Fantasy Wotann Valannora (High Fantasy Role-playing Game)

The lands of Vaniya, now plagued by an ever-growing darkness, are in need of Heroes the likes of Anastrianna Evendur Nehru_Amidala to arise and assume the Path of the Righteous: Enjoy the beginning of her Witchering Path in this, our fifth Player Teaser:

 

It was mid-Jannus when Anastrianna heard the call of the Gods again, beckoning her go southwest, continuing her Path away from the beautiful Rydonyan farmlands, and she was happy to. Where she had been as of late, winter had been mild (as they always seemed to be here in the Golden Jarldom, named after the Gylen, its signature, everblooming goldenlike flower), and the locals referred to this time of year as the "Season of Running Noses". Soon it would be springtime, and with it would be again time for The Child Fair--an event she earnestly hoped to happen this year, as Rydony and Northerond had succumbed to grievious infighting.
Indeed, it seemed everyone, and she meant everyone, had a perpetual head cold and/or seasonal allergies due to the heavy pollen levels and shifting winds.

To the traveling witcher Anastrianna Evendur, that should be the least of everyone's worries.

At least for now, as she was travelling in rather peaceful territory--The Mornym Horde (Goblins/Orcs/Uruks) were just over The Mandlin Mounts, after having recently conquered the Rexdom of Aronbor.

She, was a Witcher, come from minor nobility, and she was often stopped by people who needed a mediator, an investigator--or a master Monster Slayer. While she was always flattered by everyone's beckons and oftentimes haughty contracts, she did not have time to stop and negotiate everything, much less solve it all.
When were people going to learn to negotiate for themselves, or let their religious and/or civic leaders settle these tiresome disputes?
Other than that, she had slayed some monsters here and there, and spent her time sharing her knowledge and settling matters. However, the Stars had been calling out to her for over half a century now, and it was only in the last few days that Anastrianna even began to understand their calling. This Dark Age--the Fourth of The Orbeis, was in full swing.

The world was crying out for it's former light to be restored, and as soon as Anastrianna heard the Orbeis sing its song, she heard the plight of the Gods so she set forth to slay the spawn of darkness that dared to sully the world once more. Already, The Vargflokk (5000 Draugwath) were 'peacefully' migrating towards the north of the courtier realm, granted under the goodwill of Vidux Feliks--the now de-facto Dux of Rydony. He had been hiring all kinds of professionals for making sure it all went smoothly. Rydony had ruined half of Northerond because their now dead Teyrne, brave Guthwyn, had most treacherously poisoned Dux Faust at a meeting, and had killed his other brother while at it, poor Vidux Floran. The Valtraeld, the Northerner Valkyr golden meadhall, had burned for this.

Yet, there was rumor of something much worse, something that made her Elven blood boil in righteous fury. There were witches, Mogi, and all manner of evil creatures in the southwest, as The Morgani Union (Romara, Iosia, Idrez, and Mordland) under the Vampar Comxt Lorant was again gathering darkness. That was where The Gods wished her to go, All-Powerful Laêlor, The Maker, and Aëlis, The Lifemother. She prayed to both, and set forth.

As she traveled, word reached her of people and fishermen disappearing in the port and coast of Navoss city (Lake Voss). After a quick investigation, she concluded it could only be the work of a monster. She scouted the woods and swamplands north of Navoss, after finding little in the city port--when indeed, heavy mist suddenly covered her.
A spell.

A Foglet.

She had walked on, roughly half a day's travel from the port; when winter arrived, furriers and sap merchants traversed the woods surrounding the lakes to ply their trades. Of course, a foglet would love this time of year because it could naturally blend in with the evaporating mist of the receding cold, and its attacks would be nearly invisible with the lowered visibility.

Anastrianna had fought foglets before, aplenty. She found them despiseful. And their Steel-like claws--dreadful.
Nonetheless she was of The School of the Wolf, Noble defenders of those in need, so she quickly remembered her training;
she drew her gilded Silver sword with a thousandtime-practiced, smooth motion, and summoning the calm her trade and experience had granted her, she oiled it with her undead nechrofague-killing recipe. The she shielded herself with the Quen Sign, attuned her senses to the surroundings, and waited, sword down, in-posture.

But foglets were cunning. They were loath to attack aware, armed, stopped prey, so she decided to give it what it surely wanted--an easy target. She walked toward the coast, and began wading through the swamp, when she heard a silent swish.
Employing her witcherborn night vision, she spotted it,
drew her Crossbow swiftly, and actioning the Silver bolt trigger hit it right between the eyes.

Another easy contract...
As she closed into the floating corpse to collect her valuable bolt, she felt it--danger. Louder movements in the water.
She quickly leapt outside the water, Shielding her frame with Quen again, but this time, she drew a mystic circle of Yrden, purple bright, around her; the magic would greatly slow anything that came within it.
The mist now got unnaturally heavy, even for a foglet. After listening to a couple of stealthy steps, she now knew,

"three of them.."

The second she raised her sword, the ghoul-like creatures speeded towards her;
one made the mistake of reaching closer to her for a swipe--and got its head lopped clean-off,
another, slightly smarter, jumped to grab her, though before it could, she blasted it away with Aard's kinetic energy;
the other was apparently having second thoughts,

"took too long"--she seared it with a stream of Igni fire so strong its charred corpse fell with a thud where it had just stood.

The one she had pushed away was apparently fleeing, but she was an experienced hunter-tracker;
using her augmented smell, listening, and sight senses, it wasn't long before she caught up to it, running,
but the evil spawn was stopped by her Axii sign: the cunning creature, now dummed by its Illusion magic, was utterly confused,
which gave the famed Witcher time to run it right-through its nape, Silver sword coming clear out of its teeth-ridden mouth.

As she playfully tossed the coin purse she had gotten for the slaying, right hand to left, she couldn't help but think,

"Now unto serious business. Mother Protect Me"

 

GM Approved
Main Character Sheet
-Name/Aliases: Estelmisteth (means 'lost hope'), prefers to be called Estel
Aliases: Casllisti, Golwen, and Fae
-High Fantasy Race: Moriquendi
-Gender: Female
-Age: 150
-Physique: Slim and tall (about 6 feet), Estel appears as a 20's year-old human would. Her icy, blonde hair falls in mid-back waves of an icy blonde. She has a shaved undercut that is starting to grow in and can be seen with shaved lines cut amongst the hair. Normally her hair is worn in an braided updo.
Her face is sharply chiseled with a strong jawline, a thin nose, and perpetually narrowed, crystal blue eyes. Her cheekbones could cut a diamond. Estelmisteth has thin, pale lips that are close to her pale skin color. Her ears have rather small points compared to other elves. She has two ear piercings (thin, tiny, silver hoops on the bottom of the right earlobe) and white tattoo-like scars on both cheeks.
Estelmisteth's body is less feminine than some female elves' and shows developed muscles in her legs, stomach, arms, and lower back. As mentioned above, she is thin but not a bit sickly.
She walks with a certain swagger and has a gruff voice for a woman.
Once, during a mission to assassinate someone, she was captured and was tortured for someone's sick fun and given the scars she now bears on her cheeks from carefully carved burns--some sick Elven Apostate that she'd heard went by the name of Normyl.
Undercut of hair:

Eyes and scars:



-Personality: Estelmisteth may seem rather quiet to many but she can have a good laugh or give a vicious yell when she wants. Normally, she prefers to work on her own but, with others, she tends to step back and follow a chosen leader.
She is known to be easily angered and very quick to judge. Her fast reflexes and skills have given her a sense of superiority as well as her preference to work alone. She is rarely trusting and many find her untrustworthy due to her roguish manner.
Her language is that of a sailor and she likes a good fight. Estel also enjoys hunting for the thrill she derives of it. She is well read and knows many a thing about the world, its lore, and weaponry.
Most of the time, she'll hide the fact that she is well read to keep up her tough front.
-Occupation: Wanderer. Estelmisteth wanders the earth, stealing if need be and meeting new peoples and cultures. She will take on the job of a bounty hunter, or assassin, if paid the right price
-Weapons: 2 golden-pommeled Mithril blades, gold-engraved Ebony elvenbow with Steel & Silver arrows
-Armor: goldenleaf crownhelm, gold-inlaid Ebony plate armor, black Leather, Elvenclothes, purple silk tabard.


-Mount/Pet: A stunning black Unicorn with demonic red eyes; a male who bears the name 'Haro'.
He has two white socks, one on the front right leg and the other on the left back leg. He also has a diamond shaped spot of white on his rump. Haro's mane and tail are luscious and jet black.
Estel came across Haro while exploring a cave in the Teln Mountains when he was just a frightened and hurt creature. She nursed him back to health, thus he has been her companion since.


-Homeplace: Silver Spires Wood, Asrinon
-Bio: Estelmisteth was born to a poor, Avari couple in a forest known to her as home. They had a cavelike shelter for a home and barely any money to survive. Her father was a Nymani silver miner in the employ of Rinoni nobility (Athani).
Parents:



Estel could remember being cold and hungry almost all the time in the winter and when spring and summer came, she picked berries and plants to sustain them all.
When she was fifteen, her mother died and her father became more callous than ever before. He decided they were going to pillage the travelers that passed through the wood for a few months and then head into a village to try and find a new life. She learned to attack and steal and found that she enjoyed striking fear into others.
About four months and many travelers later, the father and daughter traversed to a far off fishing village where her father got a job as a fisherman, close to Oakham town. Estel was sent to a nearby school and her teachers were surprised at how fast and well this wild girl was learning.
In her spare time, the young Elf maiden found a job in a general style store. It was in this spot that she learned about many cultures and many races. Estel enjoyed meeting all the new faces and she was known for her humor and knowledge before long.
In the winter she turned eighty-nine, her father died in a fishing accident. Something in Estel's heart changed, snapped--she became very dark. Within several years, she had honed her fighting skills and set out to wander Vaniya.
Over the years, she grew bored of her wandering and heard of the Wotan Valannoris, who were being led by 'a great warrior'--so the story went to her. Estel decided to join up with them to experience something new and hopefully find something new about herself.
-Class: Elven Bard-Assassin
-Titanium Skills: Assassination/Stealth, Dual, Archery
-Skills:
Fishing (1); Hunting (3); Medicine (2);
Climbing (1); Swimming (1);
Tanning (2), Blacksmithing (1);
Writing/Speech (2), Accounting/Trading (3);
Art: Barding/Acting (1), Poetry/Literature (1), Painting (1), Astronomy (1), History/Heraldry (1);
Strategy (2), Logistics (1), Siege (1);
Stealth (3), Crime (2), Spycraft (2), Interrogation (1), Assassination (3);
Hand to Hand (3);
Riding (3), Mounted Archery (3);
Dual (5); Archery (5);
{+5 Elven/Lifetime Instrinsic Bonus}

 

Not all within the Orbeis is darkened in this fell Age--some things, like Time, endure, as Magic and Nature are forces that can be breathed in the havens of the world. I now gladly give thee Ktala who wondrously arises with our sixth Player Teaser:

 

Velaria of the Woods and Torin Woodstryder
Northrond Wood



The broad Elven ranger is sitting on a large rock, carefully scanning the area around him. A dark green cloak is firmly clasped around his wide shoulders, as he is in front of of a small fire pit. The air is cool and crisp, and there is a hint of light snow upon the grounds. Standing not too far away, a large black horse, is happily eating some fresh grains, covered with a similarly green blanket. It is easy to see that it's mane has been braided and as he is eating, there is a sharp flick of the tail to the side.

"Ow!"

Torin looks over, and notices some Wisps, motes seen as but tiny lights that are hovering around the horse, who seems to be totally ignoring them, more interested in the grain. Torin shakes his head, as he hides a slight smirk of amusement. "Leave him be fae. Or else next time, he might not be so nice." he says in a firm, but gentle tone in the direction of the horse. The sounds of small disappointment fill the air, but the tiny wisps leave the poor horse's tail alone, so that he may eat in peace. They then move up to the tree limbs above and settle, disappearing and winking out from plain sight. Torin knows they are still there, but content to hide for now. As he moves over to check on his Mearas stallion, he gently pats the animals huge back, as he surveys the braid work on the mane. He turns, when he hears the sounds of twigs snapping, and the crunch of snow underfoot. It is footfalls he is quite familiar with, and he begins to move back towards the fire, as the sound moves from around the trees. A female Faun steps out from around the treeline, gracefully walking towards the fire. Her horns are adorned with several small birds, and twinkling lights, her hair braided, looking suspiciously similar to the braids in the horse's mane.

"Can you tell your friends to stop pestering poor Byron before they set him off his feed?" he asks his companion, trying to look stern, but not pulling it off very well, as he stands while placing his hands on his hips. He waits for his companion to chide him, and give him a playful tease, but instead, she seems to not hear him, and she looks pensive, frowning slightly. His hands drop from his hips, and he moves towards her, offering her his cloak, which he gently places around her shoulders. She looks up, a bit startled, as if just seeing him for the first time, as the tiny lights and birds flee to the tree limbs above. She looks up at the concern on Torin's face, and offers a slight smile. "Oh, I'm sorry. I will ask them to behave." she stated softly, but Torin waved his hand, as he guided her to the fire. "Never mind that. Something is wrong. What is it Vé?" he asks her. "It has not felt right within the woods, ever since I returned from the Eltiss. Even the animals seem out of sorts."

Velaria came to a pause near the large rock Torin had been sitting on, and looked up at her companion as he moved about. She was silent for a long pause, before she finally spoke once more. "The gathering of Draugwath--The Vargflokk as they call themselves. Yes, I know. But there is something else. Something is wrong within the dwell of the great forest." She looked down, and then looked back up at her partner.

"It's The Trees, Torin. The trees have stopped speaking within some parts of the greatwood." Torin's eyebrow went up, as he stroked his beard. After travelling so long with Ve, he knew of what she spoke of. As a Druid of The Green, she had the ability reach out and commune with the old wood. And as all things are connected, the woods speaks to the forest, which were all interconnected, unless a large swath were destroyed. But even then, she would know the reason. Yet this sounded different. Velaria continued. "If the Green Father knows, he is not telling. Even parts of Opal Forest have befallen into silence as well, as if they are awaiting something. Or hiding from some hidden bane." Velaria shook her head. "I sent Kiki out, to keep an eye on things, but to stay hidden for now. There is a growing, deep darkness, and I fear it might be spreading."

Velaria sighed softly, as Torin handed her a plate of the meal he had been cooking, as she went off to speak to the woods once more. She took the plate gratefully, and began to nibble on the food, as Torin sat down, taking his own plate. Torin spoke softly, in the elven tongue. [We remember cities now in ruin and forests murdered, yet still we sing to the stars and hope for renewal..] he stated softly. Velaria looked up, and gave him a nod. There had been much destruction in the past. Five seasons ago, Northerond's Teyrne fell. All of the Valkyrs at the Valtraeld followed, their old fortress, now lay ruined, felled by a darkness most foul. So much infighting came thereafter within the northern lands, as the current heir of the Northernirs was too young to rule at the time. Old Bann Gramwald stepped up, and by weapon and gore brought some semblance of order, yet he fell before Bann Gudvar's sword afore long... Ve still maintained her ties of old, and holding her own within the forest glen, along with Torin, doing what good they could, as they tended to any unfortunate enough to be caught in the middle of such titanic struggles, be it man or creature. Northerond's Woodsmen, creatures and beasts, were ever grateful to them both. Velaria sighed softly, as she tried to give her attention to the plate before her. She was feeling a bit lost on what she should do next.

Both Velaria and Torin stood as they whirled about, as the protective warning/warding circles around them flared to life. Both of them had weapons out and at the ready, when they saw it..

A stag, dark and tall stood before the both of them. Its breath drawing steam that they could both see as it breathed. It was so jet dark, that it was as if it were a living shadow, standing before them, sucking the light out from the world. A normal beast would not have triggered the wards as it had. That, and the fact that its eyes glowed with a fire that did not come from the warming hearth that they had been sitting next to. It had been conjured into the Orbeis. A Spirit, from the Aetherius.

The Dark Stag!

Velaria and Torin both keenly stared as the Spiritstag stood proudly before them, staring at them both long and deep, before it turned, heading towards the northeast. It then faded within the trees, the only thing left behind was a burning trace of eyes before that too disappeared. Torin turned to look at Velaria, and saw the look on her face. A Visage of Things to Come.

It was Time.
Time to move on.

 

-Name/Aliases: born Ithia Utoizon, renamed Alier upon becoming a Magus Apprentice,
now Milady Morgaine, 'The Banshee of Deldras'
-High Fantasy Race: Morgani (Dark Human)
-Gender: Female
-Age: 25
-Physique:
https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/3b/69/59/3b6959c403bbfe98dff2c2eba3c400c0.jpg
-Personality: Merciful is a word that would be the complete opposite of Morgaine. She believes such attributes to be weak. Though she once deemed love a strength, she now detests it with her whole heart. She hates light as much as Vampar do.
Her cruelty is well-known throughout Teln, the Sjalv (Ownmen) lands, and it is no secret that she enjoys torture. She also enjoys watching gladiatorial combat and uses any excuse to make it happen at Deldras, her domain.
However, she does maintain a certain degree of loyalty to those who serve her well. She likes order, not senseless chaos. She knows her limitations, and trusts others to counterbalance her weaknesses with their strengths
-Occupation: ruler of Deldras, 'city' of Sjalvs (Teln Valley)
-Weapons: Bloodcrystal ball, Orcish shortstaff, Ebony/Steel Silvertraced daggercane
-Armor: Orcish pauldrons, gauntlets and chestpiece, Ebony shortboots, Mogiweave hooded dress
-Mount/Pet: she has a pack of Hellhounds ever close, and keeps a terrible Cockatrice as mount (somewhere)

http://media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/84/c4/20/84c4204ff43bb1651c227185fcffc44d.jpg

https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/3a/40/45/3a40459cd96ca6d5f20c2b94ad608147.jpg
-Bio: Ithia Utoizon was born to a proud Romaran apostate and to a brave Iosian mercenary. To prevent The Smite from finding them, Ithia was separated from her twin sister, Ptolemeis, since coming unto the Orbeis.

Even from birth, something dark embedded itself inside her. The first time she saw someone get injured as a child, she giggled; the first time she saw a body, she howled with laughter.

Her father taught her to conceal the darkness in her, to master it, for if The Smite were to find her, she would not live long once she showed it. But they did fatedly find her, and took her away to Maloglash for testing.
She hid her darkness, supressing it deep within herself as Chalice Paladins inquired into her.
Yet, she was adopted as a Magus Apprentice, and renamed "Alier" for it.

She was there, during the Breaking of Maloglash. She watched her very world fall apart before her. She was the only Apprentice survivor--none made it, be it Mage or Apprentice, under the might of the Mornym Aspects. How it was that she survived, she never knew.
The darkness inside of her grew for it, gnawing ever harsher at her, blaming her for her weakness; it told her that if she had used her dark arts, she could have saved lives.
It in turn promised her a way to avenge her friends-to make the Mornym pay for it, for all. So, she listened to her evil, and set about traveling the world, learning.

The evil inside her slowly took command, growing her in all dark arts. Eventually it took full control, transforming her into a Necromancer, renaming herself "Morgaine".
Its first order of business was conquering Teln, a free land, set apart, and its city that had miraculously survived the Draugwath massacre that took Meadham and Lawton five years ago.

Now ruling the entire realm, The Banshee of Deldras has set about bringing irondark stability to a place of destruction.

-Class: Necromancer
-Titanium Skills: Crime, One-Handed/Two-Handed/Dual; {Dark/Death}
-Skills:

Medicine (3); Climbing (1);

Writing/Speech (3), Accounting/Trading (2), Law/Taxes/Minting (1);

Art: Poetry/Literature (1), History/Heraldry (1), Theology (1);

Strategy (1); Sailing (1) (learned how to sail as she loathes water);

Stealth (3), Crime (3), Spycraft (3), Interrogation/Torture (3), Assassination (2);

Hand to Hand (1); Riding (3);

One-Handed (4); Two-Handed (4); Dual (4);

Conjuration (1) (Conjuring)
Mysticism (1) (Negating)
Blood (2) (Glyphs (Buffing/Hexing/Cursing), Dark Illusion & Torture)
{Dark/Death (5) (Killing, Decaying, Dark/Deathwarding, Necromancy/Undeath, Soul Sorcery (Trapping/Keeping) & Lichdom)}
Vision (1) (Soul)

{+5 Necromancer Intrinsic Bonus}

-Name: Orank Utoizon
-High Fantasy Race: Morgani (Dark Human)
-Gender: Male
-Age: 45
-Physique: https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/X...3MFwYxFGaakBEiEJ0RbhBsbEJzHfkxod8mbidLwQ4jNlR
-Personality: Despite his wild upbringing, he is gentle and well mannered. His honor is tainted by his temper, which once released, will make him as a wild boar; unreasonable and violent.
He shields his inner hatred, grief, and sorrow by defending those who cannot defend themselves.
He hates the Pact, Smite, and Chalice with a righteous anger, because he blames his family’s disappearance on them. He eagerly awaits the day when the Valannar Pact is broken as Maloglash did.
He dislikes the art of archery due to his father death due to an arrow.
He loves his students as he loved his family, and treats them as he would his own children. He immerses himself as one of the world’s finest Duelists. Magic is also one of his many arts-specializing in the Restoration and Thunder Spheres
-Occupation: Headmaster, Duelist, and Leader of The Pegasai Order
-Weapons: a Steel Silvercoated swordcane-wand overlaid with gold with a small pegasus engraved into the pommel
-Armor: Leather armor, boots and gloves over fine Cloth, azure Magecloth noblecape
-Mount/Pet: Haren, his Greatfalcon

http://vignette2.wikia.nocookie.net...attaque.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20070228205035-Homeplace: Limn, Romara
-Bio: Orank was raised by his father, an apostate mage in the woods of Mordland. When he was six, his father took a stray arrow to the knee from a distraught hunting party. Thinking they were under attack, his father retaliated with magic; the hunting party fled.
The events that transpired reached the ears of The Smite, so its agents came down like a dwarven hammer. They caught Orank’s father, but Orank miraculously kept hidden and fatedly survived. Orank’s father was burned at the stake hours later, in Cope Town.
Following that though, Smite agents searched everywhere for Orank. They closed off surrounding villages and set strict watches on the roads of the region. Orank attempted to escape, but was caught by a mysterious soldier.
The 'soldier' turned out to be a member of a secret order, The Pegasai Order, and helped Orank evade the Smite. Orank was taken to the Limn School of Combat Mastery in Romara where he learned all the gentleman’s skills including fencing, dancing, reading and writing.
At nights, he learned, in secret, how to harness his magical potential.
Over time, he became one of the best duelists in the school and was asked to teach the students. A short time later, he met and romanced an Iosian by the name of Durnath Vosli. They were married and soon Durnath birthed two beautiful twin daughters, giving much joy to both them.
But that joy was not to last.
Because he could use magic, Orank had to separate the twins, lest they be all found together and exterminated. One was sent with her mother, back to Iosia. The other remained with Orank. He never heard from either one again.
Six years passed and Orank’s greatest nightmare occurred. His remaining daughter demonstrated an ability for magic. As he frantically tried everything to keep her hidden, they were nonetheless discovered by the Smite’s agents.
They ripped her from his arms and took her away from him. It was that very day he realized his deep-seeded hatred for the entirety of the Valannar Pact and its Dogma (church), thus he devoted himself to it’s total destruction.
The founder and Headmaster of the Combat School fell ill and began dying; he summoned Orank and named him the new Headmaster as well as his successor on the Pegasai Order Council.
Whispers of war arrived that Aronbor had been conquered by the Mornym Horde (orcs), so the Order Council became divided over the matter.
Orank was the ringleader for those that advocated against revealing themselves to them and assisting the orcs in defeating the Pact as they marched for Maloglash tower.
When the argument ended, half the Council joined the Mornym and helped commit many of the atrocities that led to Maloglash's breaking.
Yet, the remaining members looked to Orank to lead them.
-Class: Archmage Duelist
-Titanium Skills: Restoration, Primal (Thunder), One-Handed; {Culture/Arts}
-Skills:
Hunting (2);
Climbing (1); Swimming (1);
Writing/Speech (3), Accounting/Trading (3), Law/Taxes/Minting (3), Administration/Commerce (3), Governance/Diplomacy (3);
Art: Poetry/Literature (1), Sculpting (1), Dancing (1), Tailoring (1), Astronomy (1), History/Heraldry (1), Theology (1);
Strategy (2), Logistics (3);
Hand to Hand (2); Riding (3);
One-Handed (5);
Restoration (5) (Medicine, Restoring, Healing, Buffing, Regeneration)
Mysticism (4) (Rebounding, Glyphs (Shielding, Buffing/Hexing), Absorbing, Negating)
Primal (Thunder) (5) (Bending, Shaping, Warding, Elementals, Movement)
{+5 Headmaster Culture/Arts Bonus}

-Name: Ptolemeis Kallistrate (Iosian 'Ptolmias' meaning "aggressive" and 'Kallistrate' meaning "beautiful army")
-High Fantasy Race: Morgani (Dark Human)
-Gender: Female
-Age: 25
-Physique: Ptolemeis is not just a killer on the battlefield, but also in her appearance.
Her dark hair, blue eyes, and tall herculean body do almost as much damage to her foes as her spear.
For reference, look below for the image:
https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/a3/2b/d3/a32bd36d403e01370e5b8ded117bb45f.jpg
-Personality: Ptolemeis means 'aggressive fury', but other words that could describe her are cruel, willful, and arrogant. She looks out for no one but herself.
On the flipside, she is focused, disciplined, brave, adventurous, and serious. She prefers to remain to herself for fear of losing others close to her.
She loves the thrill of battle and the clash of metal on metal. Her thirst for wealth is unquenchable.
She enjoys competitions, especially those of speed, strength, and skill. She enjoys drink and pipe, and is especially known for her ability to beat men--and even a couple od dwarves once--at drinking contests.
She dislikes working with others, because she thinks she is capable of doing it all by herself. Her hatred is reserved for those who find their way in the path of her spear
-Occupation: Misthofora (Mercenary)
-Weapons: Steel/Bronze xyston spear, Steel/Bronze hoplon shield, Steel/Bronze xiphos, 2 Steel/Bronze throwing spears
-Armor: Steel/Bronze gold-engraved crownhelm, pauldrons & vambraces, chetpiece & tasset, greaves & sabatons, iosian silk Cloth battlecape
-Mount/Pet: a female Griffin she fought, beat and thus tamed once, who was terrorizing the town of Darry--she grew in fame for it

https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/fe/7d/52/fe7d522943eb637af80327d274109f27.jpg
-Homeplace: she knows she is a born Romaran, but was raised in Iosia
-Bio: Ptolemeis' story starts where you'd expect it to start-as an infant. Her mother took her away to Iosia, to be separated from her sister and father.
During the voyage to her mother's homeplace, road bandits assaulted them, and killed her mother. Her, as a baby, was left for dead.
Nonetheless the fates had a different plan for the child.
An old Misthoforos stumbled upon the wreckage and found her. Taking pity on her, he raised her as his own child, naming her Ptolemeis, teaching her everything he knew about the arts and war.
Since then, her father has passed on of old age, and she has been following in his footsteps as a Mercenary since.
Most recently, she has joined the Morgani expedition against the recentcame Jotunn in Doras;
she's hired to guard their valuable Iosian siege weapons. She wanted to stand and fight the Jotunn when they wrested Rike from Idrez,
but her fellow soldiers broke and fled. In order to be able to fight another day, she retreated,
for now.
-Class: Hoplite Warrior
-Titanium Skills: Shield Mastery, One-Handed, Throwing
-Skills:
Fishing (1); Hunting (2); Agriculture (2); Medicine (2); Mining (1);
Climbing (1); Swimming (1);
Blacksmithing (2)
Construction (1), Fortification (1);
Writing/Speech (2), Accounting/Trading (2), Law/Taxes/Minting (1);
Art: Music/Singing (1), Barding/Acting (1), Poetry/Literature (1), Sculpting (1), Dancing (1), Gastronomy (1), Astronomy (1), History/Heraldry (1), Theology (1);
Strategy (2), Logistics (2), Siege (2);
Hand to Hand (3); Shield Mastery (3);
Throwing (2); Riding (3);
One-Handed (5)

 

Magic, War, Wonders, Death--Vaniya is also a land of Emotion, and of deep-seeded Pragmatism. Embodying both, Halle Dray 's Estelmisteth comes to shoot right at your reading Pleasure in our seventh Player Teaser:

 

IC: Estelmisteth

Icy eyes watched, unblinking, as the buck grazed on newly-sprouted grass in the forest clearing. Pale, thin hands silently drew a arrow from the being's back quiver and nocked said arrow on a ebony and gold bow. The bow was raised and the careful, watchful eyes peered past the bow string. The hands pulled back on the string and suddenly with a wssh the arrow was loosed and found it's place in the buck's heart.

A beautiful Elf maiden in shining gold and ebony plate stepped out from behind the trees and ran to the downed buck."You there!" a man's voice shouted. Turning her head, the woman looked towards the voice and saw a young man holding a throwspear pointed right at her.

Within a split second, she was up with her bow and arrow pointed likewise at him. "Who are you?" she asked fiercely.

"I should ask you the same," the man said with a cocky smile, "I'm Uthor"

"Colbanus' son," the girl said flatly as she lowered her weapon.

"Now, what were you doing taking my kill, girl?" he asked, motioning to the felled buck.

"Your kill? My arrow took its last breath," she replied as she pulled her steel arrow out from the animal's side.

In a swift stride, the young man was next to the buck and had turned it over showing a small iron trap clasped to its hindleg. "I do believe we've both killed this beast. What were you planning on doing with it?" he said, standing up and--licking his fingers.

"I was going to eat the bastard," the girl said, raising a fair brow.

"Come, join me then, and we'll both partake of it. I still don't know your name, Elf" Uthor said with a questioning yet alluring glance.

"Call me Estel. I'll come and dine, as long as the Vindex isn't there," the maiden told him.

"What do you have against my father?" he asked her.

"Nothing. I'd just rather not meet him," Estel said dismissively.

"Mysterious. I like mysterious females" Uthor told her with a grin as three rather big men dressed in tunics, trousers, and boots came out of the forest and began to cart away the buck.

-------
They arrived at a castle-like structure made of reddish stone as Uthor showed her the way to a bedroom where a wash basin and a dark red dress was laid out.

"You expect me to wear that?" Estel asked in disgust.

"I believe I have a higher rank than you, so I command you to wear it. Freshen up and you'll be summoned for supper," he said before thundering out.

"Command! And I need to be summoned to supper? That's my blasted buck!" the elf sputtered.

She tried the door but found it was locked. Estel knew she needed sustenance, and she was growing bored of wandering forests endlessly. Looking angrily at the blood-red gown, she peeled off her armor and slipped into it. She caught a glance of herself in the perfectly polished mirror and grimaced. She hadn't worn something of this sort in all her hundred and fifty years. Fine velvet, shaped perfectly to her form.

Estel undid her basic braided bun and let her blonde tresses fall onto her back. Tousling it, she braided little accent braids as she waited to be summoned.

There was a knock on the wooden door and a meek girl in servant's clothing opened it and told her supper was being served. Estel rose and glumly followed the girl to a cavernous dinning room filled with wooden benches and a long wooden table. The ceiling had copper lights hanging from the beams along with tapestries and there were several stout-looking young nobles sitting at the table.

"Ah! Estel! You look marvelous. Come sit," Uthor exclaimed as he motioned onto the chair to his right.

Gracefully, the elf made her way over and sat down. There was the venison, piled on a massive silver platter. It was still steaming and the smell tantalized her nostrils and made her mouth water. The men around her started grabbing food with their bare hands and she had to hide a devilish grin as she did the same.

Uthor looked at her, pleasantly surprised, and she shrugged in his direction.

"Pray tell, what do you do with your life?" he asked her.

"I do as I please. Wander, mostly. I could tell you what else I do, but you might not want me at your table afterward," she replied.

"Oh really? I do know you're "Estelmisteth", daughter of a poor silver miner-turned-fisherman. You lost your parents fairly young and became a hardened Assassin and Bounty Hunter when pleased with the pay. You wander Vaniya, always looking for trouble--and when you find it, as there's plenty to be had, you dive right in and fight your way back out. Does this sound about right?" he asked coldly.

Her pale hands fell to her lap, disguising her motion to grab the venison meatknife she had slipped up her sleeve. Her pale lips opened in an small "O" as she feigned surprised."You know much, Uthor Donac."

"That I do. My father has insisted--forcefully--that you join Iosia in our upcoming campaign" Uthor said.

Estel's chair suddenly tipped back slightly and her legs kicked up onto the table, exposing dirt-encrusted boots. With a smirk and folded arms she said, "Tell me more."

 

~ Story Intro Teaser, part 1 ~​

IC: Nenthrassian (Aethrandir Arcane Arcmagus) [ray stevenson's "edward teach"], Tar-Sethlyr (Aethrandir High Enchanter) [cristoph waltz], Ar-Thrazar (Aethrandir High Alchemist) [hugo weaving], Ymmanuel (Oberpraetur of The Smite) [christopher lee], Tyr Lotharius (in lieu of The Chalice's Forepraestar, Athanasius) [daniel craig], Epaminondas (The Seer of Vatha) [peter o'toole], Gilthanas Elessar (Elvenprince, Margrave of The Wotann Valannoris, and Leader of The Vanyan Thanein) [lee pace's "thranduil"]

Ilmatar's Spire tower, Aquilon
https://drive.google.com/open?id=0BzdIR_jtPgAvSC01NzBsRnU1QWs





"High noon", the patrolman thought to himself as he stroked his horse. He looked into the mountain pass, and beyond it, to gaze at the once mighty, now-ruined tower citadel of Aquilon.
He could never lose that undescribable sense of, wonder when he looked at it--he felt a tinge of, what he asked himself. A tinge of sorrow.
He mounted his steed again, directing a last look at the three broken towers and ruined battlements, before riding off.


Little did he know, the towers stood,
tall and proud as ever, Ilmatar's Spire, greatest, in the middle, flanked by Ivalen's Spear tower to the right, and Luonnotar's Hammer keep to the left. It were there, at the Spire, that the future of Vaniya, 'Suudgard', The Southern Continent, was to be decided.

For the very great gathered thence, and hath been in deepest council for over a week's time, pondering, arguing, debating, what was that The Free Peoples were to do next in the face of this, The Fourth Age of The Orbeis, The Second Age of Darkness.

 

GM Approved! (Secondary Characters)

Presenting, Valin's Parents:

Solonor Teldrassian/ Runik Darkbane/ Darkslayer (Moriquendi male, 575; Elven Demon Hunter)
Enchanting (Runecraft), Spirit, Mysticism, Hunting, One-handed
Mithril longsword, Mithril elvenbow, Steel & Silver arrows, Mithril protections/mail, Elvencloth traveling darkcloak (all runed/enchanted)
Black Mearas

******

Elizbethea Leneth Sylar/ Rosacea/ Grace (Athani female, 80; Asrinon's Healer)
Restoration, Medicine, Alchemy, Archery, Mounted Archery
Ebony Silverguilded bow, Silver arrows, Silver shortblades, runed Silvermail/Leather armor, Elvencloth silvercloak, Medicinal potions & Herbs

White Mearas

 

The common, the high, and the very low all seek their Paths, and may find either Light, maniform shades, or Utter Darkness within the Gods' Creation; spanning both planes, the Fospída Lightbringers arrive to a world torn as a Sign, perhaps, of Makerborne Design: I present thee Master Darth_Elu for Time, for Change, for our eighth Player Teaser:

 

The Glowing Dark & Darkened Light​

​

The armor shifted as they moved. This land seemed to be of endless fray, since the confusion of their summoning to The Orbeis. The darkness of what they had since learned of, known as the Sundered Peaks, where accursed Amyntanyon's own remained chained, had infused them both with great darkness and ominous power; they'd gleaned this on a swift visit to a small, unmarked village nearby they had come across not long ago.​

​

Clop. Clop. Clop.​

​

Their hooves moved over Romara's Suth Plains, toward the River Quin. Its shining ripple of water slithered along the landscape just ahead. The rising, sloping Black Hills just beyond. The afternoon sun, just beginning its descent, still hung in the sky as a marker to track their progress.​

​

Or was it tracking them?​

​

They were quiet, digesting all the information they had recently discovered of this world. This…physical plane of existence. They had known it existed all along of course, that was no surprise. But the details. The vibrancy. The everything had eluded them till now, as they stood upon its expanse.​

​

An armored greatman of blue skin and broad horns, and the slender woman of equally azure skin and ornate horns. Beautiful as they were dangerous.​

​

A father and daughter, lost in the vastness of a new reality.​

​

The sun glinted off the Highsteel pauldrons of Aztallus Fospída as he stared ahead, deep in thought. Jhaevala, unlike him, watched the ground, still fascinated.​

​

It was so different from The Aetherius. It was harder, yet softer. So full of texture she could not even begin to fathom how to describe it. The air, so caressing and light, and also so whimsical.​

​

But she was a Telchar. A Spirit of Change. And she knew when it was upon them, big and small. Her glowing eyes shifted to the river, but down to the west a ways. Lake Quin sat there.​

​

At last a word spoken, soft but urgent.​

​

"Father."​

​

His head turned slightly to gaze at her, then towards what she saw, moving alongside the length of the river. A Romaran border patrol. Dark Humans, self styled 'Morgani'.​

​

The young Draenei woman looked at him inquisitively and he only nodded once. Sighing, she said nothing else. For they moved forward regardless.​

​

Though eventually the two parties, as Fate would always have it, one pair heading South, and the other, a group of thirty, moving East, met together right at the river's edge.​

​

"Halt!"​

​

The two Maiar Spirits stopped as bidden, their heads slowly tilting to look up at the armored humans sitting astride their equine mounts, tails twitching absently. They said nothing, for their eyes asked the questions.​

​

But the Patrol Captain countered with one of his own. "Who are you and, wherefore do you go?"​

​

It was the father who spoke. "I am known as Aztallus. This is my daughter, Jhaevala," the woman bowed her head slightly though her eye never left the ones before them, "We head South."​

​

"Why?"​

​

"Why not?" replied the daughter, her arms folding.​

​

As the morgani's countenance darkened due to her simple challenge of authority, Aztallus once more intervened.​

​

"To see the world. No more. No less."​

​

The Patrol Captain turned his horse to face them straight on, more tense now. His followers sidled up a little closer. Jhaevala's one eye watched them all the closer, but her father did not change in demeanor.​

​

"Your world could end here. No more and far less if you do not show respect…now answer me the question we are all truly wanting to know."​

​

"Of course," replied Aztallus.​

​

"What are you?"​

​

The armored maiar warrior eyed them all carefully, then offered a casual smile. "Have you not heard of the mighty Draenei?"​

​

"…No." A blunt response from a blunt soldier.​

​

"Well, that is not surprising. We hail from a land, far to the West. Across the Grey Sea. Not many of us have travelled to this land. This…Vaniya."​

​

"Preposterous." So the man spat, yet his eyes seemed curious. Wondering.​

​

"There are things beyond your ken and things yet which you may never see, yet exist they do, nevertheless." Jhaevala again speaking up.​

​

"Your daughter has a mouth on her."​

​

Aztallus glanced to her, she looked down to feign apology and embarrassment. He sighed and shook his head.​

​

"You have my apologies. May we now pass?"​

​

There was some consideration to this. The hardened men of the border guard looking amidst themselves, before the captain seemed to nod to himself. With a smirk he looked back at them.​

​

"No. You will come with us. We have more questions for you. Do not resist."​

​

There was a darkness swirling in their hearts now. The draenei could see it and were not fooled. These questions were no more than excuses for who knows what grave treatments. All for what? Morbid curiosity on a passing, mortal whim?​

​

Romara was a dark, crimson tainted land. Their reason to move south further strengthened.​

​

"I believe you do not under-"​

​

A father's words cut off as the daughter's actions took hold. For where they once stood, two goats instead blinked and maaed at the horses before them. One of her favourite incantations.​

​

"Wha?"​

​

"They're gone!"​

​

"Goats!?"​

​

"Find them both! Now!"​

​

The patrol ran about, looking futilely, not seeing the two forms slowly slide up and out of the water onto the far bank some distance away. Trickery and magic saw them through to Doras.​

​

"I was going to talk them down, Jhaevala," sputtered her father as he shook water off his face.​

​

The younger woman simply stood, the rivulets of water streaming down her body and blending into her blue skin where visible. She only stared ahead, at the Black Hills.​

​

"No. You felt their darkness, the rising cruelty. So I teleported us and conjured animals for confusion."​

​

A sigh. "You are much like your mother."​

​

"I am Telchar."​

​

Clop. Forward they moved again. "My armor is going to take forever to dry now."​

​

A small laugh, let out as a single breath through the nose. "The sun will aid you in that, I think. And when does a maiar fret over forever?"​

​

Her father only looked at her as they walked. A smile appeared, which cracked to a lop-sided grin, and then burst forth in raucous laughter.​

​

*****​

Crackle. Pop. Crackle.

The flames licked at the air even as they hungered over the wood they now consumed with delightful glee, its voracious eagerness manifesting through the twisting currents of heat radiating forth to bask over the two sitting next to its blazing beauty.

"I suspect we will come across many things to amaze at here in the Orbeis, my daughter."

Jhaevala looked up, a slight and rare blush to her cheeks as she was called out for her mesmerized stare into the fire. A small smile slowly fixating upon her facial features. It disappeared, though not too quickly as she wasn't trying to hide it. Not from him.

"Perhaps," was all she replied.

Night had fallen, but they remained warm and lit by the fire. Aside from this, all they had in their encampment by the hills were their eyes, which glowed like luminescent moons, magic that they wished to preserve.

Crack.

The two of them looked at each other. He, standing tall and with his High Spellbook in hand, still able to read it in the dimness of it all, its pages flipping as though on their own; she, sitting by the fire with knees drawn up and hands and slender tail curved about them.

"It seems we have company."

Jhaevala quietly stood, already mentally noting where her weapons were on her person. She did not turn to face whomever was approaching. Did not need to.

"Come, travelers! We have a fire should you have need of one! Join us and perhaps we can swap a tale or two."

The female rogue's lips thinned in annoyance at her good-willed patriarch's overtures. But she waited to see if perhaps they could see something better than the darkness they were always visited with. That one unmarked village had been the only semblance of light they'd seen thus far in her mind.

"We have need of it all right, stranger…" growled a voice.

And thus the darkness draws all the tighter about us. We must remember that here, in the Orbeis, there is such a thing as night. A true night.

So her thoughts went.

"Then come and sit with us." Aztallus said this and he casually set his spell book down. His right hoof seemed to only coincidentally slide next to his large warhammer.

They seemed to apparate out of the darkness like they were born from it. Ten…creatures. Based off their beastly yet humanoid features and by what was described to them earlier in the day, these were Draugwath. Ten of them, their sable fur gleaming in the light of the fire as they neared, ravenous.

One among them held a rope that trailed behind him. It led to the neck of a young girl, of a race they could not yet discern but around the tender age of twelve or so in appearance.

Aztallus' eyes narrowed at last, his mirth slowly fading. Jhaevala turned now. Swords now evident in hand, as her tekagi-shuko had been set aside a moment ago.

The draugwath snarled as one. The draenei maiar merely stared at them.

"We know not what you are," growled one, "But we will add you to…"

"No."

All eyes swiveled to the older spirit, whose size seemed to have somehow, subtly swelled to twice what he was just a moment earlier. And faintly growing further.

"You will leave after all. And you will let the young one with you, go."

All stood tense in response for a full minute. The fire crackled without notice, yet eyes hardened all around, muscles becoming taught with anticipation.

And the rope was let go.

Because they had sprung forward with savage alacrity, weapons bared. Natural and otherwise.

But as terrible and swift as the draugwath were, never before had they encountered Maiar Demons.

The hoof was kicking up slightly and the war hammer, as if a light toy, was shot into the air and into Aztallus' waiting hand, who spun it like a top and straight into an uppercut to the first enemy's chin who went flying out of flamelight. His skull crunched with the sound of gravel. He never had a chance.

The war hammer spun around again as he twisted his body back the other direction now to smash the next assailant right in the middle of its side with a sickening crunch. The mighty blow pushed it into the hungry flames. It howled in pain, but never again would it stand.

While his right hand dealt such a savage blow, his left was up to telekinetically freeze another leaper in mid air. It struggled in vain to escape, but instead he only held it there, suspended all throughout the duration of the skirmish. A short one it was, after all.

Blades flashing, catching and reflecting the glow of the fire and the shine of the moon, twin arcs of righteous death slashing through the air. Jhaevala had cut down three of her own opponents in record time.

The four remaining draugwath, now more cautious, backed up and eyed them more carefully. They now knew fear, recognizing the true strength that stood against them.

"Get the girl and lets go!" snapped one.

The moment the dark being moved for the rope, Jhaevala was behind him and reverse stabbing into his back, the blades coming clean out the other side. With a casual and practiced motion, she removed the swords from their now dead target, twirled to fling off the blood, and held in position once more.

She blocked their route to the girl, who was sitting on the ground stupefied at the whole spectacle playing out before her. Numbed in spirit, but a spark of hope now slowly rekindling the workings of her mind.

"Begone with the Light."

So said the venerable Vathar. So did he suddenly Vanquish the fleeing draugwath of darkened souls into a flash of glorious goldfire.

Aztallus slowly turned to the still-suspended and now only surviving Were-Beast, who could only stare back without words.

"I let you live to bear witness. Whomever your dark master is, I release you back unto them. Tell them what you have seen. Tell them that The Light yet rises and will not be extinguished."

He finally let it drop roughly to the ground, with a yelp.

"Go. Tell them."

And so the draugh went.

Jhaevala sighed at the finality of her father's words, knowing they binded them to the Eternal War now here in the Orbeis as well as in the Aetherius. She looked over to the now free slave. With a quick twist of her wrist and a snick of the blade through rope, she was freed.

Aztallus smiled at her as he turned back around, moved over, and knelt before her.

"And you, child of freedom, are coming with us. The Light wills it."

Destiny's Great Road beckoned onward that night. And it ran straight for the distant lights of the city in the mountainous distance. They marched on, towards the Teln Mountains and its ancient history, whose only survivor was Deldras.

Two pairs of hooves and a single set of soft feet, all still finding their way

 

(~Edit: a most necessary one, as Lady Dray and I weren't able to add this to her Teaser any further: Uthor is Magnar Ulfius' son )


IC: Estelmisteth
Cerrilon Wood, Iosia


"I should ask you the same," the man said with a cocky smile, "I'm Uthor"

"Magnar Ulfius' son," the girl said flatly as she lowered her weapon.

---

Her pale hands fell to her lap, disguising her motion to grab the venison meatknife she had slipped up her sleeve. Her pale lips opened in an small "O" as she feigned surprised."You know much, Uthor Magnarsson."

"That I do. My father has insisted--quite forcefully--that you join Iosia in our upcoming campaign" Uthor said.

~​

 

Secondary Character:

Joseffa 'Mornstar, The Light of Hope, Flail of Righteousness, Shield of the Just' (Athani female, 27; Order of Amburr Hospitalier)
Restoration, Light/Sacred, Mysticism, Shield Mastery, One-Handed
Steel/Silver morningstar, Steel/Silver mace, Ebony-goldgilded plate armor, Steel mail, Steel/Ebony crusader greatshield & helm, Silvercloth tabard, heavy Cloth fullcape (Black with white accents)
Black Destrier horse
Other visual reference

 

~ Story Intro Teaser, part 2 ~​

​

​

IC: Nenthrassian (Aethrandir Arcane Arcmagus) [ray stevenson's "edward teach"], Tar-Sethlyr (Aethrandir High Enchanter) [cristoph waltz], Ar-Thrazar (Aethrandir High Alchemist) [hugo weaving], Ymmanuel (Oberpraetur of The Smite) [christopher lee], Tyr Lotharius (in lieu of The Chalice's Forepraestar, Athanasius) [daniel craig], Epaminondas (The Seer of Vatha) [peter o'toole], Gilthanas Elessar (Elvenprince, Margrave of The Wotann Valannoris, and Leader of The Vanyan Thanein) [lee pace's "thranduil"]​

​

Ilmatar's Spire tower, Aquilon​

​

​

~​

​

The deep silence of everyone's thought was finally interrupted by The Elvenstone's stern voice:

~'Tis a self-evident Truth I'm sure all here can see.
A continent-wide Concilium doth be called for.

I pledge to gather those of concern, and those of worth, by the ides of Marteis.
All will be summoned.


~Ymmanuel: A most necessary and wise measure, Lord of Stars. I fully second it. -Said The Smite Oberpraetur's image, portrayed by the magic of The Seer's Seeing Stone.

~Tar-Sethlyr: I do as well. -Ever with his subtle yet deepest of smiles.

~Nenthrassian: A vote need not be called now, for I further move for it as well. -Said the somber High Arcanist.

-Tyr Lotharius of Annah simply nodded in agreement.

~The Seer of Vatha: So shall it be. -Concluded the venerable, wise Epaminondas, as he gave life to The Eye of Vatha, opening his most-Peaceful of Warrens


It was thence that suddenly, the Alchemist's strong, captivating voice broke through the moot as flesh is pierced by coldest Steel:

~Ar-Trazar: I now bring forth my cause, on the matter of the Arcstave. I hereby claim First-Magusdom. -Stormeth he, as he rose from his seat

-No mystery to any of all that sat there, at the simplest, unadorned round wooden table yet, none as venerable in all of Vaniya.
No wonder to any as they glinted with the colorful, myriad reflections of The Spire's painted-glass, spear-pointed ceiling.

~Ar-Trazar: Maloglash is broken. The Smite barely stands. The Chalice brethren, reduced to bodyguards instead of Continental guardians.
We all know The Valannar Pact is long broken and forlorn as well.

-These stout words caused an unavoidable stir amongst those highest, gathered there, yet all by peer-borne and ancién respect, listened.

~Ar-Trazar: "Garlot" here does not feel worthy of it, -said he, referring to Nenthrassian
Tar-Sethlyr will not have it.
Yet they've already wielded it for altering those two islands--a move most reckless and unwarranted, for the enemy will not miss a floating island, hovering close to Aquilon--we pledged to ever keep it secret, keep it Safe. And lo!

Now they grant the Water and Thunder Telchar Staves to a pair of Dwarven children..
Worthy successors must be found, I say.


As to The Arcstave,

I wouldst take it.


-Their gathering's silence hath never been as deep, or dark, as it were now. They all gave pause.
But the Sun, and the Moon, will ever rise in The Orbeis.
Thus it did:

~Will you not arise now, Telumendil, Lover and Guardian of The Heavens, to thy call? -Beckoned the Elvenprince towards his longtime colleague, the Arcmagus Nenthrassian

-The Aethrandir sat there, quiet. Yet after not a long reflection, his gaze lit up and rested upon all in the shortest, and the longest, of pauses and,
when they finally rested upon Gilthanas, he said:

~Nenthrassian Telumendil: I in turn name thee Menelmacar, Swordsman of the Sky. I take up my call,
and would follow you to face this evilest of Ages.

-"But" --broke the High Alchemist,

-"But it is now time I doth relay unto thee the word, the will last, of The Fallen One, exalted Athanasius--spoke Tyr Lotharius of Annah.

-"How do you mean, Ser? Annah, and The Sancdom Cathedral, both fell into darkness"--expressed the High Enchanter

~Lotharius of Annah: I am no 'Ser', with all respect. And I remain unworthy to be called 'of Annah.'
I am Lot of Lothian, and I, on Holy pilgrimage, walked the fallen land of Perdon, into darkness, for it now covers it,
Death,
most final.

Yet the never-breaking will of Good Lotharius endures, if but inflamed, aye, inflamed with pious rage.
He now reves among the deserted streets of Annah, casting shadow at every corner.
It was thus that he found me, and I him,
and was recognized.

Said he unto me: "Fallen Palla, here is your beloved city.
Our Sacred Sanctuary.
I still guard it, and will forevermore, until The Prayer shines her Light on it again.

I must not be alone in rising to this Age's call.
All pieces, move! Across the board.
Move the bishops. Call the knights. Ready all pawns.

For we will all be pawns,
to Darkness.

The Book is safe,
so is our Faith and Hope.

She is near. Find Her,
and summon Her Knight.

The Time is long past...
Now go,
lest I consume you too,

worthy Lotharius"


I come now, as his voice. And the will of The Chalice, the will of The Dogma, is surely for the Pact to stand.
We will not break.
I say take the Arcstave, Telumendil, arise,
arise!

-Ar-Trazar stood unmoving, stare down, resolve diminished.

~Gilthanas Menelmacar: Arise, Nenthrassian Telumendil,
First Magus of The Telchar Pact.

-It was with great solemnity that the others assented, nodding,
as the Aethrandir Alchemist acquiesced.

~Tar-Sethlyr: It is thus that we recognize and fully support your long-awaited ascent, Nenthrassian. The Aethrandir stand as strong as ever, united and high as in the past Age.

~Menelmacar: And high we will now go, far and wide, to bring the call to all, the call of Light, of Life,

~Lot of Lothian: of Honor and Duty,

~Epaminondas, Seer of Vatha: of Vatha, The Allfather.

Go forth, and may the blessings of all Free Peoples go with you.


-All rose from their seats, in Authority and Wisdom, as Vatha's Eye spoke one last time,

~Ymmanuel: I will send you Efrahim. Our only standing Magus.
Yet his Scholar still draws breath. He shall find him and bring him before you.

~Gilthanas Menelmacar: "I will summon the Thanein,
that we may finally fulfill it;

Twenty-Five they shall be.​

You have long seen them, Oberpraetur. The revered Seer here, as well.

Time is short,
yet Maker-Set Time is always Right.

We Set Forth.​

I'll look for all at Port Carnell,
in two months' time it shall be,
for The Fourth Age's Concilium.


I have business in the Sirvalle.

And I won't be going alone......."

 

GM approved!


Name/Alias(es): Crimson Fade
High Fantasy Race: Athani
Gender: Female
Age: 24
Physique: Tall and slim are the only obvious physical traits one can guess from Crimson Fade. She has never before been seen without her entire gear on.


Personality: Sarcastic at times, Crimson seems to find humor in most situations, or rather a cynical attitude. Though she doesn’t tend to stick around long enough for anyone to get a good point on what her personality is like.
Occupation: Master Assassin
Weapons: Bronze bow with steel and silver arrows, silver Otataral short blade, and eight bronze throwing daggers
Armor: Black reinforced leather armor with ebony protections, black master crafted leather mask and cloak, which is resistant to weather and yet light and quiet enough for movement
Mount/Pet: Doesn’t seem to have any
Homeplace: Unknown
Bio: Not much can be said, or even found, on Crimson Fade. As her name suggests, she is like a shadow, or even some rumored name that may pass from town to town. In cases where someone turns up dead, most simply leave it up to, “Crimson Fade,” to give some kind of an explanation but yet, no one seems to know anything more than that simple name. Could the gossip even be true? “Someone fading from existence as quickly as they to be? Not even magic is that good!”

And good, she is, at her job. Always having completed her contracts and none the wiser about this Crimson Fade. And while she tends to take most assignments, she has her moments of pickiness, though again, not much can be said on her reasoning for dropping certain cases. It seems to come down to her momentary mood.

She is a true mystery and she intends to keep it that way.
Class: Rogue/Assassin
Titanium Skills (3): Assassination, archery, and illusion

Skills: Hunting (3), Medicine (3), Climbing (2), Swimming (1), Writing/Speech (3), Accounting/Trading (2), Art: Barding/Acting (1), Poetry/Literature (1), Astronomy (1), History (1), Stealth (3), Crime (2), Spycraft (3), Interrogation/Torture (2), Assassination (3), Hand-to-Hand (3), Throwing (2), One-Handed (5), Archery (5), Illusion (4), Movement: Muffled/Shadows/Fast, Weaving, Occlumency, Control: Inspire/Fear, Rapture/Confusion, Persuasion/Domination

 

The Saint​

​

Screams pierced the sky, bells resounded throughout Ashfirth Towne, warning of the danger that approached. Men, women and children fled from the dark tide on the open horizon. In all the panic, one figure walked towards the threat. Like a stone in a river the people flowed around the being clad in black, with an Ebony knighthelm upon their head. On their breast the sigil of the Order of Amburr emblazoned in white against the black of their flowing fullcape. They yanked the heavy greatshield from their back and lashed it to their left arm, swinging the bulky guard about as if it were a toy. With a roll of their shoulders, the cape was pushed to their back revealing gilded ebony pauldrons that shined in what little light could break through the steelgrey sky.

Their black tabard, bearing the same sigil of the old Amburrian Órdre, bellowed in the wind, as they continued to march forward. A mother and child trip and fall to the ground, the little one's cries add to the cacophony of a terrified township. The Knight, clad in black, knelt down gently helping the pair back to their feet.

"Go," the Knight admonished, "but, do not worry. I will guard your back." Even through the helm their voice was soft, caring, and noticeably female. The parent and child nod their heads and hurry along, leaving the woman alone as the black tide grew closer. Her heavy gauntlet drew a shining flail, the weapon as weighty as the shield she carried. Her footfalls rattle with the sound of the armor shifting as she marched, undaunted.

The Lich's Skjells rushed towards the Firthsmen in a line of bone and Steel. Many a bolt flies at the Knight, she bats them away with a swipe of her mighty shield. She surged forward her impenetrable guard held before her. The living skeleton's weapons bounce feebly off her Steel and Ebony defenses. Her flail, taken up by her when her master fell to the very same creatures, lashed out, catching one of the monsters in the skull, turning it into blasted powder. A strike into the exposed ribs of another shatters them, sending the collection of bones toppling to the ground.

She continued pressing further and further into the mass, until she was completely surrounded by beings that wanted nothing more than her death. The chain of her arm remained taught as it swung this way and that, leaving broken human boneforms in its wake. With a whispered prayer the blackened armor flared with glyphed lights. The skeleton's strikes were made into nothing, their dark weapons could not pierce the glow that surrounded her.

Skjell after Skjell fell before her but, more kept coming, their blades clashing against her wards. These were her countrymen, noble warriors once fallen in battle, now bent to an evil master's will. She was sending them back to rest. That's what she thought as she grounded her way through their massing lines. A sharp pain radiated from her back. An accursed spear had found a gap and broke through the weakened magic shielding. As she turned to punish the foe that would dare scratch her, a warhammer removed her helm from her brow. The very same weapon slammed into her chest, robbing her of breath. As her shield dug into the grass she leaned upon it, gathering her strength.

As evermore maces and longswords strike at gaps, more hammer blows fall upon her but, she does not cry out. Her fair hair begins to glow when her head snapped up to face her enemies, her steely blue eyes were alight with sacred fire.

"I STAND IN THE LIGHT." She bellowed, as golden rays radiated out from her person, cleansing the ground around her, turning the shambling corpses caught within it to ash. The wounds on her person glowed like stars as they seal.

Reinvigorated, she carries on her fight, crushing skulls and spines, swiftly turning the horde of the dead into nothing but silent piles and bone. She takes more wounds, her tabard becoming stained with her blood, yet she still carried on undaunted, her soul bursting with light, her will unbroken by the pain.

After a long battle and many foes felled, she stands alone, breathless, blood dripping from her arm, her lifeblood. She leaned heavy against her shield planted firmly into the dirt. This was not a group of thousands, not even hundreds, only fifty Skjells lay smited beneath her, a drop in the bucket. She gathered her helm and marched back to the Ashmen and women, her head bloodied but, unbowed. The townespeople came out of hiding, eyes wide as the lone Hospitalier returns.

"Bring me your injured." She called out coming close to them, "And I will heal them." They noted the many marks upon her, the red blood that dripped from them.

"M'lady, you are wounded," an older man said bowing his head, "Let us see to you, it is the least we can do."

"I am fine good sir, darkness cannot harm The Light." While her words were spoken with conviction, she knew that it was all too easy for a servant of the light to fall but, that was their place, the shield of the innocent.

They brought her those that were harmed in the initial rout. A few scrapes and bruises easily mended by the power within the woman. They came to her hope in their eyes. Soon there were no more to heal but, some to bury. She helped the dead into rest, saying a few holy words over them, beseeching her God and Father to accept them into his eternal embrace.

She took a breath calling for her horse, a stout black beast suited for war. She slowly mounted and made her way out of town.

"M'Lady," the old man called out chasing after her. "Might I ask, who art thou, who hath saved our lives."

She smiled weakly, drained from the exertion of the fight and caring for the injured.

"I am Joseffa, humble Crusader of the Order of Amburr."

The old man's eyes brighten, "I knew a Joseffa, another Hospitalier, just as you are. Though that was many years ago now...Tell me, are you she, the woman that saved me from a horrible fate at the hands of Mordlanders with hate in their eyes?"

"I am, and am not." She said, smile deepening. Her eyes flicker with pain, not from the wounds, but of the memory of her fallen master, the woman whose name she carried.

She rode off, her black charger galloping towards the darkness.

Her Holy Quest didn't stop--it would never stop. Not until the Light fully returned, and she would not rest until it came to be so.

 

​

~ My Secondary Characters ~​

~My Character Images: https://drive.google.com/open?id=0BzdIR_jtPgAvcTdxSXI0bjVwMFE



-Nentres of Garlot (Nenthrassian Telumendil, Aethrandir Arcmagus of the Arcane; ‘55’--110)
Arcane, Conjuration, Mysticism, Alteration, Restoration
Arcstave, Kringresand, runed Silver longsword, enchanted Magecloth robes, black Leather
bay Mearas, 2 Ravens (High Ravens)

-Duomir Gottman (Heir-bastard of Dietmar; 35)
Shield Mastery, One-Handed, Construction, Sailing, Arbalesting
Steel sword & shield, arbalest & bolts, Steel hornhelm & heavy armor, heavy Leather
brown friesian

-Bors (exiled Aetheling of Beornheim; 30)
Hand to Hand, Stone/Earth, Restoration, Druidic, Alchemy
Bronze greataxe, Skins/Fur trappings; Beorning

-Lot of Lothian (Tyr Lotharus of Annah, the fallen Palla of Perdon; 50)
Mysticism, Two-Handed, One-Handed, Light/Sacred, Metallurgy
Steel/Silver war hammer, mace & shield, winghelm & heavy armor, heavy Cloth tabard & fullcape
white shire horse




-Ellen/Ellenna (Halfelven bastress & bardette, Gilthanas’ Companion; 30)
Archery, Stealth, One-Handed, Hand to Hand, Restoration
Mithril blade, Bronze/Silver composite bow, Steel & Silver arrows, Silvermail-covered Otataral longdagger, Steel shieldarm & helmet, plate armoring, protections & mail, Elvencloth hooded cape, silk & velvet Clothes
chestnut Mearas

-Domitias (‘Thomas’, Lotharus’ bastard Magesquire; 20)
Restoration, Fire, Alteration, Enchanting, Mysticism
Steel/Silver mace & shield, heavy plate armor & mail, Cloth tabard & fullcape
white icelandic
Aiglos (“Softy”, white Mabari greathound, 10)

-Guttormur, Son of Grimlaugur (Heir of Mirkesh, 30; Draugwath)
Two-Handed, Hand to Hand, Siege, Fortification, Construction
Steel greataxe & paws, Steel starred whip & hunting bola, Bronze broadshield, mail & protections, heavy Leather & Skins/Fur
blue roan giant draft horse

-Geirtryggur, Son of Grimlaugur (28; Draugwath)
Dual, Archery, Sea War, Logistics, Sailing
Bronze bow & Steel arrows, Steel sickle sword & axe, Leather whip, Bronze shield, mail & protections, Leather & Skins/Fur
blue roan draft horse

-Groibrandur, Son of Grimlaugur (27; Draugwath)
Throwing, Two-Handed, Dual, Metallurgy, Mining
Steel war spear, 2 throwing spears, 4 flyaxes, Bronze shield, mail & protections, Leather & Skins/Fur
blue roan draft horse

-Sir Jostein Rautainen (The Tower of Aronbor; 30)
One-Handed, Shield Mastery, Strategy, Riding, Masonry
Steel longsword & guardarm, shield & lance, plate armor & mail, Skins/Fur, heavy Cloth cape
palomino ardennes horse

-Adelfine (of Dietmar; 26)
Arbalesting, One-Handed, Sailing, Sea War, Mounted Archery
Steel arbalest & bolts, sword & shield, protections & mail, Leather, Cloth shortcape
dapple gray thoroughbred mare

 

​

~ Story Intro Teaser, part 3 ~​

IC: Gilthanas Menelmacar

Nelennas, Caras Galadhon, Silverwood



It were a misty, cold night.
As he gazed at the stars, perched high amongst treetops,
wondering at The Sword he felt,
he knew, his people were safe here
for now.

The magic of The Silverwood was powerful, the might of his people ancient, the strength of the Tree Fastness nigh unbreakable, and Nelennas, their Tree-Keep, a most formidable bastion. It was not long ago they had been victorious over the very Vampar there.

Yet the Skjells, those risen skeletons,
once strong, worthy men, were now a terrible force of death.


He'd finally discovered who their commander was,
the lord of the Lich Tryade:

Agustainon Krastis himself, risen from death by darkness,
Rex of Amburria,
at the head of a mighty Skjell combine: 5000 Amburrians, 5000 Gyllenes, and 5000 Perdonii,
occupying the expanse of the Sirvalle, The Silverwall, the great double walling that separated Asrinon from greater Vaniya.

He had taken over it himself, storming the tower first, whilst his other fellow captain froze over a path from Perdon's Crabbe Islands onto it.
The forces at the walls were swiftly overwhelmed by such power and numbers;
he knew the other Lichlord awaited at Providence, confident, at the head of another 15,000 Skjells.


Moriquendi and Rinoni alike, their situation was perilous, as they stood strategically divided.

The Elvenprince knew the situation was most difficult,
yet he knew he would not be alone in this.

The others had their tasks,
and he, his

Yet he was not the only one of his kind in Vaniya,​

there was
another.


And as he knew he would arise to the defense of his people,

he did indeed,

that very night,

the figure of Solonor Teldrassian shone bright by the sacred light of The Moon.


The time had come to oust the dark invaders from the region.


Rising from his seat,
already clad in the panoply of war most fell,
their plated protections glinting,
Mithril shone true from both their forms;
Elven High Silver, the Gift of their Forefathers and of the old Dwarven Sires, both now gone from Vaniyan lands,
their craft their last remainder.


With a motion of his right hand and a slight, dignified bow, full of respect,
he said unto his old friend and olden combat companion:

"Laêlor be with You,​

Teldrässian"​

TAG: greyjedi125 , All~

 

IC: Solonor Teldrässian
The Silverwood

The stars and the trees, the misty cold of night. A simple pause in the flow of time. Solonor knew to appreciate such gems, a blessing. Peace, real moments of peace, were all too fleeting in this age. Darkness had come again, intent on swallowing them all, but nay! It would not be allowed to do so- for this was their sworn and sacred duty.

Solonor’s relentless fearlessness seemed to swell to greater heights in the presence of The Elessar, The Elvenprince, he who was born in the first age, and would likely remain ’til the very end of all ages- if not beyond. The Demon Hunter and Darkslayer’s loyalty was beyond bounds- beyond question.

He patiently waited for the word to be given, basking in the moment. He needn’t be eager for his work. Thousands of Skjell’s awaited them, and they would meet them- swords at the ready. The battle would be glorious, but that was a mere, even negligible byproduct of his ancient line of duty.

The skjells had become far too bold of late, and now needed to be routed, decisively so. More so, their dark commanders would need to fall, if they were to send back a message to their dark master.

Asrinon would never fall, more over, the reward for their boldness would be utter ruin.

Solonor had prepared for such an encounter, adding newer layers of runic protections and effects to himself, his armor and his weapons. As always, he had offered his latest to the Elvenprice, should he wish to partake of them. As for the Lich, he needed to glean the location of the foul creature’s phylactery. That would not be easy, rather a boon- aside their main objective.

Agustanion’s remains were repurposed by the darkness to become a Lich Lord of The Tryade, one of their three terrible commanders. Such an abomination could not be allowed to exist. Nor his Dark Master.

Solonor, allowed himself a small sigh.

From what was known, it was critical to cut-off the skjell’s advancement by destroying the frozen path they had created at the Crabbe Islands. Those skjell’s amassed at Providence would also need dealing with. Generally speaking, skjell’s were not the best swimmers… perhaps they could use that fact to their advantage.

Solonor mused silently for the moment, as he wondered who else would heed the call to battle. Although he fought fire with fire, the Darkslayer did recognize this as a prime opportunity to have a paladin among their ranks, though he found them all too often to be misguided.

“Laêlor be with you, Teldrässian.” Solonor heard the Elvenprince say unto him.

“Maker and Mother guide you, my liege.” the Demon Hunter responded in kind.

“Pray tell, which other brave soul will join the ‘cleansing’…?”

Solonor knew that Gilthanas understood his meaning- the complete eradication of the skjells and their leaders. They were a blight to the living. Fallen friends in life had been twisted to become enemies in undeath. A forced and terrible existence for those who deserved peace and release. The unrepentant souls who've been given a second chance to promote the agenda of their dark masters deserved to be cast into oblivion. No other recourse would help them to accomplish their purpose.

For this, was their destiny.

Tag: @Jedi Battlemaster Drallig, all.

 

IC: 'Jax' (Efrahim, last Blood Magus of The Smite) [ian mckellen]
https://drive.google.com/open?id=0BzdIR_jtPgAvTkw3dWRGUFJmQUk
The Sjalv 'city' of Deldras

-These damnable, flea-ridden, fool-infested 'inns'--if they could even be called that.
What hells moved his blasted, wandering Grandson here, ever rudderless.

"Vagrant" -he scoffed harshly yet softly,

as he sat in a chair across Bren's bed, eyeing him with a look of sour disapproval.

Such sound sleep.
Reckless..

It was time.

Rising,
he whispered "Blood" as he opened the power of his Warren--this immediately woke Bren from his sleep, his magic shield already active,

yet his Grandfather reproved -"Your shielding was weak, lad.

I could have easily killed you, Brennus--oh get dressed"

TAG: Jsmith24



IC: 'Tyr Lot of Lothian' (Lotharus of Annah, Wotann Valannoris' paladin Margrave) [daniel craig]
https://drive.google.com/open?id=0BzdIR_jtPgAvMTRGQ1ZVOHhDTGs
Teln Woods, Eastern Amburria

Vatha Be Blessed!

As a lone bright star shines true in a fully dark sky, so did worthy Joseffa's Sacred Warren send ripples across the land for those that heeded The Call of Light.

-She is close, a little Southwest, but a day away! Bless My Fortune!- he thought to himself, offering grateful prayer to The Father and The Maiden.

-Sir Arcturian, I humbly enter thy domain in this, our greatest hour of need. May you allow me to walk true toward your servant,

that we may unite 'gainst our dark enemy.-he prayed on

"Onto darkness"-muttered the Tyr, as he put on his winghelm and planted his war hammer upon the woodground 'round Larchspree.


It wasn't long afore he finally caught up to her--she rode a black destrier, strong, yet somewhat underfed,
a pious creature, to carry on the Path alongside her.

They rode slowly. Surely she knew there was no haste to find darkness here--it found you swiftly.

And just as swiftly, it found them.

As she approached the tower of The Hollows,
she opened her Warren--she had felt the tower to be occupied.

She activated her Mystic shield on, and pressed her charger straight onto the tower, crossbow bolts crashing 'gainst her incantation.

-A spirited one, to be sure. Much after her famed mentor..- Arming now his mace and shield as he latched his war hammer to his back, he charged as well

TAG: galactic-vagabond422



IC: 'The Smith' (Tar-Sethlyr, Aethrandir High Enchanter) [cristoph waltz]
The Black Hills, Teln; a half day from Deldras

-He'd had to use his Kringresand, his Portal Key, the one he himself had fashioned, for the Kringresande had initially been only two.
Yet he, the highest master of his craft, and aided by his other ring, his Konstring, the Great Ring of Enchanting, hath forged a third one,
one for each Aethrandir, one for each Guardian Arcmagus.

And it was that duty that now brought him here, in the very greatest of urgencies,

before this mighty newcomers:

"I am The Smith.

Welcome to The Orbeis"-said he, smiling softly-

"You travel the great continent of Valanor,
in its southern part;
Vaniya the Firstborn called it,
Suudgard, do us men.

What, may I call you in turn?"

-asked he to the bigger, male-like of the pair, wondering at both--Maiar, surely, such Warrens!

TAG: Darth_Elu

 

IC: Joseffa
Teln Woods, Eastern Amburria

"May the light of the Father protect me." Joseffa whispered to herself as she spurred her charger on. Her mighty shield was lashed to her arm but, the glyphs flared warding her. "ARCTURIAN!" She cried, the name of her patron, drawing her flail. She would not hide from the darkness, not this time, she would purge it with the light. Their bolts crack against her holy ward the Father protecting her. Her eyes were glowing with sacred light, her flail swinging above her head. Five Skjell knights counter her charge, swords glinting in the pale light. She would show no fear to them, though in their day they were fearsome warriors, now they were nothing but poor creatures begging for release from their fate.

Behind her the other knight that has come alongside her readied himself for battle. She paid him little mind, her foes were before her. Her mind focused on the forms galloping towards her. She would see them smashed beneath her horse's hooves. Not out of malice but, to see them out of this simulacrum of life, to let their bones find some rest. They had severed, fought for their homes by their king. They died as heroes standing against the dark. They deserved a far better fate than this, than to be crushed under her weapon. With each strike she hopes their families can forgive her.

She took no pleasure in this, striking down her kind that had fallen nobly in battle against the vile Vampyr that now rules the surrounding lands. It was the light of the Father and seeing his enteral glow returned this world that drove her on. That spurred her forward, gave her the strength to do what must be done. Even now in the dead of night, surrounded by blackness, she felt the warmth of Vatha within her.

She directed her steed between two of the mounted Skjells, each clad in steel armor, once shined to a gleam that would shine even in the dimmest of light, now dull and blackened. The spiked orb at the end of her weapon swung forward, added by her arm and the speed of her mount. With crushing force it smashed into the tattered remains of the helm it still wore, denting it and shattering the skull beneath. A strike to the other side caught the second in the back impacting the armor and cracking the spine beneath. It still rode but, wouldn't for long, the jostling of horseback rattling the weakened boneform to pieces.

Longsworders surged toward their blades clutched in their skeletal hands. Her charge would not be stopped. More bolts shatter against her glowing guards yet her eyes did not blink. With an upward swipe she removed the head of one of the shambling swordsmen, sending the helmet and skull flying back. This was just a vanguard, the rest were set near the gate lined as they would have been defending their home, now they protected whatever darkness lies within the tower. They stood shoulder to shoulder, shields interlocked. Their darkened points were directed outward prepared to skewer any charger that dared to come closer.

As swift as she could she slowed her horse dismounting before it came to a full stop. With the added momentum she clashed into their wall of shields. Her morningstar curved over the top of the nearest pavise, crushing the helm and head of the Skjell that wielded the shield. Though her staff may be stopped her chained bludgeon continued on over, or around their guard, striking at them as they hid behind the barrier. That was why she, and her master before her, carried such a difficult weapon, it was one of the few that could strike around the towering shields the Amburrians wielded.

She wasn't alone. Next to her a mighty blow sundered a foe at her side. The armored knight stood next to her, familiar looking glyphs flaring on his shining armor. She didn't have time to think about it, more Skjells assailed her and her mysterious companion. The sounds of battle resound though out the wood, the bolts ceased raining down upon them but, the longsworders continued to stand. Their blades striking again and again against their wards, the darkness was too weak to break their guards.

Without her destrier under her she trudged slowly through the mass of steel and bones. Her own shield defected blows, their edges sparking against the ebony guard. Her arm swung about her, creating a symphony battle as her steel and sliver flail struck their metal armor. Her mystic protection flared, swords deflecting off it, though she could feel it flickering. This had to end soon, there were more to slay they couldn't remain at the gate. She felt the holy light flow through her arm, speeding it along its path. Her weapon flashed light lightning pummeling her aggressors into powder.

Soon she and her ally broke through the stalwart line dented armor and crushed bones in their wake. Her armor still shimmered with the holy light the protection of Vatha remained upon her. She stood before the gate, flail dangling from her gauntlet. The shifting of armor draws her attention.

The form of her ally stands next to her, shield and mace gripped tightly. The light glinted off the wings of his helm. She wondered who they were, why they stood by her side in the time of darkness. There would be time later for interrogation.

"Together." She said eyes firm behind her helm. He'd fought by her side, against the Lich's risen army. "Tell me," she continued marching towards the gate wasting little time, "Does the light of Vatha glow within you?" She gave him another look. "You do not fight as normal warrior, it will be nice to fight alongside another in the Light." It had been far too long since she'd stood next to another follower of Arcturian, the selfless. She did not need to know his name just that he stands with her against the dark.

TAG Jedi Battlemaster Drallig

 

IC: Bors (the exiled Aetheling of Beornheim, Wotan Valannoris' druid Margrave) [colin farrell]
https://drive.google.com/open?id=0BzdIR_jtPgAvNmtycGVjUTRnRjg
https://drive.google.com/open?id=0BzdIR_jtPgAvS2pfX01WMWMtUHc
Bjorne River, Northrond-Herdwild Wood

This spirit was unlike any Velaria Nu'vae nor Torin Val'alorian had ever seen before, in all their combined 4000 years upon The Orbeis.
It did not derive its magical power from The Aetherius, channeling it into the physical world through a Warren, the way all magic sentients did; it was pure void.
They knew they were after the death trail of a Môrkhar Spirit that somehow had found its way from the magic plane into this here forest. The ancient wood was, after all, a powerful magic nexus--it could have fed from it--nonetheless its stepping here, to a physical existence, was most unnatural.
Tracking it had not proved difficult--it left a wake of destruction and death as it sped further East and furtherest' North.
Velaria of the Woods had kept many a wary eye on the Dark Stag through her Animal Sight, and by digging into Root every now and then, feeling firsthand the death of trees and the foul trampling of the forest bed as the spirit crashed into all with nonstop, chaotic purpose.
It was then that Torin Tredor, master huntsman, saw the need to use his higher magic skill: he found a stream of running water and, through it, connected himself into the greater river further north, The River of Bears, the border 'tween the forest of the Beornheim Druids and greater Northrond Wood--the death spirit was there, reluctant, on its southern bank, loath to pass as Water is Life, its current now filled with Torin's magic.
Through it, he saw clearly how along the northern bank, several druids now growled, transformed into their Greatbear forms, in a defensive line, battlefronting their forest.
Brave and mighty as they were, they but stood their ground--all knew well their enemy was the greater.
Yet one stepped who was worthy of such a challenge.

As the void stag's mane bristled with rage and darkness evermore, raising its powerful neck,
so did another in Light most absolute stepped into the riverstream;
Torin, seeing the duel being clear,
reduced the water current, so as to allow for it to pass: Glorfindel, Lord of Unicorns, now neighed a challenge onto its fell foe, standing proud on its hindlegs.

The deadly one answered the challenge in form, sending a loud and horrific sound, a natural warhorn and now, revealing the full power of its torso, forelegs, and sharpest of antlers, its terrible crown, charged straight toward the shining steed.

The unicorn, vibrating with the magic of Light, charged in turn, and as they closed, the stag aimed lower for Glorfindel's lesser size, head on, as the white horse, 'fore the last second from impact, gave a forceful leap--the other leapt as well, though downward;
and so they met, forelegs flying, an explosion,
the stallion duelist's Highsteel-like horn piercing right into his opponent's hellblack head,
yet his rival's mighty strength had felled both--a terrible crash resounded through the wood of the north, as both their bodies fell, like thunder on plains, river pebbles ahundred, flying.

As the Beornings now called in victory and solemnity, one came forth in a hurry, one of human form, trotting with urgency from the south bank,
one that made the others silence their gestures,
now kneeling atop the Lightlord,
as its enemy's form vanished as dark smoke, into the nothingness that first spawned it.

"Lord Glorfindel"-combining his full worth of Restoration and Druidic magicks, Bors the exile began attempting to heal the fallen, unconscious uni-hourse champion.


It was then that Velaria arriveth the legendary scene.

TAG: Ktala

 

As our ninth Player Teaser duly comes, by the felt narrative of Lady Moonspun Dragon , one cannot help but wonder what manner of creatures, beasts, and beings most foul, deadly or mighty will be found inhabiting a land where magicspawn roam wild and free..... and not. Presenting High Overmistress Lock, immerse yourselves on Magic's introspection:

 

Aztallus & Jhaevala Fospída IC:
~The Black Hills, Teln~

"I am The Smith. Welcome to The Orbeis."

Upon the road to Deldras, nestled in the rolling curves of the Black Hills, the three travelers were paused before the sudden newcomer.

Aztallus had sensed his coming before he even manifested in front of them, raising his hand to quietly call a 'halt' to his daughter and ward. He sensed no incoming malice, but waited nonetheless.

The mysteries of this realm had just begun.

"You travel the great continent of Valanor,
in its southern part;
Vaniya the Firstborn called it,
Suudgard, do us men.

What, may I call you in turn?"

A small shifting in the armor of Jhaevala and she whispered to her father. "I get the feeling we'll be getting that question a lot."

Her father smiled at the light comment, but did not laugh at the moment. This was a serious meeting. He could feel it. This man's Warren was not something to be taken lightly. Though again, he did not feel ill intent for which he was grateful.

"My name is Aztallus Fospída," he motioned toward his daughter, "And this is my daughter, Jhaevala."

Turning to offer a slight bow to their young ward, he motioned toward her then as well, letting her introduce herself to the figure after indicating it was all right to do so.

When she finished, he straightened again with an addendum: "She is our ward, wrenched from the jaws of a destiny most cruel. We will see her on Light's path in any manner she chooses, for we are draenei."

His glowing eyes watched the figure contemplatively. "Do you know that name, Lord Smith?"

Jhaevala stepped forward then to get the man's attention next. "I must inquire. What hath brought you forward to us?"

Tag: Jedi Battlemaster Drallig