Fantasy Wotann Valannora (High Fantasy Role-playing Game)

IC: 'Thomas' (Domitias, Lotharus' bastard son) [paul bettany]
Northern Summer Lake, Summerswood, Perdon

Valin, the woman and the kender, together with their most recent wards, had ridden slowly, yet warily, along the Summer Lakes' eastern shores, away from Merlash, for their western shores came much too close to Vanurdell. These were lands the Elven traveling healer knew well.

The Mirkeshi had changed of late--no longer did they mass-enslave. Indeed many still carried out their custom, yet they seemed now to be, organized?
It were these thoughts that occupied Valin Bar as he busied himself upon the road, nursing the misfortuned human family back to health, as the woman watched and the kender scouted 'round.

As they approached the olden wood, kender incorporated themselves to the following, as if come out of nowhere. Their bows ever at the ready, these pointy-eared halflings were Kalervo-an's own kenderkine.

Entering the wood, and upon requesting audience with the King of Kenders as was his custom, to stay ever informed, he found Kalervo was away.
Interesting, he mused. What task could have possibly been more important to him, than his realm and people?
Thousands of halflings, kender and not, and droves of Perdonii refugees now inhabited the forest in makeshift homes as they had all been pushed away by the terrible war. The great battle at the Sommarlanns, 'twixt Rydony, Perdon & The Telchar Pact against the Mornym Horde and their betraying ally, Comxt Vaklav Lorant, had brought the ravaging of their homelands, the breaking of Maloglash tower, and the fall of Annah with the grievious death of Teyrn Anatolius Ostervigg, the wise.

They did not lead lives of plenty as they once had. They grew lean, and ever more somber, as men were.
They,
survived.
What they knew now was fear, as the great war raged on--the latest news? 30,000 walking skeletons finishing Trey, taking Providence, and fully and finally defeating Perdon's army under the command of poor, yet courageous Andrias.

What hope was there?​

As he prayed to The Maker for guidance, preparing poultices and healing salves,
a young man clad as a paladin, heavily armored though, his frame--how could he carry such weight?--he had felt his warren for near an hour now, activated ever so slightly, drawing nearer, coming from the north. A warren very, very much like his own.

And as he met him, he saw in him a spirit of worth, of tempered peace and honed skill.
With an honest smile, and a look of skyblue tranquility and focus, said he:

"Maker be with you, Friend. I look for Valinor Barsylar.

Tyr Thomas is my name,

and I bring word from your father."​

TAG: greyjedi125



IC: Guttormur, Geirtryggur and Groibrandur, Sons of Grimlaugur ('The Vargabrodden'--the Draugwath Princes of Mirkesh) [Rollo, Kalf, Bjorn]
Esteran Woods, Northern Rydony

The hunt, for Thudpaw and Calypso, continued--they enjoyed dragging them a bit, for the practice--and fun--of it,
ever excercising their skill were these two, deadliest of beasthunters.
Thudpaw smelled the rank fear of the two fool draugwath that still attempted, mistakenly, to escape them, as Calypso kept keen eyes on them, overflying all.

It was then that she saw him: a tall figure stopped the two fleeing werewolves true in their tracks.

"It's--our Vindex Guttormur!"-said one, surprised and relieved
"We are being hunted!"-halfshouted the other in despair turning-into-courage

The tall, mighty form of Guttormur, Heir of Mirkesh, but stared, equally tall even though he were in human form.

"You are weak"-said he, severely, a look of death in his eyes.
"Now fall"--viperlike, he lunged forward, headfirst into the one's snout, a cracking headbutt that powerfully stunned its target,
as the shouting, groveling one darted away;
the prince's famed fists shot up in a mighty right hook, a left punch to the belly, and a finishing right uppercut that sunk his Steelpaw gauntlets deep within the draugwath's jaw, shattering it to a thousand hells, dead body flying a ways.
Swiftly then, did he reach to his left to grab hold of a Steel hunting bola that, with a potent turn of his body sent he whirling away with speed most vicious onto his poor mark, which fell as swiftly, crashing down as the steelforged balls broke its equally steel-like knees. It let out a desperate howl as its hunter drew near, calmly, to raise it high with fell, raw power, by the head to say-"No son of Mirkesh runs from battle"--grabbing the struggling manbeast with both hands, covering its entire head as his size was truly enormous, he twisted its neck as one doth a chicken's, to discard the body with a careless throw that still sent it meters away onto a tree that broke in half, falling by the strength of it all.

As an archer alike the Mirkeshprince readied bronze bow and steel arrow, aiming it at hovering Calypso,
did another-like figure appeared out of the thicket behind a surprised Thudpaw--not because they had eluded him-they had not-but because he hadn't been able to smell them, as he now saw they were covered by the scent of the wood.

"I salute you, infamous Ancalagon, blackfang"-bellowed Guttormur as he untwisted the bola from his victim. Standing, heralded he-"I am Guttormur, Son of Grimlaugur.

Aye, I am Draugwath, so are my brothers here. Yet the one that now commands these, felled our father in combat, worthy as it were. They are our brethren, yet they are no friends to us. "The Vargflokk" they now call themselves, the Werewolf Greatpack, under the leadership of dark Viktor Blasz, Comxt Vaklav's ex-Vixier. I understand you were hired by Vidux--Dux Feliks Voirol--of Rydony, to protect his realm against roaming fools such as these.
This here, be a document by his hand and ensign, where he donates thus contract onto us--trouble not, for we will pay you double, if you accompany us for a little parlay.

Say you what to this?"​

TAG: Jax Nova


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

 

Delkhâr​

​

The snow crunches under my feet as I stalk through Mordland's North Forest. It's quiet here. My quiet fortress when I need to be away. When I need to let my guard down.

My head is shielded by my drawn hood and my gaze is more or less focused on my feet. I have no need to watch where I'm going. My feet know their path.

No one is around to catch a glimpse of a tear as it slides down my face. Still, I keep the evidence of my grief hidden as more tears fall.

Not here, stupid girl!

My harsh admonish came too late this time.

My breath grows steadily harsher until my sobs become gasps. My vision blurs and my footsteps slow. I stumble against a tree and just let go.

I took no notice of the sounds of my sobs echoing through the Forest. I took no notice of how things suddenly had become quieter than usual. I didn't notice another sound that didn't belong to any creature with wings, or legs. I only noticed the storm that raged inside. The ever burning grief that needed to be expressed.

It had been a year ago when I murdered Casander. His dying words still haunting me, becoming splinters and embedding themselves very deep and painfully within my heart.

Suddenly, a bush rustling behind me attracted my attention.

Startled, I was immediately on my guard and quickly cleared my eyes with one hand while withdrawing a dagger with the other. As soon as the blade withdrew from its sheath, the creature revealed itself to be a serpent-like Basilisk. I had just enough time to identify it before it attacked.

Its movements were like lightning. It darted from one side to another, trying to find the best point of attack. I struck at it when it got too close, but it quickly dodged my blows.

Realizing my reflexes were far too slow, I moved my free hand out of sight and focused on it. In a few moments, a small orb of dark energy formed in my hand. If it hit the beast, weak as it was, it would only temporarily paralyze the mighty, magic-resistant creature, giving me just enough time to get as far away from it as possible.

I faked an opening, hoping it would be fool enough to attack there. Thankfully, it was.

I timed the attack, then sent the ball toward the Basilisk. It struck right on target. With a cry of frustration, it collapsed to the ground, it's eyes the only things that could move.

I was about to run, but stopped, then came closer to it. The guards in the next city would pay handsomely for a fang or two.....

A most deadly poison glistened on its fangs, so I pulled my sleeve down over my hand and, after grabbing it, touched the blade of my dagger to its gum....

Wait!

Shocked, my hand froze and my gaze met the serpent's."Wh- What? Did you just....?"

A few moments of silence, then I shook my head. "Of course not. They were just stories."

My hand bore down on the blade, cutting into the gum...

And I immediately jerked back as waves of pain ebbed and flowed into my mind. I couldn't tell if the scream that accompanied the pain was mine, or the Basilisk's. I quickly backpedaled a safe distance away and dropped to my knees, tears, again, flooding my eyes.

As the pain settled a little into something more manageable, I became aware that the pain I was feeling was the Basilisk's. And, that I was already scrambling back to him, apologizing over and over.

I recalled what I could of the animal healing magic my mother had taught me and placed my hand over the gushing wound. I furrowed my brows in concentration, focusing through the pain still coming from the Basilisk.

Don't... came the plea.

"Let my try. I can help,"I told him soothingly. This is my doing. Let me fix it." I met his eye.

After a moment, his eye closed in resignation. Be quick.

Wasting no more time, I set to work. My hand glowed with a soothing green light as I poured the healing energy into the wound, finding it powerful. It was only a few moments before I allowed the light to go out, satisfied. It wasn't the very best, but the wound was fully healed.

I, then, placed my hand on the top of his skull and focused. The parlayzing energy left his system and I quickly stepped back as he stretched to his full height.

Thank you, Sorceress. I apologize for attacking you. This winter has been lean thus far.

I stepped closer to the Basilisk and, again, placed my hand on his head. "My motivations were far more callous, my friend. I ask you for forgiveness. I wanted to sell your fangs in the next town. It was wrong. I swear to never do it again."

The serpent started to hiss. It took me a long moment to understand that he was laughing. An honorable Sorceress. This is, indeed, a rare find. Not knowing what to say, I remained silent until he became serious again. For your honesty and assistance, I would like to join you. I can help with your potions in turn.

Now, it was my turn to chuckle. "I'm not a witch, my friend." My tone became more serious. "Besides, I don't.... Display my magic. Though, I could use your venom for my... Profession...."

The Basilisk raised his head in surprise. A Sorceress who doesn't practice magic, but is, instead, an assassin? You are an odd one.

We were both silent for a few moments, then it said, You intrigue me, Sorceress. Very well, I accept if you do.

"I name you Delkhâr," I pronounced in an archaic tongue.

The Basilisk, Delkhâr, lowered his head as if bowing, then raised it high. What are your orders, High One?

Tag: Jedi Battlemaster Drallig

 

GM Approved.
(Because I have no life and too many ideas to hold in my head I present the Wanderers)

Francesca Maria Bice Scholastica Tempeste (Stormcrack, Lightning Dancer, Fulminiti-only by Giuseppe; 23, Athani female)
https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/35/26/9d/35269d9328b937d572a5b075fc8ac2de.jpg
Primal (Thunder), Mysticism, Enchanting, One handed, Dancing
Magic-crystalled Iron staff, enchanted Steel short sword, Steel chestpiece, Ebony mail skirt, enchanted Leather/protections, Magicweave green hooded cape

Giuseppe Mateo Loren Elb Razini (Whitebeard, The Frosted Terror, Old Man-only by Francesca; 92, Athani male)
https://cdnb.artstation.com/p/assets/images/images/000/289/777/large/WizardOldSchool.jpg?1415382583
Primal (Water/Ice), Mysticism, Restoration, Conjuration, One handed
Magicwood staff, enchanted Steel sword, blue Magecloth robes over Steel mail shirt, runed Silver medallion, enchanted Leather spellbook

 

IC: Valin Barsylar
Summerswood, Perdon

Graciously, he offered a nod and an easy smile once he had finished treating them, and checking that there would be no infection or possible trace of poison from their wounds.Valin had learned the names of the family he help rescue from Mirkeshi slavers.

The mother was named Karyn, a seamstress by trade. Her husband, he was called Bannon, he was a trapper. Their son was named Tristen, and he was a fisher.

Humble folks, making an honest living, deserving of a life of peace and tranquility. But they were among a multitude who would not easily find such comforts in this age.

At least the boy, who while still not speaking, had become more responsive to his parents. Together, they shared an inner strength that could very well see them through much conflict. Valin put away a healing salve inside a pouch and turned to see the human woman staring curiously at him.

“ Selah, Trynn. Have you words for me?” Valin inquired, mildly curious. Trynn smiled and shook her head.

“No, not words entirely. Just a feeling, that you really care for them.” She said, motioning to the family with her head as she rode.

“Them?” Valin echoed, turning to glance at the family and then back to her. “I see…” He said, catching her meaning. “I care for all living creatures and their well being, much like the Mother teaches us we should.”

At that, Valin briefly returned the smile before changing the topic.

“What of Narn? He said, inquiring of the kender scout.

Once again, Trynn pointed with her chin, this time towards the approaching kender. Valin spied him at once, then nodded.


*********

It was not long before the small group reached the olden woods. Valin was not surprised by the appearance of kenderkine rangers, their bows drawn and at the ready.

Valin raised his hand, silently halting the groups advance.

“I am Valin Barsylar, friend of the Summerswood, son to the Lady of the Rossewood, ally to the kenderkine. I bring freed slaves, survivors. I bid you let me pass.”

Thankfully, his words were well received, as he and his contingent were allowed passage.

Valin made sure to supply the small family with some healing salves before they were situated within the refugee camp.

“I must speak with kender King Kalervo. It is a matter of great importance.”

Valin had approach a leader among the kenderkine concerning a meeting with their King, only to be informed of his absence.

“I see…”

Valin maintained his customary demeanor and respectfully thanked the kender leader. However, he did find the kender King’s absence unusual. What could be more urgent than the safety of his people? What could have possibly moved him away from that duty? Valin wondered with a great measure of intrigue.

The Summerswood had become a haven for refugees, halflings, humans and kender. The War of Powers had ravaged their homes. Rydony. Perdon. The Telchar Pact. The Mornym Horde. Pain and suffering was what they brought to the people, to the land itself. The Fall of Annah, the Breaking of Maloglash Tower, the death of Teyrn Anatolius Ostervigg.

It seemed there would be no end to conflict. Not to mention that thirty thousand skjells plagued them. At Trey and Providence, and that at the cost of Perdon’s army.

It was enough to give way to despair.

“Maker protect us…protect us all.” The half-elf whispered under his breath, then closed his eyes as he fell on one knee to offer up a silent prayer.

Valin then opened his eyes, which now gazed at the makeshift homes; he saw the fear in the eyes of the refugees. But in some of them, he saw hope, in others, he saw defiance, the will to fight on for what was right.

Valin smiled softly at this.

For them. He would do his part, until his last breath.

It was thus that soon he found himself preparing more poultices and healing salves. He would be their medic…and more. Busy as he was, a familiar sensation coursed through him then, stronger now, one he had not felt in some time, but had sensed over an hour ago.

A warren.

Valin lifted his head suddenly, just in time to see a young man clad in what was unmistakably paladin armor, drawing nearer. The young paladin’s warren felt very much like his own. Valin stood up.

He could feel it clearly and with certainty. The paladin possessed a worthy spirit, steadfastness and purpose tempered by peace, skill balanced by discipline. It was almost like peering into a mystic looking glass.

Valin nodded, silent greeting the paladin who spoke with an honest smile upon his countenance and focused tranquility.

“Maker be with you, friend. I look for Valin Barsylar.”

“You have found him, for I am he.” Valin responded without hesitation.

“Tyr Thomas is my name…”

Valin nodded again as he listened.

“…and I bring word from your father.”

Silence.

Valin tried to keep the look of surprise from his face, but was uncertain if he had succeeded. The half-elf knew of his father. He was a moriquendi that would out-live him and his mother. He knew his name. Solonor Teldrässian, Darkslayer, Demon Hunter. Ally to the The Elvenstone himself, Liberator of all Nymani. Yet, he did not know him, for he could scarcely recall his face.

Yet, Solonor would have words with him now?

His mother did tell him as much, that his father would send for him when he was ready. But, was he ready?

“Forgive me for being a bad host, I have no tent, but I freely share my camp fire.”

Valin smiled apologetically.

“Please, what news have you of my father?”


Tag: @Jedi Battlemaster Drallig

 

The Wanderers​

It was late at night, the rain pattered lightly against the simple roof of the tavern. Light music played and at a stage a young woman danced. Her brown hair partially braded on one side, with a little charm dangling from it. It swayed and shined in the dim candle light as she flitted about the stage. Her sword and armor rested just out of sight, it wouldn't do for a dancer to be weighed down by the enchanted metal. Though even bearing the items she still moved like water flowing as the music played. The cape she wore only added to her movements, shadowing her and tailing behind like a green ghost struggling to keep up with her.

At a table in the corner, an old wizened man sat. The light glinted in his eyes as a set of dice left his hand. With a whispered word, and flutter of his fingers the dice come up in his favor. It was amazing how much water ended up on the playing surface during a rain storm. That made three in a row that he'd won, a nice stack of currency was now piled up near him. His old blue robes were pulled tight around him, a heavy leather spell book rested clasped to his him. The silver amulet rested on his chest, just catching a bit of the light.

Again the bones left his hand and rolled in his favor, continuing his 'Lucky' streak.

"Hehheh," he chuckled, "It seems luck is smiling on me." he collected his winnings and took up the dice again. "Shall we go again, amici?" A thick hand reached out wrapping around his wrist.

"No one be that lucky." The brute said pulling the bearded man closer. "You're cheatin', weighting the dice."

"Well'a," a nervous smile appeared on the other man's face, deepening the wrinkles. "If that's how you feel," With his free hand he deftly slid the coins into his already open purse, "I'll just be going then." He wrenched his arm free with surprising strength given his apparent age. Calmly he began backing away from the table. The tall man that had confronted him followed giving him no quarter.

"You're not leaving, not until we get what you stole." The man's hearty knuckles cracked as he pressed them in his open hand.

"Now amico, no need for violence, it's just money." He continued backing up seceding ground to the thug that was encroaching on him. Soon there was no ground to give up. The older Athani waved his arms wildly about knocking an entire tray of ale mugs upon the floor. “Here,” he continued, “let me buy you a drink.”

In the background the music played, somewhat distracting from the scene playing out behind. The brute did not seem interested in getting a drink. The man in the blue robes pressed his back against the wall.

"Ok then," he said subtly wiggling his fingers.

The angered man moved to take another step, but found his feet pinned to the floor by amber ice. It was almost as though the ale that was spilt upon the floor had frozen around his boots. The old man smiled waving his hand.

*CRACKTHOOM*

The sound reverberated throughout the space. What little hair the thug did have now stood on end, smoke rising from the top of his head. He fell to the ground, blue sparks of energy jiggling his body. Behind him stood the dancer, clad in her armor with her sword at her side. She had gotten deft at donning her armor and weapons with haste, given how many times they’d gotten into trouble.

*SCREEECH*

The music had fully stopped allowing the sound of chairs being pushed against the hardwood floor to be heard.

Looking around it seemed all the patrons were rising from their chairs, foul intent in their eyes.

The dancer turned, her arm flaring with stormbolts.

"No," the old man said clamping a hand on her shoulder, "Now is not the time to fight, Fulminiti."

In a flash of purple light, they were gone.

In an instant, somewhere well away, they appeared--he had Teleported them from Lashley onto Heap, along the Mirkeshi border.

The old man was bent over a little, hands on his knees. The rain fell on his uncovered head, wetting his normally bushy white hair. He looked up his mane of hair matted down giving him an appearance of a wet dog.

"I’ve had to use that too many times."-he knew well the risk of traveling by Conjuration in this age and time

"Master Giuseppe," the young woman said scolding him, water droplets falling from her hood, "you wouldn’t have to if you’d stop getting into mischief."

"It the last town it was you who started mischief my dear Francesca."

"That was not mischief that was a brawl, he took offense to me lifting his purse."

The old man just chuckled, "I suppose we’d best be going, before they come hunting us down." Francesca nodded. It was an uneventful walk, though to speed things along Giuseppe passed them through the Aetherius, stepping them some distance away, arriving at Rydony's Meden castle.

The rain finally let up as the came to the city of Navoss. Giuseppe shook his head, water flying from his hair and beard. Francesca shielded her face with her hand, grumbling a little. After the inglorious display he drew upon the Aetherius, pulling the liquid from his hair and casting it aside, giving a smirk to his companion.

At one of the inns, they purchased a fine meal for the two of them. A hearty thing with cooked meats and vegetables, among the best the place could offer. They enjoyed it much, the best meal they'd had in a long time. Francesca tore into her food, like a starved beast. Giuseppe was content to savor the taste, taking much smaller bites, letting each seasoned morsel sit on his tongue. He closed his eyes soaking in the texture of the roasted creature, it was tender, with just the right amount of fat.

They finished, Francesca much sooner than her teacher.

"Excuse me," the old man said coming up to the bar, "Would you have any rooms available?"

"Aye zer," the barman gave him the prices and they had enough for one room, the meal took more than they were expecting. He rented a room with a single bed asking for an extra blanket to ward off the chill. Though the man gave him and Francesca a snide look, he said nothing on the matter.

Up in the room, it was simple, a single bed set against the wall, a small candle burning on a short table. A window let in the weak light of the moon, illuminating the bare plaster walls. A puddle had formed on the floor from a presumed leak in the roof. Giuseppe paid it little mind evaporating it with a swipe of his hand. He laid out the extra blanket on the floor and stretched his old bones upon it. He was always like this, sacrificing for his student, even when most masters would have taken the bed for themselves.

They settled down for the night, Giuseppe resting his head on the spellbook he always carried. At some point in the night, Francesca stirred. She shivered, mumbling a name,

"Giovanni, Giovanni, no…" The bed creaked, rousing the older mage from his slumber. He stretched his arms, his joints popping with each movement. His pupil began to whimper, sweat pouring down her forehead. This was a nightly occurrence, of the horrors of what they went through that day.

It was five years ago now, when their home fell to the darkest of forces. She was right next to him, in the middle of the fray. It had been some time since he'd wielded his blade, watched its glowing runes dance through the air. That day he became again the Frosted Terror he had been so long ago. Freezing his foes where they stood, piercing their hateful hearts with sharpened ice, he knew Ice magic was the occult, darker side of Water magicks. Francesca herself fought bravely, blue bolts flying this way and that, cutting down the approaching horde with terrifying competence. Next to her was Giovanni, not a mage like them, but a soldier assigned to defend the Tower of Maloglash should the day ever come.

That day did come, and he fought nobly. They had become close, probably closer than anyone knew. When he fell, she became full of rage. Her blade, crackling with power, stuck down foe after foe. Her anger thundered throughout the battlefield. Giuseppe did everything he could to bring her back, to return her to calm but, he couldn't. He couldn't break through the anguish that filled her mind. He did what he could to hold the line, but he heard a cry, one of pain, and suffering. It was Francesca, a sword had wounded her deeply, through her reflection, through her enchanted armor ir pierced her. At that point there was no winning.

Now came the master's own terror of that day though he was dealing with it better. He made the choice to leave, to take himself and his apprentice far away. He wrapped his arms around her, her blood soaking into his robes, and disappeared in a flash. The next moment they were in the Summerswood, safe from the chaos and death. He did not make that decision lightly but, he saw no other way. He would not let the knowledge of magicks, of Maloglash die out. His legacy was tied up in him, and his last student.

"Shhh..." she cooed rubbing the top of her head. "It will be ok Fulminiti, one day…one day." He let out a breath and looked out the window at the silver moon shining overhead.

He hoped to Vatha for the day to come soon. The day when the darkness would be banished, and his tower restored. Not for his sake but, for the sake of his student and all the others.

TAG: Jedi Battlemaster Drallig

 

IC: Adelfine of Dietmar, Duomirskone [ygritte]
Ochre River-The Grey Hills, Rydony's Southern Duxy

Adelfine heard the echoes of a man's raised voice resound throughout the hills.
Again, louder this time.
Then quiet.
-That was never a good sign-she knew as she sped her way up the hill that saw the Ocher River end and where the new, self-proclaimed Romaran border now began.
As she reached its summit, she finally saw conflict had already begun--men surrounded the famed witcher, chaining her around the wrists and ankles, arms and legs, neck and hips,
"You are coming with us"-shouted a Romaran Heavy Horseman, full of spite,
as 10 dismounted Horsemen wrapped Anastrianna Evendur ever tighter with their iron chains. She stood, taut as a drawn bow, looking right at the heavily armored one.
'Fools'-thought Adelfine: she could easily see a thin, nigh-invisible Shielding almost embedded to the witcheresse's clothes and skin.

"Axii"-whispered the Moon Elven woman-their 10 mounts suddenly darted away, as the heavy horseman's warhorse stood on its hindlegs, dumping him aground with a loud batter.

"I am not"-said she with resolve, shouting in turn "Aard!"--both chains and men were sent flying by a potent kinetic wave that stunned all and made more than one outright faint.

As the heavy horseman stood, drawing out his sword he called "To arms!" as another 5 Horsemen came 'round the hills as hidden reinforcement, charging straight at the elven woman as she rolled to recover her swords from one of the blasted chainers.

Adelfine wasted no time in readying her Arbalest, Andor's mighty crossbow and, knee-bent, aiming true, felled 3 by throatshots before the remaining two closed in on Anastrianna, only to be deftly dodged; the witcher then drew a purple glyphcircle on the ground that, as soon as it was inchanted, sent bolts of energy that now permanently stunned all foes close by.

Only two were away from her Yrden Sign's reach, standing at the right and left of the heavy horseman that now wielded his infamous romaran morningstar.

"Come then!!"-he challenged


TAG: Nehru_Amidala

 

IC: Ellen (Ellenna, Halfelven bastress & bardette, Adonis/Artanis' Companion) [jennifer connelly]
Magnar Ulfius [brian cox]
Pugh Dvorec, Iosia

It was a laconic throne room, more of a castle than a palace, more of a general's quarters,
ceramic vases, fires glinting off Bronze and shining on Estelmisteth's golden inlays.

"Leave us"-said the Iosian Magnar, Colbanus Donac's main bannerman, to his sons and guards.
With another look at Estel, Uthor took his leave, preceded by an uncaring Othon.

The huge wereman's voice boomed, filling the room.

"Join me as I ascend to rightful power against the Donac, they've only ever used us, seconded us, greedily hoarding all glory or chance of it for themselves.
Being kept behind lines, but staring, is how he keeps Iosia's arms--holding shields, as he alone thrusts the spear, earning all wreaths, for us to applaud and worship.
We've had enough."

The Elven woman stared cooly at the mighty one

"How good is the pay?"​

The warlord smiled back wickedly, gesturing with both hands as draperies gave pass to slaves carrying two Bronze greatcoffers, opened, showcasing all manner of Gold, Silver and Jewelries.

-"An advance payment, for an initial task to test your,
loyalty to our cause.

Bring me the Bloodstained Killer's head, that I may smear my face with her accursed blood.

You will find Rebecca 'Dragon' along Amburria's borderlands, where she is known by her fallen people as the "Verdant Guard."

Go forth then, Casllisti.
I have lost all hope on the Donac, yet I highly hope for Iosia and for your return."


-The Magnar was met by Estelmisteth's unique smile,
as Ellen tilted her head ever so slightly within one of the backrooms.

--"A merry mess we've gotten ourselves into, Tyr Lot"-she mused as the Moriquendi Bard-Assassin left the room.

Ellen followed her every move from master-stealthed distances and corners as she woundeth her path within the castle...


TAG: Halle Dray

 

(Sorry for the short post but wanted to at least get one in)


Calypso rolled to the side as she saw the strange figure and came down to the ground, landing next to Thudpaw just in time to hear the man's offer. The two looked at one another with questioning eyes. "We would have to check with Dux Feliks Voirol himself before accepting such an offer," Calypso said with a raised brow. Thudpaw only gazed at the man with a haunting look in his eyes. "I do like double, though..." Calypso admitted.

It was an enticing offer to be sure, but the two had built a reputation of being trustworthy hunters for hire who were always loyal to their employers. This was one reason they were so careful when they took a job. They had to be sure the job was something they were willing to see through to the end.

 

Velaria of the Woods and Torin Woodstryder
Northrond Woods

it only took moments for Velaria and Torin to break camp, extinguishing their blaze, as they
began to track after the dark spirit. Normally, a dark stag was a good sign, but it had been
perverted, tainted by the stench of the Aetherius, channeling into the physical world as a
dark void. It was a death trail, that they now followed, and was laying a trail that was not
hard for them to follow, for as it moved through the greenwood, it left in its wake a trail of
destruction and death as it spread Northern East. Velaria could feel within the green, as
parts of the woods retreated and died, reverting from its touch.

Torin however, saw the destruction through other eyes. The huntsman, felt keen of his higher
magics. Utilizing a stream of running water, he connected, letting the powers of his warren
flow as did the river, connecting with the great river up north. He felt the power That was of
the death spirit there, reluctant to move on, standing on its southern bank, loathing to cross
the magics it now felt. As the great powers of water laid out the scene before him, Velaria
continued to move, growing closer to the beast. If anything became, Torin would warn her if
need be. But she could feel many warrens opening anon now, and the very air was stepped with
magics most powerful. She increased her pace now, at a full gallop as she moved. What Torin
could see, Velaria felt. There was a sudden sound, and her ears drew forwards, as she heard a
horrible sound that reverberated throughout the forest, shaking the ground to its core, and a
sound like thunder echoed as she came through the bower of trees. A shower of small rocks
suddenly pelted her, as she brought her arms up to shield herself. And the scene she held
before her was beyond the normal mortal keen.

Glorfindel, Lord of Unicorns, lay on his side, gravely wounded. The dark stag, she saw
dissolve back into the nothingness from whence it came. Across the waters, she saw a group of
Bornings standing, as one in human form now was kneeling before the fallen Glorfindel, even as
he yelled his name, as his warren now poured forth in powerful Druidic magics. But the lord
had been struck by a death spirit. His magics alone might not be enough. Velaria knew of the
Lord Glorfindel, friendly she had been with the Unicorns, and had traveled many a time
throughout their lands. Velaria slowed and carefully walked up to the scene. Her staff she
tucked behind her, as she slowly moved forward, her hands open, her own warren open as she was
in full faun form. She continued to move until she reached the fallen Glorfindel, and then, if
no resistance was given, she added her own magics to the healing process. She spoke softly to
the man in front of her. "It was the death trail of a Môrkhar Spirit." she stated slowly, as
she added her own magics with that of the Borning in front of her. Torin arrived a few moments
later astride Byron. His weaponry was close to hand, but he did not draw his weapon. He knew
the seriousness of the situation, and would not want to provoke any battles that were
unnecessary. Emotions were running high, and as long as Ve was fine, he would take no actions
that were not warranted. But if they were to forget themselves, and try to harm any, he would
broke no passage.



TAG: Jedi Battlemaster Drallig

 

IC: Estelmisteth

It's not bad pay, Estel. Why aren't you happy with it? Thoughts were racing through the elven maiden's mind and an uneasy feeling was settling in.

Someone was following her. Keeping along her path towards the room Uthor had left her in, she heightened her senses. The steps of this person were light, female most likely, but constant. There was a slight jingle, perhaps a weapon or clothing article. Estel finally reached the wooden door of the room and paused, her pale hand on the knob.

"Oh, come on now, why don't you come out?" she said, sounding rather tired.

Tags: Jedi Battlemaster Drallig