Early Morning - The Academy
"I've asked you all here to help with the training of some of our students," Magnus Olm was not a physically imposing man compared to most but his voice and his reputation commanded more respect than most. All Dreadlords who went through the Academy knew Magnus. With the power to make a person see nothing but their worst fears come to life it was unsurprising he could be traced to every students most painful and tortured moments in the school. Magnus was part of the eclectic group who broke children and reforged them into Dreadlords.
He stood now before the Dreadlords who had graduated with his hands clasped behind his back dressed in a similar garb to everyone else assembled before him: a long green coat that fell to his ankles and came with a hood which he currently had pushed back from his face, riding leggings and a shirt.
"The students are going to be sent on a mission to retrieve something from Falwood; an important artefact of the kings. What you're here to do is make this task impossible," some of the Dreadlords might even remember this challenge from their own time at the Academy. It was a simple mission to complete but whilst the students were attempting to do it, their future peers were going to attempt to kill them with everything they had. Nothing was off limits in this game, the whole purpose was to make it as realistic as possible. There was a high chance that if a student had not been paying attention they could come back from this with broken bones or not come back at all. Vel Anir did not need weakness to fill the ranks of the Dreadlords. If they wanted weak magic users with no backbone they would take in elves.
"There is nothing off limits. When the horn sounds the game is won and some lucky little shit has managed to get back past you all. Enjoy The Hunt."
The sudden thunder of a horses hooves had the group of students looking up in alarm; they had let their guard slip. In a panic they kicked their horses into a wild and headless gallop through the trees. But their follower knew these woods better than they did. Out of the corner of their eye they spotted the shadowy cloaked figure, the horses strides were more confident than their mounts and quickly pulled alongside their crashing blunder through the undergrowth. One of them shouted a warning and attempted a lazy fire spell, but Zana eased back in her saddle and it sailed right past her. Her stride did not slow. Instead she pulled an arrow from the quiver on her back. They were nasty things with barbs on the shaft that would hurt more coming out than when they went in, and they hurt a hell of a lot as they went in. Her horse matched the groups pace now they were level and the hooded figure loosed one, then two, then three arrows in a lazy manner. The first arrow went through the shoulder of the little groups leader. The force sent him sprawling from his saddle and under the hooves of the horse behind him, who reared and through their own rider. The other two arrows buried themselves into the thighs of the other two riders.
With the group incapacitated Zana turned her horse away and drove him out of sight and then let him slow to a trot. With her hood over her face all anyone would be able to see as she rechecked her bow and supplies was a small smile. Zana loved these games. She had loved them even when she was in training - it was, in her opinion, the most useful way to use her gift of foresight.
Like every other Dreadlord in the forest she was dressed in a hooded coat that was done up tight across her chest and waist to stop it flapping in the breeze her horses gallop would cause. Her long hair was braided back into two plaits that looked tight but were necessary in keeping her wild curls off of her face. They were dressed so to attempt to discourage House Politics. Of course there would be politics. It was the perfect opportunity for Dreadlords to scope out upcoming recruits - their skills with magic, weapons and under the pressure of a real mission. Then they would run back to their little puppet masters with their suggestions and the next part of the game would start. But, for this glorious moment it was also truly a chance for Dreadlords to forget their alliances and allegiances and enjoy the simple pleasure of inflicting the same pain on students they had suffered in their position - it created a deep sense of satisfaction.
Cocking her head to the side she listened to the sounds of the forest - there was distant noises of screams of agony as other students were picked off by her fellow Dreadlords but her small section sounded relatively quiet. Which meant there was probably a group of cocky students who needed to taste blood nearby. Nudging her horse forward she guided him to a ridge that overlooked the river that ran through this section. It was the only water point for miles and if a student was running low they were going to be forced to come out here to top up their skins. The best bit was the several meters between the shelter of the trees and the rivers bank - it was a risk, but a risk that many would take. Settling back in the saddle she waited, arrow knocked.
"I've asked you all here to help with the training of some of our students," Magnus Olm was not a physically imposing man compared to most but his voice and his reputation commanded more respect than most. All Dreadlords who went through the Academy knew Magnus. With the power to make a person see nothing but their worst fears come to life it was unsurprising he could be traced to every students most painful and tortured moments in the school. Magnus was part of the eclectic group who broke children and reforged them into Dreadlords.
He stood now before the Dreadlords who had graduated with his hands clasped behind his back dressed in a similar garb to everyone else assembled before him: a long green coat that fell to his ankles and came with a hood which he currently had pushed back from his face, riding leggings and a shirt.
"The students are going to be sent on a mission to retrieve something from Falwood; an important artefact of the kings. What you're here to do is make this task impossible," some of the Dreadlords might even remember this challenge from their own time at the Academy. It was a simple mission to complete but whilst the students were attempting to do it, their future peers were going to attempt to kill them with everything they had. Nothing was off limits in this game, the whole purpose was to make it as realistic as possible. There was a high chance that if a student had not been paying attention they could come back from this with broken bones or not come back at all. Vel Anir did not need weakness to fill the ranks of the Dreadlords. If they wanted weak magic users with no backbone they would take in elves.
"There is nothing off limits. When the horn sounds the game is won and some lucky little shit has managed to get back past you all. Enjoy The Hunt."
***
Late Morning - Somewhere in Falwood
The sudden thunder of a horses hooves had the group of students looking up in alarm; they had let their guard slip. In a panic they kicked their horses into a wild and headless gallop through the trees. But their follower knew these woods better than they did. Out of the corner of their eye they spotted the shadowy cloaked figure, the horses strides were more confident than their mounts and quickly pulled alongside their crashing blunder through the undergrowth. One of them shouted a warning and attempted a lazy fire spell, but Zana eased back in her saddle and it sailed right past her. Her stride did not slow. Instead she pulled an arrow from the quiver on her back. They were nasty things with barbs on the shaft that would hurt more coming out than when they went in, and they hurt a hell of a lot as they went in. Her horse matched the groups pace now they were level and the hooded figure loosed one, then two, then three arrows in a lazy manner. The first arrow went through the shoulder of the little groups leader. The force sent him sprawling from his saddle and under the hooves of the horse behind him, who reared and through their own rider. The other two arrows buried themselves into the thighs of the other two riders.
With the group incapacitated Zana turned her horse away and drove him out of sight and then let him slow to a trot. With her hood over her face all anyone would be able to see as she rechecked her bow and supplies was a small smile. Zana loved these games. She had loved them even when she was in training - it was, in her opinion, the most useful way to use her gift of foresight.
Like every other Dreadlord in the forest she was dressed in a hooded coat that was done up tight across her chest and waist to stop it flapping in the breeze her horses gallop would cause. Her long hair was braided back into two plaits that looked tight but were necessary in keeping her wild curls off of her face. They were dressed so to attempt to discourage House Politics. Of course there would be politics. It was the perfect opportunity for Dreadlords to scope out upcoming recruits - their skills with magic, weapons and under the pressure of a real mission. Then they would run back to their little puppet masters with their suggestions and the next part of the game would start. But, for this glorious moment it was also truly a chance for Dreadlords to forget their alliances and allegiances and enjoy the simple pleasure of inflicting the same pain on students they had suffered in their position - it created a deep sense of satisfaction.
Cocking her head to the side she listened to the sounds of the forest - there was distant noises of screams of agony as other students were picked off by her fellow Dreadlords but her small section sounded relatively quiet. Which meant there was probably a group of cocky students who needed to taste blood nearby. Nudging her horse forward she guided him to a ridge that overlooked the river that ran through this section. It was the only water point for miles and if a student was running low they were going to be forced to come out here to top up their skins. The best bit was the several meters between the shelter of the trees and the rivers bank - it was a risk, but a risk that many would take. Settling back in the saddle she waited, arrow knocked.
