NationStates Jolt Archive

The birds looked down upon this silly little man, who was currently in a state of dying, although he was too stunned and dazed to realise that small and alarming fact. The forest watched as the crimson life liquid leaked from his side were a blade had passed, and the ragged breath of the mage as he looked upwards, completely disorientated, at the blue sky of the forest.

He felt light headed, and he felt like one of those victims of fermentation who had to piece the hazy adventure of the night before. He lay upon the grass, his blood dying the blades an impleasant red. His robes hid the bloodstains rather well, thier own colour being that of his blood.

Lifting his hands which had held the various abilities of the mage, he saw through a blurry vision that they were covered in the dark red blood as well. He was confused, scared almost. He did not know what was going on....he definately needed help.

Lay around him, were ten orcs....now smoldering from a recent spell which the dying mage had obviously been the cause of.

It didn’t take a particularly gifted nose to be able to smell the rancid reek of freshly charred flesh, particularly an orc’s. Somehow, the broad frames laden with flesh and sinew managed to release a stench truly unlike any other. The overwhelming reek managed to almost rival their natural physical strength in terms of power.

Raven wrinkled her nose beneath her cloak at the distasteful odour floating along the gentle breeze. It was a recent kill and a large one at that, years of outdoor life had certainly accustomed the young woman to even the strangest of events. Whatever had happened, she wanted no part of, but natural curiosity overrode her suspicions. The smell gave no illusion as to where the slaughter had taken place and provide a trail for Raven’s keen nose to follow. However, she did not through all her sense to the wind and kept close to the trunks of the trees, cautiously eying every part of the surrounding forest as she gradually slunk closer to her target.

The sight which presented itself before her dark eyes caused her to emit a sharp, sudden breath. The bodies of a series of orcs were piled crudely around each other, some still emitting whips of smoke along with their acrid stench. Being this close to the carnage left Raven feeling rather nauseated. The smouldered flesh was still emitting its stench. She could help but marvel at what could possibly have slain these orcs in such a grotesque manner. Judging from their equipment, which, crude by human standards, was fine work to the barbaric orcish tribes, they would have been rather skilled at wielding their array of clubs, maces and axes. It was then she noticed the darkening pools on the grass.

Even with his blood red attire, the fallen young man who lay sprawled on the grass, could not hide the array of darkening stains on his robes. He was obviously dangerous, the orcs seemingly being killed by his hand, but he certainly looked in no fit state to fight now. Preparing for the worst, Raven slowly approached the dying man…

"Wanna help me out here? Bleeding aint all healthy if…if what I have heard is correct…" The man said hoarsely and slightly humorously. It was very strange for the mage to be in a mood to make a slight humorous comment when his blood was flowing out of his body in an alarming fashion.

He knew someone was there...a humanoid of some sort. His vision was still blurried, it looked like a she.

The mage on the floor was pale, obviously from the wounds and efforts he had just given out defeating these orcs. He had black long hair, and crystal blue eyes. He seemed to have, even in his moments of dying desperateness, a sense of humor about him, a playful nature.

Raven blinked in shock at the mans apparent good nature. ‘He’s dying and he’s still in a good mood? Perhaps he fried his own brain when sizzling those orcs.’ Today was just full of surprises.

“I believe you have heard correctly about bleeding then.” She responded curtly. His levity in the current situation was far from appropriate and it worried Raven mildly. It was quite possible that the whole thing was an act designed to lure unwary travellers to their deaths however, the piles of dead orcs did make that thought seem rather irrational and unfounded. No amount of acting could create char grilled corpses like that.

A feeling of helplessness dawned upon Raven. She was certainly no practitioner with the healing arts; her last attempt to dabble with them had left her patient dead and a pleasant death it was not. After the convulsions, fevers and hallucinations had stopped, the man had slowly rotted away becoming so weak that even eating proved impossible. Having no particular desire to repeat that experience, Raven was now in a bit of a predicament over what course of action to take. The stranger certainly didn’t look strong enough to survive a trip outside of the forest either. Whatever help he was in desperate need of would have to be done in his current location.

“I’d help you out,” she muttered, more to herself than her audience, “If I knew what to bloody do.”

*tagged*

If you need another body, it is always a pleasure to RP with RV!

The man closed his eyes and swallowed, trying to summon up some more words of instruction to this stranger.

"Well...just....banadage the wound....up...that helps. Just...apply pressure while...I think of something...", the mage said without much urgancy, more of a calm laid back approach to it, as if the wound wouldn't kill him, more of a problem in the house.

"Rip some of my robes, I am...am sure they won't mind at all. I am Francis by the way, just in case....you wonder." Francis said, keeping that slight smile about all of this.

The blood was seeping from a wound in his side, a slice wound from a sword or an axe it would appear. It was clean, and had hit no vital organs, but it was bleeding profusely for some reason.

*tagged*

If you need another body, it is always a pleasure to RP with RV!

(OOC I will bear you in mind for the future)

<<OOC: I am honored. Let me know what you need, and I'll provide it!>>

Raven couldn’t help but wonder if this… Francis was completely oblivious to the grievous injuries he had sustained. Reaching into the thick folds of her cloak, she pulled out a small pouch of a light blue hue which seemed almost silky in the dappled light gazing down from about the canopy of trees. The pouch seemed rather impractical due to its small size and the flimsy fabric; it was seemingly incapable of withstanding any weight larger than that of a few herbs. Fingers deftly loosened the cord which kept the pouch sealed and rummaged around in it. When the rummaging ceased, a long length of white material was drawn cautiously from the bag, far more emerged than what could have possibly been contained in it.

Dark eyes scrutinised the man’s crimson robe for any other patches laced with blood. She hesitantly shuffled forward, like a criminal nearing the gallows. Nudging a corpse out the way with several blunt manoeuvres of her boot, she continued her wary advance.

“Well, where does the problem appear to be then?”

"Side is complaining. A sword or axe bit it, it says." Francis said slowly and full of fatigue. He seemed to be losing strength now quickly and rapidly, the blood which was flowing out of him draining his body's strength but not his characteristic humor about everything.

Francis' robes were deeply layered, and upon further inspection of the wound and the surronding area, the robe seemed to have the odd rune inscribed in a barely noticable copper matieral. They shined dully as the robe moved, but they were not noticable at all.

And then....footsteps approached, slow and omnious ones. A heavy booted one with a long stride was coming from behind the two recently aquainted. It was not one of an orc or some savage creature, as these steps had regularity and a strong purpose.

There was indeed, a human which was walking in the distance towards them, the chinking of his plate mail, boots and various equipment could be heard. His figure was rather imposing even at this distance, his black armour with hints of green matieral and his blonde hair could be seen.

His deep and commanding voice called out from the distance, "Don't go near him!" and the plated man began to run towards the two with some speed.

Francis seemed panicked now, his humor drained away completely as he heard that voice.

"Please, help me from him! That man is insane, trying to kill me for things that he thinks that I did! Please, help me!" Francis pleaded, grabbing onto Raven with a pale bloodied hand. His eyes seemed full of fear and desperation, they darted from Raven to the approaching figure, waiting for Raven's reply.

Raven growled as she painstakingly rose and turned to face the newest apparition on the scene. Dark eyes glared, scrutinising the heavily-armed man, before taking a regretful glance back at Francis. The idiot better not die on me now. She thought, pale fingers slipping the bandages away as if their disappearance were part of some magicians trick.

“And just who might you be?” Her tone was level but had a mildly accusing lilt to it as if the latest arrival had just been caught committing some heinous crime. “I take it,” she glanced back to Francis, “that you two know each other then?”

Why do I have to get involved in all the messy situations? Well, this could prove… interesting at the least. A gentle breeze ruffled her cloak which encased her from neck to foot and blew a few stray strands of black hair dangerously close to her right eye where it had to contend with a sharp flick of her hand.

Raven was tensed and appeared well prepared for any confrontation that might occur although it seemed she had no intention of leaving Francis’s side, no matter the consequences. The dying light ran derisively over her ‘opponents’ ornate armour as if it too was sneering at whatever attempts she could put up in a fight.

Well, we’ll see about that…

The cleric looked at Raven with his strange and alien purple eyes, looking and judging Raven for what she was. If Raven looked at this character with the judging eyes to see into his soul, then she would find nothing but an enigma. An enigma of a forgotten time and event, the reminant of something abandoned.

"The more pressing question, would be why are you protecting him. Step aside." The cleric said deeply, without threat but without sign of politeness. It was blunt and to the point, without pretense or explaination. There was an oddness about this person, a sense of power of person and experiance. Not the power that one might experiance through an almighty mage with swirling arcane defences, but the power of character that one would feel around certain strange people who you just knew were not like most people.

It was noticable that upon his forehead there lay a single, perfect and smooth gem, one which was the same shade and mystery as his purple eyes. It barely sparkled in the sunlight, it held more of a absant watch over the world than an affect on it would seem.

There were tatoos upon his strong arms, tatoos of an arcane nature. Raven however, did not know the meaning or purpose of them...only that they had a scent of magic niether good nor evil, simply functional.

Deep lines etched themselves across a brow hidden by an unkempt mass of hair. She contemplated summoning her blade or reaching for one of the twin daggers nestled between her cloak and belt. An offensive manoeuvre would probably just lead her stumbling like a newborn animal straight into some rather potent trap. Her best strategy here, as good solid reasoning told her, was to wait things out and if conflict should occur, run very quickly. However, she couldn’t just leave Francis dying like that. Regardless of what the cleric was saying, she couldn’t just leave someone dying like that, and there seemed to be a rather interesting story behind the whole thing too.

“Well, isn’t it natural to lend a helping hand to someone,” she gave a rather sardonic smile, “who obviously needs a hand?”

The cleric scornfully replied, "Well, not to that bastard. Do you even realise whom you save? A beast who would condemn the innocent to death for a worthless cause, bringing death to those whos time it was not, and did not need to feel death's touch before he could swoop down himself? Look at him again, and see what he really is!" outstreaching a mailed hand, reaching out towards Francis.

Francis blanched completely, trying to scramble away with more vigor, his robes becoming more sprawled.

"Lies! Don't believe him! Illusions! He is casting an illusion!" Francis howled in a defence, his eyes full of hatred and desperation. He was obviously terrorfied of this dark cleric, who's cold hard stare saw the truth. The purple jewel upon his head was in essance his third eye....an eye which could see that which could not be seen, to see the illusions which surrond the world.

Including Francis' appearance.

The spells woven into his robes faded away, crumbling before the cleric's powerful dispel. He howled in frustration, as the jem continued to share it's power to Raven, as his appearance crumbled to the atrosity that he actually was.

Francis's wound was in fact, never there.

An undead creature, half decaying flesh and bone, cannot bleed. The abomination which lay on the floor, was hideous to behold, at least to Raven. The cleric who stood there still, maintaining the dispel around this person, remained grim and unphased by this.

"No! Lies! He lies!"

"Silence creature. You have avoided death long enough."

Francis's corpse was not entirely dead. The decaying flesh which hung about his skelington was barely alive, powered by ancient magic and deals with darker forces within this world. His eyes were strained, tainted by blackness which was the sight of dark magic.

The cleric, reaching for his heavy mace by his side, spoke with a grating voice.

"May I dispose of this abomination of a creature who thought himself capable of cheating the inexerable cycle of life and death, to which all of us are bound?"

It wasn't so much of a question, more of a statment which he was about to do anyway, wheter Raven gave him permission or not. He honestly did not care for the answer, only to know if he would have to deal with a collaborator.

Raven recoiled in disgust both from her own foolishness and the hideous mess that was composed of decaying flesh and bone. A nagging voice somewhere in her mind was telling her, in a rather arrogant manner, how she should have just gone with her original instinct and how it normally proved a waste of time helping anyone. Now she understood just why the smell had been so particularly vile. Orc flesh never produced a smell quite as repugnant of that of the living dead.

The illusions stripped away Raven could feel the raw ebbing of the dark powers binding the corpse together. Being in such a close proximity to the corpse left Raven almost reeling with nausea but the powers she was sensing felt so familiar, almost… nostalgic.

Wising just to be done with this whole situation and the… thing in front of her in particular, she turned to the purple-eyed cleric and gave a simple nod. She didn’t feel any gratitude towards the stranger; actually, she rather resented his presence here. Regardless of whether the creature would have left her dead or badly mutilated she would rather have faced that possibility than had someone witness one of her failures. Raven resented the sudden appearance of this cleric, she didn’t need his help anyway, she would have been able to handle whatever arose cleric or no cleric.

Raven was hoping though that Francis would suffer a particularly painful fate. Had his life been in her hands, she would have made sure that she’d introduced him into a couple of the worse realms of pain and suffering. That putrefying mess had cause her to look like a complete fool and deserved whatever this cleric was about to dish out. Raven would rather enjoy the show.

“Go ahead; I’ll have no quarrel with whatever you intend to do to this... man.”

Stepping forward, his plated boot chinking heavily upon the grass, his gaze never leaving Francis who continued to curse, and was in the process of casting a spell of some sort. Arcane energies flowed throughout his body, the corpse vibrating slighty as taces of purple lighting flickered throughout him.

The cleric, calmly and ritualisticly, unhooked the mace from his side, holding it up slightly towards the heavens, the black jem on top of the dark weapon glinting malicously. The cleric seemed to have no enjoyment out of it, it was more of a task that simply had to be done. His black armour, with images of skeletons and death ruling over them in a promise of death as the fate of all creatures. It held it's sythe over the skeletons, who cowered from it's dark blade in fear.

"From the shadows of unlife do I release you."

The ritual was in place, the mace was lifted higher and the cleric's eyes closed in reverance, there was something chilling about the way this entire scene played itself out.

The necromancer chanted it's own dark spells, summoning dark energies which were highly potent indeed. But there was something which told Raven that this cleric needed no help....not that she was eager to give it the cleric imagined.

The dark priest of death brought the mace to his left, spinning it as he did so, the mace begining to hum in a low tone, it's voice still muzzled. The priest continued in his death rites...chanting to Death itself in reverance, "For your crime against life and death, I condemn you."

The necromancer was close to the completion of the spell, the dark energies crackling against one who served it's own. The power that this necromancer was impressive, the visage of his hairless skull with little flesh and those hate filled, demonic eyes would raise many heartbeats in normal men.

But Fzoul was hardly a normal man. A cleric of death, a servant of His inescapable sythe, Fzoul knew and served Death's hand, and all forms of it, as Death came in all due time. This creature had cheating it's time to die, and thus, it was an abomination to death, an escaped slave who must be punished and brought back to it's shackles, as all creatures are brought.

His mace span to the right now, the humming of the dark mace growing in it's growing, the beast that was dormant within the unholy metal growing stronger in it's will, it's willing nature to kill that which was meant to be killed, that was desinty ensnared to be slain.

"From the brief existance of life and unlife you have endured, I now free you from this world, ready to be punished by Death, finally."

The necromancer screamed as the mace decended down, swinging in the air like nothing else. The sound was utterly chilling, yet it sounded like angels singing to Fzoul....the mace swinging down to Francis with a sickening slowness that seemed unreal.

The necromancer launched his spell, a black cloud breathing onto Fzoul, horrifying spirits of skulls surronding Fzoul, within that black fog. And then....a terrible high pitched scream followed, although from who it was uncertain....it's nature was one of utter contempt and rage....

The fog consumed the two.....and did not dissipate until the screaming had finally died.....

Fzoul stood....untouched by the terrible and potent spell which the necromancer had tried to use as his last fatal attempt of salvation. The mace was planted into a skull....the flesh removed cleanly from the bones...the robes fading away as ash with every passing second.

"I return this soul, Master, to the Wheel of Fate, the inexorable cycle of life and death as you have commanded me to do." Fzoul said in finishing his ceremony...the skeleton which was still locked in it's grim silent scream as that dark mace implanted itself within the necromancer....draining his very soul and dark essance.

The dark swirling depths of the cleric's jewel upon his forehead gazed at the skeleton, the illusion no longer there. Fzoul slowly put his mace away, and reached into his pouch for something. Producing a small amount of silver dust it seemed, he threw it disrespectfully on the bones. The seemed to slowly dissolve into nothingness, a process which would be finished completely in a few minutes.


The necromancer was dead, and the cleric had completed his grim task with little satisfaction, other than the knowledge that his Master would be satisfied with his actions, for the breifest of times.

Throughout the ritual Raven had remained silent, content to leave the cleric to his job. However, she had watched intently throughout the process as if she were a tutor analysing a pupil’s work. The original repulsion of the true form of Francis had washed away into a mere distaste. Even when the dense fog rolled in she was under no illusion to who would emerge the victor.

The guttural screaming emanating from the obscured figures also served to tell the events of within quite clearly, the sound only mildly distorted by the magical fog. The revelations as the fog subsided came as no surprise. The necromancer was finally secured in death’s grip and the cleric seemed no worse of for the encounter. Bar the crushed blades of grass underneath where the necromancer had once lain, there was no trace of the foul creature ever having existed. He was like a page cast out from a book, forgotten and scattered along the winds and the cleric… the cleric was like some lost monument, harking back to some forgotten age. Everything about him, his weapon, armour, even mannerisms seemed all rather obscure.

She looked at the man’s back and opened her mouth as if readying to say something but then her jaw clamped shut and turned her head away, eyes becoming lost in staring at some unimportant tree. Broad shoulders almost slunk down in a sigh but that action too was quickly cut off.

"Do you find me repulsive?" Fzoul said with a slight grim smile of amusement as he turned to look at Raven. He cast his attentions on this person who had previously assisted such a creature, and if she was in collaboration with it.

A sense of a old order was about this man, that the world had continued to revolve and he had been left there standing, watching the world....and continuing to do as he had been instructed and told to do at the begining of time. A dark cleric of death, niether passionate in his 'normal' life...or that of combat with whatever Death had cast it's gaze upon, what being deserved to be sent to the other realm to his side.

"Or do you find that being more repulsive, a creature who thought that death could be avoided, ducked, cheated, bribed. He was mortal, and mortals can only die once. Or am I worse than him do you think?"

“Huh?” Raven’s head snapped around sharply with a small snap. Slender fingers rubbed the back of neck as she grimaced from the sudden movement. The sudden jolt also seemed to hurl Raven out of whatever trance the hypnotic waving of the tree had sent her into.

“No.” She said quietly, voice lacking the brazen self confidence it had held before. Her eyes were downcast, tracing dull patterns over a small patch of grass. “I guess… we all just do as we do.”

She wrapped her arms tightly around herself as if some sudden chill had sliced through the air. Raven was still intently letting her eyes travel along some premeditated route. The occasional frown interrupted her work and a few quick corrections were made to whatever it was that she saw so distinctly in her minds eye.

“But perhaps, death presents these opportunities itself.” Her gentle, almost idyllic tone was quickly replaced with a far colder, more determined one as she raised her eyes to meet the cleric’s. “Anyway, I see that we have no further business together. We part here.”