The Siege of Ethenveld (open)

Ruins of Taer Loun, Great Eastern Forest


Taenor stepped carefully along the path, a stone walkway skillfully carved and engraved with runes.  The light filtering in through the canopy overhead was enough to show that the runes were something Pre-Imperial.  He had taken several rubbings of them, every time he saw a new shape to them so he could study as complete a lexicon as possible when he got back to civilization.  The Great Eastern Forest was even less explored than its Western cousin.  


Taenor had traveled here following rumors of an artifact.  The rumors actually stated that a great evil resided in the forest near the foothills of the mountains.  Taenor had taken a long while triangulating the location by traveling to remote villages.  He encountered a tribe of wild halflings that had led him to the edge of this ruin, but refused to enter.  Their dialect was strange, but so far as Taenor understood, most people who entered this ruin was never seen again.

Now, Taenor knew many of the laws that the natural world existed by.  If it was just a matter of something killing those that entered, they would know it.  Animals would be skittish around the place, trails would lead in and out, etc.  Animals didn't seem very skittish around here, as he stood there pondering a dozen species of birds he had never seen to the west of the mountains were flitting about, unperturbed by whatever was going on.  That meant no killing.

Beyond that, Taenor could only guess until he could examine it.

So, Taenor continued on.  Carefully, he tread the stone walkway.  After a few dozen meters, and a handful of turns in the walkway, he came upon a doorway.  There was nothing closing it down, but a cold aura surrounded it.  

"Lesaen'ta" he spoke, and his eyes glowed a luminous green.  Before his eyes, the dark doorway became a spectral door that consisted of what looked like planks of magic bound together by runes of the same sort he had been examining on the walkway.  Taenor spent a long moment examining the spells bound into the door way.  Always shifting, he couldn't get them to focus in his vision, so he moved closer.  


Then closer.

Then the spectral door shifted, and part of it contacted the skin of his nose.  In an instant, Taenor was whisked away from the ruins the locals called Taer Loun.  The wild halflings waited until nightfall, then left with their theory confirmed.  The strange tall mage had vanished.


Ethenveld


After a few moments of seemingly not existing, Taenor found himself standing in a room.  The architecture of the room spoke of high imperial, and the sunlight streaming through the window told him he had traveled a good distance to the west.  The room held many books, some with the same runes on them as he had found in the ruins he had just, unexpectedly, vacated.  The room also held a pair of brutish Orcs, and so Taenor's focus was pulled from what had been a potentially dangerous academic expedition into a real life and death situation.

"Grrrrngh?" An orc reared back as Taenor filled the space near where he had been relieving himself.  He and his companion were stupendously confused.  It was that confusion that saved Taenor.

"Kaelva To'lok!" He spat out twice.  In quick succession, light transfigured both of his hands, then shot out.  The two orcs stood stock still for a moment, rigid at the instant of death as the lightning coursed through their bodies.  Then, they slumped to the ground, scorch marks riddled their exposed flesh where arcs had gone between their bodies.

It was then that the sound of orcs pillaging the castle broke through into his conscious mind.  The edges of tingling sensations began, as he had cast a handful of spells in short succession.  He hadn't prepared to battle, but he had a will of iron to remain alive a long while.  Taenor moved quickly, grabbing a couple of the books that were titled in the strange runes, then vacated the room.  He shoved them into his satchel, closed the clasp on a bag that seemed no bigger than it had before, and began to move.  He figured the orcs would start on the bottom floor and move up.  That gave him time to figure out how to escape is he could get to the top of the tower.

So, up and up Taenor ran.  His adventures in strange lands had kept him in decent shape, but even so he was tired when he reached the top parapet of the tower and looked out over the carnage.

"This isn't a raid on someone...this castle is practically a ruin already, and that is a veritable horde!"  Taenor said to himself.  As he watched, a pair of creatures emerged from the moat far below and hundreds of yards away.  An airship of obvious Dwarven craftsmanship floated overhead and shot at the orcs following the pair.  "Is that a...lizardfolk?  Working with a Dwarven crew, and dragging along a human...person..."  He continued to murmur to himself as he looked on.  A crash from below reminded him, and he set about securing the door up to the parapet, leaving the edge and ducking down.

He pulled a stylus of cold iron from a pouch, and began to inscribe warding runes into the wood of the trap door.  As he did, he pushed magic slowly through the stylus.  Each rune he inscribed glowed as soon as he finished it, and slowly he began to encase the trap door in a magical ward.  And slowly, the tingling crept in from the edges of his consciousness.

Taun-Lok Velaeri Mirielle Merlon  Aldacer

Taun-Lok had released her when he broke the water's surface, letting her climb up the ladder on her own. Partially because his injuries and fatigue were causing him to fade and flag already, but mostly because he didn't want to climb the ladder at all. If his charge hadn't climbed it, it was likely he would not have and would have died somewhere nearby. Fire shot from the ship, thick ballistae bolts launched in waves, and it flew in the air, the Domain of Totutl. Apparently the Cage of the Sun had provided him a ship with which to escape on after all.

Wearily, the warrior pulled himself up behind the Princess one rung at a time, the ladder creaking. It was designed for dwarves, which were hardy folk and hefty, but Taun-Lok was about the size of a Kodiak bear in height and weight. The ladder was finely constructed and made excellently, but holding the girl and the lizard-man at the same time was certainly a stress test for it.

As he came level with the deck hardy hands reached for him, helping him over the railing of the air ship. The lizard's tongue was hanging from his open mouth, chest rising and falling as though trying to catch his breath. With a lurch, Taun-Lok slumped to the deck of the air ship laying on the metal and wood as he gathered his surroundings.

Despite being his saviors, provided to him by the Gods, they were warmbloods and they might seek that which was his. Namely, the Princess he was charged with returning to the Cradle of the World. They needed to know immediately that none would impede his divine mission. A deep growl rumbled up from his chest as he rose, stepping over the woman on the deck, looming over her in a defensive posture even if he didn't bother to unsling the mace from his back.

Blood dripped from the worst of his wounds, mixed with the water of the moat down his chest and back and onto the deck. "Leader?" He did need some medicine, some form of healing, but it could wait. First and foremost he needed to get the air ship traveling in the right direction and the woman off the dangerous open deck.

Mirielle Merlon Aldacer Taenor Stormwind

"Battle formations, Captain," the order came, Madog's voice steady and calm. "I want both companies on a line, line formation. Place the Rangers on either flank, cavalry in the rear. We advance on my order."

The captain nodded once and moved on, passing orders to junior officers and sergeants. Madog watched for a moment as the man moved on his way and then turned his head to the fighting around the castle. Old and in disrepair, the structure wasn't exactly the best defensive position in the world, but understandable for whoever had taken refuge within the crumbling walls. Around him men rushed to follow their orders, the crimson red of their uniforms seemingly mocking the verdant greens and browns of the terrain around them.

They'd driven the orcs out and across the land, running them down one by one at times and in whole droves when pockets stood to fight. He'd taken casualties here and there, but nothing major. Nothing that had slowed him down significantly or dissuaded him from the task at hand. The orcs had ventured into Northern Arlek and the King had sent a force to stop them. Madog was the best choice for the task at hand, having just returned from patrols in the North, and so here he was. Driving them out was the easy part. Hunting them down had been difficult, at least until now.

In a few moments the Arlekkians had rushed out, the red of their uniforms and the glint of their armor visible from afar in the light. Nearly six hundred men arrayed themselves into a single line six ranks deep facing the rear of the orc horde and as the last of the men fell into position, a single order was barked out and the front two ranks lowered pikes. Behind them stood two more ranks of men armed with swords and metal shields while two rows of crossbowmen held the rear ranks, their weapons at the ready.


On either flanks, small groups of men took cover where they could, the muted grays of their uniforms at stark contrast to their comrades' crimson. These were the Rangers, the Arlekkian men of the wilderness. Trained huntsmen and woodsmen all, each was a crack shot and a skilled fighter. Each was armed with a crossbow specially made by the small enchanter's guild within Arlek allowing them to cock the weapon one handed with modest effort and firing from a small magazine mounted atop the weapon. Behind the line rode a dozen men on horses, a detachment of the Arlekkian 1st Regiment of Light Horse. As far as Madog was concerned, they were the weak link of his forces. To his mind, nobles had varying levels of training and there was absolutely no guarantee that such men would fight as hard or harder than his regular troops.

Ahead, the orcs had spotted the men that had arrived behind them, the same ones that had driven them out at the tip of a pike. The rear of the orc horde turned to face the Arlekkian troops, readying themselves to charge the line with strength of numbers. Madog hefted his two handed blade, a traditional weapon of his people, and moved to stand next to the captain he'd spoken with earlier.

"Standard orders, Captain," was all the man said. The captain nodded once and cleared his throat.

"At one hundred yards, volley fire!" the man shouted. "Present!"

At the order, the pikemen and swordsmen dropped to one knee. Behind them, two hundred crossbows clicked, their safeties released, the men waiting only for the order to fire as the green horde grew closer.

Taun-Lok Mirielle Merlon Aldacer Velaeri Taenor Stormwind