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Post by Beowuuf on Jan 31, 2010 17:35:02 GMT -5
The story so far...
It is the year MS5106, and the fight against evil continues in Magnamund. The powers of good have grown strong, and yet the balance of Aon shifts equally to restore and create dark champions. Old heroes pass to allow new - Guildmaster Banedon, Lord Rimoah, and Gynian the Sage had all died as age and the rigours of the fight against Naar took their toll. The Second Order of the Kai has grown powerful with several Supreme Masters, yet their founder - the hero Lone wolf - has disappeared. The loss of these fighters for good has led to a call to arms for potential heroes all over Magnamund, as well as allowing new bastions of evil to arise.
When rumours of Darklord Xog being reborn near Eshnar surface, the knightly orders of Sommerlund dispatch a scouting party to figure out the truth of the rumours. Little do they know of the true evil that awaits them there, for the Chaos Master has manifested on Magnamund and eagerly awaits shedding his first blood...
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Post by Al on Feb 1, 2010 18:55:01 GMT -5
Holmgard, Imperial Embassy of Bor
As Bon-Al read the reports, he knew that the situation was dire indeed. He was glad that his people would once again be able to support the armies of the Freelands, but he was getting tired of fighting… or perhaps overly fond of the fine Borese Ale at Bullseye Tavern.
“What do ye think, Vengeance?” asked Bon-Al to his trusty companion. "Am I getting too soft in me old age? Are these humans wearing me down?” For his part, Vengeance merely looked at him.
“Paperwork… that is all I feel like I do these days! Paperwork and stupid embassy functions… If I have to make small talk to another Brother of the Crystal Star or pompous Kai Lord I think I will swallow a keg of Boom Powder before having a nice smoke of me pipe!”
Bon-Al sat back and began to think. These were not new thoughts, but thoughts he had been having for some time now. He thought back to everything that had happened to him since leaving Bor-the war in Lyris, the Maakengorge Bridge, the assault on Kai Monastary and his fight with the fallen Kai, the founding of the Alliance between the Kightly Council and the Dwarfs of Bor. The doomed expedition to Kalte…
He also thought back to all of the friends that were no longer with him, and his mind, fuzzy at times due to all the administrative tasks he was forced to endure became crisp, clear, focused.
He knew, now, that he had but one administrative task left to fill. Getting his quill and parchment he began to write;
Your Imperial Majesty;
It is with a heavy heart that I must offer you my letter of resignation as Ambassador of Bor to Sommerlund, Durenor and the Lastlands...
Quickly finishing, he folded it carefully, sealed it with his signet ring and gave it to one of his assistants. He knew it would get to the King, his messengers were beyond reproach.
Quickly, he went to his quarters, Vengeance close behind him, and opened up the trunk at the foot of his bead. Reverently he took out a case that contained his Bor Rifle. “My trusted friend, I believe it is time for us to continue what we started so long ago”
“Come, Vengeance,” he says as he finished preparing for his journey. “I believe that young Doomy and his men are about to depart, we must make haste if we are to march with them.”
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Post by Beowuuf on Feb 3, 2010 15:13:54 GMT -5
Sommerlund, on the way to Eshnar
Beowuuf had been letting his thoughts drift to what might await them all as they got to Eshnar.
Beowuuf was not a Border Ranger, although he had many around him - in a way - as he scouted out ahead. None would be in sight, nor should ever cross his path. The contingent of Border Rangers whom the king had gifted to this endeavour was not that great in number, so as not to appear to be stepping on the toes of the great army of the Magnamund Knights' Council. This meant the men were stretched thin as they checked the terrain leading to Eshnar. Hence why Beowuuf himself had volunteered his services to scout.
Beowuuf was only technically a wolf creature. A beast with the general form of a man, one whose appearance was misunderstood and reviled in Northern Magnamund, even though beast creatures had found a home in the Ilion plains of Southern Magnamund.
Beowuuf was, in reality, a Vakeros - despite appearances. The quirk of how the mind of a Dessi knight had found itself sharing room with a wolf creature's mind in its own body was not one Beowuuf dwelt on, prefering to avoid more chaos to his thoughts than there usually was.
As a Vakeros, Beowuuf's duty now was to follow the orders of the Magnamund Knights' Council - a great entente of the knightly orders of Sommerlund, Durenor and Dessi. And currently the Council was focused on solving the mystery of Eshnar. Or, in particular, the mystery of whether a champion of Naar - Darklord Xog - had genuinely appeared directly within the borders of Sommerlund, reborn Kai knew how.
There were many ways for Beowuuf's mind to drift, even as his body's senses assimilated everything that was happening around him. However, something in the countryside of Sommerlund eventually affected the wolf creature. He looked up, and saw a flock of birds in a perfect 'v' formation. The air was still, and nature was quiet.
Beowuuf took a moment to pause and collect his thoughts, absent-mindedly flattening blades of grass into straight lines with a finger, accentuating the movement of the grass that the gentle wind had already provided.
He was going about this search innefficiently, and really he needed to be moving in a systematic way towards Eshnar. Acting on hunches and moving on half-noticed sights was not very logical. Surely he could miss something if he did not keep focused on a pre-determined pattern. After all, luck could be bad just as often as good. And luck was not something a professional should rely upon. No, regiment and discipline were a professional's tools.
Beowuuf glanced up into the air, and saw the flock of birds further along had degenerated into a less tidy formation with a backdrop of hap-hazard clouds. The sight of it disquietened him, and there was a brief feeling of nausia. He looked back down at the calming grass, slowly and methodically finalising his plans for movement.
Eventually Beowuuf started moving in a determined line, looking one way then the other in a regular pattern, scenting the air at precise intervals, and pausing to listen to the sounds on the air at the end of each cycle.
After a few moments, Beowuuf shook his head at his odd flight of fancy, feeling it a little bit restrictive as a search method, and went back to his previous stalking. The thoughts that had been held back for a while came crashing in again, as he considered his past, future, and mission. They obliterated further worry about his previous odd behaviour.
Further back, behind a tree, something stirred. As it moved out of the shadow of the trunk, wind whipped around in glee and the tree itself seemed to twist its branches in unusual ways. The grass already twisted in hap-hazard spirals even before a mis-shapen fot trod on them.
The creature was not of this world, yet could already feel the world bending to its prescence. The thing was not important, nor even a foot solder, infact it was barely even worthy of the designation 'scout'. It watched the wolf creature move away, becoming a spot in the distance. The creature grew bored, and moved in the opposite direction as per its instructions.
That way lay an army - an army that had no idea what awaited it. However, the thing's master would easily let curiosty force a tactically questionable move. This 'scout' potentially tipping off a more determined lookout of the strangeness awaiting them.
For the Chaosmaster had set foot on Magnamund. And the Chaosmaster could not wait to find out what the world offered him first to play with.
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Post by Doomy on Feb 4, 2010 3:23:35 GMT -5
Holmgard, Imperial Embassy of Bor, Courtyard
Outside in the embassy courtyard stood a squad of dwarves, a formation of eager young rifleman recently arrived from Bor.
Their leader, identified by the red band around his armoured sleeve, was barely forty years old, a mere year or two older than those under his command.
He paced the assembled ranks, carrying out the daily inspection. He paused at one point and snatched the rifle from one of the recruits standing in front of him.
“Hoga! This rifle is filthy, I wouldn’t even use it to shoot yer father for spawning ye!” he berated, before thrusting the weapon back at the poor unfortunate. The iron-shod butt crashed into his stomach, winding him despite his heavy chainmail.
The newly-promoted Rifle Commander didn’t let it show on his russet-bearded face but he felt a pang of remorse as he realised he was taking his nervousness out on his men. After all he was still an unproven leader, having no more real battlefield experience than his men. While he had picked up a few scars already, they were the result of brawling in the taverns and whorehouses of his youth.
While his instructors at the Academy of War had claimed his selection as squad leader resulted from the merit he had undeniably shown in training, he nevertheless wondered if his military career might be favourably influenced by factors outwith his control.
Late at night, especially if he had been hitting the Bor Brew harder than usual, such self-doubt preyed heavily on the warrior who found himself in a relatively exalted position despite his youth and inexperience.
Carrying a name such as his often felt like a curse, as it raised the expectations of all those around, forcing Doomy to constantly strive to meet those standards. Soon he would find out just how well those decades of struggle had prepared him for war.
Suddenly the main doors leading to the courtyard are opened and the dwarven leader emerged, accompanied by his canine companion.
Doomy guestured for his men to snap to attention then turned smartly and saluted as Bon-Al approached.
“General, your orders?” Military protocol forbade using the more familiar form of address, “Uncle”, in front of the men.
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Post by eviltb on Feb 4, 2010 7:59:17 GMT -5
The Wildlands
The NAK eviltb once again fell through a Shadow Gate. But this time, it was different. The wind continued to howl around him but the cold did not penetrate him as before. Looking to his chest he could see the amulet he wore glowing brightly. The last gift he had received from the Melodorian chief, Lorkan, was paying off. He had a warm feeling in his stomach and he was not tumbling as previous. It was almost as if he was being guided by some unseen force. He thought back to just before he fell through the Gate, the look on Lorkans face as a crystal bolt shot towards him. Much to the Hunters dismay, the Gate had opened before he could confirm the kill. Either the old man was dead or those chanting to control the Gate had not noticed. Eviltb dismissed the thought, no point in wondering about it now. He focused on the light that started to grow in front of him. The light got brighter as he approached it and he raised his arms to shield his eyes. When the light was at its brightest, he suddenly felt himself not moving anymore. He was lying, on his front with his arms over his eyes. Dust was blowing all around him and he could feel the heat from the Sun above. Eviltb rolled over onto this back and spread his arms wide. He began to laugh, a guttural and cackling laugh or triumph. He had arrived on Magnamund.
Eviltb rose to his feet and looked around. For miles he could see nothing but dry wastes. At first he though he had landed in the Darklands, but the air wasn’t right and the Sun was high in the sky. He surmised then that he was in the Wastelands, a good distance from where he left at Eshnar and certainly a lot further from the mountain swampland of V’Ka. Dusting himself down, he determined a direction and started to walk.
As he took his first steps, it dawned on the NAK to check his equipment once more. He felt the small crossbow on his wrist still, as well as the weight of the bolts in their satchel. He felt the sword he had been given and drew it again. It truly was an excellent sword, stained blank from its original colouring. He turned it on its side and ran his thumb up the blade. He was cut almost instantly which produced a wild grin of satisfaction on the Hunters face. “I foresee you taking many lives, my friend. You will soon taste the blood and the flesh of those that oppose us, of those that captured us and of those that manipulated us.” Eviltb swished the blade around, twirled it around in his hand, tossed it in the air and caught it again. “You are worthy of a name. I shall call you Adez-Gag, and you shall drink very well indeed. That I promise.”
Eviltb slide the blade back into its home next to his hip. As he did he looked up and saw, in the distance, the shape of a tree. His body responded by growling at him. He had been away for some time and had not eaten properly, save for the water he had drunk in the Meledors tomb. He approached the tree, he could see there were several more scattered around in tight formation. How anything grew in this pitiful waste was beyond him, but trees meant animals of some variety, which in turn meant he could eat. The trees themselves where very sparse, mostly just twig and brush. The Hunter walked around the small copse, hoping to spot something at least half edible.
He was surprised then, to find the prone body of another human. The tree around her was broken and one part had been hacked to bits by some sort of sharp object or knife. Looking up at the branches, eviltb saw a small nest. He reached up to the nest and took hold of it, and then felt a sudden sharp sting in his hand. Pulling the nest down, the eggs it contained spilled on the floor. One cracked and leaked its contents all over the dusty ground, while other simply rolled a little then stopped. The snake which had been protecting the nest hissed directly at the hunter and shot towards him. Quick as a whip, eviltbs hand shot out and caught the snake around the neck. He brought it close and stared into its beady eyes, drowning in the creatures frantic hissing as its tail end flicked manically. The Hunter moved his thumb and snapped the snakes neck and dropped it to the floor were it lay motionless.
He moved over to the humanoid body and rolled it over with his boot. It was a girl, her delicate features scratched from where she had fallen from the tree, a dagger held loosely in her hand. Eviltb bent down to look at her and could see she was still breathing. There were beads of sweat on her brow and her lips were starting to chafe. The Hunter stood up and gave her a prod with his boot. The girls body moved, but not of her own accord. He bent down and moved the dagger from her hand, as a precaution. It was then he saw the bite mark. Two little fang marks dug into her hand, small but deep enough to inject whatever poison was behind them. Eviltb looked at his own hand and saw similar impressions from his own bite. The poison had already seeped out and the wound was starting to scab over. “Well”, he said to the girl, “it seems you have not been so lucky.” He moved the girl so she was say up against the tree again. He tapped the girl on the cheek, trying to rouse her.
“Hey, girl. Wake up.” Another light slap on the other cheek. “Wake up girl. Wake up!”
The girls eyes flickered as she came too. She tried to speak but her mouth was too dry. She could only wheeze out, which then turned into a violent cough.
Eviltb picked up one of the eggs as she watched the girl cough. The unfortunate wench! What was she doing out here in the first place! He cracked the top off the egg and slurped down its contents. He felt the embryo slide down his neck and into his stomach, which growled again in appreciation. Tossing the empty shell aside, he bent down to the girl again once she had finished coughing.
“What’s your name, girl.” It was an order more than a question. The girl looked up into the eyes of the Hunter that stood over her and tried to speak.
“S….s…s..se..ssssseee.. ra...” Again more coughing as she spoke. Eviltb cracked another egg. Where all normal Men like this? Weak and susceptible to such little things!
“Sera. Hmm. You’re going to die you know. There’s a poison in your system, which is going to kill you.”
Sera looked up. “No.. I don’t…..w-w-want to… d..”, she couldn’t finish the last word as the tears built up in her eyes. “B-but, maybe…. I deserve to…”
Eviltb tossed aside another shell. Three eggs eaten now, he was starting to feel better. “Deserve to die, Sera, is that it? And for what reason? For murder, it would seem.” Eviltb nodded towards the dagger on the ground. “Everything living thing kills to survive. To not kill leads to your demise. To hold regret for your actions leads to misery.”
The tears began to flow freely from Seras eyes now. She had killed for a reason and now she felt regret for her actions. This regret would soon lead her to her death. Sera sobbed as she spoke. “I’m sorr-“. She was cut short by a hand that grabbed her face and held her cheeks together. He eyes went wide with fear as eviltbs held her with his piercing gaze.
“You never apologise! Ever!” eviltb spat as he spoke, the words making Sera flinch. Her eyes flickered and she stopped crying. “You are week! I should leave you here to rot!” The panic came into Seras eyes and she tried to shake her head free. Eviltb let her go and she tried to get up. She stumbled onto the ground again but still tried to hurry away. Eviltb laughed. “Where are you going, Sera! You think you can outrun the poison running through you? You think you can survive without food and water?” The NAK followed of Sera half-ran, half-tumbled through the small trees. As she went, her hand closed around the dagger that had been kicked away. She stopped and slumped against a tree, her breathe fast, her heart pumping hard in her chest. Turning, she gripped the dagger and made a half-lunge at her opponent. Eviltb snorted, grabbed her wrist and brought his other fist down across her face. She cried and fell immediately to the floor, clutching her mouth. She coughed and blood spurted into the dust.
Eviltb knelt down and pushed Sera over so she lay on her back. She offered no resistance, simply lying their nursing her cracked jaw. “You offer more fight than I expected, Sera. Let’s not try that again, however.” Eviltb cracked his knuckles together; the snap in the bones was like dried twigs underfoot. “I’m going to give you a choice… a choice that I never had.” The Hunter reached on the ground and took up the last-but-one of the remaining eggs. He also picked up the dagger Sera had dropped. The blade was simple, but he could smell the death upon it. He drew it close to his nose and inhaled deeply. The blade sang to him as it recounted the feeling of its first proper kill, its first taste of live flesh, of running blood. He tossed the dagger up in the air and caught it blade first. With the other hand he once again cracked the shell-top so the embryo inside was exposed. Squeezing the blade, he held his hand above the egg. Drops of blood ran down the blade, through his hand and into the top of the egg. When he was satisfied, he stuck the dagger in a tree and approached Sera. He lifted her up then raised her head up to face him. “Eat”, he said, “and you will live. Refuse and you will die, forgotten and lost by all.” He held the egg up so she could see it. Sera stared at the egg and at the Hunter. She thought what the price would be if she took this mans offer, what debt she would have to pay. She wanted to make others pay that debt for her. She raised a shaking hand and grasped the egg. As soon as eviltbs hand let go, she tilted her head back, opened her mouth and knocked the egg in one.
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Post by crysis on Feb 6, 2010 2:04:32 GMT -5
Edge of the Wildlands
"Where are we going?" she asked.
"Don't ask questions," came the response, with its usual vehemence.
They'd been traveling for the equivalent of two or three days, Sera guessed, though it was hard to tell. The man had them traveling by night and sleeping by day. Sera didn't know if she'd ever been so tired in her life. She slept but little during the day and then fitfully, not used to having the sun in her eyes. Also, she was afraid to sleep too long for fear she would wake up and the man would be gone. He never woke her, just left when the last of the stars came out and she was forced to follow and keep up as best she could.
He wouldn't tell her his name, but it didn't matter much. There were only the two of them so he always assumed she was talking to him if she talked at all and then he would invariably tell her to keep quiet. Sometimes he hit her, as if to make the point more clear. Sera called him "Backhand" in her own mind, because that was the part of him she knew the most.
Sera sometimes wasn't sure why she was following Backhand except that he didn't object to the company (as long as she kept quiet) and she didn't know where else she would go. She also knew that he had somehow saved her, though all he'd done was feed her an egg. Perhaps her biggest reason, though, was because he'd taken her dagger, the one that she'd taken from Jared after he died. It was the only thing she had left and she wanted it back. She dimly remembered trying to stab Backhand with it, but she couldn't tell if it was a true memory or something born out of the fever he'd saved her from. If she had tried to kill him, then he probably had a right to the dagger, but that didn't satisfy her desire to have the knife back. During the first day they'd traveled, she'd snuck over to him to see if she could find the dagger but his eyes had opened and he'd hit her hard enough to make her nose bleed. It had bled for the entire night and made a mess of her shirt. Backhand didn't seem to care. At first Sera had been angry about this, thinking of ways she might kill him, find her dagger, and leave.
Then she realized that, for the first time in her life, she wasn't crying anymore. She knew she should be crying about the blood and the beatings but she wasn't. It was different from when Smelly Jordain and the other kids had chased her or thrown rocks at her or called her names. Backhand hit her much harder than they ever had but there was something impersonal about the strikes that didn't injure her as much as their stupid pranks had. Before she'd met the man she wouldn't have believed there were different kinds of violence in the world, but there it was: there was violence that was meant to hurt her specifically and then there was violence that lashed out at the world almost randomly, not caring who it struck.
She preferred the latter kind.
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Post by Al on Feb 10, 2010 11:35:22 GMT -5
Courtyard, Imperial Embassy of Bor
"General, your orders?"
Surveying the assembled Dwarfs, Bon-Al was lost in thought, and it took a few moments before he realized that his nephew was speaking to him.
"Rifle Commander, I have nae orders for ye. Ye knew what to do. Please, stand yer men at ease."
When the soldiers are standing at ease, Bon-Al moves forward to speak.
"My fellow Dwarfs, we more than any o' Ishir's children know that the enemy never sleeps, that the forces o' Na'ar are always afoot. We begin marching today tae support the Knights, and I am looking forward tae fighting alongside those brave warriors once more.
"Your Rifle-Commander asks what me orders be, and I do not have any... in fact I may not be in a posistion to give orders once His Majesty finds out I have left my post as Ambassador to march alongside ye.
"That is correct, I will be joining ye on this mission. For too long I have sat in me comfy chair here at the Embassy while other Dwarfs were out fighting and dying. No more! Today you all go on a grand quest, one that I am confident is blessed by Ishir herself. I will be joining ye, and if that means that I shall raise a tankard in the Great Hall with Ishir sooner than I would have if I stayed here, then so be it. But we all know our duty to Ishir, our King and our people."
Turning to Doomy, he simply says "Rifle Commander, when you think the men are ready, please proceed."
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Post by zipp on Feb 19, 2010 13:40:31 GMT -5
Sommerlund, on the way to Eshnar
The gods had either been generous or, most likely, they had forgotten she existed. Whatever the reason, she had been allowed to return to Magnamund. The realization that she was in Magnamund created in her a sudden sense of disorienting anxiety. She cast her thoughts back to the last thing she remembered. The island. The participants of her little farce, who had brought to her the powers that would realize her goals. The Dark One had shown up though; The Noble, who had come to steal her power from her and make good on his promise that one day she would be his. After that...
A sharp shudder of pain ran through her and she realized just how long it had been since she'd had a body. As she heaved on the grassy plain, expelling dust and blood from her tortured insides, she wasn't sure she had missed it. Presently, the spasms stopped, though, and then the wonders of life returned to her. She could feel again. Her claws soaked in the mixed texture of the crumbling dirt and the soft grass. Her fur rustled wonderfully at the embrace of the wind. She breathed in the air around her, remembering how much information could be carried on the wind. She smelled sun and baked earth. There was also a strange smell of death on the air, but it was faint and far away. Her ears pricked at a slight rustling in the grass, alerting her to something moving in the west. She focused her keen sense of smell in that direction and picked up a scent that took her a moment to place. It had been so long since she'd been among her own people that the smell of Wolf Creature took her a moment to recognize.
That gave her pause. Was she back in Illion, then? These plains did not smell like home but then she hadn't been there since her youth and so much had happened to her since then. Home was nowhere anymore, she recalled and felt surprised at the pang that struck her heart as she thought it. Only the gods knew how much time had passed since she had last set foot on Magnamund. She had been reviled, then, by most. Some had respected her. None had loved her. And now? Most likely she had been forgotten. The thought gave rise to an emotion she thought she had buried long ago: sadness. She was alone as she had always been but now even history might have abandoned her. There was some hope in that, though. She had done things that most would not forgive. If time could forget those things, then maybe so could she. And what better way to be reborn than amongst kin? Perhaps the gods hadn't left her after all... perhaps they were giving her an opportunity.
The scent of the Wolf Creature was growing fainter. It... no, it was a he... he was moving away to the west. Cloe followed.
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Post by eviltb on Feb 19, 2010 19:16:14 GMT -5
The Wildlands
The NAK eviltb and his new companion Sera continued their trek across the Wildlands, heading towards the mountain-fortress of V’Ka. They were heading south or at least its best approximation of south, and if truth be told Sera was starting to get extremely tired. Her body was slowly adjusting to its new nocturnal state, but after 6 hours hard slog she often lagged behind. The Hunter would then have to stop and drag her to her feet where she had collapsed, to which she willingly carried on as best she could.
The first time he stopped to retrieve her; he had dwelled on the whys and wherefores. He could have just left her to rot, but he didn’t. It certainly wasn’t out of kindness that he had saved her, it was more the potential he saw in her. He saw a broken spirit, one that like him, had escaped from the clutches of those that would do her harm. Unlike her though, he was strong and disciplined. He had plan for revenge on those who held him, on those that had abandoned him. In time, if the girl started to learn, she would develop her own vendetta. Right now, it was all he could do to shut out her constant pleas for them to stop. He felt her hand grasp onto his cloak as she started to fall again. She gripped hard and managed to keep herself upright, just in time enough for her legs to be swept out from under her. She banged her head and cried out. Immediately he was on her, legs pinning her arms down. He forced a water-skin into her mouth, the tepid but welcoming water dripping onto her lips. She coughed and spluttered at first, not quite knowing how to react. He grabbed her face one more, as he had done so many times. She opened her eyes and met with that all too familiar stare, a stare that threatened to rip her soul from her body should she not follow his precise instructions. Eviltb had yet to use his formidable psychic powers on her and if he was honest he didn’t really want to. A broken and weak mind was no good to him.
She stopped then and looked at him in fear and recognition. She allowed the water-skin to be placed against her lips and she took a drink. When he thought she had had enough, he let her go and packed the skin away. She fell to the floor coughing again, but at least he made no move to get her to her feet. This was the sign that they were done for the night. He left her then, as he had done on the previous days, and returned some moments later carrying the dead bodies of two wild hares. The first night he had caught such fare, Sera had asked how they were to light a fire. The bruise on her face had receded enough now so it wasn’t noticeable, but she still self-consciously touched her cheek as a reminder of the response.
Within moments he had skinned and prepared the hares for eating. One was tossed towards her and she knew the drill by now. The first night she had refused to eat raw meat had also been her last. He had force-fed her in the most horrible manner and delivered a sound thrashing when she had vomited over him. If these were lessons he was teaching, one thing she had grasped was that she had to learn fast. It was that, or she would die. She had simply started to do what she was told. Which to her was odd, as her leader never spoke much. His actions spoke volumes, yet his words came few and far between.
Sera thought she might go mad with the lack of vocal interaction, to be in some ones constant company, but never utter a word for days would drive anyone else, she thought, to insanity! But she was learning, she told herself and she was grateful. He had saved her. There must have been a reason for it. She sat then and forced down as much of the raw hare as she could. She then slumped to the ground, pulled whatever clothing she could around her and passed off into a dreamless sleep.
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Post by Doomy on Feb 20, 2010 13:37:27 GMT -5
Courtyard, Imperial Embassy of Bor
For a moment during the general's speech, the young commander looks as if he has been slapped.
The interfering old bastard is at it again, he seethes. First he finds out I've enlisted and pulls strings to get me promoted where he can keep an eye on me, then he has my unit assigned to protect the artillerists and NOW he's coming along to make sure I can't cock THAT up.
"With you by our side we shall surely crush the forces of Naar underfoot," says Doomy with a fake smile.
The Rifle-Commander reaches for a scroll tucked into his gun-belt. He opens it to reveal a map of Northern Magnamund. “I will quickly reiterate the role of my unit within your overall strategy.
“We are to accompany our artillerists to the vicinity of Eshnar, arriving from the north” a stubby finger jabs at a point on the map a few miles outside Eshnar, at the northernmost edge of the Maaken Range. “We will secure this position here, giving our field gunners a superior vantage for bombardment of any hostile forces, while we infantry entrench our position and hold it from enemy retaliation.
“General, you are the ranking officer. I yield my command to you.” If this is said with any resentment Doomy is careful not to let it show in his voice.
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Post by Beowuuf on Feb 20, 2010 16:49:07 GMT -5
Countryside close to Eshnar, Sommerlund
Beowuuf disliked Sommerlund. Not for what it was - any prejudices he had were directed clearly at the Kai, and he knew they were not worthy thoughts to dignify. And he did not dislike it for the landscape - it was a beautiful place, and the odd times he had been allowed to roam free had eased his soul.
No, the reason he disliked Sommerlund was for its ability to give and then instantly take. He considered the ebb and flow of his life as lived here, considered each and every event that had taken him to this place. Even in the little moments, when Sommerlund gave, it also took away again.
Take the most recent example. Previously to this mission, Beowuuf had been enjoying the trip to Holmgard to report back to the Knights' Council. Enjoying the landscape as he was trying to now. That had lasted no time before he had been waylaid, meeting two fellow knights Simey Vojske and Cyan Armadalus. And together, they had encountered the camps of knights massed around Eshnar in preparation for something. And together, they had discovered the hint that Xog was to return. They had departed the massed camps believing something was amiss, that the previous gathering of knights may be in danger. And their words had inspired this massed army to travel to Eshnar.
And once again, with no signs of anything wrong, Beowuuf had been enjoying the countryside once again, trying to recapture a feeling broken weeks ago. And once again, it was not long before something was going seriously amiss. When the incident that created Beowuuf as he was now had first happened, when Tamas Rehme the Vakeros had found his mind trapped in the body of a wolf creature named Sorba, Tamas (or Beowuuf as he prefered to call himself now) had thought himself alone in the wolf's body. It had been a dawning realisation that the personality of the wolf - and not just the body's mind - still existed within him. Slowly the consciousness sought to aid Beowuuf, and slowly Beowuuf came to learn about the past and mind of the creature whose body that Tamas rode in.
Beowuuf had recently reached an understanding about himself, but sadly that meant Tamas's hold over the wolf's body was even greater than before. Where Sorba - the wolf's personality - had once managed many of the baser instincts of the wolf, and had leaked action and thought out, now it was not as easy. Sorba seemingly realised this, realised his own desire for his old live was nowhere near as strong as Beowuuf's acceptance and desire for his current life.
And so Beowuuf - or at least Tamas - was left with the wolf's body to learn. And more importantly, an Obligation. An Obligation that once Beowuuf had fulfilled whatever he thought his life's task was, or when Sorba's own realisation of a path for a new life finally occurred, that Tamas would relinquish what he had taken and let Sorba live once more.
However, without that balance shifting, something was making Sorba's mind stir now. Like a migrane and heart attack all at once, Beowuuf felt intense mental and physical discomfort that stopped him dead, threatening to overwhelm him. Sorba could not shift Tamas in his desires for living, and yet something riled Sorba so much that temporarily Beowuuf was powerless. Still, instinctively Sorba's mind was crushed by Beowuuf's in only a few moments. Beowuuf felt instense guilt and yet intense relief at his mental strength, and at the fact this was not truly an attempt of Sorba's to regain his life back just yet.
Sadly though, that meant Beowuuf had no ability to know what had set Sorba off in such a manner. All Beowuuf had was a scent in his nose that should have been familiar, but one Beowuuf himself had no memory to attach it to. All he knew was that something was behind him...
Beowuuf kept his senses - keen and yet naive - trained on his surroundings. A moment before Beowuuf could enjoy every senseation, now each one set him on edge. Sommerlund had given. And now Sommerlund looked set to take away once more. What would Beowuuf have to lose this time?
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Post by Al on Feb 21, 2010 13:48:41 GMT -5
Courtyard, Imperial Embassy of Bor
“General, you are the ranking officer. I yield my command to you.”
Bon-Al was not sure, but he did not think the young Rifle-Commander was entirely happy with his presence. Of course, he could not blame him. No one in the military liked having superiors hanging over them, even if they were family. Of course, that may be making it worse for the young Dwarf. Even still, Bon-Al thought he had made it clear that this was Doomy’s mission and that these were Doomy’s men.
“I may be a higher ranking gunner than ye, but this is your mission, not mine. I am no in yer chain of command, and have no legal command authority over this mission…”
Bon-Al leans closer to the young dwarf, so only the two of them can hear. “In fact, depending on the mood of His Majesty when he reads me letter of resignation, there is a very good chance he will interpret this as me abandoning me post, and could very well cost me me commission in the Imperial Army. Praise Ishir! This could cost me me freedom if he be in a very bad mood!”
Leaning back, he continues. “No, young Rifle-Commander, I am not here tae usurp ye, I am just tagging along. I am looking forward to seeing some old friends of mine if and when we meet up with the army the Knights Council is raising… at least the rumours that have reached us indicate that they are doing that.”
“As I said, these are your men, when you are ready, let me know. I hope I will not slow you down.”
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Post by crysis on Feb 24, 2010 14:05:45 GMT -5
Wildlands
They were going in circles. Sera was no seasoned traveler, but she knew which direction the sun rose and set in and for four nights now she had gone to sleep watching it rise. The first day it rose straight ahead of them, so she knew they had been heading East. The second day it rose to their right, so she knew they were heading north. The third day it was behind them and this morning, as Backhand wrapped himself in a blanket made of some dark fur and laid down on a patch of dry ground , the sun was to their left.
The realization made her nervous. She held no love for Backhand and his raw rabbit and nightly journeys, but she did trust that he was a survivor. She trusted that he knew where he was going, at the very least, and that trust was the only thing that kept her with him. Her reasoning was that if she left him, she would starve and die out here in the Wasteland or be eaten by something else that was starving and dying. Maybe if she had her dagger she wouldn't be so afraid, but Backhand had taken it and kept it in his belt. He always slept wrapped so tightly in that damnable blanket that she knew she would wake him if she tried to take the blade back. She already hated Backhand enough, so she blamed the blanket for this particular annoyance and decided to hate it, too.
Certainly the blanket smelled funny. Oily, but also like sour milk. And yet, she would've gladly used it when they traveled at night, when the Wildlands became freezing cold. The night winds on the Wildlands chilled her to the bone. They were strong winds, winds that had traveled from many miles away. There were few trees on the Wildlands to break them so they blew strong and fast when they came. She imagined that some of them had come from as far as Vassagonia and tried to picture warm deserts as the winds crept into the ruins of the clothes she still wore from Eshnar. She had someone hoped Backhand would give her new clothes, clothes that didn't smell like sweat and dust and blood, but apparently he hadn't come equipped for finding a little girl in the Wildlands. She bet that even if he did have an extra cloak that fit her, he wouldn't let her use it. He never wore the blanket while they traveled and when, last night, she had asked him if she could have it, he had ignored her.
She felt herself blush with embarrassment and anger at the memory what had followed her request. Only an hour or two ago had they finally stopped here. Backhand wandered off and came back quickly with his usual fare: two live hares. Some nights he made her kill them and skin them, but this night he had done it himself. It was unusual for Backhand to miss an opportunity to make her do things she hated and the kindness put her guard up. She watched him warily the whole time he prepared the meal, waiting for him to fling pieces of the skin at her, or make some cutting comment that she knew a retort would get no response from. However, he didn't say or do anything except prepare their meal and then hold out her bloody portion when he was done.
She reached for the rabbit and Backhand let it go, dropping it in the dirt, staining the ground red. Despite herself, Sera scowled at him. It was such a petty thing to do to her, though she should've been used to it by now. She leaned forward to pick up the rabbit and see what she could salvage and suddenly a hand was on her neck, forcing her head hard down onto the ground. The impact made her teeth chatter. She opened her eyes and found herself looking at the rabbit's skinned leg muscle. She glanced away and saw Backhand's black boots on either side of her head. She wondered if they were steel-toed, to look so cruel and dangerous.
"Eat," Backhand commanded, keeping his hand pressing down hard on her head.
She shuffled forward in the dirt, trying to obey him, but as she moved her hands around her head he stepped on them with the boots. She yelped and Backhand repeated in his soft, menacing voice, "Eat."
"I can't," she said. "You've got my head."
She felt his boot in her stomache. They were steel-toed, after all. Then he pulled her face closer to the meat, dragging her cheek painfully along the rough ground, until her lips were kissing the dead meat. Tentatively she got her teeth into the muscle, but it was tough and raw and without her hands she couldn't tear it off. Again the boot kicked her, this time following up on the blow, raising her stomache into the air.
"Butt in the air," Backhand growled. "Like a dog," he added. She hesitated but he kicked her again and she lifted her hindquarters quickly, praying that no other kick would follow. Of course, though, it came and this time it was hard enough that her knees gave way and she collapsed back down to the ground. The hand tightened around her neck, pulling down her hair painfully, as Backhand crouched to hiss in her ear.
"Next time you beg for anything from me you'll do this without clothing," Backhand said, finally letting go and heading back to where he'd set his own meal out on a large leaf. He removed a stone jug from his belt and took a long swallow of what she guessed was wine. He removed her dagger from his belt and cut bloody chunks off his haunch of rabbit and ate it slowly. When he caught her watching him, he gestured to her rabbit and commanded her again to eat. He wouldn't let her stand up, though. He made her eat the rabbit on all fours off the ground, while he drank and occasionally laughed. By the time she had eaten to his satisfaction, the rabbit was a bloody mess in front of her and she'd eaten more dirt than meat. When she started puking, he laughed so hard that the red wine dribbled out of his nose, making him look like he had a nosebleed.
Now he lay still, wrapped up like a cocooned insect in his smelly blanket. She watched him and, as she did every night, wondered how far Sommerlund was and whether she could make it there before she starved to death. She hated Backhand more than she had hated anyone in her entire life. She hated him more than Smelly Jordain and she had killed Smelly Jordain. She would kill Backhand, too, one day, she decided. She wished it could be today. But he was wrapped tight in his blanket and the only weapons she had were her dirty nails and her bloody teeth.
Then she noticed her dagger stuck in the ground next to the remains of his meal.
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Post by crysis on Mar 12, 2010 22:49:16 GMT -5
Wildlands
Taking the dagger was the hardest part. Even thinking about taking the weapon made Sera glance fearfully at the bundle on the ground that marked Backhand's sleeping place, as if he would read her intentions and move to strike her. But stronger than her fear was her hatred of the man, of what he made her do and the way he made her feel about herself. She didn't think of herself as strong, but she was no dog to be fed food off the ground either. Something in the way Backhand had told her to lift her butt in the air, some pleasure in his voice, also made her wary. She'd heard that tone before, when the other man used to take the children up to his room. She remembered Hazelae and the man running from her. She remembered Jared stabbing the man. He'd stabbed him with that same knife.
Somehow, the thought gave Sera courage, as if the dagger had been meant for this purpose all along and nothing could turn it away from that purpose. She made a small movement towards the dagger, looked at the blankets which housed her adversary, and then without giving herself time to think about it, she walked over to the dagger and lifted it from the earth. It was such a casual movement that Sera was able to forget she was afraid for a moment, just long enough to reach the blanket and kneel down with the knife raised over it.
Every muscle in her body was tense. She was taking small, irregular gulps of air; she felt she needed huge gulps but was too afraid to take them lest they be overheard and awaken the man. Her arms were shaking and the dagger felt heavier than it ever had before. She felt an itch on her nose and realized that sweat was running down her face. She thought she might scream.
The old Sera, the one that used to cry in the inn at Eshnar while the children made fun of her, might have screamed then. But this Sera was different. She had no mother to run to and no home that she could hide from the world in. The old Sera had those things but hadn't really needed them. This Sera had everything to run from and nowhere to go. She had to find a different solution to the problem.
Sera lowered the blade and took the deep breath she had been afraid to take before. She closed her eyes and forced herself to sit still over the blanket, not thinking about what would happen if Backhand woke up. Instead she thought about what it would feel like to bury the knife in him and where best to do it. Should she stab through the blanket? It seemed very thick. Not thick enough to stop a sharp blade, surely, but what if it slowed it down? What if the blade got stuck? And where should she stab, if she couldn't see Backhand's form underneath the blanket? She would have to do it multiple times, to make sure he was dead. But she didn't like that thought. Backhand had to die on the first strike. Otherwise, he would react to the blow, and she didn't want to give him even the slightest chance of countering her attack.
Sera took another breath and willed herself to stay calm as she thought of the obvious solution. She would have to lift the blanket away from the man and quickly, before he awoke, stab him in the face. No, the neck. It would have to be the neck. She wasn't sure if Backhand wore armour; she didn't think so, but she wasn't going to take that risk. The neck it would be.
Having made her decision, Sera opened her eyes. The blankets had not moved. She stared at them for a moment, enjoying a feeling of empowerment she had never experienced before. In this moment, she held a man's life in her hands. It was by her decision that he would live or die. For once in her life, she had true power. Sera smiled and put the dagger into her belt. Then she stood and looked with undisguised contempt at the blanket beneath her. His death would come and only she knew when that would be. It was something he could never take from her. She moved to lay down on the warm grass and, for the first time since leaving Eshnar, was asleep within minutes.
Not ten feet away, Evil TB smiled as well. He waited until he heard the girl's slight snores before he let himself fall into sleep.
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Post by zipp on Mar 22, 2010 1:13:51 GMT -5
Wildlands
It took her an hour to realize she was being followed.
Cloe felt the presence before she saw it. It was a sense of unease that set her fur to bristling. It had been so long since she had relied on her more primitive instincts that it took her a moment to recognize the sensation of danger. Though the intensity of the feeling shallowed her breathing and muddled her thoughts, it was significantly longer before she realized she was actually afraid.
The Wildlands were hardly good ambush territory. Mostly flat and bearing little vegetation, the only cover to be found was in the few expanses of tall grass that occasionally dotted its surface. It had not escaped Cloe's attention that the trail of the Wolf Creature she was tracking stuck entirely to these sections of grass. She had wondered whether there was any significance to this and decided that her quarry was hiding from something. That made her curious and a little bit wary. It made him easier to follow, though, and for that she was thankful.
Or had been, up until now. Now those same grasses that had concealed her were concealing something else. Cloe had a distant memory of being able to kill powerful creatures with little effort, but it was a memory only. What powers she may once have controlled had been wrested from her on the island. She would have to rely on other abilities to best her opponent now.
Dropping into a squat, Cloe stretched out her long fingers. The fingers of a Wolf Creature resembled those of man, but the bones that formed them were much stronger. Also, their nails grew much faster and longer than those of humans and these formed their natural weapons, along with the powerful jaws and fangs that Cloe now barred in a silent growl. She thought through her plan of attack. She wanted to go on the offensive, but she could hardly do so without knowing where her opponent was. From her low position, she couldn't see over the grasses that hid her. She had to rely on her sense of hearing to tell her where the grasses were moving and which movements were caused by something heavier than the wind. At the moment, she could hear nothing. Had her opponent noticed her actions? Again fear gripped her. Whatever she was fighting was intelligent and it had reacted to her reaction. It was the unmistakable sign of a hunter. She was the prey for whatever else lurked in these grasses.
Cloe remained crouched, waiting, knowing instinctively that the first to move in this game would be the first to fall. Even as she waited, she was considering her options. If the attack came from ahead of her that would be best. She would be able to see it, as well as hear it (and probably smell it), and was in the perfect position to strike out and get in the first hit. If movement came from the sides the situation would be similar. If it came from behind, that would be a bit of a problem. She would want to move herself, get in a better position, but carefully. She would move only when it moved, to mask her own noisy retreat. Then it would be back to the waiting game and hopefully a better outcome.
Satisfied that she had thought through the situation, Cloe continued to wait, her muscles tensed to react appropriately to the direction of the inevitable attack. Still nothing happened. Several more minutes passed and she began to doubt. She hadn't come up with a plan for her foe simple disappearing, yet she could smell, hear, and see nothing that betrayed the sense of a predator lurking. She felt uneasy, but might that not be due to her recent return to Sommerlund? She had been back for merely an hour or two, not to mention that she was stripped of the powers which for so long she had relied upon. Not for the first time in her life, Cloe doubted her grasp of the situation. Often she had found that first impressions were full of errors that later scrutiny would reveal. Relaxing, she stood up. Even as she did so, a realization came to her: the birds had stopped singing minutes ago and never had started again.
The sound came from behind her, a frenzied rustling of the grass which stunned her in its suddenness. A moment later, she remembered her plans and began to move, rushing through the grasses in a bid to gain ground on her opponent; an attempt to get the time she needed to turn around and prepare a defense. But her timing was all off. This was not the stealthy maneuvering she had envisioned. It had become a chase and she was no longer looking to gain position. Now she was simply running for her life to the edge of the grasses, to escape their concealing confines and bring the fight out into the open. A few more seconds and she would be free.
Cloe was only a few feet away from the edge of the grass when a piercing shriek sounded across the plains and she jerked back and down, disappearing under the grass and leaving no sign of her passage.
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