Open Chronicles Valor

[Kiros Rahnel]

A different world, with different rules; if only he knew fully what they were. He could only guess at Her ideals; for She would scarcely mention them unless he’d just run afoul of one. But much as he hated suffering as Her prophet, it seemed a fate deserved; he’d simply nowhere else to turn. The priesthood would see him executed for his past misdeeds. Those very misdeeds further rendered him unworthy of giving The Six worship; though it was likely the others assumed he did. Were he not damned to be Her chosen, he was sure he’d be damned to the pit upon his death.

Of the few benefits was the bestowing of magic –specifically, divine and holy. While he’d not deny the usefulness of magic’s other disciplines, he held little trust in it. It often seemed to cause trouble, and years spent in Elbion only further reinforced the attitude. Thus, he deemed it a risk better left to others. Yet as unpredictable as She was, at least Her magic was not. It was awkward and needlessly complicated, but usually remained reliable in outcome; sneezies and arcane disturbance aside.

While Cauldwin remained beaten beneath the onslaught of the Risen orcs, the very god Kiros had fretted over earlier had taken interest. Perhaps the paladins would feel the oppressive force wash over them, but Kiros remained none the wiser as the War Father held presence.. The only protection She had woven over him served to shield his mind from such invasive forces; far more to prevent unwanted knowledge of Her through the reading of mind than out of any genuine desire to safeguard him. Whatever whispers could be heard would remain unnoticed by him, as he held neither dark nor spectral connection.

Yet, Itra had heard the War Father clearly once Her name had been invoked. Once She had, She made Her irritation known to Her priest.

How dare you bring Me before His presence!

Oh no.

Not here.

Not now.

By the greater gods….

Why?

Though She spoke further response She could be neither noticed nor heard by any; aside from Kiros who could hear Her clearly, and the War Father to whom Her statement was addressed:

“No War Father, You are nothing like Me,
Nor do You possess any worth at all.
You're a failure without My qualities,
No wonder Your chosen has come to fall.

When She bid the crook’s thief ought be subdued,
You gave not even minor assistance.
To Me You both ought owe great gratitude,
For Your woeful and wasted existence.

Thus I implore, kindly give him what’s best.
Allow his death and freedom from Your shame.
Were I Your charge, I’d be ever obsessed,
With what mercy it would be to be slain.

For not even slightly shall he be missed,
Arethil shall be better with him dead.
There could truly be only greater bliss,
If it were You who was dying instead.”​

Her absence during this undertaking had been a counted blessing. The situation appeared to be improving until this point and they were on the verge of making withdrawal; a good sign. The arrival of Itra, on the other hand, was considered anything but.

Though he heard Her, he held not a clue whom was responsible for the presence She spoke of. There was the paladin of another god before him, and Kiros looked down at Gil’Tyrnin with concern. Itra spoke of the War Father, and without context to Her words he could only wonder if He and the All-Father had been the one and the same the entire time. As She continued however, it became clear that Gil’Tyrnin could not possibly be the one of whom She spoke. He had fallen, sure; but he was long and far from such a described dying state as She had detailed.

Kiros looked up from the fallen elf, giving the scene a pensive scan in search of the one who She addressed. It did not take long for him to locate the two-headed beast anew, now fallen and surrounded by Risen orcs who continued their assault upon him. No other entity present fit the divinely spoken statement, and there was little doubt that he must be the chosen She spoke of.

He had no faith in his own deity to see him through, and those faithful to other gods seemed too exhausted to provide much further. The need to withdraw was now great, and they would surely need to soon.

A sentiment expressed, coincidentally and gratefully, by Captain Grunni himself:

“ABOUT! FACE!”

A relief to hear, and in due time too. Still, he could not leave his allies ignorant to the events he had just deduced.

Though answers had been grasped, divulging them to others would be another issue entirely. It appeared doubtful that relaying what he had just observed would fall on believing ears. Dal was already busy admonishing the elf for the divine aid received by a useful deity, and could surely not receive such news about his own perceptions fondly. Nor would the Marines, as the quips spoken by among several in their ranks had implied.

But to speak nothing would leave them unknowing, and vulnerable to the threat posed. They might not believe him to be actual prophet, but he had presented himself before them as a priest. If he could not speak complete truth, he could still imply it with the wisdom his vestments implied he held in such matters.

“The heavens stir. Believe me or not, but I have seen sign of foul omen.” Kiros quipped in dry tone, before extending his staff to gesture towards the direction of the beast beneath the undead horde.

“From that one yonder. I sense he is herald of a dark force. And I further sense that force may soon act.” He added, speaking of the situation with more certainty than he held. Yet matters involving Itra were too chaotic to predict; if he had learned anything in all these years as Her chosen, it was that it became prudent to prepare for the worst one She had taken even minor interest.

Greater gods help us...

Eren'thiel Xyrdithas Tarathrieal Cauldwin Talson Valfnyr Heike Eisen Dal Gil'Tyrnin Solcrest

 

[Eren'thiel Xyrdithas]

* * * * *​

The surviving adventurers and pack animals walk ahead of the formation of Marines, and altogether they are heading for the lowlands at the end of the cliff-flanked draw.

---

Save for Erën. As the troop departed from where they had fought, he brought up the distant rear. He was not long in recuperating much of his strength, and so he chose to follow from afar. From there he could use both the sharpness of his sight and the reach of his hearing to detect any who would come to follow. Having left so few behind to even carry out such an act made it likely he would simply dispatch anything that chased after them on his own without mention.

However, should anything of great significance choose to draw near, it would be a short time for him to alert his comrades, just ahead.
​

---

Heike Eisen | Gil'Tyrnin Solcrest | Tarathrieal
Dal | Cauldwin Talson Valfnyr | Kiros Rahnel ​

 

[Cauldwin Talson Valfnyr]

(I wanted to give Tarathrieal some time, I wasn't sure if he was still going to be in the thread, but it's almost been a week.)

The Warfather did not respond to Itra of course, be it spite, an inabuilty to hear her taunt, or simply him ignoring the goddess. Whatever his inner machinations, he would not respond to her. Though one would hear her taunt besides Kiros, Cauldwin heard her as well. He heard it all.

Aid, though unwittingly and counter-intuitively given. That insult to Cauldwin, to his mission to his lord in rhyme no less caused such unfathomable spite and fury to swell in the dregs of his soul. In the beasts delusion and madness he took this as a taunt from the celestials, one final slap on the face and cementing his loyalties for whatever time he had left. The beast began to rise on its broken legs, the remaining undead that did not have a decent hold on what remained of the creatures flesh falling to the ground.

He would have revenge. Spiting these gods by existing, to spit venom in their eyes with his presence, to remind their followers what terrifying things own the dark. The beast lifted itself of the ground, the swarming undead clinging in its flesh or falling to the ground, before crashing down, sending the dust up in the air and mangling the dead beneath it. That however, was all the energy Cauldwin had left.

The dust mixed with a sudden black mist, obscuring what transpired on the creatures' landing. Cauldwin retuned to his *human* form. Still covered in the black tar and his body badly damaged, the armored man lay in the pile of writhing mangled dead. He would appear seemingly deceased or more accurately in some inert state, though not easily discernable amongst the piles of the dead. The black blood, spittle, the orcs cold blood, and bile surrounded them. A sight once revealed would surely churn the stomach of even a seasoned warrior.

The rusted warrior had been seriously damaged in this battle, perhaps permanently, both physically and phycologically. He role in this fight is likely over and the recovery will be extensive with his slow healing. It would be hours maybe a day before he could return to a state of consciousness for lack of a better word. Wether he was left in the field, serves as landmine for any unfortunate soldiers, or returns to battle: he is unable to continue fighting.

Eren'thiel Xyrdithas​

Kiros Rahnel​

Gil'Tyrnin Solcrest​

Tarathrieal​

Dal​

Heike Eisen​

 

[Heike Eisen]

((Gonna keep going so the creative fire for the thread doesn't go out. Tarathrieal, you can rejoin whenever you like.))


Good news was just ahead.

Down in the lowlands, over the rough crescent of a low hill scattered with stones and shrubs, a banner yet peeked. Slowly it rose, higher, higher, the sound of a brother company marching as if joining in cadence with the step of the Marines. Helmeted heads, beards, pauldrons...and the stout dwarves of the 1st Belgrath Army began to crest the hill. Among the Arragoth Marines, exhausted though they were, battered and savaged and having lost good comrades and dear friends, arose heartening cheers and to the heavens above they thrust their weapons high in joy.

The formations of the Arragoth Marines and the company from the 1st Belgrath Army closed on each other. Soldiers of the Army were ordered to retrieve waterskins and to bring them to the beleaguered Marines. Pack animals with carried no supplies were brought forward so that the Marines could load their heavily wounded dwarves upon them. The soldiers and Marines put aside their rivalries, their banter, and the soldiers were supportive, for they knew that the Marines had just been through hell.

Captain Grunni found the commander of the Army company, and he stepped forward with wide open arms and a fierce smile, "Now there's a sight for sore eyes!"

Major Angrumm came forward, and the two dwarves embraced each other as brothers. "Grunni," he said, pulling back then, "how are your lads?"

A stiff dreg of breath through his wide nose, and Grunni said heavily, "We've just a little over half the company still standing."

Major Angrumm nodded grimly. "The bodies?"

Captain Grunni tipped his head back toward the cliff-walled draw. "There. Beyond our recovery. The Orcs spared no fury nor atrocity against us. May our kin find solace with their Ancestors."

"Aye." And Major Angrum was silent for a moment. "And of our kin in Ungbarroud?"

"Dead to a man, save for one. The boy. Sardrun Steelborn."

Both, then, were silent. For those at Ungbarroud who had sacrificed everything to ensure that Sardrun would survive the slaughter.

* * * * *​

Heike had glanced back into the cliff-walled draw behind them, seeing enclosed there and distant the dust and the black mist, but no gargantuan Beast. It would seem that it had finally been felled. Somewhere, as well, among all those dead, was Cauldwin. She had seen him, heard him, she was sure of it, but she just didn't know what had become of him. Much like the last time she was departing from his proximity, she couldn't be sure if he was alive or dead. Yet if he was dead, it would stay her wary heart its worried cadence; she remembered his accusation of her, how quick he was to believe in its absolute certainty, his grasping hand which--had he been more fortunate--might have caught her neck. To Heike, Cauldwin was scarcely trustworthy, his temperament mercurial at best, and she was glad that he had vanished as suddenly as he had appeared here.

Kiros spoke, and his words were unwelcome intrusions onto the prospect of respite from the battle they had all only just withdrew from. Not that it was Kiros's specific fault, no. If there was something yet amiss with the Beast, or rather the black mist it had fallen into and become, it wouldn't do to simply wish that it was not so and bury one's head in the sand of desired respite.

Sardrun, walking with what remained of the adventurers, looked from Kiros to Heike as a child might with his blood father and mother. He said, "...Will the warrior of light come back to banish that dark force?"

Heike glanced to Gil--being carried still by Dal in the retreat. Then down to Sardrun and she said, "Steel will serve if and when all else fails. I will sooner die than see you harmed again. Here, let me clean up your nose."

Heike descended to one knee and set her sword down and from her belt withdrew a cleaning cloth meant for the blade and dabbed at Sardrun's nose, his lips, his chin, taking a precious moment to wipe the blood from the boy's face. "There," she said, flashing a smile that went unseen behind her helm.

She took up her sword and rose to her feet--grimacing as her fatigued body wanted dearly to stay low and at rest. She and Sardrun caught back up. And she said to Kiros, "If the heavens start stirring more violently, and this dark force threatens to become more than an omen, then make us privy to it without a moment's delay."

And it was here that the 1st Belgrath Army became visible over that lowland hill, and Heike breathed a sigh of relief. As the soldiers and the Marines were mingling, the needs of the Marines being attended to, and as Captain Grunni and Major Angrumm were speaking, Heike surveyed the adventurer auxiliaries. They had left Belgrath with a full thirty adventurers. Now they numbered eleven, of which were included herself, Dal, Kiros, Gil'Tyrnin, and Erën.

Heike turned to Dal then. She had heard some of what he was saying to the unconscious form of Gil as they were entering the lowlands, enough to understand that he was of a similar mind to her in regard to magic, to power itself and its responsible wielding. Yet even as Heike distrusted magic, even as she outright feared magic at times, still she had turned to Kiros, to Erën, and to Gil. She had indeed turned to the secret magic of the Night Watchmen Templar to rid herself of her vampirism. As good kings were needed for an ordered and just society, so too were good mages needed to combat magic wielded by the wicked.

Resolving to step in should Dal and Gil clash against one another in the future, Heike stowed her own thoughts on the matter for the moment. They all still needed to see Sardrun home.

And, at present, a practical matter.

Heike approached and tapped a plate of Dal's armor with the tip of her longsword, lacking a functioning free hand by which to get his attention. She turned her left side to him and said, "Dal, I would ask for your aid. It's my arm. I suffered a fierce blow during the battle and it has been dislocated from my shoulder. Might you force it back into place?"

Dal Kiros Rahnel Eren'thiel Xyrdithas Cauldwin Talson Valfnyr Gil'Tyrnin Solcrest

 

[Dal]

Dal's helmet rattled against his armoured waist as he moved with Gil on his back and gave him a heft upwards so he might not fall down. There was nothing graceful or considerate in the action.

As he made progress forward, his limbs lacking fatigue due to Gil's display of holy power, Dal felt somewhat cheated of a day's work somehow. His sword arm did not have the familiar burn to it from engaging with the enemy and meeting their weapons with one's own, and further, he did not know the dull ache from the impact of cleaving greenskins apart through the power of dwarven rune. That sensation had been brief, or at least as brief as the first part of the engagement that day. It was a distant memory now in comparison to fighting the undead. Of fighting felled orcs. A new experience for Dal. He grimaced at the thought of it. As he had flashes of dead eyes that lacked the fury of an orc, yet still inhabited the shape, still hefted weapons and wanted your death.

The undead. The shambling dead. The walkers. The restless living. The haunted ones. There were a lot of names for it, but Dal had avoided fighting the undead mostly until this point. He had survived against so many. Dal was still processing it. A pitched battle against the orc and then the undead. It was quite the day's accomplishment he thought to himself.

And what of of seeing that beast emerge and tear apart the dead with a ferocity he hoped he would never have to deal with? He had never seen such a thing before. He hoped he never would again. But something told him that such things might become more common the more he fought alongside adventurers and auxilleries instead of mercenary companies who picked their contracts based upon surviving instead of glory of purpose.

Then there was that suicidal paladin that Dal bore on his back. What of his display of power? It beggered belief. But here they were. Victorious in part due to the elf's actions.

Dal felt himself with an modicum of gratitude for not having to march with legs that demanded nothing but rest. Dal knew he had sprinted far more than he normally might during a conflict. Many an elf to save this day, the irony of it, Dal thought, the mission was to save a single dwarf youth and instead I found myself saving the elves of countless years.

And now he dealt with something altogether different. As he saw the banners and weapons being lifted by the dwarves, Dal shook his head and gave a a low chuckle to himself. Cheering. Adulation. This was something that was rarely experienced as being part of mercenary hosts. You did your job, you got paid, you stayed alive, you won the day as best you could. Certainly, there would be celebrations as the enemy was driven away, but few cheered at the sight of mercenary companies. Dal gave a small smile as he saw the dwarves celebrate and give each other support. Must be nice to have the backing of your people, Dal thought.

He saw the greeting the army provided the marines. Despite being part of the battle and fighting intensely within it, he felt the cheering was for the dwarves and the dwarves alone. Dal toyed with the idea of this not being so but decided that humility would be a better course of action. Better that than appear foolish. Dwarves praising the deeds of a half-orc. That would be the day, Dal thought wryly.

Dal heard the metal against his armour and turned his head. He smiled. There was something nostalgic about someone using a weapon to draw his attention. Although it had been axes in his youth, not the knightly weapon of the longsword. Upon hearing the request from Heike, Dal gave a low “hrm,” as he hefted Gil down upon the ground so he might adjust his comrade's injury without being burdened so.

“Dislocated huh? Yes. I can help. If I can carry this one for the march home I can certainly help you with this. Surprised you didn't ask me sooner.”

Dal rubbed his chin for a moment and leaned in to inspect the arm. He had seen this sort of thing before, a dislocation. This time the arm had come too far forward from the trunk of the warrior. Easily fixed Dal thought.

“This'll be sudden.” Dal said, and thought better than to explain it would be painful as well. “But I'm sure you knew that. On three,” Dal said and felt how he should move the arm in a sudden movement backwards. He placed his hands in the proper place as both shaman had taught him as a youth and fellow soldier apothecary had instructed him, and gave a moment.

“Three,” Dal said, and yanked

Dal had performed the action correctly and swiftly. He took a step back and let a few breaths take place before he tried to have a conversation. It was a painful thing to have an arm relocated. Something of a shock.

“First time for a lot of things today, Knight, as I'm sure you can appreciate.” Dal said. “I've never killed so many orcs. I don't know if I had ever killed more than three before today. And those three I knew their names.”

The half orc reached behind his back and removed the banner. He gripped it within his hands for a few seconds, and then threw the banner as one might a javelin into the ground beside the elf. He was content that he didn't need the protection of identification anymore. Dal couldn't work out how he felt about wearing such a thing for so long, but, he reasoned, it had kept him alive and free from friendly fire. That was good enough reason to bear it. As now did his longsword bear the rune of cleaving against the greenskin.

“Considering we were fighting the undead,” Dal said quietly, as if the words might betray him if spoken too loudly and amongst so many warriors, “you fought well to arrive with only that injury. And you commanded well. Think you had more trouble against the greenskins tactics than the living dead. You ever fought them before? The undead I mean. My first time today, properly engaging them on the field.” Dal cleared his throat and waited for Heike's response.

Eren'thiel Xyrdithas Tarathrieal Cauldwin Talson Valfnyr Gil'Tyrnin Solcrest Kiros Rahnel Heike Eisen

 

[Gil'Tyrnin Solcrest]

Gil woke with a start he reached for a weapon of light but the disk never came. His reserves were drained, he looked up to Dal his eyes caught the half orcs and he could see distain. He had no recollection of what had happened except that the undead horde had piled upon him and he had excepted his fate as the pyre if undead had burned atop him. He was reckless he put his comrades in danger, he ignored his training and left an undead standing. He had put them all at risk. The eyes of the highborn Elf casted to the ground in shame, he braced himself to be beaten to be punished for his actions as he had been so many times by his father.



"I know nothing I can say can make up for the danger I put you all in, but I am so very sorry there is no room for recklessness in battle, I should have finished that undead before casting him aside" he finished his sentence with a phrase that was beaten into him since youth "I will be better"



Gil struggled to his feet and stumbled forward a few steps before catching himself. He saw Eren Kiros and Tarathrieal. He looked frantically for the boy pand there he was alive and well. Gil sighed relieved. He dropped to the ground an retrieved his heavy plates and his sword. He stood shakily one more and looked at the battlefield once he saw the carnage he fell one more to his knees.

He prayed.

"All Father, please guide the sparks of those who died here today, guide them home to your light, embrace them and shield them in your warmth. Allow them to at last know peace"

He slowly rose and turned his back on the battlefield and began the march along them finding himself beside Dal and Heike. He heard Dals words and nodded to Heike.

"You both fought well, I on the other hand have training and praying to do before I find myself on the battlefield next, I cannot let this happen again"

Dal Heike Eisen Cauldwin Talson Valfnyr Kiros Rahnel Tarathrieal Eren'thiel Xyrdithas

 

[Kiros Rahnel]

He kept in motion alongside the others, albeit with his back turned to better track what response Her unexpected taunt may have bid. No sign of any further development could be witnessed, nor could any further motion be seen through the dust that Cauldwin’s last motions had kicked up. Itra too had fallen quiet, and Kiros dared not break the silence by making any sort of inquiry. If She was not giving him further instruction he must not need it; he certainly didn’t want it.

Attention had remained fixated upon the felled beast as mind mused of what action he could take, until inquiry came from the worried Sardrun:

"...Will the warrior of light come back to banish that dark force?"

Thoughts paused at the interruption, searching for the words of response to give. He could not truly say, and further well doubted he would – but such is not the answer one ought give to the concerns of a rightfully worried child. The radiant warrior had clearly given the boy hope, and he dared not quell it with honestly. What truly mattered was his continued safety. Should Her impulsive act spark reprisal, Kiros would see that Sardrun be kept safe from it; even if he’d have to depart towards doubtless demise should the War Father dare act.

It was his own mess, after all. He merely mistakenly believed it to be left behind. How he wished that were so...

“I’m sure he shall, Sardrun. I shall call out to such a warrior should we need.” Kiros spoke the statement that was mostly lie with reassuring warmth in his tone - akin to a father assuring a child. What was true was that he intended to head off and seek divine aid should that happen; namely that of Itra. He’d be literally damned for doing so, but he’d be figuratively damned if he’d let Her place the boy under threat after their great efforts to protect him.

Heike could be overheard speaking likewise sentiments aloud. She then paused and took a knee to tend to the boy, prompting Kiros to cease his step alongside them as well. His gaze broke from the direction he had last seen the beast to Sardrun in expression that affirmed his shared resolve. He too wished dearly for the boy's protection; further, he’d not want to trek onward and place the boy between himself and the looming threat still concerning him.

Heike then turned to him, with a request made concerning his premonition of the divine:

"If the heavens start stirring more violently, and this dark force threatens to become more than an omen, then make us privy to it without a moment's delay."

“Should such threat come, I'll speak of it immediately. Should time be insufficient for that, you shall know it by my immediate departure.” He concluded, still and ever prepared to spring off to intercept divine wrath if needed. Should these gods deign to bring harm to the boy, they could do so over his own deceased body.

He gave another pause at the notion; he had seen his allies leap into danger with determination that none be left behind, in order to save those who had leapt into the fray. They would surely act to save him as they had the elves, not knowing that this peril was another matter entirely. The others had not incurred the ire of gods, and neither mortal blade nor mortal magic could counter such a threat. Mouth quivered as if to speak, only to become stilled without uttered statement with another glance to the poor, worried Sardrun. Kiros simply hadn’t the heart to mention his intended sacrifice in front of him; the boy needed hope, not fear. In lieu of making his potential plan explicit, he opted to instead hold his silence. He’d bid them back, if and once he felt he had to move.

In the distance others could be heard, and they were unmistakably dwarven. The sight and sound of the reinforcements cresting that hill was one that brought great relief. They had lost a good many warriors during their twice-fold battle with the orcs, first alive and then undead. But these sacrifices had not been made in vain, and Sardrun remained safely in tow beside himself and Heike. He along with the others, had saw to his continued protection. Once the got him home, he could consider the promise made to be one kept.

Gil’Tyrnin finally spoke aloud, rousing from unconsciousness while carried along by Dal. Admirable that the elf took responsibility for his reckless action, and endangerment caused. But after dismounting from Dal’s shoulder, he further prayed that the souls of those who died fall under the All-Father’s guardianship in the afterlife. They doubtlessly had their own gods and their own religion; yet the paladin continued on as if his and only his faith carried weight. Kiros had been patiently tolerant of the monotheistic preaching until now, but this expressed sentiment had crossed a line. Such was the sacrilege he saw in it, to openly claim those freshly departed souls for one’s own deity.

“Those who died here were not worshippers of your ‘All-Father’.” The process of a soul’s transcendence into what lay waiting in the afterlife was but a tenet considered most sacred, both by himself and by his religion which so revered the process. Yet Annunaki or not, those who had lost their lives today held their own gods and beliefs; none of which were given even the slightest respect by the paladin’s prayer. The dead could speak no words in defence of their own faith; so, Kiros would.

“He is not the ‘one and only god’. None here but you and you alone give Him reverence. Your spoken rites are but an affront to the dead and their faith. They shall go where they will.” He added with an offended scowl directed at Gil'Tyrnin. Dal might be able to claim ignorance about arcane matters, but a paladin could not about divine. He had put up with this long enough for his liking, and Gil’Tyrnin seemed unlikely to stop unprompted. While Kiros held his tongue best he could, he was simply unable to allow this to continue without retort.

Eren'thiel Xyrdithas Cauldwin Talson Valfnyr Heike Eisen Dal Gil'Tyrnin Solcrest

 

[Eren'thiel Xyrdithas]

Far behind, Erën did indeed encounter the occasional leftover. Never more than one which had for some reason given chase at a different time than another. But only Erën's hesitancy alerted him to them.

He'd waited.

He waited to see what would follow.

Though he had not heard, he had felt something... unusual. A confrontation of sorts, something unseen. It discomforted him, and brought him to contemplation now in the wake of the fleeing dwarves, in the quiet after. Only then while he stood there did they come, and he slew them. Four had ambled their way forth, and each one Erën examined for a time after, and thought. Once they had been alive, and sought to kill him. And then, even in death, this persisted. It made him wonder what undeath was, if there was anything left of the one who was there before, or if it was all gone and instead filled and fueled by something else entirely, with nothing of the real soul left.

Perhaps he had been listening to Gil'Tyrnin's preaching a little too much.

But truthfully, he could not say. Once, joined with the collective of his people, his ultimate fate never even came into question. His conciousness was to ascend into and become one with the collective, as had all those who had came before. But now, with this connection lost, he found himself wondering what would happen if he were to perish. What would have happened if Dal had not came to his valiant rescue? What did these fallen orcs experience, that he had not yet met. What did they see?

What did Aidathin see? What did Te'leis see?​

A fifth and final undead fell before he turned and left from there to return with the others.

---

By the time he caught up, they had joined with the dwarven military in celebration. From here, the dwarven boy's safety was as well as assured.

He returned in time to witness the beginnings of an altercation.

---

Kiros' admonishment of Gil was not unwarranted, in Erën's opinion. But then, he was one who often kept his faith to himself, and spoke seldom of it even when the matters of the divine were blatantly about him. This case, as it turned out, was no different. He cast a quiet look between the two of them before walking almost casually between and passed them, and approached Dal, and by proxy, Heike.

First when he came near, he halted several meters away and addressed Dal with the lift of his chin. He gave him a stern, and steady look then, lasting for a moment or two, before he placed his hand on his chest and bowed his head.

"My thanks," he said, and then he lifted his head and stepped closer to Heike. Her truths were hardly very familiar to him. Their encounters in Gorinsbin left little time for any proper acquaintence, but through his travels here he had heard and learned much.

"So then, Knight of Reikhurst..." he addressed her with less rigidity than he had offered Dal,"surely, the one who I have fought with this day is the same who fought with I in the depths of the buried castle."

A quiet dwelt in between for a moment.

"Much has changed since last we met."

​

---

Heike Eisen | Gil'Tyrnin Solcrest | Tarathrieal
Dal | Cauldwin Talson Valfnyr | Kiros Rahnel ​

 

[Cauldwin Talson Valfnyr]

Cauldwin's body remained inert on the pile of dead and writhing rot. The sun shifted onto evening, and the collecting clouds began to darken and thicken.

******************************************
​

Cauldwin awakened in a circle of dimly lit snow, encircled by a wall of writhing shadows. Cauldwin pushed himself up from snow covered ground, he noticed his severed arm was reattached, as if it was never removed. Here again? His armor had returned to the black iron he was given we he first officially joined the watch, something that filled him with pride and shame. The visual sense in his right eye returned to him. Looking down at his feet he noticed a chain fused to the graves of armor leading to the opposite end of the plane. Following it he saw the large, spined, hellish, black wolf.

The realm remained still.

It gave him a nod, it's tails and ears down, its green eyes glowering at him, "Was wonder'n when you'd show up." He thought to himself, is this real? Is his mind barreling into the subconcious to spare him whatever pain the damage from his body caught? Was i- "Y'r thoughts ain't private you know, dumbass." He got his feet, "Did we die?" The beast laughed cynically at this, "Fuck if I know, might be a pile of smok'n ash. Might be ly'n unconscious 'bout to be torn apart by a horde of hungry zombies. Maybe we fell on that bitch Hieke and crushed 'er... either way, I don't think the odds are in a're favor."

He pondered on this only slightly perterbed, dying again was sort of lack luster in concept. Like having a birthday after a while. The magic of the even is lost. If he had died it would mean he was back in the rusted realms, an this time their would be no other chance to return again. 'A drop of water from the ocean is rarely ever seen again.' The warrior spoke trying to hold on to some optimism without being unrealistic, "We did our duty, we did pretty well all things considered."

The beasts growled a response, "Yeah? Smited by a're 'allies' again. Real honorable discharge."
Cauldwin stared the beast down annoyed his green eyes glaring into the beasts, "When we changed we were an unidentifiable threat, they weren't wrong to fear-" The beast cut him off, "DON'T GIVE ME SHEEP'S PISS AND CALL IT MEAD! The beast then took on a mocking tone, mimicking the accent of a Dwarf, "Oh look at me! E'm ah glorified hairy midget who lives in holes in the ground! Oh no the orcs are kicking our asses! Oh no the are now undead orcs! Oh look a divine warbeast is tearing apart our enemy and only the enemy! We should CALL ON NYKIOS TO SMITE IT!"

There was a moment of silence between the two. The warrior broke the silence with a sigh before responding, "Your only lashing out like this because you don't know what you can trust. It won't help us if either of us are acting against each other or irrationally. We are a double edged sword, we need to be ballenced and perfectly mirrored or we'll fail to cleave our enemies." The beast gave a tired sigh and then rolled it eyes before speaking to the warrior admonishingly, "A good met'phore, I'll give you that. Right, 'ell if 'ats how it is... How do we- the rust world or a'res- progress? How do we work together? Better." They pondered this together, then the warrior responded, "Lets start here..."

***********************************************
​

Amongst the pile, where the black painted warrior could be seen there was a vague twitch of its hand. Nothing particularly notable amongst the pile, given the writhing parts of the dead that permeated the pile...

Eren'thiel Xyrdithas​

Kiros Rahnel​

Gil'Tyrnin Solcrest​

Tarathrieal​

Dal​

Heike Eisen​

 

[Heike Eisen]

"So, why have you come?" Captain Grunni asked the Major. "I reckon something must have changed, if the mission dictates your presence."

"Aye, something has changed. Or rather, been ascertained." Major Angrumm looked past the dwarves, the soldiers and Marines alike, out across the rugged expanse of the lowlands, with its craggy and dust-choked hills and fractures. A harsh land, home to an even harsher enemy. "The Council of Belgrath sent some of our finest scouts to survey the Blights--the Steelborn clan was absolutely keen on ensuring that you, your Marines, and Sardrun did not make it back to the Portal Stone only to find it swarming with grubby orcs. And...Grunni, the humans have a saying: kicking the hornet's nest. You're familiar?"

Captain Grunni nodded slowly, catching on. "Aye...I'm familiar."

"That's exactly what we've done here. There hasn't been an offensive of any sort this deep into the Blightlands in a very, very long while, and I'd say these Blights are still damn sore from their failed Siege of Belgrath. They've been waiting for a fight, and we've given them one."

And Major Angrumm apprised Captain Grunni of the situation. Grunni, upon hearing it, sighed heavily, for he knew that a good many more dwarves would not be returning home.

"I'll tell the men," said Captain Grunni. And then he glanced toward Heike, Dal, Kiros, Gil, Erën, and the few other adventurers who remained. "And the auxiliaries."

* * * * *​

Heike's breath hitched in her throat as if she'd been punched hard in the chest when her arm popped back into its socket. She took off her helm with her other hand and let it fall to the ground and bent over for a moment, taking big gulps of breath. It was the lightning-flash of pain from her shoulder, yes, but only partially--she'd taken her helm off as well to simply breathe. Her face was slick with sweat all over, beads of it dripping to the ground as she was bent. Her hair stuck to her skin, and her skin was flushed with red. Much like with Dal himself earlier, thin wisps of steam were rising from her, such was the difference between the cool air of the lowlands and the overheating of her body. One of the dwarven soldiers from the 1st had come and passed out waterskins, and Heike unstoppered the one she had been given then and dumped a good half of it on her head to help cool herself down.

And she finally repeated with a small smile, before standing straight again, "Three." A slow exhale. "Thank you, Dal."

I've never killed so many orcs...

Heike pondered briefly about the three Dal mentioned, whose names he knew, and she wondered if Dal had in those cases suffered an awful turn of fate as she had with Maria. "Orcs. Men. Anyone whose deeds turn them to villainy accrue a debt of justice, and it is only right that they should be held to account."

It could have been me, came the thought. Had I let rage consume me in the search for base vengeance for the slaying of Ella.

And then came the question of fighting the undead, to which Heike was glad to answer.

"Vampires. Wherever I can, and whenever I can. I have not fought them nearly enough, and I should hope that I've many more battles against them in the future." She gestured back toward the cliff-walled draw. "Those? Simple Risen Dead? Not until this day. Ha. Tenacious bastards, I would say."

Movement. Something stirring--Gil. And yes, as Heike looked, the paladin had been roused back to consciousness. He looked as if he had suffered an admonishment, and his words conveyed that shame, that recognition of error. He'd not the arrogance of a warrior who thought himself above his fellows in skill and capacity, but the humility of a comrade who had made a mistake. Something Herr Elias said came back to her.

"'Battle is a series of moments in which you always have half the time you want.'" Heike said to Gil. "It is all we can do to better ourselves, to better seize those fleeting moments." Still, he was a superb warrior. For what danger he had put Heike and Dal and Askaris into, he had as well undoubtedly had saved the lives of many of the Marines.

Gil prayed, and Kiros had words with him--Sardrun looking at the two of them with a face of worried uncertainty, fearful that they would come to blows. But it was Erën, coming up to both her and Dal, that caught Heike's attention. And for the first time since the raid had left Belgrath, he openly addressed their acquaintance. From before. From when she was...starkly different. Afflicted. A Slaughtern vampire.

An armored hand rose up to her cheek, touched it absentmindedly, as if such a gesture were needed to ward off the sudden return of her former vampirism. "Yes. Much has changed. I..."

She glanced to Dal. Back to Erën.

"...have enjoyed a fortune seldom witnessed on Arethil."

The truth. She would--no, should. Should say it in full. Whether it repulsed Dal from her or not, he deserved to know. They had fought together here and during the Crisis of the Portal Stones, and he was a brother-in-arms, their battle-forged camaraderie cast in that same steel known to all warriors who fought for those to their left and right.

Yet...hesitation. The shame, the embarrassment, was great indeed.

Dal Kiros Rahnel Eren'thiel Xyrdithas Gil'Tyrnin Solcrest Cauldwin Talson Valfnyr

 

[Dal]

"Orcs. Men. Anyone whose deeds turn them to villainy accrue a debt of justice, and it is only right that they should be held to account."

Dal had difficulty connecting the words to his own actions of killing orcs before the most recent pitched battle. Debts of justice. Villainy. Held to account. These were the words of the righteous, of the knight, of the one with a cause that gave one zeal and endlessly refreshed bloody action. He almost became conversational as a reply welled up within him, but instead remained professional and terse before his respected peer. It would not do, Dal thought, to simply say that he doubted Heike's words rang true in the case in his past killing. His bleak and accepting attitude towards a soldier's function on the field, let alone his own perspective on killing outside of organised combat, that was something he could keep to himself.

Instead, he replied contentedly with a small satisfied smile, “Spoken like a true knight.”

It was correct. Those were the words of a true knight. Dal knew that he was a a fellow soldier, but soldiers followed orders. Knights were symbols. Individuals tasked with holding the line against moral turpitude, against impoverished valour, against cowardice and neglect of duty. Some could perform such a function, like this Heike Eisen, Dal judged. Dal understood and respected their function within a military body. They were assets like few others.

But others, knights he had met on the field, knights who had harassed him, failed to meet such a high standard of action. Ones he had fought. Ones he had taken part in defeating and killing. It was a difficult task to kill a knight, Dal knew, but not impossible.

He couldn't help but thing of his first encounter with knights as a youth. An awful lot of axes had been thrown before they were brought down low. And then, even as one of them had been taken hostage, that zeal never left him. Even as he gripped the bars, especially as he struck out his arm to grip him, Dal had never failed to see that determination within them. That memory flashed like lightning within him. He did not give a hint about his reminiscing, but instead, Dal listened attentively to Heike's words, as he genuinely was interested in the reply.

"Vampires. Wherever I can, and whenever I can. I have not fought them nearly enough, and I should hope that I've many more battles against them in the future." She gestured back toward the cliff-walled draw. "Those? Simple Risen Dead? Not until this day. Ha. Tenacious bastards, I would say."

Dal nodded and considered the answer. Vampires was it that this one craved to engage? It gave Dal pause.

A difficult prospect from all he had heard about the beasts. Creatures that fed upon the life energies of those they preyed upon. Dal considered himself lucky that he had never faced one, their strength was legendary. The way she talks so boldly about fighting them whenever and wherever she could! It was admirable the bravado that this one had, again, the behaviour of a true knight. Unlike others who might have bandied such words to ward off the stink of fear, Dal knew this one well enough by now to judge this not to be so. This was not a Knight Errant he was talking to. This was one who had the spirit of fighting within them and the will and training to carry it out. To face vampires regularly, that is nerve. Or a death wish. Duty compels her, Dal thought, no doubt about it.

Would I survive against vampires for so long, Dal wondered. Had he less sense than experience he might have relished the prospect of fighting such a powerful foe. His sense of self preservation guarded him from the thought of throwing himself into a crusade. Still, he thought, if this knight would need allies in her ventures, and the opportunities were right, he might apply his talents of killing to task. But what do I know about overcoming vampires, Dal thought to himself. Then, another thought beat back such pessimism.

I didn't know how to wield a longsword properly all those years ago. What else could be learned and mastered? Could be an awful lot of coin in such a prospect.

Or perhaps it would be the sudden and violent end of the half-orc known as Dal, cut down for growing too bold in his career. But then, how many years on the field do I have left anyway, Dal thought with a grim satisfaction that left him somehow more cheerful for how bleak the notion was.

Before Dal could reply to the information concerning vampires to voice his own conflicted thoughts about a future involving them, both he and Heike regarded the stirring movements of the warrior of light.

As the paladin Gil woke abruptly and with hurried hands to failing weapons, Dal turned his head away from Heike for a moment to witness such a scurrying. Dal exhaled through his nose and jutted out his two orcish lower canines instinctively, an unwitting reaction, performed as if to ward away such a display of panic from infecting his own person. Dal's sympathised in some small measure; he had experienced such sensations in his youth, starting from sleep as if he in the middle of a battle that had already concluded, wildly drawing steel hours after the danger of a pitched battle had passed as one rose from troubled rest. But that had been years ago, back when he had first started his career proper, back when he only wore chainmail instead of plate and was still learning the soldier's life. Was this paladin new to all this? One who could command so much power was still fleeting in their worldliness?

Dal was forced to wonder how old was this elf for him to behave so, how new to this life of combat was he, and if his paladin order had ill prepared him so. Perhaps he was, as knights put it, errant. Dal thoughts revolved calmly as he considered other aspects of this riddle.

Perhaps, simply enough, that this was the first time he had become overwhelmed. That he had allowed himself to be exposed to danger so before saving himself in such a display of light. And it had not cost the elf his life this time.

Gil's next words proved informative.

Dal resisted offering a curt response of, “You'll be better or instead dead.” He resisted it for he could recognise the expression of remorse about this elf's features. He remained silent instead. It would be akin to admonishing a puppy who understood it's errors, Dal thought. There would only be cruelty in it. And, Dal reminded himself, I am not this soldier's commander. My small speech to Gil was enough to satisfy my own ego on the matter. There need not be more in this moment. It would be unseemly.

Instead, Heike's words were far better placed to inform Gil as to how he should think. Once again, this knight proves herself worthy of the title, Dal thought.

Kiros had his moment to speak and Dal could not resist a smile as he heard the words.

“Those who died here were not worshippers of your ‘All-Father'. He is not the ‘one and only god’. None here but you and you alone give Him reverence. Your spoken rites are but an affront to the dead and their faith. They shall go where they will.”

So. Kiros wasn't afraid of confronting a fellow person of faith. Good, Dal thought, good. If he can admonish me on the field for rousing someone with harsh words, he can bring such fire against those who bandy words of faith around. Much like warriors sparring to judge the truth behind discussed technique, so too must it go with men of the cloth, Dal reasoned.

He smiled with quiet content and such a display of correction. Someone had to perform such duties. Although on the subject of faith, Dal did wonder if Kiros was considering the faith that the Blight orcs might possess, or if he was merely defending the dwarves own pantheon. Dal wouldn't dare ask such a thing. The half-orc did his best to set himself aside from his fellow orcs, such a conversation would only make it seem as if he had concerns for the wishes and beliefs of the Blight orcs. They were just foes on a field to Dal. Foes he had cut down.

No, Dal thought. Butchered and cleaved. The magic blade had seen to that.

Upon this thought, Eren presented himself. Ah, this one, Dal thought and removed his faint smile as not to seem like a grinning fool at the presence of religious animosity and the introduction of the elf he had successfully saved. Dal saw the lift of the chin and nodded slowly in return, acknowledging the masculine greeting. Upon hearing the thanks from Eren, he replied.

“Thank you for rousing when required,” Dal said with utmost sincerity, his voice not quite conversational, more factual and to the point. The elf had allowed him the freedom to join Heike upon the field, and allowed the half orc to be where he was supposed to be in a pitched battle. Long gone were the days where he protected the baggage train and innocents.

He stood silently and solemnly as Eren spoke words to Heike.

"So then, Knight of Reikhurst..." he addressed her with less rigidity than he had offered Dal,"surely, the one who I have fought with this day is the same who fought with I in the depths of the buried castle."

A quiet dwelt in between for a moment.

"Much has changed since last we met."

"Yes. Much has changed. I..."

She glanced to Dal. Back to Erën.

"...have enjoyed a fortune seldom witnessed on Arethil."

The same who fought with I, Dal repeated within his mind. Do I have this correct, Dal thought, they fought against each other? Had there been a change of sides? Dal's eyes darted from Eren to Heike as he tried to read the situation. Dal struggled to comprehend what was truly being said here. He felt that he might be intruding on something here, yet held his ground for now. If Eren had fought on an opposing side...and was bringing it up now, Heike might need quick assistance with this elf if he had grudge to bring. He couldn't gauge the elf's attitude towards Heike in this moment, but he took no chances.

Dal's hand drifted to his rondel.

“Hope there's no quarrel here from old blood shed,” Dal said, his words slow and heavy. “Best not be right now,” Dal said, lower in tone and more stern, yet not quite spilling into intimidation. Dal's eyes were on Eren as he spoke, his hand gingerly about the rondel on his belt.

“I'm ignorant to what past fight you two shared. If you were on opposing sides if I'm hearing this right. But. I state this plainly. This isn't the place to ignite it again if that's your reason for coming over here Eren,” Dal said, his voice almost emerging as a growl on the name. Dal composed himself and continued, his voice low and calm in hopes that such a thing might be prevented.

“I've been in mercenary companies long enough to know that when you start bringing up old loyalties in war once it's over, as to opposing sides after the fact, well, that's when your list of enemies starts growing exponentially. Your war don't end. It festers. Again, I don't know the details here. I'm just stating my position here. You start anything, I'm with Heike. It's not required. It's not.”

Dal's words were spoken matter of factly, but a tinge of fear stirred within Dal's belly. But he knew that he was committed towards this course of action. He'd never fought an elf before. And certainly not one of the skill of Eren. But he had come this far. Dal couldn't get a read on Eren's words, or the meaning behind Heike's response to it. Dal knew that it better to speak pre-emptively to prevent violence than to blithely let the conversation corner a comrade.

Dal's eyes remained focused on Eren. One false move and the rondel would be drawn.



Eren'thiel Xyrdithas Tarathrieal Cauldwin Talson Valfnyr Gil'Tyrnin Solcrest Kiros Rahnel Heike Eisen

 

[Gil'Tyrnin Solcrest]

As Kiros spoke of the All Father, all traces of the young abused puppy vanished, he stood up from prayer and made his way to Kiros he loomed over the man as he stood a good six inches taller then the man who was already quiet tall for a human.

"I did not see your pretender or pretenders that you or they worship offer aid today Priest"

He paused looking Kiros dead in his eyes

"And when your spark passes from this world be it due to danger or frailty, I will pray that your spark too finds its way back to the All Father aswell so that you may finally know peace"

He looked to the others now he heard Heike offer words of wisdom that to him seemed far beyond her years.
"Thank you for your kind words Heike I do not remember much if what happened after the undead had swarmed me, how was I rescued?"

He paused waiting to see what their reply would be.

Heike Eisen Dal Cauldwin Talson Valfnyr Kiros Rahnel Eren'thiel Xyrdithas Tarathrieal

 

[Kiros Rahnel]

Once he had spoken his piece, it was clear from his hostile expression that Gil’Tyrnin took offence; perhaps as much as he did himself upon hearing the uttered rites. To Kiros, such mattered not; theological words delivered with such inconsiderate carelessness warranted blunt retort. Whether to the divine or to their own ancestors, those who had given their lives to this cause deserved honour accorded to their kind and faith. He may not have held any belief in the gods of the Celestialists; yet he had restrained his tongue and held respect for their ways.

As Gil’Tyrnin continued to glare, Erën approached towards the two. Kiros knew him to be a Celestialist, albeit as reserved on the matter of his own gods as he, if not more so. Kiros wondered what he might have to say on the matter, and would remain wondering as Erën walked between and past them both without so much as an uttered word.

Upon Erën’s passage between the two, Gil'tyrnin made his approach; closing the distance to such degree that it was clear attempt at intimidation as argument. While Dal had done the same, their quarrel was not of a subject so serious and sacred, and neither had he been so overt about it. If this elven paladin believed that physical threat could cause abandonment of religious principle, he was sorely mistaken.

He tilted his head and his gaze met that of the angered elf's towering above. There was not so much as a flinch in response, Kiros dared not to display weakness under the challenge against his devotion. Even if he was estranged from the very deities he held as most holy, to display cowardice before one who made such aggressive denial could earn no favour. Were he to ever be afforded the chance at redemption he had so longed for, such a blemish could surely not be suffered to earn it.

His hand clenched his quarterstaff, but his eyes spotted Sardrun in the distance with a troubled expression clear on his face. So disturbed by the prayer and display was Kiros that he had not paid the boy notice since the start of the confrontation. He had been through quite enough already, and fret over causing him further distress quelled his anger some. To see his guardians clash could only worry him more, though to back down meekly would also set a poor example.

So, Kiros stood his ground. Gil'Tyrnin had spoken of his belief, neither cared of nor asked for. But perhaps having done so, Kiros could speak response and they could go their separate ways, with their separate beliefs. The more separate from the monotheist, the better.

"I did not see your pretender or pretenders that you or they worship offer aid today Priest" Spoke Gil'Tyrnin.

“And I did not care of yours. On this day or any.” He replied dryly, not once averting eyes from that of whom challenged him. But Gil’Tyrnin held further words to speak – and they were far more enraging than the last. Despite awareness of the disrespect that speaking such a rite aloud carried - or perhaps because of it - he dared to repeat and direct it squarely upon Kiros. His expression turned back to anger at the insult, brow furrowed in a hate-filled glare. Yet he could not forget that he held Sardrun as audience. Despite the biting urge to deliver choice vulgarities as reprisal, Kiros would temper his tongue. While it was of great importance to hold his ground in the face of affront against his faith, it was further important to set a proper example for the boy. Someone had to; Heike couldn’t be alone in this.

“Spare me your false god and intimidation. Craven is the threat with such a thin veil upon it.” He spat out his reply with hostility. It was with great difficulty that he restrained from the use of more spiteful language. Only beneath the watchful presence of Sardrun could he have mustered such restraint; his conduct in the face of directed sacrilege would have doubtless been far more hostile without him there. Yet he would call out the reaction for what it was, and make clear what Gil'Tyrnin himself would not as the insufferable elf turned and made his departure from their standoff. And immediately after his insult and display engaged in casual conversation with Heike as if such hostile insult were akin to casual conversation. Were this a proper gods-fearing city and not a battlefield, the pagan elf would be promptly slain for such remark; outside of Amol-Kalit at least, for there such an execution would be slow and arduous – Kiros ought well know.

This was no such place however, as the apathy of Erën and lack of offense by the Marines implied. But Kiros could not accept such a slight; devoutness and scruples were among the few things he could count as permanent possessions throughout his ordeals as Her prophet. He continued forth and past the two, towards Sardrun once more. His watchful eyes and listening ears had motivated a severely tempered retort, and his fret motivated return to ensure his wellness.

 

[Eren'thiel Xyrdithas]

"Yes. Much has changed. I..."

She glanced to Dal. Back to Erën.

"...have enjoyed a fortune seldom witnessed on Arethil."

There was no hiding the truth from him, of course, but it was clear that Heike had no desire to have her affliction made known to any and all. The confusion present in their half-orc comrade was evidence of this as well as Heike's hesitancy. Erën could understand this, given the fallen nature of the unspoken misfortune. So, he resigned that this matter was best kept unaddressed for now. He was less likely to garner the information he sought from her if he was too harsh in his approach, and he had no desire to drive her into frustration regardless. She would either be forthcoming under proper circumstances, or not, and that was all.

After a side-eyed glance, he noted Dal's demeanour, and it was clear he was perceiving conflict where there was none. Erën lifted a passive hand his way, saying, "stay your blade, valiant orc. There is no blood to be shed between us here."

To Heike, he said, "I would speak to you a better time, if it comes."

Then he looked between the two of them and nodded in adjournment of this discussion before he turned away to face Gil'Tyrnin, who had come near and was asking about the battle.

Erën let a similar moment of quiet pass as before, then replied, "it would seem whatever god it is you serve saw fit to give you aid... maybe next time, he could show up a little sooner."

But his interaction was brief, and his attention turned then to Kiros, giving him a plainly thoughtful look as he watched him move on alongside Sandrun. His dispute with Gil was something foreign to Erën, as he'd never seen any point in giving grief with another's faith so long as they upheld righteous and honourable statutes. He'd certainly also been annoyed with the preaching of others from time to time of even these good things, but perhaps this was just a difference in character or belief between them that Kiros would be outright in his protest where Erën was quietly so. Nykios, from Erën's perspective, was abhorred only by evil, not necessarily difference. He fought against that which sought to end all of Arethil, not those that would populate it in goodness. But also, over the broad breadth of his many years, Erën had come to see clearly the grey that lay between the black and white of the unholy and the just, and he came to know it. He knew also this grey was sometimes, if not most times, a wide chasm of uncertain truths that often neither side was eager to pursue, and both were likely to scorn. And yea, it was also wayward, and could easily lead those of certain and well founded paths to stray toward the path of the damned.

Every evil act could be defended with good intentions.

Perhaps Kiros knew this too. Perhaps he sought to waylay any intrusive thought with his verbal defiance, to venture not into those grey lands, and remain fully attributed to his light. His certain and founded path.

As Erën departed, only a short distance away from the others and still well within earshot, he thought of these things. He thought of where uncertain footsteps had carried him, and how far from that which he once was that he had strayed. But as he thought of all that had happened since the defence of Bhathairk to where he found himself now, he wondered if he had made the right choices. He thought even farther back, and wondered these things.

He looked down at his hands, and opened his palms.

The blood of many was stained in them.

The blood of the living. The blood of the dead. Of men and dwarves. Orcs and dragons, and all manner of monsters and beasts.

Even, though in defence, the blood of his kin and closest friends.

The blood of his very own father was stained there.

And even those, who he had not slain, but who he'd held in their final moments, and after.

Monuments to his failures in the end.

And in each of them, windows to the soul with no light found behind.

Erën looked up. As his eyes drifted overhead, he thought of these things.

---

Heike Eisen | Gil'Tyrnin Solcrest | Tarathrieal
Dal | Cauldwin Talson Valfnyr | Kiros Rahnel ​

 

[Cauldwin Talson Valfnyr]

The dark clouds began to cover the sky, making way for a gathering storm. Rays of the fading evening sun still shown brightly on the blightlands, the painted warriors body now violently twitching on the pile of writhing dead, as if by lightning the body would reanimate...

***********************************************************
​

The warrior sat next to the beast musing on their current situations, "...anyway, what I'm saying is: we often fight so hard for the scraps of who we were we forget how to become anything new." The beast sitting next to him rolled his eyes, "Riiiight, 'cause you 're jus' so ready to let go of 'The Allirian Watch, Undeni-", the warrior cut him off, "'Unstoppables', and we can become something new without forgetting what we were."

The realm remained still.

A deep growl came from the beast as it stood up and walked forward seeming agitated, it coined the question on both of their minds, "We both know what we saw, that bitch is hiding in thier ranks. Probably waiting to do to her allies what she did to, misleading the Dwarves, manipulating them..." The warrior exhaled deeply, "We'll see to her in time. We have a duty to uphold, we have to see that this stronghold stands." The beast snarled at him, "KNOCK OFF THE GUARD TALK! They're abeding a criminal, OUR MURDERER. WE EXSIST LIKE THIS 'CUASE OF THAT CUNT! AND YOU WANT TO PLAY MR. GUARDS MAN! WHEN ARE YOU GOING TO LEA-"

The warrior stood up at attention and stared down the beast, he roared at the beast like a drill sergeant, "MAYBE YOU HAVE FORGOTTEN! WE SERVE ORDER, WE HAVE A DUTY, WE MUST NOT LET A VENDETTA COMPRIMISE OUR ABUILTY TO SEE TO JUSTICE." The warrior exhaled again, "We must leave these places better than we found them. Think about it, if your right then these warriors are being manipulated by a vampire for her wicked blood-cursed brood. The odds are they don't even know what she is. To kill those so cruelly manipulated with their honor would make us no better than Svlindrich."

The two creatures stances relaxed, they took a step towards each other and the beast replied, quoting the warrior, reciting an oath, "Tempered in blood, we are a double edged sword, forged to fight the invader, forged to go into harms way, come all ye' hell or high water, no hero, no shadow, can stand in the wake of our wrath, when we rise... (when we rise...)

EVERY DEVIL WILL FEAR THE CHAMPION THAT CAME FROM BELOW!
EVERY DEVIL WILL FEAR THE CHAMPION THAT CAME FROM BELOW!

The realm pulsed with fervor.

Eren'thiel Xyrdithas​

Kiros Rahnel​

Gil'Tyrnin Solcrest​

Tarathrieal​

Dal​

Heike Eisen​

 

[Heike Eisen]

Dal didn't know. It was why he thought Erën approached her with malice in mind, why his hand drifted down to his dagger, and why he was more than ready to draw on her perceived behalf. Though mistaken (and through her own fault so mistaken, no less), Heike felt her heart swell with admiration for Dal's lack of hesitation in coming to her defense. He knew not the history between herself and Erën, scarce little of her history alone for that matter, and yet even from this perspective he trusted her enough to stand devoid of doubt by her side. Trust. Trust had been made the rarest treasure in all the world while she was afflicted with vampirism, and she had for all those five years yearned for it greatly. This yearning did not dissipate so quickly. In the wake of her cure Heike still felt her heart glow brightly when trust was so extended to her.

To hell with her effete embarrassment, her paralyzing shame. She needed to tell Dal the truth of her past. Would it that the very question could be formed on his tongue, such that she would be Oathbound to speak no falsehood. As it was, being up to her choosing, she'd prefer a better moment: one in which the two of them could sit, in which a quiet atmosphere around them could allow for the proper weight of the admission to be conveyed, and for it to be so conveyed without interruption.

That time, she reckoned, would be ahead. In the trek south to the Portal Stone.

Stay your blade, valiant orc. There is no blood to be shed between us here.

Heike placed her hand down on Dal's own, the one which grasped the sheathed rondel. And she looked up to him, eyes pleading for peace. "It's alright. Erën speaks the truth, Dal."

I would speak to you a better time, if it comes.

"And I you, Erën. Our last meeting lacked a proper denouement." Still, in spite of her earlier resolve, it came as no small relief that Erën left it at that.

Heike watched him go for a moment. Let slip her hand away from Dal's and the hilt of the rondel. She looked up to him, Dal, the half-orc, whose bravery to take off his helmet under such circumstances as these she could but aspire to when it came to truth of her former vampirism. "You've been nothing but a stalwart comrade and a good friend. I promise you, Dal, that I will tell you that which I have left unspoken when there is a more proper time."

It was painful to leave it as such a mystifying statement. Of course. But some admissions needed their due, and this due was the aforementioned rest, quiet, and dedicated time.

* * * * *​

Sardrun looked to Gil when he spoke. Pretender? When your spark passes from this world...?

And Sardrun looked to Kiros when he spoke. I did not care of yours? Spare me your intimidation?

Erën, the other tall elf, came by and spoke as well, but it did not hold the same character as Gil and Kiros when they spoke to one another. What came back to Sardrun was the brief memory of fretful arguing, of his mother and father and uncle arguing with the members of another prominent clan (the Granitebrows) in their hold. Arguing in hushed and seething tones as their cart bounced along the rough ground of the Blightlands toward Ungbarroud. It wasn't the first time, but it had been the last.

But...Kiros, Gil...these were the people who had come to save him. Them and the Arragoth Marines. He knew why the Steelborns and the Granitebrows argued, even if he didn't like it. But why were the human and the elf arguing?

Sardrun, with eyes poisoned by worry, looked up to Kiros and asked, "Do you hate each other? Are you going to...?"

He either didn't know how to finish his question, or feared doing so.

* * * * *​

It wasn't long before Gil came up to Heike and Dal, in a way replacing Erën's company as the latter stepped off a certain distance to be away from the adventurers, the Marines, and the soldiers.

Gil's presence, before he even asked his question, gave Heike a small pause and a slight chill that prickled against her skin. Gil'Tyrnin, a paladin whose devotion was clear. Even Kiros, for that matter, a priest with similar devotion, fit into this new anxiety. What would they think when she at last was forthcoming with Dal? She would by no means be secretive about it, telling Dal in confidence and swearing him to it or some such. When she revealed the truth of her past vampirism, would it matter that she was now shed of it? Affliction or no affliction, she still carried the sinful weight of her crimes upon the innocent, the stealing of their blood to satiate an abhorrent thirst; there simply had not been enough of the guilty from which she could feed. Would her plan for atonement be enough for them?

Things in a moment to come. Not in the moment at hand.

To Gil, Heike said, "We saw you down, ahead of the shield wall, and surrounded, so I, Dal, and Askaris set forth to recover you. However, when we got close, you...how shall I even describe it? You became a titan of light, Gil, standing taller than even the uncontrolled Beast the orcs had summoned with their necromancy. Your magic slew swathes of the undead, and then you stepped back over the formation of the Marines yourself, whereupon you returned to your elven form." She smiled a little, touched by a minute sense of good humor. "In effect, you rescued yourself. It ended well enough for us all, for here we all are: among the fortunate, those who still stand."

And it was then that Captain Grunni had made his way through the loose formation of Marines and mingling soldiers of the 1st, and came up to Heike and Dal and Gil, but eyeing Kiros and Erën as well. "ADVENTURERS! Gather 'round! I've news to share. Aye, both good news and bad."

Heike knew their respite wouldn't be too long, that they'd be moving again soon. All the better. She knew as well as the Marines and everyone else that the Blights, those who weren't in that vanguard, were still on their tail, separated only by a shrinking matter of miles.

Good that they all be making ready to march. There seemed as well to Heike that a storm was gathering in the sky. Unforgiving, and perhaps unfavorable to them.

Dal Kiros Rahnel Cauldwin Talson Valfnyr Gil'Tyrnin Solcrest Eren'thiel Xyrdithas

 

[Dal]

Dal watched as Eren waved a dismissive hand and the warrior kept his hand firmly upon the rondel, his instincts commanding him to remain on guard. He had been lured in by such a gesture in the past; the opponent assured him that there was nothing to fear before a vicious volley of attacks were unleashed upon his person. Elves were tricksy things from all he had heard. Their prowess could be so swift from their advanced years and extensive training. Had it been Gil offering such a gesture Dal might have believed it more quickly, but Eren, he could not place, and so his fingers curled tighter around the rondel as his eyes remained sharp and full of spirit.

The half-orc received the words from Eren, and still, his hand remained on his rondel. His expression remained steeled, only a small jutting of his jaw changed upon his features, again, an instinctual reaction and not witting on his part. His eyes remained firm and his breathing was steady, much as an archer holding an arrow taut upon a bowstring keeping calm to assure his aim, Dal remained controlled in his breathing so that he was ready to respond to a sudden movement from his potential foe by releasing his own weapon.

It was only until Heike granted a hand upon his own did he loosen his grip and blink three times, and even then it took a few heartbeats to disarm his own defences against peace between them all. It was if he was dismissing murderous thoughts and visions of what might be from the elf with his blinking. It was Heike's words that allowed the career mercenary to stand more at ease with certain degrees of visible success, his hands loosening from the rondel. His eyes were still upon the elf for a long moment before looking to Heike for direction, his jaw relaxing as he did so.

He remained silent as Heike gave her goodbye to Eren. So, there was no grudge here to settle.

Still, Dal thought, I acted correctly given the words spoken. Better to be too guarded against such possibilities than to let an elven blade strike suddenly and without readied answer.

From what he had heard, their method of resolving conflict could be the gilded word before a sudden deadly strike. Perhaps Eren was no different. The elf could make a superior assassin he had heard. He had little dealings with them until today. He was determined to make no error in his action, and despite reacting to mere suspicions in his mind, he felt justified in his reaction to the vague words. Threats could be veiled so.

Better to be too cautious than to be caught off guard, Dal thought as he sighed in some small relief.

So focused upon the potential impending strike from the elf that his ears were dulled to the conversation between the pious. Dal gave it no further thought, his own upon Eren and the words exchanged. There would be time for more later.

Had I not been given the restorative magic, my ritual after this combat would have been rather different. I would have had to centered myself, to relax my fighting spirit, to ease my burning muscles, to try and draw conclusions from each cut made and each foe undone. But instead, there is this tingling as if the fight were to be drawn against me anew. Strange, Dal thought. Such strange effect such a magic has had upon me. Perhaps that was why I was so ready to draw a rondel on a comrade. Am I acting simply as an orc, to fight amongst my comrades through such a greenskin behaviour as animosity?

The thought put Dal at unease. He heard Heike's words and felt a further unease, although he could not place why. He lifted an eyebrow and then shook his head and smiled softly, although both hints of expression was soon gone as he replied.

“You don't owe me any explanation. But if it suits you, I'll hear true. And...I'm sorry if I acted out of turn. With Eren I mean. It's just his words.”

Dal frowned.

“They were vague. Perhaps I'm not used to the way elves speak. Diplomacy is not my strong suit. I'm not used to subtle soldiers,” Dal spoke, his words slightly disjointed and punchy in their conclusions. It was the way that someone might offer a report on troops, stating facts and figures, flaws and merits, causalities and distinctions.

Dal shrugged.

“As I say, I'll hear you true for what you have to say. You're a comrade. And...friend, yes,” Dal said, almost guarded against admitting such a thing for fear of future injury. His tone was odd. Almost as if he was suffering an old injury afresh, an old ache that had been brought to the fore once again by moving in a certain way. Friends in the field of combat meant you mourned their loss, which was an expenditure of energy unto itself. But this wasn't a mercenary company where comrades were tied together in their love of being paid, Dal thought, and were replaced, exchanged, rotated, discarded when defeated.

We are here for reasons beyond ourselves, to aid others, and of course, Dal thought, this knight has far more noble intentions than myself. There may be some more permanence in things here, amongst such a strange crowd. Or perhaps not at all. Still, Dal thought, we have fought together more than once now.

Dal refused to linger on such a subject, but it remained with him despite himself.

Dal offered Heike a little space as she attended to the other warriors who had fought with them. He saw Heike giving words to Gil and let them have their time.

Dal turned away and rubbed his face as if afflicted by his admission of friendship. There was no harm in it, he thought. Or was there, somehow, a way he had invited vulnerability into his own armour. He gave a low hum to himself as he considered his situation.

But he would not be offered much time to ruminate over things. The dwarves summoned him.

Dal rolled his shoulders and reached for the waterskin about his belt and drank a few sips from it. He replaced it, and turned to the group gathering.

He placed his helmet back onto his head, from both habit and discomfort with his own mind at the moment. He would not betray his own misgivings, unreasonable as they might be, in such a gathering of soldiers. So the helmet was fastened upon himself again.

Time to receive new orders Dal thought with a familiar tension. Good news and bad news. That was one way of putting things. 'The good news is that we get to fight again', Dal thought with amusement in his own head, 'the bad news is that we won't get paid'. That was the typical 'good news bad news' ploy from his old mercenary regiments.

Dal folded his arms and awaited the news. Whatever the news was, he was ready for it. Another fight? He could do such a thing. Another march? No problem.

Just so long as the dwarves didn't expect me to say that I was a friend to all dwarven people, I'll be be fine, Dal thought wryly to himself. One pledge of friendship was enough sentiment for one day.

Kiros Rahnel Cauldwin Talson Valfnyr Gil'Tyrnin Solcrest Eren'thiel Xyrdithas Heike Eisen

 

[Gil'Tyrnin Solcrest]

To Gil, Heike said, "We saw you down, ahead of the shield wall, and surrounded, so I, Dal, and Askaris set forth to recover you. However, when we got close, you...how shall I even describe it? You became a titan of light, Gil, standing taller than even the uncontrolled Beast the orcs had summoned with their necromancy. Your magic slew swathes of the undead, and then you stepped back over the formation of the Marines yourself, whereupon you returned to your elven form." She smiled a little, touched by a minute sense of good humor. "In effect, you rescued yourself. It ended well enough for us all, for here we all are: among the fortunate, those who still stand."

Gil's eyes widened as Heike spoke of his transformation into a titan of light, he had become The Avatar of Sol'Nityr.
If the words had not come from someone else he would not have believed it. Gil grasped his forehead as of a sudden pain had gone through it. He had flashes of his visions of Sol'Nityr, of the artifact his God had given his family, the gift of the sword hilt to House Solcrest. He thought that the artifact had been lost in the destruction of High Citadel the High Elven city. The majority of his people were lost to the demon army that had been summoned there.

Gil looked down to Heike, after all he had put them through how could he now ask for his companions to help him enter a city of endless demon hordes to retrieve an artifact that might have been destroyed. He seemed troubled.

He turned to Dal who seemed to have little love for him, how could he ask one he put in danger to follow him into another hell. Kiros no doubt would not offer aid, nor did Gil think he could be of much help, the man couldn't even hold up a curtain without blinding himself.

Gil sighed softly to himself.

As the commander of the dwarves spoke he knelt down on both knees and began to pray. If there was more fighting to be done he would need more magic. He prayed and cleared his mind allowing the energy of the world around them to flow into him. He began to fill his reserves. He imagined a river of energy that surrounded the world it branched out and weaved its way though the fabric of everything. He imagined pulling on the branches and connecting himself to the stream allowing the stream of energy to flow directly into him. At this point he was completely vulnerable as he communed with the magic of this world.

This was a gift from his mother. She had thought him how to tap into the magic of the world and draw upon it to fill his own reserves.

As he prayed his body relaxed, he felt his stamina recharging he could feel his fatigue lifting. He prayed that if there was another battle that he would not let his comrades down, that he would not endanger them again.

Gil Stood and he placed his armor on fastening the straps readying himself for what might come. Awaiting the news.

Dal Kiros Rahnel Heike Eisen Eren'thiel Xyrdithas Cauldwin Talson Valfnyr Tarathrieal

 

[Kiros Rahnel]

Only one god...perhaps this pagan fool believes there is but one moon, too.

The theological altercation had rattled him to a high degree. Perhaps such offence at the notion of divine doubt was truly a tenet of the Annunaki. Kiros imagined that this was so, though he was also many years estranged from the lector priests and had been long absent of their teachings. He further even held a fair amount of doubt in the divine himself; albeit not in their existence, nor of their power. He’d observed tangible evidence of that. Rather, the discomforting doubt was over whether they were great simply because they were gods.

Knowledge that Itra was included among their holy ranks was both evidence of their power and license over the world in which they lived. It was also evidence that the quality of divinity didn’t automatically render one graceful, for She was clearly now. Surely, Hers was an outlier among divine attitude. He truly hoped it was. It had to be.

Such doubt did little to diminish his devotion however. He always fought it back, and in so doing strengthened divine belief. Itra Herself may be a poor representation of the gods, but surely there was greater that existed. They simply must be. To believe otherwise was to believe that his years long effort had been without meaning, that every injury, misfortune, and trauma suffered during his lengthy odyssey was all for naught. Every denial that Gil'Tyrnin had made through his prayers had been unknowing insult, implying his desperate ordeal to regain the salvation he had lost as a fool’s errand. Infuriating as it was, better that Gil’Tyrnin had displayed clear what his vocal preaching had implied. Statements had been said and matters made overt; if there was to be such disagreement, better it be made clear anyhow.

The elf could have his own religion and god. Kiros cared not. He simply wished to hear nothing further of it, though he knew well such a desire wouldn't be granted. He had at least stood up for his faith before the elf’s attempt at intimidation. That he even needed to was further irksome – he was here to protect young Sardrun from physical threat. What would the boy think if Kiros allowed himself to display fear before the threatening stance Girl'Tyrnin had made? Sardrun could surely not witness such cowardice without losing faith in the safety promised to him. So Kiros had thought; yet the boy still wore that look of worry upon his face, and Kiros began to doubt his assessment on his approach.

"Do you hate each other? Are you going to...?" Sardrun asked of him. Whatever pride he had held in his response against Gil’Tyrnin melted away at the dwarven boy’s fretful words and distraught tone. Speechless, Kiros knelt down beside him with a contrite expression; it took a second longer to respond.

Did he hate the pagan elf who made continued and open mockery of those sacred beliefs which he held most dear? Well, of course he did. But he certainly couldn't give the boy such truth as answer. Kiros would not escalate matters towards violence at least, and he felt certain the elf wouldn't escalate beyond angry words.

“No Sardrun; and I’m sure we shall not.” He spoke his apologetic reply. But that alone couldn’t suffice as explanation. How could he even explain their theological conflict to him? Sardrun held neither faith, and surely couldn’t understand how that meant they had to exchange hostile remarks. He’d explain naught of religion. The boy surely had his own beliefs – and it was not his place to teach that of others. Proselytizing was not his tenet.

Those words of admonishment, necessary as Kiros believed them to be, had stricken the boy with grief. And what did he think of his conflict with Dal? He had regretted it, and then he had loathed Dal for it. Upon such a heated argument over sacred matters with Gil’Tyrnin however, whatever ire he had for the half-orc warrior had been largely forgotten. To himself and in the moment, his anger had seemed righteous. Were he to vent to one of the others, they’d likely get an ear full. But in having to explain to a small child, such justification was rendered rather foolish.

“I’m further sorry for my display. My anger was unbecoming; that I regret.” He admitted plainly to Sardrun. He had already disappointed him, and to fed him an excuse for his own behaviour would only disappoint the boy anew. Distraught that he had been the cause of such fear, he was unable to speak anything he did not believe would ease Sardrun’s state.

“I promise you, we won’t fight anymore.” He added; another promise he was determined to keep. If he needed to find more patience to put up with the prattling elf, he’d find a way. Easier to do so now, than allow himself to cause further anxiety in the boy who needed naught more.

After another moment, the call of Captain Grunni took his attention. He rose back to his feet and set off towards the captain to see what news might be shared. Doubtless a complication; the bad news always outweighs the good. Much as he’d rather deliver Sardrun to safety swiftly and assuredly, he’d expend whatever effort, time and risk the task would require. And so he stowed his pessimism away, and gathered with the others in wait to hear Grunni's words.

Heike Eisen Dal Gil'Tyrnin Solcrest Eren'thiel Xyrdithas Tarathrieal Cauldwin Talson Valfnyr

 

[Cauldwin Talson Valfnyr]

(OOC: Eren skipped so I'm up to bat.)

On the pile of the condemned dead, the chittering, twitching, and shaking armored body of the rusted warrior's chest jolted up with a pained sudden breath as air again filled his lungs. It was foul, filled with the scent of gore and putrid despoilment of the fresh dead. His nerves seared with pain as his body started again, but the pain did not cease. Now his senses unsheltered by the subconscious he could again feel every modicum of agony that screamed through his torn muscles and ligaments. His fractured bones and broken skull. His half-flayed and quarter charred body, painted head to toe in his own corrupted blood.

Even so, he was filled with resolve, nay fervor, he growled through his clenched serrated teeth as he tried to rise, "My- HRRRG!- duty hasn't ended yet." Though the spirit was willing the body was not, as he tried to stand: he failed at least thrice. On the fourth attempt when he succeeded to stand, he fell forwards. Tumbling down the mound of dead into the small moat of blackened tar that spilled from him in his Svalen form. The damage he had taken to his body, and especially his legs had done a horrific ravaging to his sinew. His legs could no longer support the weight of his armor without aid.

Undeterred, he began to crawl through the acidic tar onto the ash of the blightlands, he waded forward on his hand and stabbed the remains of his left vambrace into the ground to pull himself forwards. As he moved through the moat however he stirred one of the undead who had their legs mangled in his Svalen's rampage. The black, skeletal, short, half armored creature leapt out of the tar attempting to kill or maim Cualdwin by any means, in return, he pinned the creature beneath the liquids with his vambrace. He stabbed down viciously until the jagged iron sunk into something fleshy pinning the creature, with his right hand he began to mangle the creature, first its jaw, then its arms, then he continued forwards.

He climbed out onto the white ash around the moat. The white ash stuck to his armor due to the tar, he looked like a pale specter of the ash. It became all to clear it was not the usual ash the spewed forth unto the blightlands but rather the excess remains of the dead which had been purified by miracle of faith. Looking around he could see what remained of the mangled, groping, languishing undead, surrounded in a landscape of ash, bits of bonemeal, viscera, metal, wood, stone, cloth, and chain littered the place. Then it began to rain from the darkening heavens, unable to wash away the ash on his armor.

He needed to go back for his sword before he rejoined the fold, he began to crawl to the pieces of scattered materials. Collecting what he could of use and holding it in the gap between his damaged vambrace, arm guard and breastplate. He crawled through the ash, gathering a metal shaft of a dwarven warhammer, three roughly usable wooden shafts. A partially complete set of ceremonial chains, shoddy rope of an orc raider, and a tribal maul.

With his crawling, he stirred the dead, those of them that could move began to move towards him. Falling forward, crawling with whatever limbs still remained, even worming forwards. He couldn't fight them all as he currently was. He turned, now moving far slower due to both the lack of two appendages and the extra weight. He reached the steep side of a now mudded hill as the undead followed suit and hew began to climb.

He crawled with all the might he had, the undead lacked the same strength, or perhaps the will to make it up the incline as him. Now they all coalesced at the bottom of the hill face, groping at the direction he went, trying to climb over each other to reach him. He kept going, almost loosing his grip and falling many times, succeeding on this once but catching himself before he fell into the small horde. Until finally as the storm started to build in intensity he reached the top and leaned himself against the bank of the hill.

He looked out over the dark horizon, only seeing the small light of the dwarves braziers in the distance. He got to work on making improvised splints for his legs, chaining the metal shaft around his most damaged left leg, then tying the wooden shafts around his right, hoping it would be enough. He grabbed the maul, and with a labored effort he stood up. Lightning cracked through the sky lighting up the dim light of the evening in the storm. He walked forwards, heaving the tribal maul like a mace over his shoulder with his right arm, and looked down the steep incline at the dead that lingered there. Lighting crashed again and it began to pour, it was time to retrieve his sword. He slid down the steep incline into the small horde.

Eren'thiel Xyrdithas​

Kiros Rahnel​

Gil'Tyrnin Solcrest​

Tarathrieal​

Dal​

Heike Eisen​

 

[Heike Eisen]

Heike conveyed as much as she could an expression of It's alright when Dal apologized for potentially acting out of turn concerning Erën. She'd ample time, once Erën had joined the auxiliaries and in the journey to Ungbarroud, to head this off. Allow for a gentler, more cordial perhaps--certainly less abrupt--approach. But the brushes with death during the battle prompted Erën to bring up their previous encounter. Which...looking back on it, separating her iron determination to slay the vampires beneath Gorinsbin and what she had flatly observed during the fight, Erën had...yes, he had acted differently toward one of the vampires in question. As if--

(Maria)

--he knew her.

Regardless, there had been a better time to broach the topic, and Heike could have done so herself. Saved Dal what puzzlement and misunderstanding had arisen from this, if only she'd been able to put her shame and worry aside for a moment.

Captain Grunni had their attention then. He looked over the gathered adventurers, keenly aware that they'd less than half their starting number. And for this he blamed no one but himself, for his lack of foresight at Ungbarroud which had led to the vast quantity of their mounts being killed. With the loss of mobility they had lost much of the initiative, and the Blights caught up with them. Still, with what Major Angrumm had told him, perhaps this was never the lightning raid it was supposed to be.

"The good news," Grunni started, raising his voice such that all would be clear, "is that a detachment of the 1st Belgrath Army has secured the Ixchel North Portal Stone."

A hard look to each of them. Heike, Dal, Erën, Gil, Kiros, the others.

"The bad news, is that we expect it to be overrun."

Overrun. He'd needn't say anymore of the situation. One word captured all the details.

Captain Grunni smiled. A warrior's smile, one that knew death was coming and welcomed it, one perhaps tinged with the slightest hint of lunacy from the intensity of the gaze that so often accompanied it. Yet where else did daring come, if not from the well of madness? Bereft was daring among the crowd of those concerned solely with their own personal safety.

"Aye, we give our brothers in the Army their fair share of banter," Grunni continued, "but they've not been louts. Soon as they arrived, they set about constructing a temporary fort around the Stone. Quick work, but it'll do. It'll have to."

Because they were all going to have to hold out, Heike realized with a slow inhalation. It was the nature of Portal Stones, why they were best suitable for individuals and small groups. The circle around the Stones could only accommodate so many people, and the "cooldown" period between uses of the Stone grew exponentially the more times it was used in quick succession. Getting the Marines and auxiliaries through had taken long enough--Hell's fury, Heike could only imagine how long it had taken to get the detachment from the 1st through.

And, the more Heike thought about it, the worse the situation became. Since the dwarves expected the orcs to assault the fort (if they weren't making attempts already), the more Marines, soldiers, and adventurers that were sent through, the fewer defenders there would be for those that still remained.

Heike pressed her palm into her forehead, a pale look overcoming her.

The very last defenders of the fort...they weren't going to make it. Whoever stayed behind the longest was to meet with certain doom.

Grunni closed matter-of-factly, contrasting the heavy cloud of dread for her comrades which had come over Heike. He said, "You've done your part, and you've done it well. You have express permission from myself and Major Angrumm to depart with Sardrun and the wounded through the Stone back to Belgrath, if you so wish. Or you can stay and fight at the fort for as long as you'd like, catch another wave back. Whatever happens..."

Grunni gave an approving nod. There'd be no admonishment, no diminishment of deeds done. At the end of the day, this was a matter between Belgrath and Molthal. Between dwarves and orcs. To him, it was only right that the last man to die in this forsaken land be a dwarf. Hopefully one of his Marines, and not one of those stinking Army lads taking that glory.

Specifically giving a glance to Kiros and Gil'Tyrnin, Captain Grunni said, "Send a prayer up to which god or gods you like. Our Ancestors will be watching over us all the same. We've got a few days of hard marching, minimal rest, heading south to the Stone. And we're off in five minutes."

Grunni turned and rejoined his Marines. And it was here that the smell of rain gave way to rainfall itself, and flashes of lightning behind the gathering of Marines and soldiers illuminated the expanse of the Blightlands.

Heike glanced to those around her, gauging their thoughts as conveyed by their countenances. Sardrun looked as mortified as ever, and he had come to grip little handfuls of Kiros's robes in his fretful fists. It was strange. Heike had worried for Sardrun most of all ever since they'd liberated him from Ungbarroud; he was but a child, not a warrior, not like herself or Dal or anyone who so took up the sword, tacitly sealing that ancient pact of living and dying by it. But now? Sardrun would be the first out through the Stone, of that there was no question.

So what of Gil?

Of Erën?

Of Kiros?

Of Dal?

Would they all make it out of this accursed place?

"I..." Heike began. She paused. Put out from her mind the grim and morbid thoughts of seeing each and every one of them falling, however valiantly, in battle.

The rain, blessedly cool, wet her hair and her face.

"I will endeavor to defend the Ixchel fort for as long as I can."

And she tried to smile.

Dal Eren'thiel Xyrdithas Kiros Rahnel Gil'Tyrnin Solcrest Cauldwin Talson Valfnyr

 

[Dal]

The mercenary's armour offered pitter patters of rain on steel that well equipped soldiers clad in the best equipment issued in such weather. From within his helmet it sounded to Dal as if the sky itself was offering a volley of tiny stones that struck against his protection harmlessly, yet with loud report. It caused an involuntary twitch at the tip of his ears from time to time. An orcish trait, one Dal was glad to conceal.

Unlike the golden plate of Heike or the blackened metal of Gil, Dal's armour was still caked with now thick dried orc blood that only now was being washed away by the rainfall. Rivulets of water flowed downwards, running across the intricate spirals and etchings upon the armour, rolling over joints and carrying down to his boots and to the soil, water mixing with the blood as it travelled, washing the warrior clean in fractions as the weather did what work it could to purify. The rain revealed the reliable colour of steel underneath the sign of his recent bloody conflict. As the march would proceed, only a few streaks of pink would remain where the rain could not strike cleanly and directly. Dal did nothing to aid this process. The marks suited him well enough, for it was not his own blood that he wore, so he paid it little mind. There was no squire to remind him to be diligent to his equipment, no sergeant who cared about his presence to demand proper appearance. Only his own grim determination and acceptance that they were not safe yet.

As Dal stood around his fellows and the dwarven commander, all Dal could smell was copper and the smell of piercing rain in the air.

Thunder pealed in the distance.

The news was delivered.

So, Dal thought, it was to to be a final stand, with withering defenses, each moment more desperate than the last, each cut delivered to secure another's passage. And the heroic would be the last ones to be sung about after their death by dwarven throats. The last should be dwarves, Dal thought. Not us. Not us. This dwarven commander seems to understand that much. Not to expect so much from auxiliaries, adventurers, mercenaries and the divinely powered.

Not my death, Dal thought instinctively. It was as if a portcullis was dropped without restraint within his own mind. A mighty crash of blackened steel against the ground, preventing the hordes of heroic thoughts that would deem to penetrate it.

Not my death.

Yet.

Yet it could be Heike's if she lets the knightly disposition get in the way of things.

Dal considered the prospect. He was trying to garner some respect from her, to try and seek some kind of employment in the future using what glory he had attained from the fighting. Commendations from knights did one well. And the rest, Dal thought.

Dal considered Heike. Did she know enough self preservation? She fights well enough, but is there a tactical mind to preserve her own campaign of things? Discretion, he had heard from his swordmasters, was the better part of valour. Choose your fights. Own what victories you can. Do not push beyond the measure of oneself. Death has a thousand methods, and a fool hardy warrior is soon a dead one. Dal did not consider the others in this moment.

Dal heard Heike's words. How she hesitated. So, she is mortal in her disposition, Dal thought. Not all knights were the death welcoming fools I've come to expect, lance in hand, feet to stirrups, charging at their demise with glory in their already written epitaphs. This one has humility to their own abilities. Death was known to them and it was not the solution to their errant lives and their striving wills to be known, remembered, feared and respected. There was some measure of fear within her, but a fear she does not quail from. Was it fear? Yes, something along those lines, Dal thought.

It would have given Dal some solace had he not known that she was willing to defend the line for a time. For as long as I can, Dal repeated within his helmet silently. In that case, Dal thought, I should attempt to rally the rest so that Heike was not alone in this effort. For my own preservation, for her preservation, for this plan to work, it would require all of us, Dal summarized. A splintered force was a dead one. A unified one could work effectively.

He had made up his mind as to his course of action. While he would not be pledged to be a friend to the dwarf in death, he was determined to make the orc his enemy in the fight to come. Despite a lack of pay, there was something to be earned here, in might and blood and refusal to slink away into the portal that awaited them at the first opportunity.

Dal stepped closer to Heike and the others that had gathered. He looked to his comrades. Saw each expression in turn. And spoke his words to defy the dread that might gather in the heart of the battle hardened and the inexperienced both.

“You won't be alone in such a feat,” Dal said calmly and matter of factly as he stepped forward, his voice carrying no hint of fear. He accepted what was to come, and what part they had to play. It was already in motion in his mind. He addressed those who would listen in such a small circle of those involved in the dwarven concern. Dal was used to such conversations. The conversation one had with one's peers, beyond the official commander's words, ones that might make the difference between dissention and adherence to a plan given.

“We've all fought together. Some of you I know by name now. We have prowess behind us. Do not doubt this. With blade and magic we can stand as one, our own contingent, our own force to be reckoned with. I say to you this. We should not be the last to stand. That is for the dwarves.” Dal said. He allowed a heart beat for the words to be processed.

Dal removed his helmet. He narrowed his eyes and furrowed his brow in determination.

He continued.

“This is not cowardice. This is accepting our part in all this, as warriors, that the finality of our lives are not owed to this effort. But. We should not be the first to leave. Be it upon your own conscience, but I came here to assist my fellows against the greenskins. I have more battles to fight in my lifetime, and I'm sure you all have your own causes to attend. I say to you, don't let the want to be a hero get in the way of further deeds being accomplished, yet, let us not shirk this cause. It is needed for us to plunge ourselves into the fight once again. The dwarves have accepted their role. The need for their final breath for the rest of us to exit the battlefield. We should accept our role, both now and to the future, and exit at the appropriate time."

Dal exhaled through his nose and became louder with his words.

"We can afford further effort to thwart the efforts of the orc. We are strong enough together. We are. If we assist in at least one wave, we may save a good number of dwarves in the fight to come. They have fought hard alongside us. Let us not exit meekly, but offer a punishing blow that the orc shall remember. We're not done here. I am not done here. I am not done bloodying my weapon, I am not done spiting the enemy with my efforts, I am not done defying death for another breath! Are you? I stand with Herr Heike! Will you stand against what approaches with us? Will you be unbroken? Will offer one final blow to the enemy? Will you stand with us?” Dal said, his words certain and with volume, his words spoken as challenge to his companions' thought to flee.

Kiros Rahnel Cauldwin Talson Valfnyr Gil'Tyrnin Solcrest Eren'thiel Xyrdithas Heike Eisen

 

[Gil'Tyrnin Solcrest]

No mistake would be made Gil'tyrnin had no thoughts of fleeing, Paladins feared their God more than they feared death, eternity in the Void for cowardice, or eternity with Sol'Nityr. For him there was not a second thought. His life meant nothing, only what happened to his spark when he died mattered.

Gil rose slowly from his prayer, his movements seemed overly deliberate as he moved. He would conserve as much of his energy and magic as possible. If this was to be a last stand, he resolved to make sure that he would be last through the portal stone, he would pay his penance for the danger he had put them all in.

As Dal rallied the troops with his speech, Gil pounded his vambracer against his breastplate.

"Sol'Nityr is with us!" He roared. Gil knew his God was with them, ready to grant Gil blessings of light. Ready to aid him in protecting his companions, whether they believed in The All Father or their Pretenders. Story's would be told and sung of this battle. Gil would make sure that when they sung of him and his God, they would be singing the loudest.

Gil readied himself for what was to come at the end of this march. He meditated as they walked, it was as if he were in two places at once. Gil could see the path ahead of him but moved as if he were on autopilot. It felt as if one was looking at themselves from outside. He moved slowly and deliberately.

The Rain had been a blessing to march through, washing the grit and the blood away. The black and gold armor of the Paladin felt much cooler now though his cape was now soaked adding extra weight he might need to compensate for now as they made their way closer and closer to the portal stone.

He could see the stone and wooden fort that had begun to be erected around the portal stone. They would have the advantage of fortification this time. However they would not be aided by a funnel, the fortress could be surrounded, its only saving grace is that they had the portal stone.

Dal Kiros Rahnel Cauldwin Talson Valfnyr Heike Eisen Eren'thiel Xyrdithas Tarathrieal

 

[Savan Shade]

Savan had made his way onto the battlefield, he wore a scowl on his face, Orcs hadn't always been so useless he thought to himself as he surveyed the aftermath of the battle between the dwarves and auxiliaries. They had numbers after all, they didn't have this much trouble when they had sacked the Dwarven hold as he had ordered.

The orcs feared what he would do with their bodies should he please, this was enough to keep the orcs in line. As Savan came across the body of the orc he had been teaching necromancy to he sneered. What a waste of his time and energy. What a waste of potential. Twin Liches flanked him on either side as we walked amongst the dead.

Savan came upon an orc wounded on the battlefield, his wounds were not severe enough to kill him. The orc reached out to Savan pleading for help. Savan took his sword out and ran it through the orcs neck. As his blood spilled the blood from the orc drained and then floated towards his chest filling The Bloodwell, a magical gem that was a container for blood to power blood magic and necromancy.

The blood from the battlefield all began to separate from the muck and the rain and it all began to get sucked into The Bloodwell. As he sucked the blood from the battlefield he began to raise the remainder of the dead on the battlefield with the help of the twin liches.

Behind him more and more dead came over the horizon, a massive horde of undead at his command. He would finish this, he required more blood and he would drain every ounce from this world.

The liches spoke in unison.

"What is your desire our Lord"

"I want every ounce of their blood"Savan ordered

The two liches began to cackle horribly.

"As you desire our Lord"

Dal Eren'thiel Xyrdithas Cauldwin Talson Valfnyr Kiros Rahnel Tarathrieal

 

[Felix Whitbane]

Felix smiled as he repeatedly swing his sword, killing orcs left and right, watching as the shiny metal sliced one of the foul creature’s heads clean off. He swung again, and again, and again, killing more orcs. Cling! His sword hit one of the orc’s. He tried to knock it out of their hand, but lost his instead. He tripped the orc snd pinned them as he took their sword, before using it to kill them. He quickly found his sword and picked it back up. He watched as the lightning crackled in the sky. No, not lightning, magic. For it was too vibrant, and lasted to long to be lightning. While Felix was distracted by the lightning, one of the orc’s swords hit him in the arm. Blood seaped from the wound, which was barely visible under Felix’s fur. He yowled in pain, but continued to try to fight. The orc recived a large cut in it’s leg, as Felix hit it with his sword.

OOC: sorry this is short, my one braincell refuses to think of more