Chronicles The Dead March

Discussion in 'The Chronicles' started by Saul Talith, Nov 5, 2018.

  1. Ragna

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    Ragna Fee fi fo fum

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    The orc shieldwall broke apart as they made their final charge forward. Iron clad orcs easily vaulted the debris and timber, eager for a clash of strength with their quarry. Others fired crossbow bolts, shouting with each shot. The Molthal orcs looked certain to swamp the defenders with sheer numbers alone.

    The giantess roared and broke into a run. Ragna barrelled right into the tail end of the formation, knocking several orcs off their feet with the impact. A nimbler one sidestepped and hacked at her leg. It was like hacking at a tree trunk, the giant just roared in pain and lashed out at him.

    For a few seconds it looked like she might be able to prevail against the entire warband on her own, then reality sank in. Recovering from the shock of the assault, the orcs counterattacked. Ragna found herself dealing with adversaries who were small, fast, and hard to hit. She could see other smallfolk fighting with the orcs further forward but her concern were with the half dozen who cut at her legs, flung spears, and shot crossbows at her face.
     
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  2. Arkarnianna

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    Arkarnianna The Anti-mage

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    Arkarnianna followed the mages order and darted through the retreating templars, and finally found some cover behind where they had begun to form a choke. She kept herself as small as she could manage and peered through a small hole to watch what would happen.

    She thought about how the mage had emphasized the please. She obviously had messed up, horribly, but the need to keep herself safe meant that she was, at the very least, still a useful tool for The College. This realization brought her great joy, she still would need to be punished, as well as reforged into a more useful tool, but she wouldn't be discarded. She still belonged to them.
     
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  3. Arya

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    Arya *DEUS VULT INTENSIFIES*

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    Pounding over and over into my head. The hooves of the horse echoed in my ears more loudly than my own voice trapped inside a helmet. Both of us were huffing and puffing. Physical exertion, anticipation, and nervousness. We were expecting a fight, yes. However, not one to this magnitude. Not one where we could lose entire villages to orcs that were hungry for war. They yearned it and desired the blood of my kin.

    What surprised me, was seeing something small off in the distance rising into the air, and then falling down. I was confused for a moment as for why something would be so high up? Surely it was not some large avian creature. I know not of any Beast tamers within the Broken Sword. Must have been the Necromancer right?

    No.

    The answer was given to me when over my own thundering hooves, came a slow, but monstrous beat. Followed quickly by the sight of the head and shoulders of what looked to be a female. However, from this distance, The size comparison, was not just off. This was a very rare sighting of a Giant. The faster I rode, the more I could see that this Giant was fighting people. Intentionally attacking whoever happened to be near her feet and legs. Oh please to all the Gods I could ever think of, Please don't make us fight a Giant on top of various Orcs, and a Necromancer to boot.

    Kicking the horse once more, he sped off towards the spectacle of the Giant. Soon, I found that this Giantess was dealing with quite a number of Orc. She was not here for the Necromancer. She was fighting for us then? Enemy of my enemy is my friend. Please make it so.

    "Mak'Tam!"

    Reaching out to my right side, I roared the incantation for my weapon. A vibrant green sigil formed around my forearm and hand. Sliding out from it, came a warhammer of mine. One that could bash through shields, and armor. Should I strike any areas that were not covered in plate, I knew for sure that broken bones would be a welcoming sound to my ears.

    "Hyai! Hyai!"

    Roaring at the horse as I sprinted towards the fight between the Giantess and the Orcs.

    | Faurosk | Ragna | Arkarnianna | Saul Talith | Gerra | Voraak Tyrethian | Albedo | Fran |
     
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  4. Albedo

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    Albedo Assistant

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    They neared the edge of the village, looking back for only a moment as four ghouls stirred up behind them. Blood soaked faces staring for a moment before seeing Albedo and turning their faces the other way. The sounds of fighting and battle had caught their attention after the trio had disturbed them, living beings a more tempting prize than half bloated and picked corpses.

    The ghouls began to scramble loudly on the path that they had just taken, picking up another ghoul as they wailed and screamed at each other in a struggle to be first.

    "Master likes having backup plans, makes it easier to bring back materials when a couple of them chase off what follows you." Albedo stated quietly, leading them on the long path towards the necromancers hideaway.

    Saul Talith | Faurosk | Ragna | Arkarnianna | Gerra | Voraak Tyrethian | Fran | Arya
     
  5. Magnan Smithson

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    Magnan Smithson Undead Knight

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    The sound of battle was nothing new to Magnan, and recognising the usual screams and roars, the sound of steel on steel and the clanking of armour, the revenenant of an age past sped himself up as fast as he would dare, footsteps shaking the ground with the weight of his armoured body and shattering stray sticks caught beneath them as he marches through the forest. He had been expecting to make it to the local town, get a map and inquire about possible orc activity. With the discovery of the fact that those monsters still existed, well, he now had a seemingly limitless supply of time to go about correcting that. The town was close to the borders between human lands and orcish, which was why he had expected to receive at least a little information about whatever was happening with that savage kind, and maybe... maybe a specific tribe of orcs. He hadn't been able to ascertain if he was successful at driving those damned blight orcs to extinction, in the end, and he needed to know if they were still around plaguing Arethil.

    Emerging from the forest, the armoured titan came to a stop at a rather... peculiar view. A giantess, deep in the middle of combat with... with... well then. It seemed he had the answer to his question. Magnan's armoured fingers tightened around where they gripped his large broadsword and shield as he gazed upon the horde of blight orcs. Ethereal streams moved in a mimicry of muscles as he tried to swallow at the sight of his ancient nemesis. He would recognise those symbols, those tactics, that look, anywhere. Even after a hundred years of him laying in the dirt, it seemed little had changed. Magnan hardly even noticed as his own body moved instinctively, leaning forward as his shield came up and his legs began to thrum with an inhuman level of force, the ancient knight charging his way through destroyed buildings towards the side of the fray.

    "OOOOOOORRRRCCCSS!" He roars at the the top of long since disappeared lungs, the sound grating and unnerving and entirely unnatural as he felt spear, then flesh, break upon his shield. Roaring incoherently at the sight, the sound, the scent of his ancient enemy he swings his shield out of his face, flinging the armoured body of the crushed blight orc away and into the rest of his comrades with supernatural strength as his blade flashes, slicing through flesh and bone as if it were air and dropping a trio more. Magnan ignored the giantess, instead looking for the one who would be their leader. He knew the markings, he knew the way they worked. The commander was always either the biggest, flashiest or had the most markings. Most of the time it was all three, and this was no different. Even from where he was he could see the red haired behemoth that stood so easily in the centre of the orcs, watching the giantess from over the building next to him. Bringing his shield across in a sweeping motion, the undead knight crushes the head of an orc with ease as he brings his sword up to point the tip at the distant... man, he was going to decide. A silent challenge. A silent promise. Magnan was coming for him, and nothing was going to stop him as he stormed through the formation of orcs like a spectre of death, slicing and crushing with almost practised ease, his armour deflecting anything that made it past.
     
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  6. Faurosk

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    Faurosk Wandering Wizard

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    Faurosk began a sprint behind the Templars as fast as his nonathletic legs could carry him, all the while fumbling through a component pouch on his belt. He withdrew from inside the bag a small vial filled with a grayish-black powder as well as a small, flawed ruby that cost him a small fortune to acquire. Throwing one last glance back to the advancing orcs, he popped the cork off of the vial and got to work.

    He poured the powdered mixture of brimstone and saltpeter across his hands, rubbing the material into his palms before dropping the glass container aside and gripping the gemstone in his right hand.

    "Gods, let this work," he said under his breath, throwing forward his left hand and splaying his fingers at odd angles. Already, he could feel the ruby begin to crumble as his spell consumed it, and a heat began to build in his grip. Over the span of three small seconds, that heat grew, gradually becoming unbearable before the explosive concoction that coated the mage's left palm combusted into a sustained ball of fire only a little bit smaller than an orc's head. "Alright," he thought, dimly realizing that even his internal monologue wasn't confident as to how this would transpire, "Showtime."

    Without another moment's hesitation, he reached out with his mind, pitching the fireball into the air on a wave of arcane energies. The ball of malice roared through the air, flying elegantly over the first of the advancing orcs before detonating in the midst of their amassed forces. Flame flashed over the front-most portion of the orcish charge, dispersing a second later and floating off on the wind, smelling just faintly of cinnamon as it went

    Gerra | Saul Talith | Ragna | Albedo | Arkarnianna | Voraak Tyrethian | Fran | Arya | Magnan Smithson
     
  7. Gerra

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    Gerra Son of Molthal

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    #57 Gerra, Nov 26, 2018
    Last edited: Nov 26, 2018
    The clash of metal, bellowed war cries, and the screams of the dying all melded together in the din of battle. Yet amid the clamor came a crackling that silenced all.

    An orb of flame arced through the sky like a stone from a trebuchet. Air rushed into it, sucked from all around, then landed in their midst.

    A deafening thunderclap smote the eardrums and a sudden orange brilliance seared the sight as a wave of all-consuming fire rolled out, enveloping warriors in flame. Heat and smoke choked the air. Patches of flame clung to the ground and smoldered.

    Armored orcs, their bodies set aflame, tottered out from the smoke like burning deer from a wildfire. Arms flailing, they stumbled about, blind to all but the horror of their charring flesh. One fell to his knees, struggling to pull off his helmet, fused to his face by the heat. Another simply ran until he fell dead. The screams that tore from their throats as they burned alive was a most wretched and terrifying sound. On the breeze, the scent of burning hair and cooked meat grew strong.

    From the midst of this horror, he strode untouched. Fire clung to his black shirt, but he cared little, for the hair upon his head itself did burn, red and true, tongues of living flame. His eyes now smoldered like embers in the heart of a forge, set within a face the pallor of volcanic ash. He stepped through the fire and smoke, heedless of the suffocating heat, a hammer in his right hand and the shield in his left.

    In the Blightlands, there was a saying: Water for the wise, fire for the fools.

    For who but a fool would seek to employ fire against a bastard of Molthal?

    "I am Gerra, son of Menalus, who sits in the Molten Hall," he declared to all who still stood in the midst of the fray, with a voice like the tremors of the earth. "Fire is my birthright."

    He pointed the hammer at the giantess and met her gaze.

    She would mark him now, if she had not before, and perhaps realize her choice. To set herself against him in defiance of shared blood, or to remember the grace and generosity his father had shown her kind in the past.
     
  8. Saul Talith

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    Saul Talith Templar

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    "Maybe mages aren't so bad after all." Saul commented to himself dryly, gaze wandering across the burning mass of now dying orcs.

    The smell was wretched, something that he could not have imagined on the worst of his days. Nose crinkled behind the facemask of his helmet, the stench of burning flesh mixing with that of the ghouls which had been left behind on the village. It would have been enough to make anyone hurl the contents of their stomach on the ground.

    Anyone who wasn't used to it.

    Wrenching his sword free from one of the last of the Blight Orcs in front him Saul took a step forward and placed himself in front of the mage. The man would likely be tired after such a display, and it wouldn't due to have him be cut down by one of the remaining orcs as he recovered.

    "You did w-" Saul found his words cut off as he saw something move within the flames.

    The silhoutte seemed illuminated by the flames still dancing, a daze within the heat. The Templar Commander squinted, his men slaying the orcs before them before they too caught sight of the figure. One of them was cut down for his foolishness, another nearly knocked low.

    Saul heard the words spoken by the giant, his fingers tightening on his blade. "Shit."

    It was the only thing that came to mind.

    Albedo | Voraak Tyrethian | Arkarnianna | Gerra | Fran | Ragna | Faurosk
     
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  9. Ragna

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    Ragna Fee fi fo fum

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    The flames from the fireball even reached Ragna, the flash blinding. A millisecond later the thunderclap sounded, the giant reeling from the impact. She coughed from the smoke, the smell of burning flesh filling her nostrils. Her clothes were charred, the wet furs still smouldering, her skin was blistered, but she was alive. The air stank of magic, a coward's tool.

    She roared to the sky before kicking the orc nearest to her. The beast was slammed against a wall, senseless from the impact. Her enraged gaze turned to the scion of fire, the towering figure that loomed over all the orcs around them. She was blind to the templars, the mages, even the hulking knight that had torn into the fray. Battle madness had come over her. Ragna bared her teeth in challenge at the burning gaze of the fire giant.

    Molthal. A stronghold in the Blightlands whose forges and flames could be seen even from the southern Spine. Her cousins were talented metalworkers and well versed in artifice but they were also arrogant, especially to brutish kindred like the hill giants. This one had the looks of a half breed, one of the bastard scions of the city. Ragna was a Stone Shield, she was no slave. "This is not Molthal" she said, the words snarled.

    For the moment she wasn't concerned with the smallfolk but for the ramifications in her homeland. Her weapon lowered though, she would not bear weapons knowingly against the banner of Molthal. Not without payment. And bastard or no, they did share some of the same blood.
     
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  10. Voraak Tyrethian

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    Voraak Tyrethian Scholar of Dark Magic

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    Voraak was keen to survey his surroundings and his raven would do the same. Alerting them of any incoming strangers with an audible caw. Swords clanging and bows whipping could be heard in the distance. A sizable battle was going on between Orcs and humans….and the undead.

    Voraak was taken by surprise at his host’s strength as she pulled him in the desired direction. They were all nearing the furthest edges of town…..The Necromancer would be waiting.

    Yes….The Master wanted to see me….I wonder why

    The Dark Scholar would pose the question to the woman.
    “Did your master say why he wanted to see me?”

    Perhaps if Voraak got further knowledge in Necromancy he wouldn’t need to kill anyone today. What if this Necromancer had other plans?
    I’ll be prepared. He thought.

    Before he could warrant and answer, ghouls started to arise from the muddy earth and made their way towards the onslaught being held in the village. The trio were covering decent ground at best….undetected.

    To give them more time, Voraak looked back at the ghouls and pulled his black stone out of his pouch. Holding his hand out, the stone levitated and with some words spoken the ghouls started to develop orange auras around their bodies.

    Ferrum armis.

    The orange auras took shape in the form of heavy iron armor. Giving the ghouls extra protection against their enemies it should buy them more time to get to the Necromancer safely. The black stone vibrated and dropped back into Voraak’s hand, cold to the touch.
    Albedo | Saul Talith | Faurosk | Ragna | Arkarnianna | Gerra | Fran | Magnan Smithson | Arya
     
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  11. Albedo

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    Albedo Assistant

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    The ghouls continued to bellow as they travelled quickly through the ruins, coming into view of the now burned out battlefield and only pausing for a moment to find their newest targets. Two split off as they each went after a giant of their own, the armor only impeding them slightly as they each jumped towards their prey aiming to knock over their large targets.
    (OOC One went after Gerra and one went after Ragna)

    The other three clambered and screamed as they assaulted the lead templar, one skirting around to attack the mage behind him. Their arms flailing wildly as they came upon them, their disjointed attacks only aimed at taking him down rather than injure.

    Albedo could hear the beasts from where they were and did not bother to look back. The trail ahead of them was barely noticeable as a few drops of blood here and there were the only markers to the untrained eye. The small splay of grass around old tracks another as they hurriedly traversed the land.

    She had thought to ignore the man's question but wondered herself at the possibilities. "I could not say, he only said to bring you to him. He has fresh materials, and already has myself and the Miller for assistants, so I can only guess what he has in mind for you." she hissed as a few brambles caught her cloak upon entering the tree line.

    She stopped for a moment, putting both men behind her as she remained crouched and looked over the path behind them. Seeing no one, she cut a path further into the forest ahead of them.

    "Even if he had plans for you, there is little I could do to warn you, for that I am sorry." Albedo spoke quietly, not knowing if she had been heard by the ever present master behind all of this. The Miller seemed content to follow behind as she let go of the new man's hand while still holding the other.

    "We just bring back bodies and anything else of interest. Hard to argue since he brought us back and fixed me up with eyes again." Albedo held a hand up to her face for a moment, her expression solemn while lost in thought as they walked. The Miller nodded to himself as he looked about with one good eye.
     
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  12. Voraak Tyrethian

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    Voraak Tyrethian Scholar of Dark Magic

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    Knowing that his armor spell protected the fleshy ghouls made him give a sly smirk. Whether or not the ghouls would succeed in their attempts he did not know but he did know that he bought the trio some time.

    Approaching further away from the town, Voraak noticed his host looking for something, perhaps a trail to follow--he would guess.

    The assistant to the Necromancer answered his question, although it was a cryptic answer.

    “No more room for assistants and stocked with enough thralls to finish his work…..Either I am going to be sent to my death or be sent to accomplish tasks for him that lie elsewhere in the land…..Unsettling indeed.”

    Looking at the assistant he would offer some consolation “I see….you are only doing as your told. The Master should be pleased with you”

    Voraak hadn’t met the Necromancer yet and he was already addressing him as Master. Voraak wondered if knowledge and the quest for ultimate powers were getting the best of him? The Dark Scholar has not served anyone but himself…..maybe that needed to change….at some point.
     
  13. Arkarnianna

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    Arkarnianna The Anti-mage

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    The smell of necromancy had grown too strong to bare, and she had done far too little since arriving. She cared not for these arrogant men in armour, but even the mage was working with them, so now must she. Letting the smell remind her of what she had been trained for she got to work.

    Arkarnianna darted with everything she had, and when all you have is you speed that has to mean something. There was a loud clatter of rocks from where she had been, causing two of the templars holding the choke to turn to see its origin, but she had already passed them.

    She stuck out her hand basically slapping the ghoul that had been coming for the mage, causing the ghoul to turn back into a corpse. As the pain from absorbing the ghoul began to cause her to lose control she allowed the momentum to carry her into the other two ghouls. She let out a blood curdling scream as she absorbed the necrotic magic as well as the magic amour that adorned the ghouls. Her body convulsed as she recovered from absorbing so much magic in such a short time.

    As soon as her eyes were her own again and she could see more than just pain, but before she dared test her still shaking legs, she screamed at the templar, "You lot are the most useless group of idiots I have ever had the displeasure of meeting. You claim to be hunting the necromancer and yet you allow his minions to draw near study you and then scamper away with a mage you, yourself didn't have the brains to see as one, why would a man who just woke up have such fresh wounds in the shape a dagger? He's also had been spying on us for a long ass time with his raven familiar. And now to add to your sins, you risk your mission to kill some orcs, I don't care if they are your enemies, your mission was to kill a necromancer. I even approached you, my enemy, to attempt to work together because I know what is important, But no, orcs let's not at least attempt any talk. Maybe see why they are here. Nah, let us just shoot them and start an all out brawl and let the necromancer have his way. You might as well have gone to him and slit your own throats before him, you'd likely have been less help to him that way. Now you will listen to ME and pull your idiot troop back so that there might be a few less corpses to be raised, and I will go grab that idiotic, giant man of fire's ear and give him a much nicer yelling at than you yourself will receive, and if he doesn't listen we'll see how he like being a magic entity minus the magic. Gods damn it, we have more important sh*t to do than this bull."

    At that Arkarnianna hopped to her feet and began marching off over to the half fire giant. Not entirely sure if she was going to honour him or condemn him, but she knew that at the very least this stupidity had to end!
     
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  14. Magnan Smithson

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    Magnan Smithson Undead Knight

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    Magnan's hand wrapped around the face of the snarling orc in front of him, taking the raging animal off of its feet from where it was trying to use its dual axes to futilely get through his armour and ending the monster's little trip with a crunch as his head impacted with the cobblestone with stone (and bone) shattering force. Looking up from where he was crouched, Magnan met the gaze of the bright red... half blood, it had to be with the way his body had reacted to the explosion of fire earlier. The skeletal knight had been at the outskirts of the heatwave and been able to raise his shield in time to avoid all but the most minor of effects as he neared, taking the chance to easily dispose of the burning orcs at the time. A part of the undead warrior had hoped that the leader also burned, but as a majority he was relieved to see that the creature had some sort of affinity for flame. It would not make this easier, no, but it would make its death more satisfying, especially after so long.

    Striding forward, he found himself unassailed by what little remained of the orcish mob around him as he stared down the burning half blood. He was taller than Magnan, but not by much, and the knight was sure that whatever strength advantage that would usually be found here would be off put by his more supernatural abilities. A hammer, powerful and solid, rest in one hand whilst a shield rest in the other. Magnan found his own stance moving to reflect this situation, his guard widening and his shield stray further to the side. There was very little point in trying to block a hammer, after all, and so he must instead rely upon the weapon's weakness and his own blade's strength: Versatility. A hammer was powerful, for sure, but in speed and manoeuvrability it paled in comparison to the tried and true sword. With that in mind, the armoured man was the first to move in their battle, moving silently and firmly as he approached forward, shield arm tensed as his blade darted forward in the direction of his opponent's head, then legs, then chest in quick succession, aiming in truth to draw out the hammer and, in doing so, score a hit upon the arm wielding it.
     
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  15. Arya

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    Arya *DEUS VULT INTENSIFIES*

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    Have you ever felt the fear when knowing that a Giant was on the battlefield? Surely not as they are fairly uncommon. However, seeing not just one, but a Half-giant proclaim himself in the middle of a blazing flame was even more so terrifying. My eyes widened as I closed the distance. Slamming the hammer head with an underswing into the upper chest of the orc. Its body being hit with such force, that he was taken from his feet, and landed hard onto his back. During that miniscule time period, My hammer had been hit back up into the air, and I brought it down hard on a second one. Using the back spike to pierce through the helmet and into the skull. While it may have not instantly brought death, it would be swift.

    Dragging his body with the hammer, I yanked what I could from the head of the Orc as the Giantess almost roared in return. Even after dealing with most of them. Two more Orcs came at me during her rage. I shook my head. I really did not want to get between the two.

    Over the distance, I could make out glinting armor. The oranges, reds, and yellows playing against the surfaces of Templar Armor. They were just on the other side of the flames. There was no way to get through this without having to fight for every step. My attention turned to the Giantess as another foe was headed her way. If she was an ally, then I would aid her however I could. I kicked my horse into gear and sprinted at the Ghoul that charged her. Ramming the full weight of myself, and the horse into it. Sending it sprawling onto the ground.

    "Fight with your rage. I will cover you."

    There was no point in making her fight alone when I could be there to keep the orc off of her. However, I did not want to go anywhere near the ensuing battle between two giant mountains of flesh and strength. Dropping myself off of the horse, I released my hammer to fall to the ground. Growling through my teeth quickly.

    "Valke un Umbas!"

    Reaching to either side of me, I drew upon my sword and shield. Bringing my arms forward, I could feel quite the drain on my energies. However, I needed to defend the giantess, as well as make my way to the other Templars and aid them. However, I could not decide what to do first. Have the main group all converge on the Orc-Giant, or back her up and stall the Orcs until they could join us.
     
  16. Gerra

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    Gerra Son of Molthal

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    A dozen or fewer of the warband remained, though one or two made a run for it, the rest still fought. Both their captain and their bastard still stood and they had seen enough of war to know what might happen should they flee and their masters prevail. None wanted hang in gibbets from the walls of Molthal, idly spinning. Spinning as they starved. Spinning as the crows came with pestering pecks to test how feeble they had become. Spinning as, too helpless to defend themselves, the crows tore into their eyes and feasted on them while they yet drew breath. No, better the fire and sword to that slow, spinning death.

    And so they fought, as Gerra knew they would.

    The flame-wreathed bastard's gaze turned from the giantess as despite her words she lowered her weapon. His attention now fixed on an armored knight, taller than any human or elf Gerra had known, who strode toward him, blade in hand and intent etched into every movement.

    Wordlessly, cautiously, the knight struck at him, probing his defenses with a series of thrusts. Gerra moved his shield, a rectangular slab of metal, unadorned save for the black finish and single red flame relief painted onto the surface. He angled it, and the sword's tip skittered off its face with an angry squeal, as if frustrated that it could not fulfill its purpose and plunge itself into muscle and bone. A sneer curled across Gerra's lips. The second strike came for his legs, so he held the shield low. Again, the sword wailed against the steel, leaving a long furrow.

    By the third strike, Gerra had the knight's measure and, like a snake who had at last seen all its charmer's tricks, he let fly with venom in return. As the thrust toward his chest came in, the half-giant swayed, body turning slightly, letting the sword slither and spit along his black tunic, ripping the cloth fabric and then catching in the chain maille beneath, edged tip struggling to press in and pierce flesh.

    His hammer came down.

    Down.

    Hurtling straight for the knight's extended sword arm.

    With a blow that could fell a horse, it came down.

    Down.

    Had the blow landed? He did not care. He would come for the body, the skull, satisfied by whatever lay in reach - even the shield. He would come for them all as his hammer came down.

    Down.

    Smoke rose from where he grasped the haft and with every rise and fall, forge-hot sparks flew from the hammer's head as it came down.

    Down.

    The knight's armor would afford him no protection. Not the shield, nor the sword. He would bend him, break him. Fold the metal on itself as he folded it on an anvil, his hammer coming down.

    Down.

    There was no chivalry in this. No masterful swordplay. No cunning riposte. This was a smith at work, his lungs the bellows, his heart the furnace, arm swinging again and again and again. Beating the hardest ores of earth into the shape of his choosing as his hammer came down.

    Down.
     
  17. Saul Talith

    Member
    Saul Talith Templar

    Joined:
    Nov 5, 2018
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    291
    Character Biography:
    Bio
    Saul ignored the child.

    Mostly because there were more important things than listening to the ravings of some kid who had been turned into a monster by the Mages of Elbion. Instead the Commander's attentions were drawn to the Fire Giant, the Giantess, and some suit of armor that seemed to tower over even himself.

    He had to assume it was another of the fire-giants kind, perhaps an old enemy, something of the sort. He could not tell what, truly, but a prickle ran up his skin whenever his gaze swept over the armor. His lips thinned as they fought, the Giant turning and slamming his hammer downward.

    Then from the north he saw them.

    A glint of nothingness at first, a shamble, and then a flash of armor. Templar?

    Saul thought to himself, concern dawning on his features as he spotted the glint of cold steel. A curse left him as ghouls suddenly swarmed over the hill top. His fingers tightened on the hilt of his sword and he jerked his weapon to the right.

    "Leave them to fight!" The Fire-Giant was of Mothal, the Armor...he had no idea, but they were busy with one another. Those Ghouls though? Those were from the Necromancer. "Kill the Ghouls!"

    And whatever orcs remained.

    Albedo | Voraak Tyrethian | Arkarnianna | Gerra | Ragna | Faurosk
     
  18. Magnan Smithson

    Member
    Magnan Smithson Undead Knight

    Joined:
    Nov 24, 2018
    Messages:
    16
    Chain mail. Strong against piercing attacks, as it bunches up on the pont of contact. Weak, however, to slashing. The half blood was smart, he'd give him that. Using his own armour to catch the blade is something the undead had not expected to see from anything inside an orcish warband, and almost gained some modicum of respect from the ancient warrior. Almost, if it weren't for the nature of his opponent. So instead he brought his shield across as the hammer came down, the side of the ancient steel impacting with the well muscled arm as supernaturally enhanced strength batted it to the side, sending sparks flying across his armour as steel scraped along steel, barely avoiding the full force of the blow as he leaned to the side.

    Quickly Magnan followed up by stepping forward, trapping the hammer harm between their bodies as he brings his sword arm upwards, the tip slicing through the chain mail and lightly carving into the skin of his opponent before breaking free at the collarbone and extending halfway past before returning back from where it came in a powerful downwards swing aimed at the base of the half blood's neck, tilted lightly downwards so as to at scare the half blood out of trying to retreat. This close, he could practically smell the being's disgusting breath, even if he did not know how, and see the bright red of its eyes as it sneered. He had no ddoubt that his eyes, or whatever took their place now, could be seen ass well, gazing from the darkness of his helmet. He hoped it scared him.
     
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  19. Arkarnianna

    Member
    Arkarnianna The Anti-mage

    Joined:
    Nov 5, 2018
    Messages:
    16
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    Bio
    There was no sign of who Arkarnianna had been before, no arrogance, no fear, and no hope, instead she was consumed by anger. She was angry at herself for letting all this around her to get to this point. She was angry at everyone for wasting time when there was a necromancer to catch. And she hated the templar for causing all of it, they had let a mage and some of the necromancers minions come, spy on them, and escape without even ever knowing about them. They had refused all help, and from what she's seen so far they needed all the help they could get, and now to top it all of they started a battle for no good reason. She couldn't have come up with such stupidity if she had tried. A battle is a huge waste of time, and they hadn't even tried to avoid it, and the thing about battles is they create corpses they were actively helping the necromancer. A thought came into her head at that, what if they were helping the necromancer? It made more sense than anyone actually being as stupid as they seemed to be. She would have believed it except for the ghouls currently attacking their men.

    The templars were of little concern though, she had the much more important job of stopping the stupidity this battle was. If she could get the fire giant to pull back his troops while the templars fought the ghouls then at least some form of diplomacy could take place, and if fighting was inevitable than they could at least do it after they dealt with the necromancer, you know, like anyone with the smallest capability of thought might do. The anger burned through her some more, it was very likely she'd kill the head templar after this was all done, it wouldn't matter who replaced him there was no way they could be any worse.

    The flames lapped at Arkarnianna as she trod through the carnage. She moved through the scene heading straight for the fire giant as well as the necrotic abomination. She stormed through the devastation launching embers into the air as she moved over the burned, and burning. As she did however her shoes caught aflame, to which she quickly responded by throwing them to the side, not missing a step, nor allowing her movement to be slowed. The mud, turned solid from the spell, cracked under her, now bare feet. The cinders on the ground that burnt her feet were almost ignored, she had experienced much worse pain thrice today already. Her clothes which were made to be resistant to fire, so she might protect the pride of The college by not being stripped by a fireball, were indeed resistant, but after being lapped at by the flames for so long the fringes of them began to smoulder and glow. Never did her gaze wander from the giants, she was on a mission. Her eyes, that shone with the colour of an ocean during a storm, but burned with a fire intense enough to evaporate said ocean, were locked onto the pair. This madness was going to stop NOW!

    Arkarnianna was only a few meters away when with a cry much too loud for such a small frame she began yellong while continuing to charge forward, pointing her finger at the fire giant, "HEY CHARCOAL BRAINS!!! YOU AND ME ARE GOING TO HAVE A TALK!!!" She then turned her finger on the necrotic knight, "And you... you brain dead undead creature, I have no idea why you are here, but I need that dick head so... BACK... THE F*CK... OFF!!! or I will make you"
     
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  20. Gerra

    Member
    Gerra Son of Molthal

    Joined:
    Oct 25, 2018
    Messages:
    22
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    Bio
    The child's voice did not reach Gerra's ears, for they pounded with blood and adrenaline.

    The knight stepped forward and sought to trap him, to cut him. He did neither. He would do neither. How could he? What is metal to the flame? Burn hot enough and it too will melt.

    Gerra took a step back. The knight, rather than disentangling his sword, tried to push through and slash up, to cut the chain mail as he went, but these were Molthal forged rings and they took more than petty leverage to rend. The coat held and the half-giant's skin beneath did not feel the intended cut.

    Gripping his tower shield well, Gerra used it to shove the knight away, bodily, like an ox might hook a wolf with its horns and toss it, separating them.
     
  21. Magnan Smithson

    Member
    Magnan Smithson Undead Knight

    Joined:
    Nov 24, 2018
    Messages:
    16
    Magnan went with the force of the half blood's shove, the undead stepping back quickly so as to avoid stumbling. His plan had been simple and efficient, but it seemed that in the century of his absence the blight orcs had gotten their grubby hands on some finer quality armour, the chain mail was stronger and firmer than he had expected. He would need more power and momentum behind his blow if he wished to break through. For a moment the duo simply circled one another, until a piercing and screeching voice dragged Magnan out of his thoughts and he saw a small, blue haired woman yelling at the two combating titans in his peripheral vision. Cursing quietly, the undead moved quickly to circle around the half blood and raise his shield, coming to rest in front of the approaching blue hair lady. He didn't know what she thought she was doing but he had to make sure she made it out of this alive, even if this was a new complication to the fight. A rumble of annoyance echoed through him as he made certain that he was between the two of them, before focusing once more upon his opponent.

    When faced with sheer brute strength, you fight with guile. But he would need more than that to make it through this. Either he was rusty, or his opponent was as good as he thought. Fortunately, he had an idea. However, he wasn't even sure it was possible in the first place, and it would only work once. He would need to wait for the perfect moment, or his advantage would be lost. So with that in mind, the knight renewed the attack, moving forward once more to send a wide upwards slash towards the chest of the half blood, his shield hovering close to his side, ready and waiting for the eventual counter attack.
     
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  22. Faurosk

    Member
    Faurosk Wandering Wizard

    Joined:
    Nov 7, 2018
    Messages:
    41
    Character Biography:
    Bio
    Faurosk reeled from the strain of casting forth the fireball, quite amazed with himself at managing to pull off such a feat. Nevertheless, he stumbled as a wave of drain wracked his body, nearly tripping over his own weight just as Saul began to give him praise for his work. The moment was cut off, however, as the Bastard of Molthal stepped forth from the aftermath of Faurosk's destructive spell, accompanied by a wave of stench so pungent it sends the mage into a folded-over retch.

    The academic who was usually quite eloquent found himself at a loss for words, though a rather rude curse seemed to suit his emotions well enough that he spoke it out to the world. His hand clutched at his gut to quell the growing nausea that overtook him, and he found himself newly aware of the burning pain emanating from his singed palm. It would seem he hadn't shown so much caution in the spell's preparatory phase as he most likely should have.

    Chaos continued unabated, tearing away at the wizard's perception of the world. The physical exhaustion of casting such a potent evocation caught up to him in the moment, and he flashed briefly back to one of his first lessons at the Allirian College of Elemental Magic. "The only caster less useful than a novice," an older student had told him, "is a dead novice." Faurosk hadn't much cared for his peer's tone at the time, but he had to admit the older mage had a point. If he wanted to stay in the fight, he'd have to relocate, recover, and get back to raining down a somewhat less spectacular show of arcane radiance. So it was that he straightened himself up, the bilious taste of his drain-induced nausea still fresh in his mouth, and began a full-tilt run for a nearby ruined home. He heard the templars shouting about encroaching ghouls, and he knew he'd be no help in the coming fight if he was cut down by one of the advancing orcs or shamblers.
     
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  23. Arya

    Member
    Arya *DEUS VULT INTENSIFIES*

    Joined:
    Nov 23, 2018
    Messages:
    5
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    Bio
    Well that was... anti-climactic. It seemed that the Giantess would not be facing off against the Orc that surrounded himself in flames. I shook my head as a knight came forward. While the armor was questionable, He seemed to be able to hold off the being for now. I shook my head as I closed the distance to one of the ghouls that had attacked earlier. Using both hands to grip the blade and pierce down into the writing body upon the ground.

    It's fingers and claws attempting to get at the skin under my armor. However, the plate and layers of leather and chainmail were not broken. Just scratched at best. Placing a heavy sabaton upon the neck of the creature, I ripped the blade from its now, once more, lifeless corpse. Drawing up the blade, I whistled rather loudly. The horse I had been riding quickly came to my side. With the sword, I slapped the flanks of the creature with the flat of the blade.

    Charging forward, the horse barreled through the Orcs as best as it could. The first few were caught unaware of the large beast using its own weight as a battering ram against them. Only slowing down as it trampled them. However, some caught on and began to attack it. While cuts were made into it's flesh, It cleared a bit of a path for me to catch up with it.

    A wide uppercut with the sword was sent at the first one that was still standing. I mostly hit mail, and the impact was transferred, but no blood was spilled. Before I could be swung at, I lowered my blade just enough to let my left arm fly. The shield acting as brass knuckles and slamming hard into the Orc's face. A growl was cut short with a crack. Likely the nose being broken. To my right was another. Using the pommel, and two handing the sword, one hand in the grip, and the off hand on the blade itself, I brought the pommel down upon the helmet of the second orc. Still preoccupied with the horse.

    The satisfying ding sound rang out from the helm. A step back to create distance, and a reversal of my grip on the sword allowed me to stab at the orc with the best control over my sword. Half-swording it into the neckline while it was dazed.

    I began to revel in my fighting when a large and sudden flare in my left shoulder could only have been confirmed as a blade to my arm. The ringing sound of metal on metal rang in my ears. Growling loudly as I shoved the same shoulder into the chest, before twisting and using the tip of the half-swording weapon in my hands, as a dagger to attempt to slit its throat.

    Too much more, and I may need to back out, or call on someone. With the Orc Half-breed fighting the Knight, and no one else to support him, there was not much else I could do.
     
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  24. Saul Talith

    Member
    Saul Talith Templar

    Joined:
    Nov 5, 2018
    Messages:
    291
    Character Biography:
    Bio
    The Templar moved quickly, the rest of his men quickly begging to form up behind Arya in support. A few of them remained closer to the Fire-Giant and his opponent, slaying and attacking what Orcs remained, but most moved to fight what they knew best; Ghouls.

    Saul knew that it had to be the necromancer, knew that the man must be sending the creatures back into the village.

    There was no explanation save for one; he'd known he was being followed. Whether he knew of the Orcs, the Giantess, hell any one of the dozens of people who had showed up in this little village Saul had no idea, but he knew of someone and wanted them dead.

    That much was clear.

    He caught sight of an Orc rushing forward out of the corner of his eye, a loud below ripping from it's lips as it charged Faurosk. Saul cursed, and then broke into a sprint. Before the orc could reach the mage the Commander's blade went slicing through it's stomach. "Stay behind me."

    The Templar told the other man, his lips thinning as he did so.

    Was he really going to protect a mage?

    Albedo | Voraak Tyrethian | Arkarnianna | Gerra | Ragna | Faurosk
     
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  25. Faurosk

    Member
    Faurosk Wandering Wizard

    Joined:
    Nov 7, 2018
    Messages:
    41
    Character Biography:
    Bio
    Faurosk had seen the orc approaching and subsequently summoned up a bolt of arcane energy. He hadn't expected the Templars' commander to come to his aid, however, and found himself in quite the awkward position. He blinked slowly at the soldier who towered above him, nearly forgetting the ribbon of radiant light that wove around his forearm, waiting to be propelled at the ill fated orc who had encroached on the caster's cover.

    "Ah, sure. Right away." Faurosk pushed himself away from the wall he'd been using to support himself, carefully dismissing his half-cast spell into a shower of harmless sparks which then blew off to his side. "I'll support you where I can, you have my word."

    He gave a polite nod and gripped his staff, ready to follow Saul out into the brawl once more.
     
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