Turns out we need more than one, so please, write
The Grawl Invasion
6 pages • Page 6
Ristaron lay on the floor unconcious, Rilder now controlled by the spirit had a burning intent in its eyes leapt towards his helpless pray. Clasping its cold fingers around Ristarons neck he began to squeeze slowly and tightly as a small cracking sound braught a sense of pleasure to the evil being. Rhiannon got up and grabbed Ristarons two rapiers that he had dropped, swirling them around in an ornate style she carved the two blades in a circular motion through the air severing both of Rilders hands, Ristaron fell to the floor.
The glowing yellow eyes beamed at the poor monk, Rilder had obviously felt no pain. Rhiannon ran up the marbled steps of the temple gazing upon the intricately carved statues of the Gods in a purest marble. Rilder chanted something briefly as Rhiannon saw the beings hands grow back. Rilder pulled a large blade from its sheath and jabbed forwards pinning Rhiannons robes against a large stone altar. Rhiannon kicked out at Rilders feet knocking him back rolling down the stairs. Rhiannon grabbed the sword from her robes and ran into a large antechamber, several mindless sprits dwindled in its sacred halls, Rhiannon looked up to the ceiling only to find an endless window into the stars and planets that existed outside this world. An awe-inspiring site almost as wonderful as the art work that lined the exquisitie walls of the temple, however time was short and Rhiannon ran onwards, deeper into the temple, Rilder hunting her down.
Rilder burst through a door with a large looking bow, similar in stature to a machine gun it could repeatedly fire 50 arrows a minute with little need for reloading, it was the only one in existence, self-reloading and used by the now deceased hero of old Archeldar The Great, this was the temple of the Gods and it was obvious this is where his weapon had been kept. Rilder fired a burst of piercing arrows that flew through the air forcing Rhiannon to have to dive and slide for cover behind a statue. Rhiannon ran out but lept to the floor sliding along the slippery marble tiles as the arrows rechocheted around her. Leaping up she planted her sword deep in the chest of the spirit. Unfortunately it was not an enchanted sword and the being only wavered for a second buying Rhiannon enough time to get to the Holy Book of Dehabah.
The page was lined in Gold and the sacred but tainted words lay on the papyrus pages. Rhiannon wanted desperately to save Ristaron for deep inside she knew that in the short time they had known each other she had fallen in love with the man. Love was a foolish thing and caused some of the biggest mistakes in all history. Rhiannon that day read the words on that page to save the one she loved.
Nothing Happened.
However on the Ring of Island Fire Chain a large eruption took place, the Gods had hidden the bloodstones of magic in the depths of the volcano never to be used by man, but the words chanted caused an eruption all would regreat. The bloodstones returned to Tyria, the evil that all feared. Although having no direct impact on this story they would be the bane of Rhiannons future children, her children would have to put right the wrongs commited this day, kill an evil Liche and end the evil.
But on this day it was an event that was enough to awaken some angered Gods. A bone shaking sound emanated through the mists as a bright light pierced the clouds. The Gods came marching a fear stricken look upon their faces, they knew what was coming and they could not allow this fight to continue, Dwayna struck down the spirit immediately, Rilder fell to the ground and did not awaken. (I will leave it to Rilder to decide whether he awakens.)
The Gods looked down forsakingly at Rhiannon. What you have done will be the regret of us all, however it is through no fault of your own, it was going to happen one day. We can do nothing but dangerous events are rapidly unfolding in Tyria below. Although you have only been in the mists for a few mere hours, you have been gone from Tyria for 2 weeks. There is more for you to discover, more conspiracy, more adventure, more danger, more sadness, more hapiness, more life, more death. Now go! All of you! A door appeared in the mist beyond the temple, the way back to Tyria. With that the Gods left, the scenery disappeared leaving just the swirling mist, Rilder and Ristaron on the floor and a tired Rhiannon at Ristarons side brushing back his hair comforting him.
Rhiannon bent down, and turned Ristarons unconsious face, as she leant closer a warm breeze swirled slowly around as she planted a kiss upon his lips, this kiss from Rhiannon became known as Dwaynas kiss as she was Dwaynas creation. Immediately Ristaron awoke feeling refreshed, looking towards the door, they knew where they must go. However unbeknownst to all that day the bond formed between Rhiannon and Ristaron caused new life to form inside Rhiannon, the child would be saviour of Tyria, vanquisher of a liche.
When Rhiannon first met Duruk he had been on a mission to Cantha, there answers may lie there, but Rhiannon was tired and just wanted to get back to Tyria where the people she would meet, would take the next steps. Events had began to unfold and darker forces of the world had shown themselves during their time away.
The glowing yellow eyes beamed at the poor monk, Rilder had obviously felt no pain. Rhiannon ran up the marbled steps of the temple gazing upon the intricately carved statues of the Gods in a purest marble. Rilder chanted something briefly as Rhiannon saw the beings hands grow back. Rilder pulled a large blade from its sheath and jabbed forwards pinning Rhiannons robes against a large stone altar. Rhiannon kicked out at Rilders feet knocking him back rolling down the stairs. Rhiannon grabbed the sword from her robes and ran into a large antechamber, several mindless sprits dwindled in its sacred halls, Rhiannon looked up to the ceiling only to find an endless window into the stars and planets that existed outside this world. An awe-inspiring site almost as wonderful as the art work that lined the exquisitie walls of the temple, however time was short and Rhiannon ran onwards, deeper into the temple, Rilder hunting her down.
Rilder burst through a door with a large looking bow, similar in stature to a machine gun it could repeatedly fire 50 arrows a minute with little need for reloading, it was the only one in existence, self-reloading and used by the now deceased hero of old Archeldar The Great, this was the temple of the Gods and it was obvious this is where his weapon had been kept. Rilder fired a burst of piercing arrows that flew through the air forcing Rhiannon to have to dive and slide for cover behind a statue. Rhiannon ran out but lept to the floor sliding along the slippery marble tiles as the arrows rechocheted around her. Leaping up she planted her sword deep in the chest of the spirit. Unfortunately it was not an enchanted sword and the being only wavered for a second buying Rhiannon enough time to get to the Holy Book of Dehabah.
The page was lined in Gold and the sacred but tainted words lay on the papyrus pages. Rhiannon wanted desperately to save Ristaron for deep inside she knew that in the short time they had known each other she had fallen in love with the man. Love was a foolish thing and caused some of the biggest mistakes in all history. Rhiannon that day read the words on that page to save the one she loved.
Nothing Happened.
However on the Ring of Island Fire Chain a large eruption took place, the Gods had hidden the bloodstones of magic in the depths of the volcano never to be used by man, but the words chanted caused an eruption all would regreat. The bloodstones returned to Tyria, the evil that all feared. Although having no direct impact on this story they would be the bane of Rhiannons future children, her children would have to put right the wrongs commited this day, kill an evil Liche and end the evil.
But on this day it was an event that was enough to awaken some angered Gods. A bone shaking sound emanated through the mists as a bright light pierced the clouds. The Gods came marching a fear stricken look upon their faces, they knew what was coming and they could not allow this fight to continue, Dwayna struck down the spirit immediately, Rilder fell to the ground and did not awaken. (I will leave it to Rilder to decide whether he awakens.)
The Gods looked down forsakingly at Rhiannon. What you have done will be the regret of us all, however it is through no fault of your own, it was going to happen one day. We can do nothing but dangerous events are rapidly unfolding in Tyria below. Although you have only been in the mists for a few mere hours, you have been gone from Tyria for 2 weeks. There is more for you to discover, more conspiracy, more adventure, more danger, more sadness, more hapiness, more life, more death. Now go! All of you! A door appeared in the mist beyond the temple, the way back to Tyria. With that the Gods left, the scenery disappeared leaving just the swirling mist, Rilder and Ristaron on the floor and a tired Rhiannon at Ristarons side brushing back his hair comforting him.
Rhiannon bent down, and turned Ristarons unconsious face, as she leant closer a warm breeze swirled slowly around as she planted a kiss upon his lips, this kiss from Rhiannon became known as Dwaynas kiss as she was Dwaynas creation. Immediately Ristaron awoke feeling refreshed, looking towards the door, they knew where they must go. However unbeknownst to all that day the bond formed between Rhiannon and Ristaron caused new life to form inside Rhiannon, the child would be saviour of Tyria, vanquisher of a liche.
When Rhiannon first met Duruk he had been on a mission to Cantha, there answers may lie there, but Rhiannon was tired and just wanted to get back to Tyria where the people she would meet, would take the next steps. Events had began to unfold and darker forces of the world had shown themselves during their time away.
(( OOC: >_>
Had you obtained Rilder's permission to use his character like that?
I know you hadn't obtained mine to awake Ristaron... not that I'm objecting. A 'Dwayna's Kiss' is a good idea...
I'm gonna give this a day or so, in case Rilder objects to how it unfolded. If it's all good, I'll post. ))
Had you obtained Rilder's permission to use his character like that?
I know you hadn't obtained mine to awake Ristaron... not that I'm objecting. A 'Dwayna's Kiss' is a good idea...
I'm gonna give this a day or so, in case Rilder objects to how it unfolded. If it's all good, I'll post. ))
(OOC: This post wouldn't make any interferance with the post above, or with any changes that Rilder could decide to make. Anyway...I'm baaaack...
Also, welcome LazerLight! Nice to have you in the party. )
Five years. He had known Rodgort for five years, and hadn’t even realized the evil inside of him! The Ritualist pounded on the charred ground with his fists. How could he have been so stupid as not to realize it? Relius hadn’t done much during the battle, aside from sitting near Ristaron while he was down, and using restorative spirits to tend to his lesser wounds. Clearly the mountainfolk needed rest; after all, he had struck the final blow to Rodgort in his Titan form.
A slight breeze picked up, which was odd in the Mists. Relius stood from his position, watching a stray orange leaf blow. He grinned.
“A leaf…it all started with a leaf.” Relius recalled Seeing what others could not on a solitary leaf, a drop of blood that warned him of danger. The danger of the Grawl invasion, the invasion that had hopefully been pushed back. Listening to the wind, Relius caught an odd message on the breeze, one that only he could seem to hear.
“Relius…Relius? Can you hear me? I hope you can, for it is the last you will ever hear of old Rodgort.” The ritualist tensed at the mentioning of his old companion’s name. “Please…I ask for your forgiveness for the chaos this old Titan has caused. The fire I have within me…when it burns, it is hard to quench it. Something happened back in the Mists to re-ignite that fire. Perhaps it was seeing Duruk, perhaps it was meeting the mountainfolk in the Mists, perhaps both. But please, forgive me for the troubles I have caused you. Do not blame yourself. Continue on with your companions, for I do believe that my death was not the end of your journey. Goodbye, Relius…my friend. Until we meet again…”
Relius sighed and sat down again. After a few minutes, he stood and picked up the solitary leaf from where it had fallen. Using some twigs, he was able to form a necklace. He placed the leaf in the center. It would be a reminder of Rodgort.
Also, welcome LazerLight! Nice to have you in the party. )Five years. He had known Rodgort for five years, and hadn’t even realized the evil inside of him! The Ritualist pounded on the charred ground with his fists. How could he have been so stupid as not to realize it? Relius hadn’t done much during the battle, aside from sitting near Ristaron while he was down, and using restorative spirits to tend to his lesser wounds. Clearly the mountainfolk needed rest; after all, he had struck the final blow to Rodgort in his Titan form.
A slight breeze picked up, which was odd in the Mists. Relius stood from his position, watching a stray orange leaf blow. He grinned.
“A leaf…it all started with a leaf.” Relius recalled Seeing what others could not on a solitary leaf, a drop of blood that warned him of danger. The danger of the Grawl invasion, the invasion that had hopefully been pushed back. Listening to the wind, Relius caught an odd message on the breeze, one that only he could seem to hear.
“Relius…Relius? Can you hear me? I hope you can, for it is the last you will ever hear of old Rodgort.” The ritualist tensed at the mentioning of his old companion’s name. “Please…I ask for your forgiveness for the chaos this old Titan has caused. The fire I have within me…when it burns, it is hard to quench it. Something happened back in the Mists to re-ignite that fire. Perhaps it was seeing Duruk, perhaps it was meeting the mountainfolk in the Mists, perhaps both. But please, forgive me for the troubles I have caused you. Do not blame yourself. Continue on with your companions, for I do believe that my death was not the end of your journey. Goodbye, Relius…my friend. Until we meet again…”
Relius sighed and sat down again. After a few minutes, he stood and picked up the solitary leaf from where it had fallen. Using some twigs, he was able to form a necklace. He placed the leaf in the center. It would be a reminder of Rodgort.
Thanks for the go ahead Ristaron, I will join. However at the moment I am indisposed. *grumbles* stupid school, stupid projects. But I will join the Pit Fighter in Ranik soon. Expect me in there by monday. I would love to join now, but i have to work.
EDIT: actually, I think that I will join in with a little intro right now, then right a bit later.
Kratos emerged from the tower a changed man. His fighting skills had been honed, to the point where, if he wasn't walking around in elementalist clothing, people would think that he was a warrior. But in his heart, he still loved the air magic. The ability to cut through his enemies armor and snipe single enemys down with a few simple words. He was also in love with the new skill he had learned at the hands of the Dark Elementalist in their tower. (read d3kst3rs Lost Volumes to learn about them) Mind Shock was what they called it, it preyed on the weak, destroying them before a monk could heal them.
"I'm almost starting to worship Grenth, I've gotta stop thinking like this," he said to himself as he walked out of his teacher's valley. He wore Aeromancer armor, crafted by the finest threadweavers that Dreldimor could offer. And here was one of the most unusual things about him, if you were close enough to him. You might see a young man, only 18. Even though he looked to be in his late 20s or early 30s.
He had only one goal, to get to the military base near his old home. Fort Ranik was his destination. Near the sleepy fishing village in Regent Valley, where his first vision of the Tower had come to him, and where he first demonstrated that he was destined to greater things than being just a young farmer boy.
Pulling away from his flashback of his old life, he realized that he was slowing. He had to get home, the master of the tower had let him read one of the Tomes that he had written, it told of a hero, a mountainfolk and an invasion. An invasion that had taken place in Regent Valley. Near his home. He returned for a few reason. Chiefly, his parents wellfare, secondly, to sign-up and defend his country. And finally, to find this mountainfolk, this Ristaron and speak with him. He had read what he had, and was going to do. And he wanted to be there for it.
OOC: Hopes that's good enough for this great RP. This is the last that I will post until the weekend. Any feedback that you guys could give me on it, pm me if you don't want to interrupt the story, as this is some of the best I have ever written. And judge me by a Canadian grade 8 standard, as thats what I am.
EDIT: actually, I think that I will join in with a little intro right now, then right a bit later.
Kratos emerged from the tower a changed man. His fighting skills had been honed, to the point where, if he wasn't walking around in elementalist clothing, people would think that he was a warrior. But in his heart, he still loved the air magic. The ability to cut through his enemies armor and snipe single enemys down with a few simple words. He was also in love with the new skill he had learned at the hands of the Dark Elementalist in their tower. (read d3kst3rs Lost Volumes to learn about them) Mind Shock was what they called it, it preyed on the weak, destroying them before a monk could heal them.
"I'm almost starting to worship Grenth, I've gotta stop thinking like this," he said to himself as he walked out of his teacher's valley. He wore Aeromancer armor, crafted by the finest threadweavers that Dreldimor could offer. And here was one of the most unusual things about him, if you were close enough to him. You might see a young man, only 18. Even though he looked to be in his late 20s or early 30s.
He had only one goal, to get to the military base near his old home. Fort Ranik was his destination. Near the sleepy fishing village in Regent Valley, where his first vision of the Tower had come to him, and where he first demonstrated that he was destined to greater things than being just a young farmer boy.
Pulling away from his flashback of his old life, he realized that he was slowing. He had to get home, the master of the tower had let him read one of the Tomes that he had written, it told of a hero, a mountainfolk and an invasion. An invasion that had taken place in Regent Valley. Near his home. He returned for a few reason. Chiefly, his parents wellfare, secondly, to sign-up and defend his country. And finally, to find this mountainfolk, this Ristaron and speak with him. He had read what he had, and was going to do. And he wanted to be there for it.
OOC: Hopes that's good enough for this great RP. This is the last that I will post until the weekend. Any feedback that you guys could give me on it, pm me if you don't want to interrupt the story, as this is some of the best I have ever written. And judge me by a Canadian grade 8 standard, as thats what I am.
( OOC: If I must judge, you wrote very well. Better than a lot of people I know in grade 12 >_>
Good intro.
Alright, I think I'll post a little of Ristaron... this won't affect any changes Rilder may decide to make )
Though his midnight eyes were closed, Ristaron saw the world. Only, it wasn't the world of reality, but of the past. Images flashed in his mind of his home in the mountains. The village he had left. Everything from the thatched roofs of the wooden houses to the quiet stream that ran by the town. On a hill surrounded by trees on all sides except the one leading down to the river, a quaint house stood with reserved dignity. This house was well known to the mountainfolk of the village, for many reasons.
It had all started with the outsider. A man weary of travels, fleeing the dangerous South Shiverpeaks with all the haste he could. He had stumbled into the village by coincidence and luck, for the inhabitants of this particular settlement of mountainfolk were not as xenophobic as the rest of their race. Their curiosity overcame caution instilled in them by their fathers and forefathers, and they took in the traveller.
When he had awoken in the care of several village healers, he immediately thought himself in great trouble. Stories of the mountainfolk in wars they had fought had been overblown, causing the humble people to seem savage and merciless. But as his stay with them went on, he came to understand that not all tales are true.
In fact, all mountainfolk observed a strict code of nonviolence against each other.
As his wounds mended and his senses became clearer once more, he became aware of one particular healer tending him. When he was ready to be released from the infirmary, she invited him to stay in her home. In the quiet house on the hill, they had lived privately for many years. He shared tales with her of his travels, his battles, his lost family. Then their child was born, and the family he had just started became the world to him.
He had been a soldier for ten years, a captain of companies that had travelled all over the kingdom of Ascalon.
When his son was old enough to wield a sword, the man took it upon himself to teach the child how to defend himself.
The young boy learned quickly, and by the age of ten was as adept as his father. Instead of being ashamed by this, the man felt fulfilled. Had he been trained as his son was now, he may have been able to save his own family those many years ago.
But his pride in his son and his own accomplishments was shortlived, for the very next month a band of Avicara - roamers and pillagers - invaded the town.
It was in the last stage of the battle that the man found himself side-by-side with his son, defending the gate to the town hall. Though a powerful fighter, age had begun to catch up with the soldier, and he met his match against three Avicara.
Spurred by anger, his son took up his father's sword in his other hand and pushed back the entire line long enough for reinforcements to arrive.
The irony never occured to the young boy that he now felt the same guilt for not being able to defend his father as his father had felt for not being able to defend his family.
The guilt still haunted that young boy when he left the village, almost three decades later. And now it hung in his dreams as he lay in a forsaken corner of the endless mists, recalling his father's face.
And then, that kiss...
Good intro.
Alright, I think I'll post a little of Ristaron... this won't affect any changes Rilder may decide to make )
Though his midnight eyes were closed, Ristaron saw the world. Only, it wasn't the world of reality, but of the past. Images flashed in his mind of his home in the mountains. The village he had left. Everything from the thatched roofs of the wooden houses to the quiet stream that ran by the town. On a hill surrounded by trees on all sides except the one leading down to the river, a quaint house stood with reserved dignity. This house was well known to the mountainfolk of the village, for many reasons.
It had all started with the outsider. A man weary of travels, fleeing the dangerous South Shiverpeaks with all the haste he could. He had stumbled into the village by coincidence and luck, for the inhabitants of this particular settlement of mountainfolk were not as xenophobic as the rest of their race. Their curiosity overcame caution instilled in them by their fathers and forefathers, and they took in the traveller.
When he had awoken in the care of several village healers, he immediately thought himself in great trouble. Stories of the mountainfolk in wars they had fought had been overblown, causing the humble people to seem savage and merciless. But as his stay with them went on, he came to understand that not all tales are true.
In fact, all mountainfolk observed a strict code of nonviolence against each other.
As his wounds mended and his senses became clearer once more, he became aware of one particular healer tending him. When he was ready to be released from the infirmary, she invited him to stay in her home. In the quiet house on the hill, they had lived privately for many years. He shared tales with her of his travels, his battles, his lost family. Then their child was born, and the family he had just started became the world to him.
He had been a soldier for ten years, a captain of companies that had travelled all over the kingdom of Ascalon.
When his son was old enough to wield a sword, the man took it upon himself to teach the child how to defend himself.
The young boy learned quickly, and by the age of ten was as adept as his father. Instead of being ashamed by this, the man felt fulfilled. Had he been trained as his son was now, he may have been able to save his own family those many years ago.
But his pride in his son and his own accomplishments was shortlived, for the very next month a band of Avicara - roamers and pillagers - invaded the town.
It was in the last stage of the battle that the man found himself side-by-side with his son, defending the gate to the town hall. Though a powerful fighter, age had begun to catch up with the soldier, and he met his match against three Avicara.
Spurred by anger, his son took up his father's sword in his other hand and pushed back the entire line long enough for reinforcements to arrive.
The irony never occured to the young boy that he now felt the same guilt for not being able to defend his father as his father had felt for not being able to defend his family.
The guilt still haunted that young boy when he left the village, almost three decades later. And now it hung in his dreams as he lay in a forsaken corner of the endless mists, recalling his father's face.
And then, that kiss...
I should have known better…
Greysen stood facing a trio of bandits barring the road before him. Given the chaos the invasion had plunged Ascalon into, Greysen morbidly reminded himself that it was surprising it’d taken this long for him to run into a band of wandering looters. Opportunities abounded for the unscrupulous in these troubled times, but while Greysen could appreciate taking ruthless advantage of opportunity – as he himself had done – he couldn’t abide stupidity, and this trio of knuckleheads had evinced a fatal degree of stupidity already.
All three wore the soiled, ragged remnants of the uniforms and armor they’d taken with them when they’d deserted from the Army, and more importantly each also retained their issue weapons as well. Two of them – the sidekicks – had the standard short Rin Blades which all troops were given upon completion of basic training, but the lead goon possessed a hand axe as well. Greysen wasn’t worried about the swords overmuch, but that axe could be troublesome – the thing’s weight would make guarding against it difficult while at the same time it remained light enough to move with appreciable speed.
Not that any of it would matter in about two minutes.
“Come on buddy, you gotta have something a bunch of poor, starving soldiers can use to buy some food, don’tcha? You’ve got fancy enough clothes, maybe they’re worth some money. At the least, you can spare whatever’s in that rucksack,” the leader implored Greysen, sounding perfectly sincere despite the sneer on his face and the vicious chuckles of his two cohorts. The whole pack of idiots brandished their weapons in what they clearly fondly considered to be a threatening manner as they advanced a few steps towards the stationary Greysen.
You poor dead fools have no idea what threatening is…but I guarantee you you’ll know before you die.
With that thought, Greysen lifted his head, which he’d held faced down towards the road even after the goons had made their appearance. Locking his gaze onto the leader’s eyes, Greysen shifted his stance ever so slightly and let some of the pent-up rage and horrific injustice of his past seep through his skin and impact the deserters.
To a man, the bandits faltered to a stop, the sidekicks’ jaws hanging slightly open as the sheer menace of the man they’d thought to ambush rolled over them like a tidal surge, freezing them in their tracks. Both fell almost instantly into sloppy guard stances, bringing swords to bear with hands that trembled ever so slightly. But the leader…
The leader was more terrified than he had been when the Grawl had breached the walls of Fort Ranik and almost killed him and his friends. He had never been more terrified in his entire life, and even if he lived for another hundred years the man knew that he’d never feel such fear again as the strangely dressed giant of a man he’d thought to rob and kill bored into his skull with eyes of molten steel. Those eyes…they weren’t human, those eyes. Those eyes promised death with a finality and a surety that would have unnerved a Charr Lord. To a filthy, cowardly bandit making a living from robbing helpless travelers between towns, those eyes were more than sanity could bear. In those moments, the bandit leader’s mind cracked, though even he didn’t know it. To such a mongrel of a man, simply knowing that such eyes could exist was too much to deal with. Echoes of that horrible fear would reverberate in the man’s mind for the rest of his life – however long or short that would turn out to be.
After staring down the bandits for a few seconds, Greysen shrugged and casuall tossed aside his rucksack, which landed in a nearby patch of medium-height grass. Greysen marked its location, then put the rucksack out of his mind. He knew that none of the bandits would make a grab for it – their minds were focused with more intensity than they’d likely ever felt before upon Greysen himself. They couldn’t help it – when Greysen let loose the bloody lethality so tightly contained inside himself, even just a little, the densest of idiots would lock on him with a razor’s edge of intensity. It was as inevitable as death.
“Well?” spoke Greysen quietly, conversationally. “Come at me then. I don’t have much time for the likes of you.”
The bandits stood where they were for just a moment, quivering with fear, desperately seeking a way to escape from a situation they knew could only end with their corpses growing cold on the road. Greysen simply stood, arms hanging loosely at his side, waiting easily for the inevitable rush. Then the bandit leader’s nerve broke and the fight was one.
Screaming with equal parts rage, frustration, and terror, the man ran at Greysen, swinging his axe wildly before him in sweeping horizontal strokes. His cohorts waited a single heartbeat longer, then charged after their leader, flailing sword blades almost as recklessly as the leader was flailing his axe blade. The three of them had obviously latched onto the strategy of overwhelming their opponent with a wave of flashing edges, hoping against hope to bring Greysen down with brute force alone.
Poor pathetic bastards…
The leader didn’t even register movement before a rock-hard fist thundered into his gut like the very Wrath of Balthazar Himself, knocking every ounce of the last week’s wind out of him and slamming him backwards to the ground, losing his grip on the axe as he gasped desperately for breath. The pair of minions barely had time to cuss before Greysen exploded into their midst. The fighter had assumed a deep crouch at the same time he had struck the leader, adding the force of his falling body to the force of his punch. The man was already dead of internal hemorrhaging , though he didn’t know it yet.
One goon’s sword flashed towards Greysen’s neck, only to be battered aside with punishing force by the reinforced guard plate on the back of Greysen’s fighting glove. The block overextended the bandit’s arm, and a lightning quick motion of Greysen’s hand allowed him to latch onto the wrist like a vice. Spinning in his crouch, Greysen used virtually every muscle in his body to fling the man into the dirt, badly dislocating the bandit’s arm in the process. The man screamed as his sword skittered aside and began crawling away from the fight while simultaneously trying to cradle his useless right arm to his body. Greysen let him go for the moment, turning to the last bandit just as the man shrieked in abject terror, bringing his sword above his head in a two-handed grip, obviously intending to bring it down on Greysen’s skull with punishing force.
It was, quite possibly, one of the stupidest things the bandit could have done.
Greysen smiled slightly to himself as he chose which point of the bandit’s painfully open body to demolish, deciding on the left knee as the sword began to come down. Moving with viper-like speed, Greysen spun inside the bandit’s reach and sent a short, sharp straightarm blow into the goon’s kneecap, shattering it completely. The bandit shrieked again as his leg collapsed out from under him and began to fall to the ground. Greysen didn’t let him finish just then, though. Instead, he caught the man by the collar with his right hand as he slapped away the crippled bandit’s sword with his left, then casually threw the man into the first goon, who was still sobbing over his arm. The collision of bodies further splintered the second goon’s leg, and twisted the first goon’s dislocated arm in a manner painfull enough to render the man immediately unconscious. Standing over the pair for a moment, Greysen glared down at the pitiful bandits, before whirling around and smashing a backhand punch into the sword hand of the bandit leader, who had recovered his breath and had tried to sneak up on the big warrior and stab him in the back. The bandit leader’s eyes shone with terrified madness, his mind irreparably broken by what had happened to his friends and himself, and Greysen decided that for this man, already dying, there would be one last mercy.
The fingers of Greysen’s left hand straightened themselves into a rigid spear, just as the red lacing of his fighting glove burst into flame. The bandit leader barely had time to realize what had happened before Greysen stabbed his arm forward with all his strength, the sheer force of the strike plunging Greysen’s hand deep into the bandit’s throat. The strike killed the man instantly, virtually decapitating him. The pain was intense, but mercifully brief compared to the slow agony of a death by hemorrhaging.
The Pit Fighter retrieved his rucksack, paying no heed to the silent, slightly sizzling corpse of the bandit leader or the hushed whimpers of the single remaining conscious bandit as he leaned down to grab the bag, wiping the small amount of blood on his hand off in the grass at the same time. Throwing the bag over his shoulder once again, Greysen continued his journey to Fort Ranik, wondering if he would ever be able to escape his bloody past…
Greysen stood facing a trio of bandits barring the road before him. Given the chaos the invasion had plunged Ascalon into, Greysen morbidly reminded himself that it was surprising it’d taken this long for him to run into a band of wandering looters. Opportunities abounded for the unscrupulous in these troubled times, but while Greysen could appreciate taking ruthless advantage of opportunity – as he himself had done – he couldn’t abide stupidity, and this trio of knuckleheads had evinced a fatal degree of stupidity already.
All three wore the soiled, ragged remnants of the uniforms and armor they’d taken with them when they’d deserted from the Army, and more importantly each also retained their issue weapons as well. Two of them – the sidekicks – had the standard short Rin Blades which all troops were given upon completion of basic training, but the lead goon possessed a hand axe as well. Greysen wasn’t worried about the swords overmuch, but that axe could be troublesome – the thing’s weight would make guarding against it difficult while at the same time it remained light enough to move with appreciable speed.
Not that any of it would matter in about two minutes.
“Come on buddy, you gotta have something a bunch of poor, starving soldiers can use to buy some food, don’tcha? You’ve got fancy enough clothes, maybe they’re worth some money. At the least, you can spare whatever’s in that rucksack,” the leader implored Greysen, sounding perfectly sincere despite the sneer on his face and the vicious chuckles of his two cohorts. The whole pack of idiots brandished their weapons in what they clearly fondly considered to be a threatening manner as they advanced a few steps towards the stationary Greysen.
You poor dead fools have no idea what threatening is…but I guarantee you you’ll know before you die.
With that thought, Greysen lifted his head, which he’d held faced down towards the road even after the goons had made their appearance. Locking his gaze onto the leader’s eyes, Greysen shifted his stance ever so slightly and let some of the pent-up rage and horrific injustice of his past seep through his skin and impact the deserters.
To a man, the bandits faltered to a stop, the sidekicks’ jaws hanging slightly open as the sheer menace of the man they’d thought to ambush rolled over them like a tidal surge, freezing them in their tracks. Both fell almost instantly into sloppy guard stances, bringing swords to bear with hands that trembled ever so slightly. But the leader…
The leader was more terrified than he had been when the Grawl had breached the walls of Fort Ranik and almost killed him and his friends. He had never been more terrified in his entire life, and even if he lived for another hundred years the man knew that he’d never feel such fear again as the strangely dressed giant of a man he’d thought to rob and kill bored into his skull with eyes of molten steel. Those eyes…they weren’t human, those eyes. Those eyes promised death with a finality and a surety that would have unnerved a Charr Lord. To a filthy, cowardly bandit making a living from robbing helpless travelers between towns, those eyes were more than sanity could bear. In those moments, the bandit leader’s mind cracked, though even he didn’t know it. To such a mongrel of a man, simply knowing that such eyes could exist was too much to deal with. Echoes of that horrible fear would reverberate in the man’s mind for the rest of his life – however long or short that would turn out to be.
After staring down the bandits for a few seconds, Greysen shrugged and casuall tossed aside his rucksack, which landed in a nearby patch of medium-height grass. Greysen marked its location, then put the rucksack out of his mind. He knew that none of the bandits would make a grab for it – their minds were focused with more intensity than they’d likely ever felt before upon Greysen himself. They couldn’t help it – when Greysen let loose the bloody lethality so tightly contained inside himself, even just a little, the densest of idiots would lock on him with a razor’s edge of intensity. It was as inevitable as death.
“Well?” spoke Greysen quietly, conversationally. “Come at me then. I don’t have much time for the likes of you.”
The bandits stood where they were for just a moment, quivering with fear, desperately seeking a way to escape from a situation they knew could only end with their corpses growing cold on the road. Greysen simply stood, arms hanging loosely at his side, waiting easily for the inevitable rush. Then the bandit leader’s nerve broke and the fight was one.
Screaming with equal parts rage, frustration, and terror, the man ran at Greysen, swinging his axe wildly before him in sweeping horizontal strokes. His cohorts waited a single heartbeat longer, then charged after their leader, flailing sword blades almost as recklessly as the leader was flailing his axe blade. The three of them had obviously latched onto the strategy of overwhelming their opponent with a wave of flashing edges, hoping against hope to bring Greysen down with brute force alone.
Poor pathetic bastards…
The leader didn’t even register movement before a rock-hard fist thundered into his gut like the very Wrath of Balthazar Himself, knocking every ounce of the last week’s wind out of him and slamming him backwards to the ground, losing his grip on the axe as he gasped desperately for breath. The pair of minions barely had time to cuss before Greysen exploded into their midst. The fighter had assumed a deep crouch at the same time he had struck the leader, adding the force of his falling body to the force of his punch. The man was already dead of internal hemorrhaging , though he didn’t know it yet.
One goon’s sword flashed towards Greysen’s neck, only to be battered aside with punishing force by the reinforced guard plate on the back of Greysen’s fighting glove. The block overextended the bandit’s arm, and a lightning quick motion of Greysen’s hand allowed him to latch onto the wrist like a vice. Spinning in his crouch, Greysen used virtually every muscle in his body to fling the man into the dirt, badly dislocating the bandit’s arm in the process. The man screamed as his sword skittered aside and began crawling away from the fight while simultaneously trying to cradle his useless right arm to his body. Greysen let him go for the moment, turning to the last bandit just as the man shrieked in abject terror, bringing his sword above his head in a two-handed grip, obviously intending to bring it down on Greysen’s skull with punishing force.
It was, quite possibly, one of the stupidest things the bandit could have done.
Greysen smiled slightly to himself as he chose which point of the bandit’s painfully open body to demolish, deciding on the left knee as the sword began to come down. Moving with viper-like speed, Greysen spun inside the bandit’s reach and sent a short, sharp straightarm blow into the goon’s kneecap, shattering it completely. The bandit shrieked again as his leg collapsed out from under him and began to fall to the ground. Greysen didn’t let him finish just then, though. Instead, he caught the man by the collar with his right hand as he slapped away the crippled bandit’s sword with his left, then casually threw the man into the first goon, who was still sobbing over his arm. The collision of bodies further splintered the second goon’s leg, and twisted the first goon’s dislocated arm in a manner painfull enough to render the man immediately unconscious. Standing over the pair for a moment, Greysen glared down at the pitiful bandits, before whirling around and smashing a backhand punch into the sword hand of the bandit leader, who had recovered his breath and had tried to sneak up on the big warrior and stab him in the back. The bandit leader’s eyes shone with terrified madness, his mind irreparably broken by what had happened to his friends and himself, and Greysen decided that for this man, already dying, there would be one last mercy.
The fingers of Greysen’s left hand straightened themselves into a rigid spear, just as the red lacing of his fighting glove burst into flame. The bandit leader barely had time to realize what had happened before Greysen stabbed his arm forward with all his strength, the sheer force of the strike plunging Greysen’s hand deep into the bandit’s throat. The strike killed the man instantly, virtually decapitating him. The pain was intense, but mercifully brief compared to the slow agony of a death by hemorrhaging.
The Pit Fighter retrieved his rucksack, paying no heed to the silent, slightly sizzling corpse of the bandit leader or the hushed whimpers of the single remaining conscious bandit as he leaned down to grab the bag, wiping the small amount of blood on his hand off in the grass at the same time. Throwing the bag over his shoulder once again, Greysen continued his journey to Fort Ranik, wondering if he would ever be able to escape his bloody past…
(OOC: Sorry if it annoyed anyone I was just trying to get the mist battle to an end, but with rilder I think he had died earlier so I tried toc reate a way for him to return, but yeah feel free to change what you wish.)
Rhiannon was the first through the door, a weird draining sensation flooded through her and for a moment she felt as if she had fainted, but before she knew it the mists had vanished, the door gone, and instead the familiar grounds of Fort Ranik took their place. However the soldiers of the commotion only a few weeks ago were gone; but to say that order had been returned would be a foolish remark, for quite the opposite was true. The pregnant monk looked fearfully to the sky, she knew of the life that now grew within her and possibly if the childs fate, however fear that her friends would not allow her to continue onwards with them kept her from revealing her secret. Rhiannon The Holy was puzzled for a moment, the Ascalonian banner gone instead replaced by that of one of the newly instated Guilds. It had taken much quicker than expected for Ascalon to be carved up between the wicked and greedy.
Fort Ranik was bare of the brave and noble soliders that had so valiantly defended her walls for years in the past, now large scruffy looking bandits and greedy men roamed about looking for the best way to make a bit of crash. Rhiannon cowered in a corner as two huge giants burst from the local inn completely drunk thrusting at one another in rage. Rhiannon sat down on a log by the crackling fire as crowds jeered a poor man who had been strung up by the extortionate Guild Lord, she began to contemplate her predicament but soon drifted into images of her past.
Still only a young girl, Dwayna had watched intently over Rhiannon, on the sacred island off the winding coast of Cantha she had been taught all she had ever needed to know and it could be said she had found much happiness. The other monks were quite friendly but Rhiannon was not one to make friends easily. Often left out of the childish games that were played as children, Rhiannon instead spent the time studying, of course the high monks took great notice of this and some were even inspired by her simple child like minds. But in the shadows someone watched, a darker presence was planning something. One night several girls were found lying on their straw beds with their throats cut, deeply pale with a seemingly green tainted aura. Rhiannon had always been puzzled by their deaths and from that moment people on the island had changed the way they related to the young monk.
However before Rhiannon could further contemplate her past a horn sounded and the Guild Lord leered towards Rhiannon, snatching at her wrist. Rhiannon winced in pain as the large man drew close and smelt the aromatic perfume.
'ahhh, this one will do.' the Guild Lord said an evil intent in his eyes. This was the new reigning ideology in Ascalon. Those with power, could take what they wanted.
Rhiannon was the first through the door, a weird draining sensation flooded through her and for a moment she felt as if she had fainted, but before she knew it the mists had vanished, the door gone, and instead the familiar grounds of Fort Ranik took their place. However the soldiers of the commotion only a few weeks ago were gone; but to say that order had been returned would be a foolish remark, for quite the opposite was true. The pregnant monk looked fearfully to the sky, she knew of the life that now grew within her and possibly if the childs fate, however fear that her friends would not allow her to continue onwards with them kept her from revealing her secret. Rhiannon The Holy was puzzled for a moment, the Ascalonian banner gone instead replaced by that of one of the newly instated Guilds. It had taken much quicker than expected for Ascalon to be carved up between the wicked and greedy.
Fort Ranik was bare of the brave and noble soliders that had so valiantly defended her walls for years in the past, now large scruffy looking bandits and greedy men roamed about looking for the best way to make a bit of crash. Rhiannon cowered in a corner as two huge giants burst from the local inn completely drunk thrusting at one another in rage. Rhiannon sat down on a log by the crackling fire as crowds jeered a poor man who had been strung up by the extortionate Guild Lord, she began to contemplate her predicament but soon drifted into images of her past.
Still only a young girl, Dwayna had watched intently over Rhiannon, on the sacred island off the winding coast of Cantha she had been taught all she had ever needed to know and it could be said she had found much happiness. The other monks were quite friendly but Rhiannon was not one to make friends easily. Often left out of the childish games that were played as children, Rhiannon instead spent the time studying, of course the high monks took great notice of this and some were even inspired by her simple child like minds. But in the shadows someone watched, a darker presence was planning something. One night several girls were found lying on their straw beds with their throats cut, deeply pale with a seemingly green tainted aura. Rhiannon had always been puzzled by their deaths and from that moment people on the island had changed the way they related to the young monk.
However before Rhiannon could further contemplate her past a horn sounded and the Guild Lord leered towards Rhiannon, snatching at her wrist. Rhiannon winced in pain as the large man drew close and smelt the aromatic perfume.
'ahhh, this one will do.' the Guild Lord said an evil intent in his eyes. This was the new reigning ideology in Ascalon. Those with power, could take what they wanted.
As Ristaron walked through the shimmering gate on unsteady feet, all weariness seemed to leave his body. At first unsure with this change, Ristaron took a few moments before looking around. The first sight he saw angered him more than anything.
A brilliant flash and the sickening sound of ripping skin sent the guild lord stumbling back, screaming as he held the stump that was now his wrist. Before he could come to terms with his new injury, he was interrupted by the rapier's point pressed to his neck.
"If you ever touch her again", Ristaron hissed, "I will cut off all your digits one-by-one." He emphasized the last words, speaking them slowly and in a low voice.
By now, the Guild lords nearby bodyguards had overcome their surprise and marched forward, blades drawn. One look from the mountainfolk's midnight eyes stopped them in their tracks. In this brief pause, a powerful howl rang out from the nearby woods. After a moment, the foliage parted as a giant gray shape erupted from the thick bushes.
In four great bounds, Morgan covered the 20 feet between her and the guards. Her five hundred pounds barrelled into them, sending the pair soaring through the air for several feet. They slammed into the wall of the Fort before they hit the ground, rendering them both unconscious.
A brilliant flash and the sickening sound of ripping skin sent the guild lord stumbling back, screaming as he held the stump that was now his wrist. Before he could come to terms with his new injury, he was interrupted by the rapier's point pressed to his neck.
"If you ever touch her again", Ristaron hissed, "I will cut off all your digits one-by-one." He emphasized the last words, speaking them slowly and in a low voice.
By now, the Guild lords nearby bodyguards had overcome their surprise and marched forward, blades drawn. One look from the mountainfolk's midnight eyes stopped them in their tracks. In this brief pause, a powerful howl rang out from the nearby woods. After a moment, the foliage parted as a giant gray shape erupted from the thick bushes.
In four great bounds, Morgan covered the 20 feet between her and the guards. Her five hundred pounds barrelled into them, sending the pair soaring through the air for several feet. They slammed into the wall of the Fort before they hit the ground, rendering them both unconscious.
OOC: no problems everyone, just think of me being dead and my body wasn't mine for a bit it was the spirit's
IC:
Zarda’s spirit walked through the area, watching his friends run into the door back to Ascalon, his home; how he wished to return to let everyone know he was okay, but he wouldn’t he was now dead and began to Ascend to the Hall of Heroes where he would now watch upon mortals as they fought for the favor of the gods, as he ascended up the stairs he heard a voice.
“Zarda,” a deep voice flooded his ears, and he turned around to see Balthazar in all his glory standing there. “Your time is not up, Zarda; return to your friends.” As Balthazar finished the sentence Zarda returned to his body, blinking several seconds before getting up. He picked up the sword given to him by the Champion of Balthazar, and began to walk to the door.
“Fight on champion, fight on,” finished Balthazar as Zarda walked through the door.
He appeared near Ranik, the entire area had been cleaned up, no blood, nor evidence that a fight had ever taken place except for the broken walls of Ranik that were being worked on by the Krytan Guild. He quickly noticed a disturbance by the gatehouse of Ranik; he saw his friends and the Krytan Guild Lord in some sort of fight. He ran over and everyone in the party looked at him in surprise, still wearing tattered leather armor that would need to be replaced, but Zarda was alive again.
IC:
Zarda’s spirit walked through the area, watching his friends run into the door back to Ascalon, his home; how he wished to return to let everyone know he was okay, but he wouldn’t he was now dead and began to Ascend to the Hall of Heroes where he would now watch upon mortals as they fought for the favor of the gods, as he ascended up the stairs he heard a voice.
“Zarda,” a deep voice flooded his ears, and he turned around to see Balthazar in all his glory standing there. “Your time is not up, Zarda; return to your friends.” As Balthazar finished the sentence Zarda returned to his body, blinking several seconds before getting up. He picked up the sword given to him by the Champion of Balthazar, and began to walk to the door.
“Fight on champion, fight on,” finished Balthazar as Zarda walked through the door.
He appeared near Ranik, the entire area had been cleaned up, no blood, nor evidence that a fight had ever taken place except for the broken walls of Ranik that were being worked on by the Krytan Guild. He quickly noticed a disturbance by the gatehouse of Ranik; he saw his friends and the Krytan Guild Lord in some sort of fight. He ran over and everyone in the party looked at him in surprise, still wearing tattered leather armor that would need to be replaced, but Zarda was alive again.
As the guild lord began to tremble with the fear of the mountainfolk (and from his injury), Ristaron looked him over more closely. Something caught the ranger's keen eye at the guild lord's hip.
In a lightning fast motion, Ristaron reached forward and drew the blade from the guild lord's belt. It was a rapier of exceptional craftsmanship. Craftsmanship that identified the blade with no question.
"This", Ristaron held the rapier up, "is mine".
The Krytan's eyes widened when he realized just who he was dealing with, and he fell back in a mix of terror and confusion.
But he didn't keep the attention of the group much longer, for an unexpected newcomer arrived. The mountainfolk's midnight eyes brightened at the sight of Zarda, not knowing what the man's body had done, merely knowing that his comrade had lived after that assumed fatal-blow.
The ranger didn't consider that his friend had just returned from the dead.
In a lightning fast motion, Ristaron reached forward and drew the blade from the guild lord's belt. It was a rapier of exceptional craftsmanship. Craftsmanship that identified the blade with no question.
"This", Ristaron held the rapier up, "is mine".
The Krytan's eyes widened when he realized just who he was dealing with, and he fell back in a mix of terror and confusion.
But he didn't keep the attention of the group much longer, for an unexpected newcomer arrived. The mountainfolk's midnight eyes brightened at the sight of Zarda, not knowing what the man's body had done, merely knowing that his comrade had lived after that assumed fatal-blow.
The ranger didn't consider that his friend had just returned from the dead.
OOC: Poo, I'm missing the FPE because my dad's computer can't take GW. Poo, poo, poo. And sorry if I take control of Greysen for a line or two maybe. But I need to for my part. If you object Laser, I can retype this part later, without it.
IC: Kratos hid behinds some nearby hills. After seeing what the man in front of him had just done to those bandits, he was reluctant to step forward andspeak. Normally he wouldn't think twice about things like this, but the constant speed spells to get him so close to Ranik had drained almost all his energy, he couldn't lift his sword, or even cast a simple lightning ball. Much less take on this nightmare of a fighter in front of him. He had to gather up his courage. He decicded that he would shadow him for a little while, see what hid limits were, and if he posed a threat to Ristaron and his group. He would also build up his energy. But with all these preperations he was making......Kratos felt he could trust this man. That was when he started to abandon reason. He forwent all his quick planning. He stepped out from behind his hiding place and went to speak to the man.
"Hello, I was watching you fight those men from back there," Kratos points to his hiding place. "You're pretty good, I've never seen that style of clothes or that fighting style before, what is it called?"
The man just ignored him and kept walking. Kratos kept pace with him.
"If you are gonna be silent the whole time I can fill in the empty spots with mindless chatter. I do that alot, I haven't really had many people to talk to in the last 8 years. It's mostly been my teachers, and they are a boring sort. If you ever meet a member of the elite cult called the Mursaat, don't expect a lively conversation." He continued like that as they walked along. Towards the fort called Ranik.
IC: Kratos hid behinds some nearby hills. After seeing what the man in front of him had just done to those bandits, he was reluctant to step forward andspeak. Normally he wouldn't think twice about things like this, but the constant speed spells to get him so close to Ranik had drained almost all his energy, he couldn't lift his sword, or even cast a simple lightning ball. Much less take on this nightmare of a fighter in front of him. He had to gather up his courage. He decicded that he would shadow him for a little while, see what hid limits were, and if he posed a threat to Ristaron and his group. He would also build up his energy. But with all these preperations he was making......Kratos felt he could trust this man. That was when he started to abandon reason. He forwent all his quick planning. He stepped out from behind his hiding place and went to speak to the man.
"Hello, I was watching you fight those men from back there," Kratos points to his hiding place. "You're pretty good, I've never seen that style of clothes or that fighting style before, what is it called?"
The man just ignored him and kept walking. Kratos kept pace with him.
"If you are gonna be silent the whole time I can fill in the empty spots with mindless chatter. I do that alot, I haven't really had many people to talk to in the last 8 years. It's mostly been my teachers, and they are a boring sort. If you ever meet a member of the elite cult called the Mursaat, don't expect a lively conversation." He continued like that as they walked along. Towards the fort called Ranik.
OOC: No big, Goats. Story writing like this, it's unavoidable. Hm hm...just don't pull it if it comes to a fight :-P. Also, Greysen's going to insult you quite royally in this. Don't take it personally, just playing IC.
IC: Greysen tolerated the babbling fool for as long as he could, but it seemed that no amount of stony silence would shut the man up. So he tried a different tack, answering the man's curiosity.
"The way I fight doesn't have a fancy name. It has no old men in robes to teach it to eager young fools with more gold than sense. What I learned, I learned with blood on my hands and death in my mind, in a dark, stinking pit filled with pain and misery. For half my existence, how well I learned my lessons determined whether I lived or died that day - and whether my opponent died, or lived."
Greysen stopped short and whirled to face the man following him, a dark, smoldering fire burning in his eyes. "You want to know who I am? Where I come from, how I learned my skills, even what I wear? Then know this. My name is Greysen. Only Greysen. My family is dead and gone, rotting in the dirt, and their name lies with them. I was born in Ascalon City, but I no more hail from that place than I do from the moon. My skills are the skills of a murderer, learned so I could survive one more day. Even the clothes I wear brand me a slave and a demon."
Turning around once more, Greysen started walking briskly towards Ranik once again. His parting words were spat at the lunatic behind him with an almost physical force.
"You, friend, are a babbling fool. I have work to do and you try my ears and my patience. Leave me in peace before I leave you in pieces."
Not bothering to see whether his harsh words had the desired effect, Greysen walked onwards, rucksack hanging over his shoulder, looking like nothing more than a dangerous warrior pushed to the limits of his tolerance by a cackling idiot. But inside, the Pit Fighter was shivering with strain and reaction. Dredging up the memories he worked so hard to bury away was so very painful...the images and remembered feelings scourged the young man's mind even as his words had scourged the idiot behind him. it would be a while before Greysen could fully reclaim the icy detachment that was as close as he ever came to inner peace.
Damn that fool...I need all the strength I have to keep myself from becoming a monster as it is. How am I to atone for my sins when morons accost me at every step, trying my patience beyond sane limitations?
Whoever you are, mystery hero, you had better be worth my time. I'm not sure how many people I'll end up killing if this trip has been wasted effort...
IC: Greysen tolerated the babbling fool for as long as he could, but it seemed that no amount of stony silence would shut the man up. So he tried a different tack, answering the man's curiosity.
"The way I fight doesn't have a fancy name. It has no old men in robes to teach it to eager young fools with more gold than sense. What I learned, I learned with blood on my hands and death in my mind, in a dark, stinking pit filled with pain and misery. For half my existence, how well I learned my lessons determined whether I lived or died that day - and whether my opponent died, or lived."
Greysen stopped short and whirled to face the man following him, a dark, smoldering fire burning in his eyes. "You want to know who I am? Where I come from, how I learned my skills, even what I wear? Then know this. My name is Greysen. Only Greysen. My family is dead and gone, rotting in the dirt, and their name lies with them. I was born in Ascalon City, but I no more hail from that place than I do from the moon. My skills are the skills of a murderer, learned so I could survive one more day. Even the clothes I wear brand me a slave and a demon."
Turning around once more, Greysen started walking briskly towards Ranik once again. His parting words were spat at the lunatic behind him with an almost physical force.
"You, friend, are a babbling fool. I have work to do and you try my ears and my patience. Leave me in peace before I leave you in pieces."
Not bothering to see whether his harsh words had the desired effect, Greysen walked onwards, rucksack hanging over his shoulder, looking like nothing more than a dangerous warrior pushed to the limits of his tolerance by a cackling idiot. But inside, the Pit Fighter was shivering with strain and reaction. Dredging up the memories he worked so hard to bury away was so very painful...the images and remembered feelings scourged the young man's mind even as his words had scourged the idiot behind him. it would be a while before Greysen could fully reclaim the icy detachment that was as close as he ever came to inner peace.
Damn that fool...I need all the strength I have to keep myself from becoming a monster as it is. How am I to atone for my sins when morons accost me at every step, trying my patience beyond sane limitations?
Whoever you are, mystery hero, you had better be worth my time. I'm not sure how many people I'll end up killing if this trip has been wasted effort...
(OOC: Gotcha! This may be a bit sloppy, as I was tired when I was typing. 
)
Relius stepped through the portal, welcoming the light. He turned his head towards the commotion, and was shocked to find Ristaron, the company’s leader and hero, in a battle with another person, who appeared to be a Krytan. Relius was confused. Weren’t they the ones that had saved the Fort?
Then again, he thought, time passes strangely in the Mists. It could have been days, weeks, months even. The group could have been left for dead, and long forgotten by the Ascalonians. He decided to inquire about how long they had been gone in the Mists, but not now. Right now, he had to deal with the task at hand.
“You, sir!” Relius quickly ran up to the battle, stepping in between the Guild Lord and Ristaron. “Now is not the time for fighting. Although I am sure there was a reason for this bloodshed,” Relius looked around, Seeing the pain in Rhiannon’s eyes, as well as the fury in Ristaron’s. Something had obviously happened to the Monk by the hands of the Krytan. Relius wouldn’t allow this. Having traveled with the group for some time now, he had slightly become attached to them. “The fight should stop. Whatever you Krytans are doing here, you should probably leave before the Ascalonians find you. Tensions are high enough as it is, and we don’t want-” he was interrupted by the Guild Lord’s harsh voice, somewhat strained by the pain in his arm.
“All is as it should be here, stranger. The Krytans hold this land now. From now on, things will be running a bit differently for us. I don’t care who you are, who your companions are, or where you’ve come from. I don’t even care if you are the king’s son! All non-Krytans are inferior peoples. If you are not a Krytan, I command you to leave, lest you feel my fury.”
Relius was angered at this discrimination. What right did the Krytans have to take the Fort, and then order all of its previous residents to leave? What right did this man have to harm an innocent person, let alone a holy monk of Dwayna? The anger burned up inside of him, but he knew he had to stay calm. “Sir, I apologize, but I am confused. Our group has…not known of current events as of late, and I was in no way of knowing about the recent-”
“Your talk bores me, stranger!” The Guild Lord took on a crueler tone. “You obviously are not Krytan, for only inferiors wouldn’t know of the grand acquiring of Fort Ranik. I will not ask you again. I may have one hand, but I am still a mage in training. Now, I order you inferior beings to leave!” the Guild Lord breathed hard, stretching his one remaining hand out. Relius was furious at the man’s words. The Guild Lord hadn’t known who had died protecting the Fort, hadn’t known how hard the group had tried to protect those within, and now he wanted those who survived to leave? The anger boiled up inside of him until he could no longer contain it. Relius let out a feral roar and lunged at the Guild Lord, who yelped in surprise. He didn’t realize that the leaf on his necklace began to give a red pulsating glow. As Relius swung his scepter down at the man, the leaf flashed a bright orange. A jet of fire flew from the leaf, burning the Guild Lord’s face. Relius leapt back in surprise, horrified at what he had somehow managed to do. The Guild Lord screamed in pain and backed away. Relius stared down at his necklace, gave a slight whimper, then ran off towards an alley nearby without another word, his wrappings stained with tears.
'What have I done?'
)Relius stepped through the portal, welcoming the light. He turned his head towards the commotion, and was shocked to find Ristaron, the company’s leader and hero, in a battle with another person, who appeared to be a Krytan. Relius was confused. Weren’t they the ones that had saved the Fort?
Then again, he thought, time passes strangely in the Mists. It could have been days, weeks, months even. The group could have been left for dead, and long forgotten by the Ascalonians. He decided to inquire about how long they had been gone in the Mists, but not now. Right now, he had to deal with the task at hand.
“You, sir!” Relius quickly ran up to the battle, stepping in between the Guild Lord and Ristaron. “Now is not the time for fighting. Although I am sure there was a reason for this bloodshed,” Relius looked around, Seeing the pain in Rhiannon’s eyes, as well as the fury in Ristaron’s. Something had obviously happened to the Monk by the hands of the Krytan. Relius wouldn’t allow this. Having traveled with the group for some time now, he had slightly become attached to them. “The fight should stop. Whatever you Krytans are doing here, you should probably leave before the Ascalonians find you. Tensions are high enough as it is, and we don’t want-” he was interrupted by the Guild Lord’s harsh voice, somewhat strained by the pain in his arm.
“All is as it should be here, stranger. The Krytans hold this land now. From now on, things will be running a bit differently for us. I don’t care who you are, who your companions are, or where you’ve come from. I don’t even care if you are the king’s son! All non-Krytans are inferior peoples. If you are not a Krytan, I command you to leave, lest you feel my fury.”
Relius was angered at this discrimination. What right did the Krytans have to take the Fort, and then order all of its previous residents to leave? What right did this man have to harm an innocent person, let alone a holy monk of Dwayna? The anger burned up inside of him, but he knew he had to stay calm. “Sir, I apologize, but I am confused. Our group has…not known of current events as of late, and I was in no way of knowing about the recent-”
“Your talk bores me, stranger!” The Guild Lord took on a crueler tone. “You obviously are not Krytan, for only inferiors wouldn’t know of the grand acquiring of Fort Ranik. I will not ask you again. I may have one hand, but I am still a mage in training. Now, I order you inferior beings to leave!” the Guild Lord breathed hard, stretching his one remaining hand out. Relius was furious at the man’s words. The Guild Lord hadn’t known who had died protecting the Fort, hadn’t known how hard the group had tried to protect those within, and now he wanted those who survived to leave? The anger boiled up inside of him until he could no longer contain it. Relius let out a feral roar and lunged at the Guild Lord, who yelped in surprise. He didn’t realize that the leaf on his necklace began to give a red pulsating glow. As Relius swung his scepter down at the man, the leaf flashed a bright orange. A jet of fire flew from the leaf, burning the Guild Lord’s face. Relius leapt back in surprise, horrified at what he had somehow managed to do. The Guild Lord screamed in pain and backed away. Relius stared down at his necklace, gave a slight whimper, then ran off towards an alley nearby without another word, his wrappings stained with tears.
'What have I done?'
Rhiannon stared after Relius as he ran down the alley, Guards from all around ran to the aide of their leader swords drawn. A large ogre of a man named Greknor approched, he was the Lords head guard and was not pleased with the goings on. In his hand he held a large spear and spoke only in grunts, the look on his face was not one for hospitality.
The man lunged towards Rhiannon but Rhiannon met the blow with her sword but th esheer strength of the man shattered his own spear. The Guild Lord reached up his ahnd,
"Stop, they have done nothing, this one i recognise, Ristaron, is not one to be messed with. I will not tell you of our past but it is something I regret. Throw them from the city! They are not welcome here anymore, but find the one called Relius, find him and kill him! Now!"
The party were thrown from the city gates and left in the dusty road looking in dismay. Not quite the welcome home party the heroes had expected after their heroic feats for the Fort, however those that had witnessed their brave deeds were most likely long gone or quite possibly dead. Rhiannon looked up as the massive gates slammed shut. Something had to be done to rescue Relius but if the Grawls had failed to take the fort, how were 3 mere mortals supposed to take it. It was then that a large figure appeared on the horizon.
The man lunged towards Rhiannon but Rhiannon met the blow with her sword but th esheer strength of the man shattered his own spear. The Guild Lord reached up his ahnd,
"Stop, they have done nothing, this one i recognise, Ristaron, is not one to be messed with. I will not tell you of our past but it is something I regret. Throw them from the city! They are not welcome here anymore, but find the one called Relius, find him and kill him! Now!"
The party were thrown from the city gates and left in the dusty road looking in dismay. Not quite the welcome home party the heroes had expected after their heroic feats for the Fort, however those that had witnessed their brave deeds were most likely long gone or quite possibly dead. Rhiannon looked up as the massive gates slammed shut. Something had to be done to rescue Relius but if the Grawls had failed to take the fort, how were 3 mere mortals supposed to take it. It was then that a large figure appeared on the horizon.
Zarda looked over at the fort, pondering it not looking over were everyone else was staring at, something has corrupted him, he was never like this, the battles in Kryta must of darkened his heart, Zarda thought, he turned around and noticed the large figure approaching he drew closer and into full view, a beast of a man, someone was following, a smaller person, the 2 stopped in front of the gang, and Zarda moved his right hand to his scabbard.
“Are you friend, or are you foe?” Zarda asked suspiciously.
OOC: small one I know.........
“Are you friend, or are you foe?” Zarda asked suspiciously.
OOC: small one I know.........
(OOC: Mentalmdc... I'm positive that the group wouldn't have stood to be thrown out of the city... Ristaron wouldn't, at least... he and Morgan could have put a considerable dent in the Krytan guard on their own. They wouldn't have gone out so easily after what had happened...
Perhaps we could go back over that part.)
Perhaps we could go back over that part.)