Curse

Mentalmdc · Feb 07, 2006, 04:41 PM // 16:41

Rhiannon looked longing at Ristaron with a sense of respect. She still felt her heart lay with the people of Ascalon and knew that as a Monk her best skills would not be in keeping hidden. With a sense of regret yet the knowledge of knowing what she must do, she addressed the group.

"I feel my place is with these people. I can not possibly leave them to their fate. We must hold Fort Ranik and I believe it is my soul duty to attend the seige with these people. Perhaps with two groups either side of the wall we stand a better chance. I am going with these people and will assist them in their preparations."

A tear splashed down to the ground from Rhiannons eyes. As her agile yet sleek figure dissapeared into the distance she glanced back at the group. She had not known them long but they had made a profound impact on her life. Rhiannon looked towards a struggling women who had the burden of 3 children, the father most likely slain in battle. Rhiannon assisted her and took care of them. There was a strong sense of community as the last survivors left Foibles Fair leaving the group behind.

"Look to the central bridge on the second morning. If you survive until then, help may arrive. We will do what we can to prepare and assist from where we are. I'm sure Ristarons archery skills enable him to fire a message over the walls. Try your hardest to hold out. Tough times lie ahead but we can pull together." Duruk looked forlorn. "You others that remain. I tell you, do what you can, I have not a clue what it is you can do, but i pray to Dwayna that you will find a way to prevail. These people rely on you. Rhiannon will wait eagerly for your help. We can do this. I am going to the Fields of Extchelsis to gather what men and weopons I can. I will do what I can, but the bigger part relies on you few. Do not fail us."

With that Duruk climbed atop his horse and road off into the mist as the wind whipped up lashing of powdery snow. The last of the refugees were gone, the group standing alone in Foibles Fair, now without Rhiannon. Everything relied on them as the Grawls were a mere days march away from Fort Ranik.

Ristaron · Feb 08, 2006, 08:52 PM // 20:52

(still waiting for someone else to respond... I don't like hogging the RP and making every second post

)

Brother Doug · Feb 09, 2006, 01:04 AM // 01:04

Relius sat on the cold ground of Foible’s Fair, thinking. ‘So they’re going to attack the Fort…’ He knew that holding the Fort would be near to impossible with the might of the Grawl’s army, and most of the people outside would probably be slain due to such large numbers. They were going to fight a hard battle, Relius knew. He decided to work on both sides of the plan, his spirits guarding the outer fort with Relius himself safer on the inside. The Unbound One would accompany him on the inside of the Fort for extra protection.

With a start, the ritualist clutched his head, trying to subdue a sudden sharp pain. A few of the Ascalonions ran over to see what the trouble was, but a brief flick of his hand shooed them away. Relius knew what was going on. With his wrappings came the gift of True Sight, and this gift gave him occasional glimpses into the future. He could never See any specific people in his visions, but he could sense what was going on in them. This one was very brief, but it made Relius grow worried.

Relius' Vision
…A large flash lit up the sky, briefly blinding the figures around Relius. He couldn’t tell if he was inside or outside the Fort, but there were Grawl everywhere. Wincing from the flash, but still able to See, he looked around. The Grawl had seemed to vanish. Wiping a bead of sweat from his brow, a sudden pain filled his head, and he fell to the floor. All he could hear was cold, animal laughter…

Relius tried to shake the feeling of dread off, but it wouldn’t leave him alone. He needed some time to think. Standing up, he spoke to the others.
“I…I haven’t been feeling so well since we have arrived here. Perhaps it is the low temperatures up in the mountains; perhaps it is the fatigue of battle. No matter what, I…need to rest. Wake me when we leave.” Relius then walked into the nearest abode, lay down on a mattress, and slowly fell to sleep, prepared for battle when he woke.

Ristaron · Feb 09, 2006, 03:34 AM // 03:34

Ristaron gently touched his right side, feeling along the lower ribs that had been crushed when the eager grawl had lunged at him back in Cayven. The only reason the ranger was still alive was for his quick rapier work, but he hadn't emerged unscathed from that particular skirmish. The area was still tender to touch, but the monks had fixed the bones. Now all that was needed was time.

"Sir"
The mountainfolk turned slowly. Since he had stopped teaching at the Lionguard barracks, no one had ever called him by that title. Midnight eyes stared out from under a dark hood, glowing gently like the small patches of ebony skin illuminated by the scattered torches that lit the street. Before him was a young soldier, nay, a blacksmith boy. The lad seemed strong despite his muddy clothes and dirty face. He carried himself with a certain strength the ranger had found long ago always was the foundation of a solid fighter.
The boy reminded him of himself, many years ago.
"What is it, lad?" the ranger's tone was soft. Ristaron's gaze fell with the face of the blacksmith, and he saw the boy lift up a well-crafted composite bow.
"I recovered this", the blacksmith began, "from a fallen ranger". He held it out, "I think you will have need of it".
The ranger looked the weapon over, his previous assessment had been wrong: the bow was masterly crafted, likely from a major armoury. The wood forever fought against the pull of the mighty string, but the weapon as a whole made use of this conflict.
Reaching out with a gloved hand, Ristaron took the weapon and weighed it in his arms. It was definately of a master's creation, made of light, but strong wood -- the kind that proved picky before being finished. He held it as if he were about to fire, and stared down the aiming line. Perfectly straight.
Good, he thought, it hasn't been customized. Placing three fingers on the string, he drew back slowly. The wood didn't creak -- he wasn't surprised -- and the string held strong. Slowly letting the tension lessen, he held the bow almost reverently.
Drawing back his long cloak, Ristaron took his money pouch from his belt. He looked at the blacksmith, gazing on the rapiers at the ranger's hips with awe. The mountainfolk smiled, and felt the bag through his glove. There were maybe twelve or thirteen gold pieces in it, more money than the young boy had likely ever held. But the blacksmith held up his hands and stepped back when Ristaron held the pouch out.
"I cannot simply take this from you", the ranger protested.
"I cannot use it", the boy replied, "but you can save lives with it."
"I can take lives with it", Ristaron corrected, "it is a weapon, not a healing ankh." But the boy's mind was set. The ranger dwelt on this for a moment, then replaced his pouch as he looked down at the long sword on the blacksmith's belt.
"Did you make that?" Ristaron asked. The boy looked down at the blade.
"My father..." he said, almost choking on the words. The story didn't need telling, and the ranger put a hand on the boy's shoulder.
"What is your name, lad?"
"Gawin", came the quiet reply. Ristaron smiled his onyx lips once more.
"Gawin, how much practice have you had with that?"

(OOC: unless something new arises, Ristaron will probably spend the rest of the night giving the boy some tips on fighting...)

Mentalmdc · Feb 09, 2006, 08:33 AM // 08:33

The long trail refugees eventually reached Fort Ranik, moments before night fell. Weary children and weaping mothers lined the streets, huddling together for warmth and protection. A few Ascalonian soldiers stood bravely along the streets holding lanterns illuminating the long winding streets. Rhiannon walked the lonely roads looking up at some of the magnificent structures of Fort Ranik. A huge wall twisted around an open ground filled with houses and stalls. In the centre was the main citadel itself, a gigantic tower carved from pure marble.

The weather was getting increasingly colder and it wasn't long before it began to snow. Rhiannon shivered, the scene looked almost magical, the calm before the storm. So many huddled, scared, afraid. Rhiannon walked around the corner and climbed a rickety ladder onto the walls. Looking into the distance towards Foibles Fair she hoped her friends would find a way.

Rhiannon decided to sit down and meditate, she found it far more relaxing than the mind wandering ways of dreaming. Sometimes on the Canthan Island she would meditate for weeks rather sleep. Rhiannon squinted her eyes into the distance and could see a faint dustcloud. It was moving slowly towards the fort, carried with it were an assortment of seige weopons. The grawls were almost here. Battle would begin in the morning. For now the hundreds of remaining Ascalonian soldiers lined the walls with their bows primed, some looked towards Rhiannon complete fear in their eyes hoping for some sign of hope or comfort from the monk that all would be alright. It saddened Rhiannon that she had to turn them down, not knowing what the future held.
Silence fell over the fort.

Rilder · Feb 09, 2006, 05:24 PM // 17:24

The night was unforgiving, fear was a plague among all of the survivors it seemed as they had walked off, Zarda promised himself that those who died will be avenged under his axe as he walked along, patrolling the area in which the party was resting for tomorrows festivities. His family was dead, lost in the battle of Cayven, all he could do was fight back against the Grawl menace. The coming fight would mean survival or death to Ascalon, he knew it was true. The light snowfall made the world around him better, more beautiful as he looked into the forest.

Light began to shine over the horizon as Zarda returned to the camp at Foibles, he welcomed the sight of the group, including a small lad, sparring with the agile Mountainfolk obviously the two were in training, good, as we would need all the help we could muster, in the distance, war drums started to be heard, like thunder in the quiet, the war drums were death, the army of death, the army of Grawl. “Their here, it seems, we should get moving,” He said, stating the obvious to the group. They moved out, moving down wind and slowly within bushes not making a sound they hoped, and sure enough, there was the Grawl Army, pulling several siege towers, even catapults near the rear of their column, at the head of the army was a Grawl Carrying a large scepter dressed in robes and ceremonial attire; standing a good head above the rest of the Grawl. The Shaman, but this obvious wasn’t just any shaman, it must have been the one directing the Grawl. Surrounded by different shamans, all carrying staffs and such. “what is the scepter that Grawl’s carrying?” he asked out loud, pondering the chieftain.

Ristaron · Feb 10, 2006, 03:29 AM // 03:29

Ristaron had scaled a tree like a cat, trying to get a better fathoming of the enemy numbers. The defense had apparently taken out more of the army than the ranger had previously thought, and he couldn't help but smile as he estimated their count. He hadn't for a moment believed that there were thousands of the savage grawl marching, as some rumours had spread. That many could never have been kept under control by the scarce few trained rangers hired by the King to keep the beasts in the woods and away from towns.
There were only a couple hundred. A single faction of the savages from the south. Midnight eyes narrowed as the Shamans came into view, sitting upon seats carried by ten grawl soldiers apiece. The ranger counted four, and even from his distance he could feel their aura pulsing. Their leader had been killed, but the captains would not relent their fury upon Ascalon.

Knowing the Shamans were more aware than the regular grawl soldier, Ristaron gathered himself and quickly made his way along the strong branches of the trees, back towards the place he and the other rangers had agreed to meet before finalizing their attack plans. The main force had gone straight for the Fort, four hours away still. There they would circle around the back of the citadel and prepare to assault the savage army as they settled in and began the siege.
It was up to the rangers to distract the grawls, making them set up their full defenses on the West and North sides.
Then, the Cayven survivors would come in from behind.
The ranger breathed a sigh of relief as he reached the meeting point to find a few of the others had already arrived. Six of the twenty now waited, contemplating on their own. Seven counting Morgan, who paced below on the mossy ground impatiently.
Ristaron spent the long minutes examining his new bow reverently.

Mentalmdc · Feb 10, 2006, 04:57 PM // 16:57

A ball of burning flame and rock rose from the catapult like a pheonix, its path through the air a magnificent curve leaving behind a trail of thick black smoke, quickly it plummeted and shattered the tall wall of the Fort.Bricks crumbled and fell to the ground shattering the spot where they hit. Rhiannon was throw from her position due to the severity of the impact. The launch marked the beginning of a severe assault where the most casualtys were inflicted. All the catapults followed suit and began a merciless bombardment on the Fort raining down huge boulders of fire. Buildings shattered and houses burnt. The men on the walls were crushed where they stood and run for cover as the flammable ammo exploded. The Grawl archers took a step forward and began to fire repeatedly covering the advance of the frontline troops who began a steady march towards the walls in their towers. Those on the walls were forced to get their heads down.

Rhiannon dived for cover with her back stiff against the wall. Men crouched as low as they could crowding together with their bows in hand looks of determination gripping their face. A large man appeared from the tower. He was well built and had a goaty beard. He rose his sword into the air.

"Archers prepare your bows. String your arrows. On my count! Wait until they are close, nearly, nearly. Now! Fire!"

The archers let out a flurry of arrows. Grawls were impaled and fell to the ground. Before the order for the second wave of arrows could be given a faint thud sound plummeted from the man as he fell of the wall gripping an arrow lodged in his chest.

Rhiannon knew it was going to be a long haul. A large ladder crashed down in front of the spot where Rhiannon stood. Grawls charged towards the Fort like ants scurrying from an Anthill knocked over by a cruel child with a magnifying glass. A huge grawl lunged itself over the wall swinging a heavy mace above its head. Men rushed at it but were wuicky knocked a side blood pouring from their chests. Rhiannon was shocked but quickly pulled out her dagger and flung it into the menacing Grawls face. The grawl stumbled and fell over the fortification knocking down many of the grawls that had worked their ways up the ladder.

A horn sounded echoing through the air, a sign that the battle had begun, a sign to the heroes at Foibles Fair who were still awaiting more rangers to arrive the the Grawls were and truly commited to the walls and could be promptly surrounded. However another sound echoed through the air, it was a sound that Rhiannon regretted hearing, the sound of Grawl reinforcements approaching from the other side. Within an hour the east wall fell and the Grawls poured over the wall. Rhiannon looked across from the West wall as she looked upon the massacre of those she had never met. Still her tiring arms continued to jab left and right and Grawls who were lucky enough to make it passed the archers who were getting low on ammo. She looked to the east, awaiting the promised assistance of Duruk and the others.

A huge boulder crashed down from the sky hitting Rhiannon and sending her spinning and tumbling through the air. The poor monked bowled over the wall but managed to get a hand onto a flag pole. She hung there helplessly trying to scramble back up. She looked down and saw her leg lay in an awkward position, an immense fiery pain built up and her vision began to blur from he extreme pain. With no monk around and her healing staff fallen from her hand she hoped once more for a miracle as the creaking seige towers slammed down on the wall next to her and more Grawls poured out.

Ristaron · Feb 11, 2006, 12:54 AM // 00:54

(OOC: Jumping ahead here, you can add in what your character was previously doing if you think it is worth your while. Otherwise here's my post

Ristaron was in position, his sights trained on a single target: the grawl captain near him. Keeping his hand steady, the ranger visualized the path of the shaft. It would fly through the creature's neck and embed itself in the spine of the next in line, who was standing with his back facing the mountainfolk, releasing his own flurry of arrows. The ranger kept one eye closed, the other squinting despite the dim light.
Then, in the blink of an eye, his precision shot flew straighter than could have ever been expected. The Grawl captain shuddered and jerked as the arrow went straight through his neck, tearing several arteries that fed blood to the creature's brain. The lieutenant beside the now dying chief dropped his bow and threw his arms wide as the shaft buried into his spine. The creature's legs failed, the nerves connecting them to the brain severed. The rest of that particular company stopped, in awe of the amazing shot.
A moment later, all seven of them fell to the earth with similar shafts protruding from their chests or necks.
Eight arrows were now used, a full half of his stock of sixteen between two bundles wrapped in cloth. But his goal had been a success, and some of the army was starting to build up a defense against the side the shots were coming from. Their attention now divided between the North and the West, the Ascalon reinforcements had a clear view of the armies rear. Almost.

The other rangers needed to unleash, bringing the very real threat of the West frontier to a high priority on the list of defeating (or, at the very least, defending against). A dozen arrows streaked through the air around where Ristaron had been. But the ranger was already long gone, seeking another, better vantage point.

Mentalmdc · Feb 11, 2006, 02:29 PM // 14:29

Whilst Rhiannon was struggling to keep a hold of the flag pole a large towering grawl appeared. It swiped its sword through the air scratchign it against the wall unableto reach the monk. Sparks illuminated both their faces. Rhiannon stared deep into his eyes, a stare so intense it made the Grawl stop what it was doing and inquire into what exactly the monk was doing. The grawl looked down at its feet and was aroused by the faint smell of bruning. Smoke was rising from its feets eventually rising in intensity until it burst into flames. The grawl run in circles screaming trying to put out the flames but instead of feeling the intense pain of burning it took its own life. Rhiannon had studied for a brief moment the art of the Elementalists and today it had paid off.

Rhiannon was losing her grip ever so slowly the burning pain of her leg overwhelming her. Most of the guards had fallen back deep into the fort accepting the the outer walls were taken. However outside the Grawls were beginning to lose more and more numbers as the expert rangers took them out. Rhiannon realised it was the day Duruk would arrive with his said reinforcements. A horn resounded through the air and the ground beneath the fort trembled. Suddenly all the statues that stood watching over the Fort exploded revealing a vast tunnel network, dingy darkness enveloping what lay beyond. Rhiannon knew at once, it was a well known fact that the catacombs were underneath the Fort but the entrance had not been unearthed for years. Out of the holes a faint buzzing sounds got lounder and louder, an ear piercing screech erupted through the air.

Hundreds and hundreds of Gargoyles poured out the entrances, much more than the Grawl. The Garyoles burst into the air their thick curving claws scratching out the eyes of the Grawl forming a defensive barricade between the retreating Ascalonians and the impeeding Grawl Army. It would not take long for the battle inside the Fort to be won and the Grawls to be mopped up.

Rhiannon let go, screaming she fell. Just inches from the ground a gargoyle swooped down and laid her down safely. The last person to come from the Catacombs was a very dishevelled Captain Duruk. He had had fufilled his promise. He rushed over to Rhiannon seeing the pain in her eyes.

"When I went to Cantha they taught me an enchantment that would help me gain control of the Gargoyles. I only needed to use it on their leader and they soon all followed suit."

However Rhiannon noticed something that scared her. Duruk didn't seem his usual self. There was something disturbing almost dark about his face. Duruk laid Rhiannon in an old stable where she would be safe, awaiting help from one of the other Monks once the battle ended.

Duruk cut a rope which released two huge logs, they swung through the air and collided with the seige towers sending them shattering to the ground in a big waterfall of wood, nails and pluming dust. The soldiers let out a heroic cry and charged outside the Fort to meet the remaining Grawl.

Ristaron · Feb 11, 2006, 08:36 PM // 20:36

Flash after flash pierced the night, reflecting the faint glow of the moon and stars veiled by thin clouds above. Weariness had long since left the ranger as he continued his dance, a whirling tornado of blades that cut swathes through the incoming ranks. Behind him, inhabitants of the fort who had fled from the fort with the arrival of the seeming new enemies from the dark catacombs beneath ran along, taking the gift of the ranger's protection in stride.
They thought he would stave them off.
Ristaron knew it was only a matter of time.
He had used his last arrows on a team manning a ram attempting to break down Fort Ranik's mighty gate, and then joined Morgan below in the fray.
Bloodstained white hair hung damp before his face, but Ristaron needed no eyes to see. Here in battle was his place, this creature of combat was home once more.
Dozens of grawl lay dead at his feet, or where his feet had been a moment before. Everywhere he went, new bodies fell to the earth. As he continued, he subconsciously made his way towards the Shaman up ahead. The creature was moving its arms above its eggagerated headpiece, casting a spell. Its sights were focused on the dark-skinned rampager that was slowly tearing apart his army piece by piece.
A spear came in for Ristaron, but the ranger knocked it aside with a razor sharp rapier, cutting through the wood just beneath the metal head of the weapon. Two other grawls were getting nothing by the ranger's other rapier, and fell back dumbfounded as he turned completely around, cutting a red line across both their necks with his other blade.
Then, a bolt of lightning surged against the mountainfolk. It burnt leather armour and dark flesh, but it didn't even distract the ranger, who was long past pain and fear. A crackling orb launched at the man, but a rapier met it midair. Electric surges pulsed up the metal weapon, and the nerves of the hand that held it went wild. It landed point-down in the ground, embedding itself firmly. Ristaron continued without it, straight into the Shaman -- blade first.
The creature stared down in disbelief at the protruding hilt of the rapier, then to the ranger. But Ristaron was gone, back into the mob around him.
A headbut and a kick in the groin forced one grawl to release a falchion, and the ranger swung twice for the thing before it could recover. The second swing hit nothing but air, coming back across the same line it had gone, which had severed the creature's head.

The ranger turned to find a new enemy, and midnight eyes narrowed as a rank advanced for him. A Captain had organized his troops once more. They were too tight for the ranger to break. All around him, dozens of Grawl closed in as their advance to the fort was turned back. They were all hungry for blood, and revenge.
At last accepting his fate, Ristaron lifted his borrowed blade defiantly, and plunged forward into the eternal darkness.

A dozen feet away, Morgan stopped abruptly, leaving her prey to run as far as it could go. The wolf felt as if she had lost something.

(OOC: Yes, he's dead. ...Or is he? I beg you to leave this a loose end, it won't be long before what happens is revealed... and it may not be what you expect.)

Symeon · Feb 11, 2006, 08:38 PM // 20:38

OOC: Sorry I've been inactive, and I have to go now for the day...I will give this some time tomorrow, definitely.

Brother Doug · Feb 11, 2006, 10:00 PM // 22:00

(OOC: Alright! Time to get back into this! But what on earth is happening to Ristaron?

)

Relius ran through the forest, determined to catch up to the party. The others had gone ahead without him, and he had overslept. He had been woken up by the Unbound One, picked up his staff and a few rations, and ran off towards Fort Ranik. Slight rustles in the bushes ahead of him made the ritualist go for his staff. His arm muscles loosened up as he saw the noisemaker was simply a moss spider. Saving the spirit’s energies as well as his own for the battle ahead, he trudged on towards the fort.

“I’m telling you, Binder…we should have killed the mountainfolk when we had the chance. That man- no, that thing, is dangerous. What makes you think we can trust it?” the spirit questioned.

“Mountainfolk or not, he is still a person. Not all humans are wicked, spirit. Surely you know that.” Relius gave the Unbound One a small grin, which the spirit didn’t return. “We must continue. Fort Ranik lies up ahead, and it will be crawling with Grawl by now. We can’t make it inside the Fort with their numbers, so we’ll just have to defend the outside.”
Relius reached the Fort a while after the horn had sounded. Just as he had suspected, the Grawl had torn down the walls, and were storming in. Surely, Relius thought, the battle would end up like the Cayven massacre. Putting the foreboding circumstances behind him, the ritualist began to chant.

“Que divine, mi dannyo alimenta zione legare…Luminos!”

A golden beam shone from the skies, a small ball of light descending from it. Slowly, the ball grew until it was the size of Relius’ head. The orb began to grow limbs; first its left arm, then its right. Its legs developed, and finally, a shimmering knight’s helm where its head would rest. As the chains bound the Spirit of Light, Relius spoke a single word; a word to spread light across the Fort. The light spirit’s helm glowed even brighter. A blinding flash filled the sky, and Relius squinted. Briefly blinded, but still able to See, Relius looked around. The flash wasn’t as powerful as he had hoped; it had only blinded creatures in the immediate area, and their sight would return soon enough. All seemed lost to the brave heroes inside the Fort.
At that time, a large explosion was heard. From the large holes from the siege weapons, Relius could see gargoyles, hundreds of them.

“This can’t be happening…more monsters?” Relius and the spirit stood in shock. The two of them gave a large sigh of relief when they saw the gargoyles fighting alongside the Ascalonians.
“If I may, Binder, I shall assist the Ascalonians with the Grawl.” Relius nodded, and the spirit charged into the retreating Grawl masses, its claws stretched. Running back into a safer section of the forest, Relius gave a sigh of relief, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. The Grawl would soon be gone. With that realization, Relius stopped in his tracks.

A blinding light…Grawl gone…sweat…his Vision!

A sudden pain filled his head, and he fell to the floor. As he fell into unconsciousness, all he could hear was cold, animal laughter…

(OOC: I hadn't known about Ristaron's recent not-quite-demise, or whatever it may be. I'm just making it so the vision works. Fortunately, Relius ain't dead. He's unconscious. Now, to sit back and see just what's going to happen...)

Mentalmdc · Feb 11, 2006, 10:20 PM // 22:20

Rhiannon crawled from her position seeing that the Northern tower had been retaken. She climbed up to it struggling. As she looked across the wartorn planes it saddened her to see such violence and merciless slaughter. Repeatedly the same scene of seige towers crashing down on the walls as Grawls poured out only to be met by a hail of arrows as they fell to the floor clutching their throats. However as Rhiannon continued to survey the scene she realised even the Gargoyle assistance was wearing thin. Men lay dead along all the streets as defenceless women and children ran from the attacking Grawls. Arrows shattererd against the walls.

Rhiannon looked down and saw Ristaron charging towards an endless amount of Grawls. Rhiannon looked around hearing endless screaming, it took her a while to realise that it was in fact herself as she saw the man she had grown so attatched to, maybe even loved for what he was, run to what must be a certain doom. Further down she saw her dear friend the bonder flop to the floor. Her heart lept a beat as she thought he too had died. All around her friends faced certain death as repeatedly the last Ascalonians were rounded up and killed.

Rhiannon limped over to another window and saw the Grawls butchering even the children. These were truly disgusting beasts. For a moment everything seemed to enter a slow motion and the battle went silent in her mind. Her tears fell to the floor as arrows fell to the ground, swords clanged against shields and men yelled, cried and screamed. The more Rhiannon thought of the horrific events the more she began to cry until eventually she began to sing a song of solemn hope. A prayer to Dwayna.

"Astun ti la doko, ti latta mi sa ko.
Ti tu lou ti latata dayoh ti mi seekah no
Asta vu tay loota ti, ich man di da doso do."

The door burst open and 3 large Grawls charged in holding onto their hammers as if they were rattles belonging to a baby. Rhiannon closed her eyes, without a weopon, she too would join her friends.

Duruk looked around only to see the Gargoyles running back to the tunnels whence they came from. The fort was lost but a lot of grawls had paid for the blood lost today. Yet as he looked around at the hopeless situation again. He knew there was still hope, if only they could pull through.

Ristaron · Feb 12, 2006, 06:24 AM // 06:24

Morgan clamped her powerful jaw around yet another grawl's neck while she was in midair. The creature was one of the more heavier of its kin, but it was still lifted from the ground as the lupine's five hundred pounds pulled at it. Falling to the ground after rotating around each other a few times, Morgan landed directly on her paws, and tore up as the grawl landed. Blood gushed into the wolf's dangerous jaw, and she let the skin and muscle she had ripped off fall to the ground.
Always had Morgan been surprisingly intelligent for a beast, but her aptitude was deeper than most would credit her for. The wolf had wisdom, thought, more than simple instinct. She knew her place in the world, knew her friends, knew her enemies. And right now, she fought for a friend.
Morgan had known only bitterness and tragedy before Ristaron. She had been cast out of her mother's den when a pup, and left in the wilderness to fend for herself. At first she preyed on small insects that were easy to catch, but as she grew she required more and more food. Eventually she couldn't eat enough of the small creatures to survive, even if she feasted all day. Her energy from hunting was greater than what was gained from eating her catch.
Forced to move on, the weak pup tried at first birds, then rabbits, then spiders. But the birds flew away, the rabbits went into their deep holes, and the spiders bit back.
One encounter with a spider left her poisoned and dreadfully weak. The young wolf had stumbled along the foothills of the Shiverpeak mountains. Chased away by farmers and villagers, she went into the forest and lay down - ready to give up.

It was then that Ristaron had found her. The ranger had taken the pup to his cave and there nursed her to health. His gentle hands had dressed her wounds, his potent unguents had cured her ailments. But his love had given her the greatest gift: enhancement. By the man's side, she had grown to be twice as large as her largest cousins, twice as smart as her brightest kin. By Ristaron's side, Morgan had become the first Great Wolf, the next generation of the lupine kind.

And now, she fought for him.
Her empathic connection to the man, deeper than love and family, had been severed. She could not understand why, she only knew he was in trouble, that she had to help him.
And so there was no enemy that could stop her on the battlefield.

Rilder · Feb 13, 2006, 07:26 PM // 19:26

(OOC: Sorry for my leave of absence, was working on my PvE monk)

Zarda swung his huge axe left and right cleaving huge Grawls to pieces as he worked towards the fort, as he drew closer he noticed the huge gate go crashing down. “The Grawl must be getting the upper hand, I must get to the fort” he whispered to himself and prepared his axe for a charge. A deep rage engulfed him as he charged with all his power his axe held with both hands at the side and his shield which was strapped to his arm in front of him. The charge must of scared the Grawls as the ones who saw him suddenly backed off in surprise, and within seconds he reached the gate, and charged through. Inside the screams were horrific to him, but they didn’t affect him as much as they should. As he reached the inside he noticed a small horde of Grawls heading for someone near the flag, the small monk; Rhiannon

With all his strength he charged at the Grawls as he entered melee range he swung the axe, like a hawk he seemed to fly into the air with the spin as his axe mad contact, one Grawl, another, another, another. He didn’t seem to see anything but he felt the axe slicing through bone and flesh. He landed several feet from were he jumped, behind him the horde of Grawls were now a horde of bodies. As he turned around he saw the young monk, sitting near the flag pole making a prayer to Dwayna. “Its ok Rhiannon, its ok, your safe for now,” but as he turned around he saw a good 25 Grawls with hammers above there head, charging towards his position.

Without hesitation Zarda met them in combat; evading there initial attack and getting up close with his axe so that they could not get enough room to use their hammers. Killing three with a great axe spin he to meet more only to se one with his hammer already swinging. He tried to block with his shield but it did nothing the shield shattered and then his arm. Screaming in agony as his arm fell to his side. He almost lost grip of his axe but he knew if he did, he was dead. So he kept fighting through the pain, focusing on his axe arm to do the swinging with all his might. Killing the last of the mob Zarda collapsed next to Rhiannon, the pain to much to keep going for now.

Mentalmdc · Feb 14, 2006, 01:08 PM // 13:08

All around the heroes fell, dead, alive, unknown, what was the difference. By the time night fell the Fort was silent and the Grawls scurried around shifting the dead from where they lay, stacking them up into a gigantic mound ready for a sacraficial burning. The victory for the Grawls was a great one and meant that they had secured Ascalon. Only a few Human settlements remained but these would not stand a chance. The newly appointed Grawl captain looked around, his face filled with pride. A stout looking human approached him and the Grawl bowed.

"Congratulations, all has been completed to my satisfaction. Round up the heroes you were told about, if they are alive I want them unharmed, I have other uses for them now."

An evil grin spread across the figures face. Outside a few other humans still faught for their lives, apparently a rather large wolf had been causing a lot of trouble. The figure put a hood on so that it cloaked his face. He threw open the large oaken doors of the Central door and lit the many lights that lined the ancient stone walls. The dim lit room was eerie and the new crowned leader of Ascalon sat in his throne. Duruk had successfully maintained the farming of the Grawl allowing their numbers to grow, working alongside them to prepare a dominant attack on Ascalon. The thought of Grawls conquering such a great nation was a strange one yet it worked. Duruk had betrayed all those he had met and the men he had met in Cantha would be well pleased.

Rhiannon was the first dragged into the room. Her body was limp and fragile, the large Grawl just dumped her on the floor. Duruk looked down at the sorry sight and lifted up her chin. Her hair had come out and her blonde hair flowed down her shoulders hilighting her elegant shoulders. It was ashame to see such a pretty face in such a state. Duruk looked towards the east, his only obstacle now was the seige of Rin. However he still had fear in his heart, for if a messenger escaped and alerted the dwarves in the mountain, they might relight the Beacons and trigger the army of the alliances of old. This would be more than he could handle.

Grawl guards lined the hall and Duruk ventured outside. The time was drawing near, all was falling into place. As Duruk looked out across the battleplains a look of horror and absolute fear grabbed hold of him.

Ristaron · Feb 14, 2006, 09:34 PM // 21:34

(OOC: I hate to nitpick, but there are a few things I felt an overwhelming desire to comment on:
Rilder, isn't your character a levie from Cayven? I find it sort of hard to believe he could singlehandedly take out 25 Grawls... especially when the last half of them he fights with a broken arm. You seem to have switched the whole concept of your character from farmer-made-warrior to veteran-general.
I know I had Ristaron take down dozens of Grawl solo... but he had Morgan at his back and when the Grawl army organized themselves, he went down.
Just pointing out the discontinuity, please don't take the critisism harshly.

And, uh... Mentalmdc, Adelbern took the reign of Ascalon from a truly poor king, which leads me to believe for generations before that the royal line had been less-than-stellar. I find it a little hard to believe that they would have [re]claimed the throne from an obviously powerful man like Duruk... who may even be a lich from the way you describe him. Aside from that, Adelbern's reign signified the end of the guild wars (which lasted over a hundred years), and had a lich controlled Ascalon the guilds would either have been destroyed, or prospered exceedingly when he was removed/destroyed. In either case, it is likely that Ascalon's guilds would have been able to claim all of the bloodstones in either scenario... just food for thought, we'll play this RP out however it gets written.)

Morgan was proving more than dangerous to the Grawl army as they kept trying to surround her. The powerful wolf continually broke free with ease, her five hundred pound frame barrelling foes aside before they could get their footing.
Tiring quickly with the effort of throwing her heavy body around, the lupine terror was starting to move more and more slowly. Still one thing remained her in mind, though, and that was finding her friend. Clamping her mighty jaws around the neck of one Grawl as she soared by him, she turned in midair, letting her rump knock another in the side of the head. Landing gently with the first savage's neck still in her mouth, she turned in for a roll that ultimately tore the Grawl's neck. Dropping the bloody meat from her maw, Morgan loped along the edge of another group that was organizing to defeat the powerful wolf. Her attention turned from the group when her paw struck something vaguely familliar. Emerald eyes turned to see an upright rapier, slightly dug into the earth, the blade still humming quietly, the leather hilt slightly burnt, like the ground the bloodstained metal tip of the weapon had embedded itself in.
The beast's connection to the sword was undeniable, even by the confused lupine. Memories flooded into her of the many times she had seen her master's own pair of similar weapons in action, precisely landing hits on the most vulnerable places of his enemy. A spark ignited in her mind, and with a ferocious growl she took the weapon hilt in her mouth and bounded away from the immediate battle in search of the rapier's comrade, and in all hopes, its owner.

(OOC: by the way, whatever happened to the other Ascalon army? the one that was supposed to finish off the Grawls...?

And... since I know some of you are wondering how someone can wield two rapiers, I'll explain what kind of rapiers they are:
These aren't the Italian fencing/swashbuckling rapiers like seen here: http://www.a2armory.com/images/cazoleta-rapier.jpg, rather like this: http://ddo.gamerifts.com/content/com...pon_Rapier.jpg. The rapiers Ristaron wields are about 2 ft long, and therefore easily light enough to wield in pairs if you have some measure of ambidexterity. )

Rilder · Feb 15, 2006, 06:00 AM // 06:00

Quote:

Originally Posted by Ristaron

(OOC: I hate to nitpick, but there are a few things I felt an overwhelming desire to comment on:
Rilder, isn't your character a levie from Cayven? I find it sort of hard to believe he could singlehandedly take out 25 Grawls... especially when the last half of them he fights with a broken arm. You seem to have switched the whole concept of your character from farmer-made-warrior to veteran-general.

(OOC:Well for one, i think my charactor was near a monk if wrote it right, and that in some cases of real life battles one can enter a state of mind that makes you nearly immune to fealing all damage, a sort of drunk rage thing that i'm roleplaying my char was in, Not fealing any pain, most notably Beserkers and the Naked "Gestatae" of the Gauls that the Romans fought, after all my char has alot to be pissed about, but i should of stated more and I apologize)

Ristaron · Feb 16, 2006, 04:37 AM // 04:37

(OOC: No, no need to apologize. It was just a little helpful critisism, not meant to insinuate you had done something wrong (which you haven't, there's no wrong way to write a story). However, yes it would have been less confusing if you had included something like the state of mind he had entered... or if the monk had healed him.
Keep posting, you're an excellent writer and I look forward to reading your posts.)