Unlikely Heroes: Content

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Re: Unlikely Heroes: Content

Post by Jayertheslayer » Thu May 03, 2012 5:48 pm

I-I feel as if I'm moving but I'm not. It's difficult to explain. It is as if I'm riding a horse but much scarier. I don't want to open my eyes but the temptation..

Eyes snapping open, a harsh array of bright light gleamed in. Looking down from the rays that shined through thickened treetops, she saw dense plants soar endlessly past her very face with utmost speed. Trees, unlike anything she had seen before, were avoided with precise turns that kept the pace going but yet accomplishing the task. From once came a terrified scream, only joyful laughter was heard in its place.


Instantly Lienth's head bolted round behind her. Bodies thickly blending in with lush undergrowth with only the lit crimson brightened in their eyes, it was them. Presuming that they had probably found their lost companion, she knew mercy would be no option against these demonic monstrosities. From the sounds she heard there were more than a few and with the lack of energy carrying her this great distance, she was defenceless. With only one option available she had to inform the steed of the menace.

Keeping head fixated on the path ahead it spoke out,
"Wha' 'ou want Fles-'ienth?"
Feeling amazed that it actually remembered her name Lienth wanted to applaud the creature, but now was not the time.
"I hate to be negative but there's a pack of wolves behind us!"
"Wan' me 'o kill 'em?"
"No! No, keep moving!"
"Fine den, bu' ya know 'ienth, 'ou gettin' 'eavy"
Great, she thought to herself. Already she knew how this was going to end, eaten by wolves, how delightful.

Then came salvation.

Still running, she felt as if she was moving faster than the regular speed. Turning away from the hungry snapping and spiteful growling she looked ahead at what the Mer would be fastening the already quick pace for.


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Re: Unlikely Heroes: Content

Post by Bjorn » Fri May 04, 2012 12:55 pm

Tyrael stretched his legs, gathering his things and preparing to leave on his horse.

You know, I can help you.

I don't need any help Ra, I'm fine.

I will be here anyways.

Sighing, Tyrael mounted his horse. Azrael's body lay in the shade, a column of light penetrating the trees but missing the body. Tyrael climbed from the horse, an unexplained urge pushing him onward.

What are you doing?

Tyrael kept walking toward the corpse, his hand outstretched.

Turn around Tyrael. Turn around. Ra's voice grew angrier, the volume of his voice increasing.

Tyrael's hand glided toward the bodies arm, hovering an inch from the shoulder.

Stop this Tyrael, I am warning you Ra growled.

Tyrael stopped, puzzled about his actions but even more so over Ra's reaction.
Grabbing the shoulder, Tyrael grunted as he heaved the body toward the light.

You will regret this Tyrael. Ra spat, a low primal growl rumbling from inside Tyrael's head.

As soon as the bodies face entered the light, it changed before Tyrael's eyes, twisting and contorting into something new. The skin changed from a pinky white to a deep purple, the jaw tightening and the eyes narrowing. The nose flattened and Azrael's hair retreated back into his head, sticking flat to his scalp.

You will suffer! Ra raged, Tyrael could feel him thrashing around inside his head.

Twisted black horns burst from the forehead, twisting backward like that of a Ram. The hands twisted into dark claws, the skin tightening over the muscles as they bulged and grew in size.

Ra became silent, the rage ceased, disappearing into a dark corner of Tyrael's mind.

Tyrael gazed at the creature that Azrael's corpse had morphed into, trying to remember where he recognized it from. Thinking back to the library in Azrael's chambers. Thinking back to a Bestiary scroll, Tyrael suddenly remembered, sketches and scrawled text flooding his mind.

"Satyr..." Tyrael whispered aloud, stumbling back from the corpse.

Yes yes, you know what I am very clever.

"Get out of my head, Impostor!" Tyrael barked, clutching his head.

Do you not wish to know more, Tyrael? Ra spat, venom lacing his words.

"No. No I do not."

Well I feel bad for you. For I will tell you anyways. Your Azrael has been dead for months, long before any of this began. I came across him in the woods and sensed his power. Now, Power is one of my favorite things. I enjoyed taking control of him, toying with him before finally getting bored and consuming him. I returned to your Order and seized control. Such fun was had... Ra's voice was full of maliciousness and contempt, a gloating tone was adopted midway through the speech.

Getting to his feet, Tyrael marched toward his horse when he noticed some of the bushes rustling to his left. Drawing his sword, Tyrael groaned at the pain that flooded him.

Oh, and the Sword? My gift to you.

An old man emerged from the bushes, brandishing a staff.

"What'd you do to that thing?" The Old man gasped, pointing his staff to the Satyr.

"I did nothing, Old one. Who are you?" Tyrael retorted, brandishing his short sword.

"I saw what happened, do not think you can lie to me." The Old man snapped, Bringing his stick back to the ground. "Follow me. I must speak with you."

Tyrael sighed, his instincts telling him the Old Man was trustworthy. Bringing his horse, he began walking in the direction of West with the Old man.
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Re: Unlikely Heroes: Content

Post by Deldar10 » Sun May 06, 2012 11:06 pm

Aeathir heard the howls before she saw their source, large wolves were running through the brush behind the fish-man and his companion. The fish-man veered off course and began to run faster and Aeathir was left behind.

"Ugh, I hope they don't need help, I didn't make enough arrows to kill all those things" Aeathir said to herself

When Aeathir turned the corner around a large tree she saw the fish-man fall into the water and the wolves began to surround the small lake that the fish-man and his companion had fallen into. Aeathir began to work her way down the branches to a branch low enough to the ground that she could get a clear shot off on the wolves closest to the lake.

Aeathir knocked the arrow and aimed, *Pwang* the string vibrated as the arrow was released and hit one of the wolves in the head. Aeathir then knocked arrow after arrow and eventually got the wolves to turn around and surround the tree she was standing on.

"Hey, pull yourselves out of the water and help me help you. Please." Aeathir yelled to the Fish-man and his companion.

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Re: Unlikely Heroes: Content

Post by Chaos Farseer » Mon May 07, 2012 1:52 am

“So you just stumbled across Irandirel as she was trying to kill herself?” Huor asked, slightly amazed.
“Oi wouldn’ soy stumbl’d across... I was lookin’ for ‘er. Bot, yes, oi guess ‘o.” Oswaldo turned to the taller, thin elf. His long, black hair ran down his head into the hood of his cloak, which now hung limp on his back. A thin scar divided one of his high cheekbones in half. A bow peaked out from the folds of the cloak. This man looked to Oswaldo like a force to be reckoned with. “Oi never got ya name...”
“Huor Calmacil.” Huor said thinly. The man appeared to be rather untidy, with big bushy eyebrows and a moustache to match. He appeared to be a farmer, or day laborer. His accent was quite strong, and Huor sometimes had difficulty understanding it. “I was wondering, do you know what happened to Irandirel?”
“As a mat’ter o’ fact, oi don’t. She’s oll alone... ‘s all I know.” He turned to Irandirel, who stared blankly past him off into the sky. “You seem ta be colmer, now. How’s about you get on up and put the ‘at on ‘fore someone sees ya?” He turned back to Huor. “You moight as well do the same. Don’t wont people here ta see ya. Bad blood wit elves, dey has.”
Irandirel stared at him blankly.
“You remember the ‘at, roight? It goes on ya ‘ead.” He smiled. She struck him less as a young adult, and more as a child, just learning the world. He was glad that he’d found her, for the alternatives were, well, unpleasant.
She blinked. Then the recognition dawned on her. “Oh!” She scrambled around for the green hat and stuffed it onto her head. She stood up and stumbled slightly, then dusted off her dress and hurried to the group with a hand on the hat. “I apologize.” She smiled weakly. “I was a bit … out of focus.”
“Aww, thas foine. You already know Huor, right? Thas wot that gibberish wos about, I take it.”
“No, I do not know him. Not exactly.”
“Sorry, as your friend said, my name’s Huor. I hail from the Dark Forests.” He said politely. “By chance, do any of you know about this ‘evil’ in the West?”
Irandirel shifted slightly.
“Wes’? Loike Wes’march?”
“I don’t know, I’ve only heard rumours here and there. I only know of an evil in the West,” Huor replied.
“What kind?” asked Irandirel meekly. “What are the rumors?”
“Not much, just the occasional tid-bit, on an evil from the West, commanded by a ruthless leader” Huor quickly returned.
“Oi ‘eard that. Also ‘eard that they’s another one comin’ roight this way. ‘at’s whoy everyone’s leavin’.” Oswaldo looked at the ground. “Don’t wanna be ‘ere when they get ‘ere.”
“I must ask,” Irandirel interjected, “did this evil travel through the ‘Dark Forest’ as you call it?”
“I ‘eard they’re comin’ from that’away. Man from a farm to the Northwes’ said they’s a-comin’. Whoy?”
“... that is not relevant. What do the farmers say?”
Oswaldo replied, slightly puzzled, “Said tha ormy stopped in a smoll town roight outsoide tha forrest. He was gettin’ out whoile he could. Yor askin’ more questions than usual.”
“Yeah Irandirel, why the sudden interest?” Huor chimed in.
“I . . . it . . .” She shuddered. “I dislike talking about it.”
“ ‘s foine, lass. Give it toime.” Oswaldo turned to the other two. “Oi’d boy you two a point so’s we kin discoss further, bot I’m flat broke. Oi need ta do some earnin’ ‘fore this evenin’.
“I only have a couple schillings” said Calcifer, shaking his little bag.
“There’s doyloight yet, I kin earn a lit’le if oi start now.” Oswaldo looked around the group once more. Irandirel stayed near Huor, and Calcifer stood off to the side. He nodded his departure, and went to manufacture more spear shafts. As long as the smiths could make the heads, there would be no shortage of spears for the army. And no shortage of money for Oswaldo, either. He could even practice permanent transformations to the small degree he could perform them. This might be a good day after all.
Calcifer nodded to Oswaldo as he left. He stood back for a moment, watching the elves. He felt awkward, again a minority. He didn’t want to leave them alone. They were a target to almost everyone in Lycene. But Calcifer needed to get some money, to pay for a room, get some supplies. He only had about a dozen arrows and his stomach still growled. He stood there for another moment, awkwardly gestured to the elves, and left.

Irandirel watched Oswaldo leave as she stood next to Huor. Then Calcifer left as well. She turned to the elf. <<I apologize for what happened earlier. I should not have talked to you that way.>>
<<It’s alright, I understand you’re still a bit scared. Anyone would be after a traumatic experience.>>
<<Please do not bring it up. I do not wish to remember.>>
<<I’m sorry.>>
She looked around. <<Is there somewhere else we can speak?>>
<<I don’t know, I rarely come here.>>
<<Anywhere is better than next to that repulsive shack,>> said Irandirel as she gestured at the outhouse.
<<I agree, do you have a room in the Inn?>>
<<Yes, except the door is locked. Perhaps somewhere next to the forest?>>
<<That would work, most people avoid it.>>
<<Lead the way.>>
A few minutes later, both of them were seated at the base of a yellowing oak. Irandirel sat with legs outstretched and let herself relax in the shade. The wooden cane lay next to her and out of sight.
<<It’s nice here,>> she commented.
<<It is, I’ve always loved the forest.>> Huor replied. He didn’t want to push her for information and risk upsetting her again.
<<It’s genetic, is it not? Loving trees?>>
<<I believe so, if only it ran in humans. These days you so often see them destroying the forests.>>
<<All of the elves have this trait, it appears.>>
<<It would seem that way. >>
<<Then... personality must be genetic if all of us think the same way.>> She turned to the elf beside her. <<What if I do not want to think the same way?>>
<<What do you mean?>>
<<My father was one of the pirates. Perhaps the worst of them all. Does that mean I have to be like him?>>
<<I’m sorry, I still don’t understand.>>
<<I do not want to end a life. But I killed two. Can I truly avoid being what everyone fears?>> She sighed.

Irandirel did not speak for the rest of the afternoon. She looked at the yellowing grass, the fallen leaves, the wooden cane, the quieting town, the soiled dress, the wilting flowers. But she did not look at Huor. She could not look at Huor.

Huor sat there, he couldn’t push her further. He didn’t want to further upset her, and so he left her. Hopefully Irandirel would tell him one day.
That evening, the unlikely group gathered in the inn’s tavern. The four of them sat around a wooden table, three of them with drinks. Slowly, people began filtering out of the tavern until all that was left was the fire crackling in the background and the bartender. Eventually, they began discussing Westmarch’s movements to the North and East.

“Horrible. Simply horrible.” Everyone turned toward Irandirel. “It is not right. No being should ever have to suffer in that way.” The girl shook her head.
“Someone has to do something,” Calcifer chipped in, agreeing with Irandirel. “And clearly, the kingdoms aren’t doing squat.”
“You’re kidding, right?”, asked Huor “What can we possibly do to stop Westmarch?”
Calcifer thought for a moment. At home, he raised and looked after sheep. They would live together in pens and eat together. However, when Calcifer’s father brought a new, strong sheep from Colt, it began causing distress to the other sheep. While the older sheep wanted to face it head-buttin’ style, the smaller sheep would sneak around and steal the food for themselves. Eventually, the small sheep grew stronger and managed to subdue the other sheep.
Calcifer thought about it a moment longer, before speaking again.
“We don’t headbutt them.” The elves looked incredibly confused, but Oswaldo simply raised an eyebrow in perplexity.
“The other kingdoms, Ferax and Nerikasana, are trying to fight something unbeatable. The Westmarch generals are focused on putting all their force against them. That means, they have no one to worry about a small group of people sneaking from behind and cutting them off from their supplies. Without supplies, they lose their power, and we gain power. The tides can change to our favor.”
“‘Our’ favor?” questioned Irandirel. ”You cannot seriously suggest fighting an army!”
“Not at all,” Calcifer said. “You see, any army needs supplies to fight a war. The soldiers need food, water, clothing. Without it, the men get sick, hungry. They can’t fight.”
“You’re sayin’ we foight the army, not tha wor. I loike it.” Oswaldo thought this kid had a future, with a mind like that.
Irandirel sighed. “Fight with what? The four of us would have no hope against even a few soldiers.”
The four sat there in silence for a moment, each devising their own strategies. In the midst of the silence, Calcifer felt his back crack. He jolted upright in shock. The others didn’t seem to notice, but Calcifer was all too aware.
“Uh-ex-excuse me, I have to--” Calcifer stuttered before running up to his rented room above. Calcifer began groaning in pain as his facial hair began to grow out. He quickly unlocked the door and began getting naked. The moment he took off his boots, his toenails began sharpening. He cried in pain and ran into the nearby closet. He shut the door as the transformation began.

Oswaldo was slightly surprised by Calcifer’s departure, but he decided to make nothing of it. He looked back to Irandirel. “We don’ stan’ a chance? Why do ya say that, lass?”
“I could not do it. I could not kill a man.” She paused. “Except...”
Oswaldo gave her a questioning look.
“I do not want to talk about it. Although . . .” She sighed. “I do not want to think about it. I keep thinking about it. I cannot get it out of my head.”
Oswaldo remembered what his teacher had said long ago. “Sometiomes, lass, at least fer ‘umans, the best way to move on from somepin is to tolk about it.”
She looked up at him with pain in her eyes. “I... perhaps. Maybe it just needs to come out.” She stood up. “Can we go to a room? It would be more private.”
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Re: Unlikely Heroes: Content

Post by Rangrok1k » Mon May 07, 2012 3:55 am

Why am I laying in this box...

Clearly he had an initial reason for crawling into a coffin, yet the thin wisps of reasoning that he had been following proved elusive. It was a very logical progression, starting with other-worldly enchanted chimes to being locked in a box. The difficulty was in recalling said logical progression.

Thus he sat in perfect silence, allowing his sporadic mind to ricochet ideas through his head.

Eventually, after what seemed like several days had elapsed, Tim finally bolted upright, clumsily smashing his upper torso into the coffin lid until it lurched open. The crisp night air wafted around him... or so he assumed. He had lost the luxury of detecting fine shifts in the wind several decades ago. Nonetheless, he enjoyed the light flapping of his robes/loose strands of sinew in the breeze, slightly hypnotized by their irregular beat. Wobbling to his feet, Tim observed the endless plains before him.

The nearest town was a days ride away. Merchants often would traverse the road that ran by his cottage, accelerating slightly as they whisked past his open door. It was rather amusing really. Had to be amusing, else he would of grown hostile and started leaping aboard their speeding carts within the past couple of years. Tempting as it was, the inevitable horde of holy crusaders wishing to oust him from his pleasant home would destroy his lovely arrangement of dead corpses on his front lawn. They added a beautiful necrotic touch that really stood out against the royal shades of blue he had recently painted on his house. Why paint his house? Because it would terrify every merchant that came by, knowing that someone/something was living in his cozy cottage, consuming collected corpses that contrast common colors.

Tim giggled slightly at his own alliteration.

Turning mid step due to his tibia dislodging itself from his leg, Tim fell on his side, staring at the forest in the distance that bordered these plains. He thought briefly about the signs of soldiers, the signs of refugees, the signs of battle... and then turned his attention to his leg. Tim felt as if his own tibia had insulted him, attempting to flee his rotten (yet sturdy) skeleton, in search for a more hospitable host. A series of blue sparks danced between his fingers and his torn sinews, binding them together once again. Within a few moments, his legs once again obeyed the mental orders he often placed upon them (i.e. movement).

His mind refocused on the road before him. Within the past few weeks, he recalled the battered men and women who had hurried past his cottage. They were fleeing, not from the urban legend that stalked the trail, but from a terror far more direct than his own smiling visage. War was coming, if not already here. Knocked slightly into a vaguely serious state of mind, Tim began weighing his options as he hobbled through his front door. It would only be a matter of time before they began poking at him for reasons unknown currently. They'll come up with an excuse, eventually.

Regardless what said reasons compel them to knock on my front door, I'll be waiting to accept! More amusing to observe the mindless slaughter of others than to hear about it from random people that never visit me...

Ooo, I should get the rabbit stew ready!

With a happy hop, he swung into his kitchen and attached a soup ladle to the stump that was his left arm.
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Re: Unlikely Heroes: Content

Post by Cthulu Mechanicus » Mon May 07, 2012 6:11 am

The vine golem lumbered towards the edge of the swamp. The plan had worked remarkably well, none of the creatures were interested in attacking a massive figure of vines. Welll, except for some hippo-like creature that belched acid. Papa swamps creations were as diverse as... Well, nothing could be more diverse than his masterpeices! The swamp golem stopped at the edge of the water, the trees and mud thinning out further on. And then the trees started again, shrouding the land below in darkness. Figures. The vines parted from it's torso, the figure of Lakaz stepping out. He muttered thanks to Papa swamp for the safe journey. He looked out at the dark forest. He stepped onto the ground, the familiar sinking absent. He took another cautious step, slowly advancing into this new land, Papa swamp's blessing erily absent. The vine golem followed, planting it's leg into the dirt. The viens turned brown, lacking the water to sustain them, as the golem quickly dried up and disentergrated. Steeling his resolve, Lakaz started walking into the Dark forest.
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Re: Unlikely Heroes: Content

Post by Bone2pick » Mon May 07, 2012 2:30 pm

He preferred the town like this. To pass unnoticed was refreshing. Obscured privacy came from calming moonlit shadows. A thin sunless breeze chilled every restless soul who walked the black streets. Fires burned from time to time, with men and women huddled around their warmth. Folks refusing sleep, taking shelter in each others company. Discussions drifted out into the night, occasionally somber talks would break and laughter could be heard. Margus Gan enjoyed its sound. Even in the dark and cold nights before war men and woman still laughed.

You could learn a great deal about a town when it slept. His plan had been to enjoy the solitude, to capture the simple pleasure of an evening walk, but his curiosity had other intentions. A fire brought him in. Close enough to hear, but far enough to remain unnoticed. Margus listened to a group of townsfolk.

“We need magic. It’s the only way we’ll stand a chance.”

“No, no. What we need is more cavalry. Westmarch has large, cumbersome legions, you attack that with mobility.”

“And range," came the voice of another. "But we’ll need more lumber to fashion arrows for our archers.”

“Archers are a waste of manpower." retorted a white haired fellow. "Their weapons will fail against Westmarch shields.”

“I agree, they’ll not take enough lives when they attack and they’ll break like glass when they get charged.”

“How can we muster up more cavalry?”

“From our allies to the east.”

“They won’t make it here in time.”

“I say again, we will need magic if we are going to beat the witchcraft that Westmarch uses against their enemies. It’s the only way we can win.”

“If we can even win at all.”

“We will win.”

The last remark was spoken in a southern accent from the darkness outside the circle men. Every eye turned from the fire and looked at the stranger. He walked forward into the firelight, its colors touching his clothes and shadowing his features. He stood in silence, the townsfolk unsure of what to make of the newcomer. Finally one man amongst them spoke.

“How can you be sure?”

Margus looked the man up and down. His face was dismissive, and it was obvious he wasn’t pleased with Margus Gan’s intrusion.

“Because,” Margus started coolly. “Because the King of Westmarch doesn’t deserve to rule.”

They responded with scoffs and chuckles that rolled into laughter. Gestures were made in Margus’ direction, and the group of circled men mocked him.

“This isn’t a bedtime story stranger, this is real. And in real life the man with the biggest army rules.” The man’s condescending reply was supported by the others. They nodded their heads in agreement and continued to jest at the tiger caped stranger at the edge of the fire light.

“You’re wrong.” Margus Gan replied. His tone was remarkable due to the fact that it was completely undisturbed. The men looked back to Margus again, but this time none of them smiled. None of them mocked. His conviction had stolen that from them.

“If you were right then men like the King of Westmarch and his savage General would have triumphed long ago.” Margus walked closer and looked each man in the eye as he spoke. “Every man and woman would live as slaves, and every child would be born into bondage.” The Gan loomed over the crowd and addressed them how a teacher might instruct her pupils. “We would all have the same lord tonight, and our future would be stagnate.”

Margus Gan put on a knowing smile and exhaled a misty breath before he continued.

“But that is not our fate. Tyrants come and go, wars have been fought before this, and they will continue to be fought. History shows us that the people fighting for their freedoms inevitably win out. Even if they have to claw through plate mail with their finger nails in order to do so. Even if they have to spill their own blood in order to drown their oppressors.”

The men and women around the fire sat in silence. They looked around at each other unsure of what to believe, unsure of themselves. Margus Gan's voice fell heavy as he spoke next words.

“There will be a great cost of course. Many will die. Tears will be shed.”

One of the men spoke up in protest, his voice carried much less strength now.

“You speak of death like it means little to you. We all here have causes we need to live for. Can you not say the same?”

Margus spoke through gritted teeth at the trifling man.

“I can say that I have causes that I would die for.”
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Re: Unlikely Heroes: Content

Post by Jayertheslayer » Mon May 07, 2012 3:26 pm

I-I can't see. My eyes, I can't open them! But for some reason I feel safe as if I am in the arms of a warm loving parent who's comforting me from a horrific nightmare. The skin touching my very own fills me with safety and protection. I must be once again in the arms of my forgiving mother, going against the force locking my sight so arrogantly.

Lienth opened her eyes within an instant expecting a series of gazing faces all smiling with joy. There wasn't. Instead it was a murky fog filled with floating sludge and other foul substances. A look of disappointment befell onto her as her false reality faded off into the very haze that she was moving swiftly through. But she forgot about one thing in particular and that was she couldn't breathe.

Gasping for air her mouth bolted open for fresh breath. Immediately black waters rushed into her cavernous mouth to choke their new victim that dared walk through it. Spluttering and walking wildly as her mouth lay open absorbing all liquids that flowed aggressively through jagged rocks and a slimy serpent. Maybe this was the end after all.

Or not.

Darting out the intoxicating waters she coughed up series of plant matter and sludgy liquids. Eyes adjusting to the beaming lights that shone brightly above, murmuring to herself she spoke,
"Wh-What happened..?"
Catching the rider's whispers the Mer replied sheepishly,
"I kinda 'orgot dat 'ou 'umans don't like da 'ater,"
Looking around at her surroundings, confused and dazed, she frowned curiously as she saw endless pools of water.
"Why, what are we-" she then glared down at rippled surfaces of a pristine lake being continuously torn by her fellow companion. She was effectively walking on water.

"I didn't know you could swim this brilliantly!" she exclaimed as she raised her moist arms into the bashing breeze.
"I are Mer, we all 'an swim,"
She then realised how dumb she was, of course it could. The evidence was there from the start, the fins, flippers even the tail. It was practically built to swim. Sometimes there were moments where she become a downright moron.

But then she heard something, a faint cry. As if someone was calling for help. Head spinning around to pinpoint the source, Lienth made out a black silhouette stuck up a fine oak tree with other silhouettes surrounding it. She couldn't make them out but from past experiences, wolves were the obvious suspect. Being the kind individual that she is, a loud command was barked from her both equally synchronised with a powerful and mighty point in the direction she wanted to go. Influenced by the stories she was told as a child, she felt as if she was the captain and the Mer, her vessel.

She then turned towards the figure.
Moving faster.
And faster.

Flying out the water she knew what would happen next and thus preparing for the coming events, gently placed her frail hands over her face.

Grymskale looked disgustfully at the snarling creatures he was ordered to 'remove'. They growled lowly at him trying to scare him off and strike fear into his cold heart. Grinning, he opened his slowly moving jaws as wide as he could possibly open them and when he knew they could see deep down into the very thresholds of his murderous temple, he screamed.

Watching the lesser ones flee for their miserable lives he chuckled warmly to himself. He was the top predator, there could be no others. Turning towards those who posed a threat, he glared hungrily into their savage eyes. One obviously could no longer stand it and charged head on towards the invader. Big mistake.

It fell to the floor dead in an instant. Wiping the blood from his mouth he signalled the challenge to the remaining two that they could leave as cowards or die as food. They chose the second option.

A gory bloodbath for the Mer as it extracted one of the favoured daggers from the shattered skull of beastlier kind. Ripping open the stomach of the scarred leader, which still whined painfully as it clutched onto existence, he tucked into his breathing reward.

Walking past her bodyguard who had 'disposed' the threat, she reached out her hand to the shadowy person situated high amongst branches and spoke softly to not scare the stranger,
"I'm Lienth, what's your name?"
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Re: Unlikely Heroes: Content

Post by Bjorn » Mon May 07, 2012 3:49 pm

Tyrael sat upright, a cold shiver sweeping his up his spine. Looking around to gather his bearings, he noticed the dim glow of embers inside the campfire, A few silhouettes in various positions, all asleep. Shields and spears were resting against trees, and around Four or Five horses were sleeping by some trees, their reigns tied to it. Grabbing his Robes, Tyrael clothed himself, placing them over his tunic. Getting to his feet, Tyrael wandered over to the figure by the dimly glowing fire.

"Hmph?" The figure sat upright from a slumped position, before relaxing when it spotted Tyrael. "Ahh. Can't sleep?"

Squinting his eyes as they adjusted to the Darkness, Tyrael focused on the armored man. "Yeah, Can't sleep." Tyrael sat next to the man, whom pulled a skin full of water.

"Here. All of us are thirsty, we have been riding hard." The man smiled, his face illuminated by the glow of the embers. The man was older than Tyrael, deep wrinkles settled by his eyes, a grey beard finished a small while after his chin. The man's bald head contrasted his beard, making Tyrael wonder the mans age. Taking a swig of water, Tyrael wiped his mouth and passed it back to the figure.

"Thank you." Tyrael smiled, reaching into his pockets and pulling out some dried meat. Snapping the jerky in half, he passed half to the man, whom gladly began chewing on it.

"Thanks" was the muffled reply that came, causing Tyrael to smile.

"Tyrael, I see you are awake." Azrael sighed, Sitting down next to the pair.

Tyrael eyed Azrael up and down in shock, sizing his mentor up in his head as he recalled his dream.

"I had a bad dream." Tyrael mumbled, averting his gaze down to his feet.

"Hmm. It's this Forest Tyrael. Dark things reside here, and we are all feeling it outside the walls of our old home." Azrael sighed, placing his hand on Tyrael's shoulder. "Look around, Sleep does not seem to be helping any of us" Azrael gestured toward the sleeping figures, who were all gently struggling or murmuring, as if having a nightmare.

"I see." Tyrael noted, his suspicions leaving his head.

"Anyways, You too get whatever rest you can, we have a long ride ahead of us tommorow as we ride west. As soon as we leave this cursed forest the better." Azrael scanned the trees, as If he could see something the others could not, just beyond the veiled darkness.

Tyrael got to his feet and moved a few feet from the firelight, removing his robes and placing his head on them again. As he shut his eyes, the contorted face of the Satyr grinning filled his head again.
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Re: Unlikely Heroes: Content

Post by Deldar10 » Mon May 07, 2012 6:34 pm

After a while the Fish-man and his companion picked themselves out of the water and they had quickly come over to help Aeathir who was still standing on the tree, out of arrows and barely above the reach of the wolves. The fish man had run over and killed the wolves in seconds.

Before Aeathir even had time to register what had happened the fish-mans companion walked over and held a hand up to her.

"I'm Lienth, what's your name?"

Aeathir, not used to talking to people, flinched backwards and climbed a bit up the tree.

"My name is Aeathir." she said and sat down on the branch to stay out of reach of the fish-man who she really didn't want to provoke.

"Ill only come down if you get rid of him, or at least make him stand over there" Aeathir said pointing at the fish-man.

Aeathir, waiting for a response, made herself comfortable and pulled off some branches from the tree and began making some more arrows

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Re: Unlikely Heroes: Content

Post by Jason » Mon May 07, 2012 10:13 pm

Mayhem. Glorious mayhem.

The din of battle was all that could be heard. The crack of timber, the shouts of men, the clang of steel, it was like listening to the finest orchestra of the realm. Nauticus stood at the end of a long ramp that led to the gatehouse of this frozen fortress. The Hospitalis had been putting up a valiant effort, as they were outmatched in numbers innumerably, yet they held firm within their hold. Nauticus watched as the flaming projectiles from trebuchets and catapults fly over top the walls, columns of smoke raising from the buildings set ablaze. The siege ladders had long since been raised, and the real battle lay atop the long walls and ramparts of the fortress, where the legionaries had been in constant combat for hours. The plan was to force the defenders thin, then he would attack the gatehouse and proceed to enclose his resolute enemies.

Nauticus turned his head, peering at the vast formations of his personally trained Veterans Grimm. The matte steel plate armor adorned with the red and black of Westmarch, a sea of blades raised in marching order, awaiting the moment to strike. Spying the signaler atop the wall, the red flag was waved twice, letting Nauticus know the defenders had begun to shift their forces. Drawing his blade with a slight crackle as it left the sheath, he began a swift trot up the ramp towards the heavy iron laden oaken doors that sealed the fortress' entrance. The winter storm began to increase as he ran, feeling the fury raise within himself. He could not help but smile, this was his purpose, his sole volition for the past... eternity of his being. He came to the massive doors and halted. He could hear the defenders behind the door, shouting for it to be held and braced. Nauticus held an open hand behind him, signalling for his Veterans to stop, and they did promptly. He put a hand on the door and mused to himself quietly;

"Hmmm... no doubt feet thick, bound in iron... it would take too much time to cut through... unless..." he spoke quietly.

He peered at the small gap between the doors where they met, and he spied the heavy iron bars that locked it shut and smirked. Raising his blade to the heavens the sky began to darken further, and the snowstorm turned to icy sheets, thunder beginning to pound overheard. Within second of this move, three successive bolts of lightning, ethereal and pale blue in colour flashed from the sky, striking his restored blade, the stoney surface's cracks retaining a faint glow. Placing his free hand upon the long grip, he leaned back, preparing for a mighty arcing overhead blow. He brought the blade down with such force in the small gap, not wide enough for his blade, the the wood merely shore in the sheer power of the strike, the blade slicing through the iron bars like they did not exist, and hitting the stony causeway with enough force to carve a deep gash within the stone. Withdrawing his blade, he noticed the blood on the tip and grinned. Turning back to his Veterans, he nodded, and they readied themselves for a charge. He raised a heavy boot, kicking the doors that would have needed multiple men to pull open as they nearly flew off the hinges at the strike. The small number of defenders that stood bracing the doors either flew into the courtyard that lay behind, or were crushed between the walls interior and the heavy doors, smashed like grapes in a barrel.

Nauticus let out a thunderous warcry, and the skies responded en force, a mighty of salvo of thunder accompanied the cry of the veterans as they stormed into the castle and began their mass murder of the faithful knights of Hospitalis.


Evette lay on her bed, healer tending to the vicious slices that ran across the backs of her thighs. The ever cooling air was uncomfortable on her bare legs as the healer was applying various alchemical remedies and minor healing magics.

"You are lucky m'lady, any deeper and you would have been bedridden for a week, if not more." the kindly healer replied, flipping through the voluminous journal she kept at her side.

She continued to work in the silence, the rage that lay upon Evette's face was unmistakable, and she tried to mediate the situation with some small-talk.

"Those brigands did quite the number on our camp, I've overheard some of the soldiers saying that a good number of tents were badly burned, but fortunately there were no serious injuries to speak of." she quipped.

Evette lay face down upon her bed, non-responsive to the comment.

The healer woman just gave a soft sigh as she began to finish her work. A quick incantation and a final smear of the grayish paste was all that was needed as the wounds began to seal themselves, the paste wicking away into her skin as the wounds closed, the skin replaces with pale, tough scar tissue.

With a pat on her left leg the healer signaled her completion, and Evette quickly rose off her bed, standing, testing her newly formed skin. It was tight and uncomfortable, but it did not hurt nearly as much. She nodded to the healer woman, who just sat on the small stool she carried with her, smiling slyly at Evette. Standing, she gave Evette a quick curtsey and packed up her things.

Evette watched the small woman waddle off, encumbered with the many vials and books and satchels she carried and couldn't help a smile at the sight of the oddly cheery healer.

She donned a new pair of leggings and laced up in her light armor, a set of leather sheets and overlapping, yet light, metal plates and set out of her tent, her legs giving small amounts of protest to the movement. She had given the order to pack up and leave after her ordeal with Swindhelm and Ranger, and the Legion was almost ready for marching. All that remained were her own tent, and a few others. She decided to wander into town as they took down her tent and packed her things.


She found her way back to woman's house in whom helped her with her wound. Knocking on the door sharply, out of habit, she could hear the little girl scurrying in search of her mother. A short moment later, the door opened slightly, with an eye peering out from behind the wood. Evette did her best to smile, and the door came all the way open as the woman greeted Evette with a curtsey, urging her daughter to do the same. She waved Evette inside, who stepped through the door frame into the modest house. After a short reintroduction, the three women sat at the rough hewn table. They made smalltalk, and the little one quickly grew bored of the topics and asked to be excused. With a polite nod she ran off into the house, obviously intent on finding something fun to do.

Sydney sighed and turned back to face Evette who was staring into her cup of tea.

"What is the matter...?" she asked

Evette was not about to tell her of the almost murder of her nephew, nor battle or cause of the blaze. She began to flounder under the ever vigilant eyes of the woman, who only broke contact as she turned to see her daughter run back into the room; makeshift sword in hand.

She began waving it about in an extravagant manner, saying too many things and narrating her own imaginary story too fast for both adults to keep track of. Simply smiling at this innocent child, Evette laughed quietly, though she was cut short upon further inspection of the child. She noticed two lines drawn upon her face in chalk, one across the eye, the other across the nose. Sydney noticed as well, and they turned to face each other, worried looks upon both their faces.

"Now dear, who put this chalk all over your face!" Sydney said in a playful tone, to try and remedy the situation, but the daughter recoiled away from the cloth wielded by her mother, a deft reply her retort to this action;

"No mother! I put it there myself! I want to be just like Evette when I grow older! So I can help people, and defend against bad people and protect the town!" the little girl yelled, striking a battle pose much like Evette did that night against the drunkards.

It was clear the little girl had no idea who or what Evette really was, and her reasons for being in this town. She saw this innocent little girl, and it nearly brought her to tears. She quickly apologized to Sydney, and excused herself from the house, giving the little girl a smile stifled by the tears welling up in her eyes. Exciting the door, she quickly made her way back to the camp, seeing the men and women ready to march, the camp successfully taken down. She found her bodyguards waiting with her horse, and she mounted the marbled gray and white mare, staring back at the town. The townspeople had gathered on the edge of the village, waving as the massive amounts of troops began to kick up vast dust clouds in the dry, cool autumn wind that swept over the town.

She lead her way on schedule into Ferax, the first goal to eliminate the estimated resistance of Lycene.
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Re: Unlikely Heroes: Content

Post by Jayertheslayer » Tue May 08, 2012 3:31 pm

"Aeathir, eh? What a lovely name!" Lienth praised lovingly to the shadowy stranger, she always had a thing for complimenting others.
"Oh and 'him' I suppose I can see where your coming from. His 'methods' are very much 'different'," "Hey, Grymskale!"
Immediately the bloodied creature waddled over towards her, mouth full of disgusting stomach-churning pastes of mauled organs.
"Wha'?" as it spoke several ripped guts and chewed entrails tumbled onto the muddy floor with numerous squishes.
"Could you please go over there for the time being?" she asked politely.
Walking off with what looked like to be the severed remains of an alpha's head it sat down contently, mumbling quietly to itself.
"Now he's out the way, could you clamber down so I can get a better look at you?"
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Re: Unlikely Heroes: Content

Post by Jason » Tue May 08, 2012 4:37 pm

Like the calm before the storm, the din of battle settled to a near silence within Nauticus' head. Plowing through the rubble and smoke he lead the charge through the ruined gates. He could no longer hear the clash of steel, the cries of men, nor even his own breathing. All he felt was the pounding of his feet on the stone that lay beneath him, and the helmed visage of the closest defender that stood before him. The Unwavering line of Hospitalis stood firm as the flood of deadly Veterans swarmed through the oaken breach, the titan of war at their forefront. All at once the sound came back, the primordial yell of men filled with bloodlust, filtered through the steel of their helmets, the trudge of snow and ice as they bellowed their death cries.

Nauticus drew near to the defenders line, unmoving since the gates fell. He was proud to fight these warriors of resolute faith, and he felt honored that he would be the engine of their destruction. He came within five steps, and he raised his sword. Four steps, the defenders stood to brace for the impact. Three steps, Nauticus himself opened his maw and let forth a thunderous roar. Two steps, he crouched, the muscles in his legs springing him into a leap like a bolt of lightning. One step, he brought his sword upon the man before him, sword raised to parry the strike.

The sound of steel on steel filled the air as the line of Hospitalis soldiers stood against the storm of Westmarchian legionnaires. Men gasping, swords scraping across armor, the dull thud of man colliding with man at full speed.

Almost instantly the defenders line was broken through, and they began to engage in single combat. The sheer weight of Westmarchian soldiers pushing through the tightly locked defenders, streaming into the heart of the fortress. Nauticus was fighting three of them, laughing as they expertly wove their longswords through his armor, impaling and slicing through flesh. Whilst a blade was lodged within his chest, he grabbed the defender, and headbutted the helmeted figure with enough force to collapse the steel that encompassed his head. Throwing the dead man to the ground, he swept his blade in an inhumanly fast arc, bifurcating the two men to he right in a horizontal arc.

Soldiers continued to stream through the gates now that the Veterans had done their jobs shock troops. They bumped into one another, shoulder to shoulder as they ran through the streets on their rampage.

Nauticus turned back to the last defender from his group, who had lowered his blade and was simply looking at him.

Yelling above the din, Nauticus questioned him.

"What say you, stalwart defender? You're kind has put themselves into battle honorably, you should be proud of your courage!"

The Hospitalis soldier nodded at the statement, saying only briefly;

"One cannot fight without knowing they must die, but you outclass us m'lord, we will accept defeat at swordpoint."

Upon finishing his statement, the defender lunged at Nauticus, who grabbed his blade with his gauntlet, and using the lunging momentum of his attacker, placed a fist in the plated chest of his assailant. He could feel the metal crumple under his fist, and the bones snap as opposing forces collided. The man dropped, dead. Nauticus held onto the sword, placing it through a loop in his belt he walked through the clearing streets, spying the soldiers upon the wall making way as they pushed the defenders off the ramparts.

Seeing a set of grand stairs that headed towards the keep, he began the lengthy ascension.
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Re: Unlikely Heroes: Content

Post by Fingon888 » Tue May 08, 2012 5:12 pm

Harval walked amongst the dead men. There was far too many to count. He walked to a knight who was surrounded by the soldiers of Westmarch. It appeared his horse was killed and he rolled off. Drew his sword and took down seven more legionaries. Harval picked up his helm. It had great wings pointing from the sides and the helm enclosed the whole head. On his tattered and bloody tabard, there was a black eagle holding a falcon in its talons. The falcon was the symbol of the King of Westmarch. Harval took the knight back to the camp and got the armorer to repair it in dwarf size. When outfitted, Harval came to King Rajnir.

"King Rajnir, I have heard bells calling me. You said I may go, then I will go. I swear, to serve you always."

"Harval, If you return, I will make you a lord of Kingdom of the Iron Mountain. May the Ancestors guide you in your quest. Take two of my personal warriors, Glorin and Hili. Glorin will bear your new personal standard and Hili will place his shield at your side. Bring glory to us all."

Harval rode with his warriors north through Ferax. He would go towards the bells.
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Re: Unlikely Heroes: Content

Post by Jason » Tue May 08, 2012 6:21 pm

The clamor of battle was lost as he ascended the steps towards the keep. The whitewashed steps, covered in untouched snow lay before him, a vast open arch, the gateway to a courtyard at the top. He reached the top of these snow covered steps, with the din of war beneath him, a soft undertone to the driving winds and gray skies above him. Out of the corners of his eyes he spied the statue like sentries that governed this grove, totally unmoving at his presence. The twist in the steps belayed the bottom from view. He did not know how he got there, as he came into the courtyard, eyes turning from the battling below. Gingerly taking steps through the fresh snow, he moved amongst the quiet, the stone walls closing him off from the world below. The sound of his armor gently clinking and scraping as he moved, the only sounds heard were the swirl of winds and the solitary sounds of a man.

A sharp clang, but not aggressive was the first sound to break the silence. Spinning around, weapon in hand, he turned to face the sound.

"Who's there? Who comes before me?"

"Who might you be, son?"

He stared at the armored figure, no weapons in his hand, the sentries had stepped forward, making their presence known.

"O-Olden... Olden Thiper..." he responded.

"Olden Thiper. I see you bear the mark of our aggressor, do you wish to slay us?" the armored figure queried.

Olden stood still, longbow in hand, no arrow knocked, dumbfounded at the question.

"did I want to slay them? Should I? Why would I be here if I didn't..." Olden thought to himself, but before he could respond, the armored figure spoke again.

"I, am Lord Arden, head priest and Lord of this realm. You came with the ferocity of a dire wolf, with the numbers of the stars in the sky. Our defeat is inevitable, yet it is our duty to fight, so we did." Arden spoke again.

"You have come up here, to our Monastery, alone. Either you are a brave man, Olden, or you have lost your way."

Olden again tried to speak, but his own thoughts floundered beneath him and he let out a sigh.

"I don't know... m'lord." Olden spoke.

"Hmmm..." Arden responded rubbing his chin and walking towards Olden.

Olden took a halfstep back, but was quickly reassured by Arden;

"Fear not, noble archer. You are the harvest of false promise, carted off to fight a war that cannot last. Westmarch may defeat all their enemies, and yes, the war may end on the outside, but it will never end in here." pointing to Olden's heart he finished.

Olden looked on, back out to open arch that lead to the stairway. The sky began to darken, the snow stopped, and a rumbling interrupted the peace. Olden's face drew tight as his eyes widened and clenched his jaw muscles.

"He is coming." was all that he managed to breathe out.

Arden shot a quick glance to the sentries, to seemingly sprang to life, forming a tight circle around the arch. Arden pushed Olden back towards the keep, and told him to wait inside.

"Young one, you have sealed your fate by not attacking us, your Lord will no doubt take little pity on you." Arden commanded.

Olden complied and ran off into the keep, hiding on a second level balcony.


Nauticus began to round the steps, spying the outlying arch. His blade drawn, he let it hit each step as he walked, eliciting a loud bang each time the blade struck the stone.

He entered the arch, set upon by the sentries. Wasting no time, he commanded them dead, and with the sky in compliance, it struck down the seven sentries as a bolt of white lightning lanced down from the sky, killing them instantly.

Arden spoke of the aftermath;

"Nauticus, Lord of the Sky, Master of Battle, you set upon my brothers of faith for your own gain. I know you no longer fight for the false King, I know you are no mortal man or sorcerer, you are something much older, much more ardent."

"You know your history well, priest. I am humbled to be in the presence of someone who has access to records of that time..." Nauticus played, garishly bowing.

"You fight a war that will never be won, even though you may have tried in ages past, there will always be the one who can stop you. You know your hand and your mind will be your undoing, and the spirit of resistance will never die down!" Arden preached.

"You will never rule, you never held the capacity in your bones, you are a warmonger, a right of battle incarnate! You-" Arden was cut off by a vicious roar, seemingly of some giant beast.


With his exposition done, Nauticus strode over to Arden, who did not falter and picked him up by the gorget of his armor. A deft stroke of his blade removed the High Priest of his legs below the knees, and was dropped back down to the ground.


A dying Arden stood on the stumps of his legs, eyes fluttering as his blood drained upon the white snow and stone.

"No.. Nauticus... some things... can never be taught..." he spoke quietly.

With his fit of rage he removed Arden of his head, and bellowed once more at the sky before stomping off down the stairs to the battle below.


Olden sat on the balcony, staring at the charred corpses of the sentries, and the disassembled High Priest.

He wanted to run, but there was no where to go.
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