The Dawns' Hate...(Open to 1)

[Mutant_Lorenor]

(First come first served. Any level is welcome. I am looking for one willing poster ready to stick this through to the end. MUST be willing to stick this through to the end. Also, MUST be willing to take a beat-down as am I with good role play)

(Note. This takes place OUTSIDE of the facilities of the Citadel and is a REAL battle)

Corone. After falling into a new age of empirical rule, the citizenry of Corone was torn between loyalty to the new empire or the desire for freedom. Martial law was imposed on the citizenry as soon as the remaining viceroys took over Corone. With a triad at its head, it was only a matter of time before the dark forces that worked to weed Corone's republic out of existence worked to eliminated the triad as well.

The strong arm of the law, the Knights of Dawn were aligned with the Thayne known as Lord Draconus. Once, the Knights of Dawn followed the All-Thayne but that age has long since past with the new order. The Knights of Dawn were a terrifying force on a mission to seek out the empire's enemies and weed them out. On a special document handed out to the Knights' commanding officers dispatched all over the world, were written the names of the empire's most dangerous enemies.

One of the names...

Lord Lorenor V'halkulus.

And the hunt began...

*******

Night. And it was time for the hunt. As one of the Forsaken, Lorenor periodically moved into Corone's Radasanthia District. A township named Selkia Surak. So it so happened that one particular night across eternity, the Keeper of the N'Jal Protocol found himself upon a hill overlooking Surak province. Surak proper was a quaint village built on the foothills of Jagged Mountains located several miles North of the Niema River. Lorenor turned towards his companions. Several individuals belonging to the Cult of N'Jal. A secret society formed to bring about the Second of Age of Darkness and fill Althanas with the dark eternal. Lorenor's companions were all Spider Magi in training in various stages of their developments. All of the common physical markings were there. No eyes. With the Lady N'Jal. One did not need eyes where they were going. No ears. With the Lady N'Jal. One did not ears to hear the suffering of her foes. No nose. With the Lady N'Jal one did not need to smell the approach of the enemy. No tongue. With the Lady N'Jal. One did not need a tongue to feast upon the flesh of the fallen.

For every sacrifice to the dark lady, a gift was given in return. And with each gift, a neophyte moved a step closer to the achieving the perfection of becoming a Spider Magi. The one being that felled the legendary warrior Ithermoss. With the Necronomicon in his possession, Lorenor was able to conjure up fell beasts in the name of the dark lady. Having studied the secrets of the books for years since he found the first tome, the mutant knew that part of the test was to decipher the ancient linguistics of the Spider Magi. With time and dedication, the mutant was able to discover the secrets of what would appear as naught but gibberish to the untrained eye. And so began his path to greatness. Several units moved to Lorenor's left side. Twenty heads in all. Lorenor was the shortest of all the warriors standing at a mere five feet in height. His thick hide cloak flapped in the intense breeze that danced about like a banshee in the dark. Lorenor clenched his fists tightly and heard the knuckles popping. With his sensory grid stretched out to a good twenty feet in every possible direction within the confines of an invisible sphere.

Conjured hours earlier, the fell beast at their disposal lashed at the Forsaken all around it. Its hate was visible in the aura that spawned about its physical form. A beast made of a distinct type of matter, its presence fluxed between the material plane and the plane that it originated form. Built low to the ground, the creature had four mighty tree-trunk like legs. The elbows jutted away from the paws where a set of powerful looking claws jutted out. Snarling and hissing, the creatures maw rotated and snapped back in place at will revealing a new set of jagged teeth. Its eyes were purple, fueled by the furnaces of some nether realm. Its face had multiple chains with spikes stabbing into the skin, bleeding wounds would freshly be opened again every time the creature materialized. It utilized a plane-shifting ability at will. The claws on each of its four paws also seemed to rotate seemingly of their own volition. Wrapping completing around the fell creature's body, chains created injuries that appeared to be quite lethal yet served to merely fuel the beast's hate.

Its stomach was sliced open from navel to pectoral muscles. Minor and greater intestinal organs threatened to spill out from behind the cage of chains at any moment but never did. Puss and secretions from the creature's stomach were dripping to the ground and killed any plant life it touch with acidic quality. The acid scent was putrid and quite foul adding to the terrible scent of the gathered Forsaken. Lorenor stood relatively near to the fell beast as he finished some last minute bindings and enchantings. More chains were bound to the creature and wrapped like slithering serpents to its hide causing the thing to howl in frustration. It was a terrible sound. Many Forsaken were used to hold the chains of the beast in a circle formation around the creature as mysterious and archaic markings manifested in the air, and then attached themselves like parasites to the chains. Each mysterious symbol was colored a deep crimson red and written in a mysterious language meant to confound and confuse onlookers.

Lorenor's voice was but a whisper as he chanted. Even on all fours, the creature stood at an impressive ten feet in height at the hump of its trapezius muscle. Its head was built low to the ground with its face heavily scarred. Several tentacles lashed at the air in front of it for a few feet at least. Lorenor stared at the creature, meeting it eye to eye. Lorenor was showing the creature who was the servant and who was the master. Unable to speak on its own, the beast simply snarled and snapped at those around its form. Only Lorenor knew the secrets of the three books and he kept them closely guarded and on his person at all times. Having read the pages of the book thoroughly and deciphered the secrets of the rituals located within those fell pages, Lorenor discovered how to summon this particular apparition. The mutant stared at the beast as the last verses of the incantation were whispered and the final symbol was placed upon the chains wrapped around the beast. The beast snarled and finally calmed down once the final symbol was in place.

"Who doth thou serves?" Lorenor asked the great beast.

"L-oh-ray-nore." The creature responded pronouncing the word in the common tongue. It -was- capable of speech after all. Lorenor looked upon the beast with a profound understanding on his face. He pointed towards the town of Surak. Some lights from the busy night-life districts were visible even at the great distance still remaining for the squadron of Forsaken warriors. "Surak is thy target. Render. Maim. Destroy. Only the Forsaken art thy allies. Only Lorenor is thy master." And the contract was fulfilled. Lorenor waved his hand saying one last incantation and the creature was freed to do its master bidding. Nearby, the wounded and broken bodies of several maidens were on the ground laid out atop several mysterious symbols. Some of the maidens still lay dying on the ground as their blood was used to fuel the symbols underneath them. After that quick motion, the fell beast was on its own. It bounded towards the sleeping town and prepared to make its initial assault. At the same time, several Forsaken warriors returned to the encampment. Scouts. One was injured badly.

"Master Lorenor. The Dark Lady brings tidings."

"What tidings doth she bring?"

"We find the name of our enemy. The Commander of the Knights of Dawn proper. An attache of the Corone Empire. His name is Sesuke Ioka. He is of Akashiman descent. We must be weary."

"All hands to thy arms." Lorenor commanded. He drew a single Prevaldia sword that gave off an aura of its own. "We ride!"

And holding a single document in one of his hands, Lorenor crumbled it. He let it drop to the ground, stepped on it, and moved to his mount. Etched on the document was a map of Surak.

[Nwalmaer]

((Not sure if this works for you, since I am not sure if when you remade Lorenor if you had anything still left of the Banishment. However, I’m going to go with it… since you were once part of the clan. If it doesn’t work, by all means I can simply delete this.))


The night breathed new life into those born of darkness, those that embraced its loving touch and were at home in its omnipotent presence. It brought a natural calm with it. The world cooled when the moon rose high, leaving behind the sickening after-effects of the harsh sun. Stars littered the sky, blinking and twinkling, their soft beauty rivaled by only the most pristine diamonds found in the firmament. Overhead the hazy sickle moon glowed softly, offering those without the racial attributes to see through the thick night little comfort. The face of the homunculus peered through the carriages window at it all, taking in the scenery. Even through the dust and clots of dirt kicked up by the two horses pulling his mode of travel, he could smell the salty scent of the sea in the distance.

Corone was a new place for him, something altogether different from the smog covered country of Alerar. A three fingered hand pressed against the soft boiled leather breastplate, his stolen heart beating heavily and rhythmically. Excitement raged through him, the first time he had truly been given the opportunity to feel the emotion. It scared him, made him ponder what would make his chest beat the way it did. There was no sword to his throat, no wounds covering him, nor a flow of adrenalin coursing through his veins. His pure white eyes, no iris or pupils tainting their perfection, turned towards the woman and man who shared the carriage with him.

Vanya smiled and stroked the soft spot along his neck, removing the sense of excitement and replacing it with warmth that gripped his entire body. How she always knew what made him feel calm, he was unsure. It was a welcome relief though. “Lorenor is the name that you know, the name that we have come for. Commander Ioka, we are not here to fight your religious war or partake of the will of the Thayne, be they real or otherwise.”

“Do not speak blasphemy; you have created enough of it.” The man known as Ioka was a sly human. His thin frame and fragile looking arms made Nwalmaer question what Vanya, his mother figure, had told him about the man. Emblems of the ‘Knights of Dawn’ graced the man’s armor, weapons, and a single tattoo that was painted across his neck. The symbols meant nothing to the chimera, they were little more than fancy and useless pictures made of metal. His title though, that of commander, confused the commander. From his appearance, the brittle arms and slanted eyes would be easily crushed. How could a human, such interesting and odd animals, have a title that only the Aleraran greatest could be granted? “The Knights of Dawn are not here for your countries petty past. We have come to destroy and remove the abomination that has arisen in the dark corners of so many cities. If you had spent time creating this monster in order to assist with the true threat of N’jal against Althanas we would have powerful allies instead of second-rate assassins.”

<”Sereg’wethrin”> Nwalmaer said as the carriage came to a stop. The word assassin was one of the very few he knew in the common tongue. He always felt it necessary to correct the unrefined version of the word into his native Aleraran. The two people had been speaking the slant-eye’s strange language for the entire trip, since the fall of the large red orb to the point where the thin white one rose. It was the first time he had spoken the entire trip to Surak. <”Banishment?”>

<”Do not worry my dear, he is a stupid man. We have our own tasks to be fulfilled, you get to go have fun and find the one that smells like this…”> The woman responded in fluent, quick dark elf speech as she handed the creature a small piece of cloth. Smells of death, carnage, and desire were smeared all over it; smells of fun. He took the small article and lifted it to his nose, inhaling deep and gathering the scent in his memory. Somewhere in this ugly city there was one that had the scent, an enemy of Alerar, a member of the Banishment. The cloth disappeared into the lining of his pants and he stroked his long, buffalo-like horns. Rituals, even those personally created meaning nothing to anyone else, came naturally to the homunculus. <”Do not kill the ones that look like this man, this commander. Find the one that smells like that piece of cloth, find him and kill him.”>

She stroked the long rabbit ears of her precious creation and opened the door. The edge of the city beckoned to the chimera and his natural instincts. He was a predator of the night, and the name Lorenor was the only word he had learned to say in order to find his prey. <”Love?”>

<”Of course I love you, now go and do as your master commands. You are free to find him however you want. Once he is found, he is not to be left alive. Ioka, that man, has said he is strong and can kill you. If you are in danger of dying, run back here and we will try again at another time.”> Nwalmaer scoffed with a hiss. Another stronger than him was not possible. He had bested his brothers and sisters in combat, none could stand against him… no dark elf, no human, and certainly no Lorenor’s. He exited the small door and crouched outside the large wooden thing, sniffing the slowly moving air. No smell of his target could be found, but that did not mean the thing was not around somewhere. As he stood to run into the human city he heard the words of Vanya call after him. <”Do not be arrogant, do as I say.”>

[Mutant_Lorenor]

Yes that works fine.


*I*

With his sword pointing to the ground, the mutant ran low. Breathing fire into his lungs the world became a blur. Thoughts of destruction and serving the will of N'Jal became like a storm within the mutant's mind. Lorenor was like the night itself, brutal and uncaring. Sweeping down on the sleeping city. Selkia Surak seemed to be holding its breath. The buildings were squat and built low to the ground in the traditional Coronian Prospector's architectural design. Entrances to a nearby mine was visible. Soldiers on their night tours were lax in their duties and some were visiting local prostitutes. Some of the guards smoked various controlled substances from pipes. The smell giving away their position. Lorenor's men flanked the township as best as they could entering from various positions. They scaled the short wall with mighty claws that stabbed into the mud-brick. Lorenor kept several warriors at his side at all times. As he moved closer to the township, he began to hear the screams of terror.

***

Attacking at will, the fell beast signaled the war had begun. It began in attacking the inner portion of the northern most district of the small city. A loud roar burned through the air with the force of a sonic boom. Buildings shook under the force of the blast. Ceiling tiles fell from their once stationary position and windows cracked sending glass everywhere. Imported from Fallien, the glass was one of the most expensive items that was visible. Wood was imported from Scara Brae, and other regions where wood cutters lurked. Like the famous Concordia Forest. Loggers were also prevalent in this township. Selkia Surak had a history of prospectors of various sorts. Some were loggers looking for work. Others were engineers, researchers, miners, and more. A single watch tower graced the center of the township. Various groups of magi belonging to the order of the Knights of Dawn were busily doing research. Their tower had a crooked sort of design to it, and materials were imported all the way from the land of Raiaera.

The last shipment of materials came months before Xem'Zund stormed Eluriand and declared his campaign of destruction against the world. For if Raiaera fell, the rest of the civilized world of Althanas was sure to follow in its footsteps. The watch tower had a large and bulky unit built on top of it which doubled as a research center. The structure was several yards wide and could house many people at one time. Buildings around it tended to be several floors high, up to ten stories high for the tallest of the buildings which was a university. The only school in the township. The township boasted a dedicated cathedral to the Thaynehood, primarily Lord Draconus, a hospital, and the government building. A man named Mayor Hunter Rouge was the top-most elected official. He represented the interests of the viceroys of Corone's Empire. He was only a Mayor on paper, in reality he was a puppet working for the Empire. When the first screams broke out, he was busy writing a census ledger to the Viceroys that was to be delivered on the morrow.

It was business as usual. Miners moved to and from the underground chambers with their hauls. Off duty miners bought their drinks in the local pub. There was one in every time and this one was sanctioned officially by the Cult of Draconus. It was a bustling town, growing and benefiting from the Empire's good graces. People looking to flee the ongoing civil war sought refuge in these places and others like it. The township even had a few native Elves from Concordia Forest, Scara Brae, and a few other places in Corone. Dwarves served as the primary work-force for the mine and a good portion of the local military. Primarily, the military was an attache from the Empire, an envoy more than an actual police force. Their duty was primarily to keep locals in line. The township was allowed to thrive under its own rules. Mayor Rouge signed the document. Glass had scattered into his office. Being a half-breed, he was part Elf and part Human. His senses were currently spinning from the initial attack on his township. "Great what is this racket at this hour?"

He stood up, and shook some glass off his person. A nearby glow stone was lit along with several others in his office. Immediately, several screams were heard throughout his large house. The good Mayor sighed deeply as he prepared to confront the business at hand. He had a bored look on his handsome face and was a relatively young official. He was elected by the wealthy of Corone's elite. Placed into power for his ability to motivate individuals around him, the good Mayor was a gifted bureaucrat. There were several knocks on his door. Voices and shouts started to echo in the streets after the initial roar. I cannot have my citizens going out of line at this time hour. Order and stability must always be upheld. The man was a handsome hybrid as far as hybrids went. He had classic Elven ears, and a long, slender nose. His eyebrows were kept thin and well maintained. He had cheekbones that suggested a Coronian heritage. Mayor Rouge had tattoos that were visible on various parts of his body. These symbols were part of the Thayne cult that was currently spreading throughout Althanas.

The symbols closely resembled the imagery of a dragon meaning that he followed Lord Draconus. The man's clothing was made of a material known as Vlince, and bleached white. There was gold trimmings on his sleeves and the bottom rim of his clothing. It was an elegant outfit, albeit, a bit gaudy. Symbols of the local government and its ranking systems were etched on the robe. The collar was cut low to his chest and had a classic "m" appearance to it. Several buttons were embossed with pure gold and kept the outfit closed. He wore a tunic that was visible beneath the top of the robe-like outfit. An amulet worn by high government officials was visible on a chain wrapped around his neck. This amulet bore the official Corone Mayoral symbols. On his left hand was an elegant ring with a piece of raw, well cut ruby. Upon the top of the stone was a symbol of the Corone's empirical forces. The ring gave off a strange glow. Both ring, and amulet, as well as the robe was masterwork in quality. It seemed that this man enjoyed living lavishly at the expense of others. He walked over to the door and opened it.

His hair moved with the breeze that now flowed into the room. It was tied back into a simple ponytail, braided, and colored green. His skin was fair and his eyes were a deep brown. He wore earrings as well, several pairs of them in fact. His left nostril was also pierced with a single stud. "What is all this racket?" He demanded in the common-tongue. His voice was very eloquent and controlled. He opened the door staring into the white-painted hallway. The walls, and ceilings were painted white. In the Mayor's room were several bookcases, a chandelier which was shaking on its chain now, and a single oak desk. Atop the desk was a series of documents and books representing the work for the hour. Some loose scrolls and documents began to fly about the room from the wind that was flowing into it. The window was now open. What could be powerful enough to shatter Fallien glass? That realization now began to hit home as concerned was etched on his face. He looked at the men in his hallway. Several soldiers were visible now, they weren't cadets either.

One of the soldiers walked over to the Mayor. It was a man that the Mayor did not recognize due to his helmet being on. The scent was also unfamiliar. "Sir there's a huge problem." The man began in earnest. "You'll have to come with me. High ranking officials need to be extracted in a contingency situation." Several of the guards wore symbols that the Mayor did not recognize and were clearly part of a unit that he had never seen before. "I am the Mayor of this town. I cannot abandon her people!" The Mayor suddenly found himself saying. "Sir take a look out the window." The soldier responded with impatience. "See what is attacking us even as we speak. Already, people are beginning to flee the township. Only the brave will stay and fight." The Mayor blinked twice. "The brave? Stay and fight? What are you talking about man?" And again, the Soldier commanded the Mayor. "Take a look out the window. We are going to have to declare martial law." Mayor Rouge did not like the sound of that. He walked over to the window and looked outside. Suddenly, his eyes went wide with terror.

***

Attacking at will, the fell beast, P'laatlephola Rhu'ithothat had several spears and arrows jutting out of its hide. Every few seconds, the beast phased into the antifirmanent. Weapons fell down harmlessly to the ground and the damage was reset. Exponentially, the beast could attack without need to rest. A thing of legend, it was one of the creatures that was summoned for battle during the great Demon War of yore. Horrible to look at, its mere presence made grown make defecate on themselves. Men quivered in their shoes even as the assault began. Little did they know that the fell beast was a distraction. Several guards rushed the large creature, armed with various implements of death. The guards' armor and equipment ranged from masterwork Akashiman steel, to titanium in nature. They served as the basic-most force of the defenders. Viewing the carnage from the tower, Magi began to send spells of various quality and elemental types at the creature.

***

While that was happening an elite force of Forsaken warriors snuck into the city. They began to kill at will. Lead by the mutant, Lorenor encountered his first set of guards. Security was lax because the bulk of the force was attacking the fell beast. N'Jal, I thank thee for thy blessing. The object that Lorenor was looking for was located in a secure vault of the banking structures. That was his target. Lorenor saw a nearby guard. The man was rushing towards Rhu'ithothat. Lorenor took the initiative and attacked the man. They were standing relatively close to the wall after penetrating the main security. Once the distraction was in place, the rest of the job was an easy matter. He just hoped and prayed that there was no contingencies he had to worry about. In a township this small, he doubted he would find too much trouble. Lorenor snuck up to the warrior, he was wearing a full suit of masterwork plate armor. The man's cloak was green and had the symbols of the Corone Empire. Lorenor stabbed downward towards the man's lower back. His sword pierced the man's armor and thusly, the battle began. His Forsaken soldiers were busily dispatching guards of their own.

Everyone had a fight to start with the Empire...

[Nwalmaer]

The wind held the scent of death, blood touching the thin tendrils of air that slipped away from the city. It was as if nature itself was fleeing the scene of destruction, one small gust at a time. Nwalmaer’s nose worked fruitlessly; there was no trace of the Lorenor he was hunting in the copper filled air. He rushed towards Surak with no heed of the destruction that was being unleashed upon the township. No hero, no villain either, there was very little that anyone who was not privy to the very secure information that he held would understand about his headlong dive into the hell before him. The long blade at his side remained in its sheath, not to be used unless absolutely necessary as he had been commanded. Through the streets and alleyways he moved; his mind racing.

“These homes are ugly.” He thought. No concern about conflict came to mind; no concern about the screams of countless innocents filled his head. War was all he knew; killing was his only job, not a pastime. He hurried towards the center of anguish, veering around the beast that terrorized the town. It was not his target, it was not a Lorenor. He could smell it the closer he came, and the smell was one that he did not like, it was unnatural. Instead he continued to focus on the differences between Surak and Ettermire. The streets were dirtier in Surak, but the sky was clearer. He could not smell the usual smoke that swirled through the area’s he was accustomed to; instead he caught the scent of rot and refuse left for someone else to clean. Humans were dirty, it was a lesson he was quickly learning.

He touched the side of a plain stone building, his empty palm pressed firmly against the solid brick surface. It was a lifeless entity amidst a sea of lifeless clones. No pounding or movement could be heard within, no heat warmed the walls; there was no life where there was no industry. Alerar may have been a darker place, filled with labyrinth like roads that sought to confuse the weary traveler, but it was somewhere he understood everything was alive. This Corone, it had clean air and a sky you could see the stars in, but it had no heart to make it thrive and grow. All things grew, Nwalmaer knew that, but they could not grow with so many useless places adding nothing to the world.

From around a corner of the building he was touching a man appeared, his face drawn and covered in blood. The blood was not his, the chimera could smell him and the blood together, he had quite a bit of other peoples insides on him. A long, scraggly thing hung from where his chin was, or perhaps it was his chin. Nwalmaer could not tell, but it looked like it was made from hair like what was on the man’s head. He remembered the first time he had seen another creature other than his siblings, how smooth their faces were, how they did not have hair covering their entire bodies. <”Ugly hooman.”>

The man touched the flat side of the bloodied sword to either shoulder and muttered under his breath as he looked to the sky. What was it he searched for? Was there something above them that was listening to what he was saying? The homunculus tilted his head before looking up to the stars above, trying to see what the man saw. Nothing came to sight; instead he came to the conclusion that humans were not only ugly but scary and stupid. They talked to things that were not there.

Nwalmaer knew this thing was not a Lorenor, he did not smell like the cloth that was tucked away. It did not stop the human from attacking though, his sword thrust forward in an attempt to pierce the rabbit like creation. With a quick side step he moved out of the way and let the sword miss him. The human swung it again and this time met the upheld arm of the chimera. A clash of metal on suddenly present bone caught the man off guard. A flick of his wrist and the sword was pushed firmly towards the ground, Nwalmaer’s opposite hand catching the wide-eyed man across the face. “You are a demon! One of the foul creatures created by the Cult!”

<”Daemon. No. Sereg’wethrin, yes.”> The homunculus responded before pushing his strong legs away from his position and into an alley. Behind him he could hear the man repeat the words demon again and again. It was one of the few words he understood in the common tongue, one he was told many would call him. Vanya said he would be hated, that nobody would understand what he was and would call him a demon. She said he was not one, a foul Haidain beast. He was a Sereg’wethrin, it was much better than a demon or even a human. The man’s cries followed him as echoes, constantly weaker as Nwalmaer hurried away. He turned towards where he had come from, tired of the man yelling, and screamed back at him before slipping around a corner. <”No Daemon!”>

”Lorenor’s?” The men in dark robes that remained hidden in the lightless street before him all turned. None of them spoke; all of them were missing their eyes. Only a faint purplish light remained where the only means of sight, as far as the chimera knew, were not present. He sniffed the air as he walked towards them, weary that they too would think him a daemon and attempt to kill him as the ugly human had. Two of the three men held out open, harmless hands towards Nwalmaer. They looked like they wanted what Vanya called a hug. <”Not Lorenor’s,”> the humanoid rabbit said, <”Know where Lorenor’s can be found?”>

<”A curious creature aren’t you? Where did you come from? Are a boon from our loving mother?”> The closest of the robed figures had a scary smile on his face, but spoke perfect Aleraran tongue. He placed a hand on the chimera’s shoulder while the other ran a calloused hand across its long, thick ears. <”If you are looking for Lorenor than you are undoubtedly a gift from her, come come, we will bring you to him! He will know what to do with you.”>

Most of what was being said was far too quick and in a very different accent than what Nwalmaer was accustomed to. He caught the word mother and thought of Vanya. They knew Vanya, she had not told him that there would be people here she knew. But they knew where a Lorenor was too, and were leading him quickly away from the beast that tore through the town. Nwalmaer could see light flare and die out as people in armor that looked like the commanders joined in the battle against the unnatural thing. He did not pay attention long though, for the men were moving quickly towards his prey.

[Mutant_Lorenor]

As they moved so did the prey.

Lorenor was busily picking off stray guards that converged on his position. By now, most of the military was fighting foolishly against P'laatlephola Rhu'ithothat's onslaught. The mutant could hear the satisfying screams in the breeze as they traveled to his sensory grid. He wanted to join in the blood shed, but he soon realized he had a greater goal in mind. The N'Jal artifact was his true target, and security was distracted long enough to leave the vault vulnerable. So Lorenor quickly decapitated a nearby guard as he emerged from the shadows.

The mutant saw the man's head rolling to the ground.

By now, he'd acquired a sword native to Selkia Surak aesthetics. Not a particularly powerful sword, the material was fine Coronian steel. The steel heralded from the nearby Jagged Mountains. A refinery was present in the township started by local blacksmiths and engineers. The mutant turned a corner and could see the approaching vault. It was a fortified building.

The mutant knew that this was not going to be easy. Lorenor's Forsaken warriors made their way to his position, each one with their own agendas. Screams were filling the night breeze by now. Fires were erupting from organic weapons released by P'laatlephola Rhu'ithothat. Lorenor felt excitement burning in his heart. His conjured beast was a manifestation of his own broken psyche. It was indeed a work of art.

Lorenor gripped the steel masterwork sword in his hand tightly. He was using his prevaldia weapon he needed to cut through particularly tough armor. He had anticipated that nobody noticed the presence of the Forsaken, at least not yet. When Lorenor prepared the assault on the vault, the mutant felt several warriors approaching his position. They were kin, except for one. The mutant stopped and greeted his companions with a friendly nod. He then saw the stranger. What the hell is that?

Lorenor thought to himself as he looked upon the bunny-creature. The thing strangely reminded him of the Ranoans, and of Sorahn un' Ronameh. Seeing the odd resemblance, the mutant became suddenly cautious. He knew that the people of Ranoans did not worship the Thaynes. Most importantly, they did not worship N'Jal. The mutant saw this as an act of heresy. Taking a step backwards from the stranger's position, the mutant immediately wondered if the thing was a friend or foe. Given the circumstances, one could not be too careful. He pointed his weapon to the ground as he sheathed his prevalida sword. Seeing the brilliant energy that the hare monstrosity gave off made the mutant recoil backwards. The man gave off tremendous energy, at least to the psychotic mutant's eyes.

Still wearing his hood up, it would be difficult to realize what Lorenor physically looked like. However, the scent of death and destruction was there. The scent of someone who walked between the firmanent and antifirmanent was there. Flowing off his person like a pack of carrion, the scent was repugnant. It completely matched the scent on the old article of clothing given to the hare creature earlier. Only in that close range, the scent was much more powerful.

Lorenor clenched the grip of his sword tightly. He looked over to the creature and addressed his warriors in the common tongue. "Where did ye find this creature? And why hast thou given away our positions?" One of the Forsaken walked over to Lorenor. "Mi'lord. It wasn't a local. We assumed that it was a blessing of N'Jal. Were we mistaken?" The mutant closed his eyes to listen to the word of N'Jal. Voices cascaded across his brain. The mutant heard his commands. "Keep thy eyes on it. We have to get the object. Nothing else matters. Art we clear?" The gathered Forsaken nodded. "Aye sir." Said the ranking officer and began to quickly move towards the vault dispatching any strays that were in his way.

Turning his full attention towards the other creature, Lorenor pointed his sword at the creature's general position. "Mine name is Lorenor. State thy business! Or flee whilst thou can." The mutant was prepared for any eventuality, even a potential attack from the creature.

[Nwalmaer]

The closer the homunculus grew the more his muscles tensed. He knew how to fight, and who to kill, but what were these things that led him? They were ugly creatures, far uglier than any dark elf he had ever seen. They did not have the soft hair chin like that angry human had, and they did not call him a daemon. On their faces and in their voices they had what Vanya called “happy”; it meant a smile and a light tone of voice. Anything like that was supposed to be ignored, it was what she called an ‘emotion’… another strew of words and feeling he did not understand would follow. These things in their dark clothes, some were short and some were tall, all of them had strange symbols that did not look like those of the Knights. Nwalmaer could not tell if they were to be trusted, killed, or ignored completely. What he could tell was that he was getting closer.

Severed heads lined the streets; bloodied bodies of men with steel chests had rivers of blood pouring from them. The gutters were filled with the crimson liquid. It looked like Ettermire after a hard rain, but with deep red water flowing through the dingy streets instead of cleansing rain. Some of the scents that clung to the air alongside the metallic tinge were that of the Lorenor he was looking for. The rag slipped out of his pants and was brought to his sensitive nose. The bodies had the tainted smell, as if this thing he was hunting had touched them in passing. He stopped for a second to touch one of the fallen victims of the raided city, poking the steel that encased the dead. The corpse twitched, making the chimera almost jump backwards. It was not the skin of the human or the baked skin of an animal that he was covered in, but small metal plates that overlapped one another. Such a curious creation the metal was, maybe it was like his leather chest plate?

<”Hurry!”> One of the men said when they finally realized their interesting little follower was indeed not following after them. The rabbit-looking creature turned his head to the man and tilted it, poking the deceased as he watched the man slowly stride back to him. The eyeless minion of N’jal, the dark mother, smiled his toothy grin and licked his thin black lips. His hand was extended towards the beast, and the furry paw of the homunculus took it. <”We are almost there; we have almost come to Lorenor.”>

The men brought him to a small group of people, most wearing something like what the dead had been wearing, all were holding weapons. He searched the area for what he could think would be a Lorenor, they all looked so similar. The only thing that he noticed was the overwhelming stench of decay that flooded the area, the smell of his prey. Those that did not have their hoods lifted over their head looked the same, no way for the creature to tell which one he was supposed to kill. Immediately his senses took on a more heightened state; the smell of blood was ignored for the smell of Lorenor, his sight narrowed as he looked for the thing the name was attached to, his elegant ears perked up between the horns and began to search for anything that he could attach to his victim.

A quick engagement between a hooded figure and one of the three men that had brought Nwalmaer made him cautious. Was the short thing that the eyeless thing talked to a Lorenor? He would have thought that it would be taller. How he had not found it without the men he was unsure, for despite the retched stench that was easily smelt on the cloth, the thing before him was by far more repulsive. Never before had he hunted something so disgusting, not even the Khu’Fein buffalo’s that rolled in the bloodied mud of the L’Renor Harlilen smelt so terrible. A Lorenor, as far as Nwalmaer was concerned, was hardly a worthy test of his abilities as a sereg’wethrin.

Finally the two men stopped talking to one another, and the short man’s interest was turned on the creature that waited. His sword was extended towards the chimera, his voice was thick and the tone was definitely not ‘happy’ like the others had been. Only a dull purple glow could be seen of the hidden face. Nwalmaer could not understand what it was that the man said, but he knew that it was in the common tongue. “Lorenor?” He asked in a ragged, deep voice. It was a tone that the first three and any others who had encountered him had never heard, an intonation of deadly desires. <”Dead Lorenor…”>

The man who spoke the Alerar tongue walked towards the hare-like monster, touching his shoulder and shaking his head. He pointed at the chimera, who had not moved his pure white eyes from Lorenor, and pointed at his leader. <”No no, you have it wrong. Do not kill Lorenor; he is our leader and our guide.”>

A bone blade shot out of the wrist of the homunculus, stabbing the neck of the blasphemous man without eyes. Nwalmaer did not want to hear that Vanya was wrong, did not want to hear that the thing he hunted was a good man. Blood trickled down the off-white projection, mingling with the fur on his arm. His other hand wiped the thick liquid and rubbed it on his pants, trying to keep his fur clean. He knew it would only be a matter of time before he was covered in it. Vanya would have to clean him like she always did after he was done killing. Concern for the crimson stains that covered him quickly fell away. “Lorenor,” he growled, his feet spreading apart and his bone blade rising to chest level.

[Mutant_Lorenor]

"No!"

In horror, he watched the bunny creature kill one of his ken. The mutant's face, if it would have been visible, was contorted with various emotional states. Most of them were anger and sudden pain. Each of his Forsaken were precious and required a specific process to create. Those that were touched by the N'Jal Protocol were even more hard to come by so when he saw his companion fall to the creature's blade, the mutant immediately gave the order. "<Move away from the creature!>" Lorenor suddenly hissed but not in Alerarian, for he knew not that tongue. Not in the common tongue, for he did not want the creature to know what he was saying. It was in perfect Spider Magi tongue. All of the Forsaken were taught it on their path to becoming fully fledged Spider Magi.

His studies of the Necronomicon had made the priest in training quite intelligent and clever indeed. Lorenor thought back to his studies now as he'd focused on becoming a more effective killing machine. He had options now. Now that corpses literally littered the streets. Screams from the nearby fell beast's assaults were still coming strong and people were beginning to flee the township. Feeling the presence of the vault nearby, guards and Forsaken warriors were already doing battle. Now Lorenor had a distraction and a dilemma.

Voices coursed through the mutant's head giving the small man vicious orders. Yet the mutant found himself hesitating. The loudest voices were the Endless. N'Jal was strangely silent and refusing to guide the mutant to his future. Instead, he was left to his own vices. On one hand, the mutant had his target right in front of him, right within reach. And on the other hand, this interloper was an immediate threat. A threat that was far more dangerous than the typical guards. The creature's weapon was interesting in both quality and make.

The mutant pointed his glowing sword at the assassin once more. He then moved into a fighting position to signal that he was going to stay and fight the creature. Insane thoughts coursed through the mutant's head as he began to plan and strategize for the battle ahead. Lorenor began to focus, fresh anger in his heart from the death of a fallen friend. The mutant would make sure to get his vengeance. Lorenor began to slowly stalk towards the creature filling the gap between himself and the hare's position. Lorenor wanted to grab the thing by its ears and crush his skull with his bare hands.

Once the mutant covered the gap between himself and his opponent, he took the first swing. His sword, made of prevalida, and enchanted with a potent elemental protection, caused the air to get somewhat colder. He moved the blade skillfully towards the hare's midsection in a maneuver that could neatly slice the hare in two if it connected. In his anger, Lorenor was looking to end the battle quickly. If his attack connected, the creature before him would fall and he could focus on the task at hand...

[Nwalmaer]

The bloodied streets were slick with the sickly liquid that pooled around the fallen corpses. The bodies littered the area, making the footing of the creature unsure. Moonlight glowed softly off the crimson puddles, reflecting the hazy light in a wavering form. The light breeze that slowly drifted through the streets was random at best, finding its way through the labyrinth of Coronian houses at irregular intervals. Fires raged in the distance, offering a single glow amidst the darkened atmosphere. The thick clouds of black smoke rolled through the alleyways and side streets, blocking sight from where the chimera had come from. Running away from combat would simply force him to find his way through unfamiliar territory. The scent of burn wood and bodies lingered. Though the smoke reminded him of Ettermire and its industrial roots, the world around him was nothing like what he knew. His muscles tensed, this was a fight on unfamiliar ground and for the first time he felt fear.

He was an assassin of the Alerar people, a monster that preyed on those he was commanded to. This style of fighting was one he was not comfortable with. Never had he encountered a readied target, especially one so strong with so many followers to do as he willed. The shadows were the homunculus’ allies, his cover and his way of surprise. Standing toe to toe with the enemy was a form of combat he did not excel at. His seven inch bone dagger was brought low. The long, thick tongue of the beast hung from his mouth as he panted slowly, attempting to take in as deep breaths as his body would allow.

Suddenly the man known as Lorenor attacked. The sword he carried almost glowed with a soft blue color that Nwalmaer had never seen in a metal before. The moonlight struck it, almost being absorbed. It would have been a beautiful sight had the devious edge not been so perfectly angled towards his midsection. Without a second thought the homunculus drove his legs firmly into the cobblestone ground, pushing away from the sword and its wielder. He ducked low, feeling the cool enchantment of the sword as it grew close. His free hand grasped a metal object at his knees and he lifted it.

A fallen soldier’s shield was brought up quickly, clattering with the prevalida sword. The dehlar lined edge held firm against the attack. Along the side of the shield the metal split, weaker than the material created to forge the masterwork weapon used against it. The noise rebounded through the small area, off the close wall behind the hare-like monster. An unsteady hold forced the makeshift defense to the ground, where it clashed with the body in a dull thump.

A Lorenor was fast, and strong. The realization made the chimera almost cringe. Instead of allowing for time for his target to regain his momentum, Nwalmaer attacked. The shield was tossed sideways at his opponent, aimed for the inside of the sword-bearing arm. As it flew in it’s haphazardly thrown direction the creature lunged. His thick, padded feet pushed off of the wall behind him and he lunged forward after his projectile. Even if it was batted aside he could gain significant distance in the span of the split second. Proximity was paramount for his abilities to be useful; it was also a necessity against someone who used a blade that reached as far as his preys did.

The longsword continued its motion away from the homunculus; the shield was a slight barrier between Lorenor and Nwalmaer. He pushed his bone blade forward and reached as far as his unnaturally lanky arms could reach. Two points of interest immediately came to mind as he thrust forward. The neck was slightly exposed, even with the shield in the way, but was far too small a goal to accurately hit. What little training he had came to mind, and he instead took interest in his second target. The chest region of any creature was normally vulnerable to attack, a place where a lot of blood was collected and stored. It was also a much larger area to find a place to plunge a weapon into. The blade’s edge was pointed directly at Lorenor’s midsection.

[Mutant_Lorenor]

And so Lorenor found that his impromptu opponent had every bit the skill that he feared and respected. A sudden clang against a shield laying on the ground forced the mutant into a sudden recoil movement. He was pushed backwards against the force of the shield. Two steps back in fact. But that motion locked him in a movement and prevented him from doing anything against the incoming shield.

Lorenor's face became contorted with anger as he saw the shield's rapid approach. He could feel the mutant of the giant creature as it came for him after the shield, after all, his senses now had a twenty foot radius. This realization greatly disturbed the mutant. So he did the only thing he could think of doing when in such a situation, he called the Endless. Lorenor theorized that the man-thing would come running up behind the shield attempting to take advantage of the attack. He theorized and was proven correct. A second epidermis quickly wrapped itself around the mutant altering his appearance to make him more like a spider than ever before.

The armor was insect like in nature. The sheen of the armor was colored black and in several different sections. Tiered with the alloys of damascus and dehlar, the living armor was quite potent. Lorenor stood in wait of the incoming shield as his armor came into being. In a few seconds, the shield impacted against him. Withstanding most of the damage, a bruise developed against his chest where the shield's impact took place. The shield reached a new apex of movement as it bounced off the potent armor. It clanged loudly against the nearby ground and bounced into a nearby tree.

Then, the mutant saw his opponent coming. With the close proximity, his longsword was currently useless. Having taken advantage of its close range, Lorenor's enemy came closer and closer. The mutant had no choice by to depend on other means of survival. Using his right hand, he grabbed his masterwork prevalida dagger, unsheathed it, and prepared for immediate close-range combat. The bone-dagger connected against Lorenor's chest, and the mutant was knocked on the ground.

Despite Lorenor's weight, the man that came at him was a heavy individual as well and threw his weight against the mutant with the attack. It served its purpose. Lorenor was knocked on his ass looking up at the creature. I shalt not fall like this! Lorenor gripped the dagger in his hand, keeping a tight grip on his sword with the other weapon. He could not afford to loose any of his weapon in a tactical siege like this. Lorenor was not sure if the mutant had landed on top of him or not. Either way, he took the dagger and made an attempt to slash at the creature's side as he fell...

[Nwalmaer]

The spinning disk soared through the air with a soft whistle as its battle cry. It grew closer and the eyes of the unnatural creature thinned to mere slits. Something happened that he could not understand. A dark growth formed on the chest of Lorenor, like living shadows it enwrapped the man. Slipping effortlessly into place it moved as if comprised of a living entity. The black surface was soft for a metal. When the shield struck it a thud was all that resulted. Nwalmaer thought it sounded far too similar to the metal’s edge when it struck the carcass, an unnerving noise that made the cringe thicken.

His outstretched arm was pushed further, his rotating hips giving just enough momentum to make the impact solid. The bone blade struck hard. Concussive force echoed its way through his gangly limb, his bones holding true as his shoulder locked. His weighted attack was aimed perfectly, and yet there was no warm gush of blood from the man’s torso. Instead of the explosion of metal-laced fluids he felt the blade stop on the dark matter. Nwalmaer thought he felt it almost give, before the man was pushed away. A grand death was not the prize of the chimera predator. Forced flight ended abruptly, gravity taking hold and pulling him down as suddenly as he struck the man.

As if hovering he fell with the man. His tattered pants wavered in a small breeze, and he fell like a ghost to his wide and steady feet. The bone blade was pulled back with his arm, his silver furred fist clenching as he prepared for another thrust. Lorenor’s chest was not an acceptable target; it was surrounded by the amorphous dark metal. Eyes locked on the depths of the hooded head and he focused on the glowing amethyst eyes lurking the shadowed face. The overpowering stench of the target sickened him; the distance between the two was no longer great enough to allow the light wind to weaken what came to his sensitive nose.

A quick movement in his peripheral vision and he leapt off his crouched legs. The prevalida dagger caught his soft leather armor and effortlessly opened a clean gash through it. Sharp pain of the most demure degree suddenly forced him to look down to his chest. A blue edged blade had found its way to his center, aimed to open up the stomach of the homunculus. The very tip of the dagger tapped the thick bone armor that secured the lungs and chest of the dangerous chimera below the skin. If he had believed in luck or fate he would have thanked either, but his faith was put in his training and preparation alone. It was neither god nor unseen force that kept him from having a weapon plunged into his chest.

Blood blossomed in the small line that had opened beneath the armor, crimson fluid staining his silver fur. His tongue hung limply from behind his unnatural, dagger like incisors. The man he hunted was lying on the ground, a sword in one hand and a dagger in the other. His strength and speed was something that Nwalmaer had not expected, never had he had the chance to draw his blade with a true necessity behind the action. Lorenor was proving that not everything in the world was something that the homunculus could easily kill.

<”Strong Lorenor,”> he muttered as he crouched low and removed the Aleraran blade. The black, curved swords serrated edge held a wicked tone to it. He relished the sword, the strong steel blade was well cared for and perfectly honed. With blade and dagger he waited for his opponent to rise, giving him the chance to stand. It was not an act of honor, but one of knowledge. A cornered animal, no matter if it was a human or Khu’Fein buffalo, acted the same when cornered. Desperation was a stench worse than what the ghoul smelt like, and one that signaled a far more dangerous opponent. <”Dead Lorenor now.”>

[Mutant_Lorenor]

Somehow, the entire movement had proven to be anti-climactic. Lorenor gasped with pleasure as his dagger pierced the creature's side. He soon moved away from the mutant's position. Lorenor rolled backwards into a standing position, with both of his weapons in hand. Dripping strange smelling blood, his dagger was covered. Droplets gathered in globules at the tip of his weapon and streaked down to the ground. Lorenor could sense the warmth of the blood and suddenly became hungry for more. All other priorities were put to the back of his thoughts.

Fires began to rage across the township of Selkia Surak. People were running in various direction fleeing the chaos. The people that were running had frightened looks on their face and gathered what belongings they could that were precious to them. They didn't want to stay in the township due to the current state of affairs. Many were heading in the general direction of Jadet, or Serenti. Corone was becoming too dangerous a place to live in.

Both were port cities that connected to various other parts of Althanas and saw a recent gain in activity due to the Civil War. Many people wanted no parts of the ongoing battle and so fled as a flux of refugees to other places abandoning Corone. There were no more heroes. An age of villainy and scum had begun. Radasanth fell to the Empire's corruptible influences and in the middle of it all was the battle between Lorenor and Nwalmaer.

Standing up now, the mutant caught his breath. Two fresh bruises were already regenerating with one more one more serious than the other. Once more, the Endless had saved Lorenor's ass. Lorenor was loosing count of how many times that had happened. Short and frail he might be in terms of power, the mutant more than made up with cleverness. Lorenor sheathed his dagger after cleaning it against his clothing. He kept his sword pointed at Nwalmaer though. The creature muttered a few words in a strange language that the mutant did not understand.

Damn this language barrier. I can't quite make out where he's from. I know I've heard that dialect before! Lorenor thought but try as he might, he couldn't quite place the mystery language. In any event he was glad that someone in his team was able to translate it. The mutant hadn't thought at the time to ask his fellow Forsaken warrior where the language originated. However, surprises were surprises and this was a most interesting one.

The mutant walked towards the creature very slowly. Again, the eerie thought that Nwalmaer reminded Lorenor of Sorahn was there once more. Sorahn was the leader of the Red Hand, an organization that Lorenor was a critical part of. Sorahn had white fur similar to this creature and he couldn't help but wonder if the creature was a Ranoan warrior like Sorahn. The mutant had once asked the superior warrior for training. You must be liek water. Lorenor recalled Sorahn saying to him once and the teachings stood in the mutant's heart ever since. He hadn't attempted to learn anything further than that quite yet.

Lorenor now stood a few paces from the other warrior and went into a smooth combat stance. His sword was at an angle so that the weapon was pointed to the sky and adjacent to his left shoulder. The cold air wrapped around the blade made the temperature in the immediate surroundings slightly colder than normal. Lorenor was unaffected by the cold due to the Salvarn hides he was used to wearing. Carrying the cold with it, a breeze started up that lifted Lorenor's vlince cloak into the air and caused it to flap like a group of snapping serpents.

"Ye art quite skilled. I congratulate thee on getting so far. But this comes to an end." Lorenor was serious now. He swung right at the creature's neck in an attempt to quickly decapitate the young beast-ling and end this match so he could obtain the relic he was after.

[Nwalmaer]

The ruthless homunculus eyed his own dripping blood that slipped from the blue edged dagger; even as it was put away it held a certain aspect of fear to the hare-mutant. Emotions formed behind his unnatural façade, one he did not know but came with benefits that he had never till that point been privy to. Anger and excitement. A deep growl escaped his throat, one that was uncontrolled and unexpected. The feeling brought with it a flow of adrenaline, some sort of fire that pulsed beneath his white hair and through his muscles. It was enticing, thrilling, and made his heart race.

Lorenor brought his blade up and leveled it with his body. The motion was sharp and precise, nearly perfect in its fluidity and poise. Nwalmaer had seen a few warriors outside of his cave-like home in Alerar, his training was against only the most demure and lightly studied of practice opponents. None of them had held the blade like his ghastly opponent had, and each of them had been felled easily by the chimera’s abilities and swordsmanship. The beast before him had a different aspect of combat though, one that would have been easier overcome had the sereg’wethrin been allowed to start from the beginning as an assassin instead of a warrior.

As fluid as he could, given the bloodied surface that surrounded the two, he turned his back away from the walls and towards the flame strewn town. The scent of smoldering bricks and burning wood his opponent and approached him, slick with the acrid scent of death and decay. There was a sliver of unnatural chill that came with it. Nwalmaer didn’t know what was causing the cold, but the fire that burned through his veins, and that which consumed the world around him sparked his natural instincts.

Chilled and silently the long sword arched towards the chimera’s neck, seeking an immediate deathblow to end the harrowing attempt to murder its wielder. Another body acted as leverage for the hare to escape the attack, this time the natural instincts of the assassin were expressed at their apex. His head snapped towards the opponent and his mouth opened slightly, letting lose a stream of flames. The pure orange flame spread out in a cone like shape, twice the length of the blade and easily close to three feet in diameter.

He turned his head to maximize the affect, hoping to catch the ghoul, his coat, or anything around him in flames. It was not the first time he had used his breath to incinerate an opponent, but it was the first time it was used in the spirit of accomplishing an ends to a means that his blade and his bones could not create.

[Mutant_Lorenor]

Completely unexpected to the mutant, the hare-beast had a hidden ace up his sleeve. In one moment, the entire rhythm of the battle had changed from a decisive victory to one of bitter and utter defeat. A horrible taste lurked in his mouth as he realized that he'd botched an otherwise free attack. Considering himself at least, somewhat of a technical warrior, the mutant chastised himself for the failure. And then it happened. Lorenor felt the temperature changing slightly and began the process of running as he felt immediate danger coming his way. However, the next few moments of the battle happened much quicker than the mutant could have planned for.

Suddenly, the air became alive with magical properties. He saw his opponent glowing with a red halo that was stained like blood. Lorenor smelled the sulfuric acid like smell of dragon's fire and he knew he was toast. Making a last-ditch effort, the mutant cut downward since he knew his opponent was concentrating fully for his final attack. Deciding that he was going to take Nwalmaer with him, the mutant prepared to deliver a final blow of his own. He slashed downward with all of his might, hoping to nick something out of this dangerous opponent he'd discovered.

In that precise moment, Lorenor smelled his bane. Dragon fire! How can this be!? Lorenor cursed out loud at the freaskish amalgam of creations that he'd stumbled upon. He cursed the Thayne for the sudden ill turn of events. Lorenor knew he was a goner. Aquiring the powerful sent of sulfuric acid, butane, and several other flammable substances, the air became lit up with a brilliant glow. The light hurt his eyes, and made him recoil. Lorenor was done. He tried to move out of the way as quickly as he could, but the mutant just did not have the raw speed to evade a sudden burst of fire!

And so, Lorenor felt the first waves of the substance touch his body. It traveled in his general direction like waves of magma. The burst approached Lorenor and began to wrap themselves around his person. Serpents and coils made of raw fire licked his body. The Endless surrounded Lorenor still, but even that protection was not enough. Dragon's fire was dragon's fire. And it was one of Lorenor's key weaknesses. The howl from the undead warrior that came next was a terrible sound. Louder than the agony from the rest of the town folk, as if a million voices were screaming in protest at the sudden cruel fate that the host body had just discovered. Holding his sword in hand, Lorenor lastly wondered if he'd even managed to strike a final blow of his own. He recoiled in agony and stepped backwards quickly sheathing his weapon, knowing it was useless to him now. He refused to drop any of his equipment, even in death. Lorenor's eyes never left Nwalmaer's own. Those hateful mutant eyes stared even beyond death even as the creature named Lorenor screamed.

There would be no vengeance against the Knights of Dawn. There would be no collection of the rare artifact he was looking for...at least not yet. Howling sounds touched the sky in the Firmanent as Lorenor's body burned.

A few moments, there was a burst of energy that erupted from the mutant's black heart. Lorenor continued to scream in protest even as he faced the inevitable. Even in death, he stood in defiance of the event that was occurring all round. As the explosion of energy burst outwards, the mutant's body was consumed by the flames. He ran from his target as he was consumed, and then the explosion came turning him to nothing but ash. His weakness to the Wizard's Fire, and Dragon's Fire was a racial trait that could not be protected against. Exposed to the Dragon's Fire sent from Nwalmaer, the mutant was soon dead in a horrible, painful way. All that remained of the proud creature was a pile of ash and dust, even his equipment went with him to join him in the Antifirmanent. And that was how Lorenor, once again, died.

But this was not the end.

One day, the mutant would have his revenge.

[Nwalmaer]

<“Dead Lorenor.”> The beast spat with venom, the twitch of his fur covered face barely moving to form some semblance of a smile. It was a cruel, twisted smirk that flashed more razor sharp teeth than any sense of genuine happiness. Those around him, the couple remaining cult members, looked at him in awe and kept their distance. Nwalmaer let his pure-white eyes slip from one to the next, seeking any form of competition in their stances or behind their loathsome eyes. Whether it was the fire that he had expelled from his lipless maw, or that an assassin had successfully destroyed the leader that they had committed themselves to, it was evident that none were willing to engage with the sereg’wethrin.

He inhaled quickly, rhythmically, attempting to pull fresh oxygen into the decompressed lungs that had been the fuel for his wrath. The nose of the chimera twitched uncontrollably, the scent of Lorenor’s incinerated corpse worse than even the other homonculus’ that he had destroyed the same way in the past. Nwalmaer stepped onto the dead body at his bare feet, removing them from the slowly drying and sticky pool. He crouched on the limp carcass, the tips of his toes digging into crushed ribs hidden beneath a layer of dried animal hide.

<“What have you done you abysmal creature?! You have killed the great Lorenor, our leader, our lord and master! You will pay for this beast, you have incurred the wrath of Lady N’jal herself for this!”> One of the two remaining hooded figures picked up the weapons of the fallen, clutching them to his chest while the other berated the remaining monster. Though the cultist was speaking in fluid dark-elven speech, the words were quick and too high of diction for Nwalmaer to follow. The only word he caught was ‘Lady’, which made him instantly think of his motherly figure.

“Is it wise to goad the monster further? For all we know his intent could have been to follow protocol and destroy Lorenor before moving on to kill the rest of us.”

The Aleraran speaking monk looked at the one holding their leaders items and shook his head furiously, his fists clenched. <“If he was meant to kill us he would have, isn’t that right? You came for the head of the one you have reduced to ashes, not us. If you weren’t such a foul abomination I would wrap my hands around your throat and kill you myself.”>

Words were something that the creature did not understand, but hand symbols of strangling pointed at him was something he did understand. In a flash he leapt from the dead body and let the black blade tear through the cloak and body of the man whose arms were barely retracted. The monk-like figure stumbled backward, his mouth open and his eyes wide with panic. An arm with tattered sleeve still attached lay at his feet. As he looked down at it, seeing his own limb as if it was a snake ready to strike, another slash removed his throat.

<”Go.”> He said as he tilted his head and wiped his blade on the dead man’s clothes before replacing it in the sheath at his side. The other cultist, his eyes wide with shock, turned and fled. He dropped the belongings of his former master as he hastily retreated. As he rushed away the chimera removed the cage from his side and placed it on the charred corpse of Lorenor. The cage did not glow, did not flash anything magical in nature, but simply made a noise similar to a person sucking on a straw. It had done it’s job, copying an ability that the deceased had once commanded.

Nwalmaer stood and placed the cage back on his belt at his side. As soon as it was replaced to its former spot the affects of the ‘stolen’ magical ability was activated. What was taken was not something that the homunculus controlled, though the cage hardly ever lent him any sort of disappointment. Expectedly, it had taken the most potentially useful ability from the fallen foe; regeneration. The thin crimson line that crossed the chest of Nwalmaer slowly began to close, the blood ceasing its already slowed passage through the gash. The assassin turned and began to trek back through the world on fire, having accomplished his mission and claimed his spoil.

Submitting this for judging now!

[Saxon]

I'd like to take a moment to apologize to the both of you for the extent this took to judge, while I can't really speak for those who attempted to do it before me I took way longer to get this posted then I had originally intended. Because of the circumstances, which I think both of you are aware of right now, I recommend that either of you contact me if you have any questions concerning the judgment, and I'll try to elaborate on what I can. Again, I apologize for the delay, but here's the moment both of you have been waiting for.

Lorenor

STORY

Continuity - 5/10 - I got the jiste of what you mentioned of Lorenor, the cult of N'jal and the spider magi but I felt there could've been more to it. Most of what I drew from what you provided as a background here was stimulated by past experience and things I've read concerning Lorenor, Thaynes, etc. so it wasn't really that difficult of a leap at the beginning to try and figure out what you were doing. However, just because I didn't have a very difficult time understanding it because of how much I've chosen to read about some of the more older tenants of Althanas, doesn't mean that it isn't a very dangerous assumption to make that others, even your opponents, have done the same.

Fortunately, having Taskmienster as an opponent made your job of describing things to keep him in the loop a bit easier, but I feel that you may have taken advantage of that fact a little too much and left things out that could've better supported what you were going to do throughout the battle. So, in the future, I'd ask that you take a little bit more time to try and describe whatever part of the backstory you're using for people who aren't even on layman's terms with it. Even if it's just you using the Endless as an ability or a facet for the story. If only for the judge and the opponent's sake.

Remember, it isn't the responsibility of the reader or the judge to dig through your profile to make sense of certain things you do, it's up to you to make sure they or even your opponent understands what you're trying to convey just from the information from your posts. Only then after they have a general idea of what you're trying to do, should they flip through the profile or ask you if they have any questions.

Setting - 4/10 - This is going to be elaborated later in parts of your Writing Style scores, but because of the errors and the peculiar style you have in how you write I had a hard time trying to focus on just where you were. I understood that Lorenor was part of a band of cultists raiding some town in search of some kind of artifact, but it didn't go much further then that. At least from the very few parts I could understand, anyway. You also didn't make much use of your surroundings after initially describing it which really was a missed opportunity, because even though you are fighting with somebody and trying to remain in character you need to be aware of your environment which can provide crucial tactical opportunities for you to take advantage of.

People who are actually fighting, more-so practiced combatants then novices, will do this because it ties into things like footing, movement, and choices in combat that could literally be the difference between life and death depending on how you take advantage of it. In order to describe and write/roleplay a fight successfully you need to take this into account and get used to doing it if you want your setting score to improve. Now, I know for a fact you've often painted Lorenor as some sort of predator or hunter many times in the past, so there really isn't an excuse for you to not maintain a familiarity with your environment in your descriptions.

Pacing - 4/10 - The biggest thing that hurt you here was your style of writing. I'm still trying to wrap my head around how to really describe it to you so that you can at least understand where I'm coming from, but it's very bizarre. Now that I think of it, it seemed more of a combination of things that made your posts really hard to read or keep up with rather then one big thing in general.

First and foremost are sentence fragments. Though I believe the occasional short sentence can be used to one's advantage either to better punctuate a point or to be more concise in a description, you really went overboard with it. I think in one of your earlier posts I counted at least eight fragments, and more often then not you had them one right after the other. And that certainly wasn't the only post you did that with, because I think almost all of your posts had many sentence fragments in them. This in itself trashed your pacing score because it kills any pacing you're trying to build up as it is, and if done enough it can completely turn a reader off to what you're writing which makes any further attempts of keeping them much more difficult. The best way of avoiding this in the future is to A) Proofread vigoriously and if YOU can't stand to run the speed bumps in your writing, it's a sure bet that anyone else reading it won't either. B) Taking more time out to pause and think about what information you're trying to put out there, because more often then not you'll find that the information in your sentence fragments could've been easily incorporated into previous complete sentences or into new ones.

Next is your general choice of descriptions, which were often confusing and sometimes slipped directly into being nonsequitor, or not making logical sense. Just like sentence fragments, readers don't like having to read and re-read something you've written five or six times in order to understand it. This really kicks any sort of momentum you're trying to build up because readers will often be stuck trying to alleviate any confusion they have before they move on with the story, and if done enough readers will sometimes choose to walk away then to trek across whatever literary quagmire you've provided for them. I could tell that there were sometimes you didn't even really know what you were describing, such as this instance here;


Aquiring the powerful sent of sulfuric acid, butane, and several other flammable substances, the air became lit up with a brilliant glow.

Avoid the use of technical textbook terms when trying to describe something as simple as the smell of dragon's fire. Though I think I can see that you may have tried to use sulfuric acid to describe that this fire came from someone's body, I don't see where butane fits in. I'm not absolutely certain, but I'm pretty sure butane is a gas or substance that needs to be extracted from oil and is typically used as lighter fluid, not as a component for fire. While I'm not really going to bash you over chemistry semantics, it's better for you to try to imagine what you're trying to describe and do it the best you can rather then relying on overly technical definitions to do the job for you because they really don't and doesn't give much substance to support your writing.

Other then that, a lot of grammatical errors and confusing descriptions killed your momentum in the fight, because I often had to go back and read your posts multiple times in order to understand what exactly it was you were trying to convey. I am a big advocate for proofreading, and while I know this was a battle and more informal then your conventional quest, there still really isn't a reason to let it slip to the point that your posts become as confusing as they were. Use spellcheck, read your posts yourself, and even hand them off to other people to check for you to catch things you can't and you'll start to see a lot of improvement in many areas of your score, especially this one and Mechanics.

CHARACTER

Dialogue - 5/10 - The dialogue wasn't bad, but it didn't really sell me as a reader either. Most of what Lorenor said during the battle didn't really seem to be necessary while in a fight, which makes for poor use of action and pacing. It just generally seemed like you could've said less and put more emphasis on your action which would've helped your score much more. Another thing to consider when trying to get your character in the story dialogue-wise is to write about some of their thoughts during the course of the fights. Maybe over strategy, or over what they're feeling but you don't really need to punctuate every movement by having Lorenor say something.

That being said, now that I think of it there was one other particular thing in this battle that really hurt you;


Lorenor clenched the grip of his sword tightly. He looked over to the creature and addressed his warriors in the common tongue. "Where did ye find this creature? And why hast thou given away our positions?" One of the Forsaken walked over to Lorenor. "Mi'lord. It wasn't a local. We assumed that it was a blessing of N'Jal. Were we mistaken?" The mutant closed his eyes to listen to the word of N'Jal. Voices cascaded across his brain. The mutant heard his commands. "Keep thy eyes on it. We have to get the object. Nothing else matters. Art we clear?" The gathered Forsaken nodded. "Aye sir." Said the ranking officer and began to quickly move towards the vault dispatching any strays that were in his way.

When changing speakers, always start a new paragraph. Always. It's a lynchpin for grammar and let's readers keep track of who is speaking, which if you hadn't bolded lorenor's dialogue it would have been much harder to keep track of. Speaking of bolding your dialogue, while that is an ascetic choice much in the same vein as coloring your posts or adding personal touches to it it's something that leaves you at the complete mercy of who ends up judging you. While I didn't really care about it enough to knock points off your score for it, there's always the chance another judge will. Keep that in mind.

Action - 4/10 - Lorenor's actions in this fight generally made sense, but often the way you went about describing it didn't. I also saw Taskmienster do this, but some of the things Lorenor did boiled down to descriptions that were almost like they had come from a technical manual. There wasn't much meat on the bones of what you described during the fight, and with your peculiar writing style it made it especially hard to keep up on what you were trying to do. Try to be more in depth and think of more creative ways to describe something during a fight, and if you have to try and play out the fight in your head before hand so that you can better chain these actions and reactions together into more crisp, concise writing.

Persona - 3/10 - This was generally your biggest weakness, Pavel. It seemed almost as if your disconnected to your character during the fight in that I really didn't draw much from him other then basic feelings such as anger and the thirst for revenge as well as dialogue that didn't really go far enough to give Lorenor some sort of definitive place in the thread other then he spoke in an older, more proper manner. It makes your job much harder when roleplaying or writing when you can't connect with your character when writing because you should be able to see what they see, feel what they feel, etc. to the degree that you can appropriately put yourself in their shoes during the story.

WRITING STYLE

Mechanics - 4/10 - There were numerous grammatical and spelling errors in your posts to the point that I suspect you didn't really even bother to proofread before posting. I know it's said a lot, but I think a lot of folks, not just you, really undervalue the practice of proofreading and checking over their work before posting which often leads a reader to think that you're lazy or just don't care, even if your not and you do care. It's all about what you present to them as a finished product, and it makes for much better scores overall if you'd take a couple minutes out of your day after writing to read your post over, spellcheck it, and/or give it to another set of eyes to look over and catch things you missed. You'd be shocked to see how well you'd improve with your overall score if you made this into a practice because grammar ties into everything on the rubric. From the use of pacing to how your characters talk in the thread or even how easy it is to understand what you're trying to write. It's fundamental to writing, so I'd really urge you to look into working on this area of your score before anything else.

Technique - 4/10 - Nothing really leapt out to me here in terms of technique. I saw some attempts at some different things, but a lot of it was drowned out by how confusing your writing tended to be.

Clarity - 2/10 - I had a very, very hard time trying to understand what you were doing in this battle. You had a lot of long posts, but much of it was confusing and I had many instances where I had to read something you wrote five or six times to understand your meaning, which is generally a cardinal sin in roleplaying or writing. It got to the point that I found myself drifting in and out of your posts and at times skimming or re-reading something numerous times without even realizing I was doing it. I recommend taking greater care in proofreading your work and organizing your thoughts better so that your paragraphs and sentences fit better and make more sense.

Wild Card - 0/10 -

TOTAL: 35/100

Nwalmaer

STORY

Continuity - 4/10 - I didn't really get as much information on the background of Nwalmaer as I would've liked. While I'm not a stickler for providing a backstory for someone's character in every thread they do, the way you chose to write Nwalmaer made it hard intially for me to get into. Following reading the thread, I understood that he was a homunculus who was an assassin for Alerar, probably under the care of someone who was wealthy or well off. That was it. While I sympathsize and understand completely in how you chose to write Nwalmaer from his point of view and described things like he thought Lorenor was a type of creature rather then a man he was targeting or how he saw armor on the casualties during the battle.

That being said, I understood all of this after the fact and much, much further down the road then I think you orginally intended. Before that realization it was confusing and it could've been avoided if you had spent a little more time elaborating more on then background of your character to make it easier for other readers to get into.

Setting - 5/10 - The descriptions of the environment you gave were awkward and confusing until I realized what perspective it was you were writing from. While I can imagine it was probably very difficult to do, I think there were ways you could've gone about doing it that would've made for much easier reading. I didn't really see a lot of use of your surroundings, but you did at times let your environment do things to your character which was interesting to read.

Pacing - 4/10 - The thing that hurt you here was the perspective you chose to write with. While it was interesting and kind of cool once I understood what you were doing, there was a big chunk of the time during the thread that I was unaware of it which made much of your writing hard to get into or to understand because of how unusual it was. It made for a really tough job on your part on trying to maintain momentum. Much like Lorenor, I had to re-read things you wrote many times in order to understand it, but it seemed to be for different reasons. Next time, take greater care in giving the reader more of a foundation to work on by supplying them with more background and detail when you attempt to write from such an unusual perspective.

CHARACTER

Dialogue - 5/10 - The dialogue could've been much better, but wasn't that bad considering what you chose to work with. I would however recommend losing the carrots when talking in a different language in your dialogue and instead stick to mentioning it offhandedly after the stream of dialogue or writing in that different language and translating it at the bottom of the page. Something to think about.

Action - 6/10 - You had a lot more during the fight that made you far more memorable, even after reading it. Much like most of the other parts of your posts, this took me awhile to get into because of how long it took me to make that leap on perspective. But, in general, you sometimes ran a little too close to letting your descriptions of actions in the fight to seem almost like a technical manual. Try to avoid that and work on giving your descriptions some more meat.

Persona - 4/10 - Nwalmaer is a very unusual character which made it very hard to get into his head. I understood much of what he chose to do eventually, but there could've been so many ways you might have elaborated on his backstory or given more details for me or other readers to nibble on to make the transition of getting into your character and learning more about him much easier. But, because of such a small oversight that has been affecting so many portions of your scores, I'm going to throw you some points to the wild card to help balance it out. Just learn from this so that you might be better equipped to write about it in the future.

WRITING STYLE

Mechanics - 4/10 - There were quite a few spelling errors here as well as the occasional grammatical error, but nothing that I can really remember to be astounding. What hurt you was the amount of errors rather then how bad they actually were. Work on proofreading more or handing your finished posts off to a friend to help catch some of the mistakes you make.

Technique - 6/10 - I really liked what you did with Nwalmaer once I caught onto it. I've tried doing things like this similar into the past, but I can see it must've been really difficult trying to write like this. Nwalmaer struck me as a being that was an outsider to conventional society and once brought into it, he viewed it in much of the same vein as a caveman probably would have seen a modern day city on Earth. Good work.

Clarity - 4/10 -

Wild Card - 4/10 - Your unusual perspective in this thread really hurt your score overall, but it could've been easily fixed with some more background and details into your character to give the reader more to jump off of. However, because of the extent this one mistake is affecting your score, I threw you a bone.

TOTAL: 46/100

Lorenor: 35
Nwalmaer: 46

Nwalmaer wins! Congratulations!

Nwalmaer is awarded 2000 EXP and levels up!

Lorenor is awarded 400 exp. In the aftermath of the battle a bloodied scrap of paper finds it's way onto the remains of your person. It contains a bizarre chemical formula that can either be sold to a skilled chemist for around 300 GP or used to produce longer lasting lamp fluid.

Nwalmaer's spoil is approved but with an addendum. The regeneration ability he gets is to receive heals only minor wounds and once Lorenor's soul is released this ability will be locked unless it can be re-obtained in some other fashion.

[Taskmienster]

Exp and GP added!

Lorenor is now level 7!

Nwalmaer is now level 1!