"Should be the whole Circle, damn it," Roth replied as he swept the legs of a Tutar out from under it before delivering a killing blow to the base of its skull before it could rise from the ground. "But old Rolyn will do just fine."

Benen shot a look at the two Lebis; he swept the arm off of another Tutar at the shoulder, and winced as his brother shouted gleefully at him from several paces away. "Hah! You DIS-ARMED him! Nice!"

The more solemn of the Demigods shook his head slightly as if trying to rid himself of a headache, before finally addressing the mortals even as he skewered yet another adversary through the abdomen. "Rolyn - you would perhaps know him as Rune. It seems that you all have more than just us on your side here. The Gods favor you.”




Farie couldn’t help but feel awed by the presence of the Demigods. He couldn’t help being in their midst and feeling completely and utterly in awe of them. He was glad they were on their side. He knew that they would never have stood up against these odds for long without aid and that aid was more than welcomed. Even if it was by only a few of the gods. To Farie one was more then enough let alone the number they had on their side.

”Help is welcomed, be it one or many, it is enough. It is more then we had,” Farie said softly. easily heard by those nearest him, but his voice wouldn’t carry to many of the other soldiers. For he spoke mostly to himself. For his own sanity.

He dealt a final deadly blow to the monster who had taken his sword to it’s chest and it fell dead before him. A spray of blood marking it’s passing as Farie moved on to the next with equal fervour.

----

Cordian was no longer in the words that were spoken, he was in the fight. His mind focused on every movement he made, calculating and seeing where his opponents would go. Working to take advantage of the demigod’s support and skill working with them to kill as many of the enemy as possible.

He laughed as he danced the deadly dance of war.

_________________


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View Likes PostPosted: Thu Jun 11, 2015 12:51 pm 
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It normally took several hours after a battle to attract that amount of carrion birds. A great number wheeled across the sky ahead, the number of murders, flocks and gangs lost in the sheer mass of the formation. They were either too late to make much difference, or the birds were confident in quite the feast afterwards. As bad as it seems, she was truly hoping for the latter.

Turning her eyes away from the grim portent, Daria, the newly named First-Captain of the venerable Heart Guard mercenary company, began trying to judge the distance between herself and the sounds of battle. It had to be no more than a mile. The actual battle itself was concealed from her by a small rise in the terrain, not much more than a bump, but more than enough to prevent her from making an accurate assessment of the flow of combat, which immediately ruled out trying to simply forge into the field on her own intuition. It would be a glorious folly. Instead she aimed the jangling, clattering column of horse, already clad in their full battle-rattle, at the milling crowd of cavalry that she could see clogging the far end of the small camp that served as a staging ground. Perhaps their commander might have some use for the finest shock cavalry unit in the world. Finest in Lebidan at least.

It was not lost on her that most of the horses she could see were riderless and often stamping in terror, signs she had come to associate with a lot of dead cavalrymen on the field beyond. What mystified her the most was that she could clearly see that there were more than enough men to mount each horse there and that almost all were garbed for horseback combat. Had they fled? Were they simply so ill disciplined that they had been left there by the rest of the army? She wouldn't put it past the Lebidani levies, most of them weren't exactly worthy of the description of a warrior, let alone a true soldier. But she could see Knights and what she assumed were Lindenians there too, both of which were hardened and skilled by all accounts. What could have unsettled them so? That was not a thought worth dwelling on.

They were almost inside the forward camp before anyone noticed them, the inhabitant's attention focused entirely southward at where the battle was taking place. Fear was etched onto every face, some young and some old. A Lindenian without his right arm gave them a solemn salute as they passed. A blacksmith, his apprentices huddled around him, simply shook his head at them.

The unordered mass of horsemen ignored the newcomers in favour of trying to settle their mounts, clearly no less frightened than their four-legged allies. The stench of fear was nearly overwhelming. Daria had been in many fights over the years, from bar scraps to full blown armed engagements, but she had never seen this many men this frightened. Leaving her own troops in the more than capable hands of Lance-Captain Keilor, she went about looking for someone to fill her in. Guiding Stepper more so with her knees than her hands, she tried to get the attention of someone, anyone, who could point her in the right direction. They all ignored her. In desperation she grabbed a passing Knight by his armoured gorget.

"You, stop! Where is your commander?" The man's eyes were wide, the skin behind his dark beard pale with shock. She half expected him to sputter about the indignity of being manhandled by a woman, something most of his kind were wont to do, but it never came.

"Lord Knight Resuran. Over there!" He made a vague gesture in the direction of the battle and ran off, dodging through small gaps as they appeared. Stepper followed the man's directions without any prompting from her, the stallion following orders as if this was just a stableyard practice.

"I suppose it's a start." She muttered.




Lord Knight Resuran proved to be an affable man, somewhat foppish with his braided moustache, but clearly a good officer. And an incredibly infuriating one.

"I cannot state this enough, First-Captain. We will not advance until the word is given." He had said the same thing three times now and had given no rhyme or reason as to why this was so. He simply sat his only slightly nervous horse and watched as his Knights and sergeants worked to whip the levies back into some semblance of military order. Daria was patient, but this was starting to get on the knife edge of her nerves.

"Then perhaps you could explain exactly what is preventing you from advancing then? Or maybe you could try to tell me why I cannot simply march my lancers over that rise?" Her tone was sharp, biting even, leaving an open challenge for him to prove her good sense wrong. The Lord Knight was significantly more level headed than most of his peers, but a Lebi Knight was a Lebi Knight. Some things would not pass. Especially being challenged on a 'man's matter' by a woman, even if said woman had twenty years of experience backing her up.

Resuran's eyes flared. She had him. By the set of his mouth she could see he had reached a decision he disliked. Interesting.

"Very well then, First-Captain. I cannot explain, but I can easily show you." Triumph. Leaning on her helmet, itself balanced on the pommel of her saddle, she allowed herself to be led out of the blot of tents towards the little ridge that denoted the boundary to madness. Resuran's whole body was rigid as they rode, holding the air of a man who did not enjoy what he was doing, but who was determined to do it anyway. In hindsight, the crest came too soon.

"By Makar's hairy ballsack..." Her astonishment was clear, as was the light burr that crept into her voice as the iron self control she prided herself on cracked for just a moment. The field beyond was truly madness. Only a few hundred yards distant she could see the line held by the Allies, bright and thin. A few bright flashes could be seen here and there, as well as shapes moving in impossible ways through the air. Out beyond was a horde, an ocean of Tutar well beyond numbers. But that was not what caught her eye. No, it was the giants that did that. Twice as tall again as anything on the field, their numbers were few. That clearly wasn't stopping them. Resuran followed her eyes, nodding.

"Drorghans. The horses can't stand them. They would be halfway to the mountains by now had we not been ordered back." It was impossible, wasn't it? Things that large. Resuran continued talking, though she was not truly listening.

"We can only make our attack once they are dead. The alternative does not bear thinking about." He was right. The alternative was that the Drorghans would simply crush the lines of Men and let the Tutari horde finish what was left. Hardening her demeanour back to her usual self, Daria could not remove the kernel of fear that was growing in her mind. Fear was natural. This wasn't. The only defence here was to attack. But that was impossible.

"Very well then. Lord Knight, your case has been made. However," she swiftly forestalled the man's next sentence, "I see no reason not to let our comrades know that we are here for them, yes? To be the hammer to their anvil once these... things have been killed." She surveyed the carnage again.

"Yes, I think I will make a stand here. So that me and mine can be seen." And also so they could see. After all, even the best troops won't do well if they cannot see what they are up against. Either way, her peace of mind would be better settled if she could see what was going on only two hundred yards away in the depths of hell.


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View Likes PostPosted: Tue Jun 23, 2015 4:49 am 

It is a hollow shell of what it once was.

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Soluunar


Sounds of laughter and celebration reached the small campfire, but the two men seated on the ground to either side of it paid the revelry little mind. Drunken shouts and snatches of song drifted over to them on the night air, but Barth didn't acknowledge any of it as he pulled the wooden skewer away from the flames so as to pick at the bits of rabbit that had been cooked on it.

"You put a lot of people at risk today."

The prince looked up from the fire and peered into the other man's face. Even sparsely lit by the flickering light as it was, the glare on his friend's gaunt, bearded visage was obvious.

"Don't start this now, Olin."

"It needs to be started," the other man replied, his greying mustache hitching up with aggravation. It was a perfect match for the thin but long hair that framed his face to either side. "It needs to be said. Barth, you are the leader of a military force. You are the only man Linden's soldiers will follow. You must be harder!"

"I will not beg your pardon for saving lives."

Olin stood up, both fists clenched so hard that the arms attached to them were visibly shaking. Barth spared him the most cursory of glances before switching his attention to the tiny potato that had been stuck onto the sliver of wood so as to introduce some kind of variety to the meal. It was most definitely an occasion for celebration, as vegetables were a rarity in the lands south of Linden that had been ravaged by Tutari flames and steel.

"Saving lives, possibly at the cost of many more! You wasted valuable time protecting a farm containing fewer than twenty people, man! We were almost too late to lend support to our legion by the river. We could have lost hundreds of pe-"

"We didn't," the prince replied around a mouthful of potato. "We won the day, we held firm, and we also didn't turn our backs on a group of women and children. Innocent people who were in need of aid."

"And if the battle had gone differently? If we hadn't arrived in time? Ausan could have fallen. What then?"

"Unlikely. Ausan is twice the soldier I am."

"Our people don't need you to be a soldier, Barth. They need you to be a leader! You must be able to make the hard decisions, the difficult choices. The people of Linden count on you to do what is best for them, and sometimes what is best is to let a few die so that many more can be saved!"

Barth pulled a bit of charred meat from the stick, the last piece, before throwing the wood into the fire. He chewed slowly, feeling the other man's eyes on him but not returning his gaze.

"I am not that kind of leader."

"You must change. You have to, if we are to stand a chance in this war."

"An alliance with Lebidan is what would give us a chance."

The other man snorted, sitting back down on the other side of the fire, the anger in his face fading somewhat but the irritation remaining evident even in the inconsistent light of the embers.

"That will never happen. The Tutar are a long way from their lands, and your father-"

"-is a fool. Aye. But one day the Tutar will not be solely our problem. One day Lebidan will have to face them, and they will want us at their side. In the meantime, I shall remain the man I am, Olin, and I will continue to do whatever I can to protect those in need of my help. I will not be the cold, uncaring leader you covet."

Olin picked up his cup and took a deep drink from it, allowing several drops of water to spill from the edge and fall through his beard like liquid pearls. When he was done he wiped his mouth with the back of a hand and tossed the cup aside, his eyes locked onto those of the prince.

"Then you will die. And you'll take the rest of us with you."



Barth shook himself, wondering why he was being assailed by the past at such an inopportune moment. He recalled Ausan's comment about his horse and shook his head with a humorless smile. He didn't think hers would've fared any better, though perhaps it might have thrown him off a little more gently.

Even with the aid of the Gods on their side, the Drorghans were a long way from being removed from relevance. A third of their number lay dead upon the field, but the remnant were as dangerous as ever. If anything they were even deadlier now, in the face of the Godly powers opposing them.

Barth wanted nothing more than to be by Ausan's side, putting steel to stoney flesh, fighting alongside their immortal allies, but he could not afford to focus on anything other than the big picture. Hearing soft footfalls to either side of him, Barth became aware of the three Gods as they joined him. Haman watched them nervously with his lone remaining eye, as the prince looked to the bearded man with the staff.

"I need a vantage point."

"If doom approacheth, better to watch its progress than to sit in blind anticipation," the God responded with a nod, and then in a flash of blinding blue light Barth found himself rocketing up towards the sky above.

He gasped, feeling the air rushing down past him and into his eyes as his stomach fought to catch up with his rapid upward progress; as a child he'd dreamt of flying, but this was not how he had envisioned it. Perhaps if the God had provided him with some kind of warning he wouldn't have felt quite so nauseated as he finally stopped, feeling oddly weightless as he stared down at the field around and below him - unfortunately, he was so stunned by the speed of his ascent he barely registered any of it.

He blinked, shaking himself, knowing that he wouldn't be up there for much longer (he knew it was unlikely, but he wondered if the God would just drop him from the sky and allow him to paint the ground below with his life's blood) and he squinted through watery eyes, peering down at the carnage below.

There were around ten of the monsters still in commission, and it seemed that their enraged confusion regarding the battle's unexpected shift had spurred them forward. The prince looked on as they drew closer, their roars shaking the air itself as the defending mortal forces quavered in light of the horrific charge. But something about the charge itself seemed strange to him. The smaller figures on the ground, the humans, they were moving with incredible speed compared to what he'd seen earlier. The charging monsters were much slower by comparison, and even the massive Tutari horde behind them was appeared rather sluggish. His eyes narrowed as he saw a flurry of movement towards the rear of their formation, moving in the direction of the tree-line.

Verana, he thought with a pang of worry. She was smart enough to know when to pull back, but he couldn't help but feel concern for the younger of the Maidens as he went back to studying the enemy force. Another Drorghan was down, and yet another was being assailed by the flying Gods whilst a third was contending with glowing figures that were too small and wearing too dark of a cloth to be spotted with any clarity from the height at which he hovered.

Seven remained on their feet; four of them were leading their charge, nearing the mortals' front lines, and the remaining three hung back, not hesitant but simply moving slower either due to injury, fatigue or some shared sense of caution. He knew Ausan was in the area, along with her Godly support, and as he turned back to the front lines he noticed something that had escaped his scrutiny. He was staring down at it, marveling at the sight, when he began to drop. He kept his eyes shut tightly, refusing to succumb to the urge to look down. Thankfully he hadn't been dropped from a half a mile up as he'd feared, and his boots hit the ground very gently.

He straightened up on unsteady legs, offering the Wind God a grunt of thanks before turning to regard the ponytailed one that had addressed him upon their arrival.

"Has your view given you some insight, Prince Krinwulf?"

"Aye."

"Shall you require aid for the Drorghans that approach?"

He turned back to the bearded God, eyes tarrying for a moment on the staff in his grip. "No. I'd prefer you focus on helping the Demigods that are fighting with Ausan. The Tutar that are creeping up now, I'd like them contained for the moment as well."

The response came alongside narrowed eyes and the twitch of a beard.

"What of the ones in front?"

"Soluunar will handle them. Along with sharp steel and good fortune." He turned to the woman, observing the twinkling eyes beneath the hood. "If Lady Luck chooses to oblige me, that is."

The smile she gave him was all the confirmation he needed, though she looked uncertain as he turned to regard the soldiers arrayed around him.

"With me!" he shouted, his longsword in the air as a cry rose up around him. Haman and a group of chosen swordsmen, a contingent of Lebi Knights, and a grouping of Sisters including Sen charged forward behind the prince as they advanced towards the oncoming assault. Over one trench, past another, and finally as they reached the third he halted them, ordering them to fan out into a line as the oncoming Drorghans cut through the distance remaining between them with alarming speed.

To an outsider, Linden's prince would have looked nothing shy of insane, or perhaps he would have appeared to have been afflicted with some combination of heavy delusion and a desire for a quick death, but what Barth saw while soaring high above the field was something that he knew they could use to great effect, Gods willing. Or Goddess willing, rather.

Defeating the beasts with the power of Gods? A rallying point for the troops, no doubt. A lift to morale in every direction. But Lindenian and Lebi steel converging to slay the monsters? Mortal sweat and muscle besting the most fearsome foes any of them had ever encountered? No soldier could fail to be inspired to new heights by such a sight. As uplifting and emboldening as the image of the Gods appearing in time to save them all was, Barth knew in his heart that nothing would be able to match them saving them all.

Grey skin, the hue of old rocks, visibly just as hard; Drorghans up close were a sight beyond description. He could see the reptilian eyes that screamed of a fallen ancestry, could see the hatred in them, could feel the light spray of spittle that flew from their enormous, hideous maws and traveled upon the wind to pepper the resistance. He felt the ground tremble beneath his boots, could hear the haggard breaths of the men and women to either side of him, could smell the metallic notes of blood and death on the air.

Fear, too. There was fear in abundance, all around him. But although their foes towered over them, the line held firm. Whether because they believed, or because they did not think their commander would so eagerly lead them all to ruin, he did not know. They were afraid, yet they didn't move as the four mountains of flesh and fang, wielding boulders hewn from Soluunar's deepest reaches moved to engage them.

From high above, he'd watched the armies, studied the movements of the enemy - but he also studied the field. From the ground it was impossible to tell, but from high above he saw what was hidden to everyone else. A massive expanse of land on the far side of the third trench, the ground eroded and worn from tremendous weight and endless waterings of blood (among other contributions), was lower than the rest of it. A tremendous sinkhole was forming, and the distinctiveness of the difference between the lowering stretch of field and its surroundings was as subtle on the ground as it was jarring from the sky. All they needed was the timing to be right.

"Roll!" he shouted, brandishing his sword, feeling a heat rising in him that he hadn't experienced for the duration of the battle. Aside from the brief struggle for his life he had yet to fight, had yet to play the role of soldier, but that was over now. He didn't look back towards the Goddess, but Barth knew she'd done it.

"They are tall," he said loudly enough to be heard down the line in either direction, as the Drorghans hefted their manacles. "Tall, but the world we fight for shall bring them down to size!"

Just as the monsters reached them, boulder arching high into the air with all the speed of instant death, the ground collapsed beneath the Drorghans. Roars of malice and rage turned to shrieks of confusion and alarm as Soluunar swallowed them up; they fell to roughly the height of a tall mortal, though their boulders still swung upon their initial descent.

Barth sidestepped one, and with a shout he jumped on top of the crude flail, the frenzy of battle on him as he shouted words he couldn't even identify, his feet picking a confident path from the large rock to the chain links, and up the links to the shoulder of the creature that was only then starting to scrabble desperately against the dirt.

"Mind the ground!" he screamed, hacking, slashing and then thrusting the long blade into the skull of the Drorghan even as someone else assailed the head from the other side. "Watch the arms, they can still fight!"

They could indeed; a Sister and two men, one of them a Knight, were slammed to the ground by a single boulder with a sickening thud that made it clear none of them would survive, while further down the line a claw nearly liberated Haman's head from its body, instead impaling the unfortunate man who'd been standing right next to him. But they were prevailing.

The line of mortals was cutting down the crippled beasts, aided by the very lands they fought to protect. In every direction cheers and roars of elation were rising up as the monsters perished; Barth, perched on the shoulder of the dead Drorghan as if he were a climber standing atop a conquered mountain, could see the last three going down as well. A cyclone ripped through a column of Tutar, flinging them back and preserving the temporary calm that had fallen on the forefront.

It was a quick trot back to where he'd initiated the counterattack; a soldier wearing the colors of House Garth nodded as he approached, and Barth recognized him as one of Jahal's men.

"Yes?"

"Lord Resuran sent word from the camp. The Heart Guard is here."

Barth stared at him for a moment, waiting for him to begin laughing at his joke - when it didn't happen, he blinked.

"The best shock cavalry left on Soluunar? What opportune timing."

He turned to Lydia, but the Goddess only shrugged with a smile.

Looking back to the messenger, he clapped him on his back, nodding behind him to where he knew his Lord waited.

"The time has come for the cavalry. Make sure Lord Resuran and the Captains know: they are to keep right and left beyond the third trench, lest the horses be swallowed whole."

He heard a familiar neigh, and turned to see that Haman, atop his own horse, had brought along Ausan's, leading it by the reins. The prince quickly swung himself up into the saddle, idly realizing that he'd never sheathed the sword he held, still coated in the blood of the Drorghan. He patted the great animal's neck with his free hand, smiling as it nickered softly with recognition. He'd need to make sure the horse lived, lest he endure the nagging of a lifetime.

"It is time to finish this. We ride!"



Upper Regions

"Open your eyes, Skyhand, for judgement has come."

Rolyn obliged, a smile on his face as he regarded the other members of the Circle. He was seated in a chair near his favorite fountain, but the quiet solitude of the garden had been disturbed by what felt like half of the Upper Regions' population.

"Has it, now? What can I help you with, Malinar?"

Malinar's weathered visage darkened in response to the calm response he garnered.

"You know why we are here. There is no way the Elder Gods on Soluunar went there of their own free will. You have used treachery and deceit to get around the Circle's will!"

Aside from the entirety of the Circle, the Hand, Pyrexus, was also in attendance, as well as a number of Elder Gods and Goddesses who watched from the fringe, not coming too close but watching with great interest.

"Nonsense. Elder Gods travel below all the time. Why, Weylyn's realm is Soluunar and he seldom leaves it."

"I will not stand here and bandy words with you like we are sitting across a damned table from each other, Skyhand! Even less so now that you have shown you care not for our policies or decisions! We demand that you stop influencing time on Soluunar at once."

"Regardless of what you may believe about the Elder Gods and their motivations for venturing below, they are upon Soluunar and are therefore under my protection," he said, the faint white glow still outlining his body as he continued to lend his aid to those fighting for their lives against the forces of the Ravine. "Thus it was written in our Laws. A Member of the Circle shall oversee the safety of the Upper Regions' citizens at all times. Even within the mortal realm, if it is a large group. All who are assembled here know our Laws. Does anyone doubt my claim?"

There was silence as several members of the Circle looked at each other, uncertainty blossoming in their features, but it ended when Malinar took a step forward, his entire body trembling with fury. For the first time, Rolyn considered the fact that the God might actually try to kill him.

"You wriggled around the damn Laws, and now you hide behind them!"

"Anger cannot undo, Malinar."

Rolyn stood up, eye to eye with the man that was once his friend. He regarded the rest of them, eyes roving to each member of the Circle in turn until finally returning to the God of Destruction.

"What is it you govern over? What purpose do you serve? What power do you possess, if you will not use it to aid those in peril? What use is there for Gods at all, if there exists nothing for them to protect?"

Lorkhan and Valiya nodded, the former visibly shamed by his words, and they moved to stand on either side of him in a display of their support; heads all over the garden were now nodding in agreement, mindsets having been changed in light of Rolyn's words.

Freiya merely watched him blankly, her eyes like blue chips of ice, and Malinar glanced to her for a moment before turning back to the God of Time, a dangerous calmness having settled over his features.

"You're right, Skyhand."

He turned and walked away, and Rolyn watched as Gods and Goddesses scrambled to move out of his path as he exited the garden. His final words still reached the silver haired Circle God's ears as he vanished from view, though they were spoken in scarcely more than a whisper.

"Anger cannot undo…"



Soluunar

The longbow's string whipped forward, a movement and accompanying sound that was echoed behind and to either side of Verana by countless others of its kind as the flurry of arrows found their targets. Demonic croaks of death sputtered out from the ground under them; the Maiden flicked a pair of grey eyes to either side and signaled before a well practiced hand, adorned with soft leather and thin steel plates, seized another arrow from the quiver at her waist with automatic precision.

Another line of arrows cut through the dim light, whistling a soft, deadly harmony with one another as a second group of axe wielding Tutar stumbled, feathered shafts protruding from necks and eye sockets. Hearing the sound of metal scraping against wood somewhere behind her, Verana Snowblade turned and glared at Borim and the heavily armored men surrounding him. The Lord Knight's weapon was still sheathed at his side, but the others had swords drawn as they stood awkwardly in the gaps between the trees behind the archers. They were out of their element, on unsteady ground and with no room to spread out, but then again they didn't need to be there anyway. Verana scowled, thinking back to Barth. She didn't need any protection, or whatever it was these blowhards thought they could provide for her. She knew it, and so did the Prince.

"Be silent," she whispered, but by then the Tutar under the ridge they stood upon had become aware of their position. Thick, heavy spears were whizzing by, skewering trees and skittering along the ground at their feet. One bowman, a man named Tobal, took one to the leg that nearly severed the limb from his body; he shrieked as he fell, blood spurting from a horrific wound, as the other archers began to scramble for the cover behind them. Up ahead a number of Tutar began the climb, fangs bared in malicious outrage as they pushed through trees and clawed at the slope.

Verana felt the wind of a spear as it nearly grazed her left cheek, but she didn't move as she nocked another arrow. Less than a second later it was entering the eye of the foremost climber, and then a second later another was glancing off the decrepit chestplate of another behind it. She swore under her breath, knowing that she had picked the most inopportune moment to start missing.

"Support!" she barked at Borim and his men, and then she was slinging her bow over a shoulder and drawing her broadsword as the archers between her and the red bearded man moved forward again, some with shortbows out whilst others had swords in their grips.

Verana hefted the blade that had once belonged to her father, and though she did not have the time to look for it she knew the sheath at her side from which the weapon had come displayed the plunging falcon that marked the crest of a house long destroyed. A house whose name she had abandoned, to replace with one that was all her own. She raised the weapon and prepared a vicious slash in the direction of a Tutari neck just as the sound of heavy footfalls behind her reached her ears. It seemed that Barth was right after all. The Knight and his men would actually prove useful for a cha-

The ground beneath her feet suddenly shifted, and the Tutar she'd been about to decapitate disappeared as the ridge underneath transformed itself into a landslide of dirt and rocks that carried the demons back the same way they'd come.

The sword fell from Verana's grip as she seized a tree branch, the ground under her slipping away with alarming speed; the archers shrieked as they tumbled downward, and before she could do much more than stare helplessly as they crashed into the waiting trees and the flailing Tutar below, the limb she held onto snapped.

She hit the slope on her rear end, but then managed to contort her body into something of a half-standing position, the undersides of her boots skidding along the surface as she pivoted just in time to avoid crashing into a tree trunk the color of old iron. She hit level ground and rolled several times before springing up to her feet, shifting a lock of vivid red hair from in front of her face as her quick eyes scanned the area.

It took only a cursory glance to see that retreat was the only option. In the immediate vicinity there were more Tutar than she could count, and although many of them were disoriented and caught at unawares by the landslide, more were streaming over from the field of battle less than a quarter mile away, adding their hulking frames to those that were already assembled in the area.

Verana heard strangled shouts and turned to see that the other archers, the ones who hadn't been able to avoid the trees waiting at the bottom of the slope, were now being taken apart by the Tutar who had survived the fall.

She grabbed her longbow and shot a hand to the quiver at her side, only to find that there was but a single arrow remaining to her; undoubtedly the rest had tumbled out during her unexpected descent. There was a snarl to her right and she caught a flicker of movement in time to throw herself backward as the jagged blade of the black scimitar came whipping down where she'd been a fraction of a second earlier.

Her back hit the ground and she bent her spine, bringing her legs up and over until she had completed a full backward roll. As she straightened up the Tutar turned to face her, spittle flying from its mouth as it sifted through sharp, broken fangs. The saliva was accompanied by a projection of its grating voice as it snarled in her direction; she answered it with an arrow to the eye that provided an abrupt end to its monologue.

She sprang forward, and before the heavy corpse could collide with the ground she yanked the arrow back out of the eye and turned smoothly on the spot, putting it back to the string and firing the bloody projectile into a new eye in one fluid motion, dropping another Tutar just as another four converged on her position. She leaped towards the flailing demon and withdrew the arrow yet again, this time jerking to one side so as to evade a downward slash from a scimitar before raising the bow again, pivoting her body as she sent the scarlet arrow forth from the string.

This time, close to her target as she was, the arrow exploded out of the back of the creature's skull, careening off into the distance as it escaped its usefulness to her.

Even more of the monsters followed behind them, as they continued to stream into the area from the direction of the battlefield; they were drawn by the bloodshed, intent on stamping out the single ripple of resistance that had fallen into their midst.

She stared up at what remained of the ridge above; she loathed Borim Garth, and she would always resent the part of the Prince that made him think she needed to be looked after like she was some sort of child, but the Lebi Knight and his men were now her only hope of getting out of the situation alive.

She saw them, standing at the top, staring down at her; Borim looked at her, before turning to regard the oncoming horde, with a blank, unreadable expression firmly in place across his features. After a moment he motioned to his men who backed away alongside him, moving back towards the trees.

Abandoning her.

More than shock, more than the fear of death… Verana felt nothing but cold fury at the cowardly betrayal. Dying meant no longer standing at the side of her Sisters, no longer aiding her country. Never seeing Barth or Ausan again.

"Naiya's wrath take you," she breathed as she turned away from where the cravens had vanished from sight.

With a shout of desperate rage she drove the end of her longbow into the face of the foremost attacker, before withdrawing it and slamming the broad side of the weapon into the side of its head with one hand even as she drew her long knife with the other. The bow didn't do much, and with no more arrows she dropped it to the ground having no immediate use for it, but the blade was where she chose to place the remnant of her dwindling hopes.

It was a sharp but sturdy length of steel she had acquired not long after she took to the field; the hilt was carved out of smooth, white stone, and the blade itself looked strangely white whenever it caught sunlight upon its length. It was the origin of her name, the name that replaced the one she had once carried in a former life.

She drove that same blade into the Tutar's throat before throwing herself to one side as his fellows converged on her. She slashed at a bestial face, inciting a roar but doing little more than infuriating it as a spear narrowly missed her coming from the other direction. More of the demons were coming; soon it would be her against twelve, and then fifteen, and then thirty - their numbers, just as they'd been before, were overwhelming.

Her vision became nothing more than a series of frenzied blurs as she moved with the kind of quickness and agility she had never witnessed from herself before, evading blows coming from every side as she fought without conscious thought. She was moving with speed beyond belief, as if it came from the Gods themselves, but it wasn't enough. A sturdy thrust ended the Tutar she'd injured, but there was no time to recover before the next one attacked.

A wicked blade tore through her light armor at the left shoulder, cutting into the flesh and leaving a deep gash as it continued its motion; she cried out in pain, bringing up the knife to parry another sword that slashed at her neck, forcing it to glance off and upward but unable to stop it completely as it cut into her temple. The knife fell from nerveless fingers just as the third attack landed.

She looked down as the scimitar punched through the bottom segment of her thin, flexible chest plate as if it were nothing more than wool. She felt it burst out of her back, impaling her as she tasted blood in her mouth; the world around her darkened with a velocity akin to blowing out the only candle in a tent, as she fell heavily to her knees. The blade in her was roughly withdrawn, yet the brutal act accompanied no pain whatsoever as Verana Snowblade exhaled for the last time.

"Linden," she whispered, as she fell forward and embraced the surface of Soluunar.

_________________
Learning a simple lesson isn't always simple. Sometimes, you have to slowly lose everything great around you to understand the gravity of your shortcomings. Admit that your egos have grown too large, that you've lost your sense of what you realistically are, and maybe you can repair the road that has broken beneath the weight of your failings. Or maybe you'll just keep going as you've gone, and you'll learn nothing, and eventually, everything around you will become dust. To be honest, that's by far the likeliest of all outcomes.


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View Likes PostPosted: Thu Jun 25, 2015 4:36 am 
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”… to stay back with the others and hold the line.”

Sen nodded sharply, staring into the face of the taller woman with all the attention she could muster. Her gaze followed the line from the tip of Ausan’s sword and she caught sight of the Sisters, close together amidst the other soldiers and just as wide-eyed as anyone else. She tried to nod again as specifics were added to her orders, but the Lieutenant’s hand clapping down on her shoulder nearly buckled her knees. Her eyebrows raised as she faced her again, thankful that she hadn’t collapsed under the comradely gesture. At the mohawked warriors friendly, almost warm tone, Sen’s mouth widened into a small grin. The minor release of tension was incredibly welcome, and it reflected in the depths of her mismatched eyes.

As Ausan turned her attention away, the gawky woman turned toward the gathering of female Lindenian soldiers. She recognized the woman with short black hair, who was missing the tip of her ear and had participated in her “initiation”; she was now armed with a fairly large sword (though Sen suspected a wooden staff could have equal efficacy in her hands). Also present was the broad-shouldered woman who had silently given her a water-break before, in the trenches. The blonde braid rustled as she gave her head a little shake. Had it really only been earlier that day, when they were all almost bare and concerned only for how deep they could dig in the heat of the day? The broad-shouldered woman now hefted an intimidating broad-axe, no fatigue evident in her stony expression and the unwavering gaze fixed on the enemies that loomed.

She approached, calmly but with a confidence that announced her right to walk amongst them. The tip of her stolen weapon nearly touched the ground as she moved, still caked with gore. She saw the questions in their faces, and a few of them even flicked their eyes back to the Gods, but no one actually asked her anything. There would be time for interrogation later. Or there wouldn’t be. Either way, there wasn’t time now.

The newest Sister turned, just in time to be blinded by a burst of light. Her free hand came up to cover her face instantly but she winced, feeling additional tingles in her freshly-healed eye that had her hoping she hadn’t ruined the sight within four minutes of getting it back. A few muttered swears from her Sisters bounced around, and as her arm dropped and her lids bounced back, her breath caught in her throat.

The Commander was gone, first of all. She wasn’t sure where he had gone, but no one appeared to be panicking over it. The spot he had claimed didn’t stand empty, however. It had been taken over by glowing tendrils of pale purple-white, a color that faded from one end of the lines to the other, that filled the air like drifting wisps of shredded silk. They curled and snaked around each other as though alive, graceful and ethereal, but they started to gradually fade into nothingness. She turned to her sides, a question on the edge of her tongue, but she swallowed it back upon seeing that no one else was staring toward the patch of dirt with the Prince’s fresh boot-prints. Slight concern settled across her features, but as she turned back to Gods it turned into incredulity.

Beautiful. Never before would Sen have imagined such a thought could ever be used to describe any battlefield, especially this one, but it was the first impression that came. They came from the sky, shafts and sheets of iridescent light, coming from heavens that had darkened with the retreating dusk. It looked as though they were concentrated in whimsical collections of color, color that spread and spread until it was no longer visible but had attained a radius that spanned everything she could see, a gossamer veil of aura. Like falling stars viewed from behind an opaque lens, it seemed as though a divine giant had struck the fabric of the carnage with a massive paintbrush, the strokes and streaks of luminescent silvers and pale blues settling toward the surface of Soluunar from the depths of the evening clouds. One of them came close to her, resembling a lazy gust of graceful, impetuous wind; she instinctively reached out to it with a child-like impulsiveness, needing to feel the visible breeze against her fingertips. It was completely intangible, her fingers brushing right through it and leaving it undisturbed as it came closer, passing over, around, through her body like an ephemeral silken embrace. Her eyes closed and she inhaled as it “touched” her, but only the familiar smells of blood and metal met her nose, and though she spun around to watch it leave almost instantly, it had vanished, fading into the mortal wind- rather, adding itself to the wind, a transparent film over the surface of the world.

“Sister…?” came the hesitant, husky question. Sen jerked her head to the woman with the missing ear-tip, who had fixed her with a very awkward stare, one brow quirked. A flush crept into the blonde’s cheeks and she turned away from it. It hardly seemed fair to blame her. Frankly, Sen thought that they were the strange ones for not trying to touch the beautiful wisps of aura. Even cloaked as some still were in faint, pale bronze glow around their defining lines, the silken sheets that came from the sky were something else. She felt like torches or any other light-sources had been rendered useless by the glowing curtains of painted light, though no one else seemed to share her opinion.

“With me!”

Sen wasn’t sure when he had returned or from where, but her nerves snapped to full attention at the sound of his voice and she jerked her head in his direction, a hard wave of adrenaline fanning through her blood vessels until it had engulfed her once more. Brilliantly-focused eyes noticed the wisps of violet-white lines that trailed down his armored body, dripping down like water after a dousing and pooling around his feet before disappearing against the darkness of the ground. She followed as the soldiers and Sisters around her pushed forward in a forceful wave, moving in the group and, for the first time, not being shoved along by it. Her feet found solid purchase on the soil that was slippery with blood, the lightweight blade in her hand held close but with a painfully small measure of control. They didn’t travel far, only past the first few trenches, and her way was lit as though a noonday sun loomed over the path.

The warriors parted in front of her as they fanned the approach of the massive, stone-skinned bipeds, and she came to a stop with the broad-shouldered Sister to her right and a Lindenian swordsman to her left. The Sister hefted her axe to the ready, but Sen mimicked the swordsman, adopting a balanced, wide stance and holding her blade in front of her. Her imitation seemed fairly obvious, and she pointedly avoided his gaze, just in case it had been revealed that he would be fighting alongside a woman who had clearly stolen her weapon.

The ground still thundered beneath her feet, little pebbles and rocks jumping as each massive step from a Drorghan crashed to the field. The inexperienced young woman lowered her gaze and her brow furrowed, a deep breath heaving and relaxing her shoulders, fighting the bile of fear that rose from her gut at the instinctive hate that burned in the monstrous beasts’ eyes. The axe-wielding Sister shifted slightly, and the left side of her left foot touched Sen’s opposite boot. Her mismatched gaze darted to the woman, but there was no answering glance or even indication that it was intentional. Still… the braided woman felt logic filter back into her, the lump of apprehension settling away, re-routed to observation and other, more practical uses. It seemed to her that the creatures moved differently… a part of her wanted to say that they were slower, but it made no sense. Did they hesitate? Did they reason enough to do something like hesitate? She wouldn’t have thought, but everything, from the quaking of the soil to the grating, hair-raising scrape of their bound weaponry seemed to be –

“Roll!”

A flash of light, colored like navy blue shadow but streaked with long, thin lines of bright platinum, broke into Sen’s peripheral vision. Instinct prompted her to turn and see the source, but there was no time; even as the Commander’s words echoed down the line of her fellow fighters, the trembling crust of the world changed. It swept from behind the fan of soldiers, fast but smooth, overtaking the dirt-and-blood colors in a precise wave of deep cobalt, laced with spider-web lines of silver.

Sen’s eyes widened as they followed the rapid encroachment of the blue shadow, and as it swallowed the floor beneath the Drorghans, the boulder attached to the nearest one raised into an arc of savage, artless destruction. The leather-armored woman watched as its shadow settled around two Sisters not far to her right…

… and gazed in disbelief as the unreal opponents were swallowed whole, the world beneath them shattering like glass. As though twilight itself had broken to engulf the bestial embodiments of brutality.

In a rapid fade it was returned to the original color, though the crumbled and broken framework remained, now complete with mostly-consumed stone giants, snarling and roaring their distress and rage in a two-toned harmony. Their boulders slammed to the world in unison and Sen’s eyes were nearly shaken out of her skull, but adrenaline and a “well-rested” body returned her focus quickly. There was no time for hesitation; this was opportunity. There was no time to let this chance slip away. She quickly ducked forward, faster and lower than either of the fighters at her sides; the sword that she had held so carefully in front of her fell low again, trailing like an extension of her left arm, lifted only by the momentum with which she moved.

She made it past the edge of range of the boulders’ arcs, eyes fixed on one particular beast. As the massive rock flung around again, the thick chain came for her body, taunt with weight and force- her long torso bent backward, neck exposed as it curved as far towards the ground as it physically could. Sen felt the thick whoosh as it the heavy links brushed past her contorted figure, the rush of air telling her just how close they had come to her body even if she couldn’t see. As they passed she whipped upright and continued forward, the entire manoeuver almost a single movement. Her dual-hued optics re-aligned with the raging face of the creature, its arm still pulled away from the side of its body in the heft of its crude weapon. Opportunity glowed once more, but this time a heady draught of fear came as well, breaking the walls against it -humans were not meant to be so close to the face of a Drorghan, not alive, anyway- and it swept over her muscles in an instinctive self-preservation mechanism. She couldn’t hold it back, but she wouldn’t let it immobilize her. Not again. The familiar voice echoed in her ears, as clear as if the speaker stood only inches away.

”Why are you here?”

The cruel, inhuman face turned away from her over its flexed shoulder, seeming to be focused on another assault; the chance could not have been any more obvious had it been lit with torches and labeled “Kill me here”. The huge, gaping mouth opened again to release a furious bellow, but it was too late. Almost simultaneously, Sen buried her light blade into the Drorghan’s beady eye even as the Commander spiked into its brain, stilling the creature into death almost instantly. Her face turned toward him for only a second as he shouted, but she caught his words clearly as she yanked her stolen blade from the mucous of the glazed, punctured eye.

The Prince-Commander surveyed the field from the shoulder of the corpse, and Sen turned to do the same; new bodies of her fellows had been added to the older ones amongst the strewn ground, but she couldn’t identify which area she should leave toward- even as she decided, each of the creatures were brought to a bloody, lifeless state by the blades of those who remained. Another tornado, obviously a created phenomenon, tore through a branch of Tutar that approached on the coattails of their larger counterpart’s demise; Sen watched with a slightly open mouth. The vortex was made of the same violet-and-crystal white shreds of fabric that she had seen before, but this time, they were huge- massive strips of violently whirling rent silk, lifting and flinging Tutar as though they were bits of dust. The bright white of it made the already-glowing battlefield almost painfully bright, and Sen narrowed her eyes, shading them with one arm against the brilliance, trying to watch as the cyclone disappeared from her vision. She blinked, trying to evacuate the splotches that still danced in front of her.

A long, slow breath escaped her and she turned her head up from where she stood, still beside the Drorghan cadaver’s face, toward Barth. No new orders came forth, however, as he headed back toward the bulk of the human forces. Sen turned as well, toward those who had stood in the line with her, and followed him with the rest of them. Her eyes scanned the remaining soldiers quickly, seeking the Sisters- they were rarely far away from each other. She spotted them easily enough and fell among them, noticing with a twist in her chest how few they seemed, compared with their numbers upon the approach. The broad-shouldered woman with the axe was nowhere to be seen, and the twist gave a keen squeeze.

Sen decided not to let herself spare a glance back.


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View Likes PostPosted: Thu Jun 25, 2015 12:52 pm 

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Farie was coated in blood. His once shining armour was now scuffed and dirty, covered in grime and stuck with dirt from the times he’d rolled along the ground. His hands felt gritty and sticky from gore and dirt smeared liberally along their surface. His once pressed and clean tunic was now dirty, torn and utterly destroyed. He didn’t look like the noble he was, he looked like the warrior he’d become. His eyes were clouded with anger and hatred, loss and pain, while also holding an edge of determination and intensity. He felt the edge of pain like a dull reminder of the numerous injuries he’d sustained, but he ignored those. They didn’t matter. He had to fight on and he had to kill these monsters. They not only deserved to die, but they needed to pay for what they had done. For those who had died. The man who’d seen Farie fight this day and had not seen him fighting before knew that their leader wasn’t like his father. Farie didn’t fight behind them and he didn’t sit his horse and watch. He fought along side them and he bled to defend them. He fought with single minded purpose.

Together with Cordian and the Demigods Farie felt a hope he hadn’t before. Determined to die fighting and knowing that they were outnumbered and it had all been in vein no longer made up his thoughts instead his mind was filled with hope. He saw the hoard of Tutari growing thinner as they fought. Saw the Tutari die in greater number then when he’d been fighting alone with Cordian and his men. Now with the Demigods doing more then just killing their enemies moral was rising. The fight was renewed with fervour.

As the Tutari fell before their blades it became more important then ever to keep fighting. Spirits rose at the sight of the carnage. Farie screamed out in triumph as the last of the large group of Tutari fell to his blade leaving the field temporarily clear. For a moment Farie stopped and looked around him. That is when he saw Barth.

---

Cordian was bathed in the river of life and he felt the power inside him. Adrenaline coursed through his system as he screamed out his anger and desire to deal a fatal blow to his enemies. His laughter resumed. His laughter was dark and he took great pleasure in plunging his blade into the enemy. He felt as if his whole world was surrounded by blood and death and he was right at home in the carnage.

For Cordian it was simple. Kill or be killed. He had no intention on being the one who was killed so he fought to end them all. They would all die. And now that the Demigods were on their side there would be nothing stopping them! No one could stop them.

As the last Tutari fell to his blade Cordian laughed and looked for another to kill. For a moment he found the hoard around him to be lying at his feet and it made him grin from ear to ear a truly mad smile. He regarded Farie.

”We bath in blood today!” he declared with enthusiasm looking for the others and taking the brief reprieve from the fight to survey the scene around him. That’s when he found Barth leading a charge just a few yard from their position and they could easily meet up with the oncoming charge.

---

Farie looked away from Barth and the oncoming charge to Cordian. He let his face split into a small smile. Farie felt nothing of joy in this chaos. He hated battle and he hated the loss they were suffering, but he had no time to deal with this now. There was something going on. Something bigger.

Farie looked away from Cordian and studied Barth’s charge for a quick few seconds just as they were drawing close to his location. That’s when he saw it. That’s when it dawned on him. He looked at the oncoming enemy again and saw the Drorghans. The huge beasts were the center of it all. If the monsters fell they could easily overtake the Tutari now. Well ok not easily, nothing in war was ever easy, but it would be feasible.

”We will join up with Barth’s company,” Farie said to the man around him and Cordian. There were cheers that went up. Just as there had been when they had been joined by the Demigods. There was life in the fighting men around them. In the company that had been brought by Farie. His father’s men where his now Farie knew that with certainty as he gazed at their faces. They would listen to his voice. They would hear him not as the child he’d been when he followed in his father’s shadow, but as the leader he’d become. He saw that now, clear as day. In that moment everything made sense. What Barth was doing, wasn’t different then what he’d done by being in the trenches, by fighting on the front lines. It was hope. It was leadership. It was the key to winning.




"Your commander must know something I don't know," Benen said as he hefted the large halberd in his grip, serious eyes fixed on Barth's position. "A line of mortals, charging forward to meet those beasts? We should lend our support, Brother."

"Of course," Roth replied jovially, twirling his own weapon as if he were a carefree child with a stick. "We can aid them with assistance on the field, as well as with some of my exceptional jokes to lighten the mood. Say, Brother, what do you call a deaf man?"

"Roth, now isn't the time fo-"

"Nothing! Because he can't hear you anyway!"

Benen rubbed his eyes wearily; in the distance the Drorghans continued to move closer, and finally Roth seemed to grasp the urgency of the moment.

"Ah, yes, of course we can support the prince and his line of defenders, Benen. A fine idea. That is, if the Lord Knight will have us?"

He looked questioningly at Farie, though the smile remained on his face as the other Demigod turned to regard the knight as well.




Farie had to think for a moment as he watched the Demigods banter back and forth and couldn’t help the chuckle at Roth’s humour. He did enjoy the man’s enthusiasm. It took a few long moment for Farie to think over their offer. It was after all an astonishing offer. One that would dearly help in their upcoming fight. However, as he watched Barth, it became clear that he couldn’t accept their offer. If he accepted their offer to aid in this fight it would undo all that Barth was doing.

He shook his head slowly as he spoke his voice soft, but loud, determined, ”I cannot accept you help in this fight, though I am honoured beyond measure to have fought by your side and to have such an offer made again to renew the fight once more by our side. I cannot accept your offer however. It would undo all that our Commander is doing in this charge. We must face this united and without the gods or demigods to aid us. I pray that you will fight in this war with us. That you will continue to lend your aid in another way. On another front,” Farie said his voice thought determined held and edge of regret. For there was nothing more he would wish then to bring the Demigods with him into this fight. He knew however, that to do this and to win that Barth was right, they had to face these monsters alone. Human against beast and he would be seen fighting with Barth so that all Soluunar was united in one front. It was no longer about their differences. There could be no differences amongst the mortals of Soluunar now. Now above all other times they had to be one front. One army. One people.

He could hear the hushed murmurs beginning around him as he finished speaking. He knew his choice was not a popular one, but there was nothing to be done about it now. It had to be this way. Barth had seen that. He'd known that and that was what had led the Commander to lead this charge himself. It was with this that Farie knew he would need to follow through. He would lead his men to meet up with Barth in that fight. To continue that destruction of these monstrous beasts.




Benen's mouth opened, and for once Roth was speechless - the moment passed, and then they looked at each other, exchanging a glance of mingled surprise and comprehension.

"I have lived many centuries and fought in many battles, Lord Knight, and I can truly say that this… this is new to me," Benen said with a smile that mirrored the one on the face of his brother. "It is not just any man that would turn down help from the Gods."

"Indeed," Roth agreed with a nod, watching Farie closely. "Full of surprises, these mortals."

Benen grunted and moved forward, clapping a sturdy hand against Farie's chest plate as he nodded towards Cordian.

"We will meet again, Farie Shalerin."

Surprisingly, Roth had no humor to inject into the moment; he watched Cordian and Farie for a moment, nodding with an uncharacteristically solemn look on his visage.

"And remember the fallen, lest you join them."

The Demigods were suddenly shrouded in the same blue light they'd been outlined by earlier, and with incredible speed they launched themselves into the sky.




Farie regarded the two with mingled sadness and longing. How he wished he could accept their offer. To fight by their side had been an honour he had never expected and it was something he would never forget. It had to be done and as much as he regretted it. He understood the necessity and prayed that it wouldn’t mean his life. Or needless death.

”In war a man finds out the true strength of his character. The Gods willing your help here today will have given us the turning tide to win this war. Soluunar must unite. All differences myst be cast aside and we must rise to the challenge to defend our own world from those who would take all we hold dear. Gods willing we will succeed. What the Commander of this force does in this moment will give the humans of this world the hope that they need to keep fighting even in the face of the worst monster in existence,” he was no longer simply speaking to the Demigods now. His words were meant for the ears of his man. Those who’s whispered words of insanity reached his ears. He knew what they were thinking from the looks they gave him and the hushed words he caught here and there.

As he finished and let those words sink in he turned back to the Demigods and spoke once more even as they withdrew ”It was the greatest honour of my life to have fought side by side with you, may we life to fight together again!” A solemn oath to never forget. To never waver in his faith and belief in the gods. From this day forwards Farie would be a devoted follower. Dedicated to the Gods in a way he'd never been before. Yes he had faith in them, believed in them, but now he had stood side by side and bled with Demigods. That changed a man. It had changed Farie.

---

Cordian was simply dumbfounded by Farie’s words and the sudden turn of events. The elation he’d felt at the offer to continue fighting with the Demigods died in an instant. Leaving behind a crater of smoking anger. He turned that anger to Farie once the Demigods were no longer standing with them. His dark angry gaze focused on his long time friend and the words that Farie had spoken echoed into his mind.

“Have you lost your mind?” Cordian demanded of Farie. The same thing he saw mirrored in the face of the man around him. Those thoughts were prevalent on everyones mind. Had Farie finally broken? Was the madness now complete? He had to wonder.

”No Cordian,” Farie said softly. His eyes met Cordian’s angry gaze. ”Think of this strategically Cordian. If we defeat these monsters without the Gods how much more hope and strength will that give this army? That is the brilliance of Prince Barth’s tactic. His actions will garner the trust of the mortals of Soluunar to unite against their common enemy regardless of kingdoms and families. Regardless of beliefs and customs. We will be united as one under a single banner. If we fight united now the tide of this war could change surely you must see this.

Cordian remained silent for a long moment regarding Farie and in the distance as the engagement began not a dozen feet away from them. Close enough that they could easily join in. Cordian watched the strength and ferocity of the attack. And in that moment he saw what Farie meant. He nodded and said softly, ”aye, you are right,” before he turned to face the man around him grinning. "We fight! We kill! WE WIN!" he called out raising his sword high in the air just at the ground beneath the Drorghan fell. The man facing Cordian saw in awe that sight and what it signified for this war. A cheer rose up from them. Bloody weapons rose into the air in a thunderous clap of steel on steel.

---

Farie turned to see the man gathered around him. There was still doubt in their eyes, but there was steel there too. Time for words were done and it was time for the actions to speak louder then war. He raised his sword high into the air and screamed. A moment after Cordian and the cheer rose up he saw that doubt shatter. Saw the determination return to their bright eyes. He screamed louder this time that same word.

”FOR SOLUUNAR!” he screamed in triumph and in answer before he turned and ran towards the battle intent on joining Barth’s charge as it engaged the enemy. The scream was echoed by the man with him and by Cordian as they fell in behind Farie. Ready for war. Ready for battle. Ready to win.

In the back of his mind Farie silently whispered a prayer, a simple answer to the last of the spoken words by the Demigods. Knowing his thoughts and prayer would be as heard as his spoken words. For after all so many prayers were uttered in the silence of the mind. I hope and pray that those who have fallen will never be forgotten, not because we fear to join them, but because they gave it all for their home. They died so that Soluunar could have a chance. For that we remember and pray. He held those silent words as his own personal prayer. The one he hoped to speak over their graves one day. The message their loved one deserved to hold in their hearts as they remembered those who had fallen. As the world turned, as the next dawn would come, he hoped and prayed that those who lived to see it would never forget their sacrifice. Farie had hope now that the future of Soluunar was not a bleak one, but one that would see them free of this terror. He would fight to rid this world of the nightmare he faced so that his children and his children's children never had to.

_________________


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View Likes PostPosted: Thu Jun 25, 2015 4:11 pm 
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And into the valley of death rode the Five Hundred, fearing no enemy for their faith steeled them as armour. A line from The Ballad of The Companions, one that she had often thought of before making her own way into each and every scrap she had ever participated in. In a supreme display of bravery, The Companions had ridden into battle with a forgotten enemy clad only in festival clothes. It occurred to her that the ones forging into this particular valley of death rode only Shanks' Pony, charging forward with little regard for their own safety to engage foes many times their size and strength, a display that at least rivalled the story. It was insanity. Suicide.

With fascinated horror, unable to look away, Daria could simply watch as the Allied line surged forward at the urging of it's commander, heading into certain death on an order and a prayer. She wouldn't have hesitated to do the same, she knew that, and there was a small measure of professional respect filtering into her conscious mind at the actions of these national troops, amateurs though they were. But still she couldn't bring herself to imagine the slightest chance for victory. She doubted her lancers could either. But nor would they imagine running. This fight was to the death.

To her shock, a rare enough occasion to cause comment, as the hopelessly outmatched humans reached the hulking shapes of the Drorghans something utterly incredible took place. With serried roars of indignation, if the beasts were capable of such complex emotion and it wasn't simply anger at being unable to get the proper leverage to crush more soldiers, the great monsters fell... Straight down. It was if the earth had just given way beneath their feet, swallowing them up to the point where they were now within striking distance of the hand weapons of the infantrymen. They were still a significant threat, as evidenced by the intermittent rise and fall of the boulders chained to their wrists, but one by one the Drorghans died. Hardly the last barrier to triumph, but definitely a significant one. As yet another otherworldly weather strike ploughed through the nearby Tutar and the humans fell back, Daria had the distinct impression that something about them was wrong, as if they weren't quite being held back by the laws of the world like normal people. She dismissed the thought, banishing everything from her head but the task at hand.

Nudging Stepper from her place in the front rank she walked him forward about ten steps, just far enough forward to be able to still see her entire force, and turned to face them. One hundred files wide, five ranks deep. The steel clad heart of the fist that aimed to save the world of men, to hammer their foes until breaking upon an anvil of courage, determination and cutting edges. If they weren't so desperate she might have been proud. Even with her visor up only her eyes were visible, her face protected by the chain ventail laced into her coif. Staring back at her were near on five hundred faces in similar states, some covered, some not, some with visors up, some down. Time to give these dead souls their rites.

"Heart Guard! Eyes front!" Pitching her voice to slice through the clamour was a trick she had learned as a Sergeant. It was essential as far as she was concerned.

"You have been called to give your lives for greater purpose! The time is now! Will you answer? Will you fight?" The Founding Words. Said before battle. Everyone knew them. Few knew the why. All knew the answer.

"UNTIL DEATH!" It was a promise. Not only to friend and foe that they would never flee, but to themselves. They would die in battle or in bed, but until that moment came they would fight with every ounce of strength left to them. It was an odd sentiment for those who fought for coin, but some things were better left unquestioned by most. The cry was accompanied by the semi-melodious ripple of warhorns. Now THAT part was the challenge directed at their enemies.

Satisfied with her troops, Daria turned once more to face hell again, sat at the head of five hundred lances which in turn sat ahead of thousands more. It was only lack of orders holding them back now. Down there waited the worst enemy ever to trouble humanity. Her ancestors had decreed their enslavement wrong, but killed them anyway. She doubted the Tutar would take that into consideration when they killed her. So it fell to her and people like her to finish the job, as impossible as it was. They were ready.

"...to Spit in the Eye of the Void on the last day." At least that if nothing else.





Two riders approached from the carnage ahead, battered and bloody from the fighting. She didn't recognise one, but the other had something of a reputation that was impossible to miss. Plus he matched the descriptions she had heard of him. Prince-Commander Barth Krinwulf, leader of this Alliance, had an air of command. One that was only slightly dampened by the the layer of viscera and dirt that caked him. Daria favoured him with a short nod as he passed by on his way to Resuran. Nothing more. There would be time for pleasantries later, when she was in less danger of having her head forcibly removed.

Whatever he had to say was incredibly brief. The prince wheeled his steed and waved them forward, not sparing a single look for the Lord Knight who he had rather forcibly ejected from command. The man seemed to take it well. Still, he was a Lebi Knight. He could be plotting revenge for the brusque mannerisms already.

Cavalry, unlike infantry, don't start their march all at once. The horses won't respond instantaneously, riders may miss the initial order and so on. This all makes for a rather ragged start to any advance. A good cavalry unit is marked by their ability to recover and then hold formation for their run. This time was different. This time Daria witnessed thousands of horses stepping forward as one, causing a thunderous thump to echo around. With a murderous grimace no-one could see, she slammed her visor shut.

Dropping back into the formation was like coming home. The feel of the knees on either side of her, the stink or horses, fear and oil. The clank and clatter of plate coupled with the rattle and jangle of chain. Next to her the massive white silk square, emblazoned with a flaming heart, that served as the company standard started to catch some breeze. Soon it would fly. The warhorns hammered out a cacophony of overlapping sound, driving them on. Three hundred yards left. The entire formation shifted into a canter. Riders started leaning forward. Swords left shoulders where they had rested, lances angled forwards in ready positions. Without thinking and without any conscious coordination the Heart Guard's officers slipped into another warcry, this one spoken in the gibberish that was combat cant, a meaningless language that relayed orders by set key phrases. Two hundred yards.

"Los valdar Cuebiyari!" One hundred and fifty. Now to the gallop, lances couched, sword points forwards. A wall of steel and flesh bearing down on a foe that held them in contempt.

"UUUUURRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!" A wordless scream of defiance. They crashed home.

In reality to Tutar stood very little chance against formed and charging cavalry. Their lack of armour made them vulnerable. They lacked the appropriate skills or desire to defend themselves. Those that had spears still, used them ineffectively. They were outmatched here, their advantages taken away in the face of those with greater mastery of them. And they died by the dozens for it.

The first impact sent a brutal vibration up the iron reinforced lance in Daria's hand and it speared through the neck of the first Tutar she hit. The lance head ripped through and kept going, leaving the dying monster to be crushed under the weight of those that came behind. She skewered more as they came into range, aiming to puncture vital organs in the upper torso or head to maximise her chances of retrieving her lance afterwards. They swept further, making sure to keep to the flanks of the giant sinkhole.

But it was not all going their way. Daria felt more than saw her lancers falling around her, felled by hastily thrown or braced spears or by the treacherous ground underhoof, so muddied and blood soaked as to occasionally trap a horses leg and send both it and it's rider crashing to the ground to die under the hooves of their comrades. There were probably even more deaths amongst the less armoured Lindenians and Lebis, though the Knights might have fared better than most. The sobering thought that Prince Barth may well have been killed leading this effort crossed her mind on more than one occasion, floating across the emptiness within like a firefly on a clear night. The calls from behind to close on the centre were becoming incessant.

There was no time to dwell on that though. Battle had been joined. They would have to start being clever soon, start pulling back to reform and charge again. But for now, there were monsters to kill.


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View Likes PostPosted: Tue Jun 30, 2015 1:19 am 

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Tired. Ausan felt fatigue works its way into her bones, into her muscles and the pain in her side that had been a dull ache since she impacted with the spear from that Tutar while she ran to save Barth was now a constant sharp pain. Mainly whenever she thought to take a deep breath as if there was something lodged there beneath her armor and worked its way deeper at an agonizingly slow rate. Which, in the light of the speed that she moved now said something, and not something good; and yet she had no plans to stop.

With the Demi-Gods at her sides, the trio moved like a well-oiled machine. She ducked, they attacked. She spun, they rolled. Certainly they lacked the natural bond and connection that she and Barth shared, but for their first time she would give them credit where it was due. The only issue she truly saw was that there was no end to this mass of violence and chaos. It would not be the first time she had fought these beasts, but there had always been an end, even if the end had been them retreating they had been an end to it all.

Yet, here and now there could be no end. This was it. This was the last stand of the race of man and there was no stopping. Even if the blades in her hands began to feel more like rods of lead, she would fight on. There was no rest, not when Linden depended on her, not when Barth depended on her.

A spear is thrown with a bit more skill than the others prior flew past and nicked her shoulder. The force of the attack caused her to half turn though it hardly slowed her down. Instead, she turned with the momentum and took off at a run toward one of the twins.

“Assistance!” she shouted though she did not stop.

The Tutar he was engaged with was knocked back so that he could summon a wall of wind at his shoulder. With the beast bearing down on the both of them, on her next step Ausan jumped, placed both feet on his shoulder of wind, coiled and pushed off. The spittle from the between the Tutar’s lips splattered her face, ignored as she clenched her gauntlet fist and connected with its jaw. To say that it broke on contact was an understatement. With the assistance of the wind she shattered his jaw, sent a tusk up into the roof of his mouth. Poor bastard did not die instantly, but he fell back to lay there on the ground and watch the rest of the world fade into blackness while he bled into his brain.

Feet back on the ground she shook out her fist glad for it seeming to be mostly intact, sore as ****, but in what appeared to be working order.

“You’re welcome,” the Demi-god said with a grin, his presence suddenly beside her as they enjoyed the briefest of pauses in the carnage.

“Thank you,” she said though Ausan kept her eyes on the field around them and not on the Demi who spoke to her.

“So, how long have you and Barth been a thing?” the second asked when he joined them.

“Wh…What?!” she asked a bit thrown off her game.

“You know. Like being together,” the first asked. “How long?”

“Um…” she struggled with an answer only for the trio to be interrupted by the roar of a Tutar. “Oh! Thank the Goddess!” she whispered and went with some extra pep in her step to dispatch the beast.

“I mean you two are together, yes?” the initial asker of the question brought up while they fought. “We can just….feel this bond between the two of you.”

“Oh Naiya…please shut them up!” she muttered under her breath and jumped over the low swing of the Tutar. “No. We aren’t.” She finally answered if only to shut them up.

“Then why the death glare at the young female when she looked at him?” they asked nearly in unison.

A spin, followed by a block and then a final thrust to the Tutar that had loomed before them, which left her with some conflicting emotions; ones that she did not want to think about right then. On the one hand there came the rush that always came at the moment of victory over a foe. On the other came the frustration that without a distraction she might actually have to answer these two. Answer a question she had warred with herself for years now.

How she felt about Barth…what he meant to her…

“Because…” she started and stopped, a glance about the area revealed the Tutar were away from them for the moment. “Because…because…” she stammered and raked her fingers through her hair in frustration. “He…I…” then before the rest could come tumbling forth she felt….something. Like a pang…in her heart. The cutting of a string would be the closest description to the sensation and her gaze went to the woods as if there held the key to this sudden sensation.

“WOAH! YAH! HERE COMES THE CALVERY!”

The shouts of her companions broke her from the momentary daze and she watched with a smirk as they charged forth. With Barth…in the front…on her horse…

“Naiya, please protect them both,” she whispered in prayer to her Goddess.

“Come! Let’s get moving they are going to need back up!” Ausan said to the twins who nodded and followed after her in a charge on foot toward the Tutar. An “army” of three they were and she was glad for the attention being back on combat and not herself, or how she felt about Barth.




Weylyn drew another arrow from his quiver; the feathers tickled his cheek as the string was pulled back. The tension in his muscles held along with a breath he sighted down the shaft at a Tutar and released his breath along with the arrow when the moment was just right. He never missed, it was a gift born from years of training that only improved the longer he lived. Day in and day out he trained so that when the time came he could be ready. So, that he could hunt and protect his lands.

One after one, Tutar after ****ing, Tutar were felled by one of his arrows. His wolves, his family circled and darted about through the trees taking down those who slipped past his arrows. They kept him safe up close and he continued to fire without pause. Off, some distance from him, he knew the humans fought just as hard. It seemed that today they might just win, at least until the ground shook…
It was chaos from then on.

Animals yelped and howled in confusion, to the point he had to command them back to just get his chance to fire once more. The earth, it collapsed in on itself and caused a line of human archers to fall into a death trap with a hoard of Tutar bearing down on them. Even as he drew his next arrow and prepared to find cover he saw something that turned his blood to ice. A human male and his warriors abandoned the archers. Backed away and left without looking back. Cowards.

There was no time to pursue, no time to hunt them down like the slim they were. There was an archer trapped down below, a familiar archer that spurned Weylyn’s actions. Verana, or as she was known in the heavens, Windstring ; an archer of exceptional skill and dedication, one of the maidens to the bold prince. This woman did not deserve to die this day, not like this and not at the hands of such beasts as the Tutar. No. Weylyn would ensure she lived and saw the next day! If only so that he could watch her cram her fist down the throat of the bastard who abandoned her, she would live to see the next day!

Time slowed and it was on their side, but there were just too many of them. For every two he killed another four took their place. Even as Verana, fought with everything she had it was just not enough, she had to get out of there. He had to get her out of there.

“Falcor!” he barked for one of his wolves, even as he continued to fire, two or three arrows at a time. “GET DOWN THERE! I NEED YOU TO GET DOWN THERE AND GET HER OUT OF THERE!” The wolf had not gone two steps when Weylyn knew he would never get there.

Another arrow notched and released. Too soon perhaps? In his haste to get to her, he might had made a mistake and slipped up. The arrow released from his bow only to glance off the shoulder armor of the Tutar with the scimitar.

He missed.

He never missed.

Hand back to grab another arrow quickly, only to come up empty handed.

“No…”

Panic tore through his body as his spear was taken up then and he charged his way to the edge of the drop off. Down he fell as he jumped, eyes intent on the scene before him as he poured all he had into the charge, but knew that he was too late. That he would not get there in time.

I missed….

I never miss…

“Where the arrow has failed, the spear shall AVENEGE!!” he roared and hurled the weapon for all he was worth the moment Verana fell forward.

_________________

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View Likes PostPosted: Thu Aug 27, 2015 4:34 pm 

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So… the Demigods were joining the fight. It was a miracle! Soluunar was not doomed after all. There was a chance to turn this thing around!

From where he was, Alistair swore the sounds of battle had become amplified. This trench stank horribly of death. There were even some that were still alive down here, groaning, waiting until that moment they drew their last breath. He was sure they would die with pride, knowing that they had done everything they could to fight for all of Soluunar. He couldn’t wait for the fighting to be over so he could climb out of here and be on his merry way. He’d see another battle yet.

Trying to move hurt like a son of a ****ing, so he was stuck here for now. It had been pretty reckless of him to charge forward like that, but he felt like he had to do something! Hey, it was better than sitting around staring at those monsters. Or being eaten by them for that matter. Yeah, definitely better than being eaten alive. The corpses around him were enough proof of that; some of them even appeared to be half-eaten.

Alistair thought to himself, maybe it was a good thing he was unable to assess the damage. For all he knew, he could have skin hanging off his body or his intestines hanging out or worse. On the other hand, he knew he had to get out of here as well.

Just when Alistair thought he was getting out of here, there was a loud noise. There were shouts and cries, mostly cries of pain. He closed his eyes and remained still once again in hopes that anyone passing by would think he was dead. That plan seemed to work a hell of a lot better than he had expected; everyone was too busy focusing on the battle to notice him down here. But then again, this plan was thought up by him, in a last minute stroke of generous. Of course people wouldn’t realize he was still alive.

But then, out of nowhere, a Drorghan landed on top of him. His fate was sealed at that very moment, he decided.

Alistair let out a panicked breath. He was going to die! He was going to ****ing die, and there was nothing he could do about it. No matter how hard he struggled, he could not get free. He was going to ****ing die and nobody was around to even get him out of here! ****ing bastards…

His genius plan had worked too well. Part of him wondered if he should have thought this out a little better before he acted… Bah, nonsense. This was the only thing he could do!

Sucking in air, nearly gagging, the **** he was inhaling was absolutely dreadful, he made one final effort to try to wiggle free from this corpse. That was when he heard the snarls from overhead. He paused, swallowing hard. His entire body felt rigid and whatever pain he’d been feeling had completely vanished, replaced by fear. It… it had to be a Tutar! This was it. He really and truly was going to die here in this damned place…

------------------------------------

As Weylyn fought with spear and fists, he sent out his wolves.

“Find survivors. Save them and bring them back to camp.”

The command was simple and where Falcor felt he had failed the pale-skinned archer, he would not fail another. Not this day. Swift strides and large paws found purchase in blood soaked ground that would not have otherwise worked for a human. Nose to the wind, he scented the air and with a howl took off toward what he hoped would be a survivor.

A pile of dead and disgusting Tutar filled a trench. Smells that made him whine and shy away, but the faintest scent the one that mattered.

The scent of life.

Growls mixed with snarls of frustration the Dire Wolf dug through the bodies that were piled there. At last, he spotted movement and he lurched forth to snatch at a wrist and attempt to pull it free.

------------------------------------

Heat and… fangs? Something had latched onto Alistair’s arm.

He let out a yell, unable to hold back his terror any longer. “Let me go,” he screamed, trying to yank his arm away. He thrashed about while he was being dragged out. But any efforts to throw the beast did not seem to deter it. “Foul beast! I’ll skin you alive, I’m warning you!”

------------------------------------

Falcor could not understand just why the human he rescued fought against him. Surely, he had to know that he was there to help at the behest of his Master and pack mate. There was no other reason behind it and yet, this human fought him. The wolf doubted he would ever understand neither them, nor his Master’s fascination when it came to helping them on the rare occasions that they did. Like now, the creature thrashed about in jaws, which caused him to struggle to not slash through his tender and weak human flesh. When he was finally free, the wolf paced back, his head cocked to the side, ears alert as his tongue lolled out of his mouth to just stare at the man. This one he saved, as he was told and sadly, at the moment he did not smell anyone else near that could be saved.

So, with head cocked to the side, his tongue out the side of his mouth, he wagged his tail and waited for the human to speak to him.

------------------------------------

Allistair was lying on the ground, face down, muttering incoherently. This was it, he was done for. The beast was going to devour him. Eat him alive! Then he would take his bones back to the Tutar as a trophy… Oh, he wished he could have just slunk away from the battle and taken that nap like he’d wanted to. It would have spared him… this…

When nothing happened, he looked around, only to see the beast (which he had realized was a wolf, a rather large one at that, but still called it a beast regardless) was still there.

He glowered, “What? Are you going to play with your food before eating it? Does this amuse you?”

------------------------------------

That large wolf lowered its head and whined, more akin to whimpered at the human before him. Tail, wagged slowly from side to side, as he just laid there and whined at the man.

------------------------------------

If this beast was going to eat him, why wouldn’t it just hurry up and do it already?

Alistair just did not understand. He was already ****ing, so… Oh. Then again, perhaps it didn’t want to eat him. Maybe he was losing his mind, but perhaps this beast was sent to get him? Nah. He was pretty sure that everyone thought he was dead.

“Wait… you can understand what I’m saying?” He asked the beast, unsure of whether he was losing his mind. Hell, maybe he was already dead. “Oh whatever. I’m out of that filthy trench now. I’ve probably lost my mind but… get me out of here, will you?”

------------------------------------

The wolf rose to its paws and yipped at the confused man. The tail moved from side to side in a blur of happiness as the man finally got it through its head that he was not going to eat him. Not that he was opposed to eating men, but he had been sent to save others not eat them. Another yip followed as the mighty wolf practically pranced in place before he moved closer to the man and lowered himself down into his stomach. The tail, still moved from side to side, though the pace was slower as it waited for the man to climb atop him so that he could get him away from the battle and to the safety of their camp.

------------------------------------

Alistair gave a grunt, picked himself up off the ground, and slowly mounted the beast. “Good boy,” he muttered. “Let’s go.”

On the way, he was getting mixed feelings. He was alive, and that was great, but he really didn’t want to be seen as a coward for hiding like he had. Oh well. He was sure he would come up with something. He would have come back eventually, well, had he not been buried like that anyway.

He sat up as straight as he could to appear more heroic.

That would just have to be his little secret.

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View Likes PostPosted: Sun Aug 30, 2015 3:55 pm 

It is a hollow shell of what it once was.

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-ENVIRONMENTAL POST-



Soluunar




“I’m joining the fight. If there are consequences for my actions, then so be it. The people of Soluunar… It is wrong to ignore them!”


Gaius waved his staff, focusing his efforts on the immense tide of black steel and snarling fangs on the far side of the field. The cyclone came down from the sky, not as strong as the others but still enough to do damage; Gaius leaned on the ancient length of wood, sweat beading his brow, as the near-constant strain on his power since arriving on Soluunar was finally taking its toll. But then something happened.

The tornado shot back up into the sky, and came back down in four spots at once, each one roughly the same size as the original, as a tremendous storm cloud swirled in the middle of the four. Lightning cut across the sky, thunder rumbled as if coming from every direction at once, and then there was ice, jagged daggers of it, swirling around, cutting through the forces, impaling Tutar left and right, even as hailstones the size of coconuts dropped down on them. Gauis could only stare in shock.

"But how? How could… unless…"

He turned around and stared at the Goddess, his fatigue mingling with relief as he understood what was happening.

"Karessa. You waste little time, it would seem."

She was a sight to behold. Sparkling blue eyes, brown hair and a long silver dress lent little doubt as to who she was for her fellow immortals. Although she did not have the look of a warrior, she carried a fearsome power that rivaled that of the other Elder Gods assembled there, a power that those around her could sense with ease. Many of the brave soldiers stopped what they were doing to take in what was happening. Some of them looked frightened, some bewildered.

“Oh no… It’s… it’s just like Thaam!” One of them cried. “This really is the end of us…” The poor man fell to his knees and began to pray, not to Karessa. The people of Soluunar had stopped their prayers to her after her counterpart’s arrogance struck fear into their hearts.

“Thaam’s Ghost? Here?” Another commented.

“Are even the Gods without mercy?”


Rather than despair, Karessa used this as encouragement and continued her onslaught. She would use her powers of frost to strike the very same fear into the Tutar!




Upper Regions




"Hello, Naiya."

The Elder Goddess turned around quickly, recognizing the voice before she could see the speaker. There was no mistaking it; Freiya was one of the most recognizable of all the Upper Regions' denizens, even if many felt somewhat uncomfortable in her company. She wasn't a very warm woman, but it made sense that the Circle would have a personality to balance out Valiya's approachability. It didn't make talking to her any more enjoyable, though.

"Lady Freiya," Naiya said softly with a deferential lowering of her eyes as she fought to keep her voice neutral, "I wasn't expecting company."

"You are playing a dangerous game."

She blinked, staring up and into the Circle Goddess' cold scrutiny.

"I don't understand."

"That is correct," she retorted, her face as blank as it always was as she moved deeper into Naiya's home. Although the woman had never set foot inside before, she didn't seem too concerned with observing her surroundings; her eyes were like blue chips of ice, staring right through Naiya and making her fight down the sudden urge to tremble. "You don't understand. You are playing with forces that go far beyond what you can comprehend, you silly girl."

While Seagan Kahz had hardly doffed his hat to her, it was still somewhat jarring to be spoken to like that, even by a Circle Goddess. Naiya felt her jaw drop with surprise, but a moment later irritation woke up in her as she took an angry step forward.

"Now listen he-"

"You believe because Malinar warms your bed a few times a century, that you understand the workings of the Circle? That he would exempt you from his rage when he discovers your interference?"

Naiya's retort died on her lips; the conversation she had with Akryanus flashed through her mind, and a cold feeling spread through her body as the truth became clear.

"He is visiting with Kahz now," Freiya said as she turned to leave. "I do not envy you, Naiya."

The next few moments were a frenzied blur. She remembered leaving her home, reaching the woods and plunging into the tree-line, ignoring the voice in the back of her mind attempting to warn her. She was moving, very quickly, towards a potentially dangerous situation, and none of her Demigods were anywhere in sight. She stifled her misgivings with an angry shake of her head; there was nothing to worry about. Nothing to-

When she arrived at the clearing where she'd received the cryptic message from Master Kahz, the old soldier was nowhere to be seen. The fire was out, and the pit was a circle of black, burnt logs and soot. But the place wasn't deserted. Nearly twenty feet laid between her and Malinar, yet the God of Chaos seemed to clear the distance in no more than three steps, his long brown hair remaining in place in spite of his quickness.

"You've been busy, Naiya."

His voice was soft, hardly more than a whisper, and it sent a chill down her spine. She had seen him livid, furious and shouting, but never like this. There was something in his eyes that terrified her.

"Malinar, please, you must listen to me, I didn't-"

The hand moved with enough speed to make it invisible as the backside of a gauntlet connected with her cheek. Both feet left the ground, though a moment later her whole body connected with it as she landed hard in the dirt. The wind had been knocked out of her, and she tasted blood in her mouth as she blinked dazedly up at the towering man.

"Don't waste your breath, you ignorant ****ing. I know exactly what you did. Felisin Airstrider saw you speaking to Akryanus near the tree-line, and I later saw him speaking to Skyhand, who was hardly subtle about the nature of the visit. The whole thing stunk of Galaia, and Kahz denied just enough for me to be sure he was trying to protect you."

Naiya pushed herself doggedly to her feet, a muscle in her cheek twitching as fear turned into rage - no one had the right to lay hands upon Naiya Flamecloak, Malinar or not. In the blink of an eye both hands were clutching fireballs, though the stare she threw into his face carried more heat than either of the flaming orbs. As her anger grew, so did the heat around her, until she was wreathed entirely in fire - the cloak for which she was named was upon her, but in an instant it was extinguished and the power drained from her body with alarming speed as a large hand closed around her neck. Her feet left the ground and her back was slammed up against a tree trunk. Water leaked from the corners of her eyes as Malinar's grip tightened; his brown eyes blazed with fury, but his face was still and calm, making for a horrific sight as she choked under the strength of his hand.

"Are you going to fight me, Naiya? Will you stand against Malinar, most powerful of the Upper Regions, to defend your new champion, the silver-headed fool who weeps for the damned?"

Her vision blurred and darkened, and the world around her shifted out of focus as she continued to struggle in vain against his grip. He was too powerful - she was like a child, compared to him, and if he wanted to kill her there was nothing she could do about it. She would pay for her betrayal.

Just as she began preparing for the end, thinking sadly of the lives of those on Soluunar who fought even then in her name, the hand around her neck released her and she slid painfully down to the ground, only barely managing to keep from falling.

She looked up, blinking rapidly, as Malinar turned to watch the man who had two broadsword tips at his throat.

"Leave here, Malinar."

The God of Chaos smirked, his features displaying nothing but disdain as he regarded the ancient Demigod.

"Surely you jest, Kahz."

"You wouldn't be the first God I've killed," Master Kahz growled for a reply, his own face a mask of intense dislike. There was no fear in his eyes, but Malinar's demeanor made it clear that he considered the man to be no more threatening than a particularly aggressive wasp.

"A twitch of a finger and I could turn you into a scorch mark on the ground," the Circle God replied, as if there weren't two razor sharp blades a hair's width away from his neck. "Do not make me send you to your beloved, Kahz."

The Demigod only stared, his eyes narrowed, the two swords perfectly still; after some time had passed in silence, Malinar snorted and turned, striding out of the clearing as if Naiya wasn't even standing there. "The old fool was right," he muttered as he disappeared into the trees.

"Anger cannot undo…"




Soluunar




For Barth, time often slowed down when strategy and patience gave way to blood and steel. Simple movements became calculated, drawn out affairs, and the lives extinguished at the edge of his sword each took a moment to flee from the world, leaving behind their empty vessels as he turned slowly to the next targets. This time was different, however.

The cavalry's charge was like an avalanche, traveling down a horizontal mountain that still lent the horsemen speed akin to a vertical drop as they flew from safety and temporary peace, heading straight towards death and destruction. Cries rose up as they neared their enemies, the Heart Guard's voices ringing out in a language Barth couldn't understand, but in short order all sounds escaped their usefulness to him. The world was plunged underwater, and every voice sounded like it had come from a mile away.

He rode at the very front, and although he could feel others behind and to either side of him he only had eyes for the sea of horns and fanged mouths merely fifty yards away. The crude shapes of savage weapons and primitive armor awaited them, many in number but the cavalry held no fear in their hearts - Barth was silent, his face in a soundless snarl as they reached their enemies, and in that instant he knew that there was not a single one of his men that feared death.

They could not fear death, for that is what they had become.

"Linden!" he shouted as he liberated the first head from the body underneath; there was so much speed to the charge that the next Tutar to fall to him was simply crushed under the hooves of Ausan's horse before Barth even had time to bring the blade back around. "Come Symas!" he said as the longsword's blade went straight through a throat and cleaved out through the side, liberating itself with little difficulty as he continued to advance towards the massive sinkhole. "Come friend, and let us lay ruin!"

The Tutari horde was crumbling in the face of the cavalry's charge; the Heart Guard was a massive, mailed fist that gave them the kind of edge they needed (if not for their timely arrival there was no telling what would have happened), and the Drorghans' demise had already represented a massive blow to the Ravine's forces. There were more Tutar at the far end of the field, a writhing, living sea of monsters, but as Barth looked skyward he felt a new hope rise within him.

A tornado turned into four, and a bolt of lightning gave way to an ice storm that rained frozen death down upon the Tutari reserves. The demons were trapped between the wrath of the Gods and the oncoming charge of swords and lances, and even as a loud shout rose up among the Allies, a frenzied, collective shriek seemed to come from every Tutar at once. They saw their doom before them.

"End them!" Barth screamed as he passed the sinkhole and slashed at a bestial face, his own likely looking just as ferocious as the one he assailed. But the next swing of his sword was less successful.

The blade became lodged in the collarbone of a gigantic Tutar fighting with the ferocity of a cornered beast; the longsword's hilt was ripped from Barth's grasp, although Symas continued to carry him forward and beyond the monster who'd accidentally disarmed him. The next Tutar lumbered into his path, fangs bared victoriously as it spotted an unarmed target. Compared to many of the Tutar Barth had encountered in his time on the field it looked young. Young and impatient.

The prince reached out, as if attempting to seize his new adversary by the throat; as expected, the Tutar countered with an immediate downward slash of his scimitar, aiming to take Barth's arm off at the elbow. It could have gone for his torso, or for Symas, both of which were essentially unprotected, but instead the young warrior took the bait.

Barth withdrew his arm just in time, and before the Tutar could recover from the missed strike he slammed a hand into its face with a roar, hooking two fingers into its nostrils and yanking upward as the horse continued to urge him forward. The Tutar's feet left the ground for a moment and began skidding backward as it was dragged back, right into the scimitar of the Tutar behind it. "End them!" he repeated, even as the tip of the blade bursted out of the young warrior's chest. "End them all! Send them back to the shadows!"

The newly killed Tutar became entangled with several of his fellows as they fell back from the mounted onslaught, but Barth's attention was already fixed on the next scimitar he saw, protruding from a raised section of ground as if destined to be seized by a man in need of a weapon in a pinch. He grabbed it as he passed it, deciding that the crude craftsmanship was good enough for the time being. Plus, he'd never been much for spears. He grimaced at the substance that coated two of his fingers, and wiped it off onto the horse, feeling, impossible as it should've been, a sense of reproach coming from the animal. "Sorry," he whispered with a gentle pat on its neck, "and don't tell Ausan."

A quick glance at the field ahead showed him a sight he'd only dreamed would ever come to fruition. The Heart Guard and the Allied cavalry were doing their work, and although the chargers had suffered losses of their own it was obvious which side had the mastery. The ice storm continued to pummel the Tutar further away, and the entirety of the invading host was beginning to gravitate away from the places of engagement.

They were retreating.

_________________
Learning a simple lesson isn't always simple. Sometimes, you have to slowly lose everything great around you to understand the gravity of your shortcomings. Admit that your egos have grown too large, that you've lost your sense of what you realistically are, and maybe you can repair the road that has broken beneath the weight of your failings. Or maybe you'll just keep going as you've gone, and you'll learn nothing, and eventually, everything around you will become dust. To be honest, that's by far the likeliest of all outcomes.


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Sen knew they had made progress against the enemy. She had been there herself to see more than just a few of them crash to the blood-soaked soil, their thundering collapses lost amidst the sea of combat, but from her current vantage point it still seemed like square one out here. Bulging muscles and crude scimitars still aimed for her, the fury in the corresponding double-set eyes as unwavering as it had been from the moment her boots hit the ground. She saw a man fall to his knees not far from her position, body contorted in pain as his massive assailant prepared to deliver a final blow.

She pulled the thin longblade into both hands and tightened her grip, making a run for the soft axillary region of the Tutar’s exposed side. The plan didn’t exactly radiate finesse, but it had worked before… sort of.

Somewhere between confidence that she would make contact and too much momentum to stop even if she wasn’t going to make contact, the youngest Brigham saw the hind pair of burning eyes lock onto her own. Panic flooded her gut and self-preservation instinct tried to force a tactical change, even as her body realized it had no idea how to do that at this point in a charge. A hand that could easily crush her skull caught the blade as easily as a child would catch a lobbed stick, thick fingers wrapping with pointed, bloodthirsty slowness and tightening. As the metal snapped and crumbled like shards of glass in the Tutar’s fist, Sen could only blink at the shattered weapon still clutched desperately in her own grip. The creature reared back, re-preparing to demolish his victims and clearly planning to use no more than his highly-effective hands. Time slowed again (more than before? or had it sped again since then? she wasn't sure) and her legs seemed frozen as she stood in front of the kneeling swordsman. In a cruel twist, her brain allowed her to suddenly remember a pocket of training that explained exactly what she had done wrong just now.

Her mismatched eyes squeezed shut, phantom blots of color still dancing across her black view.

“Alle-oop!”

Her feet lifted from the ground and her equilibrium shifted dramatically, prompting her to arms to latch onto the nearest solid thing and eyes to fly open. Sen’s fingers dug into a soft fabric, pulling it toward her easily. One strong arm was wrapped firmly around her upper back, the other curled around the back of her knees, and though the woman (she was pretty sure of the female nature, given the details felt in such close proximity) was currently in the middle of a leap so high she was very nearly in flight, rarely had the raw warrior ever felt more secure so close to another person. The brightly blue hue of the woman’s aura glowed even more than before, increasing her semblance to a comet even at this distance; she could see the outline of a head with shaggy hair, but the details were hidden by the brightness of the halo. “How did you last this long, little lamb?” The tone was relaxed, and Sen could hear the smirk.

“Huh?” Considerably less confident-sounding, the woman landed from her unrealistic leap and released the blonde fighter in the same movement; at that instant, the whirling strips of silk that made up the unnatural tornado disappeared, only to reappear as a blinding light show. Sen knew there were more of them now, the painful brilliance of them buffeting her from a few angles, but more than that she couldn’t discern. The faded bands of wind had magnified in their intensity as well as quantity, and from the center of the swirling licks of brilliant lavender spouted a cumulous cloud of the palest blue. It was lighter than any white the woman had ever seen, but still unmistakably a sky, almost cobalt tone. No flame had ever burned this bright; the clouds, tornados, even the aura of the strange smirking woman stung Sen’s eyes, but she couldn’t close them. What was happening? Was this from the gods, or some Tutari trick? If the remaining mortal soldiers were blinded, they would be struck down as easily as a herd of sheep. Shielding her vision no longer helped, and both lids squeezed shut, one arm laying tightly over them as she stumbled backward.

“By the Dice, what did you do to her, Laiya?”

“Other than save her from becoming pulp? Nothing.”

A male voice had joined that of the cocky dark-haired woman, and though Sen still protected her over-sensitive retinas she knew this to be a momentary respite from the press of the enemy attacks; no heavy footfalls, no throaty roars or metallic clinks were within at least five yards. The man’s voice came again, sounding closer as he approached, though she could hear no step whatsoever. “‘Nothing’ my arse. I feel our Lady’s influence just the same as you.” His tone changed when he drew close enough to touch with an outstretched arm, from a mockingly fond lilt to something softer, huskier. “Let’s see then, high-roller.”

A strong hand gripped her wrist and pulled, gently but insistently, and Sen let her arm come away from her face. Immediately she was assailed by light through her lids, most of it a confusing shade of brightly dark navy blue. “Can’t say I know why it’s a problem, exactly,” he started, low voice echoing with curious amusement, “but there’s only one real difference, isn’t there?” Despite everything, Sen felt just a bit bashful as the man tied something around her head. It held fast at a diagonal, covering her recently-healed eye; immediately, the light that burned through her receptors lessened to a gentle presence. “Try that out. Come on, open up.”

“Hurry up, snake eyes. Might be hard to keep up if you’re busy mooning.”

Sen opened her eyes quickly, her first sight being the man’s face; even hooded as he was, she could make out a strong chin, high cheekbones and deep-set eyes. It made for a decidedly dark, smouldering sort of attractiveness, something only accentuated by the black of his thick hair and deep cobalt of his eyes. He flashed a bright white grin, maintaining eye contact with the storkish woman even as he answered his fellow, “Who's mooning?” He winked, then seemingly from out of nowhere drew a small short bow and promptly fired three arrows in one shot over Sen’s shoulder, his forearm a hair’s breath away from touching her nape.

She spun, just in time to see three creatures fall; two of them had a single arrow buried in their left eye sockets, and the third had a projectile spearing through its mouth and out the back of its skull… Sen wasn’t sure how that worked, considering the beast appeared to be at a complete right angle to the other two. Before confusion could melt away into the remembrance that logic no longer applied to this battle, the glowing woman called Laiya spoke again. “Only three, Luke? Waste of energy,” she scoffed, flipping her hood back up and leaping back toward the heat of the fighting. The blonde mortal noticed that the battlefield seemed considerably different than before; there were no sheets of floating film, no swirling tendrils of silken wind. The only thing to suggest the power of the gods (beyond the logic-defying combat) were faint glows around the comet-people, and even they were dimmed.

“I’ll show you a waste. Come then, high-roller. I’d hate to see you run through after I tore a perfectly nice cloak for you.” Sen’s confusion deepened as the dark-haired man winked, then turned around. “I think all the horses are spoken for, but I’m faster anyway.”

She remained still, facing the spot between the strange, aura-cloaked man’s shoulder blades. “… What?”

“Okay, now you really are wasting time.” He shifted backward before the last word, pushing his back into her torso and yanking her knees around his waist before she had even registered he was moving. Instinctively, Sen gripped with her legs as her feet left solid ground, arms flinging around his neck as he shot forward like one of the arrows he had fired only seconds ago.

“Welcome back, idiot,” came the shout, less than a minute after Sen regained a sense of awareness and almost a minute after the two of them re-entered the thick of the fighting. The man shifted and blue-coated throwing knives appeared in his right hand, flying past his fingertips so fast that Sen wasn’t sure she had actually seen them at all. She had no time to see if they had found their marks, but something told her they most certainly had. The shouter made an appearance, leaping like an unnatural gazelle alongside her cloaked counterpart. “I don’t know how to tell you this but,” she paused, spinning rapidly in mid-air and spearing no less than three Tutar through their necks before falling back into stride, “you seem to have a stowaway on board.”

“Funny, I was about to say the same to you,” this time he paused, using the top of an enemy’s head to push off his next leap and just happening to break its neck as he did so, “but then I saw you had merely gained some weight. Perhaps you need to train a bit harder, Liza.”

Sen heard the grin, but forgot it as her eyes lit on a particularly massive Tutar. Three of her Sisters surrounded it (inasmuch as three people could), blades and one spear drawn and ready but trying to draw the beast into attacking before they made a move. The creature had several arrows lodged in its chest, a small blade protruding from its side, and a much larger sword sticking out at an almost perpendicular angle from its clavicle; it fought with a particularly savage, unthinking aggression, desperation evident in its every move. Even from here, Sen could see that the three woman wouldn’t be enough. One arm came loose from the man’s shoulders and she pointed firmly toward the fiasco, “That way!”

“Hm?” Luke turned his head where she had indicated, then changed direction with his next leap. A spear, carved in Ravine-fashion and speeding from seemingly out of nowhere, came flying toward the duo- Sen shoved her ride’s shoulders forward and leaned her own body back, neatly avoiding the wicked point of the projectile. It would have been a fairly impressive event, except that she was now falling backwards from an awkward height into a pit of bladed monsters.

Just before her head dipped below the level of her hips, a thin, fast shoulder jutted into her stomach, knocking the wind from her even as it saved her from being impaled on a pair of waiting tusks. The corresponding arm wrapped around the back of her thighs, but she only jerked her head toward the huge Tutar and Lindenian women. “Over there!” she shouted again, stubborn resolve flooding her voice and half-gaze. The hood of the figure’s cloak rubbed against Sen’s side as she turned to face the indicated direction. “Aye, I see them,” she said, her voice huskier and very nearly deeper than even Luke’s, though distinctly female. For a brief second, Sen wondered how many hooded, midnight-blue aura’d people there could possibly be.

“Stay loose, soldier.” Without another word, she disconnected herself from the mortal, simply dropping from underneath her even as Sen remained propelled forward by the momentum. She knew that she should have panicked, that everything should have been moving too fast for her to function, but even as she rushed toward the desperate Tutar she felt the slowness. It wasn’t that the enemy wasn’t moving as quickly or that she had gained sudden speed in her skills; she was literally moving through the air at a manageable speed. Or, rather, her mind moved faster than the physical situation. It was surreal, but there was still little time to waste dwelling on it.

Her hands reached for the hilt of the uppermost blade, the one lodged in the chest. Even as her fingers wrapped around the well-worn sword, she saw no less than seven small, silvery-blue knives rush into the creature and penetrate deeply, not ending their journey until the force of her own trajectory had pulled the vast majority of the sword from the flesh. The combination of the long blade ripping out and at an angle, as well as the volley of precise, enhanced luck-knives had its desired effect; the desperate ferocity of the Tutar was cut short has its head was shorn almost completely from its shoulders. Only a few strips of flesh still connected it, and the larger sword hadn’t come completely free of the fresh corpse, but it collapsed to the ground with a small quake, the half-braided Sister coming to a halt in a pile of legs not far from the carnage.

It took longer than usual to disperse with her vertigo from the tumbling stop, and even when it did, she scarcely believed it to be gone. She must be looking at the world upside down, or backwards, because from her current vantage it looked as though the horde had turned tail into a full retreat. For a few seconds, Sen didn’t even try to untangle her limbs. Through the haze of hail and ice spears, stamping and galloping hooves, battle cries, horns, roars of savagery that echoed from Ravine and Allied forces alike, she felt as though she could see every single enemy that disengaged. Every single Tutari back that was exposed to the arrows and piercing shards as they fled, every single weapon that was hastily dropped in an effort to escape.

When she did stand, it was slow. Bruised, battered, exhausted and in a rather… different condition than she had started, Sen forced herself to collect, to focus. It was difficult; right now, all she really wanted to do was cry with relief.


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View Likes PostPosted: Sun Sep 13, 2015 9:16 am 
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Daria's shoulder was beginning to ache. It wasn't painful, just the dull ache that occurs when one overuses a part of their body. The repeated shocks of her lance striking into flesh were travelling up it's length and ending in the ball of her shoulder, the muscle absorbing the force admirably. Soon that kind of pain was going to match waht she felt in her bicep, constantly having to wrench the heavy shaft from it's previous victim and reset it before driving the point into the next. It was, quite frankly, tiring work, but she had trained for years to fight like this and she would be damned before she gave up due to a slight bit of pain.

The horde seemed endless, a black sea of hate that extended much further than they could conceivably advance without being held up and dragged from their mounts to their deaths. They would have to turn back at some point or run the risk of having every last man die out here, beyond the reach of the infantry to help. It had better be soon.

The inclement weather continued, twisting vortexes and lightning thinning the crowd ahead. Suddenly, entirely without warning, the tornado split into four, whipping the air between them into a brutal frenzy. Ice rained down in sheets, pieces large enough to kill. From here she could see the death toll mount. The violent natural display conjured up memories of harsh winters in the place of her birth, which she ruthlessly supressed to enter a void of focus. There would be time to sink into a depression later, but for now she needed all her faculties focused on the matter at hand.

She saw the spear as it was thrown, leaving the hand of it's Tutar master with a smoothness borne of competence. There was nothing she could do. At this range and this speed she would be dead before her shield was even in place, let alone correctly angled. She ignored it, instead looking to skewer another Tutar with perfect precision. If this was how she was to die, then she planned on doing so while being a damn good example. The blow still hadn't come, even after she tore the head of her lance from the skull of the Tutar she had just impaled. She lifted her eyes to look for it, wondering if she could have brought her shield to bear and save her life, when it hit. The head was wickedly sharp and barbed, filed down to a needle thing point. Perfect for piercing armour. So of course it struck her dead centre on the breastplate, right at the thickest, best angled point where it had not a hope in any hell that you cared to name of actually getting through. It didn't even knock her off balance. That kind of luck only came once in a lifetime. Or, if her suspicions were correct, about every five minutes, depending on who was in attendance.

Laughter rang in her ears, high pitched and slightly maniacal. An idle moment was wasted wondering who it was, floating across her conciousness in that oh so familiar way without actually being at the forefront of her mind, before the realisation struck her that her helmet was closed in the middle of a battle. The only person she would be able to hear laughing was herself. Without thinking she clamped down on it, refusing to show any emotion to anyone least of all herself. A few moments later, her breathing hitched. Then again. And then again. Disbelief flickered across her mind. Hiccups? Now? ****. No option but to deal with it.

Ahead was a rare sight. A Tutar with a shield, more of a buckler really, strapped to it's arm. Idiot probably thought it was some kind of vambrace-axe, what with the way it had seemingly sharpened the edge. She had long ago, stopped questioning what made her able to see such detail. That was what battle was like. Of course the buckler presented a difficulty. The monster could theoretically knock her lance aside with it. So instead of aiming for the head, she dipped her most efficient killing implement slightly and rammed it through the creature's sternum and out of it's back in a gory fountain. The Tutar was dead, but her lance was lost. Her sword was in her hand without the need for any concious decision on her part, the worn leather shaped perfectly to fit her hand by use, the wire under wrapping providing a solid base for her hand to use for it's deadly task.

And then, nothing. Well, not for the next few yards. There was another Tutar, whom she swiftly ended with a slash across the back of the neck, but it's back was to her. The next was further on, again with it's back to her. They were running. Right when she had been about to order the retire, too. Again, fortune seemed to be smiling on them today. Time to end this.

"Kalim-nar! Valdar das kronne!" Without hesitation her lances obeyed, relaying the command down the line. Horses spread a few feet from one another and riders abandoned their lances in their next victim, drawing blades instead. Pursuit order, as it was known, allowed space for the riders to ride down and kill fleeing enemies in a way that close order did not. Daria fully intended to kill as many Tutar as possible before quitting the field. A dead foe here was one that didn't return to fight again another day.

The chase continued for a short while, not more than a minute, before she gave the command to halt. The horses were starting to flag, showing the signs of their wounds and aching muscles from the pell-mell charge across the plain. Heavily armoured as they were it would not be prudent to push them much further, lest they start collapsing. The lighter horsemen of Linden and Lebidan streamed past them, bloodlust in their eyes, clearly looking for vengeance against the enemy. But, for today at least, the Heart Guard would go no further into the fray. With a little fumbling Daria was able to lift her visor, letting cool air hit around her eyes for the first time in what felt like a very long time. She glanced at the steaming formation around her, seeing it for the first time since they began. It was smaller, very definitely so, but not as much as she had feared.

One of her Lance-Captains appeared at her side, like some kind of heavily armoured ghost, visor down, neatly concealing their identity. Right up until he opened his mouth. Brodyn was from the same part of Lebidan as she, but instead of denying his heritage, he had embraced it. A fact that was clearly evidenced in his accent, which was thick enough to float rocks on.

"By your command, First." He was ready for orders. Well, it was said that it gets lonely at the top, a leader's work is never done, **** like that. She would continue until she dropped.

"By thirds, Lance. One for the horses, one for our wounded and dead and one for those of the enemy that still draw breath. Get it done." Brodyn responded with a simple nod and set about his task, shouting orders at Lieutenants, who shouted at Sergeants, who shouted at Lancers. Two thirds of their remaining number dismounted, leaving their steeds in the care of their comrades. A few gurgled screams could already be heard as her troops began the grisly task of 'cleaning' the battlefield, wounded Tutar meeting their end at the point of a sword they couldn't have fought against. The last third sought out the wounded to be hurried back to where someone could do something for them, however minor the aid might be to their chances of survival.

Daria spent a moment surveying the field, taking in the carnage with dispassionate eyes. Dismounting was painful, her legs quivering as they were released from their state of constant tension. Kneeling in the muck, she offered up a short prayer to Rune in thanks for her continued time on Solunaar and then to The Lady of Flame for those who had died. She tried to rise, but her legs wouldn't work, so she stayed there, drinking in the sights and sounds of death. The first carrion eaters began to descend. With numb hands she removed her helmet and untied the leather cords that held her ventail closed.

Then she threw up.


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View Likes PostPosted: Wed Oct 14, 2015 3:31 pm 

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Farie’s gaze locked on the enemy. Letting go of his thoughts. Letting go of his prayers and trusting the gods to answer them. If there was one moment to have faith now was it. The deciding moment. To Farie it felt like the last moments of the large war. The moments when the tide of war would either change for the better or would be turned for the worst. This was that knife’s edge. That moment when nothing else could really decide but the fates. Farie let every name slip from his mind. There would be plenty of time later to remember them. To dwell on their sacrifice and honor them. Now was not that time. Now was the time to hold onto what he was fighting for. Elisia. She was all he could dwell upon, all he could remember. Her face dancing before his eyes as he raised his sword.

Her soft smile filling his body with a sense of love and purpose. The strength he would need to fight on. To fight for her. It was so simple. So simple to think of her. So simple to give himself purpose when lost in the middle of war. To live for her, that had been the easiest promise to make and keep he’d ever faced. Farie cared for her on a level that scared even himself and in this moment her name alone gave him the strength he needed to keep going. To push past any doubt, any fear, any loss. To become a dealer of death.

Charging forwards on foot towards a hoard so much larger then his little ban was pure insanity. Insanity like Cordian specialized in. A small knot of soldiers on foot near the larger assault from the cavalry. They were perhaps a blip in the giant mass of insanity that was the battle, but for Farie and Cordian that was their whole universe. The rest fell away leaving Farie free to think of only one thing. Kill the enemy before they killed him.

Farie clashed with the first Tutar to reach him sword swinging and lungs burning from screaming and running. Farie swung with lethal intent and kept on swinging at everything before him. The massive sea of monster.

----

Cordian might have agreed that Farie was correct in his statement, but that didn’t mean he approved of Farie’s words or actions. He might have kept further arguments silent, but he certainly didn’t hide them. He growled low in his throat as he ran beside his long time friend and ally. He cursed several times under his breath as they ran forwards continually wondering why Farie would do the ‘noble’ thing instead of just killing the damn monsters any way they could screw nobility and honor. **** that ****. It was live or die and Cordian had no plans on dying.

Cursing Farie for a fool even if he was a correct fool, he was a fool. Angry and bloodthirsty determined to smack sense in the younger man when he got a free moment Cordian didn’t dwell on those he lost like Farie. He’d do that when it was all said and done and he found out who’d lived and died. At moment he was alive and kicking. And he planned to stay that way damned the enemy. Damned the gods if they got in the way. Nothing would stop Cordian from killing as many Tutar as he could. He’d do anything to win. That was what made him so good. When it came to fighting Cordian was one with the blade in his hand. Deadly.

When Farie charged forth sword first Cordian was a step behind him and launched into the fray. With fervor. Screaming incoherently as he went. Fire in his eyes and spirit. Cordian wasn’t one to run from a fight. He was one to kill. Blood flew all around him as he hacked at whatever was in front of him. Slowly finding working a path through the hoard before him.

It suddenly dawned on Cordian as they stumbled into a clearing of sorts in the midst of the enemy that they were surrounded and cut off from their men. From anyone. Cordian lowered his sword slightly and looked over at Farie who stood in a ready stance glaring defiance at the enemy who eyed them.

”Were surounded,” Farie said looking over at Cordian. Yah no ****, Cordian thought and gave Farie a wild smile.

”Since when has that stopped us?” Cordian called out to Farie laughing lightly as he moved to stand at Farie’s back. Angling his body to cover the rear. Farie placing his back up against Cordian they stood facing the enemy back to back.

”Just like old times brother, lets kill these bastards and go home to our women!” Farie called as the Tutar finally had enough of watching their enemies and decided to attack.

Farie and Cordian screamed out as one and swung to meet the roaring beasts that rushed them.

----

The fight was a blur to Farie and Cordian alike. Neither man could keep track of anything. Except how ****ing cold it was. There was a storm in full force. The icy winds and lightning flashes could be seen, but neither paid head to it. Seeing as they were fighting to survive and didn’t have time to care about anything that wasn’t a direct threat they had no idea what was hitting the enemy anywhere else in the fight.

Blood and goo coated both man. The ground beneath them was rivers of muck to despicable to even contemplate. The air frosted from their lips as they breathed heavily. Their swords growing heavy, the numerous dead around them all earned with sweat and skill, or just dumb luck. Farie had a few dozen cuts and scrapes all over him while Cordian fared no better. They were barely holding their own when everything changed.

----

The hoards surrounding them broke away. Moving away from the fight. Retreating. For the briefest moment Farie feared it was yet another attack. Fearing he didn’t have much left in him for more fighting. His sword weighing far more then the steel and leather should. He lowered it to the ground panting. Waiting for the attack to resume. Waiting for them to finish him off. Except they didn’t. They were retreating. The Tutar were retreating. That simple fact sent a bolt of excitement through Farie. For the first time he looked up and around him at the rest of the field. Not daring to express his joy at seeing the hoard retreat, but at the same time thanking the Gods for this miracle.

_________________


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View Likes PostPosted: Wed Oct 14, 2015 4:16 pm 

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Victory. That was what they had. The enemy retreated and for once, it felt like there was room to breathe. The world no longer seemed like it was pressed on their chests. Ausan could take a deep breath once again and with it came a shout of pure joy. The bloody and battered blade she had acquired in the heat of battle was tossed into the air. More like hurled actually. Flung at the backsides of those that ran from them.

Ran from THEM

This was not something that happened every day and she wanted to celebrate. Wanted the Gods above to hear her joy and know that on this day, they were not beaten. On this day, men of both lands stood together and sent back a horde that should have consumed them all. Of course, they had some friendly Godly help, but still the mortals had done their part and had been doing their part throughout his darkness that had blanketed the lands. Today was just a single victory. By the fire of the Goddess, Ausan would chase those bastards back into the darkness.

Then she would snuff them out so that they would never bother them again.

“Boys!” she shouted to the twins who had joined her in a bit of joyous celebration. “Let’s head back to camp!” Before she could so much as bat an eye, the winds picked up and into the air they shot, the journey took only a few moments. Soon her boots touched soil once more though she was swept up in a surge of Sisters and soldiers from her army. The embrace friendly and comforting at the moment, a reassurance that they had lived through this most heinous of moments. Tears. Honest to Goddess tears filled her eyes and she cared not for how it might make her look before the others. All she wanted to do was hug each and every one of them. To touch them, feel the warmth of their spirits, know that they lived and had survived the day.

In her mind, she went through a list of names that she matched to the faces she could see. Those that were missed she asked about and was given a report on. Sen lived. That little crazy ****ing had not only lived but made herself quite the name among the Sisters. Just wait until she told Verana of the recruit she rescued and trained. At the thought of her closest sister, as if Fate itself had been listening, the bald ****ing who had been in charge of her protection rode into camp. Armor as pristine as ever, she assumed the battle had gone surprisingly well for them all. He made as if he were just ride past her, but she reached up and snatched hold of his horse’s reins.

“Where is Verana?”

A look came over his face that she could not read. Annoyance? Sorrow? She could not tell, but when the words were finally spoken she did not believe him. It started with a shake of his head. Thin lips, hidden behind his beard moved and though she heard the words she did not want to believe them.

“I’m sorry. But Verana is dead. She broke formation and left our protection. We tried to get to her but were overwhelmed before we could reach her…” his face held something. There in his eyes, but she could not tell what it was. Could not understand the emotion that was there and at that moment she did not really care. It felt like the world was back crushing her once again. As word spread through the camp, a silence took hold so deafening that she nearly shouted. Cried out to the heavens and beg for an answer. Plead for them to bring her back. How was she supposed to live without her? What was she to do?




The body of the archer laid there before him. Lifeless and still. So very still. Weylyn was not sure what to do with himself. Around him the Tutar retreated, his forest and the lands of Man, appeared to be safe for the moment. Yet, it all mattered nothing to him as he knelt there before her body.

“I missed…” he whispered to himself and her body. “I’m so sorry…” a single tear rolled down his cheek, to his chin and dripped down to fall on her face. From his side, he drew his horn. The worn material was cold against his lips as he blew. The sound was low at first, then reverberated out into the forest, off the trunks, and into the sky. The song in honor of the fallen hero appeared to be nothing but that a song. Just a single solitary note to express the sorrow that should grip the heart of all those in the world at the loss of such a person.

Then as the wind died down, a haunting howl answered the call from the horn and from the heavens came a wolf made out of stars and twilight. With grace and presence that would have made a mortal second guess their sanity, it approached the Elder God as he knelt at the body of the fallen woman.

“Inina,” he spoke without looking at the creature. “Watch for her,” he scooped her into his arms and rose to his feet. “Watch for her soul and guide her to the heavens when she emerges from the void.” He sighed and looked up at the wolf, “She does not deserve to journey alone.”

A bow that would have made any royal human grin with pride, the Wolf acknowledged the request and then seemed to shimmer for a moment before she faded from sight. Now, with his precious cargo in hand he started the walk to the human camp. The truth would be known…




Reigns still in hand, Ausan felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up to see another sister. The world was numb to her, but she knew that she had to move on, had to let go. Just as her fingers began to unclasp on the leather of the halter, a commotion drew her attention.

Wolves.

A small pack of them gathered about the form of another God. His armor and horned helm more than enough evidence to who he was. Even without the wolves acting as a buffer, the crowd parted for him out of respect for who he was and respect for the woman he carried.

“If you let him go, you let a coward escape,” the Elder God spoke to the maiden who quickly snatched hold of the reigns once more.

“Speak and tell me what you know,” her voice demanded that of the being before her without care for just who he was.

“He abandoned her. When she needed him when they needed him he left them to die…” he looked down at the body in his arms. “She called to him and he turned his back on her!” The anger in his voice riled up the wolves who snarled and growled at the company of men. Many of whom found themselves now surrounded and unable to ride off.

“That stupid ****ing did no su-“ his angry retort was cut short by violent means he was pulled from his saddle. Others of his group were similarly unhorsed though they were quickly restrained while he was allowed to get to his feet as a circle formed around him and Ausan.

“I did nothing! I was there and she caused her own death!” he shouted from the ground where he knelt.

"If you wish to back up your words with your blade, draw it now!” Someone shouted from the crowd though Ausan had done little else but stare at him. In her mind, all she saw was the times that she and Verana had shared together.

The laughter.

The smiles.

The pain.

The blood.

A bond that could never be shaken no matter what came between them they were always able to reconcile and be friends once more. Now, this….this piece of **** had taken her from her. Taken away one of the few people she actually cared about. One of the few people she loved. As if under a spell she removed one gauntlet and then the other. Knuckles swollen, battered and bruised clenched without hesitation into a fist as she continued to just stare.

Garth glowered and scowled, but didn't reach for his weapon. "I don't need to fight to prove the truth of my words. I am a Lebi Lord Knight, and you vermin from your broken land know nothing of honor or duty. You are unfit to wash the mud from my boots, ****ing, now I demand that you end this farce at once!"

Resuran, his once most loyal and trusted companion, was allowed to walk forth. Borim smiled, filled with the confidence of one who was no longer alone. If he were to have to fight at least, he would not be alone. However, fate was not about to have him escape so easily.

Resuran stood there, eyes filled with guilt and pain, and removed the gauntlet he wore, adorned with the Garth crest, before throwing it into the dirt. "I wash my hands of you and your House, Borim. The Gods themselves speak of your cowardice and betrayal. Perhaps you will find mercy with them, but you will find none here." Words spat upon the disgrace of a man who watched in complete disbelief as all of his guards, each and every single man among them, removed their armor and cast it down to the ground. A banner was torn to shreds and stomped into the dirt. His house was no more. His line was tarnished forever. For the rest of days, the lips of both mortal and God will speak of his cowardice. Will speak of his failure and will talk about the day that justice was visited upon him.

The sound of her weighted steps broke the silence that had fallen on the camp. Metal against metal as she moved with a purpose filled with a righteous hate that burned clearly in her eyes. The first crack against his jaw was with such force that it slammed shut and nearly severed his tongue clean off, which happened to be in the way. Now on his back she straddled him and continued to hit him. Over and over. Her fists pounded into his face. Flesh against flesh and bone against bone. Even when he became nothing but a bloody mess she continued and not a sound was made. Not from her and not from those who stood by and watched. A glancing blow across his temple and Ausan swore she broke her hand, but that did not stop her. Nothing else mattered at that moment.

Nothing.

Not the pain in her hand, not the pain her side that had yet to go away. None of it. None of it mattered. Every time her fist connected with his face she saw Verana. Saw her smile. Heard her laugh. Remembered the countless times in battle where she had saved her life. Gone. She was gone now and there was no bringing her back.

And it was his fault.

Suddenly she stopped herself and stood. Garth managed to somehow still be alive and rolled over to cough up blood and whatever ever else he could to try and breathe easier. Hands covered in his blood and paced away for a moment until she saw Verana’s bow resting on her body. The poor excuse of a man had made it back to his hands and knees. Slowly he crawled away or at least tried to, but he had barely gotten anywhere when Ausan caught him once again. This time, she had Verana’s bow, the string at his throat she pulled back and slowly started to strangle him.

Barth watched the Knight fall like a rag doll, only to be pounced on by the livid Maiden; each blow was harder than the last. Every hit carrying on it anger beyond description, and they seemed to fall in a ceaseless torrent that had no end. The fire burning in Ausan's eyes said it all - she would express her grief through violence. She would push tears aside for vengeance upon the man who caused her Sister to be taken from her, and the others would watch as justice, brutal and unflinching, was served to the one who deserved it.

There would be no trial for Borim Garth - an Elder God brought forth the charge, and Weylyn's word was all they needed. It all made sense. The red-bearded man (though his entire face was red at the moment) had chosen to save himself, and in doing so, he allowed Verana Snowblade to be overrun.

Barth stood, still as a statue, face immobile, as the beating continued. He watched every single hit, wondering when they would start making him feel better. They weren't enough - nothing was enough. Nothing could help what had happened, nothing could ease the pain of loss as it ate away at him from the outskirts of his mind, the flood of grief visible but not quite there yet as if it needed more time to be fully comprehended.

When Ausan seized Verana's bow, he finally moved, walking forward and reaching her just as she began choking the Knight with the weapon's string. He put a hand out and touched her arm, his eyes finally tearing themselves away from the bleeding man in front of her as they regarded the last of Linden's Maidens.

"No, Ausan."


Though she stopped, she did not slack up entirely on the tension right off, so the sound of Garth choking filled the silence that followed. “Why? Why should I stop?” voice cold and nearly completely devoid of emotion.

The response came as no surprise; he hadn't expected her to give in easily, but he had a reason for stepping in when he did. "Judgement awaits him in the Void, and I will not ask you to spare his life. Death isn't enough for him, and if I could I would erase every trace of him so that this world forgets he ever existed to befoul its air. But that is Verana's longbow, Ausan. She wielded it for years with grace and honor. Do not stain it with the blood of a coward."

It took a moment, but she finally relented and once more Garth had the breath of life in his lungs. The bow in her hands was given to Barth for safe keeping though she was far from done with this piece of **** before her. “Oil and a torch!” she called out. If his face held any form of fear, it was unreadable given the state of his face. She would have cared little for it, however, so it was with the same emotionless way that she beat him she doused him with oil and then held a torch to him.

“Naiya's wrath take you," she whispered the curse and watched the flames lick across his body. The screams he loosed fell on deaf pitiless ears. No tear would be shed this day or any other for the man on the ground. He sealed his fate the moment he turned his back on Verana. Today felt like a bittersweet victory now. What joy she had felt burnt away with the man before her. The war was far from over and this moment was a harsh reminder of this fact.

_________________

"Any fool can write. It takes a genius to read"~Dadsky.
"Draco didn’t listen, so Hermione shut him down the best way she knew how"......"She set that ****ing on fire."
"Ausan: She's beauty, She's grace, She'll punch you in the face"~Smexy Awesome Fossil
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View Likes PostPosted: Fri Oct 16, 2015 5:44 am 

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The temperature had plummeted so suddenly that it hit Alistair like a ton of stone. He let out a shaky breath and wrapped his arms tighter around the wolf’s neck.

As a huge chunk of ice nearly took his head off, he yelped, gripping the wolf even tighter. If that was even possible. “Can’t you move faster? Get to that camp!” He ordered, sighing with relief when the wolf picked up the pace a bit. He barely escaped death the first time, he’ll be damned if he actually did die before he got back to the camp. Not that he was actually thinking much about that near death experience in the trench anymore. It was his own cowardice that refused to let him die.

But it looks like today was his lucky day anyway.

“What..?” Looking around, Alistair could see the Tutar slowly beginning to back off and retreat. “Yes!”

He was unable to contain his excitement. Forget almost dying, this was a moment to be remembered in history!

-----------------------------

They were retreating. Karessa almost could not believe that all of her work was having such an effect on the Tutar. Tears began to sting the corners of her eyes. No, she could not get emotional at a time like this. Not until she knew for sure that they had all gone, she could not let up on her onslaught. Not even a little bit. But she could not help it. It was just… too much.

Karessa pressed on, continuing to hurl ice.

She was not going to let one of those monsters escape. But she also knew she needed to take care not to exhaust herself. She was, after all, in Soluunar. Even a powerful Goddess like herself needed to be sure not to overexert her energy within this world.

Her will, her desire, her motivation, her emotions were just that great. She wanted to see Soluunar flourish, to see an age where there was peace. Someday, Soluunar would rebuild and be more beautiful than ever before. Someday, future generations would look back on this moment in history as the day that the world was saved. A dawn of a new age. For this would always be an important reminder to what courage truly was. The length everyone would go to defend their home.

Someday, people would be able to inhabit Thaam once again. The people would no longer fear Frost. Perhaps not next generation, or the generation after that, but someday it would happen. That was her one wish.

Finally, she stopped. It was over. The ice remained where it was. It was almost reminiscent of what Thaam looked like now. A vast, frozen wasteland littered with ice and death. The Tutar caught in the attack were frozen where they stood, faces contorted into hideous snarls. A masterpiece and something terrible at the same time. What did the people of Soluunar think of such a sight?

Karessa let out a slow breath and relaxed her body. It was time for her to join the others wherever they were gathering.

She wanted to speak with the people of Soluunar, and the Demigods, herself. Even if some Gods and Godesses would not fight, she would assure them that they indeed had allies.

-----------------------------

Alistair was one of the last people back to camp.

Immediately, he noticed the dark mood that loomed over everyone like a huge cloud. It was very unsettling and made him sick to his stomach. Shouldn’t they all be celebrating? The war was over! The Tutar had retreated and Soluunar was saved! Right? So that means that everyone should be in a good mood. They were alive. Those lost were to be remembered as heroes (though little can be said about Alistair) who fought bravely.

He didn’t have much time to think more on it as the wolf brought him to where the wounded were. He didn’t want to leave the wolf’s back, but was given no choice when it sat down causing him to slide off. So many people had come back looking like they had seen better days. Some looked far worse than others.

“I’m one lucky bastard,” he muttered to himself.

The smell of smoke and fire was in the air. It was followed by a horrible scream. Alistair couldn’t help himself and turned his head to look. An action he regretted immediately. Someone was being burned alive. He swallowed hard and looked away. He almost didn’t want to know what had happened out there while he was hiding away. It was probably best that he didn’t, they might do the same thing to him.

Then again…

Alistair turned to a few people sitting near where he was, “Man, I really am one lucky bastard.”

One of them looked up, “It isn’t just you. It’s all of us. Our chances of survival were slim the moment we put our lives on the line for all of Soluunar. We’re all lucky to have lived though that…”

“Well, sure, but I mean…”

“What do you mean then?”

“I was face to face with those monsters. See these gashes?”

Another man spoke up then, “Oh, so it’s you? Didn’t you charge right into them like a fool, and get thrown into a trench? We all thought you were dead.”

Alistair chuckled, “No, no. That was someone else. I had actually fallen in taking on a Drorghan bare handed after my axe was left lodged into some sorry Tutar.” That seemed to get a few reactions, though he could tell they were still reluctant to believe him. “It’s true,” he went on, noting their disbelief. “It was just myself and the Drorghan, face to face. I was afraid, yes, but I knew I had to take that bastard down if this war was going to end.” He raised his hand, clenching his fist. “It got me good, and I was trapped in that trench, but when the Gods and Demigods arrived, I knew I would live to see another day. I was blessed with this wolf here!” He grinned, and then added, “I was chosen by the Gods; they saw me as a hero.”

The other whispered amongst each other.

It made Alistair feel pretty damn good.

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PostPosted: Wed Nov 18, 2015 6:45 pm 

It is a hollow shell of what it once was.

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Soluunar

Barth took another swig from the bottle and set it down heavily on the table; the impact of glass against wood was punctuated by a cracking sound, but the Lindenian ignored the trickle of ale that began working its way out from the base of the bottle as he picked it up once again. The next gulp was much longer than the last, but it didn't drain what remained of the bottle's contents. Once it was done he had a few more he'd been given by some of the others, though he meant to take a break before continuing, as he had something he needed to do. Two Sisters, quiet and solemn, had brought him a bottle, and Resuran another, a pale, strange ale from the highlands of his nation; the Lord Knight, well, the Knight, now, he hadn't tarried long, but the women remained in the tent until Barth sent them away. They shared in his pain, even if what wounded him surpassed anything they could possibly be experiencing.



Linden's fallen heroes, respectfully liberated of their arms and armor, laying in ranks as if marching once again into battle together; Barth felt the heat wash over his face as the pyres were lit, and as he stared down at the motionless form of Verana he became aware of a vast emptiness within him, spreading through his body and mind, and becoming all that he knew.

"Rune's hand guide you," he whispered, as the flames reached the covered bodies and engulfed them; the longbow burned bright, as if fed by some unseen source of power, and the wind picked up, speeding the progress of the fires that escorted the forms of the Lindenian dead from the living world. "Forget the torment. You shall live on."

The Lebis buried their fallen, of which there were many, but once the ashes of their own were scattered by the winds wielded by the grim, bearded God, each of Barth's countrymen arrayed themselves before the Lebi resting place, kneeling with a fist pressed against their chests. Some were buried with their weapons, their titles and ranks called out, honoring them as Knights and the like, but regardless of rank or distinction, the dead were shown a solemn respect from those who'd fought alongside them.



Barth shook himself, forgetting the scene for the moment as he stared down into his own lap and grasped the item laying there; he didn't need to look over to know that Haman was nearby, waiting in case he was needed.

"Bring me Sen the Sister."

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-


The newest addition to the Sisters’ ranks absently drew little circles around the gelding’s ears with her fingertips, murmuring some soothing nonsense. It was a good distraction; when her senses weren’t being calmed by the animals, all she could see was - she gave her head a little shake, unbraided strands fluttering around her face. The nightmares could wait.

Haman was fairly easy to spot once he breeched a diameter of about fifty meters. For one, he stood more than a couple heads taller than the tallest man in the camps, and had the bulk to match that height. For another, the blonde woman’s legs started to tingle whenever he came too close, from about the knees down. She figured it was something like when older people complained about the ache in their joints, and how it usually meant a bad storm was brewing. Thankfully, he was also fairly easy to avoid, probably because he was never looking for her. Sen was more than happy to keep their relationship in this neutral range.

So when she accidentally made visual contact -eye to eyes- with the giant man over the withers of the gelding, ducking back behind the creature’s thick shoulder was just instinct. Surely he would just move along. He usually did, right? Sen was sure he didn’t even really recognize her. Why would he? Unless she was in trouble, of course.

She hazarded a peek over the horse’s back, fingers tightly entangled in mane. He was closer, and still staring at her. A rush of words that would have scorched the ground around her feet had they came from her lips raced across her mind. She was in trouble. She had absolutely screwed something up, and bad. He was coming to take her into the woods, just like that would-be deserter she had almost shishkabob’d.

“Sen,” he called, no more than a few paces away, his shadow almost touching her, “come with me.”

Was ‘no thank you’ an acceptable answer? Probably not. Her knees were not tingling now, so much as throbbing in anticipation of the smashing they were undoubtedly about to receive. With all the grace and motivation of a criminal on their way to a torturous execution, she heaved a great sigh and stepped around the front of the gelding, approaching Haman with the customary resigned expression and half-dragged feet. If he thought it odd or unnecessary, he kept his opinion to himself- Sen took that to mean her melodrama was necessary, and her suspicions correct.

He picked up the pace quickly once she was in tow, however, and she found herself just short of jogging to keep up. She never thought she’d be in such a literal demonstration of the phrase ‘racing to the gallows’. Their speed brought them to the destination quickly; the Prince Commander’s quarters. Well, she assumed they were, just based on observations and half-grasped snatches of conversation. They were going to give her a formal sentencing, then, just like the one with the deserter, when he and Verana had –

A familiar noose of emotions tightened around her throat at the thought, and Haman stuck his head into the tent. He withdrew and nodded to her, then followed her in as she swished past the flap. Prince Krinwulf sat inside, and while she hardly expected him to be overjoyed at this moment, the grimness of his expression made her hesitate for a split-second before taking a few more steps in the dim interior.

She had been taught how to approach royalty or those of standing, the correct phrases to say and how to be polite and formal. Somehow, though, none of what she had been taught fit this situation. She remained silent, answering his summons with only her presence.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-


"Sen. The battle is over, and now you stand before me. You survived."

There was uncertainty on her face and in the way she stood, and Barth found himself remembering their first meeting. The recollection brought forth a pang, but he stifled it as he took note of the difference between the Lebi noblewoman posing as a groom he'd encountered back then, compared to the soldier he was regarding now. It was night and day, even with only a short time passing between the two sightings. She'd changed a great deal, very quickly.

"Verana spent much of her final days in your company," he said quietly, noting the way speaking the fallen Maiden's name seemed to make the pain worse, "and she took great pride in her work with you. She often spoke of your progress, and although she was careful not to inflate your ego as you trained, she told me privately that she held great admiration for you. The way you were able to leave your old life behind, the way you fought, pushing yourself every step of the way… she looked upon you when you were a scared, timid little girl, and she saw the warrior within."

He glanced down into his lap and stood up, hefting a sharp, sturdy knife with a long blade that turned white in the moment it caught the candle's glow. The hilt, carved from smooth, white stone, was bright beneath his fingers. He looked down at the weapon in silence for a moment, before looking back into Sen's mismatched eyes.

"You lived, when she did not. Not only that, but you also saved my life - yes, I have not forgotten that, Sen. I am indebted to you." He smiled, and a great wave of sadness washed over him as he fought to retain his composure. "Verana would be very proud, to see you now. To see what has become of her student, the first Lebi Sister. And that leads me to why I've summoned you."

He closed the distance remaining between them and extended the hilt of the knife.

"For years, Verana Snowblade wielded this weapon with grace and prowess. It was her namesake, and now it is a symbol of her legacy. And you, as the last person she ever trained, will carry on that legacy. I want you to have this weapon, Sen. Use it, and remember her."

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-


For a moment, Sen merely stared at the hilt of the proffered blade, her face strangely unreadable in the shadows of the tent. In front of her, the memory of a long, freckled arm gone too recently to be called a ghost, reached forward from where she stood and grasped the short blade with the confidence and ease of ownership. The ivory hilt seemed to glow with a light all its own, but still Sen thought she could see the ever-so-slightly worn spots, the areas gently faded beneath the natural oils of Verana’s own hands. Pale grey and sunset pink pools of open skepticism turned back up to meet the Prince’s gaze, but she still didn’t say anything; there was something that needed to be said, but Sen was very sure words could not convey it. As her stare turned back to the weapon, a hard sheen of determination solidified over her face.

It didn’t feel like she wasn’t moving, but her arm extended smoothly. She hesitated for a fraction of a second, as though the handle had recently been removed from open flame, just before her palm touched the hilt and her fingers closed around it. It fit her hand well. She could feel the swells and dips of the ivory settle comfortably into those of her hand, and she lifted it slowly from the Prince-Commander’s grasp. It was heavy. Not so heavy that it couldn’t be wielded quickly, but heavy enough to know the quality. To know the value. She drew the blade closer to her face, eyes lingering over every inch of the strangely pale metal.

Suddenly she turned back to Barth, eyes wide with emotion, and lurched forward to throw her arms around his neck.

Sen squeezed her eyes shut and her arms in a tight embrace, all traces of reserves vanished as though they had never been instilled into her. In a whisper that would have been inaudible had her face not been pressed into the bend of his collar, she muttered, “I promise that I will be worthy of this.”

Another beat passed, and then in one fluid motion, she released him, turned and vanished from the tent.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-


Barth was surprised by the hug, but after a momentary widening of his eyes he put an arm around the Sister and gave her a light squeeze as she made her whispered promise to him. The knife was more than a means of remembering her mentor - it was motivation, something to remind her of how much she'd accomplished, and how much more there was to do. There was a fire in Sen, and when the flitting shadows of her own doubts and hesitations were cast aside he could see it, burning with a ferocity that told him the woman's journey was far from over. He knew Sen the Sister would indeed prove herself to be worthy of Verana's namesake.

When she left the tent he sighed, still smiling, although there was new sadness in it as he headed back to the table. It wasn't long before he resumed his drinking, and not too long after that Haman entered the tent. For some reason the huge man looked oddly hesitant.

Barth looked up into his lone eye, his own narrowed curiously. "What is it?"

"There's someone here to see you. The Heart Guard Captain. The redhead with the mouth like a genocide. I can send her away if you l-"

"No, that won't be necessary."

It was not an unexpected visit, as he knew it was merely a matter of time before the Heart Guard's leader found her way into his hearing. She did not seem the type to sit on her emotions, not when she was so outraged by an occurrence, and it made sense that she would go to him. What happened fell squarely on his shoulders, as although Ausan had performed the act, it was his decision to allow it. The timing could've been better, but he wasn't going to put off the confrontation.

"Send her in."

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-


To say that Daria was angry would have been the greatest understatement since the Creator brought Soluunar into being. In fact she was so angry that she had breezed through the normal symptoms of rage and had come through to hit serenity from the other side. It was like being in a trance, like the void of battle, like oil burning on the surface of water. The rage was dulled by a calculating edge. She had a point to make, with words if she could. If not, then fists might have to do.

The tent flap was all that stood between her and the object of her ire, the so-called Prince-Commander, Barth Krinwulf. That thin flap of canvas prevented her from actually seeing what was going on inside, save for a small sliver through which she could just about see the boots of the man named Haman, Krinwulf's eyepatch wearing personal thug, as he notified his lord of her presence.

She shifted her stance, shrugging her hips to settle the plates of the armour on her lower half that she had yet to remove as compared to the pristine white shirt she had pulled on earlier, with it's sleeves rolled to the elbow. Businesslike? No, not at all. She didn't have time for first impressions now.

Haman stepped back out, sweeping the canvas aside with his tree trunk of an arm. He didn't say a word but instead jerked his head towards the interior, a clear motion for her to enter. Once more unto the breach.

Krinwulf's living space was spartan. She had expected slightly more than what was present, but it made sense given his reputation. It was almost as bare as her own accommodations. But then she had an aversion to having too much stuff. The man himself was sitting in a chair, drinking. What exactly it was she had no clue, but the fact that he was partaking at all irked her. Not that she needed any more reason to hate him as of this moment.

"You bastard." The words cut through the air with all the force of her hidden anger. She had only spoken them as if in a normal conversation, but it felt as if she had screamed them.

"I expected more from you. I expected you to be firm, yet fair. I expected you to everything a good officer should be. Instead I fight one battle at your side and am treated to a third hand account of how you presided over the death of a man at the hands of one of your closest soldiers in what amounts to a revenge killing." Barth still hadn't moved, still as a stone. She hoped it was because of shock.

"I have seen some serious travesties of military justice in the past, but this tops them all. I saw ten men hanged for a crime that thirty different witnesses say they didn't commit. But this is beyond that. This was not justice. It was murder. It was vengeance of the sort I would expect from a manchild, not the commander of all Allied forces on Soluunar." She felt the rage building, threatening to spill over. Despite her best efforts, a slight burr crept back into her voice.

"You allowed that absolute failure of a soldier to be burned to death in front of dozens of others. You stood by and did nothing when your second set fire to a man and discarded every part of human dignity remaining to her. The simple fact of it is that you ****ing up. You have lost my respect, the respect of my men, made more enemies amongst the Lords and even caused some of your own to question you. And for what? So you could feel as if you were getting something back? You disgust me. I have not the patience or the empathy to pity you." She stared at him, a hard glare that drilled into his eyes. The prince simply took another drink.

"Have you anything to say for yourself, Prince-Commander? Or shall I take my lances and ride north again, to await death on our own terms once more?"

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-


Barth let the tirade wash over him as he continued drinking; when he finally regarded the woman, he had to blink several times to get her back into focus. Her hair reminded him a little of Verana's. He had to look away for a moment, focusing intently on his own boots, before taking the deep breath he needed to clear his mind of the same thoughts that plagued it since the funeral.

"Daria," he said softly, "I knew from the moment I saw you that we were different. Just as it was with the Lebis. We are all born of this world, and yet, we come from different worlds, so terribly isolated from one another, not just in how we live, but in the things we face."

He rose from his chair and moved haltingly to the table on which sat his last remaining bottle. He picked up a small circle of metal from a wooden corner, a random piece of armor, or even a plate - he had no idea what it was or how it got there, but when he glared down at it he could vaguely make out his own reflection in its tarnished depths.

"Victory at all costs. Anything to survive. It got us this far… but… I don't think it will take us much farther. Not if we want to avoid turning into the same… into the same monsters we fight. For some of us… for some, it may already be too late, Daria. When I look in a mirror, sometimes, I don't even know what I see staring back at me."

He looked back at her, all the fight gone from him; he wondered if she'd been hoping for an argument, something to vent out against. If that was the case she was going to be sorely disappointed.

"We have been on an island for too long. Alone, against our foes. The Heart Guard, Lebidan, you had your own battles to fight, and the Ravine was not yet a concern. I understand that. I will not bemoan the lack of support we received; what's done is done. But we weren't only left alone to fight. We were left alone… to change. On our own, we became what we needed to become. We became what was necessary, and the change enveloped us all, until it in itself became impossible to see. When I saw the faces of your people, of the Lebis, even those who support me, when Borim burned, for the first time I realized how far we have fallen."

He didn't know why he was telling her these things. He never spoke so openly with anyone that wasn't Ausan or Verana, and even with them he'd never voiced these concerns. Perhaps it was the drink, or the loss of Verana, or maybe it was the fact that when he strode away from what remained of Borim Garth's charred corpse, he felt as if the wrong person had been burned.

"You are wrong to say that some of my own question me, and therein lies the problem. My people would follow me into the abyss, you know. They have watched me pull them back from the brink of death more times than can be counted, and they love me for it. Their loyalty is absolute. They don't question. They don't accuse. And that… that terrifies me."

He blinked and saw Verana standing in front of him - he wondered why she'd be dressed in such a fashion, before the events of the day returned to him with all the subtlety of a warhammer. He mouthed the name, but didn't utter it as he shook himself, remembering what he'd been saying before the vision interrupted him.

"If I lead them wrong, they will all die. If I make a mistake, everyone will suffer for it. For years, my word was the only word. I took counsel with others, yes, but the tides changed when I took over Linden's army, and everyone knew it. And they followed suit; my every strategy, my every policy, taken on without question. Ausan, Verana, Olin… many others who live on in the Void and beyond, they chimed in, and perhaps they swayed me in one way or another, but in the end we became a single voice, unified and without conflict or doubt. None of my own would speak to me as you have, none of them would call me out on what happened, would call me to account in such a fashion, and yet you have come here and done just that. And that is why…"

He walked over to her, his own eyes boring into hers as he put an hand on each of her shoulders.

"That is why I would prefer to keep you close. Things are different now, and I cannot lead an army of this size as if it is the same one I was entrusted with all those years ago. I know how to command once the steel is drawn, I know how to navigate the field against these foes of ours, but in many other regards I have much to learn. I need a voice that is willing to speak its mind, willing to tell me I'm wrong, willing to show me the other side, the side a person from my fallen nation could never see. Of course, if you truly believe I am unfit to lead, then by all means go. I cannot make you stay. But I… I would prefer it if you did."

He wobbled slightly and turned, returning to the table, which he leaned on; he kept his eyes on Daria, as for a change his focus wasn't on getting himself another drink.

"We won a victory, but it is more a brief respite than anything else. We have seen only the smallest fraction of what waits in the Ravine. A force beyond anything I have faced, anything any of us has faced, is yet to come, and we have to be ready when it does. We need to stand together. If the black tide surges forth and we aren't united… even with the Gods on our side, we may as well slay ourselves right where we stand."

There was a soft ripping sound, and Barth had just enough time to turn around before a blade came flashing towards his neck. He jerked his head back, feeling the bite of the steel as it grazed his skin, and he raised a hand in time to seize an elbow before the second man's knife could impale him from the right. "I wouldn't blame you, you know," he slurred, even as a third man entered the tent through the slit they'd created, "the next-"

The unarmed and unarmored Prince ducked under a thrust from the first attacker and punched him between the legs (an old favorite of Ausan's) before getting struck in the side of the head by something solid, perhaps a gauntlet. Idly, he saw that all three of the men wore the garb of the Heart Guard.

"The next Commander might be more to your liking," he whispered as he fell back, both hands now on the elbow of the arm that trembled with bloodlust as the knife inched closer to his throat. It reminded him of when he'd been saved by Sen, although back then it had been a Tutar, and this time there was a third participant that was about to join the fray. He wondered if Daria knew, and then a moment later he realized he didn't care.

"All things must end."

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-


It all happened so fast. One moment she was talking with Prince-Commander Barth, leader of the Allied armies. The next she was spectating three of her own hammering him into the dirt in the middle of his own tent. It was quite interesting to watch. The hero himself struggled for a moment, focussing entirely on the bare blade aimed at his throat. Understandable. The real threat was the others. Lance-Corporal Kaldwin landed a nasty strike with his guantleted fist, just in front of the temple and over the eye. After that, it was simply a matter of finishing the job.

Calm returned to the sparse tent again. The Prince's body lay in the newly churned patch of mud where he had struggled for his life. A trickle of blood snaked it's way down from his nose and joined the healthier river of it issuing from his split forehead. He looked rather pitiful. Daria stepped over as quietly as the rasping of the plate armour on her lower half would allow, squatting down next to the supine Prince and gazing long and hard at his face. Had she done the right thing? She hesitated on this thought, turning it over in her mind, before nodding to the Lance-Sergeant in charge of this little team, a man by the name of Garvin, permitting him to continue his work.

There was nothing for her to do here, so she stepped out of the canvas enclosure and back into the evening air. The Lindenian guards were unconscious, taken by surprise and subdued as fast as possible. Haman was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps the distraction had worked after all. She had commanded some of her own to goad Lindenians and try to start fights, to draw their officers away from the one area of camp where they might be most disruptful to her plans. She hoped that was what had drawn him away.

The way that Barth had acted during their brief talk disturbed her. He had been drunk, or very close to it, that much was obvious. About half way through she had been convinced he saw her as Verana, one of his Maidens who had died in the battle due to Lord Knight Borim's cowardice. He had called her by name, but she was convinced that he was just dealing poorly with his grief. And the request for counsel... that caught her off guard. He had some vision after all, to recognise the need for counter-thinking. But it was too little, too late. What he needed was someone to take action. Too late for that now, too.

The tent-flap rustled behind her as her lancers left, the two juniors supporting his weight across their shoulders. He was transformed. Dressed in sackcloth, suited only for those destined for the headsman's axe, with a bag over his head to conceal his features. Barth Krinwulf ceased to exist, replaced instead by a betrayer destined for death. All the easier to leave with him in tow. The Lance-Sergeant nodded in her direction.

"Prisoner ready to move, First." She waved her hand forward.

"Very good. Back to the lines Sergeant, double time if you will. The Company will be ready to depart within the hour and I do not wish to delay them any more than is strictly neccessary."

The trio and cargo set off a a light jog, dragging their unconscious prize with them. It was not going to gain her any friends, but it was neccessary. Barth needed to be elsewhere for now. The possibility remained that someone might follow them to Highborn Rock, but the place was defensible. She would deal with that bridge only if she was forced to take it. Not before. She idly kicked at the dirt as she mused on her actions and then disappeared into the darkening day.

_________________
Learning a simple lesson isn't always simple. Sometimes, you have to slowly lose everything great around you to understand the gravity of your shortcomings. Admit that your egos have grown too large, that you've lost your sense of what you realistically are, and maybe you can repair the road that has broken beneath the weight of your failings. Or maybe you'll just keep going as you've gone, and you'll learn nothing, and eventually, everything around you will become dust. To be honest, that's by far the likeliest of all outcomes.


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View Likes PostPosted: Sun Dec 27, 2015 11:14 pm 

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The screams. They were etched into her mind with no sight of them ever leaving. Not like she cared much anymore. There was no reason for her to care about that anyway, what was done was done and she would do it again without hesitation. Pain was relative in this world, at least in the sense of physical pain. This she was born of and raised in that she could handle. What she could not handle was this emotional pain. A hole in her heart that seemed to unable to heal, no matter how much she tried to push the feelings down. Already, her shield arm was marred with tiny cuts, marks made as a means of distraction to attempt to save her heart from the pain she could not mend.

Perhaps, she should have gone to see him? Gone to see her prince and spoke to him about the woman they both loved and cared for. Perhaps…she should have…said…or done more….with him? But she knew it would be at a loss right now. She knew he had begun to knock back bottle after bottle and would be of no use to her. In fact, she was not sure she even wanted to see him right then. Ashamed of her actions, disgusted with how she had lost her cool once again. Killed someone in a fit of rage and not in combat. The last time she did that, he had not spoken to her for a long…long time. Right now, she wanted to cling to the happy memories and not think about the consequences her actions will have on her future.

It was a beautiful day, one of the few they could take the time to enjoy when not training or protecting the land. On the grassy hill, they sat, back to back a comfortable weight to each woman despite their difference in sizes and mass. The burly and sometimes referred to as manly fighter, and her agile archer counterpart. Like night and day they were, but still bonded together in such a way that no one in this world could drive them apart. Sisters in arms, blood shared and spilt in service of their kingdom, they were a duo to fear and most importantly respect.

“You ever wonder what you’re going to do after, everything?” the pale archer asked as she pulled up a handful of grass and watched the blades get carried away on the gentle breeze.

“Hit people?” Ausan remarked with a chuckle. “What else is there to do?”

“Ugh, there is more to life than just hitting people. What about a family or children?”

A pause, the usually confident woman, cast her gaze to the grass between her legs though she honestly does not see it there. “I never think about that kind of stuff…”
“Liar! I see how you look at a certain Prince,” the tease clear in the voice of the woman who now moved from her relaxed position to allow her to turn and look at her companion.

"You know it's not like that. He and I are friends and nothing more," goes back to binding her hand. Slowly, the bruised and often swollen knuckles are covered by the clean white of cotton. Adding a touch of softness that would otherwise never be there, "Besides, he does not see me like that. I'm...well...me..." One shoulder raised a lowered in a dismissive shrug as she prayed to the Goddess that the subject would change.

"Regardless. There is more to life than just this life of war, I mean that is why we're fighting right? To have that future. I want a huge family and want to reclaim the land of my people."

"You do that and I can just be the rough Aunt, who visits and teaches the kids to punch things."

"Fine, but you have to try and live beyond that ok? Eventually, you will run out of people to hit."

"Have you seen the people in this world? That's won't ever happen."

"Fine, but you'll get tired of it and want to just come home to someone who makes you feel...well...loved...wanted...desired. Don't you want that?"

Long pause and then with a clearing of her throat she stands, "Come on. The new recruits should be done trying to hide from us. Let's find them and show them why hiding is never a good idea."

"Fine, but think about what I said."


A log in the fire popped and shot a hot coal from deep within its embers to land on the ground before her. An omen perhaps? A sign from her Goddess? Ausan sighed and took some clean bandages and wrapped up her forearm, the tiny cuts would heal on their own and not even leave any scars. The wound on her side, however, that would be a different story. Maybe she should let that God help her? He had helped Sen not lose her eye, so he should be able to help her with the punctured wound in her side. With the labored breathing, she experienced after she…there was likely a hole in her lung. Barth hadn’t noticed. So, it's probably not something that I need to have cared for by the Gods. she thought with a tired mind and wondered where Cameron had gotten to? She needed her bandages changed and wanted to lay down for a bit.



Cameron had done something he never thought he would. He went to get help for Ausan. Not the kind where a sword was needed, but the kind where gentle words and perhaps even a hug could be used to break her out of the funk. At first, he had not been concerned at her being remorse and sullen, it was to be expected. However, what he had not expected, was her cutting herself. It was so unlike her that he panicked and rushed off to try and find help from the only person he knew that could, Barth. As luck would have it, the squire arrived in time to see two things.

One was the Prince meeting an end at the hands of those who should have been their allies and then being carried away into the night. No one ever paid attention to him, he was trained to be useful but unseen and sometimes that bugged the **** out of him, for it made him feel unimportant. Now, as they moved without so much as a glance in his direction, he thanked the Goddess that he was the unseen servant this night. But, that left him with the burden to get help with something that was more important than anything he had ever done in his life.

“I have to save the Prince!”

Back into the camp, he ran, strong young legs carried him through the crowd of those carried on his way back to Ausan’s tent when he practically ran into the back of Sen. “SEN! I mean...um…ugh we have to help! They took the Prince! They took Barth! Come! Come with me!” hands gestured wildly for her to follow him before he was back on his race to Ausan.




"When you speak to me, know that you speak to the Flame, to the one true power that watches over the chosen."

Heldrith'thn winced, unable to protect his mind's eye from the fiery glory before him. There was no way of shielding himself from it, yet the agony of the sight filled him with an incomprehensible joy as it scorched him.

"You are the chosen, the ones that shall inherit Soluunar. Your suffering will be avenged. Your devotion will be rewarded. Your pain shall be given to those who would oppress you, tenfold."

Tears leaked from the corners of the Tutar's closed eyes as he sat, trembling, fighting to bear it. It was nearly beyond him, withstanding such power, so raw and so close to him, yet still so far. It portrayed most effectively the strength of the Flame. The Flame that would lead the Tutar back to prominence.

"Remember this, Priest, for it is of great importance. When you pray to me, this moment shall never be mentioned. The focus must be on the future, and this first meeting, nearly beyond your power as it is, must be forgotten. Preach to your followers, but speak not of it to me. This I ask of my devotee. This I command of him."


Heldrith'thn remembered bowing low, saying that the will of the Flame would be done; although the request seemed strange to him, he of course followed it without question. Learned as he was, the divine fire was a power beyond his comprehension. Heldrith'thn would guide his people, but the path he walked would be lit by the All Knowing Flame.

He heard footsteps echoing in the Temple and turned away from the throne, still trembling from the recollection. It was the most uplifting and powerful memory in his ancient mind, and he'd often think back to it whenever he was in a period of indecision, tempted to sway from his sacred purpose. On this occasion there was much to think on, but it was not the time for weakness. Great things, great, terrible, incredible things would be happening, the most momentous of events ever since the Tutar were pushed back to the depths of Soluunar, and Heldrith'thn needed to remember his tasks.

"Grishnakh, Mualikh'tha'n, he who is chosen. May the Flame shine upon you," he said with a solemn raising of his head. "I trust that the arrangements have been made?"


The Chieftan was not sure about this plan or anything else that this priest had in store for the Tutar. A simple creature, the chief was more focused on the world at hand, the one that he could feel and see with his own four eyes. Like his dick. He knew the size was impressive, knew it brought pleasure to the females he bedded and spawned many offsprings, most importantly males. Males envied it and females fawned over it. What he did not know was what this fire had planned for them and why they were to be players in this game. On the other hand, he did enjoy having his ego stroked, much like he enjoyed it when a female stroked his dick, so being referred to as the chosen one was more than enough to placate him.

“As you requested the arrangements have been made, though there was some concern from the others. When I said it was ordered from you, they quickly complied, even if I would have enjoyed putting a couple in their places first,” he strode forth, he held high as he regarded the smaller male. “What is the next step?”

Heldrith'thn nodded, gesturing to one of the acolytes, stooped and huddled over in a corner but ever watchful, waiting to be summoned. The diminutive Tutar walked over, his ragged robes trailing behind him as he extended a roughly hewn stone tray, upon which rested two iron cups. "They would not dare defy me, but their concern is expected. They do not understand such things, for it is beyond them." He took one of the cups in his hands and stared down into its deep, scarlet depths. "You, Grishnakh, like them you are a warrior, but I have foreseen your path. You shall be much more than a mere Chieftain - much more than a Tutar. You will stride upon the corpse of a fallen world, wielding power that shall rival the Cursed Gods themselves, in their lofty halls built upon the pain of our people."

He indicated the other cup, with a nod. "When the Ravine formed, the Dragons died. It is said that their blood flowed like a river, staining the depths of Soluunar and forming lakes that would eventually fade from existence. But before they vanished," he added, licking his lips as he looked back into the liquid, "what remained was collected and used to make a drink worthy of kings. Rare it is, but let us consume it now in preparation for the glory that is to come." Saneirwas a strong beverage, but even as it scorched the throat it opened the mind. After he put down the empty cup, the High Priest breathed a rare sigh of contentment.

"The next step is simple, Mualikh'tha'n. You will send word to the other Chieftains. Every single one, even those rabble who assemble in secret and believe themselves too small to adhere to commands given by the Temple. Have them all brought to Jugrydein, the charred valley beneath us. Those who refuse, have them slaughtered, and nail their corpses to the walls outside their dwellings. Any women they leave behind are yours to do with as you wish. But remember, all must assemble here. Armed for war. Roumjain and the others will need to be sent forth once word has been given. They cannot linger."

The plan was an intelligent one, but it did not need much intellect in the ones who would execute it. As such, Roumjain was the perfect candidate. Smart enough to breathe and kill, but not for much else beyond that.


“Some of the females do look..appealing,” a cruel smirk curled at his lips at the thought of perhaps eliminating some of the males just for that. The cup was brought to his lips, the dark liquid slid down his throat like fire though he did not falter nor spill a single drop until it was indeed empty. “I will ensure your will is done,” voice perhaps a bit gruffer, if possible, thanks to the effects of the beverage on his throat.

“This power you promise me, will it make me akin to a God?” his goals lofty for a Tutar but what he wanted none the less.

"The Gods will tremble at the sight of you, Grishnakh. Continue to help me in carrying out the will of the Flame, and there is no limit to what you shall become."

He sent the acolyte away, bearing the tray and cups, and walked slowly to the front of the Temple, where he stood, staring out into the night. "The age of man is drawing to a close, Mualikh'tha'n. The Tutar shall rise, and never will we fall again."

_________________

"Any fool can write. It takes a genius to read"~Dadsky.
"Draco didn’t listen, so Hermione shut him down the best way she knew how"......"She set that ****ing on fire."
"Ausan: She's beauty, She's grace, She'll punch you in the face"~Smexy Awesome Fossil
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View Likes PostPosted: Wed Dec 30, 2015 1:39 am 
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Sen tried to move quickly, keeping the hand that held her heirloom blade below the casual line of sight. Bright white objects stood out like sore thumbs against a backdrop of mud, canvas and faded armor; a few pairs of eyes flicked from the knife to her face, then fell away disinterestedly. She skirted around the edge of the canvas maze, easily finding the familiar, less-trafficked pathways. “Blend in to the background” wasn’t her modus operandi anymore, but it was still a useful tool for certain situations.

She would need to find a sheath, obviously. Verana’s… Sen wasn’t certain if it had been on the pyre with her, or if it had been lost on the field. One of the Sisters would surely have a bit of stiffened leather that could be re-shaped, provided they didn’t resent her bequeathed gift. The blonde woman had a suspicion that the Commander hadn’t consulted anyone before deciding where the blade should go. Her fingers tightened on the short handle. They could resent it if they wished; she would rather they didn’t, but she wasn’t going to change the situation. The Lieutenant’s face popped up in her head, prompting a curious mixture of sympathy and apprehension. Ausan’s opinion on the newest Sister with one of Verana’s weapons… Sen wasn’t sure what to predict. Before she could stop it, the face twisted into the pained, furious expression of hours ago. She slowed, suddenly feeling cold as the fresh memories flooded in...

… hugs and back-slaps of comradely celebration turned into the physical, raging torrent of the betrayed. His face, being turned to pulp, the agonizing hurt open on the Maiden’s own as her fists slammed again, and again, and again. Surely both Garth and Ausan deserved this. At some point, however, she was fairly sure that the disgraced lord simply… stopped being able to feel. Yet the fists kept coming, over, and over, just breaking the already broken; she had a good view, unfortunately.

Oil and a torch!

Sen stopped and leaned, her lower back pressing into a tall barrel, her empty hand coming up to cover her eyes and nose subconsciously. The smell. The smell and the screams. By all the Gods, present and above, current and forgotten, the screams. It was over quickly, the logical part of her knew, but it seemed to last for hours. She had been unable to move as the kindling around his feet swept beneath the hungry flames, her ears dulled to everything but the primal screams of agonizing death. Sen knew she had stopped breathing, but the smell leaked into her nose anyway, staining her senses, her clothes, her very self. And the people. The mob of people, Sisters, soldiers, knights, lords – the people who did nothing. There was no merciful blade to end Borim Garth; only the wrath of the betrayed and the searing fire that bubbled his flesh.

She had held it together well, in retrospect. In the battle. Hadn’t died, hadn’t screamed, hadn’t fled, hadn’t acted too overwhelmed (save for a few trouble spots). But when Borim’s screams ended, and the people dispersed, Sen walked stiffly to the nearest form of cover and expunged every ounce of bile and bread from her stomach.

She almost did so again right now, thankfully avoiding it with a few deep breaths and some very hard staring at a dim lantern on top of the adjacent barrel. She tried to tell herself it was over, but the smoke still burned the inside of her nose. Think of something else. There is more to be done. No time for nightmares. Move forward. Forward.

Why are you here?

Resilience flooded back through her shaky limbs, chasing away the bulk of the white in her face. Right. She had to… find a sheath. Right. She lifted her body from the supportive container, but had taken no more than three steps before a spray of small rocks and dirt showered against her exposed calves.

She spun, alarmed, only to face the tousled mop of golden locks belonging to Ausan’s squire. She had only seen the lad a few times, but Verana had identified him for Sen more than a week ago. His normally soft, almost feminine face was wracked with panic and shock, prompting her own expression to vault from introspective to concern. “Slow down, what are – Barth?” Her eyes widened to saucers: Taken? No he wasn’t; she’d just seen him, spoken to him, minutes ago. He’d been alone, except for Haman. Even if someone came in after her, the giant knee-breaker would hardly just let him waltz off with the Commander. Sen’s hesitance was overridden as the young man grabbed her wrist in a surprisingly strong grasp and tried to haul her with him. “Settle – just – hang on now – Slow - ”

Finally, she dug in. “Hey! Where are you - ”

“B-back to Ausan! Come on,” he made to grab her wrist again, but Sen was quicker and kept her limbs away. The Lieutenant’s squire was in enough of a frenzy that there had to be some credence to it, regardless of the apparent speed with which it would have had to happen.

“Who took him?” she asked in a rush, leaning in close so they could speak in hurried whispers, her mismatched eyes intent on his face as her mind raced.

“They wore – Heart Guard! She, she said ‘Sergeant’ and he said ‘First’ and the other two didn’t say anything but, but they were all there and I need to get back to Ausan.”

“Anyone else?”

“What - ”

“Was anyone else there, did anyone else see?”

“N-no, we need to go back to… to… ”

“You go, I’m going back!” Sen’s voice had fallen to an urgent, hissing whisper, and she spun on her heel with the last words, ignoring Cameron’s faded stuttering and upwards-drifting stare. The result was that her forehead collided with Haman’s unyielding abdomen, ricocheting her backward into the effeminate squire, who had the reflexes to catch her by the upper arm and keep her from falling to her backside.

“You two look sort of worried.”

Sen realized that was probably a polite understatement, but regardless, Haman wasn’t the person to whom she felt comfortable spilling her guts. She was barely comfortable even possessing legs in his presence.

Cameron didn’t have her scruples. “They took the Prince! We have to save him!” he blurted out, wide eyes desperately latching on to the giant man’s face.

Haman barely looked surprised. “Who?”

“Heart Guard,” Sen added quietly, taking her cue from him and regaining more than a modicum of composure. His single eye met her mismatched stare, and he sighed deeply. Sen was pretty sure several small oak trees bowed in the breeze it created.

“We have to go! We have to save him! We have to tell people!” Cam blurted, his voice rising to a level that accented his girlish features.

Haman shook his head. “Now is not the time for heroic rescues, or a force-wide search. Rash decisions could be… costly.”

Neither of them had to ask what he meant, but their eyes locked in like-minded comprehension for a moment before Sen responded. “Then what is it the time for? We can’t just – what are you doing.”

Haman had begun to yank some of the shirt beneath his thin mail upward from his belt, exposing a range of tanned midsection punctuated with a poorly-healed scar no less than six inches long. “Two years. Rogue merc troupe.” He shifted the exposed part of his stomach until it was almost dead center, revealing a wide stab-wound scar. “Four years. Assassins disguised as temple priests.” Finally, he turned, showing them his entire lower back; it was covered with a multitude of stabs, rakes, slashes, burns, bites, claw marks – Sen even saw signs of torture. “And all that? Tutar.”

He covered himself and turned to face the stares. “All of them, injuries taken to protect him. Swords I've jumped in front of, arrows I've stopped with nothing but flesh, year upon year of standing between him and teeth, claws, blades and fire so hot it would melt your eyes just to look upon it. That’s how long I’ve been doing this exact song and dance with him- for him. I will follow my Prince until the end of the world and beyond.” He leaned in, making very pointed eye-contact with Sen. She didn’t cower or look away, though; not this time. “So I’ll say what we ‘can’ and ‘can’t’ do for now, m’lady.” The last word finally made Sen wince and drop her stare to his goliath boots, out of shame more than any intimidation. Still, he was right. She knew it, he knew it, Cameron knew it.

“You’re sure?” the squire piped up, his eyes still desperate.

Haman nodded sagely. “By my life, I am sure.” He still stared at Sen as he said this, and after a moment, she gave a short nod. The giant man nodded back, his face unreadable, and left.

For a moment, the squire and the Sister were quiet. Finally, Cameron said, “She should still know…” he started backing up, a half-questioning gaze on Sen even as he made to continue his run.

She met the gaze over her shoulder. “Agreed.”

It was all the motivation he needed; the squire turned fully and bolted back to Ausan’s tent. Sen sighed, a resigned but determined expression setting across her features. She never thought there would be a day that she would voluntarily seek Haman out, but she wouldn’t be left standing here with no information and no solution in sight. Kneecaps be damned, he wasn’t leaving her in the dust with no other reassurance than “I promise”.

She slipped Verana’s white knife into the space between her shin-guard and the breeches that lined her outer calf, hoping it was as secure as it felt. Not quite a sheath, but time wasn’t on her side. Without another thought, she slunk off in the direction the giant had departed, keeping her senses on high alert. She didn’t fear for the Prince-Commander’s life (as much), but there was still something in her that gnawed and roiled.

Something was off.


Last edited by Tyne on Wed Dec 30, 2015 8:05 pm, edited 2 times in total.

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View Likes PostPosted: Wed Dec 30, 2015 6:28 pm 

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Farie sat on the small chair in his chambers tears in his eyes as he finished up the preparations for the burial. The holes had been dug earlier and the bodies collected and prepped for burial by the woman who had accompanied the camp. Farie had looked in on them earlier for his men. His unit. His friends. So many dead. He couldn’t help the tears that seemed to be a constant since the battle had ended. Cordian was in his own tent and Farie was glad that his friend wasn’t with him right now. He couldn’t handle having anyone around him. Wanting only to be alone with his thoughts and memories. Farie was finishing with the polishing of his armour his clothing haven been cleaned earlier. A small spark of hope still burning in his heart that his father would forgive him, would not disown him after all. The fear that he really was disowned for keeps was what kept him away from his father, but soon he would have to face the reality. Face what was to come. Farie was no coward and the war had changed him even more. Wealth and status no longer mattered as they had. How could they when death and blood filled the fields around them? How could anything except the celebration of life matter to him now?

This may have been his first true battle, but it was not the first death he’d seen. Only this time he’d had a say in the matter. He’d been there. He’d been their leader. Their deaths were on him. He felt the weight of that as certain as he felt the weight of his armour in his hands. Sparkling again as bright and clean as the day it was forged. He looked at it and felt somehow as if it were a lie. He rose and set the breastplate down on his bed. He walked out into the daylight that was just filtering into the camp and went over to the preparation tents. He stopped a woman who was just leaving no doubt to report to his father that the preparations for their house was complete.

”Pardon my interruption ma’am,” Farie began gently stalling her with a hand on her arm. She turned to look at him, but did not speak waiting for him to finish. ”I would have them dressed in their armour and weapons. They are to be buried with all honour. They died for all of Soluunar and will be honoured as such.” Farie did not wait for her to respond to his words, but instead turned from her and returned to his tent. He did not care to argue. If she did not see it done he would do it himself. Something of that must have shown. Or maybe one of the fallen was a member of her family or god forbid her son, for when he returned a short while later to lead the procession to the burial field he found his order had been followed. Farie slowly walked down the line of men laying on white sheets and whispered their names softly to himself so he would forget none of them. He decided then and there that this was not enough. They were not knights and should only have been buried in clothing and with only their names spoken, but they had fought as valiantly as any knight even more so for they had no great honours or rewards waiting for them. Most were simply common soldiers serving their duty. They deserved the honours of their lord far more then any knight. Tears shining in his eyes he stopped as he spotted Cordian standing over the body of a male his hand resting on the other’s shoulder. The older man was weeping his hands pressed to his face as he knelt by the body of his son. It broke Farie’s heart to see. Cordian was speaking in low terms to the man and Farie did not hear his words.

Farie met Cordian’s gaze as he approached them. There was loss and pain etched in his old friend’s face. How could he deny these men their due? How could he not honour them with greater honour then their station demanded? His mind made up he clenched his teeth and stopped next to them.

”I will see that your son is never forgotten Suavi,” Farie said softly as he placed his hand on the weeping man’s shoulder before leaving. He heard the man’s faint whispered thanks. Cordian fell in next to Farie. They did not speak but the unspoken words between them was enough to make their course known. Cordian would follow Farie to the end regardless of the cost. It was clear as day in the man’s eyes. Farie offered him a gentle smile, but remained silent as well as they began to lead the procession of their fallen. Farie’s father Lord Lucianus Shalerin led them with Farie and Cordian behind him. Dressed in their battle armour. Farie did not look at his father as they headed down towards the already dug graves. He’d lost count of how many had died in this battle and so many were to be buried over the course of the days. Every house holding a funeral for their own. Every witness coming out to share in the grief. So much grief. So much loss. Farie no longer cared who saw the grief in his features of the tears shining in his eyes. He did not try to hide either. He could not.

The bodies were placed into their graves as Lucianus made some ‘heartfelt’ speech about service and honour and duty. Something Farie did not listen to at all. Ignoring the words of his father altogether he focused on the men. As his father’s speech ended, the lies spewing from he callous man’s mouth had no affect on Farie as he knew them for what they were now. Lies. Deceit. False sentiments meant to grow his power. Nothing more. He didn’t truly care about the lives that were lost. Anger sparked inside Farie as the squire stepped forth to begin speaking the names of the dead. Farie stopped him with a swift hand. The squire regarded him with confusion but did not stop him as Farie stepped forwards to stand over the first grave.

”Saene Coemgi,” Farie began his voice trembling as he spoke the words. He’d known Saene since the young lad had first joined the military, they had trained together as children and men. Swallowing Farie continued, ignoring tradition and ignoring his father’s wrath which grew with each word, ”A true son of his house. Amongst his deeds are the protection of innocents of Soluunar. A brave warrior who paid for our freedom with his life. A true man worthy of all honour. He fought with great courage and slew many a Tutar. May he rest in peace and forever be remembered for his bravery in the face of our greatest enemy!”

Farie bowed his head a silent moment before moving to the next grave. Tears starting to blur his vision as he spoke again, ”Galde Antach, a true warrior. It was my honour to train under Galde in unarmed combat. As courageous and honourable a teacher as he was a warrior. His sons honour his courage and his name as they took up arms in this fight. He died defending us all. He sacrificed his life for this war. For the people of Soluunar. His deeds shall be remembered forever. May he find rest in peace!”

Farie bowed his head a silent moment the tears flowing freely down his face as he moved on. His voice growing heavy with emotions as he stood over the next grave. A young man who was no older then nineteen. Suavi’s eldest son. His words shook with the weight of everything he felt as he spoke. ”Elan Scrixim, son of Suavi. One of our youngest warriors, who was as brave as any man. An true honour to his family. He stood and faced the horrors of the war and never once flinched from the advance. His courage new no bounds. He fought for his home, for his future. For all of us. For all of Soluunar and he paid for the victory we hold with his life. May he rest in peace and may we never forget his sacrifice, his deeds forever etched in the memories of us all.”

Farie kept going from grave to grave speaking their names and honouring them with words, not just a cold list of deeds, but the truth of their valour and character as he went. His voice shaking and grief evident. A few times he had to stop to collect himself enough to continue. So many of those who had died had been man he’d known. Of all the hundreds he’d commanded he’d known every man by name. He had made it his duty to know them. To spend the time to speak with them. It was one of many reasons that when he had broken with his father they had followed him. They were loyal to him, but he could not ask them to follow him anymore. He could not allow them to loose their homes over his choice. He would have to make that clear before they left.

As Farie finished speaking over the last grave he saw the hatred and anger in his father’s face blazing like the fire of a fallen sun. He swallowed hard as he knew what would come next. He had hoped that his father would have found forgiveness in his heart, but clearly the man could not do so. It was so hard to look on the face of his father when all he’d wanted was to be like his father. His father had been his hero and now he had fallen so far.

”HOW DARE YOU!” Lucianus thundered as Farie drew up to him. So much hatred and anger swam in his gaze and tone that Farie was certain there was no love left in his father. ”I have sheltered you, I have trained you! I have given you EVERYTHING and this is how you repay me! YOU betray me!”

”No father, I honour you, I —“ Farie began but was cut off. His heart thundering he wondered how Lucianus could be so blind. How could his father doubt him so much. Hate him so.

”Honour me! By defying my orders? By going against our tradition!” Lucianus demanded angrily at Farie. Grabbing his son by the shoulders painfully. Before Farie could even speak Lucianus acted. He shoved Farie back startling the younger man. His fist rose and all Farie could do was watch in horror as Lucianus slapped him hard across the face. Farie fell stunned and looked up on the father he’d idolized his whole life. ”Farie Shalerin, As your sovereign lord and father I herby disown you of house Shalerin. I strip you of your titles and land. You are Farie Shalerin no longer. You are Farie Liubhair. The forsaken child of a noble home!” and without another word Lucianus turns his back on his son and walks away. Farie is left in shock and horror. Wondering what he would do now. Knowing he had only one choice. Stripped of his home, his name, his titles. He was left to his own.

————

“You’re not alone, Farie,” a man said as he emerged from within a nearby tent. "There is much that is different about us, but in many ways we are the same." Jahal Resuran touched his braided mustache instinctively, pondering on the similarity of their situations. While he was never heir to a noble house, he still spent his entire life in service to one, gaining lordship after many years of following along with what both Garths wanted of him. As well as following in the footsteps of his father, a man eternally indebted to the mighty house. Jahal worked hard for what he had, but in the end, he realized he wanted none of it.

“Care to share a drink, seeing as we both fight beneath the same banner now? That is, none,” he added with a smile as he indicated the tent flaps behind him.

————

Farie pushed himself up off the ground as he heard the voice from nearby. He looked over at the knight and gave a gentle smile of gratitude for the words. ”Guess you heard all that hen,” he said as he nodded to the suggestion of a drink and headed towards the tent flap. ”Not how I’d expected this day to end, but could have been a lot worse. I would love a drink, I believe we have much to discuss regarding the future.”

————

“We do,” Resuran replied as he led the way inside. His tent was neither cramped nor overly spacious; it had enough room for several people to reside within, in relative comfort, but the former Lord Knight seldom entertained visitors. “Of course, whatever plans we make for the future depend on whether or not there is a future. As the saying goes, we've won the battle but not the war."

There was a small wooden table, well polished, upon which sat a brass mug and a glass bottle filled halfway up with amber liquid. Jahal sat down, indicating the other chair, and retrieved another cup from beneath the wooden surface. He filled both cups up and slid one across to the opposite end of the table.

"To your health," he said, raising his cup and taking a gulp. "And to the mighty fallen. May they never be forgotten.”

————

Farie stepped into the tent not really caring what the interior looked like. He was done with finery and displays of wealth and wanted simply the comforts of a drink and company that was not passing judgement on him. Deep down he knew what he really wanted, but that may never be now. Either way as things stood he could not afford to be distracted with thoughts of what could have been when the future was yet still so uncertain. He sighed lightly.

”It is a foolish dream to think the war is over so easily, yet still to have won such a victory is worth something to celebrate at least.” He said more to himself then to anyone else. He accepted the cup with a nod of thanks picking it up off the table and after only a brief hesitation sat down. It wasn’t that he did not want to sit. It was more that he was restless and wanted to pace the floor of the tent until his mind settled, but it wouldn’t do to be impolite to his host after all.

”I’ll drink to that,” Farie said rising his cup, ”And to your health as well,” he continued taking a sip. He drank in silence for a few moments before he continued to speak. ”I presume by your earlier words that you are no longer part of your house either?” Farie asked deciding that a few drink and a light banter wouldn’t go amiss in this time. The true topic of their conversation would come soon enough.

————

“Aye. I have forsaken my house, becoming the first Resuran in generations to venture out from beneath the banner of Garth.” He blinked, wondering how the words would've felt to him before Lebidan received its first taste of the Tutar. The war changed him more than he realized.

“But I was done, Farie,” he added, taking another sip. “Done with following along with the schemes, and the political nonsense. The protocol, things fellows like Sir Derrald and the like would talk about until they become blue in the face, it's all worthless at the end of the day. Those men speak of tradition, but what do they know of honor? Would they defend an ally, regardless of nation or banner? Would they stand with men who disagree with their principles, but who wish to fight for a common good? Never."

He took yet another drink; he'd already had more than his usual share for the day, but he saw no reason to stop now. It was a pleasant change, having a countryman to speak to that actually listened, as opposed to disagreeing with him. “I would sooner stand alone.”

————

Farie drank in silence as he listened. He’d been thinking much the same things over the last few days. Especially after his first fight with his father, not the first ever, but the first in this war. It was not as if he’d never fought with the man, gods alone know they fight over everything all the time, at least since Farie had become a warrior unto his own right. A Lord Knight of his own. Now though he saw far different then his father. Far more of his own truths. He saw for the first time how wrong he’d always been even in his naif opinions.

”You don’t stand alone, I stand with you,” Farie said declaring his loyalties first. His one and only truth now. ”I stand for Soluunar and will not wear a banner that looks to politics and gain before it looks to it’s people’s welfare. I will stand and I will fight in defence of Soluunar. So long as any wish to stand against the enemies of Soluunar they will count me on their side.” Farie continued. He paused only long enough to take another drink before he continued on.

”Where do we go from here? The fight isn’t over. As you said the war is still brewing. We must make ready. We were lucky once, but we shall not have the time we had before to ready ourselves. If they have any intelligence they will hit us before we are ready. While we are drunk with our victory and debating our rewards.”

————

Resuran inclined his head appreciatively when Farie responded to him. “It is good to know I still have friends among the Lebis. Like you I care only for protecting our lands and people. I did not enjoy watching Borim burn, but the man was a liar and a coward. And I wasn't the only one who knew the truth of it. Some of my men have left me, intending to join with Lord Garth's host, but I have just over a hundred that are loyal to me. I will offer them, and myself, in service to the Prince."

He picked up his cup, but finding it empty he set it back down with a smile. “The Tutar are a threat that I fear shall never be exterminated. They make all other adversaries seem like child's play, and I have heard many a Lindenian saying that there are countless more, waiting in the Ravine for the chance to strike. I believe you are right, and that we must stay at the ready, but I don't know if we can ever be ready for what is coming next. Sometimes I think of those things… those Drorghans, and I cringe at the thought of what other surprises may be lying in wait for us. Luckily the scouts of the alliance are not idle. With luck, we'll have enough warning to defend ourselves.”

He took a deep breath, then smiled as he spotted a familiar robed figure walking past the tent. “It helps that we have the Gods themselves on our side, of course.”

————

Farie nodded as he finished up his drink. Everything Resuran said made sense to him. ”I did not go to see Borim burn I could not witness that. I know what he did was wrong, but I could not watch the man be burnt, even if it was merited. I am afraid in that I am weak,” Farie admitted. He had heard about everything that had happened there, but he could not bring himself to go. It had been the one thing he felt he had failed for being weak. It was the first time he had spoken the words aloud however and it felt good to admit this fact.

He looked down at the table and listened silently to the rest of Resuran’s words. Nodding slowly he replied, ”I will offer my allegiance as well to the Prince, and those of any man who choose to follow me. I expect most will, though I have told them I would rather they not forsake their family, I fear they will do so anyways. Their loyal man.” He paused and looked up. Nodding. ”It is what I fear as well.” Another pause followed before he added, ”We owe our victory to the gods. They granted us luck and skillful leaders, and then came and stood with us in our hour of need. For this they have my eternal gratitude and loyalty above all else.” Farie had never been a very 'religious' man, but this war had awoken a side of him that felt the need to acknowledge the gods for the true rulers of the universe. Something that surprised even him. Faith seemed to have found Farie in the darkness of loss and war.

_________________


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View Likes PostPosted: Thu Feb 04, 2016 9:57 pm 

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Alistair was fairing… Well, he was fairing, but he wasn’t fairing as well as he wanted to believe.

Though victory has been achieved and Soluunar was peaceful for another day, it just… Honestly it really didn’t feel like anything had been accomplished. It was the same as it had always been. The armies lived to see another day, with the threat of another attack lingering above them always. The gods had been on his side then, but the truth was next time he might not be as lucky.

Alistair still mourned those that were lost. While he was recovering, he had hoped to see them come into the tent as well. But the only person who made it was missing a leg and had his shoulder badly torn. He did not make it through the night. The poor man had bled out; he had already lost a lot of blood by the time they’d brought him in. No longer would Alistair get together with his dear friends and share combat stories.

He had wept that night. His confidence had shattered when he realized he didn’t have anyone else to share his great tale with.

“Oh well,” he grunted, speaking to nobody in particular as he threw back his drink. He looked over his shoulder to the wolf that the gods had blessed him with, “Hey, mutt, go get me some more…” His words slurred, and then fell apart completely. After a brief silence, he managed to utter a curt, “Nevermind.” He then waved his hand as if to shoo a fly away, muttering, “It doesn’t really matter anyway, does it?”

Sighing heavily, he tried to stand but found his legs unresponsive. “Oh well,” he repeated. “It’s not like I have anything better to do right now anyway, so I might as well enjoy myself.” He chuckled, taking another swig of his drink, “After all, I’m blessed.”

--------------------------

“More like a hot mess of **** than blessed,” Weylyn said as he entered the tent of the man his wolf had taken a liking to. “My wolves fetch for no man and you should count yourself lucky that he even bothered to come to your aid,” helmet and armor gone for the most part. Unable to stand wearing the stuff after he…missed and carried the fallen archer back home to her people. Her blood stained the armor and it felt like she was there with him. Watching him, judging him and his failure. Elder God of the Hunt, felt more like a failure and a disappointment. Even as the villain who was the true cause of her demise was punished and burnt alive for his crimes, Weylyn’s heart and soul wept for the loss of one so great.

Now, he sought the company of his wolves and was distressed to find the Alpha still missing. “Now, what has you all distraught? Can’t handle war?”

--------------------------

“Ah, so this wolf was a blessing from the Gods then,” Alistair said, glancing from the wolf and to Weylyn. “It’s an honor to be in your company.” He completely ignored the jab about not being able to handle war. Perhaps the answer to that didn’t need to be spoken.

His father had told him stories about the God of the Hunt and his wolves. But not once did he even think that the wolf that had pulled him from the trench belonged to him. Looking back now, he supposed it made sense. Who else had wolves as big and majestic? If anything, this was an ego boost (one that Alistair certainly did not need).

In his mind, his stories held some truth now.

“So, what brings you here? Are you taking your wolf back?” He inquired.

--------------------------

"I would but he seems to think you have some merit in your black soul and yellow spine," slowly and steadily he leaned down as if he were examining a bug he peered at the mortal. "Tell me. What do you fight for?"

--------------------------

Alistair frowned, definitely feeling pretty small right now, his earlier thoughts seemingly pushed aside, “What’s that supposed to mean?” He straightened himself a little, giving the God his undivided attention, “I fight for Soluunar, of course. For peace between Lebidan and Linden, and to put an end to the Tutari once and for all. Hell, when I pick up a weapon I only have Soluunar’s… no… mankind’s interest at heart. This is our home, and we need to fight for it…” He paused, the corner of his mouth forming a grin. “When this is over, my name will be known.”

--------------------------

The God of the Hunt smirked, "Then you fight for yourself.." He made as if to stand the leathers of his armor creaked in protest at the movement though he paid it no heed. "A man who only fights for himself is doomed to fail," back to the man he looked out over the expanse of the land and sighed. "To truly fight for others and be noble you must feel it. Know it and die for it. Not cower in a pit of filth until my wolf could save you!" the last words sharp with venom as he turned and glared down. His eyes alite with power there was the thought to kill him. To spare everyone the embarrassment he would surely bring.

A soft whimper from his wolf stalled further actions as the two conversed on a level beyond human comprehension. "Very well," he said to the wolf before he addressed the man again. "He speaks of an inner courage I feel you're lacking. But he wishes for you to have a chance. So, under his guidance I expect you to be a better man. Or so help me I will summon the wolves from the heavens and hold you down while they peel the skin from your flesh with their fangs!" Threat very clear in his words as he leaned back down once more. "Understand?"

--------------------------

Something heavy dropped into Alistair’s stomach. He shrank back a bit, feeling sick at the thought of having wolves eating him.

He mustered a slow nod, “Sure, whatever you say.” His tone was meek, a far cry from the confidence he had been flaunting. His vision of being recognized by the Gods… He had not expected an encounter like this at all. He wanted praise, not criticism, not threats. But still, even if it was not exactly how he had imagined, he had still been noticed regardless.

Then, he added, “Perhaps what you think I did during that battle was cowardly, but I would have gotten out had I not been buried under those corpses.” His words seemed to have a mind of their own, “Those monsters… the size of them… Everything would have been fine if it was just the Tutar…”

--------------------------

"Oh is that all? Well I would be more than happy to let you show me just how tough and brave you are," a predatory smirk graced the lips of the God of Hunt. Much like a cat would when it knew the mouse was beat. "Shall we go hunting? Sneak out of camp and catch some Tutar? Have you show me your prowess? Your bravery?"

--------------------------

“Oh, I’ll take on your little challenge,” Alistair rose, drawing himself up to his full height. “In fact, maybe I’ll even bring the Tutar Chief’s head back to Prince Barth!”

That was pushing it, even he was not that stupid. But right now he feared the God more than what the Tutar might do to him.

--------------------------

"Brave fools are still fools," he said coldly. "Remember this and know that I will be watching you." With that he turned and left the pathetic man with his wolf and hoped he would not have to summon the wolves from heaven. Falcor was a member of his family and he would rather that welp prove him wrong.

--------------------------

Alistair slowly sat back down as the God left him. He was shaking a little bit, his breathing heavy. If looks could kill, he would have been dead right then and there, wolves or no wolves.

He looked to the wolf that continued to stay by him even now. “Well… beggars can’t be choosers,” he said. “I wanted recognition… and… and I certainly got it, didn’t I?” He chuckled. It wasn’t funny but deep down he hoped that he could look back at this and laugh.

In time, he would be recognized. Him. He was a hero, blessed by the Gods, not some coward. He had escaped death once and would very well do it again.

"For Soluunar..."

_________________
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