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Thread: The Field of Sighs and Sorrows

  1. #1
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    Sighter Tnailog's Avatar

    Name
    Findelfin ap Fingolfin
    Age
    260
    Race
    Raiaeran
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    General of Raiaera, Diadem of Telendor Nauvarin

    The Field of Sighs and Sorrows

    ((Keep in mind that we are embarking on a very large, very hectic battle. Many people will be posting. Therefore, if you can keep your posts short, it would be helpful. Commanders, try to remember that once battle is met, strategy ceases; there will be very little time to plot grandiose schemes once in the thick of it, so concentrate on surviving, not planning attacks, and be as concise as possible. From now on, the battle is not about strategy, it's about writing; as such, please no OOC reports on troop strength. That doesn't matter anymore.))

    Turning his back on the High Bard, Findelfin turned to face the crowd below him. It was a stunning sight. The full contingent of the Elven Army, thousands of lances extended to the stars, glittering shields, stern faces. But there were also young faces, those who knew not what they were doing, whose hearts were afraid of this grim day. Findelfin found himself suddenly moved by the very mode of their diversity; young elves and old, some who had fought alongside their own fathers in the great School Wars, some whose only battles had been bedside stories of Thoracis's assault on Valinatal. Some were even men, and they were in many ways the strongest among the number, for they had risked everything, entered an alien race, and for no reason other than their ideals held them to standards far higher than their mortal brethren.

    He slowly unsheathed Ainalindil, and cleared his voice. As he began to speak, he could feel Varalad's power flowing into his words, as the High Bard filled them with resonance to soar above the crowd, made them heard above the din of the battle behind them.

    "Elves of Raiaera, and you men who serve with us freely. We have been a proud people." And at that, he sucked in his breath. It was time to speak.

    "Too proud. For today we shall be shattered. Today the corpses of a million dead, Durklans we slaughtered in ages past on the arid sands of the Black Desert, those who died beneath our feet as Enarlin mage struggled against the forces of Atanamir Eluriand, the ones we expelled for heresy to the land of Alerar...all of this, all our blood-soaked history, comes to a crashing end."

    The host was stunned; already an angry murmur began to spread, and a few braver hotheads were starting to cry out for Findelfin to give up his post before impugning Raiaera's dignity further, but Findelfin simply raised his hand and shouted louder,

    "Yes! Armies of Raiaera, we fight for a nation whose past is not unsullied, we fight for a people whose names are not pure. We are as much a monster race as that we fight against. What comes to us now is punishment, punishment for all our wrongs to each other and to the world. Aurient herself said, when she cursed the Black Desert, that it would come to pass that the graves would open and the wrath of the stars would pour about our heads. So it is written in Tel Aina Parma, the book of our ancestors and the source of our hope." The crowd was now murmuring still, but less angrily; he was right, it was written.

    "The day of wrath has come, armies of Raiaera! Already the sun has passed its zenith, and we will slip into the twilight." And here his voice intensified; this was his point.

    "But it is also written, bold hearts, that when the World Tree that once shone in the sky came under assault from evil, it was shattered even as evil was broken, and its pieces formed the stars, creating a beauty at once less powerful than the World Tree and yet all the more subtle. And so I say to you now: we will shatter. We will be broken by the tide that sweeps us away. But we will not let evil shatter us without doing it such a blow that it can never recover. We will pay the price for our pride, but we will make them work so hard to extract it that they will never strike us again. And from the shattering of our swords will rise a new star, a new thing, a new power in the world, less bright maybe, less pure, but subtle and strong, able to withstand in ways that no walled city can, a beauty beyond all the jeweled chalices of our race." And now the army began to cheer; and, his face flush, Findelfin brandished Ainalindil. They were ready to fight.

    Grabbing an enchanted arrow from the pile, Findelfin thrust it into his arm, shallowly enough not to do too much damage. Raising the bloody shaft in his hand he said, "Glorious Host, with the power of holy sounds flowing in my veins and yours, let us ride to our ruin! In so doing, let us ruin evil as well!" And lifting the Horn of Velicë Arta to his lips, he blew one long, clear, ringing blast. He held that note for nearly a minute, blowing until he felt his temple would burst from the strain.

    As the blast sounded, the army roared to life. Gates swung open, banners were unfurled, and the army marched from the citadel to take the field for the final stand.
    Last edited by Sighter Tnailog; 12-02-07 at 08:01 PM.
    Exile of Raiaera

    "He who has knowledge of the just and the good and beautiful ... will not, when in earnest, write them in ink, sowing them through a pen with words which cannot defend themselves by argument and cannot teach the truth effectually."
    --Plato, Phaedrus


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  2. #2
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    Caden Law's Avatar

    Name
    Caden "Blueraven" Law
    Age
    26
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    Human
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    Male
    Hair Color
    Light blond
    Eye Color
    Blue
    Job
    Wizard for hire, freelance alchemist, translator, navigator, and archivist

    Out of Character:
    Posts will be shorter after this one.


    When Caden finally woke up, he found himself lying in the floor of a shop somewhere. His hat was still present. He was fully clothed, though someone had taken the care to pull his goggles down and clean his face off. He could still smell the soap they'd used.

    He sat up. It was a bookstore. He was still wearing his armor, and his sword was within reach. He took it and used it to stand up. Caden barely knew anything about swordsmanship, but he still strapped it onto his back so that the hilt stuck out over his left shoulder. The shop was virtually abandoned now. Whoever brought him here had taken just enough time to show a little compassion on him, then they'd left.

    Least they left me in a bookstore, Caden managed to pull a smile out of nowhere. It was the same type of smile you see on men about to be executed.

    His head was hurting like Hell as he pushed his way back out into the streets of Eluriand. They were crowded now, and the masses grew thicker and more martial as Caden sidled along towards the Grand Gate. Fair maidens, withered wives and fearful children gave way to sharpened blades, bloodied banners and cold, hardened eyes. Caden didn't see any of his company among the lot. Maybe the Blueravens had dissolved back into the regular forces, or maybe they were just further in.

    He thought he saw a few shimmering blue helms, but dismissed it just as quickly.

    To the wall, and he quietly stepped into a door that had been left open in the hurry to marshall forces. Eluriand's walls were massive things, thick enough to house networks of hallways and Gods know what you could cram inside of them. They were left bare now. Everything that could be used for combat was gone; the weapon racks were empty, the armor had been taken...

    ...all that remained were pens, pencils, inks and chalks. The things used to write last wills and testaments, and to put word to feelings their families would never see.

    Caden looked upon these things.

    If he survived long enough, he'd never once feel guilty for stealing every single one of them. He left the papers behind, of course, but you'd be amazed at what you can cram into a leftover burlap sack when it feels like the world is going to crash down on your head.

    He took the stairs then, up to the empty battlements of the Grand Gate. Eluriand's defenders weren't kidding. Every able-bodied soldier was about to go to war...

    Caden made it to the very center of the battlements, and that was when the gates swung open. From a literal bird's eye view, the blood-stained Wizard watched as Findelfin and the Elves and men (There go the Blueravens) went marching into the fields.

    He looked out, and he saw the massing forces of Xem'zund barreling towards them with all the inevitability of a force of unnature. Spiders, ghouls, dead elves and men, and things too awful to pin names to.

    Caden was no good as a soldier. He knew this. He accepted it.

    So he took out his chalk, and he started writing...
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  3. #3
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    The Scourge's Avatar

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    Xem'zûnd
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    Thousands of Lives
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    Durklan
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    Blue

    He strode across the field, tendrils of mist and shadow clinging where he walked, magical burns seeming to scar the land where his feet touched. He was so happy to be here. It had been too long.

    * * * * *

    "Mother!"

    "No child, flee the woods, to Qulamek, to Qulamek, follow the stars!" She thrust him away from her body as the house shook with the blow of a mailed fist to the door. At the second blow it gave way, and the tall, terrible warriors entered. The boy's mother heaved him through the window, and then she screamed as a sabre pierced her side and a kick caught her square in the abdomen.

    He landed on the grass and ran, dodging through the ruins of burning buildings and the grasping hands of the invaders. The last he heard of his mother's voice was the scream as the elven warrior claimed her for his own.


    * * * * *

    "Claim the field!" His voice no longer echoed the way it had in his first statements, he no longer felt the need to torture his opponents psychologically. But he had to tell his commanders what to do.

    Mentally, he stretched his feelers out to Viola. Darkstalker, I am sending your spiders and wolves in the west upwards into the Great Forest, the foolish elves will turn to fight us here. We need troops in the northern reaches to stymie elvish efforts there.

    Rask, have your Ancient Elves take command posts of the undead, I am spreading my power into them to assist their control of the zombies. Help them cross the river.


    He stopped walking, now just past the river. He stood in the middle of the ruined icon that the one called Blueraven had drawn. About 10,000 of his troops had crossed the river, the commander from the bridge was drawing up his cavalry to join the soldiers marching from the city. It was a foolish thing, but he knew foolishness. This was not the first time the elf Findelfin had sent troops from the city to challenge Xem'zûnd, but if the necromancer had his way, it would be the last.

    With one small word, he sent out his thought to all his commanders at once, and they heard him speak, crystal clear in his mind.

    "Attack."

    And attack they did. Instead of milling about on the plain as an undivided mob, suddenly his troops surged forward as a concerted body, streaming for the elvish positions. He would not give them a chance to draw up one of their devastating charges; he would claim the field for his before the battle even began.

  4. #4
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    Twisted Infinitum's Avatar

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    ....
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    infinity
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    Dream Demons
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    nope
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    torment

    Bloodlust made Rask's lizard eyes bulge as he charged low to the ground, tail swishing so violently that it almost hit his ancient elven soldiers. Half of them had already been destroyed. It was a scene that he had avoided long ago when he fled to the numb embrace of bestial servitude, and the scene at the bridge had been only a re-enacted sliver of it. He knew, without a doubt, that if he had to view his entire race on that day they had ceased to be, he would have gone mad.

    A voice broke through the violent fog. It was far less grandiose and more honest than what he had heard before. That change, not the mention of his current name, was what brought his eyes and his mind away from the battlefield. He saw the zombies shambling over the bridges with little regard for their own safety. More than a few suffered the inevitable consequences and were washed downstream silently. Then, he looked at his own soldiers, and they looked back with a cold regard that their corpses hadn't been capable of before. He would have smiled, despite the falseness of their state and dark business before them, if his face were able. Grinding to a halt, he gestured for them to spread out at the head of the disoriented masses.

    ~

    Vipress rode sidesaddle, looking like twisted royalty with her arm about the waist of the ornamental and far more twisted rider. Her undead unicorn beat a quick and even path up the eastern side of the battlefield, barely kicking up grass. As corrupted as it was, it still retained its unnatural grace. She didn't find pleasure in such beauty, though.

    She had heard the voice echoing in her mind, though it hadn't been directed toward her, and she was left with an infuriating question. Did Xem'zund think her above the generals, or had he forgotten her? Her fangs pushed harshly into her lip as she wondered. With a dark gaze, she looked to the front of the army. Rask led it, his undead siblings spread out like bannermen and their swords held to that effect. Under the sway of his men, the zombies behind were structuring their ranks into something that resembled a fighting force. "You're doing well," she said of her guardian with a hint of jealousy in her tone.

    Her subordinate couldn’t outdo her, of course. So, she looked skyward to the milling fog of harpies. Her orders were simple. Kill. Whether the elves were on the field, the battlements, or within the city walls, the twisted creatures were to dive down, latch on, and tow them to the heavens before dropping them. A quick glance behind showed that the cloaked shadow, looking like a severed piece of Xem'zund's aura, was approaching at its own determined pace. As the harpies began to dive in random, disorganized bursts, she amended their orders to drop the still-living bodies in the clear span of field before her. She had something to prove before officially introducing herself to the Lord of Death.
    Last edited by Twisted Infinitum; 12-03-07 at 08:51 PM.
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  5. #5
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    Viola Darkstalker's Avatar

    Name
    Viola Darkstalker
    Age
    21
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    Human
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    Hair Color
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    Cloudy amethyst
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    5'-10" / 120

    There is a difference between insanity and sheer single-minded madness. Viola had known both throughout her life; from dipping into the tendrils of insane ranting to reveling in the psychosis of her shattered psyche. She knew both, but oh how she longed for the sweet release of madness over her mind, craved the clarity of thought when there was only one thing that needed doing. As the beyond-corrupt commander charged headlong into battle, madness was not on her mind. Madness was her mind.

    Shivers of excitement flowed through her body as the voice of elder evil oozed like tar through her consciousness. Her animalistic troops were being sent to a greater cause by her master. The release of strain was negligible on her fragmented mind as Xem’zûnd effortlessly plucked the command lines of more than one thousand undead soldiers from her hands. It did not matter. The only thoughts she had now were simple.

    Kill… Kill… Kill!

    Nearly five-thousand zombies shambled across the earthen bridges Xem'zûnd raised from the riverbed, none lacking the presence of Viola’s mind and all managing to make it across the river they had so recently been raised from. Most had sword and shield, and the ones without gathered in the center of the writhing mass of festering flesh. They wouldn’t be unarmed for long.

    In the distance, the grand city of Eluriand loomed powerfully with its beautiful walls and impressive fortifications. The capital city of the elven nations was so disgustingly beautiful… It would truly be an honor for the reaper to bring it under her bloody scythe. Still seated atop her monstrous spider, she had enough presence of mind to keep it as a mount, full rose-colored lips split her flawless face with a toothy grin that embodied nothing but the worst of all that could be called terrible. Lovely pale flesh that would soon be drenched in the blood of herself and others was a stark contrast to the decayed and decaying skin of the humans and elves in her army.

    A single word echoed across the plains, carrying with it all the authority and power that Xem'zûnd’s position allowed. “Attack”

    For a moment, a terrible, throbbing, climactic moment, his voice gave Viola the presence of mind to tighten up her ranks. A mob facing an army could never hope to win, after all. But as quickly as they came, the final echoes died inside her skull. As she plummeted down the liberating slope of insanity to psychosis, a rising cackle raced across the plains. It was the sound of a madman who had just been given everything they had ever wanted. It was the sound of death incarnate.

  6. #6
    Resident Pointy Hat
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    Caden Law's Avatar

    Name
    Caden "Blueraven" Law
    Age
    26
    Race
    Human
    Gender
    Male
    Hair Color
    Light blond
    Eye Color
    Blue
    Job
    Wizard for hire, freelance alchemist, translator, navigator, and archivist

    Out of Character:
    Sneaking in one more post before All Hell Breaks Loose

    "Just once..." Etch, scribble. "In my entire life..." Scratch, scratch. "I'd really like to be..." Long line here. "The one with the advantage." Complete.

    Caden stood up and, for the briefest of moments, tried to admire his handiwork against the background noise of war about to be made. Hands on his hips, Hat tilting and wobbling this way and that, and for all of a split second, he actually smiled. Taking into account that he was still covered in blood from throwing up on himself not that long ago, it was not the most encouraging sight you could hope for from the only man standing in the Grand Battlements.

    At least, he was standing.

    Then he was ducking out of sight and a harpy swooped back up towards the skies, trailing whatever backwards gibberish passed for undead profanity. Her voice sounded like nails on a rust-covered chalkboard, and as she flew, the wind left an almost tangible streak of brown behind her. As Caden sat back up, clutching his Hat's brim down so hard that the thing threatened to engulf his whole head, the harpy swung wide around the flagpost of one of Eluriand's more upscale buildings. She was going to come right at him. She was going to try and kill him, with great big eagle-like feet, and maybe she'd eat him with those nasty fangs...

    ...and Caden, in the way that Wizards will when they've been through the wringer, decided to kill her first.

    He stood up and slapped his hands together. The Circle lit up like neon all around him; the runes didn't have the sheer sturdiness he'd been able to achieve near the Bridge, but that was then, and this is now.

    Caden thrust a hand out; two fingers leading the way, others held in reserve. His other hand grasped at the bicep. Magic focused tight into the confines of his fingertips, and he forced it tighter still as the harpy drew closer and closer and--

    The air caught fire in a thin blue trail, from Caden's fingertips to the harpy's face; all at once with little or no no visible lead-in. In short order, it ate through her skull and shot out across her spine, sundering the rest of her in the process. All that remained to hit the back of the wall a few seconds later was a thin, dead cloud of ash.

    Caden spent a moment or two staring at his fingertips like a normal man would stare at the smoking barrel of a gun. Then he grinned. He grinned like only a Wizard can: Completely sane, possessed of a sharp intellect and the awful will to put it to use.

    Caden turned to where the real battle was about to begin, and the grin fell away only a little slower than it had formed. An ill sense of resolution washed over him.

    "Playtime's over," he mumbled in his native Salvaran. Up went his hands once again, and he began to build power...

    ...only to find that it was still there. All of it, ready and waiting. Even the very spell he meant to funnel it all into.

    The grin came back. "Or not," he added, and began to Work the magicks again.
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  7. #7
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    Sighter Tnailog's Avatar

    Name
    Findelfin ap Fingolfin
    Age
    260
    Race
    Raiaeran
    Gender
    Male
    Hair Color
    Golden
    Eye Color
    Green
    Build
    6'2", 220 lbs
    Job
    General of Raiaera, Diadem of Telendor Nauvarin

    ((From here on out, I will try for two posts a day, one from Findelfin and one from The Scourge. You may ignore posting order as you like, just avoid double-posts and try to make sure that each post you make actually responds to changes in the battle.))

    Findelfin was now riding the line, Pelektar's flanks stirring beneath him as he rode. He gripped her mane tightly, suddenly realizing that of all the friends he could lose on this day, the one he would miss the most would be her. He said a silent prayer to Arddunwë, the granter of song and beauty, whose greatest artwork was the land from which all other art must spring. And his prayer was for his steed, for horses were the most precious of Arddunwë's gifts.

    Most of the elves were now getting into line, the cavalry was organizing itself and the infantry spreading into formation. Archers -- the only troops of which some had been granted exemption from the Horn's call to exit the city -- He was about to give command to form battle lines when he heard a cry from behind him. Wheeling Pelektar around as quick as he can, he saw nothing but a mass of undead surging forward. And immediately he knew that Xem'zûnd truly was in personal command; normal undead captains did not act with such strategic maneuvering.

    His orders were at his lips almost before he took in the scene. "Auxiliary Cavalry, wheel east, circle wide then charge with lances down into the flank of the assault, try to cut off the brunt of the attackers from the main force. Infantry, stand ground at the gate, when the main force hits you will have the Turlin arrows to protect you from the brunt of the blow. Aglarlin commanders, spread yourselves throughout the groups, I want Turlin and Dagorlin attack teams and Lissilin support healers spread throughout all posts, and put a few of your bards on support detail for Commander Law."

    And now was the moment of truth. "Main cavalry, you are under my command. We charge west of the center thrust of the attack in two waves, I will lead the first charge, the second will follow once the first is five deep. Cavalry archers, ride flanking, firing arrows when you have clear shots; make every one of your enchanted arrows count. Tyreles, take command of the second charge, Hontoratari, command the auxiliaries. Move!"

    He had little time. To build up the charge, he had to move faster than the undead, so he turned, lowered his lance, and with a cry spurred Pelektar forward. Before he could build up full speed, he smashed into the first line of the undead, his lance skewering two of them through their heads before he threw it to the ground, where it quivered point first and pinned the struggling monster.

    With the same motion, he unsheathed Ainalindil, and used it to lop off the hand of a zombie clutching at his bootstraps. The blade flashed as it swung through the air with a terrible singing thrum; its purified blade laid the undead low with only one clean stroke.
    Exile of Raiaera

    "He who has knowledge of the just and the good and beautiful ... will not, when in earnest, write them in ink, sowing them through a pen with words which cannot defend themselves by argument and cannot teach the truth effectually."
    --Plato, Phaedrus


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  8. #8
    Feed The Machine
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    The clamorous elation of patriotic, battle-high warriors did not stir up any similar response in Galyl, as he stood beside Oronra and the Cora’Lindstra with his arms crossed. A solemn countenance had long fallen on his face from the moment he’d returned from an assigned mission and received orders from his master, via General Oronra, concerning the upcoming battle against Xem’zund. The young squire was simply commanded to stay behind and not get involved in the great battle to come. He'd received these orders much earlier in the day, back when Findelfin was still evaluating candidates to be commanders. Desparately did Galyl want to confront his master on his decision, but restrained himself from doing so, knowing that Findelfin had more pressing things to deal with. "But why do I have to stay behind!?" The Obsidian Spire resident inquired that mentally over and over again. He’d trained extremely hard since enlisting in the Bladesinger sect of the Raiaeran army, and especially hard since becoming Findelfin’s personal student. Great progress had been made on his part, thus leaving him entirely baffled as to why Findelfin did not want his pupil accompanying him on the battlefield.

    The Galoriand’s arms dropped with indignation as he angrily plopped himself on the ground, leaning against the parapet. “I don’t understand this! You freely send novices, men who spend their days tending to lambs and chickens, as well as has-been, out-of-shape warriors to war, yet I’m somehow not ready!?” The young soldier struck the parapet with the back of his hand. His words on the surface seemed to be directed at an absent Findelfin, but his eyes locked onto the Cora’Lindstra in accusatory fashion since he was the leader and final authority over all matters concerning Raiaera. Varalad took note of this, but did not respond belligerently as the mere child before him had. Instead, he calmly walked over to the lad, leaning over as he placed his hand upon Galyl’s shoulder as a father interacting with his son would.

    “You’re a special one. Perhaps that is why Findelfin has told you to stay behind?” He paused, smiling gently before continuing. “I’m well aware of your history and how you have in you a burning desire to restore the name of your family. But you are 2,000 years to young to even consider doing that. There is still much for you to learn, so enjoy the process.”

    Afterward, Varalad left the company of both Oronra and Galyl to attend to other matters involving the looming threat. The young Bladesinger trainee clenched his jaw, appearing as if wishing to say something but not being able to. “Heh, are you going to cry?” General Oronra laughed, joking around with Galyl in a way exclusive only to him.

    “You know good and well what I’m going to do.”

    Oronra’s laughing ceased, nodding his head in agreement. “Then you’d better make haste. The battle shall commence soon. Find Findelfin and make certain that you back him up. Out of the entire elven nation, you are the only one I know who is immune to that evil necromancer’s undead curse. Also, if your master complains about your presence on the battlefield, tell him to come see me.”

    The young squire contained his joy, wishing to carry a certain level of stern professionalism. Desiring to show his gratitude however, he simply saluted his superior in true Bladesinger fashion and departed for the battlefields.
    Last edited by Feed The Machine; 12-14-07 at 12:45 PM.

  9. #9
    Resident Pointy Hat
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    Caden Law's Avatar

    Name
    Caden "Blueraven" Law
    Age
    26
    Race
    Human
    Gender
    Male
    Hair Color
    Light blond
    Eye Color
    Blue
    Job
    Wizard for hire, freelance alchemist, translator, navigator, and archivist

    The power was there, and it was his, but it needed coaxing and that needed focus and that needed time. If Xem'zund's horde had their way, he'd get neither.

    The not-so-Forgotten Necromancer's army had air superiority, and in a world where aircraft is literally nonexistent, that was as good an advantage as you could ever get. Chiefly because there was also no such thing as dedicated anti-aircraft weaponry. Harpies ruled the sky, and at least a few had noticed the fiery end of one of their sisters. They came down on Caden like the howling winds of gales from his homeland, and he didn't have the narcissistic delusions of grandeur to even pretend he was ready for them.

    Lights sputtered around the battlements as Caden was driven to the edges of his Circle again and again. They came at him in staggered pairs now, with a third swooping in from time to time for the sheer fun of it. They toyed with him more than anything. In doing so, they forgot the oldest rule when it comes to Wizards -- the one that exists in some form in every book for them, by them, and about them.

    Wizards are quick to anger. They're only subtle about it when they've got the time for it.

    "Screw this," Caden finally spat as he reached around and, with all the skill of an inept librarian with a grudge, drew his sword. It was Elven-made, but definately with a human in mind; it had the stereotypical look of a Coronian weapon with some frilly details to make it look Raiaeran; lines etched into the blade and a few strings of Elven song writ along the hilt and crossguard. Two-handed though, which was a bonus considering that Caden hefted it more like a baseball bat than a proper weapon of war.

    Down came the harpies for another go; a staggered formation of two with the third hanging back and cackling shrilly. Caden waited.

    Waited.

    Ducked the first, sidestepped the second. In came the third--

    And he took her right arm, wing and a few toes off in one go. Admittedly, he did so while being knocked screaming back into the chest-high walls of the battlements, but it still counts as a win if you're the only one left standing. He straightened up after that, and immediately grabbed his goggles. They still had bloodstains from earlier.

    Caden put them on anyway. It was wasted time, and the remaining harpies capitalized on it accordingly. He turned and found eagle's claws slamming into his chest at fifty or sixty miles per hour; the only reason the harpy failed to drag him kicking and screaming to the sky was because Caden stabbed her in the hip by pure, stupid good luck. Down they went, and the harpy crouched atop his chest in a writhing mass of pointed teeth, draconic wings and flailing, gangly limbs.

    Caden used the time to assess himself, to let his life flash before his eyes, and to think about writing down a suitable will bequeathing his worldly possessions to someone who wouldn't set fire to them. It took him all of three and a half seconds before he started trying to fight back, and by then all he could do was jam the sword between himself and her teeth, even as she was raining sharp-knuckled fists into his chestplate from either side. Her claws tightened, and the metal started to buckle and--

    Chunk.

    There was suddenly, and terminally, something very sharp and glistening sticking out from the center of her chest. Caden became aware of a melodic voice, and of words that formed into an Elven war-prayer.

    At about this time, Golaster Kenvas, Aglarlin Bard of the Bladesinger's Guild, hauled the harpy right off Caden's chest like a screaming, smouldering bale of hay. He held her aloft at seven feet on a shaft of wood and metal, then turned and shouted in his native tongue. Just one word. That's all anyone needs.

    "NOW!"

    There was a flash of gold, then the harpy petrified to stone in a matter of seconds. She crumbled to dust and even that quickly faded away as if blown out of existence by the wind. In her place was the Blueraven Company's makeshift banner; a hard wool blanket depicting the city of Eluriand with a blue Raven spreading its wings at the Southern Gate.

    Kenvas stood with it for just a moment, with a kind of nonexistent sunlight just sparkling off of his armor and another bard -- shorter and patently female, but black-haired and altogether violent looking -- standing rather dramatically in his shadow. Caden stared at this for a moment.

    "Are you alright?" Kenvas asked, in proper Common.

    "I wish I could sparkle like that and still look manly," was Caden's answer in bastardized Akashiman. "It's just so shiny and--"

    "We can understand you, you know," said the woman.

    "You can?"

    "We can," Kenvas added.

    "Oh. Right then." The last harpy started in. "You can just let me die now."

    A Turlin arrow shot from somewhere behind Kenvas. It tagged the harpy in her temple and whatever magicks went into it were enough to reduce her to a rain of pure white dust. "No can do, Blueraven," added Leister Covanna, standing a full half a foot shorter than Kenvas and wielding a bow large enough to make up for the difference.

    In between being embarrassed enough to want to die and deciding he still had some pyrotechnics to carry out, Caden finally noticed that the female of the trio wasn't one of the 407. He said as much, if only for the change in subject.

    "Redwyn Alvanas, Lisselin Bladesin-eyes up, human."

    "...huh. Oh. Right! Sorry about that." Not really. Caden stood up and sheathed his sword, then looked to Kenvas and took a guess. "Findelfin sent you to babysit me, yes?"

    "Something like that," Kenvas agreed, because he was the only one who could actually deal with Caden's sarcastic nature. "I didn't exactly have time to...to...ah..."

    "Get the gang back together?" Caden asked.

    "Yes. That."

    Caden looked at Redwyn again, then at the other two or three bards that were coming out onto the battlements. All carried bows that looked like flutes and harps turned into weapons of war. Half were female. Every single one of them looked the very pinnacle of Beautiful Elven Warrior-Woman Stereotype, right down to one wearing skimpy armor and another having a high ponytail.

    Caden nodded sagely. "Good choices."

    "Not to interrupt or anything," Redwyn spoke up, and quickly took up a spare bow from of the other bards. She already had a quiver, Caden belatedly noticed. All of them did. "But I believe you're supposed to be valuable enough to warrant this sort of bodyguard mission. So start living up to the hype, Wizard."

    Ow, my pride, Caden might have muttered, if his pride hadn't already been kicked around by one Elven woman today. He turned back to the matter at hand. Awkwardly sheathed his sword again, because he wasn't likely to kill anyone with it anyway (except, probably, himself).

    "Keep me covered, Blueravens."

    Redwyn and a few of the other bards muttered something about not being part of the Company. Kenvas and Leister just nodded and took point, and Leister in particular took up a bow.

    The banner thrust forward. As a choir they sang, as archers they fired, and as a Wizard, Caden went back to Work...
    Last edited by Caden Law; 12-07-07 at 03:01 PM.
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  10. #10
    Member
    GP
    200 (300)
    The Scourge's Avatar

    Name
    Xem'zûnd
    Age
    Thousands of Lives
    Race
    Durklan
    Gender
    Male
    Hair Color
    Brown
    Eye Color
    Blue

    He held out one gloved hand to rest on the pillars raised by the enemy wizard only a few hours before. Though the signs had been destroyed, Xem'zûnd could still feel the magic pulsing through the area, identify what sigils had been drawn and what runes used to work its power. It was powerful stuff, but crude...so crude...compared to what he had known and what he still knew.

    * * * * *

    A hard wooden switch slapped at his hands, and he withdrew them quickly. Rubbing them ruefully, he glanced with venom at his master, whose words rung in the empty room.

    "Child, concentrate!" The man lifted his hands, singing a few notes as sparks began to fly between his palms, turning slowly into pure bolts of lightning that he manipulated as if juggling apples.

    "See? Our holy song magic can do much, but you must concentrate! Try again!"

    The boy frowned, resentful of the robe-clad monk leading his lessons. He had been learning so much more from the visitor to their monastery, and did not see the point in these exercises. But raising his hand again, he tried once more. But his voice cracked and an errant bolt of lightning from his fist brought another rap on his knuckles.

    In that rap, something snapped. He lashed out with his new power, his different power, and for a moment the monk's eyes bulged as he clutched at his heart. Then a note left his lips and the boy felt what little power he had suddenly leave him.

    "Never..." he gasped, "never...use...that power again. The Eternal Tap is terrible, boy, terrible. The Magic of the Holy Song cannot match its greatness, but in subtlety and wisdom it will guide you far better...the Tap, the Tap is dangerous! Promise me you'll never use it again.

    The boy looked at the ground, and grudgingly spat his promise towards the stones. But he knew that somewhere deep inside him he had a more important promise to keep. A promise he had made his mother one day, long ago, as he wept under the sacred tree of his birth.


    * * * * *

    Bringing the mist and the air around him once more, he reigned himself together. It seemed that the elves had managed to bypass his main charge, and were already sending riders to the east to try to flank and separate the host. The shadows around him grew to engulf the hill; it would be clear to all where he stood, even if he himself was not visible behind the curtain. And then he reached out to speak directly to one of his greatest servants.

    "Vipress, dear. Bring your pet closer to the battlefield. When the silly general thinks he's winning, I want to show him how wrong he is."

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