Unlikely Heroes: Content

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jackmrnorris94
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Re: Unlikely Heroes: Content

Post by jackmrnorris94 » Tue May 08, 2012 10:13 pm

Ranger and Swidhelm stopped as they surrounded themselves in the darkness of the forest. The wind shook the canopy above, small beams of moonlight shone through the branches. Swidhelm's blood glistened in his hand as he looked down to his wound, Ranger nudged him on the shoulder,

"Did it hit anything important?" She said, "The sword?"

"No..." Swidhelm said taking calm, but short breaths, "I'm still breathing and my heart still beats so... I should be fine..."

"Can you stand?" Ranger said beginning to position Swidhelm next to a tree.

"Probably..." Swidhelm said, taking his arm off around Ranger's shoulder and putting the remainder of his weight on his legs, a pleasant shock on his face, "Huh! I was right!"

"You're kidding right?" Ranger said throwing down her pack down, " You never cease to amaze me... Well we still need to clean that wound... it may be small but from the looks of it, it's deep."

Swidhelm looked down to his wound, still shocked the stab had made it's way through his armor and as deep as it did into his chest. Slowly he took a seat against a nearby wide trunk tree.

Ranger looked over with a smile,

"You'll be fine, I've seen worse." Ranger said pulling put a canteen, "Now can you please try getting some of that chain and leather out of the way please? I'm sure that bumping into the wound isn't helping the blood clot."

Swidhelm nodded,and slowly he held apart the two split ends of his armor looking in a curious fashion as Ranger approached, bending down in front of him.

"That isn't water is it...?" He said looking at the other canteen on her belt.

"You wish."

Slowly she poured the liquid onto a piece of cloth until soaked the smell of alcohol tickling Swidhelm's nose. Slowly Ranger dabbed it on the wound, Swidhelm gritting his teeth as it stung into his flesh. Repeating the process, until satisfied Ranger put the cloth and canteen away and reached for a thread and needle.

Swidhelm sighed and gritted his teeth again as Ranger quickly stitched the wound shut. Putting away the thread and needle Ranger brushed off her hands and washed them off with water from her canteen.

"We can't stay here, you know that, right?" She said putting her water canteen back on her belt, "We can stay for the night but we need to get moving..."

"Yes I understand, I'll be fine once I get some sleep." Swidhelm said crossing his arms across his chest.

"We'll leave behind everything that we don't need then, we'll need to move lightly..." Ranger said sitting down next to Swidhelm, leaning against the tree.

"Any idea where we're going?" Swidhelm asked relaxing himself, his cloak brushing against the thick tufted grass beneath him.

"We'll leave that for the morning."

And with that the two sat silently, if not uneasily, knowing the dangers that lurked in these woods, they found slight comfort in each others presence. And slowly each drifted into a light, and much needed sleep.

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Re: Unlikely Heroes: Content

Post by Jayertheslayer » Wed May 09, 2012 12:45 pm

"'ome on in, 'ou 'ig swamp rat!"
Splash.
"'ou see da 'ater ain't gon' kill ya!"
"Shut up, Broadfin, 'ust cus 'ou are da best swimmah don't mean 'ou 'etter dan us!"
He grinned a large, prideful grin. What could he say, it was true! There was none better at swimming than him. Signalling to the others that a race was due he quickly turned tail and bolted off into the marsh.

"WAR!!"
"Kill da 'resspassers!"
"Broadfin grab da mace!"
"CHARGE!""Smash dere 'eads in!" "Kill 'em all!"
"Agh I've 'een 'it!"
"'e bleedin bad 'ere! Get da 'erbs an stuff!"


"'ome on in ya 'otten Fleshy-corpse!"
Drip.
"'ou cryin?"
Drip.
"Wha'ever stay be'ind,"
Drip.

"All 'ail Chief Broa-!"
"Da name's Fleshy-Bane an' don't 'ou lot 'orget it!"
"All 'ail Chief Fleshy-Bane!"
"Yeah an 'y do dey 'ink dey call me dat!? 'cus I'm gon kill every Fleshy dat dare come to Mer land!"
Laughter erupted from the rickety halls of the war-obsessed Mer Tribe that very day.

"Don't dey 'ow 'at 'our gon do?"
"No, dey to 'tupid to fink for demselves,"
"So 'ou sure da Fleshys will 'cept 'ou in dere society?"
"After wha' I gon do, dey will,"

He awoke lying on horseback with feet kicked up high in the air.
"'ust a dream.."
"Are you ok, War-chief?"
"I is fine, Commandah. 'ow long till we gets tah Westmarch?"
"A few days at least, it is quite a journey especially with an army right behind you,"
"All 'ights," he said softly as he fell back to deep sleep.
When in doubt..
use a shotgun.

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Re: Unlikely Heroes: Content

Post by Bjorn » Wed May 09, 2012 3:43 pm

Riding atop his white horse, Tyrael had time to think. Despite Azrael's warnings earlier, a grand total of 8 of the men remained, leaving Ten people total in their small group. Many of the soldiers had covered their armor with surplices and hoods to hide their faces, each of the surplices a slightly beige white. Even though colored by the surplices, each warrior stood out completely, his polished Golden armor gleaming in what little sunlight entered the darkness of the forest. Most Soldiers had chosen to leave their helms behind, as well as their spears. Most carried a short sword, ornate carvings scratched into the golden hilt, and a shield dotted with symbols individual to each warrior on their back, except for those who carried the groups food rations on their horses. Some of the men rode alongside each other, but in a long train of horses. Azrael led from the fore, with most riders following him in single file.

"Hello again friend! Glad to finally see you in a decent light" The old warrior grinned, his horse trotting alongside Tyrael's.

"And you, All though I wish the circumstances of our talk had been different." Tyrael returned glumly.

"Pah! What happened has happened, you can not dwell on the past too long, or you end up missing out on the present. Besides, we get to see the world beyond the walls and forest we call home. Consider it an adventure." The Old man winked at Tyrael, causing Tyrael to smile. "I'm Loken, if you wanted to know"

"Tyrael" patting Loken on his shoulder.

"Tyrael, I wish to speak with you." Azrael called from the front of the line, beckoning the group to stop as he dismounted his horse. The other men in the line followed suite, as did Tyrael. Walking to the front of the pack, Azrael walked out in front of his horse and stood with his arms behind his back, waiting for Tyrael.

"What is it friend?"

"There is less than a mile or so to the edge of the forest. You must understand, we will not be welcomed by most. We will be entering a world of people who are at arms against each other, and we will be entering a world rife with hatred. It will be different than what we are used to, with all of us looking after each other as brothers. Are you sure you wish to continue alongside me? If you come, I expect you to stand alongside me against the coming storm. If you come with us, you shall be safe. You have a destiny full of challenge ahead Tyrael, I can see this. But for now, you are simply Tyrael, Brother of Azrael, Of Loken and of anyone else who stands with us. Discard your Golden armor and instruct the others to do so. Wear your leather and your surplices instead. Now go, we continue riding." Azrael turned away from Tyrael, facing into the darkness of the forest. Tyrael turned, walking back to the line of men and began informing them, each man throwing his armor on the ground and donning his surplice.

Some small pebbles rumbled, a slow vibrating hum resonating through the forest. Within moments, the ground shook and the hard soil was tossed into the air, a large chasm torn through the earth near where Azrael had been standing, who was now lying on the ground beside his horse.
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Re: Unlikely Heroes: Content

Post by Cthulu Mechanicus » Wed May 09, 2012 4:33 pm

Lakaz didn't understand why travelers thought the Dark forest was so treacherous. He'd walked through it in a few minutes. The only question was, where now. When in doubt, ask Papa. He uncorked a bottle and poured dark, wet mud onto the ground, taken from the depths of the swamp. He muttered a prayer to Papa swamp and the mud started sliding east-south-east. He said thanks to his benevolent protector and started off again, heading to parts unknown. (A.K.A Lycene)
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Re: Unlikely Heroes: Content

Post by Deldar10 » Wed May 09, 2012 11:22 pm

After the fish-man had left the area near the tree Lienth had asked Aeathir to come down from the tree.

After darting her eyes around all over the ground where she was going to jump down Aeathir dropped down, hung on the branch she had been on, and fell to the ground with a light thump. Aeathir looked at the figure who she had learned was named Lienth and nodded at her, she then looked over to the fish-man and frowned.

Aeathir held her arms out from her sides and tilted her hands towards Leinth showing her the large claws on her fingers. she also showed her the fur that covered her body.

"Well, here I am" Aeathir said

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Re: Unlikely Heroes: Content

Post by Bjorn » Fri May 11, 2012 4:04 pm

Tyrael got to his feet and drew his small sword, the blackened stone changing to a blackened glass, a dim green glow inside the base of it. The ground beneath Tyrael quaked, a second chasm opening beneath his feet, darkness overtaking him.

Tyrael awoke in the void, suspended in darkness. A Dim green glow pulsated in the distance, and instinctively Tyrael reached for it. As his hand closed around the light, color flooded his eyes and the world took shape once more.

Tyrael awoke on the brim of the tear in the ground. Propping himself up, his fingers digging in the soil, he emerged alongside wreckage that had been his horse. His horses body had been torn in half, it's hind legs torn clean off, guts and visceral coating the ground nearby. As the blur leaved his eyes, Tyrael spotted his sword a few feet away, but with no glow inside it, leaving it just a darkened piece of glass. As his hand tightened around the sword, the light pulsed into life, a dim glow emanating from within. Pulling himself from the torn earth, Tyrael managed to clamber to his feet.

An unnaturally loud screech ruptured the air, deafening all those within earshot. Tyrael watched as a large Wyrm emerged from the hole where he had just stood. A gaping maw, filled with serpentine teeth beckoned, Causing Tyrael to freeze as he stared into the abyss. Dropping to his knees at his own despair, he froze as a wave of fear overtook him. Accepting his death, Tyrael's arms went limp by his side, his chest frozen.

From behind him a rallying cry bolstered Tyrael's resolve, allowing him to at least scramble backward to avoid the maw of the beast before him. Loken ran in front of the floored Tyrael, his spear already pointed at the beasts head. Primordial eyes narrowed as Loken made his presence known, stabbing at the thick bulk of the Wyrm with the tip of his spear. However, the creatures thick bulk and the armored scales atop it's head protected it mostly, the occasionally successful strike drawing a deep purple blood. Getting to his feet, Tyrael moved past Loken with his sword at his side, dodging the lunging mouth and slashing into the exposed flesh as he moved. The creature howled and writhed in pain, retreating back into the hole it emerged from.

As the first creature retreated, Tyrael used the now finished battle to scan the scene. More Wyrm's had burst from the holes, Azrael was now on his feet fighting one that had knocked him down in the first place, climbing atop the Wyrm and punching with his fists. Three more Wyrms dotted the woodland, most of the soldiers now combating them. The man closest to the smallest Wyrm over pressed his advantage, stepping within the reach of the beast as he tried to stab beneath a scale. The gaping maw closed around the man's chest, severing him in two diagonally across his chest. The large chunk of meat was swallowed quickly, Tyrael watching in horror as the bulge moved down the creatures mass an disappeared below the earth. Involuntarily taking a step backward, Tyrael was stopped by Loken.

"Come. They need us."

All Tyrael could do was nod, tightening his grasp on his sword and charging into battle once more alongside his Brothers. The Nearest Wyrm loomed, splaying it's mouth wide as a challenge to the approaching figures. Almost instantly, the mouth was impaled by a spear from the nearest man, pushing the tip deeper through the monsters throat. Yanking the spear free, the man rolled backward as the full wait of the serpent-like creature flopped to the ground, a dark purple blood gushing forth.

Within a few minutes, the other creatures had been killed, including Two soldiers and three horses. With the fight over, Tyrael collapsed to the ground, his body exhausted.

"Get up. We can't stay here, we ride for the edge of the forest." Azrael barked harshly, climbing atop his scared, yet unharmed horse.
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Re: Unlikely Heroes: Content

Post by Chaos Farseer » Sun May 13, 2012 3:44 am

“I should start from the beginning.”
The door shut quietly behind Huor. Irandirel sat on the bed in the middle of the bare wood room, furnished only by a round table and a pair of empty chairs. The lantern on the table flickered as Huor and Oswaldo took their seats. Long shadows stretched across the floor and walls. The smooth cane lay on her lap.
“Oswaldo, I never answered either of your questions. I will start with the first.”
In one fluid motion she slid out the sword. Reflected light glittered around the room. Irandirel noticed the shock and surprise on her companion’s faces, but to her the blade was now commonplace. “This is my master’s blade. He received it from his father, who had used it in battle alongside the pirates.” She said the last word with distaste. “It is a marvelous weapon, as marvelous as a weapon can be.” It hummed as she sliced through the air, then sighed. “I wish I never learned to use it.”
“Whoy?” Asked Oswaldo, a perplexed look on his face.
“My mother was worried about me.” She paused, and then traced the scars on her cheek. “It was because of these. That was . . . only a month ago? It feels as if an eternity has passed.
“That day, that fateful day a month ago I was alone in the forest. I had set out to take a snack in the woods. The sun was high in the sky and the birds sang in the trees. I sat at the base of a large birch with a pair of apples and a small knife wrapped in a cloth. As I began to peel the second, a creature jumped out of a bush at me. It was a large cat, with mottled blue fur and bared claws and a sharp hiss.
“I am unsure of what happened next. As far as I could tell, it lay at my feet an instant later. Its once perfect form was now split down the center with-” she shook her head “terrible things trailing out of its chest. My vision and my hands were both stained in blood, although I knew not from who. I walked into the village that way, where they looked at me with such surprise and such horror that I could have been a demon and they would have viewed me better. It took them a few minutes, but they finally looked past the tattered clothing and the bloodied wounds and they still accepted me. They treated my wounds, although they could not remove these three gashes from when the beast clawed at my eyes.
“I still do not understand what happened. No member of our village had ever been attacked in such a way. No member of our village would fight back in such a way. Since then everyone else looked at me a bit differently. I was the one with the knife. I was the one with the scar. It made sense to everyone that I killed it, except I would never do such a thing.
“My mother was worried about me. She wanted me to be safe, and the only safe method she knew was to fight. I was not pleased about the decision, but I trusted her. I began training with master Drathenyr the next day.”

Irandirel took a pause as she moistened her throat and straightened her dress. The blade lay forgotten on the rough blanket, until she carefully picked it up and slid it slowly back to where it belonged. She looked at Huor and Oswaldo. She sniffed. “That continued until a day ago. Until yesterday.”
Tears welled in her eyes. “It was an army. They marched in and they . . . “ Her voice faltered. “They . . . killed . . . her.” Tears dripped down her cheeks. “They ran in with their swords and their bows and they killed everyone! Everyone who - mattered. Everyone who-” She tensed as the words jammed in her throat. She grabbed her head with two trembling hands and she shut her eyes.

She cried. She cried softly and quietly. She cried in pain and fear and loss and hate and sorrow. She cried for for happy days long since past. She cried for lonely days in the coming. She cried for the home she once had. She cried for the people she once knew. She cried for the innocence she once held. She cried.

A few minutes later, Irandirel wiped the tears from her eyes. She spoke between gasps and hiccups. “Why me? Why us? We stopped! We changed! Is that not enough?” Her voice cracked. “Except . . . they did it anyway. They took everything from me. They took . . .her . . . from me.” She looked up at them imploringly, tears streaming. “I could have saved her! I could have done something! I could have shouted or - or pushed or blocked or something. But then there was that arrow and - oh gods, no.” She paused then shook the memories out of her head.

“She died. She died and I could not do anything. I could not say anything. Not even goodbye.” Irandirel looked down at the moist, dulled green dress. “I had to leave her there. That was the worst. But to stay was to be cut down by angry men, to flee was to be shot down by unseen arrows. I could not save her. I could not save anyone. I only could only save myself.
“But we failed. I failed. We were supposed to give up bloodshed. But I - I saved myself by becoming what they feared. What they hated. A pirate. A raider. A murderer. I poked out his eyes and crushed his throat with these two hands. It felt so wrong - so horribly, horribly wrong. But at the same time it felt so right.”

Irandirel spent the next minute taking several deep breaths. She wiped away a tear and stopped trembling. She stopped looking at the floor and looked up. “I am sorry Oswaldo. I do not believe it worked. It feels more real.” She blinked. “I hope you understand when I ask you not to remind me of it.”
Last edited by Chaos Farseer on Sun Nov 25, 2012 11:17 pm, edited 2 times in total.

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Re: Unlikely Heroes: Content

Post by Bjorn » Sun May 13, 2012 9:31 am

Azrael pushed the group hard as they rode to the edge of the forest. The occasional tremor followed them but stopped a short while after the scene of the attack. The trees began to thin out and light pierced the treeline more easily than before. As the group rode on, small clumps of tall grass littered the brown mud.

"Finally, the edge." Azrael sighed, gesturing before him. Almost at once the treeline seemed to have stopped, replaced by fields of grass, glimmering in the sunlight. Golden grass stretched to knee height, covering the floor all the way to the horizon.

"It's.... Different" Loken smiled, walking his horse forward into the grass.

Following Suite, Tyrael squeezed the reigns of his horse and pushed his feet into the animals ribs, causing it to rear upward and set off at a sprint into the grass. The rest of the group followed suite at various speeds, with Azrael and two others walking slowly at a relaxed pace, and others racing around the field as they experienced the new sensations outside the forest.

"Azrael!" Tyrael laughed as he rode past, circling the smaller group. "Where now?" Tyrael halted his horse, it rearing up again.

"We head toward the Bells lad. Don't you feel the pull toward them?" Azrael smiled devilishly, riding slowly alongside Tyrael.

"I admit, I feel like I know where I must go, yet not how to get there."

"Indeed. Well then, let us head to where we are drawn to. We are among the Dwarvern kingdoms now, but we ride north. Come, let us ride further on and then rest for the night, Daylight is running out."
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Re: Unlikely Heroes: Content

Post by Cthulu Mechanicus » Mon May 14, 2012 4:31 pm

Lakaz continued his trek in the strange lands outside the comfort of the swamp. Small vines grew underfoot, great swathes of land were rock and dust, and the comforting mud was nowhere to be seen. His wrapped feet ploded against the strange vegetation, following a long strip of barren land, occasionally poking at it with his staff. As he neared an area where the great strips peeled of in different directions with a large stick poking out between them, he saw a man clad in dark iron armed with a pointy shiny stick. Lakaz continued his seemingly endless trek when the metal man approached him. "Halt traveller! All of your possesions are subject to search by the order of Westmarch!" Lakaz stared blankly at the man, cocking his head. "Westmarch?" He questioned, scratching the top of his Mer skull. "Yes, Westmarch! Now hand over your belongings or I am granted authority to run you through!" He shouted. This wasn't going as planned. The other guards told him that it would be easy. Check a few bags and collect a paycheck, prevent Westmarch from being sabotaged, all that. But here he was, trying to tell this.... Savage that he needed to hand over his beloning for a quick search! "Okay... Hand me your bag, and you'll get it back... Far enough?" How crude!

Lakaz eventually realized that the strange man clad in sinking items would like to have a look at his satchel. He took it off his shoulder and handed it over to the metal man. "Let's see.... Elixirs? You aren't some sort of peddler are you? Harmless enough, go on through." Lakaz took his satchel back. This is a strange place indeed...
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Re: Unlikely Heroes: Content

Post by Bone2pick » Tue May 15, 2012 11:33 am

The truth was written in their faces, Margus Gan was a liar. His sins were exposed in the morning. Under the veil of night he had spoken to these people, these men and women of Lycene, about a war that they would win. He talked of their plight and reassured them that the world they lived in would ultimately protect them from the wicked. It was the sermon of an idealist. It was the words of a fool.

With dawn came doubt. How could he have been so arrogant? The threat of Westmarch was unlike anything he had studied in history, and the Gan was an educated man. To presume the western tyrant would be defeated because lesser men had failed before was a grievous mistake. The legions are coming, and they will bring a tide of death with them. The wars of his father and his father before him will look pale in comparison of the nearing destruction. There will be no victory here.

From on top his horse he stole glimpses of the townsfolk. Busy men. Good women. All soon to be dead. He stroked his stallion’s neck and accepted the reality that he would also share their silent fate. Margus carried the courage to sacrifice himself in battle if he should ever be called on to do so, but to fall in vain felt hollow. He brushed his weary thoughts aside and refocused.

He needed an answer, and the world needed an out. A ride through the countryside couldn’t hurt, and may be just the right kind of medicine Margus Gan needs. He cleared the guard post, tossed a wave to a soldier, and kicked his coppery hued horse into a gallop.
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Re: Unlikely Heroes: Content

Post by Bjorn » Wed May 16, 2012 2:18 pm

Tyrael sat alongside the six others who survived the forest, the last of the order, of a generation, and the final seven of a dying race. Sitting on the grass as the sun was enveloped by the horizon cleared Tyrael's head.

His life was over.

Everything he knew, was gone. Everyone he knew, had died. Those that remained would join them soon. Would he meet them alongside the Gods in the next life? What happens now?

As the various thoughts raced through Tyrael's head, his shoulders sagged, and his head fell into his hands. Azrael turned to Tyrael, placing a hand on his shoulder and smiling.

"Calm yourself Tyrael. We all feel the same, we are dying. Once we are gone, it is over. But fear not young ones. As long as we live, the order continues with us." Azrael smiled, his voice soothing the noise in Tyrael's head, spreading like a wave breaks on a beach.

"Azrael. There is smoke on the Horizon brother." One of the Soldiers pointed West of the group, toward various glowing red lights in the evening dusk and the small trails of smoke disappearing into the sky.

The group got to there feet and gazed eastward, each individual gathering his wits and working out what was happening. The group had made it many miles from the forest, into the middle of nowhere in the field, grass surrounding them on all sides.

"Everyone, gather your horses. Let's find out what those lights are, shall we?" Azrael grinned, his voice playful and clear.
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Re: Unlikely Heroes: Content

Post by Chaos Farseer » Thu May 17, 2012 9:46 pm

Irandirel could not sleep.

She lay on the bed and stared at an unfamiliar ceiling. The flame within the lantern had blown out a while ago, leaving her smothered with darkness she could not see through. The wooden roof appeared to be a simple grayish haze. She smelled the unfamiliar smoke and heard the comforting crickets as they sang outside. She felt her erratic breathing through the hand laying on her chest. She sniffed. Another teardrop rolled down her finger and dispersed into the blanket. She snee- she clamped down on her nose and lips and trapped it within. The blast pushed at her ears, but at least it made no sound. There was no need to wake up the others.

The memories of that one morning took form in the swirls and shifts of smoke. She watched as a cloud formed into the shape of a woman. She watched as the cloud broke into several chunks and then faded away. She blinked and as her eyes were closed she saw the red shining blade and the red rolling pieces and the red in the air and the red on the grass and then she saw smoke again. That clump, with its long hair and dots for eyes, looked down at her. Then the ‘head’ fell off and rolled away. The person faded away until nothing remained, but Irandirel could not watch. She rolled over to face the rest of the room.

It felt too real. It was akin to a beast in the forest that she could hear but not see. She knew it was still hounding her, but she could not know from where. So she would run, and so it would follow. When she could run no more, it would lay there waiting and she would have to face it and then one would fall. One would kill, one would die. What if she killed it? What if she killed a soldier? Would she end the pain that way? She shuddered. No. If she killed a man a family would mourn over him. There is no justice in that. What would she do then, when they come for her? What would she do? What could she do? Irandirel rolled to face the wall, but she still was not comfortable.

She still could not sleep.

-={0}=-

Oswaldo looked out over the town from the top of the arena. The cold wind blew, knocking leaves from their places on the ground. Despite his meager clothing, he was not cold. A fire had been kindled inside him, almost as if something long restrained had been released. The wind howled. Clouds gathered slowly, and the light from the moon was slowly blocked out. A feeling he was new to had made itself known. Rage. Not the boisterous, messy rage found in most animals, but the quiet, steady, relentless rage possessed by some select few of the sentient races. It fueled his every action and every deliberation. From the sound of the elf’s story, the Westmarchian army was well equipped. They were well-trained, cold-hearted murderers. The assembled troops of Ferax, at least those here in Lycene, were not murderers. They were men. Even with the old arena, they hardly stood a chance. For man knows mercy and, from the sound of things, the Westmarchians do not. So, if you can’t beat the army, make the army beat itself.

There was one person who would know how to do that, but he lived in a small hamlet North of Ivel, deep in Sverdlovosk. Oswaldo reckoned someone else closer would also know, it was just a matter of finding them.

He closed his eyes and listened to the wind in the trees, the clanging hammers or blacksmiths working late into the night, and the clanking of the guard’s sword as he paced the floor below. The storm marched toward them with metered pace and strict order. The orchestra was tuned and the symphony about to begin. Oswaldo ignored the rage, flowing like blood all over his body, and descended from his perch. The crenelations of the arena were repaired, the portcullis back in it’s archway. The arena was a fortress again, and the town a battlefield. Oswaldo and whatever shred of reason he still possessed had decided to leave Lycene. For dead men do not get their revenge.

-={0}=-

Huor sat in his room, he wasn’t sure what to think. He still didn’t fully understand Irandiral’s plight. He knew now that her village had been wiped out by an army, and she had resorted to murder, something she thought would never happen it seemed. But Huor had no clue which village she was talking about, the only Elven village he knew was Feylantir. But it couldn’t be. The place of his, and his parents birth. He shuddered.

And what of this plan of Calcifers? Could they really defeat Westmarch? From what he had heard, it seemed impossible to beat Westmarch. Especially with only the four of them.

He thought back to a few days ago. He had been alone in his little clearing, living off the land, with nothing to worry about, but his next catch. Now he was caught up in this struggle. I could always just leave now. Go back to my clearing and forget this ever happened. he thought. But for some reason he dismissed the thought immediately. He felt an obligation, a pull that told him to continue, but also to go north. If he left now, bad things would happen.

He knew bad things would happen.

So he stayed, he would continue with this plan of Calcifer’s.

For the rest of the day he spent his time in the room of the Inn. He’d been to human settlements before and knew they didn’t appreciate elves much. So he kept to himself, eating from the small amount of food he had brought with him.

-={0}=-

Calcifer rested his head on the wall for a long time, long after the elf finished her tale, and the others left to go their separate ways for the night. Calcifer scratched his ear with his foot, as he peeled himself away from the wall. He flicked his tail around and tried to regain movement. He had been sitting for a while.

Calcifer opened the closet, his nails slowly scratching the fine oak. He breathed slowly, taking in two rapid breaths and releasing more than he took in, keeping his heart from pounding and him going berserk.

It was a long day for Calcifer. He had hiked his way through the Dark Forest, worked in a stable for hours, and spent the last hour locked up in a closet. He crawled onto the bed, and spun in a few circles before creating a suitable padding. He laid down and licked his arms for a moment, before resting his head against the bedsheets.

But he couldn’t sleep.

Something about the elf’s story frightened him. He knew Westmarch was dangerous and powerful, but he never thought them to be so cruel. To wipe out an entire city without mercy. To kill for the sake of killing. For creating horror only to spread their own evil.

Why? Why?

Calcifer spent the next hour contemplating the situation, thinking of the evil that he just heard. And when he finally slept, the evil followed him into the night.
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Re: Unlikely Heroes: Content

Post by Bjorn » Fri May 18, 2012 2:50 pm

Tyrael crawled along the ground just beside Azrael, the other men staying a few hundred meters back along with the horses.

"Come now, crawl forward with me." Azrael whispered, beckoning Tyrael onward.

As the pair moved forward onto the top of a grassy knoll, gazing down into the valley below.

A mass of tents filled the valley from either side, spanning hundreds of rows across.Large groups of armored men roamed between the tents along predetermined roads, highways through the colossal camp. One road split the camp down the middle, like a spine, with many paths leading from it like arteries. Small groups of ten or twenty men milled around between the large group tents, Long banners draped over various poles around the site, hundreds dotted around between tents of importance, The Red banners bearing the seal of Westmarch, a Black book with broken blade.

Azrael and Tyrael stared in awe at the mass of Soldiers, sheer numbers shocking them.

"I was unaware there existed such numbers of men in this world." Tyrael managed to whisper, air finally refilling his lungs as he realized he'd been holding his breath.

"Indeed they exist, this is but a fraction."

"Why do they need this many men? Why are they armored?" Tyrael puzzled. Tyrael understood that men needed Weapons, simply to fight off creatures, but nothing that is kill-able would need this many weapons or men.

"Now that, I do not know. However, I have lived long Tyrael, and let me tell you this; Mankind know little but war once they live in large numbers. They are armored because they wish to fight other armored men." Azrael's sentence was cut off mid sentence, a horn blaring from the closest cluster of tents. Around Thirty or so soldiers scrambled around like startled ants, gathering weapons and armor and bursting from their encampment and moving upward along the ravines slope. A slightly larger soldier pointed toward Azrael and Tyrael, who had now began crawling backward away from the edge. With the continued sounds of the yelling men, Azrael and Tyrael got to their feet and sprinted backward toward their own small group of men who had now began climbing atop their horses and gathering their things.

"Azrael! A group of men are approaching from just south of where you were crawling!" one of the Soldiers yelled, signalling a few hundred meters south of where they had been laying, five Westmarch soldiers getting over the knoll and moving toward the Tyrael, waving others onward. The group of men who had spotted Tyrael and Azrael clambered over the knoll, moving toward the fleeing monks.

"Atop your horse Tyrael, Quickly!"
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Re: Unlikely Heroes: Content

Post by Jayertheslayer » Fri May 18, 2012 4:29 pm

"Why do we have to leave her?"
"I don' trust 'er dat's why,"
"But she seems nice enough,"
"'ou try sayin' dat when ya 'eads on spike,"
She hated to admit it but trusting strangers in the forest was a bad idea, for all she could know that stranger could be a thieving rouge or notorious bandit. She could trust nothing in the overgrowth, even Grymskale, but for something like him if he wanted her dead she already would be. But still.

A couple hours later.

Lienth sighed heavily as hunger began to crawl throughout her feeble veins. She was going to ask her companion to fetch her something but after observations of its 'hunting skills' she decided not to. Rabbit guts and wolf's intestine didn't tickle her fancy in the slightest. That and the lack of sleep began to dwell on her, maybe the fish could walk miles without tire but the same could not be said for her and its were taking shape.

Hearing the human complain loudly Grymskale asked,
"'at up 'ienth?"
"Tired mainly, we've been at this walking for hours now,"
"We gon' get dere soon,"
"You say that,"

What was there to say, it was the same thing over and over again. Trees, mud, shrubs, terrified rabbits, nothing new. It seemed as if the treacherous forests continuously carried on forever, a never ending tormenting demon constantly spewing with organic life and manipulation. Lienth wanted to once again ride her noble steed, but she knew she couldn't, it wouldn't be fair on the beast. It had pushed so hard through red misty waters and living furs, constantly moving forward whilst never lagging behind. And what had she done, the complete opposite. If it wasn't for her standard laziness and unknown selfishness, they would be in the open airs of the morning sun.

"'at's dat?"

Walking up to where the puzzled monstrosity stood, she asked curiously,
"What's what?"
And as soon as she finally saw what he was pointing at, a squeal of happiness overwhelmed her.
"We made it! We made it! It's finally here!"
Seeing a complete different view to what the human was seeing, Grymskale questioned her on what she was she so excited about.
"Don't you get it! This is what we've been travelling for!"
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Re: Unlikely Heroes: Content

Post by Bjorn » Sat May 19, 2012 6:15 pm

"Azrael! They're in front of us too!" The farthest forward Monk cried out, his horse rearing upward as he yanked on the reigns.

"Damn it! We're surrounded!" Azrael roared in Anger, stopping his horse alongside the others who had now come to a stop.

"Throw down your arms and surrender to us!" The bulkier Westmarch soldier yelled, his comrades bringing their swords to bare as they spread out to circle them. Around Forty soldiers now encircled the group of seven, each man armored and armed with a sword.

Azrael climbed down from his horse, followed by the other Monks. Tyrael was last to dismount, his hand closing into a fist around the hilt of his sword at his waist.

"Throw down your weapons, we see no reason to fight. Listen to reason and no blood need be shed." The Bald lieutenant spoke softly, his hand resting atop the hilt of his longsword.

All the Monks faced Azrael, waiting for his judgement. Sighing, Azrael turned to face the Lieutenant. "Blood has already been shed, by men wearing the same colored armor as you. Innocent blood." Azrael's hands clenched into fists around his two swords, his eyes glowing a harsh white. As he drew his swords Azrael let out a harsh roar. "Take as many out as you can Brothers!".His skin morphing and changing into the segmented plates, green light shining between them. Drawing his swords as he moved, he pressed forward toward the Lieutenant. Tyrael and the other Monks followed his lead, drawing their weapons and moving outward, forming a ring. Tyrael drew his sword, his skin changing into the dull brown segmented rock, a deep orange glow emitted from between them.

Azrael lept forward, bringing both blades down diagonally, slashing the air where the Lieutenant had been just moments before. The Bald man dodged to the left, bringing his fist into Azrael's ribs as he drew his sword. Reacting to the punch, Azrael brought his arm wide, hitting the man in the temple with his swords hilt, knocking the Lieutenant to the ground. Azrael stood over the disorientated soldier, bringing both swords above his head, preparing to bring the death blow. Just as he was about to strike, another Westmarch soldier attempted to press an attack home, swiping wildly with his short sword for Azrael's midriff. Throwing himself backward as he brought his swords to parry the blow. Turning the soldiers sword skyward, Azrael stabbed upward into the mans chest, his face widening in shock. Crimson blood seeped from the wound as he fell to the ground, his hands trying in vain to stifle the bleeding.

Tyrael blocked blow after blow intended for the Monk on his left, the circle they had formed proving valuable for the outnumbered monks. Every attack was protected against and then countered, the back and forward between both sides seemingly unbreakable. Tyrael admired the skills of his fellow monks, watching as one dodged under a broad sweeping strike and lunged forward, driving his blade into the chin of a soldier whose now limp body fell to the ground. Bringing his own sword to bare, Tyrael parried a lunge, turning his opponents blade and Riposting, slashing his opponents exposed neck. Crimson blood sprayed outward, coating Tyrael's sword. Emotion flooded Tyrael, the guilt of killing a man, the joy of avenging those who died at the monastery, fear of death all filled his head. Distracted for but a moment, Tyrael lowered his guard, only for one of the soldiers to jump forward, pushing his sword toward his stomach. Time seemed to slow as the blade etched closer, giving only enough time to move right slightly. The blade left a shallow cut running across Tyrael's side, the glowing orange fluid seeping from between the gash in the rocky segmented armor. Falling on his back, Tyrael watched in horror as other Monks were beginning to succumb to injuries sustained through the fighting. A Monk to his right was stopped by a sword through his abdomen, shortly followed by a viscous strike that cleaved through his shoulder. Other Monks began to fall, deadly blades of dark intentions hitting their marks.

Azrael, ducked low under a swing of the long sword, bringing both his blades upward into the Bald mans stomach. Both blades met the steel of the soldiers armor and pushed through, penetrating the armor as if it were wet paper. A look of shock became permanently etched into the mans face as he fell backward, his life leaving him. Pulling his blades out, Azrael roared in triumph, turning his attention to other soldiers. His feeling of triumph changed to that of guilt as he watched various monks be cut down, only to be replaced by anger at their deaths. Moving into the middle of the now broken circle, Azrael slashed wildly, taking the heads of those closest to him from their shoulders in one deft swing. Rage gripped Azrael, his eyes glowing intensely with hatred.

Tyrael crawled toward Azrael's feet, managing to slowly clamber to his feet, leaning against his horse.

"Run" Azrael barked, Bringing his swords upward again as he carved through another Soldier, slashing into the mans chest again and again, taking his anger out on the ruined body. More Soldiers joined the fight against him.

Tyrael climbed atop his horse, kicking his heels into it's ribs, spurring the horse onward away from the Battle. Although Tyrael wanted to stay and fight alongside his last brother, fear caused him to flee.

Azrael turned to parry a blow from his left, Bringing both his swords up to block the overhead strike. Parrying the strike, Azrael kicked the Soldier in the stomach, sending him off balance, giving Azrael the time he needed to press his advantage as he moved forward, blades raised. A surge of pain filled Azrael, causing him to stumble forward slightly and drop to his knees. Gazing downward, a spear protruded from his chest, his dark blood ebbing down his chest. Falling forward, Azrael lay face down in the dirt, a host of Blades descending on him as the Westmarch soldiers took their revenge, Killing Azrael outright.



Riding away from the battle, Tyrael felt something for the first time in his life: He was alone.
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