MQ: Slings and Arrows

[Viola Darkstalker]

The small ferry pulled into the harbor to rising tensions and guards running here and there, checking citizenship papers and conscripting most everyone able to hold a sword, or bow if they were elven, and generally being annoying. They were like flies buzzing around the violet-haired woman’s head that she could never swat no matter how often she swatted at them. Annoying flies that carried rather potent venoms if provoked. It was too bad she couldn’t just eradicate them here and now; they certainly deserved everything that would be coming to them. No matter where her command took her, the blood lust of the Reaper of Cities would finally be sated once again. It had been too long. It had been far too long.

Click… tap… click… click… tap…

As the people from the ferry meandered down the unloading plank, a small bubble completely devoid of people formed around one woman. This peculiarity invariably drew attention of the worst sort, but she wasn’t worried. It was only natural that people avoided the blind. The rattle of plate mail and the ring of steel boots against the hard paving stones failed to set her on edge; she knew exactly why a few soldiers had come to her. All she needed was… “Aah!”

It never failed. It also never failed to hurt. When squeezing sympathy from those who would normally avoid it like the plague, all she had to do was fall down like she had been tripped or misplaced a foot. It was the misplaced foot this time, placed perfectly to catch her toes on the latest paving stone her walking staff found for her. The myriad of rings that lined the top section of the black staff sang their chorus as her hands abandoned the worthless weapon and flailed toward the unseen ground below. Sheer panic couldn’t have been faked better by an actor. Though her eyes were hidden behind the violet mask that covered from her eyebrows to the bridge of her nose, she extended her farce to her golden pupils just in case someone had a way of seeing beyond those things. It had happened before.

A strong hand on each arm halted her descent and for a moment the blind general was genuinely worried. Not quite panicked, but worried. Could they sense her pact with Xem'zûnd? What were they going to do to her? How could she kill them and get away with it? All of her questions were answered in a soft voice coming from the man on her right. He spoke tradespeak, thankfully, and expressed genuine worry as though he had no idea that her fall was a distraction.

“Are you all right, maam? You should- oh, I guess you couldn’t tell that stone was there, could you.” Fine, fine, just let go already. She wasn’t a baby; she could stand on her own. At least he hadn’t asked… “Where are you headed? We don’t get many people traveling by the ferries this late.” Every muscle in her body went limp. It was protocol, after all, to ask where travelers were headed. What could she say? She had only come to this place because she felt an impossibly strong sensation of evil all the way from Corone. If she didn’t give an answer, she’d probably have to play the fainting card, too.

“Eluriand.” What? Where had that come from? “I heard there was someone who could help me with my eyes in Eluriand. This was the first ferry from Corone I could find passage on.” Well, at least the explanation of why she was headed there was her own. Rigidity returned to her arms and legs after she finished speaking and, after the guards retrieved her staff from the ground, the two spoke some well-wishes and let her be on her way. After all, what could a blind traveler do to help them? She had already proven useless by being unable to even catch herself as she fell.

You’re welcome. The unbidden voice assaulted her mind once more. Used to the being’s intrusions, her step never faltered even as she walked through a cloud of poison ash. The voice was stronger now, possibly because he had more control than she first though on this land. And you have your final destination as well. Creatures like us need more than just words as proof, as I am certain you understand, so I will show you your next step. You’ll see what I’m talking about. The gas drifted away from her mind as the necromancer’s voice left, and with it came a terrible sensation. Flames consuming her eyes wouldn’t have hurt this much, but the pain was almost what the blind woman expected. It was certainly more than she wanted. However, necromancy was the magic of the dead, and restoring something always meant taking from something else… or a few somethings.

She blinked.

What had been scenery blacker than pitch under a new moon was now a harbor village dotted with small details. It was like someone had taken a piece of chalk and drawn the outlines of everything onto her mind. Certain paving stones “glowed” more than everything else, and it was only natural that the violet-clad woman followed them. Every step closer to her destination brought her miniscule increases in the detail, but even the smallest increase was enough of a pull to guarantee her loyalty to the path laid out so clearly before her. It was almost a disappointment when she saw her rendezvous location. It had taken her quite a long time to follow the meandering trail through main roads and alleys alike, but she never encountered another sentry the whole time. It was strange, but very welcomed. What disappointed her was not the location, nor was it the physical appearance of the building. Places that blended in to the rest of the city were always the best places to hide, but what did disappoint her was the fact that she wasn’t alone as she walked through the main door and into a large… void.

Teleportation magic, illusion magic, wards to keep certain do-gooders away… not to mention wards to suppress the magical signatures of the other wards and more wards to dampen the other suppressing wards on top of self-destructive fields that would collapse the whole array if anything unbidden tried to force its way in. Each one had a distinct “color” to it in her eyes, though she couldn’t quite tell when she learned what each color meant. What she did know was the sort of ecstasy that she was experiencing as she floated through the netherspace between the ends of the portal. When the strange transportation placed her at the base of the most massive black tower she had ever seen, and she had seen quite a few massive black towers in her conquering days, her jaw almost dropped.

“I’m here, Xem’zûnd.” She could have made the coldest Salvar wastes feel like a sauna with her words. “And I’m ready to raze everything that stands in my way. Just give the word.”

“Go.”

Through the semi-transparent mask, golden eyes danced with darkness deeper than the blackest night. Viola Darkstalker, Reaper of Cities, was back.

[Sighter Tnailog]

Findelfin coolly considered the obvious foreign-born commander, a questioning look in his face. There was something strange in him that Findelfin couldn't quite place -- it wasn't in the way he looked, he appeared purely human. Findelfin wasn't nearly as adept as Varalad or Nalith at sensing and sounding out a person. Varalad had the uncanny ability to simply know a soul and understand them without ever needing to resort to special tricks, and Nalith was renowned for being able to probe and invade an unsuspecting mind. But the difference in the air seemed palpable, as if the very soul of the man in front of him now was different.

"Moriah? I'm not familiar with the country, but there are many lands and peoples I do not know." Findelfin could tell by his carriage, however, that he knew something of battle. "I will have to rely on your knowledge of command, however, and there is a special mission I would have you do."

Turning to look at the map, Findelfin said, "Nalith, Varalad, may I elaborate our strategy?" Varalad nodded immediately, while Nalith hesitated only a moment before indicating her assent.

"Come closer and watch. See here," he pointed at a star on the map. "That is Eluriand. Nearly a mile north of us is Daer Taure, the great northern forest. We plan to retreat there if the city appears lost, but currently we do not anticipate having to fully retreat. Our preparations for this assault are better than last time...we are defending the bridge here, for instance." He gestured towards a marking on the map clearly labeled Vanwanen Bridge.

"I have sent a number of troops south to guard the bridge, along with a bevy of Turlin mages to help enchant arrows and the like...a single arrow does nothing to a zombie, but enchanted with Turlin it can banish it never to rise again. We are relying on those who hold the bridge to thin their ranks, but not to last for long. When the bridge falls, they will fall back to the walls, where we will make our stand."

Now he pointed towards the east, to an plain bracketed by two rivers. "However, our scouts report that small teams of fast-moving, resolute zombies have already forded the Escaldor, probably at a thin point in the forest where a few can cross. They do not appear headed for Eluriand, but instead for the bridges on the river Elleduin, here..." he tapped the map quickly on a river running from the Lake of Gold.

"We do not know where they are heading, but they are moving quickly. From things I saw in the Red Forest recently, I would assume they are headed to Trenycë, but I cannot say for sure. Horses would overtake them...or flight, but we are not from Alerar and have no airships. So horses it must be. I will send with you as many lancers I can spare, along with a handful of mages under your command. Attack the zombies and destroy them -- and if you cannot, destroy the bridges on Elleduin. It may impede the refugees as they flee to Anebrilith, but it will save us time...I fear to imagine what may happen if this small force reaches Trenycë, for the city is only sparsely defended. But if you weaken the group, perhaps the defenders will be able to handle the rest."

He fixed Romis with a stare, and said, "I am sending you without any humans, and with three Lissilin healers. If you are bitten by one of these undead, you must tell the bard immediately. If your three Lissilin bards perish, then promise me you will return immediately...there is something different about these zombies. We don't know what it is yet, but we do know that their bite is more perilous to humans than it is to elves. Can you do this mission?"

[Caden Law]

Out went the Wizard, like yesterday's trash with an attitude problem, and Tyreles went with him. Whatever talk they had, it was mostly one-sided. Caden walked, the Elf rode. They arrived, and the sight that greeted Caden...

...well.

I'm going to die here, he concluded, and felt the icy calm and dignity of a man who knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that he's right. Caden knew rogues, brigands, and the definition of ragtag like the back of his hand. He'd served with adventuring companies so seedy that you couldn't tell which guys were chaotic good and which guys were just freaking evil.

The band in front of him was a 407-strong pile of conscripted meat shields, and they all knew it. From a thirteen year old boy holding a bow as big as he was to a miserable old man leaning on a pitch fork with one hand and clutching a sword in the other, and every single scrawny, barrel chested, morbidly obese, one-eyed, two-eyed, toothless, plack-riddled, porcelain-mouthed git and saint between them. They were dressed well enough to show that they came from every possible walk of life; a proper mercenary actually wearing full armor, a sword enthusiast bearing twin akashiman katana, somebody's butler, now wearing his razor-rimmed bowler hat over a chainmail hood, and even a guy who must've weighed 400 pounds -- that last one looked like he could've passed for an ape in another life.

One by one, they looked to Caden, and Caden looked to them. Words were exchanged, in Raiaeran, between he and Tyreles. Words of support on one side, and something distinctly bitter on the other. Tyreles left him, shouting a few words about Bards of the Algarin variety, and a few battlers too.

So it was just 408 men, between the docks and the bridge and the city. 408. More than 300, a helluva lot less than a million, and no ages of freedom to pledge lives to. Eventually, someone had to speak. Someone did speak. A man, with a ragged looking beard and the body of a farmer, who could've been any of the others in the crowd.

"Why the hell should we die for the elves?" He shouted, in defiant common. Mutters and shouts followed, and there was a general consensus of agreements, even as a few elvish bards arrived from the Bridge. Caden looked at them, and then looked to the crowd, and then raised his hand.

No silence. Just noise.

He aimed his palm down, and grabbed at something that wasn't there. His fingers met a metaphysic resistance, and depressions began to form in the dirt road all around him; five, each no bigger than a pot hole. Then he hauled his hand up--

And was suddenly standing atop a rather small, steep hill that could've passed as a proper speaking platform with a little fancying.

"SHUT THE HELLS UP!"

A show of power, and a scream that sounded louder than his vocal cords should've managed. That got 'em quiet. Abruptly, Caden jabbed a finger towards the very bards sent to help him. In Raiaeran, he screamed, but to human ears...it would've sounded like he was cussing them out in their own language.

"IGNORE EVERY SINGLE WORD I AM ABOUT TO SAY!"

Cheering.

"I SAID SHUT UP!"

Silence.

"LOOK AT ME."

And they did.

Caden cleared his throat. Twice. It's about here and now, maybe, that most movies have someone going gut check time, let's do it! Except that Althanas hasn't got any cinemas and Caden doesn't look half as good as Brad Pitt.

"The elves," he began, twisting his voice in the way that Wizards can; it dripped with a kind of palpable authority that mere natural glamour couldn't match. "Are not worth dying for. They're nothing more than a bunch of bigots; the self-proclaimed fair folk! As if they could know an ounce of fairness at all!" A brief bout of cheering. "Strike the elves! Hells with them!" He shouted, and there was more cheering.

Right about now, the bards started to exchange smiles with each other. The kind that's roughly equivelent to a restaurant manager; completely vacant, equally doomed, and screaming with subtext along the lines of You're shitting me. This is also when Caden changed the subject. Nevermind the fact that the bards were all getting ready to carry out a pre-emptive massacre; just forget that part, thank you.

"We're not here to defend the elves. Because obviously, they don't need us! No, gentlemen. How many of you have families?" Hands up. Just a few. "How many of you have homes?" Fewer still. "How many of you have something to prove?" Plenty that time. "And how many of you just have a guilty conscience?" And that was everyone. Caden would've smiled, if he weren't a Wizard.

"That is what we're fighting for, you striking thugs. Because we've all got our own reasons, and the wellfare of the elves doesn't mean a damn thing about them. We are not going to throw our lives away. We will not be their fodder. We will be a shield lined with razors, and we will break the sword of Xem'zund, but we will not die doing it.

"We're going to live, boys."

He started down from his hilltop, and it probably clicked with the bards what he was trying to do. He was giving these men a point. He was giving them what their elvish commanders could not, for all their biases and self-righteousness.

Caden was giving them a fighting spirit. It wasn't quite the same as giving them hope, but it'd shed a hell of a lot more of the enemy's blood.

He reached the crowd, and damn near vanished into it. The bards could only see him for his Hat; pointy and blue, it towered well above the heads of any of his men. Then they heard him speaking, just like the men did.

"And we're going to rub their striking faces in it."

Three cheers, dozens of raised swords, and let's get this bloody show on the road...

Continued here!

[Heartsblood]

((Sorry for the delay..i was out of town for the weekend >.<))

Romis studied the map carefully as he listened to the General's instructions. They were simple enough in theory, but of the many types of battles he'd fought, he'd not fought against the undead. This would be a new experience, but one he was sure he could handle.

"I can do this mission, but I have a few questions. First, do you have a map showing where all the bridges are that I can take with me? Second, should we have to resort to destroying the bridges, should we continue on to Trenycë and beef up their defenses? Third, I make no promises that I cannot guarantee I can keep. What I will promise is that we will do the best that we are able and should we lose all our healers, we will endeavor to return here as quickly as possible."

Horses, hmm? I haven't ridden a horse in years and there's no way I can fly that far quickly. Guess I'll just have to hope I remember everything.

"Do you have any suggestions or any other orders for me?"

[Sighter Tnailog]

Findelfin turned to Varalad. "Cora'Lindstra, do we have stores of maps here?"

Varalad's head swayed. "We have our large battle chart in this room, and to my knowledge it is our only cartographic piece. And it is of no size to bear with you. But come," he gestured to Romis, "and I shall direct your eyes to where you are headed."

Letting a single bony finger rest on the map, Varalad traced a small circle around a spot near the center. "This is Eluriand." He traced southwards a bit to the river. "This is the Escaldor River. Even now our troops prepare to do battle at the Vanwanen Bridge to try to forestall the hosts of Xem'zûnd at minimal cost to our defenders before they reach the city. Your target is here."

His finger traced eastward across the map, trailing across areas marked as farmland, following the green line showing where the Great Forest's edges were. He reached a point roughly due south of Tilgonar, where the map showed a solitary river winding downwards.

"There are a number of bridges across the Elleduin, which flows from the Laurë Linae southward, west of the Black Forest, until plunging into the depths of the Red Forest south of that accursed place. But the bridges that concern you are here." He tapped hard on the map, emphasizing a point just south of Tilgonar where the river curved slightly before tacking eastward again.

"These undead you seek -- we call them Plaguebearers because their bite bears a disease which rapidly deteriorates the bodies of men, making them ideal fodder for Xem'zûnd's armies. We have already seen this happen once, and if Trenycë falls, it could swell the undead ranks by enough men to threaten the Forest of Timbrethinil and Winyaurient."

Varalad trailed his finger down the river Elleduin. "There are more bridges along the river, one west of Moranfauglir and one west of Amon Lungan. Their destruction is desirable as well, for it slows the progress of the army to Anebrilith should we fall here, and perhaps gives our defenders time to take stands in pitched battles along the river. But the most pressing need is the northern bridge."

Findelfin nodded his assent, "Thank you, Cora'Lindstra." Turning back to Romis, he said, "Thank you for accepting your mission. I will send with you twelve of the Bladesingers Guild. They are strong troops, subtle and trained. Treat them with a commander's kindness. They will help you against the undead. There will be three Bladesingers for each school -- the Turlin and Dagorlin bards may prove your greatest asset, do not abuse their counsel in time of need. And if Lissilin falls, return as fast you can -- or at least do not engage your foe. The Bladesingers should also be able to help you should you need direction in the wilderness."

He nodded to a Raiaeran regular on the side, briefly giving him directions on who to appoint to Romis's retinue, then turned and began speaking rapidly to Varalad and Nalith in fast-paced, conversational Raiaeran. It was clear that he had given his assignment, and now his attention was turned to other things. The soldier Findelfin had spoken to, clad in the standard-issue equipment of Tel Aglarim, gestured to Romis. "Come on, Commander Heartsblood. I'll show you to your troops."

[Heartsblood]

Romis saluted smartly, though he wasn’t sure if General Fingolfin noticed it or not. The General had not answered his question of whether Romis and his troops should fall back to Trenycë if it was possible. It irritated him to have questions he asked ignored, but since he had not been told ‘no’, Romis made a mental note to cross the bridges before destroying them. He would fall back to Trenycë and fortify the defenders there as best as he could.

Still seething inwardly, Romis followed the elf that had been dispatched to help him. He would have to depend on this fellow, and any others that spoke Common, to make his orders clear. Hopefully, all the soldiers being sent with him would speak enough Common to forestall the need for an interpreter.

Nearing the Raiaeran soldiers, Romis halted as his escort began speaking rapidly in his native tongue. From the way he spoke, Romis assumed the elf was announcing the General’s orders and calling out the names of those that were to go with Romis. In short order, a small platoon had gathered before Romis. He led them a short distance away, then turned to face them, speaking in a loud, clear voice.

“I am Captain Commander Romis Heartsblood. You may refer to me as Captain Commander, or given the circumstances, Captain or Commander Heartsblood. Our mission is simple enough, keep the Plaguebearers from crossing the Elleduin and reaching Trenycë. If necessary, we will destroy the bridges. Let’s move.”

Turning on his heel, Romis strode with a confidence that he did not entirely feel to the east gate and across the fields. If he remembered the map correctly, the most important bridge was almost directly inline with the east gate, or was at least near enough that he would be able to find it quickly.

Gods, preserve and protect these elves under my command. Bring us home safe.

[Sighter Tnailog]

Half an hour later, Findelfin stood on the parapet, gazing south.

It was horrendous, but in a way, it was beautiful. The bridge stood beleaguered, attacked by the most amazing creatures, things that no elf had seen issue forth from the depths of Lindequalmë in centuries of memory. The beauty lay in the defenders. Findelfin knew in his heart that they were overmatched. If nothing else, those giant trees would tear Eluriand's outer walls stone from stone. But still they stood strong, lobbing arrow after arrow. But they would run out soon -- the lion's share had been reserved for the defenders of the wall, for they would need them more when the bridge broke and the tide swept out across the plains of Raiaera.

He knew all that was happening. What Turlin bards could be spared had been dispatched all across the Great Forest. The most insidious nature of Xem'zûnd was that he could bend any matter to his will, provided it had been living. So they were sanctifying what dead trees they found, fanning across the vast area trying to render holy whatever they came across. If Eluriand fell, these sacred groves of commingled dead and living matter would be the bases from which any resistance to the Necromancer would come from. To the South, Tyreles was commanded to retreat when he had to, and the ships on the sea were to sail with all due speed to Anebrilith to reinforce that city from the attack. Valinatal would hold out against the undead headed its way, if the numbers reported by the scouts were accurate, but if Eluriand fell, it would prove ill for the fortress-city.

It was a geopolitical puzzle, Eluriand. It was well protected from attack from Salvar by a forest, a number of well-defended cities, and a deep, wide river. Anebrilith was an eastern bastion against attackers from that direction, and Valinatal's position on the hills where Niadath Pass emptied the dregs of Alerar onto Raiaeran soil was primely positioned for defending that quarter. Yet between Eluriand and the Spire -- indeed, between Raiaera and her own worst enemy -- lay only a single stone bridge. It was a good one, but it could not hold that flood. Carnelost had proven as much.

His hand gripped the parapet so hard that his knuckles turned white, and he swore. It was no way to go, trapped in the most beautiful city in the world as it became the globe's most cultured prison. No, it was no good. He wracked his brain for a better solution, but he had none.

And then a thought struck him like one of those newfangled contraptions now shuffling between Ettermire and Knife's Edge. His villa! He had given no thought to it, nor what lay inside. Two keys, similar in size, dissimilar in adornment. One was his to bear, a simple iron key wrought well and with plain lettering on both sides. The other was to be given to one he chose. He swore again. He had not even considered that they were there.

But it would have to wait. He could see from his vantage point that the bridge had fallen -- it was stupendous to watch the fireworks unfold below him, where he could not help it. Tyreles was leading a good command, and from what he could make out through the smoke the young hothead seemed to be making good on his promises. Findelfin braced himself....he too knew that when the fire reached those docks, there would be a light show that none would forget for some time.

Suddenly at his arm was Nalith. She whispered softly, "Findelfin, I fear this is the end."

He turned to her and regarded her coolly. He had fought alongside her in the Gisela, and she was both an apt commander and a reliable friend. If she feared the end, then he had no reason to hope for it. "You may indeed by right. The last time seemed like a joke...as if the Necromancer was just toying with us. Or perhaps it was for real, in which case Devon's heroism only forestalled the end."

They were both silent as they watched the armies wheel and clash, strange undead elves on the riverbank doing thing with their bodies Findelfin would have thought impossible. But he was not thinking about anything now. He was thinking about Devon, and Wyn. Of those noble three, he was the only one still standing. Or at least he assumed; Devon had disappeared and had not been seen again, so death was the safest assumption. If he died here, it would at least be fitting, for him to die last of those three companions -- the soulless warrior first, the human swordsman second, and the elf last, the fall of the immemorial race.

Nalith suddenly stirred. "General, let me lead a contingent of bards to help them, warrior-bards, none of these just-out-of-university weaklings. It won't stall them for long, but it might give Tyreles time to escape...and that young lad, reckless or not, seems capable. Please, let me ride to battle, to serve the Battle Sound that I serve."

Findelfin needed no time to think. It made sense. A sudden sally would give greater morale to the troops fighting by the river and perhaps lure the Necromancer into making a move he would regret. "Go. Gather up those troops that are already yours to command and sweep from the city...and sound the trumps as you leave, let the world know that Eluriand does not wait for the end, but marches gladly forth--"

His words were cut off by the crashing sound of a million thunderbolts. He whipped his eyes southward as the gunpowder stores below the bridge erupted in a shower of pyrotechnic might, the whole structure collapsing into the river. His mouth dropped open for a moment; he knew the blast would be powerful, but he had no idea how powerful. As soon as he recovered, his hands whipped into a pre-arranged sign to prepare a sally...with the bridge out of commission, a quick march from the city would be all Tyreles needed. They could establish control of the south beachheads and repel any invasion from Xem'zûnd, and they might even be able to coordinate the sort of counterattacks they'd wanted the whole time.

But before he could even begin, he heard...him. The voice was monstrous, resounding in his head as if spoken directly to him; on Nalith's face he could see the terror and know she heard it too. And beyond Yanta Vanwanen he could see the host rising, clawing its way from the dirt, like ants churning a wounded anthill. He almost gave the call to retreat, to stay within the city, to sit it out, but then a fickle mood struck him.

Turning to Nalith, he said, "Fetch Varalad del Tirin. And tell him to bring the Horn." She looked puzzled for a moment, then suddenly knew what he meant. And she left immediately, a smile on her face.

Turning back to look at the approaching horde, he spoke to a nearby commander. "Light the signal fires, let all the hosts know to prepare to march. Have them lined up in the square. And tell them to begin their prayers to Aurient. Even Galatiriel lacks the strength for what we will do. Instruct every soldier, every citizen in the city to stab their left arm with one of the Turlin-enchanted arrows. The protection should last for at least a few hours, and keep our beloved dead from rising to fight us again."

Turning back, he steeled his nerves. If Xem'zûnd wanted to fight, he would face Findelfin ap Fingolfin in battle.

* * * * *

Only a few minutes later -- Varalad had been close by -- the two were facing one another.

"You got in trouble this way once before, Findelfin." The High Bard of Raiaera stood on the parapet, his grey-white hair catching the sun in just such a way as if it almost had color again. It was nearly high noon, that time of day when plans put in motion begin to come together...or fall apart. In his hands he held a stunning horn, made of what could only have been the single claw of a dragon, with mother-of-pearl decorations set on a thin mythril mesh.

Findelfin knew what Varalad meant. He had held that horn to his lips only once before, in violation of all Raiaeran law, in order to summon all the defenders of Eluriand to the task of saving the city. But his bravery...and willingness to flout the law on pain of death...had rescued the city from total devastation, and so it had been forgiven. "But now, Master, we are all in trouble. Blowing that horn is the only way to get out of it."

Varalad hesitated for a moment, then said, "You may be right. But promise me one thing before I hand this to you and entrust this country to your hands."

Findelfin raised an eyebrow, and said, "What is it, Varalad?"

Varalad sighed, and said, "Promise me that, if the battle looks to be lost, you will not hesitate to sound the retreat. I am only allowing this sortie to prevent our retreat from being cut off, to keep us from being trapped here in this city so as to die slowly, with no method of getting as many as possible to the safe shores of Anebrilith or the secret bases of Daer Taurë."

Findelfin shook his head, "I will not get entangled in a final charge. You know the rules for the Horn. To sound it once is to empty the city of all its shock troops. To sound it twice is to empty the city of all its inhabitants, to fly where they will...and three blasts is for the army to retreat. I will follow them wisely and well."

Varalad pressed the horn forward into Findelfin's hands, and said, "Then take it, Dagorathar."

[Call me J]

Since this thread was meant to introduce other threads, this affected the score of this thread a bit, though I have judged it keeping in mind that it is a prelude to other threads. However, many of the points lost were still because of the nature of the thread, though I was more understanding than I would have been had this not continued in other places.

Total= 60

STORY

Continuity ~ 5. For a thread that was supposed to introduce me to characters, this continuity score was very disappointing. I only got the basest understanding as motivation.
Setting ~ 7. Good job getting a lot of the Raiaeran cultural stuff in here, especially Finny but also Caden Law.
Pacing ~ 4. Even for its purpose, this plodded a bit.

CHARACTER

Dialogue ~ 7
Action ~5 I found Findelfin at times to be a bit condescending for the hero of this injucture, especially since you seem to play him as the epitome of all goodness, but I felt this brusqueness could have been explained, at least in part, by the surroundings.
Persona ~ 6 This was another area where I found this thread a bit disappointing.

WRITING STYLE

Technique ~ 6
Mechanics ~ 8
Clarity ~ 7 Caden, make sure you think through your thoughts before you write them down. It seemed you had a few errors because of this.

Wild card~ 5

EXP and GP
Findelfin receives 1885 EXP and 180 GP
Caden Law receives706 EXP and 240 GP
Heartsblood receives 706 EXP and 240 GP
Viola Darkstalker receives 500 EXP and 120 GP
Twisted Infinitum receives 940 EXP and 60 GP

[Karuka]

EXP/GP added!