Quest The Siege of Belgrath Part 2: Battle of Irithul

[Maho 'Jerik' Sparhawk]

The great rumble that emitted from the duelling Sorcerer's was immense. The walls of the cave-tunnel shook and spat rocks from it's foundations, struggling to cope with the heat birthed from their battle.

Sparhawk was stilling coming to terms with the fantastic pool of power that had been surged within him. He felt every ember of the flame he avenged upon Rundle, every spark flowed from inside of him, an almost primal urge to destroy what faced him loomed above. But unlike the other times he'd given in to power, he didn't feel like a puppet to a master. He felt in full control of what he did, as if given a tool he never knew he had, a power he never knew he could utilise.

He could see Rundal beginning to utilise more souls that he'd reaped from the Dwarves, the overwhelming power of Imamu truly was impressive. However, Sparhawk was well aware that to face a being such as Rundal, it took no small feat of power. But more than that, he knew he would have stood no chance if it weren't for the deal he'd struck with Imamu all those months ago. Sparhawk would have many opponents to face during his life, and if he were to survive those ordeals, he could not rely on being saved by someone. Not again.

However, as their battle raged on, another source of magic became sensible in the tunnel, emitting from Sparhawk's current companion, James. Quickly, it amplified tenfold and tenfold again, the small etchings on the surface of the scroll he had grew, and from it's surface - as quickly as Sparhawk had noticed it - Pillars of Ice and water burst forth from it, filling the tunnel and rattling it's rafters. Their battle was inadvertadly interrupted as both Rundal and Sparhawk were sent flying back from the explosion, Sparhawk hitting the ceiling of the tunnel, expecting to fall hard on the cold (but now wet) cave surface, but was luckily cushioned by the water that momentarily filled the tunnel

His eyes blurred from the Trauma he'd received to his head, the water level quickly levelling, James flowing - somewhat purposely into an adjacent tunnel, avoiding the conflict. Smart man.

As his vision focused, the vision of Rundal became sharp, also recovering from the sudden blow they'd received from the Scroll James had been keeping, likely for the very same situation he'd found himself in.

Sparhawk had to think fast before Rundal got a chance to use more of the souls he'd acquired. It wouldn't be wise to face him head on, as if he used all of his souls, he could potentially wipe out Sparhawk for good, becoming a blood splatter on the cave wall. Now he thought of it, the walls of the cave must have been compromised from their battle and subsequent flood.

His attention was drawn to the ceiling above Rundal; if he could bring it down, it could mean he could deilver a fatal blow, without expending too much of his energy. Without much time to think, he focused as much of his energy as he could into his hands, not unlike the first time he'd unleashed his new found powers. In contrast however, he did not let the ball expand into a plume of flame, instead, he threw the contained ball of pure fire as hard as he could, aiming for the tunnel ceiling above where Rundal was standing. Hopefully, if he had thought correctly, the ball would explode on impact, crushing Rundal in a rain of boulders and rocks.

Hopefully.

| Jame Hawthorne |

 

[Sigfrith Runecarver]

It had not just been the remnants of Khazar that had arrived from the valley, but the last heir to the Runecarver clan. he had marched steadily and relentlessly along with Haelen Blacklocks until arriving in the city of Belgrath, speaking hardly a word, but conserving his strength for what was to come. An axe dangled at his side, yet it was not with this that he would be of the most use to the besieged city. For he was a Maester of Elbion, one of the few Masters of Rune-magic to still live.

They had arrived too late for the fort, but the battle had been raging for a few days now, and every moment since his arrival was occupied. Sigfrith ate little and slept less. Instead, he inspected the stonework of the city in silence before moving in with his hammer and chisel, etching in runes of strength and warding, in one great ring behind the gate. As the sounds of battle echoed in the caverns and tunnels around him, he pressed steadily on, only grunting and tugging his beard in response to any questions posed at him.

Battles were won not with numbers or strength, but with the mind that wielded them, and his mind was strong, unhurried in its patience and resolve. This assault was unusual and some dread force motivated them. Blight Orcs, he understood. So that meant Molthal was responsible and there would some magic involved.

This was what he prepared himself to face. Runecarving was a slow, steady art, mostly neglected by the younger races' preference for more dramatic, immediate magic. In this, they had a point, but for the Dwarf, these lacked artistry. He was no sorcerer, to hurl fireballs and call lightning. No, his magic was the magic of rock and earth and sky, connected into a web. Slow, steady work, but it had its uses. Only by breaking the runes themselves could his spells be unwoven, which when done correctly by a master, was not an easy feat.

An unbroken chain of runes now stretched along the back of the gate, holding it together with magic stronger than stone or iron, while a small chain ran intertwined with it, meant to deflect magic hurled against it back at the caster. Already, Sigfrith could see the subtle shimmer in the corner of his eyes that meant the magic had begun to take effect. Even if catapults and bolts hit the wall, they would find themselves bounced back by the magical field. But whether it would be enough, that was beyond his ken.

 

[Telemachus]

Spoiler

LOR HOLDRAM
COURTYARD

The last of the battlemages kicked and flailed and screamed into his gag. Another pair of Blight Orcs had to be called in, and even still Antiphonus nicked his own hand with the blade in the continued struggle. But it was done. His throat opened like the rest of them, and soon he joined his peers in an unseemly pile of corpses in the center of the circle.

The Blight Orcs hastily retreated - Antiphonus could hardly blame them. The adept wiped the blood of the blade off onto a cloth for what felt like the hundredth time. If it were ten thousand years before he had to do something like this again, it would be too soon. But something told Antiphonus it would be much, much sooner.

Antiphonus turned to exit the circle, only to grind to a halt after a few steps. There it was again. A shift. A tremor. Something unseen and unheard. He could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, but when he turned nothing had changed. Or rather, Telemachus was now standing. A few of the adepts attempted to do so as well - and those that did swayed about on unsteady feet. The rest were in varying states of sprawl on the ground, too tired or nauseated to move.

He was educated enough to know when a summoning ritual was completed. It was just... Usually it would show up. The thing being summoned. It would be here... Now.

"Ah," Antiphonus said, "Where is...?"

Telemachus had been moving to walk past the adept, stopping before doing so now that he was being spoken to. "It is ill-suited to be summoned here."

"I see."

"It would have most likely killed you," Telemachus said, and it was now that Antiphonus was regretting having asked.

Antiphonus pressed his lips together. "So, if you don't mind my asking, where exactly, then..."

The adept trailed off. There was a tremor in the earth - a light shaking. It lasted a few seconds, then stopped... Or, no... It felt more like it was moving. Antiphonus looked up from the ground to see Telemachus still staring at him, brows knit together in disgust.

"Have that wound tended to."

He glanced at his palm, and now recalled that it had been gushing blood from where he'd hurt himself. Ah. There it was. It was stinging badly now that he remembered it.

"Ah, yes, of course."

The two parted ways, eager to attend to their respective business.

UNDERGROUND
THE GATE OF IRITHUL

Tremors shake the cavern, and the sound of stone grinding against stone fills the air. The earth quakes, but not with such violence as to threaten the gates or cause concern for collapse. Those with a magical disposition may sense that this is no natural tremor, and that something foul will soon appear.

On the surface, those close enough to Lor Holdram would doubtlessly faintly feel the tremors - and the ominous sensation - as well.

Maho Sparhawk | Sigfrith Runecarver | Jame Hawthorne | Douglas Haley | Haelen Blacklocks | Lief Balbanes | Verys Synsere | Luna Slateforge | Uzrogh | Mar'Cal The Wanderer | Colborn Maciver | Gerra​

 

[Douglas Haley]

_______________________

Douglas lifted his hand, preparing for his electricity to strike out and lay waste to the legions of marching orcs clad in armor, and soon to be water; but as soon as he felt the ominous sensation he held back, second guessing if the energy was worth it in that moment. Swallowing, the electricity in his palm faded and ceased as he met Haelen’s curious gaze, confused as to why the boy stopped. He spoke quickly, though in a hushed tone just barely over the sounds of battle.

“Something is coming, magical. I don’t think its a good idea for me to use my magic yet.”

The other dwarf with them simply nodded, moving to a horn as he laid a massive call into the depths of the dungeon. Its sound magnified in the dwarven tunnels, and as the first of the orc legions got within range of the walls a quick set of charges was launched. Each a runed sigil used to magnify mining speeds of the various dwarves; and when they landed they showed the Orcs just what they were up against.

It was short, but brutal; as each landed and exploded in a massive cloud of alchemic dust and magical implications, the mass produced steel armor of the Orcs would do little to stop the shockwaves. Even those that missed would send out shrapnel almost everywhere, tearing asunder those unlucky few in the darkness and behind; the very nature of the explosion tearing ligaments and muscle with impunity, even those poor Dawi too close to the explosions felt the impact as a number of them were cut, while even a few witnessed first hand why goggles were important.

Douglas however watching the horizon, trying to sense just where the magical sensation was coming from, and what its purpose was. Something was very wrong, and he only hoped it wouldn’t seal their fate.

Gerra │ Telemachus │ Haelen Blacklocks │ Sigfrith Runecarver

---

Rundal watched as the firemage worked desperately to save his own life. The momentary interruption of the bounty hunter was troublesome, but it certainly didn’t mean the end of the world; though, it did extend Maho’s life for a moment at the very least. As the lich stood up once more, furrowing his illusioned brow at the flame mage, he watched as the wizard came to understand how hopeless his situation was.

And with it, Rundal raised his own hand; nothing like making a fool of the gods by destroying their hierophants. Yet, as he was about to draw upon another of the souls he carried, he saw a new found confidence reappear the mage, and decided it was best to see just what he was up to. With a cruel smile, he watched as magic spun around him, only to be released.

Though not at him. Had Maho missed? No, Rundal realized that the stone of the tunnel had lost its integrity, and even being in it was dangerous now. If he were any less of a mage, this very well could have trapped him for hundreds of years, but his skill allowed a near instant reaction. Teleportation magic, that which only the few masters had ever held, allowed Rundal now to disappear as the first rocks began to fall; though he didn’t get the pleasure of staying on the same side as Maho.

One, two, three seconds passed before Rundal reappeared, now on the opposite side of the tunnel collapse, frowning as he realized his prey had gotten free. A defeat in his book, but it was well earned on behalf of the wizard; so he’d not make him suffer further. Sighing, Rundal turned and began to walk back the way he came, hoping to catch the beginning of the battle; lest he miss his chance to watch Douglas Haley work his magic.

Maho Sparhawk​

 

[Daggen Starbreaker]

War in nature was a ugly business to take part in, even though the sagas of great heroism and glory could be heard in almost every watering whole this world could provide. If there was a bard with a voice, it was sung and romanticized. Children of all species would make pretend from the depths of their imaginations and surroundings, acting as one of their idols swinging some stick like sword. The bards don't sing about the smell as the overwhelming scent of defecation continuously assaulted your nostrils. No, those bits of the songs were left out as nobody wanted to hear about how a person's last act in life is to release his bowls. Humans, elf, orc and so on. All the same when it comes to the end. The written sagas were meant to inspire and blind the foolish brave to the actual horrors they volunteered for. Was was ugly, merciless and forever scarring. A meat grinder, turned in twisted for almost any and every reason there could be.

And so here it was. War. The filthy greenskins and their masters have brought it to Belgrath where the bloodletting had been raging on for days. The smell of death overpowered the stench of Daggen's unwashed body. His great kilt and lamellar armor was covered in all matters of residue, from blood to stains he did not want to know about. His body acked, bruised and battered from the relentless fighting. Falling back behind the secondary gates gave him and many others a chance to breath. Rest. Recover. Marksman off varied skill and talent let loose their weapon of choice from the parapets above. The twangs of bow strings could be heard over and over. Yet that was not the only sound playing to the warrior's ears. War chants from both sides were still raging on and he could feel the very world trembling. This was chaos and yet Daggen made a point of taking a rest.

He unhooked a leather skin of water and poured the cool liquid down his parched throat. A few drops spilled out of the corners of his mouth, flowing through his dark auburn beard. There were once elegant braids he worked on four countless hours, before the battle began....days ago, hung form his chin and rested on his chest like a clash of ill handled cords. Daggen replaced the skin and took his weapons from his belt and laid them against the stone wall. Then he took his ancestral battle axe, Kor-Az, or 'star axe' in common and laid it against the wall as well. The silver like axe head jangled melodiously against the sculpted rock. There was nothing special about the weapons sides the mere fact it was made from a unknown ore found in the remnants of a fallen meteor and elegantly forged by the very dwarf clan that had claimed it and named themselves after it, 'Starbreakers'.

Daggen then followed suit, resting his back against the cold surface and then sliding down till his ass found ground. He gently pulled his wooden pipe from his side pouch and filled the bowl with pipe weed. There was no time for sleep, the he longed for the abyss of slumber that had evaded him for what seemed decades. With a lit stick he was able to get the weed going and with a few test draws was able to comfortably, the best he could, relax and smoke his pipe.

Will be his turn once more soon enough. For now, the belgrathian warrior need a break and regain his stength for the fight ahead.

 

[Verys Synsere]

Luna Slateforge

Verys was left blinking at her newfound companion as the cloaked woman snapped a sharp response … then said she wasn’t talking to Verys but talking to someone else? The redhead looked around them both, fairly obviously, as if searching for the mysterious person that she was indeed speaking to…

Seeing nothing, however, she opened her mouth to question but was silenced as the cloaked woman issued a … stern commentary on ‘babysitting’ Verys and something about her master and Verys’s eyebrows arched more (if that was at all possible). “Well, I do agree on the slavery part --” she began, as far as not wanting to have been sold into a life of slavery, whether or not this ‘master’ idea or creature or whatever it was agreed for the same reasons as Verys herself held important.

The fact that the young woman was certainly not a warrior or fighter at all was only more confirmed when Luna pulled her to her feet and pinned her against the tree. The young woman squeaked in surprise, held in place as the priestess's strange eyes bored into her own. Verys couldn’t fight the shiver that ran down her spine, her lips working as if she was going to say something but really couldn’t think of what. It was all so out of Verys’s realm of experience that for a moment as the other woman let her go and then started on their path (with a smoking book), the scholar just sort of stood there for a moment with this wide-eyed expression as her brain just tried to make sense, some modicum of understanding, of what had just happened.

In that time, the other woman had walked ahead, pausing to look back at Verys, and it was that motion that sort of stirred the other young woman to action.

Gripping the large satchel that she wore slung across her chest, she hurried the few steps to catch up with the other woman. The priestess. Of the void. Who had a leaky book that was apparently making their path forward known. Oh boy. This was not something that any of Verys’s books had ever covered.

“Uh yes -- but I have, well, a few -- okay, okay, more than a few, quite a few -- questions?” she said as she caught up to the priestess’s side. Verys was aware of what a picture she herself made: her formerly clean shirt and skirts were dirty and stained, ripped too, her hair was a tangle of red curls untamed down her back, and her wrists were bloody and raw from the manacles. Not to mention the bag that she was carrying, which obviously had some weight to it, and was stained and dirty. Definitely not ‘lady-like’, like her father would have expected of her. But still, she couldn’t help but focus on the most important thing: finding out more about the woman next to her.

“Like, well. Obviously, the book. Is it a readable book? Because that would be amazing. And the voices, I’m assuming, that you’re hearing. What’s that about? Are you a priestess of a specific order or is that a self-assumed moniker? Oh! And why did you save me? Is that part of the whole-priestess-schtick? Also what can I do to get you to ditch the child bit, because I have told you my name like twice now -- and OH--”

It all sort of rushed out in a breathless stream as if the redhead was just completely incapable of keeping the questions inside of her instead of letting them come out. Even as they walked, Verys keeping up with Luna with only mild effort, it sort of just babbled forth energetically. If she had been deterred by the other woman’s warning to not touch her or get close, it had only been for a moment. It certainly hadn't seemed to put a damper on that determined energy that the young woman seemed to brim with. Blinking those big green as at her new companion, Verys considered her.

“Do you have a name? Or do I just call you ‘Spooky-Priestess-Lady’?”

Even as the words left her mouth, there was a low rumble in the ground beneath them, just distantly, but deeply in the ground from the direction of the mountain before them. Not to mention, there was… something on the air. A tension, a heavy silence, expectant and thick except for the deep groaning of the earth. Inhaling sharply, Verys reached out a hand as if she was going to grab the priestess’s arm for reassurance, but just as she was going to touch her, she remembered the woman’s warning (threat?) and pulled her hand back.

“That didn’t seem… natural,” she noted, her voice a tinny with fear.

 

[Kadar Kindhead]

The old dwarf had cast a magic trap upon the stone, about time to as the enemy march was coming closer. The magical glyph was primed and ready to be stepped on.

"Alright, that should do it, everyone move back!"

the magical dwarven wizards had been laying traps as the battle continued, along with Kadar Kindheart who had been teaching all his life in the wizard academy. Though mostly a scroll caster, he with a bit of magical chalk and infusion of fire made excellent fire explosives.

The group moved back as the Blight orcs marched through the tunnels, triggering all other traps in front of them.

After Kadar and his fellow teachers got behind several tunnels length heard the explosion, causing several largerocks to fall on several plated orcs. Looking back, Kadar and co had succeded in blocking the tunnel, killing several orcs.

"Well, one less path to have deal with, lets puts some more glyphs in and then report our success"

The group began writing on the ground, preparing the 5 minute ritual.

 

[Cuut'Thul'Lulu]

The protection on the first gate had been diminished so that there could be reinforcements and protection for the army that assaulted the second gate now. There were enough left to hold the gate from any army that might come to the aid of Belgrath, though they would likely only hold for only enough time for reinforcements from the army to return.

Mar'Cal stood in the rear of the army, leading a mix and match of different groups that formed the rear guard. Remaining cautious of a rear assault Mar'Cal sent a horde of scouts ill suited for the type of combat involved in a siege to continue to scout any of the tunnels that could allow an assault from behind. The army would not be caught unaware from behind. He almost wished something would come so he would be able to complete a feat once more. A small narrow tunnel, just room enough for two to fight at a time, how many could he take down of these small men raised for this type of narrow combat before he was forced to give ground he wondered.

Mar'Cal shook off the day dream and looked to the commander, Gerra. Mar'Cal hoped he had found himself a proper conqueror this time, he was not without his doubts however. He was surprised to see the giant suddenly stop. Soon enough Mar'Cal had a feeling that gave him pause as well. He had experienced danger many times so he was able to recognize it, and whatever this feeling was told screamed danger. Soon enough a rumbling came as if only to signify the danger was drawing nearer. With such a palpable danger present only a mad man would not feel afraid, and Mar'Cal felt his heart beat quicken in his chest. He gripped his axe tighter, took a deep breath, and smiled. This battle was getting more exiting.

 

[Luna Slateforge]

Luna seemed to taken aback by the sudden barrage as she wasnt one to travel with many people this was like going from steaming hot water to ice cold.
“Like, well. Obviously, the book. Is it a readable book?"
"Dont touch my book."
"Because that would be amazing. And the voices, I’m assuming, that you’re hearing. What’s that about?"
"My master keeps his servants around me child."
"Are you a priestess of a specific order or is that a self-assumed moniker?"
"Um well I-"
"Oh! And why did you save me? Is that part of the whole-priestess-schtick?"
"Im beginning to wish i hadnt..."
"Also what can I do to get you to ditch the child bit, because I have told you my name like twice now -- and OH--”
As she inhaled to launch another volley Luna put a finger to her lips.
"You get one more question then Im throwing you back to the orcs, stripped naked nd tied to a post." She said curtly.
There was a pause. Finally.
“Do you have a name? Or do I just call you ‘Spooky-Priestess-Lady’?”

A ghost of a smirk played across her usual blank expression. This girl was truly not one to be stifled.
A rumble like the earth seeming to groan from deep within shook them both for a moment.
“That didn’t seem… natural,” Verys said her voice shrinking with fear.
"I dont think it was." Luna said casting a paranoid look around her like the ground would spout enemies.
She noticed the girl reach out for reassurance before pulling back. A flash..A memory.. "Im scared.." a hand brushing hers. The waves..The rocking of the ship "Ahahah we'll be at Cerak At'Thul by morning you rotten gutted bilge rats!" came the call from one of the crew..The crack of whips and the groans of those they were aimed at. The small hand taking hers "I miss my mom.." a sniffle. a face pressed to her hip. Her hand squeezed. The clink of chains.

Luna shook the fog from her mind as she silently took Verys' hand before she could fully draw it back. by having to reach her sleeve pulled back slightly showing marks on her wrists that matched Verys own red and raw wrists from the manacles, but Luna's were not red. They were the thick white of deeply scared tissue. Her hand was a dead feeling cold that didnt seem to warm even as it held Verys'
"I apologize for my outburst earlier Im not one to travel with companions..My name is Luna..Pleased to meet you Verys..."
She spoke in her normal soft tone with a small touch of warmth. Anyone who wasnt looking for it would have missed it easily.
"Now come along. The sun is setting and these woods hold many things the night draws out."
She continued to hold her hand as she pulled her along gently, following the black tendril as it continued to weave throught the forest.

 

[Verys Synsere]

For a dreadful moment after the rumble growled through the ground underneath them, Verys felt completely lost. Not even the earth under her feet felt firm anymore; she was countless leagues away from home, with none of her carefully-packed supplies and no way to figure out how to return, tired and hungry and in the middle of a battle she didn’t have the slightest hope of understanding in her current situation…. Not to mention the cold woman next to her, who didn’t seem entirely certain in her decision to help Verys in the first place.

Even as her heart sank in her chest, her emerald eyes resting on the mountain looming in front of them, there was the cool touch of a hand on her own. Emerald eyes swept back to the cloaked woman, not missing the telltale scarring around her wrist, as the woman took her hand. There was a bit more warmth to the woman’s words now, as chilled and subdued as it was, and Verys managed a smile in response.

“A pleasure to meet you. Thank you for saving me,” Verys replied, her words bright and brimming with sincerity. Not the sort of overly sappy fake sort of sincerity adapted by the slick, either -- a sort of genuine lightness hard to fake.

Then they were following the smokey tendril through the woods, the redhead more than happy to walk a bit closer to the other woman’s side. After all, she was running out of tricks if they bumped into another contingent of orcs -- there were only so many tricks one plucky young woman could come up with before her bag ran empty. Unlike, of course, the large satchel that she wore, with its heavy contents, judging by how it banged at her side as they walked. Thankfully, the rumbling had ceased, or at least ebbed, deep in the ground now. More felt than heard...

They got a grand total of maybe two minutes of walking in, before the redhead cleared her throat. It seemed “quiet” and “reserved” were not exactly her strong suits.

“I have… more questions,” Verys prompted, but slowly -- not immediately launching into it, instead, looking to Luna uncertainly. “How many do I get before I’m tied naked and tossed to the orcs?”

It was a very important question. Verys needed to know things and there were a lot of things she didn’t know right now.