Legion of Light IV: The Annals of War

[Flames of Hyperion]

I found Glorfindel not long afterwards, though the circumstances of our meeting were somewhat less than ideal. He fought alone in the middle of a grand cavern crossroads, bravely standing his ground against a whirling grey-cloaked dervish of destruction. My peripheral vision perceived a badly-wounded Taggar being tended to by Castor amidst the large rocks; the broken and bloodied bodies of at least ten others were scattered around the walls and floor, some having been cast where they lay by obvious great force.

As if on cue, the necromancer - for who else could it be - caught sight of me in the archway, my swords drawn and anger writ upon my face. He was clad in the all-too-familiar black robes of his trade, although his seemed to fit his form far tighter than either of the others' had. A daemonic mask obscured the majority of his face, carved into a permanent aggressive leer. His staff was long and slender, and tipped at both ends by sharp spear-points that dripped fresh blood onto the dark stone floor. But I was not given the time to focus on such details; barely had I sensed the power coalescing in his open hand before I had ducked below his spell, and the wall behind me had splintered into a thousand shrapnel shards.

If ever before I had envisioned necromancers to be cowardly skulkers who cast their evil magic from the depths of their dark shadows, that particular stereotype was irrevocably erased in the actions of the next few moments. Our foe was not only a master of magic but also a consummate fighter, a warrior-mage much like Glorfindel or myself. When we tried to defeat him with swordsmanship he bested us with his spear; when we resorted to spellcasting instead, his own powers kept us handily at bay. His abilities were not only far greater than my own but also Glorfindel's as well. Only a mixture of desperate teamwork and sheer luck kept us alive.

I have no idea how long we fought, the ring of steel on steel interspersed with the occasional spell and grunt of exertion, every sound echoing hollowly about the cavern. My limbs grew heavy and leaden, as if powered only by desperation; every jolt as my blades clashed against his staff shook my body like an electric shock. It took every last shred of mind-power to be able to correctly anticipate the next attack and force myself to respond to it.

But as Glorfindel and I soldiered on together, it became evident that while we tired, our foe did not suffer from such a weakness. Castor later remarked that it was as if three gods of war were duelling before his eyes, with the exception that only one of them was actually immortal.

To my surprise it was Glorfindel who faltered first, a shallow slash across his thigh sapping the strength from his legs and sending him to his knees. I attempted to hold off the necromancer for long enough to allow Glorfindel to recover, but only lasted ten lightning-quick strokes before his spell sent me flying halfway across the cavern, head over heels until I hit solid rock.

Through blurring vision and receding consciousness, I believe that I somehow managed to stand again, to find the necromancer standing above Glorfindel with spear-staff poised for the killing blow. A despairing fireball did little except to briefly attract attention...

... but then Lord Arminas arrived on the scene, along with Nerdanel, Selinde, spellweaver Daeron, and stern Eru. Like a silent gust of wind he stepped in between Glorfindel and the black-robed necromancer, his green cloak billowing behind him as crescent blade flashed to parry the downward strike. I could swear that there was a brief pause in time as the chime of clashing blades rang out about the chamber, both parties sizing each other up carefully.

Then, as one, they flowed into motion. Never before, not even in the sensei's hall at the Academy, have I seen two such skilled and well-matched opponents in such furious engagement. But the battle was over almost before it had begun, Lord Arminas scoring first blood with a cutting sweep across the necromancer's chest... and the latter, deciding perhaps that discretion was the better part of valour, apparated out with a snap of his fingers and a curious smile dancing behind the confines of his mask.

There was one last surprise to be had, for as the room swarmed with sudden activity and healers rushed to the aid of the wounded, I caught sight of movement in a darkened corner. I could have sworn that I witnessed the glint of magic and a feminine half-smile that soon disappeared in a whisper of stale air, but it seems that nobody else did. As I had received a rather nasty knock to the head at the time, I did not pursue the matter further, and only now that I know that the leader of the Coven was nowhere to be found do I think twice upon it.

And at last, this brings me to the present, when I sit under the protective canopy of an oak tree as twilight once again settles upon these coastal grasslands. My head is tightly bandaged, and I dare not move it for fear of disorientation; unsurprisingly, the wound on my left shoulder has opened once again, and my body aches with a dozen other minor cuts and bruises. But I count myself lucky as the fresh breeze dances upon my face, and I know for a fact that the land seems brighter to our eyes tonight; even the dark shadows cast by our discreet campfires do not seem nearly as ominously threatening as they did the night before.

We have done a great deed this day, putting some of our enemy's most powerful spellcasters to flight. Perhaps now, there is hope once more for the city of Anebrilith.

The only thing I know for sure at the moment, though, is this. With Nerdanel's sharp eyes on lookout and the minions of the night in panicked retreat, I will sleep well tonight for the first time in months.

Perhaps now I can lay my nightmares to rest, for a short while at least.

~ Entry in Ingwe's Book of Travels

[Flames of Hyperion]

Three of the Coven are confirmed to be dead; the rat-faced necromancer that Glorfindel first dealt with, the skinny mage that Nogeres vaporised, and a third, a large brute of a man that took fourteen dwarves nearly an hour to wear down. Another, the warrior who bested all of us save Lord Arminas himself, seems to have been injured in the last skirmish. The two remaining members of the Coven remain unaccounted for, including the obese necromancer that Nogeres and I fought and possibly the enigmatic figure in the shadows.

Together, the Six represented the majority of Xem'zund's arcane strength in the region of Anebrilith. Their loss will be keenly felt, not least in the fact that the numbers of the undead are not quite so limitless any more, in the that the hold of the lieutenants upon their mindless hordes will be less absolute. At the very least, it will be a long time before there is a repeat of the other night's coordinated attack. There is still hope for the city.

Lord Arminas speaks of routing out and eliminating the surviving threesome once and for all, but I can tell that in his heart, he wishes for nothing more than to march to the aid of Eluriand and his comrades in the northwestern forests. Nogeres seems to agree with this second option, although once again the aged mage is careful about voicing his opinion too loudly. It is almost as if he wishes his effort on our behalf to remain circumspect, although the ranks are already abuzz with glorifications of our new ally. I do not blame the men; I too am frankly awed by his arcane prowess.

In any case, Lord Arminas has deferred any decision about the future until he has reported our success to the High Council and re-evaluated our position. One thing is certain, though, and that is the fact that the Legion will follow him to the very depths of yomi should the need be, for he gives us a fighting chance against the evil that swamps these lands. We number barely seventy now, but those that are left are the brave, the skilled, the dedicated, and - like myself - the lucky. This must be a good sign.

I find that I cannot absolve my guilt as of yet. Even though our foes were servants of the greatest evil to ever stalk these lands, they were still human... and even though I was not the one to finish any of them, even now I wonder if I would have hesitated at the last moment. I am still weak and powerless, a child amongst giants, and am likely to stay that way for the foreseeable future. But I am honoured to be able to lay to rest the souls of those who fell during the dark night of terror not so long ago, in the knowledge that their lives and efforts were not in vain, that their sacrifice did mean something to us after all. Perhaps this is of little comfort to the dead, but I offer my prayers in the hope that they will ease their passage to the afterlife.

On one hand before me lie the battered walls of the ancient city of Anebrilith. On the other, a slender ribbon of dirt marks the long road towards Eluriand. I am not fussed by the path I take, for I feel that the longer I spend in Raiaera, the deeper I travel into these mystic lands, the harder I fight against Xem'zund and his undead minions, the closer I grow to you, Elerrina.

Maybe the day that I see you again is not so far off after all.

...

I wish.

~ Entry in Ingwe's Book of Travels

Thus concludes my quotation from Ingwe Helyanwe's Book of Travels.

[Flames of Hyperion]

Ar’zhanekkar half-crawled, half-scrambled up the last of the rocky slope towards the cave-mouth ahead, heedless of the sharp rocks that dug into the palms of his hands. The bleak moonlight caused his pallid face to stand out like a pale beacon; usually hidden deep within the cowls of his hooded robe, it was now blood-stained, grime-streaked, and sweat-sheened by the efforts of the past half-day. If the necromancer had had the breath left to swear, his curses of frustration would have been ringing out angrily across the stone-strewn gravel, but as it was, the short climb had left him gasping wheezily instead.

His duel with the grey-robed mage and the young apprentice had sapped much of the power from his mind, which in turn explained why he had been forced to travel by foot rather than by his preferred method of magic. Cold dread, an emotion that Ar’zhanekkar had not felt for some time now, filled his obese frame at the mere recollection of the battle. The Oriental warrior-mage had tenaciously and doggedly fought every spell that he had tried to cast, but it had been old grey-robes…

The man formerly known as Archibald Winsom III let loose an angry howl, long suppressed, as he finally pulled himself into the warded cave that conveniently enough doubled as his second home. The raging sound set not a few rocks tumbling and stalactites shaking, the land itself trembling at the powerful necromancer’s wrath.

For Ar’zhanekkar knew when he had been outmatched and outfought, and he knew with certainty that he had been lucky to escape with his life. Unsurprisingly, the thought was not a comforting one.

As he rummaged haphazardly through the room, tossing pieces of furniture and arcane artefact in every direction as he searched for the one item that could aid him now, Ar’zhanekkar allowed himself to reflect upon the situation. Not only had the assault on Anebrilith failed – an attack that Maeril’s wights had spearheaded and that he himself had personally overseen – but now this. Thanatos Nyx, the closest person that he had ever had to a friend, was almost certainly dead, as was Veinslash, whose magical backlash had woken them all up and alerted them to the intrusion in the first place. He’d also watched helplessly from the shadows as hulking Kehldar had gone down, brought low by a handful of stunties not half his size. Ar’zhanekkar did not feel for them as comrades; years of necromancing in the service of Xem’zund had blinded his heart against search grief. But even from a more pragmatic point of view, their loss was great… at least half of the mighty Coven of Six were now dead in the ruins of their lair.

No doubt Angelus was still alive, though… the nominal leader of the Six had a disturbingly slick way of simply surviving, even when the odds were piled against him… or her, whichever term was more accurate. Powerful Uysarji, the Executioner, had also probably fought his way clear, but the man was too martial, too inflexible, to survive this crisis for long. Times like these called for wits, not for brawn, Ar’zhanekkar thought to himself as he continued his frantic search for the coveted jewel. His preparations had not been remiss… he wasn’t particularly keen on the course of action that circumstances had forced him to take, but neither would he hesitate.

Half an hour later, the chamber looking as if a malcontent whirlwind had tarried within, Ar’zhanekkar finally found what he sought – a simple leather pouch tucked away at the very back of his drawers. Carefully, his gnarled, wizened fingers extricated from the coarse brown material a single crystal pale blue in hue. Gently they caressed it once, admiring the flawless perfection of its delicate facets.

Then, with no further ado, he smashed it against the cave floor and intoned amongst the shattering tinkle,

“Natosatael, great lord of the underdark, I implore you to heed my summons. By the power of N’jal and the High Lich Xem’zund, come to me now!”

A brief silence as wisps of arcane smoke drifted upwards from the remnants of the summoning crystal. Then, as if drawn together by some unseen force, they began to coalesce. Faint laughter erupted in the stony confines of the cavern, soon escalating into a mocking cacophony of powerful mirth. As the form of a massive winged daemon became discernible in the tendrils of light smoke, it became clear to Ar’zhanekkar that he was being made fun of.

“Quiet, dog!” the necromancer roared, his voice surprisingly loud as he abruptly changed tack. Natosatael let the laughter hang for just a moment longer before subsiding, still relishing the taunt.

“I am at your service, wise one,” the daemon replied, bowing low in grandiose style. Ar’zhanekkar’s lips curled in an angry sneer at the being’s obsequious tone, not trusting it for a single moment. But desperate times called for desperate measures, and Ar’zhanekkar was keenly aware of the fact that he had little choice anymore in the matter. The time was now, the place was here, and if he did not maintain a firm hold over the immaterium, he would become as so many others had before him… daemon fodder.

For a brief moment, two powerful wills collided in an epic test of sheer mental endurance. But the daemon’s grasp upon the material plane was still weak; he had yet to spend enough time there to gather his full strength. An angry tic in his beady purple eyes betrayed his emotions as he was forced to retreat, and Ar’zhanekkar exulted in the sweet taste of victory.

“You will obey my commands,” the necromancer declared as the magic of the summoning crystal began to wear off, inwardly relieved at his assertion of control. His last words as the daemon’s wispy form dissipated into the cavern gloom were, “Come to me.”

Natosatael inclined his horned head in subservience before fading from sight completely. Once again Ar’zhanekkar was alone in the cluttered, furniture-strewn cavern… but this time, the hints of an evil smile played about his bulbous crimson lips. Now, he would have his vengeance, and the name of Ar’zhanekkar would come to be feared amongst all of Xem’zund’s horde!

***

Natosatael waited until he was absolutely certain that the effects of the spell were null and void. When he judged the time right, he broke out in a bellow of laughter that threatened to tear the sky-spanning pillars themselves from their deep-set foundations. His body positively glowed a triumphant blood-red as he roared his challenge throughout the echoing caverns, sending not a few avalanches of rusty sandshale loose amongst the rocky hills.

“At last!” he spoke, loudly and vehemently, when finally his emotions were reined in again. “At long last!”

Then his smile grew evil and cunning, beady purple eyes forming into malicious little slits as they turned their attention towards the slight figure standing quietly in one corner of the room. Her blue tunic was hidden inconspicuously beneath a large white cloak, and her hood only allowed faint wisps of coal-black hair to escape from its shadowy confines. But it was clear even from a distance that she was a person of great poise and power.

“I shall look forward to this,” Natosatael leered in her direction, inviting her agreement.

The response was a simple, neutral, “So shall I…”

Her soft voice was soon lost amongst grand bellows, as once more Natosatael exulted.

[Taskmienster]

Legion of Light IV: Annals of War

Good day and salutations and whatnot! I’m going to be reading over this thread for you. As is obvious and blaringly so this is part of a series, and I apologize that I have not read the other installments of the story to this point. I will be making the general comments up here and will be working on the judgment as I read, post per post. You will have to forgive me if it is a long judgment; I tend to write out notes while reading about what section the issues I catch belong too. If you want to go back and read over what I was talking about in the comments I always put a number corresponding with the post in brackets after the comment.

Story [15/30]

~Continuity~ [2/10]

Due to the unique way you told the story, it was very hard to work in continuity. I understand this, but unfortunately the rubric does not. I wish there was some way around it, but at the same time I understand its importance. I believe that the way you told the story, through the journal passages, did not allow for the reader to gain an understanding of the backgrounds of your character or any of the NPC’s that were involved. It was a dizzying number of names, powers assigned to names, and ranking and such that in all honesty I understand you couldn’t write out through this style. If I had written a thread like this in a series I would have done the same, since it is against my character’s style to write in who everyone is and all that when it’s obvious the reader was supposed to already know all that information. Being a new judge to the series, however, made it so that the prior knowledge was completely absent, though I believe that if you had chosen a different style you would have excelled with this section in the end.

~Setting~ [5/10]

The setting you gave me was… astoundingly well thought out and full of literary devices. It’s common for the judge of any thread, no matter the style, to say that you needed to use the setting more, not just describe it. But the impeccable way that you told the story lent to the lack of setting, in my opinion. You could have added a little more here and there, just to explain where you were and what was going on more. However, again, the battle between what is too much and what is too little is completely dependant on how you play your character. Seeing as you probably wouldn’t want to explain all but the most important details, such as the way the rain felt and how you felt about it, I understand why there wasn’t as much included (or included in ever post). However, again, the rubric is not as forgiving…

~Pacing~ [8/10]

Brilliant, absolutely astounding, it felt like one post ended and left me in just enough suspense that I NEEDED to read the beginning of the next post to find out what was going to happen. I was on the edge of my seat, so to say, while reading this and loved the fact that I was. I believe the most notable instance that stood out in my mind regarding the way you transitioned and kept the suspenseful pace was between the end of post number 4 and the beginning of post number 5. The way you used the questioning of the sentries and then all of a sudden it’s your next entry and you explain what happened. Wonderful.


Character [19/30]

~Dialogue~ [4/10]

Again, the fact that it was set the way it was threw off the use of ‘dialogue’ in the written out in quotations sense… I will give you credit for saying what the dialogue they were discussing was, but the way you wrote it actually helped the persona of the characters involved.

~Action~ [8/10]

I was going to start by saying the end of the thread was a wonderful read… but that would be unfair of me. The way you played off the sentries, like I said, in post 5 and explained the sudden attack was very good. The way you had the battles going on for the gap in the wall, even before all of that with the descriptions of minor skirmishes, all very well done. But that brings me back to the end, where I believed you shined. The fights were believable, though your involvement with such high level beasts was a bit off, but the battles were still very well done.

~Persona~ [7/10]

My my my, the persona you put up for the reader was very well done. The only qualms I have is that it could have used more. Though, again that could be the style, but I’m not sure. Through small parts, such as minor explanations of the mage (mysterious and such), to when you were traveling with him and how your character felt about him… that kind of stuff helped, but you could have explained how he was mysterious. Other than that you displayed the characters well.


Writing Style [25/30]

~Technique~ [7/10]

Beautiful use of all forms of technical writing; I’m not one to look for metaphors alone, but similes and the like… and you executed wonderfully.

~Mechanics~ [10/10]

One mistake? Maybe? I’m still not convinced entirely it was even a mistake…

~Clarity~ [8/10]

Never had to re-read anything, though understanding who everyone was or trying to figure out which names belonged to what character that I may or may not have seen before then threw me off.


Wild Card [9/10]

Loved it!


Score [68/100]

Rewards

Exp: 800 * 2 = 1600 + (bonus) 200 = 1800
Gold: 175 * 2 = 350 + (bonus) 200 = 550

[Taskmienster]

Exp and GP added! Welcome to Level 3!