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Post by Luca da Conti on Dec 26, 2016 21:45:41 GMT
Shivercleft Town Barony of Hamellar
The sound of hooves clattering against the pavement and mud was what tipped Luca off.
In truth he had been wondering when the good Baron would deem it worthy to leave his fortress behind and come down to roll around the dirt with the little people. No, to say that Luca thought well of the Baron would be misleading at best. Hammellar was not quite unlike many other nobles the Captain had met over the years.
Not quite unlike the very same Prince he had helped to a Kingdom just a month ago during his last campaign actually.
"Dasha, I think it would be best if you made yourself scarce, yes?" da Conti responded absent-mindedly while returning his aching feet to the leathery prisons they had come from. The Northern Kingdoms were not as liberal and free-thinking as the Free Cities of the South, in his experience. It would be quite annoying to have to deal with Hammellar, while he he was being indignant about a goblin presence to boot.
The sound of bristling and pompous screeching heralded the Baron's entrance into the pavilion.
He was not an intimidating man. No, not intimidating at all. Big, beady eyes that reminded him of a small rodent, a rat perhaps. Thin, thin lips that contrasted the huge, huge bulk underneath his thick head. Sweat running rampant around his forehead and a snarl of anger tugging at the corner of his mouth.
A man who rarely devolves into fury is to be feared, but one who rages always is to be mocked.
"Da Conti! There you are. I told you, told you ten times, you cannot recruit inside my domain!" Red cheeks and neck, yet, now that he stood there in front of the lounging Mercenary Captain, something deflated inside of the Baron.
Ah... you have no desire for your peasants to learn how to hold a sword. A scythe has multiple purposes, but a sword... only one. And you have never been very popular with your smallfolk, have you?
"Baron Hamellar, you came all the way here to talk to me? I am honored, please sit." This only served to take the wind out of Hamellar's sails, he had been expecting hand-wringing and apologies, not gracious invitations to sit down and drink wine with the mercenary.
But he sat.
And wasn't that the beginning of the end?
"It isn't right, I tell you." Hamellar repeated, more softly now and to himself, while pouring himself a glass of wine.
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Post by Deleted on Dec 27, 2016 6:27:08 GMT
Mountains outside Martton
The insane cackling and manaical laughter of the Warlock could be heard in short giggles, the sky above Martton turning darker, the chill setting in. Even the Ratling Infiltrators bundled up and in little igloos dug into the snow could feel it, the icy cold driving away the warmth of the land. Birds, squirrels and other forest critters near the cave grew dizzy, some dropping stone dead as their life essence was siphoned into the cave by the twisted renditions of Magicks preformed by the Mad Warlock of Fakuistan.
Some of the infiltrators hiding in the trees grew weak and the cold began to give even the rats frostbite and hypothermia, becoming just more and more fuel for the storm. "You are either good for Skralk or FUEL FOR SKRALK." Echoes of the Warlock's madness churning rained down from the cave, snow fell harder on Martton, sleet and icy rain drizzled with the blizzard, freezing as it touched the ground.
The clamouring of Rats in the sewers, some frozen to death as the temperature dropped could be heard. Something was amiss in Martton and the people were beginning to sense it. The once gentle snow had turned harsh, the snow itself containing an acrid smell, like rotting flesh and rusted metal as it fell. The people began closing doors and stoking fires in their homes, guards bundling up inside their posts.
"Manthings not want Skralk's help?" The Warlock muttered, emerging, tired, weariness in his eyes and movements as he placed yet another sickly green stone in his mouth, swallowing hard. His voice was scratchy and thin, his fingers seemed frail.
Martton would be his master piece, the stroke of genius. Skralk wouldn't win, he wouldn't conquer. But the Rat Warlock would spread his foul decay on this town and its quarry. And then to the Silver Mines.
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Post by Taryc Alcor on Dec 27, 2016 13:23:27 GMT
"I'd say as likely as the chance of me getting you to do it sideways with me." Kaelen gave her a little wink and a smirk. Taryc raised a single eyebrow, then gave the man a look up and down that was obviously appraising, then she chuckled and shook her head. " Then we have nothing to worry about." She said, meeting Kaelen's eyes for a brief moment, then turning back to scanning the roads. " You couldn't handle me." Taryc snorted slightly, then drew her sword out a short span before sheathing it fully again. " I can stab you, slash you, and bludgeon you, then when we are all done, if you're nice, I can heal you." She said, the bravado in her voice was almost lazy, and entirely full of confidence in her abilities. " I've also got a small skill in shielding, wards, and temporary physical imbuements, though those are best for before a battle."
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Post by Kaelen Silverblood on Dec 27, 2016 16:03:56 GMT
This redheaded mercenary was certainly fun. Kaelen smirked at her as she commented back. This was going to be an entertaining trip even if nothing happened with the Barons or the King of Silverclaw Valley. He doubted that it would be peaceful, but a man could dream of a peaceful trip with a lovely, young half-elf. He said to her, "Oh I could handle you girl. I could handle you anywhere you like it." The replies to what everyone could do began to be said quickly. The mage could do some summoning, illusions, and some elemental magic it seemed. The footman's skill set included the usual ones for a soldier and he could speak elvish. Kaelen did not expect that one, but it wasn't particularly useful right now. Then came the list of what Taryc Alcor could do. She had a good mixture of skills and would be rather versatile in a fight. A mercenary definitely worth her price. "I'm the one going to be stabbing you, and you will be more sore than in need of healing afterwards." Kaelen said with another wink. He needed to stop and get more serious. He knew that, but having the ability to was not exactly something he possessed. "When we get inside, I would for the mage to go around placing runes in various locations. Illusions of fire, enemy forces, ghosts. Anything that can cause a ruckus on my signal. Soldier you go with him and guard him so he can focus on the task. Use illusion to keep both of you hidden. Red, you are with me." They finally arrived at the gates of the fortress. Guards itching for a fight were standing around it with spears pointed slightly forwards and shields already half raised. Archers on the walls already had arrows notched and pointed towards the approaching group. It was not a warm welcome, but it was the one they had gotten it seemed. Looked like his plan was going to be necessary after all. So much for his dream of a peaceful trip with an attractive red head.
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Post by Taryc Alcor on Dec 27, 2016 16:31:45 GMT
"Frankly, I'm a little surprised you're going after me..." She looked back at the mage and the soldier, then back to Kaelen Silverblood "...you surround yourself with so many men...well..." She smirked for a moment. "Do you always charge straight ahead? Did no one teach you tactics?" She asked. She didn't mind flirting on the job, but this was a bit over the top on the machismo for her. They came within sight of the fortress and the guards. Taryc murmured a few words under her breath and accidentally bumped into Kaelen. He would feel a slight warp in the air around him as an arcane shield slid into place. It wouldn't absorb all damage, but it would negate a good portion of it. She decided against drawing her sword just yet, but she knew the blade was free in the sheath, ready to be drawn when she needed it. She eyed the archers. At this distance, they were the primary threat, and she didn't have the time to perform the spell that would make arrows go askew. She needed more practice to make that one battle ready. Still, the shielding spell should help mitigate some of the risk.
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Post by Luca da Conti on Dec 27, 2016 19:36:37 GMT
Few things were ever really right, though.
In the end the Baron of Shivercleft bucked under Luca's persuasion. The poor man had little choice and even less of a chance. As the second son of the late Baron, his father, he had never been meant for the barony. But when his elder brother died in a hunting accident... what was there to do, but accept the responsibility? Luckily what the Baron lacked in expertise, grooming and acumen, he more than made up for in hunger. Ambition was his first and foremost flaw.
Always more... always looking, always snatching and grabbing.
It was no surprise that his people hated him. Nor was it a surprise he was eyeing up Leterton in this particular conflict.
The King of the Valley was weak, he needed outside interference to hold onto his throne and that was all the Baron needed to break the King's peace.
"I will win your war for you, Baron." Luca had said with confidence. And it would start with Leterton, a city at the crux of all the routes throughout Silverclaw. Every road leads back to Leterton, some liked to say. It had no mines nor quarries, but through its central location all the wealth of the region flowed. Yet, it had no dedicated fortress and instead opted for thick, tall walls for protection.
Baron Olms was a brave man, but not a tactical mastermind.
It was lucky that he managed to convince Hamellar not to send an official deceleration of war. The fat baron had ideas about how to wage war, but little experience. No, they needed every advantage they could get -- at least, if they wished to take Leterton quickly. Forces moved through the Valley and they could not afford to be caught with their breeches down, so to speak.
He hadn't been able to take all his forces with, so this would have to do. Bolstered with the troops of Shivercleft... they had a chance.
Captain da Conti liked his odds.
Already he could see the city coming up. He saw the troops at the walls, saw the Knights pacing and the smallfolk going about their ways. His eyes were unseeing, but inside his head... he saw it all.
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Post by Deleted on Dec 28, 2016 0:07:21 GMT
Martton
Skralk and the sneaky Ratmen accompanying him ducked through trees, bushes, and crawled through snow towards the town. The Warlock fought off the urge to yawn tiredly several times as they hauled themselves through the snow. The cold was biting, his little paws were numb and his tail had a shade of blue which had him worried. How would he ever get the girls to like him with a stubby, paralyzed tail?
The ratmen moved to the base of the stone wall, several of them deftly climbing up the stone by shoving shurikens into the mortar and using them as stepping stones, darting over the ramparts. Most of the guards were huddled inside guard shacks now, and most of the villagers had taken too their homes. The dirty, foul smelling snow had little effect, basically none other than the smell. However, it would help hide the Father of Decay as they made their way through the town. Once at the top, the ratmen dropped a rope down to the Warlock and helped haul him up while the infiltrators continued running up the walls, making him look the fool. All his reservations about using them as fuel for his Fell magic left him. How very dare they do that to him and his image!
"Skralk could conjure storms on a whim or he could have learned to run up walls." He muttered very low to himself as he was pulled onto the ramparts. Several ratmen had already leaped to a nearby inn's roof, fiddling with doors to quiet rooms, carefully ensuring all the doors and windows on the bottom floor were latched and locked from the outside as they made ready to help the Warlock into the Inn.
With a thud, two of them hurled the Warlock at a now open window, tossing him through it like a ragdoll, much to his chagrin. Oh, yes. Those two would be his fuel when he was done with them. Inside he could smell the Manthings, huddled around a fire in the main room. Some of them had begun to break off and head for bed with dusk having arrived at the chill having gotten significantly worse suddenly. "Quick-quick." He motioned at the stairs, ordering them through before him. It wouldn't be hard, the Infiltrators would throw shurikens into anyone that ran while the Warlock and a few of them grabbed people so they could be drained quickly and efficiently.
The clamor lasted only a moment, a few people running and banging on the doors before they found knives in their backs. Most of them were bleeding or dying as the Warlock approached, grinning with his wicked incisors. "Oh, ho Manthing. Not pick on Skralk now?" He whispered as he placed a clawed, withered hand over a woman's mouth. Her muffled screams died out, leaving behind a wasted corpse so decrepit a Necromancer wouldn't even bother raising it. Several at a time, the Warlock drained them all. "Next house. Next house." He ordered, the ratmen slipping out the backdoor, ensuring it was locked behind them. Hopefully with the cold and the snow, no one would come looking for these people. And with the door locked that might deter most curious individuals.
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Post by praiselasol on Dec 28, 2016 20:07:34 GMT
The call was made and the gates opened. The large oak doors of Rustfall’s massive stone ramparts sloped like mountain sides creaked and wailed open, as if they protested the fortresses’ surrender. Reinhard nodded to the gatekeepers out of respect and turned to Arwin.
“Signal the sigils.” Reinhard said. “We have audience with the King.”
Arwin bowed and rotated his stead to ride over to the sigil banner heralds. Shouting orders the banner heralds waved the banner of Mondwylin herself.
Back at the Reichsritterwher, Mondywlin watched as her sigil was waved about to signal that they had been permitted to enter the city. Mondwylin’s smirk grew into a sinister smile.
“A wise decision, your liege.” Mondwylin whispered. She then snapped at her reigns and rode ahead of the entire host of her bannermen at full gallop. Her charge signalled the Reichsritterwher to move at double-ride to close the gap between Reinhard’s host and the full host.
As she rode ahead of the entire force she shouted to her kindred, “Blassenerbe Vor! Mondzmeyhail!” The battlecry was in ancient drake-tongue verse – Forward my Palekin, Hail the Pale Moon Drake. The host of Mondwylin cried in return, “Mondzmeyhail!” – Hail the Pale Moon Drake. And thus, the entire host of Mondwylin – the Reichsritterwher – marched into Rustfall. The full host of Leichenhaus Aschfalblassen rode in. Her army separated by the divisions of lesser Leichenhauses, ruled by her blood children. There were four – Reinhard, Astradrag, Ulrich and Elfried. They commanded the four divisions of her host.
Reinhard, in his brilliant red plate and white mane was first to enter. Next came the second eldest, Mondwylin’s eldest blood daughter Astradrag, wearing a black dress with a red breast plate over a corset and a flowing black straight cascade of hair. Next came Ulrich, bald, pale-faced with silver eyes beset in wrinkles and lastly the youngest Elfriede, dressed in shining black plate armor and wearing a great helm with bat wings.
Lastly Mondwylin entered. Once inside the House of Aschfalblassen, with their personal guard, road off to the central keep to speak to the bewildered King. As they flooded in, all of Rustfall was covered in the dark clouds that created the artificial shade conjured by Mndwylin’s Hexamancers. Darkness, fell upon the crown valley of Silverclaw – and it would only grow.
--------------------- Inside King’s Court
Mondwylin, Reinhard, Astradrag, Ulrich and Elfried, flanked by vampire knights in black plate marched up the steps of the keep. As they did, they were barraged by whispers, quieted curses and glares. Astradrag would meet every glare with her own smug look.
She smirked at them. “Pathetic warmbloods.” She would hiss. “Broken and yet they show pride. What a waste.” Her taunts would be interrupted by Elfriede, who upon removing her great helm nudged her elder bloodsister in the shoulder. “Don’t give mother any trouble.” She said.
“What trouble would she get from these wretches.” Astradrag said with her tone slightly louder as a threat to those around her.
“Warmbloods are frail but they can be troublesome when cornered.” Elfriede retorted. “Keep to Mother’s commands…this place will soon become a quagmire. And we don’t need any unwanted contingencies, Astradrag.” Astradrag gave Elfriede an annoyed frown as the vampyr house entered the King’s court.
Mondwylin’s blood children stopped short allowing their mother to walk all the way to the steps that lead to elevated platform that the King and his retainers were seated atop. The King himself, trying to retain some composure as the lord of his realm sat upright on his throne with a vainglorious look upon him. “Lady Aschfalblassen.” King Aridu said.
“Well meet Lord Airdu.” Mondwylin said with a smile. “I have come as we agreed. Upon your hour of need, you will have the might of the Moon Drake’s Knights at your disposal.”
The King shifted in his seat. “Ah…Yes. I am much appreciative of your honoring of our agreement.” The word agreement hung in there air, to some it might as well have said, surrender.
“And I shall be honoured when you honor yours, Lord Aridu.” Mondwylin hissed. The King gulped. But, his retainers came to his rescue. “That is if you can subjugate the rebel Barons.” Said one of them.
“Yes, the Barons.” Mondwylin replied. “Once they are removed as a threat, you shall have your peace.”
“You cannot attack them all, vampyr!” one hot-headed retainer protested. Mondwylin locked eyes with him and them ascended the steps.
The knights around the king flinched and reached for their blades. But, Mondwylin kept her approach. She turned her eyes to the king, ignoring the loud retainer. And in the ether of magic, her vampyric charms bewitched the King’s senses. He could hear nor see anyone besides Mondwylin. She was now only an arms length away from the King she leaned down and gazed into his eyes with her cold silver.
“I wont have to.” Mondwylin said. “On our way here we passed a natural crossroads, a path that by which all the Baronies are accessible…Leterton it was called.”
“I will occupy that crossroads, creat a natural bottleneck and force the Barons to meet me.” She continued, still spellbinding the king with her eyes. She then cut eye contact from the King and he flinched taking a deep breathe as if he was had been drowning.
“You will never have your decisive battle, Barons are quite content with hiding behind their walls and letting other invaders do their work.” Mondwylin lectured as she paced around the court. “And you will all die in mutual destruction by attrition…which is fine by me, it makes taking your realm far easier.”
A deathly hush feel onto the court.
“Or, you allow me to force them out on my terms. Where I will crush them, and for the simple price of paying tribute to me as your arch lord…your king keeps his crown, you keep your lands and the barons will be subjugated.” Mondwylin ended with a sinister growl in her tone.
“Do we have terms, Lord Aridu?” Mondwylin said. “We…have…terms.” The King muttered shaken by Mondwylin’s bewitching. Mondwylin’s pale thin lips stretched into a grin. “Good” she whispered. She then pivoted on her armored heel and marched to her blood children.
“Reinhard. Astradrag.” She barked. Reinhard and Astradrag suddenly plummeted to their knees and bowed their heads.
“You will take your hosts and storm Leterton. Take the city, occupy the crossroads and then unleash men in a pillaging campaign around the neighboring townsfolk. The Baron’s own people will become incensed and they will force the Baron’s out, or rebel against them in their neglected rage.” Mondwylin said delivering her brutal stratagem.
Astradrag smiled at the idea of the carnage, while Reinhard kept quiet.
“Go now.” Said Mondwylin.
“Yes, mother!” the two screamed. Then the exited. Mondwylin then looked to her other two. “Ulrich, Elfried, you and I shall prepare the defences of this fortress.”
“Yes, mother!” the two replied.
--------
Outside Rusftall Form the depths of Rustfall the entire host of Reinhard and Astradrag flooded out like a torrent of darkness. Black steads rumbled the eart, black armor clattered together and black banners waved like dark spectres in the sky. A grand force of blackness moving like one organism rampaged towards Leterton.
All the way the battlecry of the Pale Moon vampyrs echoed in the valley among giant ram horn roars.
“Blassenerbe Vor! Mondzmeyhail!”
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Post by Stormwall on Dec 28, 2016 20:19:41 GMT
Great forces were on the move. Free Cities mercenaries under Luca da Conti had secured Shivercleft and moved on the central crossroads at Leterton. The Vampire Lords of the Bund had tightened their grasp on Rustfall City; they, too, had dispatched an army to Leterton. The ratmen had left their mark on Martton. And the forces of Mystmarch under Kaelen were closing on Postern Fortress, the crucial southern access to the entire valley. Other players were in motion as well: lone wanderers, mages, creatures. To those keeping an eye on the happenings in the valley as a whole, however, those players had not yet made themselves obvious.
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Post by Aldacer on Dec 28, 2016 20:56:07 GMT
Certainty of death, small chance of success- what are we waiting for?!
As Reinhard and Astradag flowed out of Rustfall, Aldacer rode up on his mount. The wind would have whipped his hair quite dramatically if not for his helm. The umbral darkness appeared to fail at several yards from him, a circle of blazing light bathing the ground and all around him in harsh shadows. The powers came easier now than they did during the incident with the spirits. Still, he was learning the Old Ways of his Order, and the laws set up around the Covenant that granted Idoril's followers with the true powers of a Venator. It would seem his Lord particularly disliked the Undead. His mount, a giant ram, hooned and bleated a challenge as he put himself directly in front of the road that Reinhard and Astradag were traveling. The light surrounding him connected to a shaft of brilliant sunlight directly above him, the sickening dark magic of his ancient foe burning away at it's presence. His blood pulsed in his ears and throat, and he swallowed as he drew his sword and gripped his shield tightly. Upon the blade, a dwarven bindrune one of his Orders priests had drawn under his orders began to not just glow it's normal silvery white, but pure silver. There was nothing said, nothing done. Aldacer merely stood there in the path of a vast horde with an ancient dwarven sword raised, shield gleaming. His armor shone like burnished plates made of the sun, with gunmetal burnished plates juxtaposed throughout, and graven runes leafed in a metal much like silver he had gained from the mines. Another secret of the Order rediscovered, and the true reason he had came to the Valley. Everyone thought it was dwarven greed. But the Valley had been formed by star-fall in ancient times and possessed a good quantity of a holy metal most damning to those he faced. But he waited, the picture of defiant resistance. praiselasol
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Post by Kaelen Silverblood on Dec 28, 2016 23:09:36 GMT
Location: Postern Fortress The guards at the gate were tense as they eyed Kaelen, Taryc Alcor , the footman, and the mage. There was bags under their eyes and a nervousness was running through them. It was clear these men had been pushed to their emotional limits. What sort of situation was happening within Silverclaw Valley and what kind of ruler were they dealing with? This state was the kind of state you wanted enemies to be in, not potential allies. Kaelen noticed the subtle warding from the mercenary and nodded to her. He chanted softly under his breath for a moment before an invisible wave of energy rippled off of him and onto those with him. A sense of courage and boldness would seem to well up inside as if anything was possible. Kaelen stepped forth afterwards with a smile on his face. He said, "I am Kaelen Silverblood of Mystmarch. I am here to meet with Baron Melcap as per his request sent to Marston." The guards seemed leery of what was said to them, but it seemed the mention of Marston calmed them down slightly. Kaelen reached into his cloak and pulled out the letter with the official seal of Baron Melcap on the front. He handed it over to the guard as the archers up on the wall pulled back on their strings. Kaelen felt a lack of fear as this happened. He just kept his gaze forward as the guard looked over the letter. After a minute, the guard handed back the letter and called for the gate to open. The archers above relaxed and put their arrows back into their quivers. The guards stepped out of the way and motioned for the party to enter. Kaelen nodded to the guards and then waved his party forward into the fortress. He stepped forward and began to look around the place. Despair. That was the only word he could think of as he saw what he was first met with. There was a lack of food, clothes all covered in filth, and the stench of death all around. This place seemed to be rotting from the inside despite how impressive its walls were. He frowned as he came to a stop in a small, empty square. He waited for his party to gather around him as a wary patrol of guards went out of sight. "Start placing those runes around the city." Kaelen whispered to the mage. A soft confirmation followed and the pair quickly disappeared into the surrounding buildings. He then looked to the red head and said, "Ready to meet this Baron Melcap? I certainly am willing to see who allowed such great fortune to befall his people."
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Post by Talyn on Dec 29, 2016 2:41:20 GMT
Gliding in from the North-West (just SE of Hanrickton), Talyn centered himself upon where the death-knell had sounded from. His great wings hung still in the air as he glided on the updrafts that came from such geographical places, his place in the sky lowering ever so gently as he allowed himself to drift slowly closer and closer to the ground below, the clouds only now drifting fully above his form as he became a visible form upon the backdrop of the winter sky.
The sky itself, now fully above Talyn, rolled with magic that competed for control of the sky. White clouds and natural snowfall controlled much of the valley, intermittent beams of sunlight piercing the light snowfall here and there to small sections of valley in brilliant light. To the west, the smell of magic tainted the sky as unnatural congregations of clouds spat out thick sheets of snow upon a man-thing settlement made of cut stone. Before Talyn, the sky darkened like night as more magic condensed the clouds of the sky into thick, black stormclouds. Talyn snorted the stench of magic from his nose as he glided under the thick black cloud, his eyes scanning the ground beneath him for a sign of the wounded beast that had called out for help not to terribly long ago.
His eyes found no mammoth, no elk, or beast of great size. Much to his disappointment, all that was to be found was a sprawling herd of man-things moving slowly towards a settlement at the base of the north-western mountain that helped to shape the bowl of the valley. Talyn snorted again as the stench of rotted flesh and stale blood assaulted his nose once again. Knowing that no good meal would come of such a stench, Talyn banked to the right, threading an area between two distant settlements (Rustfall and Leterton) and making his way towards the distant one with unnatural snowfall. Three powerful beats of his wings sped Talyn along as he approached the third settlement (Martton). Above him, lightning arced between the two competing magics, backlighting Taly upon the thick clouds that spun and whirled between Martton and Rustfall City.
Talyn had barely closed the gap with the far human settlement before the stench of fell magic and plague graced his nostrils. <No...> Talyn thought to himself as he banked to his left and beat his wings to put distance between himself and the cursed third settlement. <There will be no food from this place either.>
A shadow upon the sky, Talyn glided south towards the space of valley between even more man-thing settlements. He had nearly reached the space between Veerton and Leterton when a new noise called his attention to the place between Rustfall and Leterton once more. With a roar of frustration, Talyn banked left once more and beat his wings in the direction of the trumpeting beasts and clambering hooves.
As Talyn approached, he could see that the earlier carpet of rot-smelling man-things had withdrawn to the north-west settlement. In its place, a mixed herd of horse and man-things stampeded from the north-west settlement towards the central one. The herd still smelled of rot and death, as did the rest of the valley to Talyn, but not so strongly as to drown out the stench of beast and musk that rumbled upon the packed snow and boot-trampled soil. <Food.> Talyn thought to himself as he began to circle the stampeding herd of horse and man-thing, his eyes already dancing from beast to beast as he tried to decide if he should pick out the weakest of prey or put forth the effort to bring down the largest of beast.
So caught up in his scrutiny of the herd, Talyn had barely noticed the beam of sunlight before his considerable mass flew directly through it. <More magic?> Talyn wondered to himself as his eyes turned themselves upon the cloud-free swath of sunlight that forced its way through the slowly expanding black cloud that had settled upon the north-west settlement. A quick glance to the south-west was all that Talyn needed to confirm that the same expansion was happening to the south-west, with the frequency and intensity of thunder and lightning increasing in the space between the two conjured storms as the clouds between the two masses spun and whirled in unnatural disarray.
Returning his attention the the living things below him, Talyn observed a single ram of great size adorned with a man-thing of diminutive size. Both stood defiant of the stampeding herd of horse and man, and both were bathed in blinding light that seemed to come both from the holed sky above and from the pair of beast themselves.
Talyn growled in annoyance at the levels of competing magics in the valley and beat his wings, preparing for another orbit of the herd of food below him.
praiselasol, Aldacer, @skralk,
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Post by Sven on Dec 29, 2016 7:11:53 GMT
Grand adventures usually started with some sort of desire for something. Most desired revenge or some sort of improvement on their lives. There was always something that drove them to do what they were doing, to travel off into far distant lands. Only a select few would have simple tasks that drove them out of the comforts of their silk and feather beds. Sven was one of those select few, she had wandered deep into Vampire lands it would seem only to talk to a peddler that had rumors of the most elegant and unique of all socks. To her dismay, the sock maker had created his socks from the skins (not the furs) of some of the local animals. Her nose turned as up as she examined the rotten carcass’ the man called ‘socks’. Her desire to obtain only the best and most rare of all socks, would have to draw a line here. Refusing the sale, the beaten elf attempted to return home.
The winding roads out of town were filled with dangers. These dangers of course paid no mind to Sven, she kept to herself and kept her long pointed ears from view. She had some minor skills in combat, but nothing too exhilarating or anything that would save her from the most stickiest of situations. Roads spun and turned into beaten paths, on these paths, Sven found her boots getting water logged. It was a good thing she was a procurer of the best socks in the world. Wading through the gunky path, Sven found herself a rotten stump that was sturdy enough to support her bottom. Sitting down, she quickly removed her boots and her wet socks. Slender toes wiggled free as she gave them fresh air before stuffing them into her favorite lavender socks. The linen socks were amazing, they were her most valued possession at the moment. She stuffed her red and orange cloth socks into her bag and proceeded to fetch one sock. The single sock found its way onto her foot and then she proceeded to search for her second.
Alas after digging she couldn't find the sock. “You’ve got to be kidding me…” Standing, Sven turned her knapsack upside down and roughly eight or nine pairs of different socks and rations came tumbling out of the bag onto the stump. Her eyes darted from rolled ball to rolled ball seeing that each were neatly paired with the other. There had to be a mistake, she fully remembered packing her lavender linen socks, and there wasn’t an accident this time around so she wouldn’t have bursted them into flames. Sighing softly, she started to pick up her belongings. With her knapsack slung over her shoulder and her shoes pulled up over her feet, one covered by a sock the other bare inside the shoe, Sven looked onward. The sounds of battles and possibly the roar of a dragon echoed overhead.
“Maybe they’ve seen my sock.” A smile spread across her face as she happily made her way towards the echos of what seemed to be a battle. Someone there had to have seen her sock, she did pass through this field a few weeks ago to get to this town. Fingers moved about the soft fabric that rested against her neck, pulling it up, she brought the hood over her head, hiding her pointed ears. As pretty as the elves were, it seemed like most didn’t find favor with them, either way, Sven just wanted to be safe. Better for whoever it was out there to think she was Human and not Elven.
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Post by Taryc Alcor on Dec 29, 2016 15:13:35 GMT
"Aye, let us meet the Baron." Taryc replied. She felt like the hairs on the back of her neck were standing on end from the sheer pressure of the tension within the fortress. The encouraging spell that Kaelen Silverblood cast was keeping the tension from getting to her, but she was still able to see. Everywhere she looked, she saw the bags under the eyes, tension lines at the eyes, hollow cheeks, and various other indicators. No one, aside from those in her group, looked to be in full health. Hands shook or were white knuckled as they moved, people without a weapon in hand kept touching their sheathed weapons as assurance. A guard motioned them to follow, and he nearly tripped on his feet as he turned to lead them to the Baron. Taryc met Kaelen's eye and raised an eyebrow before tilting her head to indicate the guards. Trying to silently point out the indicators of tension and fear everyone was exhibiting. Either the Baron was an iron sphinctered arse who pushed his soldiers to the breaking point, or things in the valley were truly bad.
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Post by Deleted on Dec 29, 2016 17:36:25 GMT
Martton
The first building, and a handful of unfortunate souls, fell to the Ratmen infiltrators quite swiftly. With the people trying to get warm by fires and under blankets they were not expect quick blades in their backs. Skralk did not need them to be perfectly healthy, only Alive. And alive they were. Many wounded or quickly knocked unconscious by dagger pommels, but alive nonetheless.
He could feel the power in his body gurgling, bubbling around like an angry swarm of bees, stinging his nerves. The second building had been a simple house, two parents, an old woman, and four children of varying ages. Hardly enough fuel to empower his Fell magic on the size and scale he sought. At this slow rate it would be hours before he had enough strength to corrupt this town and its waters.
As the withered ratman ducked outside, darting alongside his rat assassins, to the next house the stench of rotted meat and rusted metal teased his nostrils from the dread snowfall in the valley. Even in the town the drifts could have swallowed him to his waist were it not for his compatriots assisting in directing him along the paths of least resistance. The third house was just a man and a woman already asleep in their beds. The man was struck across the head with a short club and the woman's eyes went wide when she felt the cold, almost mummified hands of the Warlock grasp her mouth. She tried to scream but could find no air in her lungs as she looked upon the rat Warlock's sinister grin.
"Too Long. Need more quick-quick." Skralk whispered. "There, that one." His fingers pointed at a large long building. The Barracks for the southern quarter, the poor quarter, of the town. Several of the Assassins shook their heads no, gesturing that they did not believe it to be a wise decision. "Yes. I command it."
With reluctance, they conversed among themselves in hushed tones. They could have been planning to kill Skralk, which his insane mind believed they would attempt such soon. But when they finished the leader whispered to Skralk the plan they had formulated. "We go quick-quick with blades through the chimney and cellar. Quiet kill as many as possible for you to fuel from, lock doors. Then when manthings show up to investigate, slip out the attic to the rooftops. You keep up, or you die."
Skralk sneered at the assassin but nodded, moving with them quietly as he could. They worked swiftly, opening the cellar doors in a short moment and hauled the warlock inside. Swiftly they started dragging him unconscious or gurgling guards. This was followed by rushing him into a room where they had just ambushed a group sitting by a fire, and he took it all from them. All. Even from the badly wounded assassins, of which there were a few.
Finally, the leader glared at the warlord and waved his people into the bunkroom. Fifty men slept quietly in the room, but the odds were one or more of them would be awake whispering to each other.
"Whose there?" a voice called followed by a muffled gasp of surprise as a verminous head rose from beside his bed, stabbing him relentlessly in the chest amid gurgling and muffled screams. But it was enough.
Echoes of surprise and shock followed throughout the bunkroom as men were stirred from their sleep suddenly, groggily rising to see what the commotion was about. In an instant the room became filled with the sounds of struggle and shouting as Ratmen fell upon the guards of Martton like wolves among sheep. Most of the men in the bunkroom only had a knife to defend themselves with and had been taken by surprise against skilled assassins. The noise didn't exactly get any quieter as the Warlock called the spirits of the wounded from their bodies, pulling the dyings' last breaths from them in an agonizing fashion. Corpses were left strewn across the bunkroom, withered into states of decay, rotted bones, sagging skin, almost skeletal in appearance.
The rat assassins accompanying him had lost several while the Warlock had hid in the corner, pulling power from their victims and their own lost to swell his own. The cost of his ritual was being paid slowly but surely. The bones of his finger tips were visible and his face seemed more sunken in as the Fell sapped at his own lifeforce, building and growing inside of him. He needed to disperse it soon. "More. Little More." He groaned, hauling himself weakly through the rafters of the attic. The assassins didn't stoop to help him up or wait for him anymore. They just continued, some already jumping to the next rooftop with thuds as the rushed to put distance between them and the massacred Barracks.
Skralk landed on a building a moment later, hearing bells in the poor quarter behind him as several people had finally investigated the disturbance and informed the guards. "No, no. Too soon." He muttered, looking up to see the furred legs of the Assassin leader.
"Is good. Manthings will be busy looking down there. We find fuel in other side of town." He heaved the Warlock to standing again and shoved him bodily to the next building. "Keep up, or you die-die."
Skralk grumbled to himself as he rose again, trying his best to keep up with the assassins' pacing and failing to do so. They were close. So close to his glorious scheme.
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