Quest The Siege of Belgrath Part 2: Battle of Irithul

[Cuut'Thul'Lulu]

Mar'Cal, and his men guarded the wall. Mar'Cal himself stared out into the trees deep in thought. The woman from earlier still tormented his thoughts. The only reasons, he could come up with, for dropping the heads, would have been to intimidate, or provoke him. Also the woman seemed to have known about him, a rare feat this far south. She didn't appear to be a Canorssian, so was she from the lands they'd raid? To know so much about him including the yeti, she must have read up on him. Whatever had motivated her Mar'Cal doubted it meant anything good for him.

A few of the men had found some chairs so that they could sit while keeping an eye out on their watch, made possible as the walls were made for a dwarf fort after all. The crew would switch shifts every few hours, switching sitting in chairs for lying against stone. The crew may have looked like they were bored, and as though they were just lazing about, but they all did keep a careful eye out when their turns came around. This did not stop Juliano Smithson from complaining part way through his shift however.

"This is the most tedious, and uninteresting thing I've ever done!"

Vallen chuckled, and leaned over to whisper to Mar'Cal, "That is what I said after doing his mum last night."

Mar'Cal also had a good chuckle before yelling out to everyone who could hear, "Funny, that is exactly what I said after doing your mother last night."

The whole crew of men burst out into uproarious laughter. That is besides Vallen who sat in his spot, mouth agape. Mar'Cal had just stolen his joke. He finally after a bit was able to utter a weak, and hurt, "Bro..."

Mar'Cal looked over, at hearing such a sad 'bro', "Oh! Bro! No! I am sorry, I had just thought that joke was too good to keep between us. You know I'd never hurt a bro on purpose. Next time I will make sure they know it was you doing his mother last night! No matter what they might think, I know that you are the one who was smart and clever enough to come up with that joke. Now come here let's hug it out."

And so the two men embraced on top of that wall, the sunsetting just behind them, some birds carrying messages back to Molthal flying around them, somewhere to the side a trumpeter played a light tune. Vallen became very aware of the warmth coming from Mar'Cal's exposed chest. After a moment he pushed Mar'Cal away, and gave him a slightly embarrassed nod, Mar'Cal returned with a nod of his own, and with that the relations of bro-hood had been restored.

 

[Jame Hawthorne]

James was never the greatest at sensing magic, but he certainly could feel tension in the air. He heard the boots from afar, but something in him kept telling him to push forward despite the obvious dangers of offering their position so willingly. When he finally made the connection to a distant mage, he realized there was the subtlest of mentions in his mind forcing him to lead the way directly into the patrol. At least the intuition manipulator had shown them a way into the tunnels.

“Wolf, get your weapon ready, now!”, Maho had called out; but the tunnels were far too small for his greatsword. Instead, he pulled from his hip the messer he carried for just such an occasion, lowering himself as the first of the dwarves rushed towards him with beard hairs flaying.

As the dwarves hammer was raised to slam into James skull, his free hand moved to move the dwarves shield just far enough aside to open up his throat. With expert precision, the messer found its way right in the small gap between the chainmail and the man’s soft gullet. Short work for the dwarf, but as he was bleeding he made a desperate attempt to hit James with his hammer.

Between the adrenaline that had begun to course through his veins, and the fact he wore decent armor, he couldn’t feel the hammer strike his back; but he knew when the adrenaline got out of his system he’d certainly have a broken rib or two. Gritting his teeth, he pushed a foot on the dwarves chest trying to wretch his blade from the now drowning dwarf.

Unfortunately, just as the blade began to slide its way free of the throat, another hammer slammed into his chest. A few more broken ribs, but his grip didn’t fail on the messer and it assisted him in ripping it from its stone; yet now he lay on his back as another dwarf brought down his own hammer on the prone bounty hunter.

The Messer was notorious for wrist strikes, and James did what he could to seperate the hammer from the dwarves grasp. As the hammer and hand fell somewhat near him, the blood and screams of the dwarf ripped through the cold air of the tunnel, only for him to drop his shield and rip a small rondel from his belt. Moving to mount the bounty hunter, his still existing hand rushed the rondel towards his open neck, as if revenge was his purpose.

James wasn’t as strong as dwarves, and the blade found its mark just short of his vital neck; tearing into his collarbone with a sickening echo of his own scream, but one that quickly moved into something else;

“You fuckin’ dwarves!”, he cried out, “I’m The Immortal Wolf damnit!”

A rallying cry for himself more than anyone else, James dropped his messer and desperately beat the dwarfs exposed face in with his armored gauntlet, turning the once hairy mug into little more than a bloody mess before ripping the rondal from his shoulder and slamming it into the eye hole of another dwarf.

Despite James movements, two other dwarves had moved past the bounty hunter while he was on the ground to get the mage behind them. Both kept shields high, knowing well that any unarmed man very likely held magic or some power they knew replaced such a detail. Taking up the entire hallway now, they moved with a careful pace towards Maho waiting for him to expose himself to their assault or display his righteous power.

---

Rundal sat far from the action, testing their reactions. James had already shown himself a capable warrior, but how many more wounds could he take before ‘The Immortal Wolf’ fell to the nature of entirely dominated dwarves. They fought with tenacity, and perhaps not on the level of most uninhibited dwarves, but they did the job well enough.

Besides, as soon as the fallen dwarves began to slip into death, Rundal would simply use them for his own fight. Step by step, he closed the distance to get a better view of just what was going on, despite magical senses letting him see all that went down. In part, he simply wanted to see if anyone would try and charge him, strike out against him in a way the others had failed to do so when they took his book.

Maho Sparhawk​

 

[Douglas Haley]

_________________________

As much as Douglas wanted to protest as youth do, and claim his immunity to such contrived emotions as fear, he instead hurled up what small amounts of acid remained in his stomach; forcing a small soreness to ride into his abdominal muscles. He sighed as he stood, hunched over as distant war horns called men back to the front; and he knew at the very least he’d only have a few more moments before the battle would take place.

At least he got the vomiting done now, rather than later. Wiping his mouth, he slowly stood up, using Haelen’s shoulder as support before finding his own balance and strength once more. He didn’t speak for a few moments, instead letting their steps take them some distance back to the gates of Irithul.

“I know its about holding fast in the face of fear. Its just… Tough.”, he said as he considered the many he had seen fall up until now.

“I’d rather not dwell on it. Lets get back to the front, see if theres anything left to do before the charge.”, he said as he desperately tried to change the subject.

Haelen Blacklocks​

 

[Maho 'Jerik' Sparhawk]

Sparhawk's mind was clouded with Violence. It was becoming more and more apparent to him that the power he was granted, wasn't truly his own. Not Yet. There was a level of powerlessness to it, as if his limbs moved on their own, his body and mind no longer belonging to him. But he was going to try his best to suppress these thoughts, else he bring the tunnel crumbling down on their heads.

James brought out his Messer, quickly bracing himself for the Dwarves that had rushed him. His abilities were impressive; although the Dwarfs' armours were strong, and their hammers heavy, he quickly dispatched the first two that attacked him, despite the heavy injuries he had sustained to his ribs, that would no doubt trouble him after the battle was done.

It was brutal however, the War-cry he sounded came from sheer instinct, as he ripped the Weapon from the Dwarf, and slammed it into the eye of another. Beautiful.

Whilst he was on the floor however, two Dwarves, shields high, began to charge their way towards Sparhawk. They were no fools; they were well aware of what weapons were at a Sorcerer's disposal, clearly pinning their success on blocking a projectile attack or some secret dagger Sparhawk had hiding behind his cloak.

Fighting against the will of his Fire magic, he lifted his palms to face his attackers. A blue glow formed around their heavy Leather boots, and they suddenly stopped in their tracks. Sparhawk had greatly increased the weight of their apparel, their light armour now weighing down like great Steel weights. They were not far away from Sparhawk, maybe only two meters, but they desperately struggled against the weight, bashing their footwear with the edge of their shields, hoping to decrease their distance just a little.

Though the Dwarf on the right had dropped his hammer, the Dwarf on the left gave out an agonising scream of effort, as he lifted his hammer, three times it's weight, and threw it at Sparhawk, it's heft cracking him across his face, as he let out a great cry of pain. It wasn't pretty, though the Dwarves stay idle, he lie on the floor, jaw broken, blood streaking across his face. He felt extremely dazed, the impact causing his brain to bounce off the sides of his skull.

He now felt the anger swelling inside him, like a great furnace boasting it's hot coals. The cloak he had been wearing had unfastened and fallen onto the floor, revealing the Brand that covered his neck. It had grown since his battle at the Templar outpost, making it's way down the Nape of Sparhawk's neck. However small it was, it set the tunnel ablaze with it's otherworldly Colour.

He began to stand up, his right arm lowering, no longer clutching his jaw, and stared daggers at his attackers. A grin grew on his face, as the blue glow that once covered their bodies became red, the eyes of the Dwarves, a mix of bravery and fear. The sight was soon lost on Sparhawk however, as the two became engulfed in a blaze, the light that burned revealed the jagged edges and crumbed exterior of the tunnel. They screamed and screamed, both desperately tearing sections of their armour off, hoping to stop it. A hopeless effort, but Satisfying None the less.

Soon, the screams died out, the arms that once scrambled at their bodies for help fell limp. Their bodies fell onto the damp stone floor of the cavern, their blackened corpses, crumbled and lifeless. Husks.

No longer concerned with the Dwarves - or James for that matter - his sight focused on the Lich that once stood behind the Dwarves, now illuminated in bright crimson light. His jaw crooked and warped, his face manipulated into a sickly grin, his eyes clouded in Sanguine.

Jame Hawthorne

 

[Jame Hawthorne]

Rundal watched as the two fought against the dwarves, and did their best to survive despite being outnumbered five to one. Surprisingly, they did excellent, sustaining only minor injuries and killing or disabling all but three of the dwarves. A shame they weren’t perfect, but it was suffice in the moment.

As Rundal began to appear a bit more in the light of the fires, his expression was that of a man. Nothing more and nothing less, yet as Maho had surmised already he was anything but normal. What coated his rotting flesh was an illusion so intricate it could fool some of the greatest practitioners of magic and spywork there were; likely one of the reasons Rundal had survived so long in his state.

The other reason became more evident as he closed the distance. As if by willpower, the bodies of the dwarves, both injured and near death, jostled slightly in the wake of his motion. Each moved with such a careless insignificance, it’d take a second glance to notice what was occuring; but Maho would soon see something James couldn’t only hope to never see. Intense waves of magic, many times that of the pervasive surroundings rushed from the bodies in heft streams before aligning somewhere deep in Rundal’s chest.

Seven souls consumed, and seven torrents of magic opened the gates to what was to occur. Unlike regular ‘absorption’ magic that Maho may have once seen, this was far more pure and dedicated. Instead of life force alone, Rundal had managed to consume three layers of the seven souls, and hold them tight in his sternum for his own purposes; ready for use in whatever way he wished. It was a startling display of magical excellence.

“That certainly isn’t your fire, child.”, he said in a surprisingly calm and scholarly tone. Everything about him fit the idealized picture of an unassuming mage, albeit the one detail Maho had already deduced.

“Who gave it to you? Why didn’t you choose to earn it?”, Rundal seemed to antagonize.

“No matter, lets see just what you were given…”

As he said that, one of the seven souls he had consumed in all its might, twisted and formed in his palm with all the force of a righteous storm. It twisted, screamed for release in a way that doubted Rundal’s control, yet he never let go of its quickly intensifying structure. The pure form of mana quickly altered, ripped from its state of neutrality in a white hot sun that sat squarely in his grasp.

The heat of its began to radiate, almost instantly forcing James to slide back in its presence. As if predicting what was to come, he tore the lifeless dwarven body from nearby and covered himself as best he could with it; taking a moment to hide any exposed skin from sight and cowering under the heft of the dwarf.

Rundal watched this, but his focus was not to harm James so much as test Maho. The personification of heat in his palm threatened even the stone walls around him, twisting and pulling their stone as stress fractures began to form from the sudden change in tempature. Rundal slowly lifted his palm in the direction of Maho, and let the sun rip from his grasp.

Almost instantly, what was just a small condensed plasma, quickly transitioned into the face of a dire creature of mythology. A massive demon filled with hate and made of white flames filled the entire tunnel, staring down at nothing but Maho as its target. It enveloped James, every corpse in the room, and ended with its nigh fathomless maw surrounding Maho.

His fire immunity would be tested far greater than it ever had before. What faced him now was the power of the soul, power that he had promised the gods for his own life, power that threatened to tear him asunder even now. If Imamu had truly granted Maho power, facing the fires of Rundal would be its greatest test.

Maho Sparhawk​

 

[Maho 'Jerik' Sparhawk]

Though Sparhawk had prepared for the worst, it seemed his idea of 'Worst' was fairly tame to what he was witnessing. Necromancers and Liches alike used the souls of the dead for power. But this was on a scale he'd never seen before; not only was he ripping the souls from their bodies, he was taking the entirety of their life-force, and instantaneously transmitting that into Magick that he could manipulate.

Sparhawk wasn't stupid. If his knowledge and experience was anything to go by, he was dead. That was it.

Dead.

If the Lich decided to use any of those souls in their entirety on Maho, there would be very little he could do to stop it.

The energy of one of the souls became condensed in the Lich's hand, the pure form it took on gave it an unnaturally bright white colour, that burnt the eyes to witness. A purifying energy. There were a hundred and one ways Sparhawk and James could be dispatched of now.

The energy that had filled the hands of the Lich, exploded into the air, bursting into the Shape of a great Demon. Something you'd find in books written by Scholars long dead. It's mass filled the tunnel, it's blanched white burning everything it touched. It's engulfing size soon descended upon Sparhawk, the eyes of the Lich spelt out everything he needed to know;

You better think of something. Or you're going to die.

Hopelessness filled Sparhawk's heart, the furious passion that once filled his eyes died down, the light that emitted from his eyes and brand, put out like pinching the flame from a candle-wick. His arms fell limp to his side, his head dropped to face the floor. The intensity of the heat was now beginning to make itself known; Sparhawk's skin felt as if the blood that coursed through it was being boiled, veins tearing themselves apart. He knew if he didn't Think of something, Anything, He was going to die.

He didn't care anymore. There was no hope. Never had he faced such insurmountable odds. He was going against a Lich that could have been potentially walking Arethil for hundreds, even thousands of years. What had he got against so much power? Against such fantastic strength.

Nothing.

The heat was becoming far too great now. He was caught in it's blazing Aura. With nothing to defend himself, his clothes set on fire, it's material seething on his skin. The stones he stood on were slowly becoming more and more orange, the heat of the flame cracking through the very foundations of the Tunnel. The rune he had placed upon himself was cracking under the immense pressure of the Lich's magic. Soon, he too was to be cleansed by it's pure light.

I miss home. I miss Elbion. I miss travelling around Villages, wind passing me by, unimportant to it's natural beauty. I miss the sea by my old home.

I miss Myles.

The seal broke.

I failed everyone. I couldn't complete my mission, i couldn't save James, i couldn't help Gerra realise his dream. I couldn't be there for those i cared about.

Maybe it's easier this way. To let myself fall into darkness.

Soon, though the Light of the Lich grew brighter than the core of the sun, everything began to become cold. The brightness that encapsulated him became low and somber. Everything became blurry, as Sparhawk gave into his fate, and accepted his long, but tranquil transition into Oblivion.

In this darkness however, Sparhawk saw a small red light. Barely noticeable, but growing. As time went on, it became larger and larger, until in the void Sparhawk stood in, he saw a form. Nothing he could put his finger on, but a figure. An Aura. A..

..Thing.

You did not Fulfil our deal, Sparhawk, son of Taul'.

What-Wait- where... Where am i? Who... are you? How do you know who i am?!

I am Imamu, the Fire of Lions. I am your Benefactor. You're dying.

i... I know. Why... why are you here. How are you here?

I was quite enjoying watching your little War, and decided to see how you were doing. Too bad you gave up so soon. Pathetic. I expected higher of you.

The Lich... he was too strong. There was no point fighting back...

You forget; It is not up to him or you when you die. I decide when you Die.

Just, Please. Let this be over with. Do whatever you wish.

Don't Patronise me! I Know I can do whatever i wish with you. But I expect my 1800 souls, Sparhawk. I am your God. And I demand it Done.

But... I- I can't even fight against something like that. I'm not a God.

I'm well Aware. This once, i will save you from his hole you've dug yourself. But the Next time you decide to let your Friends perish, and leave yourself to Die,

I'll tear your soul Asunder.
​

As if grasped by a hand, he was volted towards a bright light in the darkness. Within the void was an opening, that grew and grew into a familiar blinding Brightness. The same Flames he had been engulfed with. The same flames he could not fight against. No, The flames he let defeat him.

Once again, he felt the heat of the flames. Had nothing changed? Was he simply placed where he had been, expected to make do with whatever abilities he had left. That couldn't have been the case...

No, something was different. Something was off. As he looked down at his body, he was no longer engulfed in the White flames of the Lich. No, it was a different colour entirely. Not the colour of traditional Flame, but like the Crimson that emitted from his brands. Now he thought of it, thin marks were covering his entire body, which were now visible, as all of his clothes had been swallowed by the blaze. The marks all glowed in unison, coveting his being. It was as if a thick layer of Energy had swept his body inside of itself.

Moreover, he was floating off the ground, most of which had either crumbled under the pressure of the flames, or had melted into a slow running, hot sludge.

Instinctively, he pushed his arms forward, their red glow cutting through the Inferno of the demon raised by the Lich. Like a wild-animal, Sparhawk let out a great Scream, the wildfire that had transfigured around him Burst forwards, mauling it's way through it's opposition. Great Maelstroms of flame bursted across the Tunnel, both red and white, as the converging of the two infernos caused spits and embers to shoot across the cavern. The sound and sight was an Awesome display of Power and Passion.

Jame Hawthorne

 

[Jame Hawthorne]

How do I always end up in this shit?, James silently thought to himself.

The fact was he’d seen numerous destructive instances between mages, and he even made it his usual thing to just avoid them entirely. The Kavosh was supposed to be an exception for the sake of the gold, and yet here he lay, armor slowly branding its way into his skin, with a corpse of a dwarf overtop of him. On either side he had a man that sold his soul to the devil, and the devil himself on the other.

With a violent, firey death soon to overcome him, James desperately reached for his pocket having a small stash of scrolls he had purchased for just such a moment. The pain of the fires tore at him, threatened to burn flesh from bone, but it wasn’t enough to stop him. Fingers touched the scrolls just as the stone beneath him snapped under the pressure of the heat.

---

Rundal watched as Maho moved through the motion of acceptance, falling from grace, and eventually death. That was, before an impromptu visitor had decided it worthwhile to make his presence known to the few in the room. For Rundal’s sake, he was happy fire didn’t mean as much to him as say the the bounty hunter simply trying to survive in the corner.

His magic had reached its apex and began to fail, as per the energy in the soul he used now had reached its limits. Powerful enough to kill a human fire elemental, Rundal was moderately proud of himself as the Imamu backed Maho began to fight back through massive amounts of energy. He could feel it push over the soul’s magic, pressing back on Rundal in its entirety.

For a moment, Rundal considered using another soul, perhaps even push the limit and use two to ensure that the buffed strength of Maho and his patron didn’t accidently outdue him. Afterall, this was more a test to see what he was capable of, and it would be a shame if one of the oldest Lich in the land managed to die to a simple fire mage. However, just as he began to search his fathomless depths for another source of magic, the room filled with a magic of a different source.

Feeding off the magics of both Maho and Rundal, the scroll James activated was magnified tenfold from its usual power. Facing them down was the sudden rush of ice and water that exploded in a cloud of steam backed by many tons of water that rushed both Rundal and Maho back in a desperate attempt for life on the behalf of James. The explosion itself shook the mountain, collapsing two separate tunnels some distance from the two before it ceased.

James pushed the body of the dwarf off him as he moved to stand, ears ringing and his vision blurry at the explosion. He desperately tried to clear them of any blockages with his finger, but was met with little success, taking time to find his bearing before swearing as loud as The Wolf could manage;

“Fuck! I hate mages!”, he cried out as he desperately tried avoiding passing out.

Rundal, now laying on the ground trying to keep from sliding down the tunnel any further from the scroll, couldn’t help but feel slightly impressed by the bounty hunters ingenuity, let alone his willpower to survive despite being stuck between two powerful spellcasters in what could easily be described a tunnel of death. James didn’t care as much what Rundal thought, and limped into and offshoot tunnel, trying to find cover before either of the mages decided they should attack again.

Maho Sparhawk​

 

[The Construct]

Lief Balbanes made his way to Belgrath, taking note of the noise, fires, and lights that had shown up in the last few days. He didn't really have a stake in the battle, truth be told. He was a squire serving house Banick of Vel Anir, but his troupe had been ambushed by Bhathairk slavers. The Knight he served was killed, and Lief aimed to take him back to Vel Anir.

And getting to Vel Anir would be a lot easier with a horse, even if Belgrath was a bit out of the way. It had been slow going, what with carrying his dead knight and his coffin on his back, but he buried some distance from the city. Let him rush to Belgrath a bit faster, and without the risk of losing his master's body. He carried with him a Banick signet ring, as the Banick family did have business with the dwarves.

"Who goes there?" A duo of dwarf guardsman greeted Lief with violent enthusiasm.

"My name is Lief. I work for the Banick family from Vel Anir. I had hoped to purchase a horse and some goods, but it seems there are more pressing matters." Lief replied.

"The Blight Orcs have invaded. There are no merchants in Belgrath this day, only warriors." One of the guardsman replied in a gruff tone.

"I have grievance with the Orcs. Will you have my steel?" Lief replied.

"Come." One of the guardsman smiled. "Belgrath will have your steel if Molthal does not take your blood."




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

OOC: Joining the thread, heading to join Haelen Blacklocks and Douglas Haley

 

[Haelen Blacklocks]

"Aye," Haelen agreed when Douglas suggested they move to the front. He hefted his shield and strode towards the outer city limits. The streets were utterly deserted now. Even those who had been left behind to continue work on traps had finished their tasks and moved back into formation. The few supply wagons sitting about were empty now as arms and armour had been carried to the front. An eerie silence fell over the city. The calm before the storm.

They wound their way through the city streets, Haelen walked with little thought or desire to speak. He was mentally preparing himself for death on a massive scale. Perhaps the fall of his kin. The game ahead played with tremendous stakes. He saw as they approached that hundreds of dwarves were rallying around the city gates, the Tholbor Militia milled about the various tunnel entrances that led into Belgrath. They would hold the tunnels while the Belgrath forces held the gates.

Eobe first noticed the shield and his mouth was left agape. The young dwarf slapped another on the arm and pointed to the commander of the Tholbor Militia. They whispered to one another about the shield, then others began to notice. Soon waves of heads were turning towards Haelen. A dwarf of Clan Blacklocks wielded another clans shield and heirloom. Such an act was almost sacrilege, yet they did not speak out. Not a single dwarf. Now was not the moment. They knew the shields power, and they silently respected that Haelen would risk muddying his honour to save Belgrath. A city and people that were not his own.

 

[Verys Synsere]

Luna Slateforge Colborn Maciver

Verys was so busy being in awe of the massive structure in front of her that she initially missed the arrival of the other woman, until she spoke. The redhead glanced over at her, then sort of jumped in surprise. She’d just… appeared. With a bow and arrow like she was some sort of mysterious avenging ghost archer and … was calling Verys a child. The redhead pursed her lips. The other woman hardly looked that much older than Verys herself.

“As a matter of fact, I do not,” she responded to the other woman. “Thus… my confusion.”

Of course, that brought her back to the here and now which wasn’t exactly the best of situations. They were high on a hill with a company of orcs coming their way, overlooking the sea of tents of the encampment on one side, a long stretch of grass down the side of the hill with thick woods at the base of it on the other. They wouldn’t be able to make it down the steep, rocky slope to reach the safety of the cover of the woods before the orc company was on them, which would insinuate that they should stay and fight…

… not something Verys was entirely keen to experience.

“Okay, well. Down the hill sounds good!”

Without any other word of explanation, she suddenly flitted to the side, towards the sparse brush that the new woman had just appeared from. She could hear the crunching of the footfalls of the approaching orcs and knew that their time was limited before the company spotted them and they had to fight. The young woman was back shortly, however, staggering with three large, thick pine branches in her arms, a short but sharp utility knife in her mouth. Reaching the other two, she dropped the pine branches.

“Ok we used to do this on the sand dunes near the coast, it’s so much fun or at least it would be if it was sand and not rocks so hopefully this isn’t too painful --” She sort of continued to talk as she positioned the three branches on the edge of the cliff, grabbing their arms and gesturing for them to, of all things, sit on the branch. She herself plopped herself down, grabbing the front of the branch as a semi-hold.

“It’s fun! Possibly dangerous.Definitely dangerous, sorry. But less dangerous than the orcs -- and fun!" And then she pushed herself over the edge of the lip, sliding down the hillside with a flurry of stones and rubble and pine needles flying out behind her.


Well, it’d certainly get them down off the hill FAST.

 

[Gerra]

The deep throated thrum of ram horns reverberated throughout Lor Holdram. And as their last notes died in the chill mountain air, there could be heard the stamping of many iron-shod boots upon the flagstones and the raw roars of orcish commanders.

The legion marched for the tunnels.
​

Eight cohorts made their way into the dwarven deeps, leaving two behind to guard the captured fort and the many wounded who yet lived. Gerra marched in their midst, towering over all but the tallest. He squinted as they passed through the mouth of the tunnel, which had taken the better part of three days to clear of rubble. Hundreds of pitch torches shone amidst their serried ranks, casting long shadows in a darkness deeper than night.

The main tunnel spanned more than forty men abreast in width, built as a causeway in ancient days for trade and thus wide enough for the passage of many wagons heavy laden with goods.

Gerra strode with the air of one who knew only victory, though he still feared defeat. The red flame of Molthal emblazoned the chest of his black gambeson and he wore a coat of riveted chainmail beneath it, along with a matching mail coif. Metal greaves shod his shins and feet, and gauntlets his hands. He bore naught else save his hammer, recovered from Arnor's mouth.

His voice rolled out from their midst, hideously deep and volcanic with bridled wrath.

"No mercy! Tonight, you will feast on the flesh of your foes." ​

 

[Luna Slateforge]

Luna Slateforge Colborn Maciver

Verys was so busy being in awe of the massive structure in front of her that she initially missed the arrival of the other woman, until she spoke. The redhead glanced over at her, then sort of jumped in surprise. She’d just… appeared. With a bow and arrow like she was some sort of mysterious avenging ghost archer and … was calling Verys a child. The redhead pursed her lips. The other woman hardly looked that much older than Verys herself.

“As a matter of fact, I do not,” she responded to the other woman. “Thus… my confusion.”

Of course, that brought her back to the here and now which wasn’t exactly the best of situations. They were high on a hill with a company of orcs coming their way, overlooking the sea of tents of the encampment on one side, a long stretch of grass down the side of the hill with thick woods at the base of it on the other. They wouldn’t be able to make it down the steep, rocky slope to reach the safety of the cover of the woods before the orc company was on them, which would insinuate that they should stay and fight…

… not something Verys was entirely keen to experience.

“Okay, well. Down the hill sounds good!”

Without any other word of explanation, she suddenly flitted to the side, towards the sparse brush that the new woman had just appeared from. She could hear the crunching of the footfalls of the approaching orcs and knew that their time was limited before the company spotted them and they had to fight. The young woman was back shortly, however, staggering with three large, thick pine branches in her arms, a short but sharp utility knife in her mouth. Reaching the other two, she dropped the pine branches.

“Ok we used to do this on the sand dunes near the coast, it’s so much fun or at least it would be if it was sand and not rocks so hopefully this isn’t too painful --” She sort of continued to talk as she positioned the three branches on the edge of the cliff, grabbing their arms and gesturing for them to, of all things, sit on the branch. She herself plopped herself down, grabbing the front of the branch as a semi-hold.

“It’s fun! Possibly dangerous.Definitely dangerous, sorry. But less dangerous than the orcs -- and fun!" And then she pushed herself over the edge of the lip, sliding down the hillside with a flurry of stones and rubble and pine needles flying out behind her.


Well, it’d certainly get them down off the hill FAST.

Luna took her branch and eyed it with distrust. "I can slide on my own thank you child." she said tossing it aside as the girl dove down the cliff side at a great rate of speed. "humans." she muttered with a snort before following, sliding down the hill at her own pace slowing up when it felt like she was going too fast. As she finally caught up to the girl ,who had admittedly gotten down the hill much faster, she got close enough for the black books aura to enveloped the girl.

A feeling of a deep dread would pass like a breeze leaving as quickly as it struck. A cold shiver filling any with an urge to run. Luna reached the girl and grabbed a hold of her shoulder tightly not allowing her to move as the feeling passed. It was a useful thing to have as it usually kept anyone getting ideas about approaching her from acting on those thoughts once they got close enough, However it also meant strangers she needed to speak with had a chance they might run when she needed them to stay still and listen.

Meaning it could be an annoyance. "Quick thinking child, but since your unaware you are on the outskirts of quite the major conflict, we need to move further into the woods and stray from staying on any path too long." She said in her casual monotone as she towered over the shorter human. such a little thing. she looked further up the hill hoping the blonde human would hurry up. the orcs werent the easiest to fight one on one, let alone outnumbered.
"If your friend up there takes too long and they over take us, I need to know I can trust you. I can pass out for days after a spirit walk." Luna said finally letting her go unaware of if she had been squeezing a little too tightly. She notched another two arrows to her bow and tossed the red haired girl a long skinning knife.

"If any catch up to you use that and yell ill try and get to you if we get separated child." she said aiming at the top of the hill hopping the next thing she saw cresting it was the other human and not a couple of orcs creeping over signalling for their brethren to follow.
"You are now in a position of avoidable peril you stupid girl. all for some soft human child. patheic..." the whispers snapped at her so angrily she could almost feel the venom as Luna flinched slightly and returned her attention back to the hill top with a dismissive sigh.

 

[Douglas Haley]

_________________________

The dwarves seemed in limbo as Haelen walked with the very shield that represented their city. ‘The Horned Aegis’, many had whispered, some in more archaic dwarven tongues lost to all but their clans; and Douglas walked next to the legend itself. To be frank, he thought at first they were simply judging him for his Kavoshian traits, something he had gottten used to, but he could see that it wasn’t fear that held their attention but pure admiration and awe. That was until the distant echo of the ram horns ran shivers up the garrison’s spines.

It seemed Gerra had called for the assault.

“We better hurry.”, Douglas said as his throat began to tighten in anticipation. He was glad he threw up earlier, lest the rolling in his stomach take him fully now.

Readjusting his mask, Douglas made his way towards the walls that surrounded the massive gate the Orcs intended to take. Although the original plan was to hold the gate itself, the decision was made that they simply didn’t have the manpower to hold the far larger entrance; leaving them far more open to assaults from catapults and more should they have made such a mistake. Instead, the entire cities defenses focused on a multi-leveled inner gate meant to be a secondary defense should someone breach the outer most gate, one far smaller for their token force of defenders.

Lining the entire wall was the ballistas that had been mothballed for eons from the collapsed tunnels, and even a few of the well maintained ones from the Arkath Gate. Manning them was newly trained militia who’s rate of fire would certainly be lower than a trained force drilled in their operation for weeks, but the commander had hoped to compensate with the sheer amount of them instead; a reasonable proposal, but their age wouldn’t likely help them much.

Any lacking ranged weaponry, oft Dwarven Crossbows with a draw weight easily capable of busting plate, were dedicated to defending the gate, boiling oil, automated lava traps finding fuel from the Belgrath-Akkar, and more. The only hope was that the enemy would attempt something more traditional in their approach; and tactics had been put in place to counter shrouds and battering rams, while much of the tunnel itself had various pungi traps filled with feces, fall traps, and pressure activated rock falls.

Dwarves didn’t like subversive tactics, but it seemed their only choice now.

Douglas watched as the first leagues of the army marched into the tunnel, drums announcing their pace and intention. It was an imposing sight, an even more terrifying experience, but survival was all that was on Douglas’s mind in those fleeting moments. The enemy was moving with a steady pace, and the defenders of Belgrath finally had their day to make amends for the loss of their city.

In unison, without guidance, the motley army began a crescendoing chant that filled all those terrified with confidence.

“Bel-Grath! Bel-Grath! Bel-Grath!”, just as the Khazak had chanted on their march to the city.

Douglas tightened his fist as he glanced down to Haelen, motioning him forward;

“Think you should say a speech? Can’t say I know how these things go…”, he said with a slight shake to his tone.

Haelen Blacklocks │ Lief Balbanes​

 

[Haelen Blacklocks]

The horn echoed and it was met by the defiant chant of Belgrath, it's thunderous boom reverberated throughout the echo. Hammers, picks, swords and axes slammed against shield by way of war drum. They may not have numbered many, the battle near hopeless, but the spirit of their ancestors would look on with pride. Haelen unclipped his hammer and joined them, shouting "Khazar! Khazar! Khazar!" and his throng followed suit.

The chanting and banging died out and as silence fell over them they heard the distant footsteps. Thousands of them. “Think you should say a speech? Can’t say I know how these things go…” Douglas suggested and Haelen snorted, "Nae, ah don' believe en such things. Tis ah bad omen." The old adventurer and prince-in-exile moved towards his throng. "Mah sorcerer friend once told meh about ah far away place, full o' high elves, he calls em, dunnae dah difference dey all kind-ah queer folk. Either wah, some brothers wah aht ah siege, gave ah speech... meteor fell on 'em."

Up on the walls the dwarves began to unleash a volley of bolts from their ballista. Some were so ancient that the powerful forces involved caused the wood to splinter, fracture or even snap and explode in a hail of broken pieces. Those bolts would let loose, their trajectory faulted and spin end over end lazily into the oncoming enemy ranks. Others fired with precise marksmanship, and some more would attempt to fire but the gnarled ropes snapped, unable to even function or let fly their bolts. Distant booms echoed from far within, the Tholbor Militia were beginning to collapse the smaller tunnels with a series of detonations.

Hunters and soldiers stood abreast on the ramparts overlooking the internal gates, wielding crossbow and recurve bow. A hellstorm of arrows and crossbow bolts descended from above onto the enemy ranks. Many of the arrows were made with whistling points, the sharp noise was intended to inspire fear into their enemy, especially in such vast numbers. The piercing wail filled the cavern, as though the very banshees of the underworld had come to greet their foes.

 

[The Construct]

Lief followed the dwarven escort, deep into the tunnels linking the camps with Belgrath. The son of a blacksmith, Lief noted the crafstmanship all around him in the dwarven weapons, armor, siege weapons, and even the doors and columns separating the walls from the floor. His father would have relished a chance to examine the metals around him, but alas he was back in Vel Anir. Lief's craft now was the skill of his blade, and it was to be tested soon. Looking around him Lief saw mostly dwarves, but also spied pockets of humans, elves, and even true orcs wearing dwarven crests and colors. It seemed every countryman of Belgrath had lifted up arms to fight.

"Well boy, this is it." The dwarf said as he stopped. "I'd like to tell you to report to captain left or commander right, but our organization isn't what it should be after the attack." The dwarf pointed forward at a white-haired dwarf in the distance. "See that shield? It's an heirloom of our people. I don't know who that dwarf is, but he's got bigger stones than most. Most people will be following him."

Lief looked over at Haelen Blacklocks and nodded. "I suppose this troupe is as good as any." He replied. "What is your name sir?"

"Dvarog Weisheim." He replied with a gruff tone. "I'll hope to see you after the battle Lief."

"And you as well." Lief replied. Dvarog nodded and was off in a flash. The time for pleasantries had ended. The horns of battle had begun to sound. Lief took a deep breath, then unsheathed his sword and joined in the Belgrathian chants echoing throughout the tunnels. The sound of whistling arrows and heavy ballistae sang the opening prelude to a chorus of battle, and the dwarven legions began to charge at the Blight Orcs.

One way or another, Belgrath's tunnels would soon be stained an unforgettable crimson.

 

[Verys Synsere]

By the time the other woman reached her, Verys had mostly righted herself, running her hands through her tangled red curls to try and right them somehow. Well, that had worked, yes, she was down in one piece, but oh goodness that had hurt. It was much nicer when it was smaller, finer pebbles and not the chunky side of a mountain top. She cast about for her satchel and grabbed it up with a triumphant “ah ha!” just as a feeling of dread sank over her.

She froze, her heart thumping and a very loud voice inside of her screaming RUN! But the other woman was speaking and the redhead sort of focused on her with obvious effort, gripping the strap of the large bag she carried.

“Once again. ‘Verys’. Not child,” she protested, but the woman was already drawing her bow and tossing a knife at Verys, which … the redhead did not catch and it sort of tumbled to the ground. “Ooops that was -- for me --” she said, and picked it up.

Of course, then it seemed like the woman was going to… what, fight her way through it? In the craziness of the ride down the side of the hill, Verys had lost sight of the other man who’d been with them -- she didn’t see him at the top of the hill anymore, but that could have meant he’d decided to go another way or he’d slid and gotten separated from them somehow. All she could hope was that he’d managed to get away.

Something that they really needed to do.

“Hey -- uh -- Just a suggestion, but --” Verys began, but was interrupted by the appearance of someone at the top of the hill. The young woman reached out and pulled her newfound companion down into a crouch, holding the branch that she’d sledded down the hill in front of them both like a fan or a screen. The figure at the top of the hill was an orc, holding a sword at the ready, looking down the hill suspiciously. Verys held her breath, hardly daring to breathe, hoping that the dull colors of the woman's robe and her own clothing would blend in to the shadows, that they were hidden enough by the pine branch….

… and then the orc shrugged and turned, disappearing back over the crest of the hill.

“Right, well. That was fantastic. Shall we run, then?” Verys piped nervously.

 

[Uzrogh]

March! Toward Dwarf Death!

Uzrough the centurion in-charge of this rank of soldiers that were pushing forward the front line, he was eager for battle ever since he arrived at the Dwarf tunnels. He kept pushing orcs forward, through trap after trap, almost ignoring those that fell in.

He thought them week, only the strong will survive this battle, besides he had orders and he had developed a tast for humanoid flesh, dwarf flesh to be precise.

 

[Telemachus]

LOR HOLDRAM
COURTYARD

Antiphonus shifted nervously in the periphery of Telemachus' vision. After Laodice's "disappearance" during the initial siege of Lor Holdram, he had been selected to assume her duties. Which was to say, acting as a middling lieutenant. In this case he had been instructed to create a suitable summoning circle, in addition to one other spurious task.

Telemachus was examining the summoning circle and the glyphs inside of it presently, and eventually he stood up to look at Antiphonus. "This is adequate."

Antiphonus bowed reverently, attempting to mask his overwhelming relief. Adequate! Truly was he moving up in the world. This would be something to write home about.

"The Dwarves you requested are over there, Master Telemachus."

The cadre of Dwarven battlemages were bound and gagged a little ways off, huddled in a corner and under the close supervision of a few Blight Orc guards. It had been Sparhawk's job to kill these battlemages, but he had elected to be stabbed in the back by a peasant instead of fulfilling his duties. Instead, the battlemages had gone on to slaughter dozens of Blight Orcs before eventually being overwhelmed.

Legate Dur-Gil was planning to torture them in various gruesome ways, but Telemachus had a much more fulfilling use in mind for them.

"Good. We will need their assistance."

"Er," Antiphonus wavered, "I doubt they've an assisting disposition."

Oh, the grand and intoxicating innocence of an adept. At one point Telemachus might have envied that state, but now he only despised it. Antiphonus would be rid of it soon enough. Telemachus withdrew a curved and unseemly looking dagger from the folds of his robes. Runes decorated the flat of the blade. It looked like it might have been more at home in Astyanax's toolbelt, but here it was.

Telemachus handed it to Antiphonus, who had paled considerably. Maybe not so innocent as to be ignorant of what transpired next.

"At the height of the ritual, you are to open their throats. One at a time. Start with the eldest." Telemachus said, and turned to look at the waiting adepts behind him. He did not wait for Antiphonus to answer. "Let us begin."

 

[Gerra]

They drew near the mighty gate and in the distance Gerra could hear sharp and familiar thwocks - the sound of a ballista’s taught bowstring snapping forward in release. Hums filled the cavernous tunnel, like the buzzing of wasps, and dark shapes flitted out of the gloom above. Iron ballista bolts as long as an orc was tall ripped through the front ranks, driving through shield and armor to impale the bearers with the horrible sound of rending metal. Orcs died, choked cries cut short as blood filled lungs or hearts ceased to beat.


Beyond the first rows of unblooded, goblin skirmishers scampered toward the low walls. They bore no torches to mark them in the darkness, but knocked poisoned arrows to their shortbows, aimed for the illuminated dwarves atop the walls, and loosed at their individual targets without regard for massed volley.


Somewhere amidst the tunnel’s eternal night, in the leading ranks, the corpses of Lor Holdram’s dwarven dead shambles forward, driven by one mind and one purpose.


Crossbow quarrels began to shower the cohorts and the cry went out from the warleaders to form the Wyrmscale. Shields clattered as they interlocked overhead, and the pace became a muffled, sweaty shuffle. Bodies packed tight hunched grimly and the clatter of arrows and bolts against the shields overhead, like intermittent hail, elicited snarls of defiance.

 

[Douglas Haley]

_________________________

With much of the Orc Vanguard submerged in darkness, the traps were notoriously effective on them. Even still, their small stature and numerical advantage had allowed a number of them to simply brute force their way to the base of the walls, many holes patched with makeshift patches of stone and rubble intended to stop a large scale assault. For what few dwarves were manning the lower levels of the massive Gate-Wall, many failed to notice the goblins fire their arrows before it was too late.

Much of those manning the ballista were strong men and women, dwarves of more hardy craft for their ability to actively draw the mechanisms back for each consecutive shot. These dwarves were not with armor, saving all but wooden panels for the melee teams meant to hold off ladders and more. This proved their undoing and the arrows peppered them, killing many, and wounding many more.

Much to the dismay of the few and far between medics and priests, it was soon found that the shortbows were covered in fecal matter, not far unlike the dwarves pungi tactics to ensure a slow march back from the city. Those who had been struck were not likely to survive a week, fevers soon to set in without proper medicine, something the dwarves were in very short supply of. Even worse, some dwarves desperately tried to console those dying, knowing the fate that would soon befell them; much to the annoyance of their local garrison commanders.

For those left, commands rang out to throw small oil fires into the darkness near the walls, ensuring some light for response fires. Dwarves with crossbows once shooting at the more heavily armored testudo change to kill what goblin strayed too far into the light, hoping to reduce skirmish casualties and avenge their death sentenced allies. The ballista that were still in commission reloaded, the most well maintained taking considerably less time before another volley was released.

The massive bolts were let loose in smaller volleys now, aiming for the front lines of the armored legions that marched upon them now. Their proximity made the bolts certainly effective, tearing asunder armor and alike for all it touched, but the rate of fire and masses they faced simply didn’t allow them to break apart entire formations on the march. Something Douglas noticed quickly as he watched from the higher sections of the wall.

“Those armored Orcs-”, Douglas said with a growing urgency.

“They’re going to be a problem, Haelen.”

The well practiced march of the orcs certainly was a problem, as their best advantage for destroying them wasn’t ever the ballista, but the crossbows now focusing on targets in the dark and barely illuminated, something dwarves at least had an advantage in since they lived in almost constant low light. The testudo however didn’t care how well the dwarves saw in the dark, only how well their bolts would pierce Molthal steel.

Electricity began to arc between Douglas’s fingers as the pales eyes of the Kavosh watched the front lines of the army march to the gate. His own magic never caused him pain, but the anxiety he felt before battle was enough to make the maelstrom magic around him to feel slimy and burning. A sensation he never felt before, and one he knew he never wanted to feel again.

“I could deal with them, if you think it right…”

Despite his offer, it was obvious Douglas was hoping he wouldn’t have to kill mortals today. The hesitation of sin, the final moments of the innocent from committing murder. All it would take was Haelen’s command and Douglas would do what he asked, but somewhere in the wizard boy there was a significant hope nothing would be asked of him. No murder, no death, despite its growing stench all around them.

Haelen Blacklocks │ Gerra │ Uzrogh │ Lief Balbanes​

 

[Telemachus]

LOR HOLDRAM
COURTYARD

The ritual commenced.

It was a silent affair, and devoid of spectacle, like any other ceremony conducted by Sidereal Elves. Bards fond of telling stories of great feats of magic would prattle on about explosions, thunderclaps, streaks of light and waves of energy, loud chanting, foul incantations. A true testament to their ignorance, or their consorting with amateurs.

Rather, it looked like they were meditating. Telemachus at the head of the circle, eyes distant and focused. The adepts were bowed equal distance from one another on the perimeter of the circle, save for Antiphonus. He was in the center when the Blight Orcs brought the first battlemage forward - a stout Dwarf with a forked, grey beard.

He went with dignity. Telemachus might have respected it, if he only could have seen it at the time.

Later, the Blight Orcs involved would recount an unsettling feeling. The air was charged. Changed. Something natural in the world around them was being disturbed. Removed. It was a difficult feeling to describe, especially for Blight Orcs, who normally had little need to describe such subtleties.

Like a background noise being abruptly cut off, or a crowd falling silent moments before a massacre.

Antiphonus muttered something in Sidereal speak and slit the throat of the first Dwarf. He gargled worthlessly against the gag, eyes widening momentarily before losing their light. Blood pooled out, and the Blight Orcs let the body crumple in the center of the circle after a moment. Antiphonus nodded to them to bring the next one.

The sensation worsened.

 

[Haelen Blacklocks]

Haelen thundered across the ramparts, his voice loud and proud as he roared orders for the ballista to reload. Arrows flew just beyond his peripherals, some even grazing his armour and another shattering upon the crest of his shield. Blood of fallen kin began to run in rivulets along the defense's and dropped down the walls to pool on the ground below.

The beleaguered dwarves shouted curses and invoked the names of their ancestors so as to tell their enemy they would not relent. Another volley of ballista fired, this time far less than before with the damages sustained. Douglas looked to be getting nervous and Haelen eased him, "Hold yer fingers, Magi." The Prince in exile motioned for assistance.

A young messenger came forth and Haelen instructed him to fetch some troops and collect cauldrons of water, as well as to bring the boiling oil to the front. "Eh don' know much 'bout spells, but yeh never want tah mix lightnin' an' water, if yeh get mah meaning," Haelen said to Douglas.

 

[Luna Slateforge]

By the time the other woman reached her, Verys had mostly righted herself, running her hands through her tangled red curls to try and right them somehow. Well, that had worked, yes, she was down in one piece, but oh goodness that had hurt. It was much nicer when it was smaller, finer pebbles and not the chunky side of a mountain top. She cast about for her satchel and grabbed it up with a triumphant “ah ha!” just as a feeling of dread sank over her.

She froze, her heart thumping and a very loud voice inside of her screaming RUN! But the other woman was speaking and the redhead sort of focused on her with obvious effort, gripping the strap of the large bag she carried.
“Once again. ‘Verys’. Not child,” she protested, but the woman was already drawing her bow and tossing a knife at Verys, which … the redhead did not catch and it sort of tumbled to the ground. “Ooops that was -- for me --” she said, and picked it up.

Of course, then it seemed like the woman was going to… what, fight her way through it? In the craziness of the ride down the side of the hill, Verys had lost sight of the other man who’d been with them -- she didn’t see him at the top of the hill anymore, but that could have meant he’d decided to go another way or he’d slid and gotten separated from them somehow. All she could hope was that he’d managed to get away.

Something that they really needed to do.

“Hey -- uh -- Just a suggestion, but --” Verys began, but was interrupted by the appearance of someone at the top of the hill. The young woman reached out and pulled her newfound companion down into a crouch, holding the branch that she’d sledded down the hill in front of them both like a fan or a screen. The figure at the top of the hill was an orc, holding a sword at the ready, looking down the hill suspiciously. Verys held her breath, hardly daring to breathe, hoping that the dull colors of the woman's robe and her own clothing would blend in to the shadows, that they were hidden enough by the pine branch….

… and then the orc shrugged and turned, disappearing back over the crest of the hill.

“Right, well. That was fantastic. Shall we run, then?” Verys piped nervously.

“Once again. ‘Verys’. Not child,”

Luna was impressed. It was taking effort but the human hadnt even tried to pull away from her grip as she let go.
"I am a priestess child, all things living and dead are my children. To be protected and cared for.." she said in her usual soft monotone as she lowered her bow.

“Hey -- uh -- Just a suggestion, but --”

Luna barely had a chance to see what made her stop as she was suddenly yanked back by her newly made friend into a crouch. The touch of another even through cloth was enough to make her uncomfortable, but the whispers stirred at Verys's touch as well.
"Young life.....We want it...Her energy...So pure...So warm..We want her skin...Her soul.. Her life...Her blood....." they all seemed to say at once like a rising gust of wind as Luna saw the orc disappear back over the crest of the hill. "Shut up." she snapped even if it was still her usual soft monotone the bitter undertone was clear as day. Luna paused for a moment as she just realized Verys had been suggesting they run, and in her eyes Luna had just told her to shut up "Sorry Verys..I wasnt speaking to you.." Luna said before continuing.

"I stayed in a cave a few miles from here, off the beaten path and well hidden. We can stay there for tonight. after that your on your own. I have a mission for my master Im here to complete, and I dont have time to baby sit a young girl out of her depth while I scour battlefields."
She said curtly as she rose to leave. "He already thinks Im wasting my time saving you now....but no one deserves slavery, and with those orcs I believe thats where you were headed, so follow me. " she said before grabbing Verys by the arm and pulling her out of her crouch, into the air and pinned her to a tree next to them with her forearm to Verys's stomach leaving Luna's face barely half an inch from hers. Luna's completely pitch black eye and her other icy blue stared into the girls perfect emerald green.

"And dont touch me again. ever." she said holding her there for a moment letting the warning sink in before setting her back on the ground gently.
"Sorry...its..its for your own safety.." she said finally after a moment. Immediately feeling bad for her actions but truthfully she was scared for Verys, and with how the whispers had reacted...well... she would rather keep Verys scared and distant then let her get close and get hurt or even die... So with a small sigh she pushed those regrets behind her as she pulled out her book and opened it. A single tendril of the black smog like substance leaked from the pages and snaked out in front of her weaving a trail through the rocky forest.

"Follow me and ignore anything your hear come from the void essence." She said softly nodding at the thick black smog like tendril as she began to follow it.
"Or dont and see how long you last in the forest on your own when night comes."
She said as she stopped after a few steps and turned to see if Verys was following. She was going to act like she didnt care, and maybe the girl would leave on her own but in all honesty she was already starting to care a great deal for her and was worried her spiky, spooky, exterior would break down far to quickly if she didnt scare the girl away quickly..Well the longer people traveled with her the more her master would try and speak to them, and try and bargain with them....

 

[Uzrogh]

Shields up! the blight orc shouted Get in formation, if you die at this point its your own fault if you die!

The armored orcs took formations as they raised their shields to cover the front, top, and sides of the unit. Spears were pushed forward and swords were sheathed, it was time to move in turtle formation. Bolts, arrows, even some magical missiles flew of the shields of the armored lines, felling a few unlucky orcs.

Hold pace! We March for the Glory of Gerra! For Molthal!

 

[Gerra]

"FOR MOLTHAL!"​

Thousands of orcs roared their defiance, even as more ballista hewn from alpine wood and bowed with twisted ox hair and animal sinew loosed their javelins, which ripped through mass produced Molthal dark iron shields and breastplates, spitting entire rows upon six feet of Belgrath-wrought steel.

Sprung traps in the darkness sent Goblin skirmishers or undead dwarves toppling into pits lined with wooden spikes. Bear traps snapped closed around ankles and shins, shattering bones and ripping flesh. Crossbows from the walls beside the gate found their mark among those who strayed too close to torchlight.

But the tide would not be stemmed.

Like an iron wave, the Blight Orcs came on, an implacable weight of steel and sinew that trampled their own fallen underfoot.

Amidst the center of the marching order, Gerra, head and shoulders above the rest, saw the Gate of Irithul looming before them. A gate no enemy of Belgrath had ever breach. He felt a shudder run through him.

Abruptly, Gerra felt a sudden silence, as if the air itself had suddenly gone still.