Curse

Goats17 · Jun 15, 2006, 01:06 AM // 01:06

(OOC:

Quote:

Originally Posted by Ristaron

OOC:
And Goats, excellent touch on how you sought her out, and especially on the twist with the Mursaat.

Thanks for that. I really apreciate it. I was starting to feel out of the group, as I think Greysen hates me, so I wanted to connect to someone in the story, and Richmuel is a necromancer as well as Kratos......So it seemed logical to connect to him/her.

Brother Doug · Jun 21, 2006, 03:43 PM // 15:43

OOC: I admit, it's a short post, but I'm just trying to get things rolling again.

Relius froze where he stood. Something was odd. He could See nothing out of the ordinary from where he stood, yet he could feel that something strange had just occurred. Shaking it off, he ran to catch up to Ristaron and the new figure by his side. The figure looked like a veteran fighter, someone who had seen too many battles. Relius took caution in approaching the newcomer.

Too many questions floated around in his head, many still unanswered. Who had started the Grawl invasion and why? What had caused Rodgort’s change? Who was the necromancer, and now this mysterious pit fighter? Everything seemed jumbled, but Relius had an odd sense that everything was all linked together.

“Greetings once again, Ristaron. I had a feeling that monstrosity was no match for such a warrior.” Turning to the pit fighter, he asked, “And just who are you?”

Goats17 · Jun 23, 2006, 09:40 PM // 21:40

Dornath walked around the room he and Kratos had rented. All his things had been gathered in his bag, and he was ready to leave. He just had to have one final check for his stuff, and leave a ward for Kratos explaining where he had gone.

His guild lord, Claude, had called him. He was going back to his seaside town where his guild was based. Something about the Arcane Vindican. And Arial, an elementalist who he had requested numerous reports of. He left Ranik, knowing that he was undertaking something big.

LaserLight · Jun 24, 2006, 05:56 PM // 17:56

“A day?” Greysen said. He was confused by this statement, it had been over two weeks since the man in front of him had disappeared. Then it sunk into him just where the resistance leader had just said he’d been. That would explain it…most of the religious types say time acts strangely in the Mists. I almost feel sorry for you, stranger.

“Listen, friend. It’s been over two weeks since that final battle. The Krytans have been here long enough to feel that this place is rightfully theirs, and you have been missing since then, as have all the other resistance leaders of the invasion.” Greysen knew what a statement such as this would spark in a man like the resistance leader, and thus continued quickly.

“The situation has changed while you’ve been in the Mists. The Krytans have taken firm hold of Ranik and, predictably, have already begun to make trouble with the locals. The tension in this area is high, dangerously so. Most of Ascalon is shocked and confused, and many of the more disreputable guilds and crime rings have been taking advantage of the situation to step up their activities. The government is still shaking off its paralysis over the Invasion, but it lost a lot of soldiers here. That, combined with yielding Ranik to the Krytans, has left the King in a very weak position right now. He’s lost both military strength and diplomatic leverage, and thus can’t do much to investigate the invasion between rebuilding his forces and trying to regain the face he lost.”

Serrina came up to Greysen’s side and sat next to him, and the Pit Fighter reached over absently and scratched the she-wolf’s ears. Unlike most, Serrina didn’t physically respond to the petting, but she stayed put and didn’t take Greysen’s hand off. She was still watching the Dire, wary of such a huge beast, and knew that she was bonded to the man with Greysen. As intelligent as she was, she knew playing up her own seeming bond with her own human might lessen the chances of an attack.

During this, Greysen had continued speaking, oblivious to the machinations of ‘his’ wolf. “That is where things stand now, friend. Ascalon is weak, and both criminals and Krytans, if there’s any difference, are taking advantage of it. I want to find out why the Invasion began in the first place, what purposes this man Duruk had for manipulating the Grawl chieftains into it. And more importantly, I want to find out if he acted alone, or if he was guided by someone, or something, else. Once I do, perhaps I can see about shoring up the King’s position.”

Having finished, Greysen merely stood, idly petting Serrina, and waited. He didn’t expect an answer right away; he had just told the resistance leader that he’d been absent for over two weeks and that his home kingdom was crumbling. Any man would be floored by this, and so Greysen allowed time for it all to sink in.

Not much time though, hero of the Invasion. The Krytans are still agitated by your abrupt return, and severing their leader’s hand wasn’t exactly the most diplomatic way of going about things. We need to walk carefully here, and swiftly.

Then the strangely garbed man in the blindfold appeared. “Greetings once again, Ristaron. I had a feeling that monstrosity was no match for such a warrior.” Seeming to notice Greysen just then, the man turned. “And just who are you?”

Greysen didn’t care for the man’s tone, but he was apparently a friend of Ristaron’s. I finally know your name, resistance leader. And this one…I think I remember hearing of a summoner from across the sea as part of the resistance leaders’ cell. Not bothering to face the blinded man, Greysen spoke, his tone several degrees cooler than when he had spoken to Ristaron. “My name is Greysen, sir summoner. I’m here to investigate the Invasion’s origins and the man Duruk. Since I seem to recall you were integral to throwing the invasion back, I wish to ask you and Mr. Ristaron some questions, but mind your tone around me. I’ve had more than enough impoliteness directed at me in my life, I don’t need yours.”

Ristaron · Jun 25, 2006, 10:57 PM // 22:57

Tapping his fingers together in a pensive rhythm, the mountainfolk didn't bother lifting his midnight eyes to survey the conversation between the Ritualist and immense warrior.
A week... that explained many things. But as the puzzle pieces fell into place, the mountainfolk found himself even more lost in this world he had thought he understood.

Ristaron arose, and realized for the first time Relius' stature. The slightly aged Ritualist was a head taller than the mountainfolk, and up to the shoulders of the massive warrior beside them. Deep in his mind, something clicked about the huge man that made him think of the brutal games played by the undercity rings of the nation. The Pits. Further train of thought about connecting Greysen to the Pits was halted by the more pressing matter.

One name Greysen had mentioned rang familliar to the mountainfolk. Duruk.
But the Duruk Ristaron knew of was far from Tyria, and a member of a reputable organization in Cantha. Why would he be here in Ascalon?

"This Duruk you mentioned", the mountainfolk began, looking directly at the towering warrior, "describe him".

Goats17 · Jun 26, 2006, 10:44 PM // 22:44

(OOC: Well, I think I've painted myself into a bit of a wall here. Kratos can't do anything until Sasha replys.)

Richmuel · Jun 27, 2006, 09:03 AM // 09:03

Sasha broke out of the trance quickly. Some of the sights one would seen would scare an ordianary person so severely most may go crazy, but for a well experienced Necromancer the sights of the dead were an all to common phenomenon, yet it was still restricted to only the most skillful and even then most preffered to avoid it. Looking into the souls of the past often revealed things best left alone, and the sight of her and her companions own faces or possible faces was one that most certainly was best left in the past.

Sasha patted the ground around her feeling the wet morning dew of the grass soaking her hands, sprawled on the ground with her hair askew she looked mildly embarrassed but nevertheless looked up at the person standing above her.

"So it is you, skillful to have sought me out using only the trail of dark magic. Somehow I recognise your face, perhaps from the days back at a Necromancer academy or such. I can not place you as I can not place most of our other companions but I am beginning to feel there are many links between us that have braught us together. You no doubt know what I was doing and I tell you it has caused me more questions than answers.

Sasha stood up and brushed herself down.

"I need to know about the history of this place, for as we all well know, the past can provide answers for the future. You also need to discover exactly what Duruk was doing, but I feel the answer lie in the past. It is now why we must work out why we have been braught together, how we know each other and why. If we do not work it out in time then for what I fear is coming, we may be too late. Do any of you know of someone who knows what happened here many years ago?"

LaserLight · Jun 27, 2006, 08:48 PM // 20:48

"I have never heard a physical description of Duruk, friend," Greysen replied to Ristaron's question, thinking back on the information he’d heard. None of it came with a description – or rather, all of it had come with a description, it was simply that none of the descriptions seemed to match.

“What I know is this. He was once a Captain of the Vanguard, sworn to Ascalon’s defense. He betrayed his King though, and showed himself to be a powerful sorcerer as well as a warrior by practicing forbidden magics on the Monk Rhiannon, binding her life force to his. He fled Ranik when the Krytans arrived, Rhiannon on his trail, and hasn’t been seen since. I wish I could say more, but it took every persuasive skill in my repertoire to get as much as I have. I was hoping you’d know more.”

Greysen looked off above Ristaron’s shoulder – not hard, given his height – and considered. Ristaron seemed almost as clueless as he, though given where the Ranger had spent the last two weeks, it was little surprise. Still, it was disappointing to the big Pit Fighter that he was very little closer to Duruk than when his journey had started. Perhaps, however, he could still enlist the Ranger’s aid in finding more information, as well as, perhaps, this summoner with the big mouth.

And perhaps Ristaron could teach him how to work with Serrina as well, Greysen though with a slight grimace.

Ristaron · Jun 28, 2006, 01:35 AM // 01:35

Rhiannon's name created a spark in the ranger's mind. Though he had only known her for a little while, he could feel that a bond had grown between the two. The young monk was clearly one of Dwayna's blessed, for otherwise she would have not been able to join him in the Mists, but even acolytes were allowed feelings.

The description of Duruk as a spellcaster was almost significant enough for Ristaron to declare that the man he knew was this supposed Invasion organizer, but he had to be rational. While it is true that there is a much smaller population of mages in Tyria (and other nations, as well), there were still countless thousands of practitioners of magic, and there were undoubtably at least two who go by the name of Duruk.

Had Ristaron not known Duruk to be a man of respectable morals and honour, he may have been sold the moment his name was mentioned. But the Duruk Ristaron knew would never betray a king unless there was no other choice. And even then, it would take a powerful influence to spur the spellcaster's initiative on such an act...

"I think there is more than just treason behind this entire thing", the ranger said pointedly, "we need to find out 'who', and then the more important question: 'why?'".

Richmuel · Jun 28, 2006, 08:55 AM // 08:55

'Duruk,' the sound ran familiar in Sashas mind, it was then that she remembered where she had met him and a terrible feeling sank in her stomach. Sashas eyes glazed over with the shock at realising perhaps at what she had done, she had been tricked and now she knew that possibly she had allowed the whole invaision to take place. Many thoughts dawned on her, different ideas and conspiracies bombarded her as she tried to figure out exactly what it was she did not understand. Her hands trembling she turned her back on the group to think by herself.

It had been a stormy night and sparks of lightning lashed out at the rooftop of the Imperial Castle in Ascalon. The King paced the marbled floor but briefly stopped to look at the many people stood in front of him. Sasha remembered how special she felt, gaining an audience with the king on personal request. The truth of the matter was less than pretty. The king had summoned the most well known heros from around Ascalon. Sasha has been summoned due to her actions in the secret police organisation that work directly for the king. It was that night Duruk stepped forward. This was before his betrayal.

Duruk and the King had spoken privately and now addressed everyone together.

"A great unknown threat is approaching, one that has gone beyond our control, we lost a whole platoon yesterday trying to tackle this 'problem' head on. It has become obvious this is not a problem we can tackle head on, we need to find a new way to solve it. Duruk here as one of my most trusted loyalists has offered a way to defeat this foe but he requires you people to go complete certain tasks."

Sasha had been given the task of collecting an Orb from the catacombs however upon reaching it she had been concerned about the inscriptions on the wall of the chamber, it pictured the orb being used on many creatures such as the Grawl, but then moved on to show them as under the users control. Sasha had learnt not to question the motives of her benefactors and so kept quiet. However over the time of many dangerous tasks completed Duruk had grown to trust her and invited Sasha into the inner circle. 2 Months ago Duruk and the King had sent her off on a dangerous quest to find out the origins of the Chimera symbol and unearth the mysteries of the secret cult. Sasha had left only to hear a few weeks later Duruk had been removed from his position by order of the King. Sasha was shocked as she knew both were the closest of friends, yet she had noticed that both of their actions had been growing more sinsiter as time went on.

It now dawned on Sasha that some of the thing she had done and collected for Duruk had allowed him to raise the Grawl army. Yet to Sasha, Duruk had no reason to attack Ascalon, he wanted to secure the countries stability and like the King was only concerned that Ascalon survived the impending Guild Wars. Sasha thought a bit longer then it hit her like a bombshell, Duruk would never hurt the king even if he was cast out, he was too much of a patriot, yet it was the 'too much' of a patriot that scared her. What if the King and Duruk has concocted an evil scheme to secure the future of Ascalon over Kryta and Orr. Yet it made no sense, the invaision had threatened to plunge Ascalon into complete dissaray and cripple it for years to come.

What was it about Fort Ranik that had caused Duruk to go after it so vigorously. Sasha knew that Ranik held many secrets but now discovering them would be near impossible with the Krytans in charge. The krytans were in charge, but the King had given them such a key fort without a second thought and these Krytans were an outcast Guild from Kryta. The king was creating a private army! The invaision had allowed the Krytans to make a claim. If they were under direct control of the King it meant the King could do as he pleased to the Fort to unearth its hidden chambers with complete disregard for the people, there was no threat of him being removed from power as no one could connect him to the Krytans.

But Sasha had worked this out quite easily. Sashas heart skipped a beat, it was obvious in the end that she would work it out and what scared her most is that the King after speaking with her and knowing what she knew would probably realise. A horn blew, Sasha looked towards the eastern hill and her heart sank. A small band of men that outnumbered the heroes 3 to 1 was approacing baring the banner of the secret police. When they reached the heroes the leader pulled out n arrest warrant.

"By the order of the King you are all now declared outcasts of the state, and will be charged for treason. You will come with us and drop your weopons, any attempt at escape will be met with upmost force."

They had to escape, looking into the eyes of her friends sasha thrust her dagger into the heart of the police leader. They would become fugitives but they had to find a way to find out what the king was after, why Duruk had had a facination with the cult and a way to take the King from his throne.

Goats17 · Jun 28, 2006, 03:40 PM // 15:40

Kratos watched from a hilltop a few metres away. He saw the one he had come to know as Greysen talk to Ristaron, the mountainfolk. He watched as a blindfolded member that he had never seen before walked u and spoke to both of them. He watched as the necromancer he had seen using the dark powers of summoning advance on them, and began to speak. That was when she had stopped, and gone into another trance. He watched as the Secret Asclonian police advanced on the comrades. He stared as the necromancer in the group had stabbed the leader. Kratos wondered what would happen next. He would need to stay put of this fight, for if they were taken to jail, they would need a friend outside to help them.

Ristaron · Jun 28, 2006, 05:18 PM // 17:18

The mountainfolk's theorizing was interrupted by a loud voice that boomed over the area they were in. Turning to follow Greysen's gaze, Ristaron glimpsed a tall hilltop behind him, the silhouettes of a large group of people outlined against the low sun. He watched and listened as the dictation was read out, convicting the Necromancer from the shop. He knew trouble was turning to danger when she drove her dagger through the unsuspecting leader's heart.

Don't come this way, please, Ristaron pleaded in his mind. He desperately did not want any more to happen today other than to settle enough with the Krytans to find a room at an inn and sleep for a week. The mysteries could wait, despite Greysen's obvious urge to push on.

Watching the situation unfold, Ristaron's midnight eyes caught one of the members of the large group indicate at him. The ranger's heart sank as the group started down the hillside, and their banner came into view.

After weeks of travelling the mountains, the sight of the more flat lands was a beacon to the weary ranger and his large lupine companion. They had been lucky that Ristaron's name was even known to the Deldrimor Dwarves, or else they would not have been allowed passage through the Borlis Pass, and would have been forced to remain in Kryta, or take a longer path far North into the more dangerous area of the Northern Shiverpeaks.
Nothing like what I grew up in, Ristaron thought, recalling the savage Southern Shiverpeaks where he had been raised. Nonetheless, a single ranger and a single wolf could not contend with the entire parties of centaurs and minotaurs who roamed the frozen tundra of the unregulated Northern passage.
But now the pair overlooked the highland kingdom of Ascalon, the famous Great Northern Wall already visible, and knew the longest stretch of their journey was over.

**

Ristaron and Morgan found a comfortable, uninhabited cave that night as they descended into the foothills. They had travelled lightly and not aroused any suspicion, or so they thought.
Just hours before dawn, Ristaron awoke to a growl from Morgan, who had been lying down near the mouth of the cave. No stranger to midnight raids, Ristaron's lightning reflexes had him up with rapiers in hand in no time.
But instead of finding a group of bandits ready to fight, he instead found a quartet of men in heavy longcoats, each marked with a single symbol on the breast pocket.

On the first night of his stay in the large kingdom, Ristaron met the secret police, who promised they would have their eye on him as long as he remained.
With their intentions clear, the ranger knew the blades at his hips had not seen their last use this day.

LaserLight · Jun 28, 2006, 08:11 PM // 20:11

“Lovely,” Greysen muttered viciously upon hearing the mens’ proclamation. His talk with Ristaron, which had been going relatively well, would obviously have to wait. Tensing his fists, Greysen began to walk quickly up the hill, not flinching in the slightest as the necromancer killed the lead man. She had gotten him by surprise, but those men were obviously trained warriors, easily a match for a young, frail spellcaster. As the remainder of the secret police snarled and moved in, Greysen broke into a sprint. You may be a match for her, but I’ll bet you’ve never, ever seen the likes of me…

Three of the men turned to Greysen when they heard his charging footsteps, drawing their shortswords. They each wore a very serious look on their face; Greysen was huge, and muscled like a bear, and obviously pissed off. Then serious turned to alarm as the Pit Fighter’s fists burst into flame, his stolen fighting gloves working up to the fight in their own way. The first man Greysen approached didn’t panic as had the last batch of imbeciles Greysen fought, but the Pit Fighter’s aura of lethality, flaming fists, and sheer size shook him badly. His sword thrust was off-target and slightly shaky, easily smashed aside by one fist as its partner rammed into the man’s face with the force of a rockslide. Combined with the speed of Greysen’s sprint, the blow snapped the man’s head far enough back to snap his neck, instantly dropping the Warrior. The other two men already facing Greysen shouted in fear, drawing the attention of most of the remaining squad. Soon, Greysen found himself furiously batting aside blades, unable to launch an attack of his own, as no less than five expert swordsmen ringed him.

Accumulating cuts, minor and otherwise, at an alarming rate, the Pit Fighter growled deep in his chest, a haze of red obscuring his vision, as flashes of similar battles in the Pits ran through his mind. Times when he had been outnumbered, times when he had been forced to fight injured, times when he had fought armed and armored Warriors without even benefit of a loincloth…

Not this time…not this time…NOT THIS TIME!

“RRRRAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!”

Greysen flashed instantly into a killing rage, his body flooding with reserves he could only rarely tap, the nightmares of his past fueling his muscles. Stepping in close to one swordsman, Greysen crossed his arms in front of himself just before the man stabbed again. Greysen caught the blade between the backs of his fighting gloves, slamming both backhand strikes into the blade with enough force to snap it in two, before his left hand speared into the man’s throat, tearing flesh and searing muscle as Greysen grabbed the man’s spinal cord, from inside his throat, and snapped it like a twig.

Then the Pit Fighter hissed as a sudden blazing pain erupted in his side, a sword thrust gone deeper than he liked. The killing rage in his mind subsided enough for him to spin and knock away a follow-up thrust, but he was losing ground here and he knew it.

It was then that the man that had stabbed Greysen, ugly triumph on his face, squealed in pain and shock as his left leg collapsed beneath him, the tendons in his knee severed. As he hit the ground, fangs flashed and his throat sprayed life’s blood into the air. Serrina had returned and gone to the aid of her friend. The she-wolf was dwarfed next to the Pit Fighter, but she was even faster than he, ducking blades with an almost unnatural grace as she swept in, lightning fast, swiping with her fangs or her claws, causing wounds and pain, distracting the swordsmen. The distraction proved disastrous for one as Greysen’s fist struck his chest like a runaway wagon going downhill, cracking his sternum and leaving an agonizing burn over the wound. This swordsman might have survived, but he was screaming on the ground right then, and died a few moments later as Serrina took his throat.

The pair fought like things possessed, but there were many swordsmen, and all were well-trained. Greysen was wounded, and the nightmares of his past, while driving him to ever-greater heights of physical strength and speed, burned through his energy and endurance with alarming speed. He was tiring, and Serrina didn’t have his reach, couldn’t find an opening through the wall of blades. This was not good…

Any time now, Ristaron…

Brother Doug · Jun 28, 2006, 09:20 PM // 21:20

Here we go again…

As he saw the necromancer stab a dagger into the police leader’s heart, Relius gave a cry of frustration. ‘Necromancers…’ he thought. As the massive pit fighter rushed towards the oncoming soldiers, Relius raised his scepter high, bringing it down onto the skull of the nearest soldier with a crash. Amazingly enough, the orb attached to the scepter stayed perfectly in tact. Before he could be distracted again, Relius began to summon a spirit of darkness. He spoke quickly in the summoner’s tongue.

“Li convoco esrito du neressa! Distrucca el nemiko!”

A dark purple orb descended from the heavens and fell to the grassy hill below. As soon as it touched the surface, the orb began to shift and mold itself until it had a stunning resemblance to a burgundy stallion with pure amber eyes. Black smoke poured from its nostrils, and it began to neigh: a high-pitched shriek that rang out across the hill and off into the distance. Quickly, Relius grabbed his scepter and mounted the beast, an onyx saddle and reins forming as the ritualist touched it.

The beast instantly leapt into a gallop, having Relius hold tightly to the newly acquired reins with one hand while blasting the mystic energy of the scepter at the soldiers with the other. While it galloped, dark tentacles erupted from the stallion, gripping the first soldier they came in contact with and crushing the life out of them. Although the tentacles moved slowly, they were accurate. Relius knew the spirit was excessively violent, but the soldiers were coming in faster. Death needed to come swiftly to the enemy before the group was outnumbered. Because of the nature of the spell, the spirit knew which creatures were friends and which were foes. The tentacles danced and swerved around Ristaron, the pit fighter, the two wolves, and the necromancer with relative ease, and the spirit wasn’t running out of steam.

Relius, on the other hand, wasn’t having the best of luck holding onto the reins. A slight jolt loosened his grip, and the ritualist went flying off the horse, his scepter careening the opposite direction. ‘That’s not good,’ he thought to himself. The shadow horse slowly began to dissolve until it was nothing more than air. As Relius looked off at the beast, he realized the immense pain in his leg. A stray arrow had been shot into it as he fell. Plucking it out and ignoring the pain for now, Relius ran as fast as he could with his injury to reclaim his weapon. Just as he was about to get it, a soldier, sneering down at him, picked it up. He flipped it around experimentally before aiming it at the ritualist’s heart. However, the shot seemed to backfire. Instead of the energy coming out of the orb itself, it seemed to take a reverse direction, setting the man’s armor aflame.
The fire reminded Relius that he wasn’t entirely powerless without his staff. Holding what he now called his Titan Necklace high into the air, he unleashed a blazing inferno onto the already burning warrior. It quickly died down after a second, and ceased to function. Picking up his stolen weaponry quickly before anyone else tried to snatch it, Relius hoped inside that the battle would soon be over. He had done enough fighting for a while.

Goats17 · Jun 28, 2006, 09:40 PM // 21:40

"O Shit." Kratos stared as Greysen encountered the five swordsmen. These were the Krytan Secret Police, not even Ristaron could take on five at one time. Even though he had sworn that he wasn't going to interfere with thise battle, he couldn't just let Greysen die. He raged in himself for a few seconds, then broke his resolve. He began to chant, and felt the momentary pain that he always felt before casting this particular hex.

"May the enemy's attacking be undone by their own doing. Let the spirits attack them as they attack my companions. SPITEFUL SPIRIT!"

He watched as they slowly weakened their attack on Greysen, and clapped when the first one fell. It would only be a few seconds before the next one dropped. He was taking an active role in helping the group now. He was going to be able to help Ristaron. Dekster was going to be pissed.

Richmuel · Jun 29, 2006, 10:32 AM // 10:32

"Now this is what it is all about," grinned Sasha as she knocked back the man she just stabbed. Looking around her companions had cleared up most of the police but a few still remained. Sasha glanced at one of the bodies and grinned, her next performance of the evening would be sure to send the remaining police running for the hills. A quick flick of her wrist and the bodies on the ground exploded, the ear splitting sound of crunching bones and bubbling flesh and they spewed into the air searing the guards, but this was not then end of her trick, the bones then reformed into vile creatures so hideous that even the grass they walked on died, starved of all things natural. The creature ran after then police as they ran into the distance however once out of range disspeared into nothing more than dust.

Now that was over Sasha looked at her companionsobviously questioning why the events had happened, the ritualist obviously horrifed at what Sasha had just created. Sasha proceeded to fill them in about who those men were and corrected Kratos on the fact that the police were in fact the secret police of Ascalon sent by the King of Ascalon. Sasha had figured out that the King was involved in a dark plot and that he had secured the fort for the Krytans so they could run a private investigation for him into its darker secrets without the interference of the King people. It explained why the King had been seen visiting the Fort so often without putting right the atrocities commited by the Krytans and why they had wanted these heroes out so quickly.

"Unfortunately this means we are now outcasts in Ascalon and the King will hunt us mericlessly. We can trust no one, we all attacked the police and the guards that escaped will tell the others. In towns we need to keep a low profile but more importantly we need to find out why Duruk and the King are so facinated with this cult but also there is something even bigger, things even I don't understand. I have told you all I know now and will precede to follow you, what do you propose we do?"

Ristaron · Jun 30, 2006, 04:47 AM // 04:47

OOC: A little late, but I definately need to post my character's bit in this fight... just consider it happening as Richmuel's post is occuring.

IC:

The ranger had thought Greysen was insane as he watched the Pit Fighter storm towards the secret police. Though the man was clearly a lifetime fighter, he was just one man.
His doubts became disbelief as the Pit Fighter's fists erupted into flame and he began to dish out a terrifying fight. For a moment, the ranger was transfixed on watching the large man's grace. His movements were so sure, and his hits all solid. But as he was surrounded, Ristaron forced himself from the trance and erupted into action.

The Pit Fighter's wolf blew by him, a streak of gray, and began defending her companion with a ferocious zeal. Ristaron was ten paces away when an arrow shot right in front of him, just grazing his ebony-skinned nose. Forgetting his luck, the ranger turned to find the shooter.
The man was behind another quartet of fighters heading straight for him.

Ristaron watched them as they approached almost in slow motion. The mountainfolk didn't have time to revel in the moment of clarity of thought as he identified their pattern of approach, what weapons they weld, and the physical strength they appeared to have. Turning to be square with the advancing police, Ristaron's midnight eyes registered Morgan's telltale gray flash behind the guards as she took out the archer.

One leather boot stepped forward, then the next. By now the ranger's gloved hands had grasped their appropriate rapier, and by the third step the blades were free. Two blades against four. Ristaron liked those odds.

Always one to push his boundaries, Ristaron had grown during his time in the mists. Be it his encounter with his goddess, or the defeat of Rodgort the Titan, the ranger was more confident in his combat skills, more sure of his actions, and more able to identify the weaknesses of his enemies. Such a weakness was easily exploited by the mountainfolk's lightning reflexes as he danced between the first two warriors, landing a hit on both of them. Staring blankly at their minor cuts and wondering how the ranger's impossibly fast swordsmanship had created them, they were dumbfounded a moment too long.

Ristaron was viscious, attacking each with one rapier that danced quicker than anything any master had ever taught them. Onlookers were amazed as the most improbable thing occured: the fighters had to backpeddal away from their single opponent.

Parting as they stepped back, the two came to flank the dour-handed ranger, allowing the other guards to join in. Thinking their tactic would slow his quick attacks and parries, the fighters were not prepared for the man's brutally precise outburst as they dropped their guard to force him on the defensive. It was like witnessing a hundred blades all swing at once as his rapiers swung in all concievable directions that endangered his enemies. Two guards fell back clutching their throats, which dripped with blood, and a third yelped and jumped away, nursing the top of his sword hand.

Turning all the dangerous focus on the unharmed guard, Ristaron quickly had the man so riddled with cuts that he grew too dizzy from the loss of blood to continue fighting. As he fell back, however, he came to experience the merciless vengeance he had readily dished out in the past. He was dead before he hit the ground.

Turning to see if Greysen was still alright, the almost indistinguishable sound of iron being dragged across grass was a sonorous alarm in Ristaron's ebony ears. The ranger leapt around, easily meeting the stubborn guard's attack. The man nursed his right hand against his chest, the tendons to his fingers sliced, forcing him to use his left hand to wield his blade. Nowhere near as ambidexterous as the mountainfolk, his attacks were clumsy and easily defeated.
The second such attack was parried high, and Ristaron's second rapier came up and pierced the man's underarm, coming up through his bicep. Howling in pain, the guard fell back in shock.

Turning again to check Greysen and his wolf's progress against the five guards he was facing, he found Morgan was racing for the pair to help them finish off the quintuplet. But the help wasn't necessary, for even as the man attacked the bleeding Pit Fighter he seemed to grow even weaker until eventually he crumpled and was mercilessly finished off.

Noticing for the first time that he had suffered a gash along his right forearm, the ranger instinctively went for his bottle of unguent. As he brought it up, he remembered how he had used it all healing himself after the many battles over the last few days. But as he looked down at the vial, he was forced to adopt a curious look to find it once again full.
The revelation was enough to make him chuckle (though it may have been his excited nerves from combat); Who else but Melandru herself could instantly create enough ranger unguent to fill a vial?

Popping the cork, he looked again at the large Pit Fighter. The man had suffered many cuts and bruises from his battle, and he looked to need the salve more than Ristaron did.

OOC: LazerLight, please feel free to write out my character applying some of the Troll Unguent, if you decide to have Greysen accept the treatment.

Brother Doug · Jul 07, 2006, 11:02 PM // 23:02

(OOC: Happy 4th everyone! I'm just doing my job as a forumer and getting this up and running again.)

“This still makes absolutely no sense,” Relius said. “Why would the king be so fixated on this cult that he would risk the lives of his own people? Aren’t a king’s people supposed to be his main priority?” He sat on the lush forest ground, drumming his head with his fingers. He needed to think.

‘What an odd place Ascalon is. I wonder if all of Tyria is the same,’ he thought to himself. Then again, he realized a continent inflamed in civil war for the only reason of disliking the other group would probably sound just as foolish. Getting his mind back on the current task, he knew that it would be hard keeping a low profile. After all, how hard would it be to find an ebony-skinned ranger, a giant of a man, a blindfolded ritualist, and two wolves? Even if the group split up, they would be found eventually with such unique appearances. And if they were alone, they were weaker. As much as he hated to admit it, the necromancer would have to remain with the rest of them. She seemed to know the most about the king anyway, and they would very likely need her information. In the meantime, Relius concluded that wandering around towns wouldn’t be an option. Unless…

‘No! I would never do that! It is a shame to my very profession!’ the ritualist argued with himself. ‘It is the only way…I must. It’s not a permanent change anyway…’ Letting out a long sigh, Relius Espirin stood up.

“Although I have no suggestions on where to go next, I do advise making our appearances a little…less noticeable. The way our group looks right now, anyone could spot us out. Because of this, I suggest some type of disguise or other way to alter our looks. As for myself…” Relius began to do something he hadn’t done in the past thirty years.

He removed his blindfolds.

Slowly, the maroon strips of cloth fell away to reveal Relius’ eyes; chalk white with piercing blue irises that seemed to look into souls. Which was ironic, as Relius’ blindfolds assisted his spiritual Sight. Without it, his connection to the spiritual realm was weakened. Until the blindfolds were reattached, he could only summon the very weakest of spirits, only capable of fending off children and animals. Of course, the ritualist still had his scepter, but the lack of a blindfold around his eyes frightened him. He felt much older and weaker, and longed for the power he once had within the comforting cloth. His eyes were not accustomed to the sun. The sudden burst of light surprised Relius so much that he staggered about for a while, shielding his face with his hands. Before anyone could assist him, he shot out his hand, revealing his face to the sunlight once again.

“I am fine. Weakened for now, but fine. As soon as I reattach my blindfold, I shall regain my full power. For now, I will travel with it off as not to arouse suspicion.” He quickly stuffed the blindfold into the pocket of his pants. It would not leave that location.

If it did, Relius vowed to kill whoever had stolen it.

Goats17 · Jul 08, 2006, 12:10 AM // 00:10

(OOC: I've been busy with Canada Day parties and stuff. Had a birthday (not mine) too. I'm writing more now.)

" Well then. I didn't belive that Ritualists EVER removed their focusers after begining their training. It must be really important to you to survive." Kratos was wandering around the clearing where the battle had been staged.
" And you Greysen, I know we didn't part last time on the greatest terms, but I would advise you to accept at least a small amount of Ristaron's Troll Ungent. I don't know how it works, but you need alot of help right now. And since we have just been told that we are hunted folk by this lovely necromancer here, it might be difficult to obtain healing from a registered Monk."

Kratos began to search through his backpack for clothes that he hadn't worn on Ascalon. He found his clothes from when he was an apprentice at the Mursaat tower. Those would do, people might think he was a noble, but they would do. He walked around a large tree, and began to undress. As he did, he looked at his chest. It was growing paler. He was looking more and more alike to Grenth the farther he got into Necrotic powers. Well, that was a change he was willing to make. He stepped around the tree again, this time dressed in his disguise, and said," Well, aren't we all going to change to become more inconspicuos?(sp?)"

Ristaron · Jul 08, 2006, 04:05 AM // 04:05

(OOC: just waiting for Lazerlight to post.)