Round 1 Group 7

[Silence Sei]

Round lasts for 2 weeks! Good Luck!

[Mordelain]

0. Prologue



Only The World Stands In Your Way

Your team finds themselves in a situation they did not expect. In order to get through this situation, your team comes across a large obstacle they must overcome to continue on. Please note that the obstacle does not have to be physical.

Irrakam, 749 Years Ago

Wind. Scouring gales that blanch the desert clean. Soon, even Irrakam’s walls will not survive the devastation wrought by the Cataclysm. Even now it claws at the veil between worlds, threatening to obliterate more than our humble desert sanctuary. Worlds are at stake. Lives uncountable, potential unfathomable. All because of me.

“I can’t bear this any longer,” I said. Remorse thick on tongue, Coradan turned to scowl at me. His disapproving glare ever my salve, I tried to find meaning and positivity in what was unfolding. “Why do you make me watch?”

Torturous as ever, my mentor pointed north. From the tallest reaches of the Council’s observatory, we could witness all the wrath and ruin. Every pallid weald falling, every oasis boiled and mountain top cascading. Through the Terramorphic expanse of Fallien’s former glory and soon to come poverty, there was a single rising tower.

“The feedback from the destruction of Junkyo has spared two parts of this island.” He referred to Irrakam, a machination of his own design, and to the observatory city further north along the narrow tributary the Fallieni referred to as the Ailey. “One day you will be faced with an obstacle, daughter.”

I watched him drop his hand and turn back to the east. He stared at the mountains, proud and tall in their defiance of the forces wild that lashed and wailed at cliff and peak. I had seen Coradan’s remorse only once before, the day my mother died. Seeing it again unnerved me, for if he did not know how to save this world…no-one did.

“What sort of obstacle?” Curiosity sparked I stepped up to his side. Coloured garb and bells tinkling, my cheery demeanour waned as nerves set in. I felt ever the pawn in his game. Ever a cruel joke amongst the Troubadours, even now, as their mistakes lay waste to the Void and all those who traversed it.

Coradan held a small piece of paper to me at arm’s length. I took it gingerly, bolts of lightning striking the desert in cascades of colour and torment. I flinched with every contact, oblivious to the beauty that formed great sheaths of glass and future portent and fortune beneath the roiling dunes and the last of the windswept heaths.

“Only the world stands in your way.” He gestured for her to unfold it, hair and robe fluttering as the force field about us began to fail. The desert came knocking, a reminder of my failures to convince the Fallieni to build the Anchor. “All that stands in your way is the ruins of Junkyo.” It was a map.

Those words have haunted me for seven centuries. Even now, faced again with failure, returning to that place fills me with dread. The sound of the winds. The smell of burning sand. The millions of deaths that hinged on a single vote amongst supposed ‘intellectuals’. The memories of the Vhadya are dreams unrealised compared to the horrors of returning home.

[TylerHoyt]

I woke up panicking. Where was I? What happened? How the heck did I get here? I didnt recognize a single thing around me. Heck it was bad enough that I was in Althanas by accident, but now I was randomly appearing in places I didn't want to be? Great, just great, that's exactly what I wanted.

I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths, calming myself down. When I reopened them I nearly screamed. My fost collided with the nose of some sort if creature I had never seen before. A high pitched whine, almost like a dog came from the animal. I felt terrible, I didn't like hurting things.

"Im so sorry." I said picking the creature up. It wa cute, looking almost like a cotton ball and was very soft too. "What are you? I want one!" I said half jokingly.

"That my friend, is a tribble." A voice said from behind me. This time I could not help but yell at the too of my lungs, and jump. I did not expect someone to be there, and I certainly did not expect for then to be there at that moment.

[Siegfried]

How many decades has it been?

The boy who had become a man stood among the ashes, blight, and rubble of where a home once stood. Memories of a time long past lay black against the charred walls within he and his sisters once played. Siegfried stood in silence. Scattered carnage of undead littered the ground at his feet and clung in splotches to his Bladesinger uniform. His chest rose and fell in deep, ragged breaths and in his grip, a sword still sang with Megillion's blessing.

Too long. Far too long.

In the other, he clenched a missive. The words, "reclaim Lindequalmë" lay exposed through the crumpled parchment. His grip loosened and in a howl which seemed equal parts wind, equal parts ghoul, it took flight toward the crimson flora in the south. The High Elven warrior reached to his neck and pulled a chain from the folds of his tunic. From it, a golden locket and key of masterful elvish design dangled. He worked the key free and held it up to the dim light which had found freedom through dark and ominous clouds.

"Never again," he muttered to its golden silhouette against the charcoal ashes of the home it belonged to. "Will my people have to experience such devastation."

He marched forward. Debris crunched beneath steps both heavy in weight and emotion. It may have been remains of his bedroom under his boot, where candlelight helped him avoid curfew for those few extra moments of a good book. Another step where a kitchen may have been that he and his sisters waited for mother's fresh baked confections. The final step, a place the stairs may have been where he stood between his father's rage and his half-blood sister. Now, all of it was a single pile, beneath him, and as dust in the winds.

He crouched over and lay the key in the middle of the razed wreckage. It shone as a beacon, a diamond in the rough of a hallowed Eluriand.

"Illara... You deserved a better childhood." Siegfried opened his locket; a weathered image of his parents on one side and a trio of young siblings on the other. The face of the father had been removed by deep gouges into the gold by his son's blade. Resentment for his misdirected anger and closed mind.

Echoes of the reanimated dead sounded in the distance, a reminder that Xem'Zund's horde still owned his hometown. Siegfried rose. His mission called him to the Red Forest, and he would not leave them waiting. Somewhere among the masses gathered from all corners of Althanas, Illara was surely among them.

He would find her.

The Bladesinger remained silent as the necklace returned to where it belonged under his tunic. As the silhouettes of fiends shambled down the cobblestone path, he turned toward the city gates. His boots stepped over the twice killed corpses of villagers he once knew. They still wore the faces he remembered from those many years ago, yet slightly disfigured by necromancy's touch. The lone crusader departed. His key among the ashes remained behind and with it, past memories he sealed with a vow.

His resolve firmed, and with fiery hazel eyes on the crimson horizon, he aimed to fill that vow for a Forgotten One's head.

For his people.

For his family...

[Kroom]

"One more time." Jak rubbed his forehead and sighed. "One more time, tell me how you got us lost."

Stephane winced and coughed. "I, uh, lost the map."

"Right. And how, again?"
"I ... I really don't know, Jak. I swear I had it in my bag an hour ago."
"And now where are we?"
"...I don't know."
"Okay."

The sometime-smith finally sat up from the rock that had been his pillow, and hitched at his belt. His weapons jingled.

"You lot stay down here. I'll be back in a moment." Stephane nodded nervously, looking to Crick and Davin. Jak strung his bow and gathered a few arrows in hand, then set off at a brisk trot. He'd seen a prominent structure earlier, when they were wandering about.

"Damn new blood," he muttered. "Idiots don't know how to pack for trot, carry a ruttin' map, fuckin' rations ... goddamn boneheads." His stream of frustration continued as he hauled himself up the building's side, climbing until the city began to spread out beneath him. Just as he reached for the last ledge, he began hearing the screams. Stephane was screaming his name.

With a snarl, Jak wheeled and dropped to the adjacent rooftop below him. Clay tiles slid away and shattered in the street. Jak could taste the anxiety that galvanized his legs, pushing him up and over the roof's peak and down the other side. He came back to the camp to find Crick and Davin already being devoured by a trio of walking dead, as Stephane frantically batted at a fourth with his mace. He died just as Jak landed in the camp, and the vengeance he brought was the work of seconds.

The silence that came after death always smote at Jak's heart, threatening to crack the desiccated stoniness he'd grown around it. He took a deep breath, and then slowly went about cleaning his weapons. He would need to scavenge supplies, get his bearings, and...

"...gotta make sure they stay dead." It was a heartless thing he had to do. Beheading their comrades was the only way Jak's corps had found to keep their dead from coming back. He collected canteens and food wallets, hiding these in his own sling bag, and then took Davin's longsword. Jak had lost his long axe some time past, and he liked having a heavier weapon than his short sword and knife. The weapon hung at his hip as he jogged away, back towards his prospective lookout tower. It was when he reached the top that, looking down, he saw the glimmer of movement a few streets away. Not the same sort of shambling motion he attributed to the undead prowling the city; this bore purpose and intention.

Jak swung down from his tower and, bow in hand, went searching.

When he emerged from a side alley, arrow strung, he did not expect to see an elf. Elves were, by and large, letting the mercenaries dirty themselves in this nightmare city. Interesting.

"Your blood runnin' warm, friend?"

(Jak is addressing Siegfried.)

[Mordelain]

I.

The way back home was through wrath and ruin. Finding a link between Althanas and Junkyo had not proven as difficult as Mordelain had expected. In Eluriand’s shattered provenance she found a kindred spirit with her devastated home world. Walking through the warren of crumbling mire and twilight spire, the planes walker found strange comfort with the bedfellows of the past.

“Hail,” she said chirpily as a cloaked figure passed her on the street.

For the hundredth time, the citizens of the city did not reciprocate. She had not expected them to, both because she was to them human, and because few people that had witnessed horrors as these could ever trust a stranger again.

“…which way to the Bladesinger Quarter,” she added wistfully, moments after the man turned a corner and disappeared into an alleyway – sanctuary – resilience.

Though finding the city had been easy, to truly bind her essence to the Void, and to Junkyo, she had to find a place where song and dance struck fervour into the blood. Like the Troubadours, the elves of Raiaera revered music and mysticism in steps and stances. Unlike her people, the elves used bardic magic for defence, light, and love – the Tama had used it to dominate, subjugate, and annihilate.

She continued on, clambering through the detritus of tavern and tabernacle alike. Elven architecture appeared rarely in the indistinguishable mounds of rubble and long rotten flesh. Though the smell was diminished after a decade, the sight of skeletal remains and torn bannerettes conjured senses and scents Mordelain did not wish to dwell upon.

“At least with the Vhadya there is only sand and the requiems of the Bedouin,” she mused. She pulled herself up a precarious incline, mounting what remained of an outer wall to gain a vantage point over the endless and confusing web way of same streets and similar sidewalks.

“Are you sure?” Suresh mused.

Mordelain held out her hands to keep balance, and skipped along the knife’s edge east. She ducked under an arch, it’s half fallen when hell fire erupted through the buildings it served as a portal to, and clambered higher in a series of deft leaps and agile acrobatics.

“You’ve said nothing for an hour,” she replied. Her stone-wall was intentional. Her mentor remained in contact using the scrying stones forged long ago to allow the pre-Vhadya Fallieni to communicate in sand storms. Now, it only served to appease her would-be Father’s paranoia and overbearing concern.

“I’ll say nothing further, if you’ll answer this. Would Fallien have idled in its sorrow for so long had such stark reminders of its failure been left all across the desert?” The echo of her mentor’s voice in her eye was a devilish reminder that in all her endeavours, she was never alone. She frowned.

Atop the tallest remnants of Old Eluriand in the district, the planes walker could see for a mile in every direction. Movement in the distant streets indicated that although Raiaera was broken, its people malaise, it lived on. She had to admire the determination of the Council to re-establish order and to give hope to the survivors. Though it might take years, Raiaera would sing again.

“Perhaps you’re right…,” she replied after an interlude of deep thought.

Narrowing her gaze North, nearer the streets that lead to the city’s gates, she saw a glint of steel and a flash of promise. In conversation of chance, from what her hearing and soul told was just the person that could perhaps help her.

“Though, perhaps not…”

Before Suresh could scold her Mordelain tapped her ear. The scrying stone dimmed its lustre dying as the connection was severed. With a pull of power, Mordelain allowed herself to fall into the world between worlds and re-appear five hundred feet closer. She re-appeared atop another battlement, its stone blackened, its buttress decayed into a rocky outcrop forlorn. A second leap set her down in a side-street near the duo, allowing her a moment to compose herself, set her bells straight, and walk out into the dying of the light in a normal fashion.

“Not in this damned cold,” she said as she walked out into view and earshot. The belt at her waist made the very air vibrate, and her ears pricked at every heartbeat and sword’s edge in sheath. “Perhaps you two could help a lady on her first visit to Eluriand?”

[Silence Sei]

TylerHoyt has been disqualified for not making his post before deadline.

[Siegfried]

"I must apologize, miss," Siegfried spoke as his hand found the hilt of his bloodied blade. "I have not the time nor the patience. Eluriand is a death trap, as I'm sure you've noticed."

The Bladesinger turned to face his unexpected guests. He began with the woman and ran his eyes down the length of her body. Red hair, green eyes, athletic figure, and dressed in foreigner's clothing, he saw no threat nor promise in her. The man, on the other hand, breathed the essence of a warrior. His hands still dripped with a fresh crimson that had yet to coagulate. Siegfried did not notice any wounds on his muscular and threatening figure to prove as a source for the blood. Thus, his grip tightened on his sword.

"And you, what is your purpose? Are you with the group summoned by the council?" Siegfried narrowed his eyes as a sign of distrust. The mercenary curled his lip against the elf's tone.

"Yeah," the gruff and aggressive reply came, "Name's Jak Rute. Your higher-ups hired the mercenary corps I run with. No thanks to you lot, I just spent the last few moments making sure the rest of my squad, let them rest, didn't come back for a visit."

Siegfried let his hard facade soften. He knew all too well that feeling of loss. All too well...

"We're out here on task to clean out as much as we can," Jak continued.

"The operation is to clear out the Red Forest. Eluriand has nothing to do with that." Siegfried let his hand off his blade and to his surprise, the mercenary tucked a blade back into his sleeve.

"Not mine. We're here to sweep the city. Looks like your 'council' don't like puttin' their own blood to work." A swell of anger scrunched Jak's brow toward the pure bred Raiearan.

"Hello?" the woman interrupted. "Still here."

Both men shot her a foul glance. Siegfried took a deep breath and briefly turned his head toward the crimson horizon.

Illara...

He let out a sigh, then returned his attention to his unneeded guests.

"Fine, the lead is your's mercenary. If what you say is true, there is a reason the Council dispatched you here. My memory may be of a Eluriand much different than this, but I can guide you through these streets better than any map. And you," He motioned to the woman. "If you want a tour, stay on our heels. Do you know how to fight?"

The red head grinned ominously and held out her hand. Air shifted, light bent, and in some manner of magic Seigfried had not seen, the length of a partisan materialized into her palm. She gripped it in her hands and in her eyes, the Bladesinger saw a spark of confidence and skill not present on first glance. He smirked.

"I may," she mused. "My name is Mordelain, you are?"

"Siegfried Alfheim, Captain of the second Reclamation division of the Bladesingers. It's a pleasure." Siegfried offered them a bow in his gore riddled attire. "Now, let us not burn any more daylight; men are paying for this crusade with their lives every minute."

[Kroom]

Oh, three hells. Jak clenched his teeth. A mage bitch. And they want me to lead.

"First of all." The words rumbled like stones down a hillside, as Jak laconically unstrung his bow. "We ain't seen one of your kind in these streets since we got here. Two? Whew," he blew his cheeks out and bulged his eyes in sarcastic caricature, "damn bloody miracle." The weapon was packed away into the quiver at Jak's waist. He folded his arms, pointedly keeping his hands off his weapons - not far from them, but off them. "What's two fine pointies doin' down here in the filth with the rest of us?"

He didn't bother trying to hide the seething resentment in his voice. Death was part of his life, something he confronted every day even when he wasn't working in this six-hell city. He'd seen enemies, comrades, friends - everybody died. Jak knew that, and it didn't bother him. What bothered him was to be doing dirty work for lazy bastards sitting in their safe zones, while Jak and his friends slogged in the shit and the blood and the muck they'd been hired to clean up, without a single elf in sight pitching to help contain their own mess. That was bothersome. He could work for clients who needed extra help, or who couldn't take care of themselves - no problem.

Jak had seen what elves could do in a fight, though. Even fought a few himself. The really tough ones were scary bastards. They weren't helpless. So why had they all of a sudden been so kind as to join the rest of the world down in reality?

[Silence Sei]

Mordelain has been disqualified due to not meeting the 24 hour deadline.