• This section is for roleplays only.
    ALL interest checks/recruiting threads must go in the Recruit Here section.

    Please remember to credit artists when using works not your own.

Completed Chapter IV: Forgotten Sands

Status
Not open for further replies.
Wolf Rawrrr

Wolf Rawrrr

Wolf-Knight
Supporter
vvsYOgS.jpg


Chapter IV: Forgotten Sands

"Ask, and it shall be given to you;
seek, and you shall find;
knock, and it shall be opened to you."

- Matthew 7:7 (The Bible)​





She remembered Ridge from her childhood. At least the harbor. The seagulls circling low, preying on the fish under the surface of the blue sea. Ships moving in and out of the port. The scent of salt in the air. It seemed so long ago, as if in another life, which was true in a sense. Nothing had been the same since the day she swore allegiance to Ilhirel. She could never forget that day; herself kneeling by the body of her life-long friend, the Sorceress towering above her with a cunning smile, and those words: 'It is now that your life truly begins.' By the Maker, so it did. And in her three years of service, she had never failed her mistress. Until recently.

Today was the fifth day of her pursuit against the company that eluded her in Aboran. Clueless, she had no choice but to have the entire length of the coastline searched and hope for the best. She was nervous from the beginning, when she left Alicante, having been disciplined by her mistress. So of course that she was on the edge when, four days later, she still had absolutely nothing to show for her efforts, and by then the trail had gone dangerously cold. She failed the most important task she was ever given - and kept failing it - and the fear of what Ilhirel would do to her was becoming unbearable. She had just walked into Ridge's Justice Square that was teeming with soldiers; some local, others part of the regiment she brought along. One of the shadow elf knights approached her with a purpose in her steps.

Mustering her courage, the elven knight saluted and spoke. "General Shadowleaf, the whole town is suspiciously quiet, but I have found someone with information matching your description." Seeing her superior's face light up, the knight immediately signaled two other soldiers to bring forth the witness that was waiting aside. "Tell the general what you know, prosecutor."

The human stepped forth and mumbled something about respect and honor, when Niara hissed at him, telling him to spill it out already. He did. "M-my name is Thorne. I am a local prosecutor." Seeing the general's impatient expression, he quickly added: "I-I heard you were looking for a particular group of people. A human girl, a pair of shadow elves and another human."

"That only partially matches the description. Was there a dwarf? A drakkar?" Niara asked. Her initial interest was waning quickly, and this was starting to look like a waste of time.

"A d-dwarf? No, I don't think so." blurted Thorne. "There might have been a drakkar at the end of the trial, yesterday, I think. But -"

"Tell the general the rest, now!" the knight interrupted him, reading Niara's face.

"I-I did a ch-check on them - asked around. They were strangers, arrived to Ridge five days ago by ship from the west, a rather colorful group, immediately taking an interest in the ongoing murder trial." the prosecutor looked relieved when he saw a hint of a positive reaction.

"And where are they now?"

"They left Ridge yesterday, early, heading down the road east, I think." said Thorne.

"That must be them, general." said the elven knight. "The description is a close match, and they arrived here one day after the incident in Aboran, by ship from the right direction. I had men ask around the harbor, and despite the townsfolk not being particularly talkative I managed to get some answers. A few sailors confirmed seeing a similar group with the addition of a dwarf and a drakkar, as well as a third elf."

That was just what Niara needed to spring back to life. "Finally!" she exclaimed. "Assemble the troops in front of the East Gates! We're moving out as soon as -" But before the general got to finish that sentence, an arrow came flying out of nowhere and hit her right in the chest, and she went down on her knees without another word.

The knight swore and yelled: "Raise the alarm! The general's been hit! To arms!"

And Justice Square exploded into chaos.
 
Last edited:
Daskárd, near the western foothills of Sandpeak Mountain, October 5th, year 3321


------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


It was the ninth day since they left Ridge. The first four were easy, following the friendly road among the grassy fields and forests. Eventually those fields turned into less than green plains, and not long after there was nothing but sand under their feet. The transition was smooth, gradual, but still surprising in a way.


The journey had been uneventful so far. The fellowship spent most of the days on the march, and nights sleeping away. Their progress was slowed down by the rough terrain, and they covered the least ground during their slow, difficult walk through the desert. It fell hardest for those who never found themselves in such a harsh climate - unlike Xenthriss who spent his time telling sick jokes and trying to frighten Dina with dangers of the desert. When the drakkar wasn't grinning like an idiot, he tagged along separately, apparently talking to himself or the wind. This had an unnerving effect on the others.


They were walking in the shadow of the great Sandpeak Mountain for a while now - a true giant towering over the drakkar capital that was somewhere up ahead according to Xenthriss, hidden away by uneven terrain. Today was hot and boring like the day before, but it was becoming more bearable as the day slowly gave way to night. The Sun was almost setting in the west behind them, casting elongated shadows on the sand. They were now marching along the foothills of the mountain, so luckily they were able to find some shade among the rock formations plenty in the area.


Xenthriss was in the middle of the colon for a change. As they were walking, he suddenly laughed and asked no one in particular: "So, how do you like my desert?"
 

Dina Ailsa​

http://www.rpdom.com/threads/dina-ailsa.53054/

Dina was already sick and tired of "Xenthriss's desert". The sand was hard to move in and was constantly getting in her eyes, mouth, clothes... She felt itchy all over and Xenthriss's constant jokes helped to keep her mood down. It felt like they were moving through fresh snow, tons of it, but without that childish joy to it... In fact, it was tiring, hard, and made Dina feel clumsy and unwelcome. Every now and then Dina found that some of Xentriss's stories kept hold of her as she was trying to move through the sand as fast as she could not to encounter some monstrosity that lurked just under her feet. Dina could feel every muscle in her leg. Strained, painful from fighting to move through this...this... There was no word that came to Dina's mind that would be appropriate. Dina was drenched in sweat, it was not hard to see that she wasn't used to traversing deserts. She breathed heavily, her mouth felt as dry as sand, and she didn't think there was any fluid left in her body. Oh, where are my beautiful creeks? Green trees and colorful flowers? Soft breeze, calls of woodland creatures... As she was imagining her homeland it seemed to appear in front of her amid all that sand. Dina shook her head and the image dissapeared. She felt disappointed and glad at the same time. What would she give to be home again...
 
"What? No takers?" Xenthriss chuckled.


"Save your breath." said Meric, looking over his shoulder. "We don't like it any better than on the first day, when you asked the same thing."


The drakkar made no reply, seemingly content with whatever reaction he could get. No one was really in the mood. They just spent a day marching through the sands, and though it was October it was still hot as hell. Xenthriss did warn them about that too, but what good is a warning when they had no choice? Their destination loomed over them: the rocky outcrop rising ever higher, up to the jagged peaks of stone and sand. Their shadows went ahead of them, chased by the western Sun. At least the temperature would drop overnight. It would get considerably colder, they knew, but were still looking forward to it.


Everyone coped with the heat and boredom as best they could.


Meric had been leading a conversation with Laurolf at the head of the colon. Having only once ever visited the dwarven capital of Darkreach, many years ago, he remained quite curious about their culture which seemed to brighten Laurolf's mood. Tharos followed close up, occasionally contributing to the conversation. Next came Dina and Violet, who kept together for the whole trip. The two of them talked about pretty much everything - of the days gone, and days to come. It was clear that Dina looked up to Violet. After all, she needed a role figure in her life, with her both parents gone and what seemed like the weight of the world on her shoulders. Xenthriss was all over the place at various points in their journey, sometimes not even in the colon, though right now he was hounding Dina from behind. Henvei tagged along on last place and seemed to be in no need of any company save that of his Codex. At an early point he too was designated as a target by Xenthriss, but proved overall oblivious to the drakkar's remarks, making him abandon the task.
 
Henvei Relkor vech Daltzen

​







​



In any other condition, perhaps, the magus would have given the drakkar more thought. Even with the ever-present possibility of a sound pummeling, Henvei had a policy of being generous with his snippy remarks, even concerning those scaly brutes.


Ever since leaving the coast, however, the Folk had been plagued by a terrible case of melting. He was sure of it. Henvei could feel himself slowly melting, starting with the inner nooks of his head. A dull throb once they got inlands a bit. A terrible, stabbing ache once the party left the fog behind. And now, he was sure, his mind had simply vanished, replaced with hot coals and a drakkar far too pleased with himself. Henvei knew his legs had died long ago, and their dead husks were simply walking along for the hell of the ride. He had lost most of the feeling in his everything else, save for his hands, which he kept firmly wrapped around the chilly frame of the Codex.


Thinking was painful, so the wizard rested in silence, devoting all his remaining strength to keeping up with the party. He had wrapped himself up in cloth where the sands first started, in hopes of keeping the sun off of his skin. At present, the trappings were little good save for cloth buckets, keeping the melting wizard together. Perhaps somebody would find his puddle one day and have the decency to freeze him back into shape.


"As if any soul...could like this hellish place..." the wizard mumbled to himself.
 
Laurolf Fangür

​






Don't like it? Hellish? Hah! What did they know? Those tall fools, traipsing through the sand, complaining and crying, moaning and whining, as though they were walking on hot stones. "Bastards be 'avin' it 'rite easy." Laurolf thought, as he had many-a times before, in the past days. After all, he was a Dwarf. As strong and hardy as he was and usually very proud to be what he was, right now he wished to be a giant of a Drakkar or even an elf... Well, not an elf, but a human at least. He kept sinking knee-deep into the cursed sand and his only solace was that it at least was warm. He'd once had an.. encounter with the deepest field of snow, probably in all of Asgard and.. well let it be said, that there are certain places where one never expects to experience frostbite in. Ever.


The heat didn't much bother him, it was inconvenient, if anything. Especially in the deepest of tunnels and caves back home, the air would often get very hot and dry, especially when some poor fool dug straight into a pit of boiling magma and Laurolf would have to oversee the plugging of said pit. He had heard plenty of stories about the infamous 'Drakesands', of it's murderous heat and lurking creatures. So far, Laurolf wasn't much impressed- In Knalga, one could always sense the fear of a support collapsing, causing a cave in. Or if a torch or lantern, was to fall and set something wooden on fire. In recent years, more poor souls had lost their lives to suffocation, than goblins or trolls. Though a death is never considered a blessing, at least going in a battle with a fierce beast, has honor in it. Seldom do they tell tales of Dwarves, that went coughing and gagging, in a tunnel filled with smoke or dust.


Here in the desert, there was plenty of air to breathe and it was rather unlikely for the sky to go and fall, on this fine day. Indeed, the only annoyances so far, was the sand that could devour Laurolf whole and the Drake, that kept yapping it's jaws, only to worsen the already low morale of their group, for whatever sick satisfaction the beast got from their tired and weary reactions. "Why donnet' ye' flap yer' wings like yer jaws, an' go find us some shade, or water, eh?" Laurolf said, half-mumbling. Then glancing at Dina and the others, just by looking at them, he could tell they were miserable and not really built or trained, to endure hardship. Well, perhaps not the archer that'd tagged along, though Laurolf still wasn't quite sure what to make of her, though it was good for the 'young lass' to have a friend along. Nevertheless, he knew that with every slow and agonizing step through the sands, they only got closer to their goal. And the closer they were, the harder it would get. That worried him some, though for now, he didn't give it too much thought. He needed to concentrate on walking, lest he'd fall and sink completely into the bloody sand.


At least Meric was there and while many might've been annoyed by the way he kept asking about Knalga, Laurolf found it a very welcomed distraction. Besides, he did always enjoy telling stories of his beloved home, whether it be around a campfire, over a pint of ale or in this pit of hell, they called Daskárd. "Where was I..." He mumbled, then snapped his fingers, "'At's rite; say what ye' will 'bout us Dwarves- Ye' won't be findin' a heartier folk, in all the bloody lands. Sure 'em Humes an' ye' Elves be 'avin quite a colorful culture as well, but let me tell ya' laddie, you ain't seen a festival, till ye've partaken in the Celebration of Ore. 'At's a time, when all the mountains, be filled to 'e brim with decorations, eh? Music an' song, echoes throughout the depths, reachin' all the ways to the outside, they say. The lads'll be showin' off with 'eir skills of fightin' an' craftin', while the ladyfolks be dressin' up in all sortsa' fancy clothes and gems, eh. An' everyone be singing an' dancing, drinking an' eating and if yer' to know a single thing 'bout us Dwarves, it's 'at when we's be celebratin', the ale and the food be plenty, stacked as high as the skies 'emselves!" Laurolf chuckled and smiled, as he remembered the last festival he'd partaken in. Which, of course, had indeed turned out to be his last anything in his dear mountain home. "When I take 'er back.. we'll celebrate till the end o' time itself.." He thought, then clearing his throat and turning back to Meric,


"Now, ye' see laddie, we'd use to hold 'at festival er'ry year. But 'en it started to stretch out an' last all bloody year, 'at we 'ad to start holdin' it every two years!" He chuckled again.
 
Meric was enjoying the conversation as well, more than he ever thought he could with a dwarf for a participant. He laughed at Laurolf's remarks, commenting: "It sounds amazing. I've heard of the Celebration of Ore, but I regret never being able to attend. Your home is so far away from mine, Laurolf." Then he added, quickly: "Not that it wouldn't be worth the trip, of course!" And he chuckled.


Probably due to the fact that Meric and Laurolf were busy talking, it was Tharos Silverlane who first sensed it.


"Hold." he said, making the several steps needed to position himself at the head of the now stopped colon. He seemed to be listening to nothing in particular, until the wind carried the sounds to all their ears. "A battle!" The man exclaimed, just when it already became apparent to everyone. Somewhere from up ahead emanated the distinct sounds of fighting - steel against steel, and inhuman cries.


"It's closer than you think." said Xenthriss, all serious. "These rock formations can muffle sound as easily as echo it."


"We check it out." said Meric, in reply to the unspoken question of what-do-we-do.


"Don't worry, girl. Monsters don't fight with steel. Well, at least not all of them." the drakkar grinned at Dina.


"Violet, you and Dina follow but stay back. Have an arrow ready." said Meric, then quickened his pace across the sand and moved further into the rock formation on the edge of which they had been traveling.
 

Dina Ailsa​

http://www.rpdom.com/threads/dina-ailsa.53054/

Dina wasn't ready to move too quickly, fight even less. When Meric had given out orders she was more that happy to obey. She tried her best to give that annoying Drakkar the look that spilled all the poison she had in her at that moment. If he weren't one of the chosen I would have suggested driving him away long ago. She thought bitterly. But then again...he can be usefull. The thought was followed by a small sigh.
 
Laurolf Fangür

​






"Here we bloody go again'.." Laurolf thought, as Meric charged off towards the rocks. "Tryin' to save 'e damned world, and 'ey keep but'in into er'rybody else's business. An' I cannet' much be even fightin', with 'is cursed yellow stuff all o'er the place!" He followed the rest, despite his reservations about yet another detour. They'd gained a good pace since leaving Ridge and Laurolf wouldn't have wanted them to risk losing more precious time, by attending to every trial and scheme they encountered, every day wasted, gave Ilhirel more time to get closer to the Amaranth. He had tried to share his concerns with the others over the past days, but as he put it, "Bloody youngins' never listen to 'eir elders." Though he did find himself somewhat curious to see what the ruckus was all about, even if he'd not admit it out loud.
 
The Chosen found the source of the mayhem deep within a shaded maze of rock formations, at a sort of an uneven clearing still partially bathed in red sunlight. The place was swarming with movement.


A dozen armored soldiers, men and elves all, were fighting against several less professional-looking warriors, all drakkar. The fighting was going on in two groups. At the center of the area, where most of the unmoving bodies were, two drakkar were making a stand against five men. Both drakkar seemed to be injured judging by their movement. The other group was over on the far side of the clearing, where three more drakkar were pinned with their backs to a wall of stone, surrounded by no less than six soldiers of which two were shadow elves. A moment later it became apparent that one of the two elves was a wizard, when he hit a drakkar with a fireball spell, setting him on fire. The two remaining drakkar fought with all they had, and one gave a savage, blood-chilling cry when his mate was burned alive. Even at this distance an odd feature could be made out about him - he had no wings.


The sand was soaked with dark red blood. There were many mixed corpses around, perhaps twenty of them, scattered around the clearing. Some were killed by now exposed traps that impaled them or otherwise ended their lives. It was not unreasonable to assume there could be more traps hidden beneath the sand.


"The Sorceress' soldiers are fighting the rebels. It won't be long until the knights have won." Xenthriss cleared things up for the others, though he didn't move yet. It seemed he was eager to see how the rest of the fellowship would react.
 
Feyn Djunnen

​






It had been an utter failure. The rendezvous point for a recent assault on trade routes must have been discovered by Imperial forces. Feyn could only think of one that would have betrayed her and no doubt the traitorous scum would escape. At the very least the dune hadn't shifted too much, allowing much of her old traps to function as intended. Again though, they knew there would be traps and had brought the men to nullify that advantage.


Now though, very little was going through Feyn's mind. She had been one of the initial wounded, halting her men as soon as she heard the snap of a bow. A pair of arrows nestled deep in the scales of her shoulder, sharp spots of pain that reminded her of the failure she was enduring with each swing of her axe.


Blood red spray erupted as her weapon bit into the neck of a man, his armor crumpling under the weighted blade. She felt his friend deliver a parting gift on his behalf, jabbing a short blade into her side. She yanks the axe free, using the momentum gained from wrenching it from the neck of her foe and into the man with the blade.


There was no fear to be found in Feyn, a searing rage at her betrayal and defeat. What a statement they had made, what ire they had roused, what a dream they had shared. Shattered as some bastard counted the Imperial gold he sold his ancestral home for. Feyn kept swinging, throwing a fist into a human face and ignoring the pain in her hand.


Perhaps they had a chance, the humans fell in droves. Hope spurred her on just to be extinguished as her friend Jrekk was set alight. She could smell his flesh cooking, the scales on his face cracking. Jrekk did not scream, just drove his sword into a man and shuddered. His impact jarred her, knowing this was the end. It made her angry, it was not how it was supposed to happen.


Feyn roars. She roars at the betrayal she suffers now, she roars at the yoke around the neck of the Drakkar, she roars for vengeance and she roars for the blind fury that coursed through her. Eyes glazing over, she charges the nearest man. Intent upon leaving a lasting mark upon history for the Split Wings and herself.
 
Henvei Relkor vech Daltzen

​







​



We are gathered here today to learn of the esteemed vech Daltzen, Henvei of Relkor's line, and his sad, sad tale. Take not, students, for the wise Daltzen's tale applies to all foolish enough to follow a scalefolk through the desert. Even something as odd as that Daltzen has no place in the raging suns and the searing sands. Remember well this lesson, lest your find yourself ever past these wastes.

​




​



And now, to celebrate the Daltzen's memory, let us drown ourselves in tea and laugh at his idiocy.

​



A slow, steady stream of curses bounced their way around Henvei's empty head. He was going to die out in these wretched sands, and his name would be of those silly tales told to scare the little Folk. How despicable. The greatest scholar, the last hope of the frigid wastes, melted to nothing in the middle of nowhere. How unfitting.

​




​



Henvei clenched his teeth, already hearing the remarks. Ah, the good Daltzen, hot-headed as ever. Yes, Daltzen, a rather hot topic these days, is it not? Ah, but perhaps it is not best to speak of Daltzen - we might tend to get all heated over nothing at all! Ahggg! What was left of the scholar cringed. Such brainless wordplay belonged in a primary study, giggly material for the little ones to enjoy. No, not even! That was the kind of drivel that a scholar might say belonged in a primary study, while in reality she was gigging into her tea and the rest of the room also laughed and then the scholars in the next room start to laugh and then the butcher down the road hears it and also starts laughing and then the meat on the spit starts laughing too and they all sink their teeth into the meat and it tears in such lovely strings of tissue and the smell is just so maddening ahhhhh....

​




​



Meat! Meat! The hot sands of the desert and the crippling pain in his everything slammed back into Henvei's reality with the force of a million tea parties' worth of regret. Through his throbbing head and blurry eyes, the scholar could see...ah, they've stopped. Yes. The mad party and its mad players need a rest. Finally. And they've managed to get a fire going, and caught a deer, and have butchered it for the enjoyment of the last sane member, yes.

​




​



The absurdity of that possibility washed over Henvei as his nose woke up further. Sweat, spittle, more unpleasantly moist fluids. The pervasive taste of steel on steel and dirt kicked up with an angry sword's swipe. It worked its way into his head, where his unhappy mind finally agreed to being thinking again.

​




​



A fight. There was a fight, here, in the desert. A vicious one at that. The scholar's wide-eye realization narrowed to the glare of battle. An idea struck his desperate mind, and he ran with it."A fight..." Came the Folk's thin, hissy voice from the rear of the group. He stumbled up closer to the scene, drawing himself to his fully unimpressive height. Still somewhat woozy, he threw off what rags remained around his head, grateful that the sun was finally leaving. "I see...no reason to let it continue unaided. The night...knights could win, yes, but why not change the ending a little bit? It seems so boring to me..."

​




​



Inside, the wizard desperately willed his words to work. In all reality, he could care less about who won. The winner would probably have water, and if not, there was enough blood spilt to make blood tea. Revolting and unfitting for a gentleman, but all the same it would be something to drink.

​
 


Dina Ailsa​

http://www.rpdom.com/threads/dina-ailsa.53054/

Dina was stunned by the scene. Blood, screams, weapons clashing... And magic too. That's not fair! She thought, and at the same time some tiny voice of reason was saying: "Help the drakkars, you're on their home ground and could use some help yourself." Dina remembered how she failed to use her power in time on the past occasion but was there anything to lose? No, not really. She focused her mind on the wizard, there must be something in this ground she could use. Dina gave all she could to summon some plant aid and was frozen in place with concentration.
 
A great deal of effort went into summoning the contact between something.... anything, plant-like. Surely the nature that surrounded everything and everyone had to be present here as well? But even if it was, when the contact came it was distant and abandoned. It felt like a lone tower atop of hill that once served a great purpose but had long since fallen into decay. The more Dina focused, the harder it became to maintain even such a useless link to a feeling and nothing solid or helpful at all... Or was it? For a moment, with her eyes firmly closed, she thought she saw something in the red darkness behind her eyelids. She was tired and the contact was weak, but there it was, like a candle burning on a mountain peak in complete darkness. She could try for it, as useless as it may be and risk exhaustion, or perhaps rather abandon the attempt.


Meanwhile action was being taken. Meric already left the safety of cover and was now running towards the first group of fighters, followed by Silverlane. Both had their swords out. Xenthriss stood next to Dina, staring at the farther drakkar group that was fighting at the rock wall.


The rebels weren't exactly holding out for reinforcements - they hadn't even noticed the odd fellowship of people, couldn't - they were too busy fighting for their lives. One of them wildly charges and bounces off a man's heavy shield, only escaping a death blow afterwards by an inch.


In the other group, the two drakkar who were taking a stand together had just ran out of luck. One is stabbed clean through by the longsword of an imperial knight, while the other one is knocked down on the ground by a very unsportsmanlike blow. Five imperial soldiers laugh towering over him, delaying the execution for a bit.
 
Violet Robbins

​







​



There were very few things that Violet could not withstand. Sadly, the kind of heat one might find in a desert happened to be one of the things that made that list. She could handle being knee deep in bloody combat, blades missing her by mere inching. She could handle tense negotiations where a single wrong word could ignite a conflict. However, when it came to heat, she had no safeguards against it. She hid her suffering well though, knowing it was the right thing to do for Dina's sake. It took all her will, but she kept up a brave face as she talked with Dina; hiding the fact that she was tired, hiding every time she had to wipe the copious sweat from her brow. But, it wasn't she hadn't done this kind of thing before. When Xenthriss spoke, she remembered a another thing she couldn't stand; him. Each time he spoke, she actually winced. She was far past disliking him, and could barely withstand the temptation to punch him in his scaly face.

​




​



Luckily for the elf, the monotonous switching in her mind between the two things was broken by Meric's call to action. She fetch a bow from her quiver in the time most took to blink. As she advanced, any observer could see the shift in her stance as well as her attitude. When she saw the carnage, that noticeable change increased tenfold. If there was anything Violet couldn't stand (aside from the heat) was an unfair fight in the favor of the witch. When she her the roar from the one Drakkar, she moved. In the blink of an eye, she was at the top of the rise, letting loose arrows with pinpoint aim. Normally, she would have thought out a plan for attack, but she knew all too well the tone that lay in the roar, the pain of losing someone to the witch; and she wasn't about to let anymore fall to that wretched hag.

​
 


Dina Ailsa​

http://www.rpdom.com/threads/dina-ailsa.53054/

Dina's concentration was slipping away, she could hear her companions advancing. She cursed under her breath and collected every bit of concentration she had left. Dina reached for the only thing she could feel. It could turn out to be useless, but how will Dina ever get strong if she doesn't try, doesn't practice the only thing that could actually contribute in this kind of action? This is something only she can do and she was planning to make it into her greatest strenght.
 
Laurolf Fangür

​






By the time the rest reacted to the battle, Laurolf was already gone, "Solid.." He thought, huffing and puffing in exhaustion, as he fought the Dwarf-devouring sands, "Solid ground! I need solid ground!" He said, mainly to himself as he moved towards the nearest climbable rocks, that wouldn't- hopefully -be too far from the action either. Laurolf could've charged in with Meric and Tharos, in fact he much wanted to- But to effectively utilize his axe, he needed momentum and strength. The latter he had, but the sand made him as slow as a snail and he'd not be much good charging into battle, when the enemy could so easily dodge the slow-moving Dwarf's attacks.
 
Feyn Djunnen

​







​



Feyn had charged in, blind to the fate of her comrade for now. Enraged she tears into a quivering elf, rending the man before searing pain hit her. Something had jabbed into the arrows protruding from her back. It was blinding, the shock temporarily stunning her so another could slam into her, toppling her over.


No! There would not be a second capture, she'd rather die. Not again. Not again. She feels her helmet torn off, tearing several scales with it. Jeering laughter and whooping over her capture. She saw the looks, it would not be a slow death but at least it was death. She spits, a futile gesture but it felt good. She begins letting forth a series of curses in her native tongue so bold and rough it would make a dwarf patriarch blush.


Then she heard the call, she tilts her head. Scales shining in the sun as blood pours from her wound, she swore she could see the aforementioned dwarf, along with others charging through the haze.


"Heh... A bad joke.." Feyn laughs to herself, chuckling in the sand as she tries to stand.
 
The black haired girl reaches deeper through her focus, wrapping her mind about the faint sense of presence. Through the heat she feels the weight of the effort she is undertaking. She had never tried anything like this before. She has but a moment to wonder why this is so difficult, before everything crashes down. Dina catches the feel of something ancient, buried not just in the ground but the past as well - and a hint of surprise which was not her own - before losing consciousness. She collapses down on the soft, warm sand next to Violet who had managed to release two arrows in the moments before.


The first arrow misses, but before it can alert anyone, the second arrow hits its mark: A human soldier, the wannabe executioner of the drakkar rebels, falls dead with the shaft sticking out the back of his head. The fallen drakkar suddenly becomes the most unimportant thing in the world, as the soldiers yell in alarm and start detecting the threat.


At that moment, Meric and Silverlane reach the first group of fighters and engage two versus five with such unrelenting courage that the men are intimidated. One falls immediately to a swing of Tharos' heavy broadsword, and Meric fatally wounds another.


In the other group, a bit farther away next to the rock wall, there were still three human soldiers and an elven wizard. One of the soldiers is smart enough to keep an eye on the fallen drakkar in case she tries to recover. The business end of his sword rests dangerously close to her exposed throat while he contemplates whether or not he should kill her. The wizard, on the other hand, focuses on the Chosen. He writes off the slow dwarf battling the sands, and instead begins working on another fireball to cast at Meric and Silverlane.
 
Feyn Djunnen

​






The chances of survival had been neatly cut down as the razor edge of Imperial steel lay upon her scales. Though she felt the blade, she knew the weight of a sword when a man held it ready to strike. This blade had something in it she could use, momentary hesitation. The spark of hope sets alight her spirit. The dull throb of her heart returns to the beat of beastly fury as her eyes narrow into slits.


With reptilian speed, Feyn grabs the blade. Instantly she feels the metal cut into the thick scales of her hands but without the momentum of a swing, it doesn't sink it. She draws the blade in, pulling the soldier close to her hissing snout. Powerful legs kick out into the man as Feyn hopes not all the traps have been set off. She scrambles to her feet, charging the soldier between her and the wizard that burned her trusted friend to death.
 
While the fallen drakkar managed to get the upper hand on her distracted captors, the wizard could not be interrupted in time. He finished his brief spell, sending a decent-sized fiery projectile that ultimately collided with Silverlane. Fortunately, the fire merely slightly scorched the man's left shoulder armor. "Nice to have someone watching my back!" he shouted through the fray.


Meric finished off the soldier he was fighting, then engaged in pursuit for the other one that retreated toward the wizard's group. He caught him from behind before the man could escape, not hesitating to kill him with his back turned. Meanwhile Silverlane slew his opponent.


There were only two soldiers left, a human and an elf, plus the elven wizard. They withdrew from the enraged drakkar that just tore up another soldier and thus reduced the chances of capture even more. In fact, it seemed that the surviving imperials were retreating, heading toward a gap in the rocks.


They did not seem to be troubled by a lone dwarf standing in the way. The two soldiers moved to close in on him, while the wizard began channeling yet another fire spell. Meric and Silverlane were too far, like the drakkar who was probably too fatigued and overcome with loss anyway, surrounded with the bodies of her mates.
 
Henvei Relkor vech Daltzen

​







​



Henvei wrenched his head from the sand, spitting out the grit with a disgusted hiss. In the heat of battle, he had forgotten how truly miserable the desert was. It had quickly reminded him with the seventeen thousand six hundred and fifty eighth rock to send the wizard tumbling to the ground.

​




​



It didn't take long for his lightheaded smirk to resume its usual place upon his mug. Ah, what did a little grit matter, anyways? All the little pawns were scrabbling around in the sand, and soon, the wizard would descend on the battle, reaping the spoils of their efforts. He had been far too aware of his raspy throat and dry mouth for much too long. Casting his eyes up from the accursed sand, the wizard continued to watch the only snag in his plans: the enemy wizard.

​




​



Well, maybe not. In this sort of circumstance, a wizard couldn't do very much. No sane practitioner of magic would burden himself with carrying water around, and certainly not go wandering around deserts. His fellows, however, could force him into the desert all they pleased. What was he to do, say no? In this sort of desert battle, a wizard wouldn't have as much tactical value as he usually did, unless he had a ready supply of water. Otherwise, he'd be too thirsty to get anything done. Ah! What a terrible fate. Damn the desert! Damn it and all the rocks in its hell-forsaken wastes!

​




​



Presently, Henvei managed to drag himself out of his self-pity to remember that not all wizards are Frigid Folk. Cursing violently for the seventeen thousand six hundred and fifty eighth time, the wizard reached down to seize an offending rock. The burning hate Henvei held for the desert had stewed in his heart long enough. It was time he let a fellow intellectual know just how nasty the desert could get. Channeling his wicked anger into the rock, the Folk threw it with all of his might, before falling back into the ground with enough curses to snap a tree in half.

​




​



The rock flew off in the vague direction of his target, the wizard, trailing sickly blue flames of pure loathing.

​
 
A highly unusual move, but Henvei was no usual wizard. He was a Daltzen, of the Frigid Folk, a renowned scholar and master of three elements. That wannabe imperial conjurer could probably only do fire magic.


The cursed rock flew true - not thanks to an expert throw or enough power behind it, but because of the odd combination of fire and air elemental magic used by the scholar. The rock hit the imperial wizard somewhere in the head, causing him to collapse on the sand where he twitched for a bit before finally going completely still.


Separate of this, the human and elf soldier clashed with Laurolf, who had to manage this on his own.
 

Laurolf Fangür

Runemaster of Goliath
​



And the battlefield was filled with Dwarven curses, so vulgar, anyone with knowledge of the complicated Dwarven tongue, could've felt sickened just thinking about them. Laurolf was cursing the sands and the rocks and his approaching opponents. "Well, come on 'en, ye' bastards! I've flayed Ogres twice the size of ye' both, in me' day, that I'll 'ave ye' beggin' fer' mercy in no time!" He taunted them, whilst equipping his battle-axe and preparing himself. Laurolf twisted his feet into the sand, hoping his Dwarf-swallowing nemesis, would provide some support, as his left hand quickly moved to his side and pulled out the smaller hatchet, which was soon flying through the air, aimed at the Elf's chest.


Whatever happened, he readied his battle-axe and was prepared to swing. The battlefield wasn't ideal, but it would have to do!
 
The dwarf's hatchet, driven by frustration almost as much as force, buried itself in the shadow elf's chest. He went down without a cry - unlike the human soldier foolish enough to directly attack a mad dwarf. It took two swings and a finishing blow to end the imperial's life, and none of it was pretty.


Everyone could finally stop to breathe. The sun had fallen even farther into the west, and only a very tiny part of the battlefield was still exposed to its light. Meric and Silverlane beckoned the others to regroup just nearby the last surviving drakkar - the one with split wings. Actually, on closer inspection, it seemed that two more drakkar were alive, though seriously wounded.


At that moment Dina woke up in the arms of Violet who had cradled her when she lost consciousness. The girl felt tired, but was coming to her senses and seemed otherwise fine. Meric smiled at her and then suddenly turned towards the drakkar kneeling by one of the survivors.


"Dina, do you think you could help me see to his friend's wounds?" he asked the girl.


"His?" a rough voice said, and laughed. "That's a she, silly elf." It was Xenthriss, who somehow managed to sneak up on the whole group from behind. Must have been the soft sand. "Not a very fine one, I have to say, but a female nonetheless".
 
Status
Not open for further replies.

Users who are viewing this thread

Total: 5 (members: 0, guests: 5)
Back
Top